#things that happen immediately after this:

[poisonf0rest]

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose. 

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind. 

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night. 

“How’s your drawing?” 

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but. 

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder. 

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?” 

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness. 

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was. 

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship. 

You’re leaning in despite yourself. 

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away. 

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before. 

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him. 

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.  

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless. 

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.” 

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.” 

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more. 

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.” 

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another. 

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you. 

The glass lays shattered against the floor. 

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses. 

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.” 

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever. 

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts. 

“Fuck.” 

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you. 

By the third time, you know something is wrong. 

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long. 

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues. 

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up. 

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel. 

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again— 

It’s the cold that wakes you up. 

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs. 

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand. 

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back. 

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console. 

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point. 

“You’re not coming with me?” 

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?” 

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true. 

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true. 

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching. 

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.  

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets. 

You need him. 

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire. 

And then the room is all too hot once again. 

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated. 

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing. 

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs. 

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains. 

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition. 

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it. 

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room. 

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart. 

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul. 

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left? 

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?” 

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites. 

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide. 

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear. 

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you. 

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him. 

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?” 

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs. 

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again. 

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him. 

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile. 

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat. 

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral. 

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper. 

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed. 

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again. 

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin. 

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours. 

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess. 

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you. 

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit. 

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk. 

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again. 

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whipping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard you tried to take Rafayel from you tonight. 

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept. 

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back. 

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm. Ripping his shirt’s buttons off you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man. 

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses. 

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again. 

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest. 

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more. 

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running. 

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you. 

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in. 

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots. 

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part. Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there. 

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it. Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips. 

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still. 

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're coming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and quake and shake as you throw your head back with tears. 

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies. 

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods. 

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun. 

The one who's still kneeling before you. 

The one who you love. 

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

[ipushhimback]

we were drunk it happens - part 3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: pregnancy, jos verstappen words: 1.5 k

summary: Y/N find out she is pregnant. she doesn’t want to tell Lando as she was scared of his reaction.

taglist: @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8

Fuck. That was the only thought in her head as she stared at the pregnancy test in front of her. She was on birth control. How the hell was she pregnant now.

This couldn’t be happening. She was only 22 years old. Definitely not ready to be a mom! And a single mom? No way she could do that. Oh my god. How should she tell Lando.

She took her phone and clicked on her brother’s contact. She really needed advice right now and who was better for that than her brother. He would probably be a bit upset but Y/N couldn’t really think of anyone else who could help her right now. After only one rang, Max answered.

“Hey, little one. What’s up? Everything alright?”, he asked.

“No, Max. Nothing is alright! Please. Can you come here? I need you.” Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes and her voice broke.

“Of course. Are you hurt? Did something bad happen?” Over the phone, she heard how Max grabbed his keys as told Kelly he would have to leave. A second later she heard a door close.

“I am not hurt. No. Please just hurry.” She sank down against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall and just hung up. Max would be there soon. And then everything was going to be okay.

The doorbell rang and Y/N got up slowly to open it. When she did, her brother immediately went to hug her as he saw her wet cheeks.

“Hey. What happened. Did someone hurt you? Are you sick?”, Max asked as he leaned back a bit to look her in the eyes. “You know you can tell me everything, right?”

Y/N just held up the pregnancy test. There was no chance it was wrong. The word pregnant was clearly written across the little display in the white stick.

“That’s… yours? I assume?”, Max asked carefully.

“Of course it is mine! Why else would I stand in my fucking house and cry like someone died?! I don’t know what to do, Max. He will kill me if he finds out.” Well aware that she would make Max’ shirt completely wet, she buried her face in his grey shirt.

“Who will kill you? Who even is the father? Oh my god. It’s Lando, isn’t it. No way.” Max looked concerned, but now Y/N could also see he was a bit disappointed, even though he would never show it.

He was too much of a supportive brother. He would never show his disappointment, nor would he upset her on purpose.

“It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright. I promise. Do you want to tell him, already?”

Y/N shook her head furiously.

“No. He… he can’t know. We said no feelings. He really can’t know. Not yet.” Her brother just nodded while looking thoughtful.

“Do you… do you wanna keep it?” He looked worried as if he was scared that he might have said the wrong thing.

Y/N nodded. She thought about an abortion, but she simply couldn’t. It was her baby. And more importantly, it was her and Lando’s baby.

“I do. It is mine.” She placed her hand on her still flat belly.

“Ok. I just want you to know that Kelly and I will support you. No matter how you decide to raise it in the end. And hey, maybe your baby will be friends with ours in the end. They won’t have a huge age gap.” The Formula 1 driver laughed a bit.

“You are not disappointed?”, Y/N asked. She honestly would have thought that Max would be a bit mad, but here he was, being the most understanding person.

“Maybe a little. No… that’s not right. I am just a little scared. You are my little sister. And… I am not really disappointed just worried about you. But you know I will always support you, no matter what happens.” Max smiled at her which made Y/N a little happier.

“I am going to have a baby”, she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

***

For over a week, Y/N had been feeling nauseous. The pregnancy made her tired, dizzy and she couldn’t keep any food down. Still, she told Max that she will attend the next grand prix. Monza. She was happy, because she slowly started to like F1 again. When she was younger, Monza had been her favorite grand prix and the atmosphere when the Ferraris were on the podium…

Like Seb had been saying. Everybody’s a Ferrari fan. Even if they’re not they are Ferrari fans.

Even though Y/N was looking forward to watching the race, she couldn’t help but feel nauseous as fuck. She threw up her whole breakfast earlier and now she just felt weak.

Because the last thing she wanted now was being alone, she had decided to go to the Ferrari garage where Charles’ girlfriend Alex already was. They have become quite good friends over the last weeks so Y/N enjoyed being around her. Together they were now staring at the tv in front of them. Observing the different cars and occasionally swearing when they were annoyed or too caught up in the moment.

At some point Y/N excused herself to head to the bathroom, needing to puke again. When she returned, Alex looked at her a bit worried.

“You look shitty today”, she said bluntly.

“Wow. Thank you. I didn’t see that already in the mirror or so…”

“No… I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N. More in an ‘are you okay�� way. Because seriously, you look like you’re about to faint. And I don’t want to explain that to Max later.” Alex looked at her, definitely worried.

“No. I am alright. It just happens sometimes.” Y/N suppressed the urge to throw up again and took a deep breath. “Let’s focus on the race, ok?”

Alex nodded hesitantly.

Y/N really wanted to tell Alex that she was pregnant, but she simply didn’t know how. Furthermore she wanted to tell all her friends she made over the last weeks together. Alex, Lily, Carmen, Rebecca. And of course, her childhood best friend.

A bit later, the race was finished. Charles came in P1, much to Alex’ joy, Max in P2 and Lando in P3. Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.

She just went outside to head to the Red Bull garage but just as she came near, she heard a sharp voice.

“P2? And you are proud of yourself? Wipe that damn smile from your face, Max. You started from pole; you should have won easily. Didn’t I raise you better?”

Y/N froze outside and couldn’t move anymore. What was her dad doing here? Max didn’t know about it, did he?

Suddenly she felt like she might really faint. Black spots were dancing in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t breathe anymore. She hasn’t seen her dad in at least three years. And honestly, she was glad about it. She didn’t want him in her life anymore.

Y/N knew that Max didn’t have as much of a problem with Jos as she did, but he still didn’t exactly like it when his dad was complaining about him being P2 in a race. She knew he would beat himself up for it, as it would make him believe he was terrible at what he does.

“Y/N? Are you ok?”, she heard a voice say. Lando.

“Uhm. Yes. Everything’s alright.”

Lando eyed her.

“You don’t look like you’re alright… You’re pale and you look like you just saw a ghost. Did something happen? Are you not feeling well?”, he asked.

“No. Seriously everything’s alright.” But in that moment Max walked around the corner, and Jos was just behind him.

“Oh. Y/N. Nice to see you again after you’ve been ignoring my calls for what now… three years? And still living in your brother’s shadow I see.” Jos laughed and Y/N felt like she wanted to die.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and her chest tightened. The nausea was back as well, and she hated it. Why couldn’t she just live in a normal family?

“Are you alright, Y/N?”, Max asked from where he was standing. His sister just nodded before turning around and walking to Max’ driver’s room.

“Great, dad. Well, done.”, she heard Max say to their dad behind her. But she just started crying. Damn pregnancy hormones.

A little later when she sat on a small couch in the room, she heard a knock on the door. Max.

“Can I come in please?”, he asked while he was already opening the door. “I didn’t know he would be here, I promise, I would have told you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you or even the baby.”

But exactly then, Y/N saw Lando in front of the wooden door. He looked at her with wide eyes the shock evident in his eyes.

“A baby?”

A/N: sorry it took me so long to write this part but i was so tired thanks to school i didn’t have the energy to write a lot. also updates to the next fics and what i am writing etc is on my pinned post / intro post

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. Trouble Brewing masterlist

-

“Shit,” you huff, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms over your chest, annoyance bleeding into your words as your frustration finally comes to a boil. 

“What’s th’ matter?” Roper, another rig worker, asks. He’s taken to sitting with you in the lounge whenever his breaks line up with yours, one of the few men to not treat you with barely concealed disdain. You can't deny that it's nice to have company.

“Nothing—I think I may have accidentally contaminated the samples. None of this looks right.” 

By this, you mean the papers spread out on the coffee table in front of you—print-outs of the water sample analyses. You’ve been staring at them for far too long, eyes practically burning after your tenth consecutive read through. 

Almost everything in the sample analysis looks off. The alkalinity, the pH, the temperature, the CO2 and H2S levels—even the microbiological parameters are far exceeded. At some point, you must have accidentally contaminated the samples; only in a worse case scenario, such as a massive oil leak, would you expect to see numbers like these, and you would know if that were the case. It would be immediately obvious not only by the distress spreading like a miasma through the rig, but simply by looking at the water crashing against the jacket legs beneath you. 

There’s something else too. Something in the samples that you’ve never seen before—almost like a faint iridescence to the water, a shimmer so light that it’s almost not perceptible to your eye. 

So it can’t be that. You must’ve done something wrong when collecting your samples from the discharge point. It’s frustrating to know that the work you’ve done so far has been basically for nothing, seeing as how you’ll have to do it all over again in order to get a fresh batch of samples, but you just remind yourself that these things happen. It could always be worse. 

A reminder of that appears right before your eyes when a guy on the other side of the lounge opens his trap and says to Roper, “Ye hear about MacTavish?”

Your ears perk up. Roper must notice because he just grins. “Na—what happened?”

The other man whistles through his teeth. “‘Twas a shit storm. Heard about it from O’Connor.”

“Och, spit it out, will ye? Quit keeping us in suspense.” 

“A’richt, just dinnae tell him ah tellt ye—‘ah swear he’ll take someone's head off at this rate.”

The men whisper and titter about it all afternoon—how MacTavish got dragged into the rig manager’s office and ripped into over some offshore antics (fightin’—near broke a guy’s jaw for mouthing off tae him, one crew member tells you surreptitiously, again reinforcing the gossiping hen opinion you’d already formed of them). You’re not exactly shocked by the news, but the quiet that comes over the rig in his absence is a bit jarring. 

Coming across him in the aftermath of the incident is, however, far more shocking. 

You see him first from across the mess scowling into his food, a dark cloud hanging over him. His usual roguish countenance is swapped for something more choleric, foul-tempered. It’s incongruous with the image you have of him in your head, the one that sees him as eternally cheery; cocksure and braggadocious. 

Roper warns you in no uncertain terms to give Soap a wide berth if you happen to come across him.

You cock a brow at that. “You think he’d hurt someone?”

“Na, tis nae like that. It wasn’y his fault that someone else wanted tae have a pissing contest. The lad’s just got an ill temper is all. He’ll gallus aff eventually—juist best nae tae git in his way until then.” 

No sense in trying to decipher what he means by that. You have a job to do anyway and the issue with your samples weighs far more heavily on your mind than Soap’s bad mood. 

Still, you recognize it as a distant cause for concern. Every so often it dawns on you how far you are from civilization—out in the middle of the North sea, surrounded by nothing but waves and men with voracious appetites. You grit your teeth and bear a lot as it is; unsavory comments and blatant stares, the kind of thing that registers as an ever present, unsung threat that you are impelled to ignore lest it be mentioned. Lest it be given a name.  

Soap’s bad mood might not be something you have to worry about, but still you acknowledge that you should probably keep your distance for the time being. At least until his pride is mended and he’s back to his old self. 

These days, you’re never allowed what you want though.

You’re around the bend of a hallway when you hear him coming, his distinctive thick brogue snapping at another crew member. Though your heart immediately starts pounding against your chest, there’s nothing you can do; the corridor behind you is too long to run back down without being seen and there aren’t any rooms to sneak into and use as cover. All you can do is stand there with your heart in your throat as he gets closer and closer. 

The sharp dogleg in the hall keeps him from seeing you until he’s already on you, nearly plowing into you before catching himself at the last minute, a big hand slamming against the wall beside you to stop him mid-step. You flinch despite anticipating him. 

“Jesus, bonnie, I didn’y see ye there. Make a bit o’ noise or somethin’,” Soap says, more brusque than he’s ever spoken to you before. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, attempting to sidestep him. 

“Ach, wait, ‘ah dinnae mean tae snap. Where are ye off tae?” he asks, stepping with you to the right so that you can’t pass around him. He’s quick enough that you walk straight into him, crushing your nose against his chest and wincing when you take a step back and wriggle it out. A hand clamps down on your shoulder to keep you from scurrying off any farther. 

“Um…I have some things to do.”

“Things?” he repeats, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I have work. Didn’t mean to get in your way.”

“Ah’m no’ an animal, bonnie; ye dinnae have to run off jus’ because ah’m in a mood.”

“I’m not running off—I really do have work to do, Soap. That’s why I’m here, remember?” You realize that he must like it when you get snippy with him because the second you do, his lips stretch into a grin, blue eyes glinting. 

“Want some help?” he asks. 

“Um…” 

Irritation clouds his expression. “Ah’m no’ gonna flip out if that’s what yer worried about. That shit with Rennick had nothing tae do with my work.”

That shifts the guilt around in you and gives it a bigger hole to wedge itself in. “…Sure. I guess I could use a hand.” 

“Now, ye aren't just asking tae make me feel better, are ye? ‘Cause ah’m a big boy; I willnae cry if ye let me down gently.”

“Oh my god, Soap, do you want to help me or not?” you snap. 

His grin widens, a new little mischievous furl to it. “Well, ye dinnae have tae beg, bonnie. Ah’d be happy tae help ye out.”

Of course it was nothing but a ploy for him to rile you up and get you to be the one to ask for help. 

Back to the discharge point to collect fresh water samples. Soap doesn’t stop talking the whole walk, the onslaught of questions about your personal life and his own life offshore enough to make your ears ring. No chance of peace and quiet—not with him around, anyway. 

On your way up a flight of stairs, you peek back at him to find him climbing with his hands on both railings. You’re not sure if it’s to keep you from slipping away or to keep himself stable, but if you were a bettor, you know which you’d pick. 

Soap grins toothily up at you. You roll your eyes in response and turn back around, climbing up the last few steps. The ocean’s ever tempestuous winds howl in the distance. 

For all your initial reluctance to let him help you, he proves to be a pretty useful assistant, helping you flush the sample point beforehand and then holding your equipment as you carefully fill and cap each sample bottle. 

He’s such a help in fact, that part of you feels a bit guilty for the way you treated him earlier. Like a ticking time bomb. Wouldn’t you also be upset after being told off by your boss? You have the luxury of not really reporting to anyone on the rig—so long as you send your boss daily updates on the progress of your work and follow safety and security regulations on the rig, you never worry about being reprimanded. Certainly not yelled at. 

You’re also surrounded by strangers for the most part, which, while sometimes alienating, also means that you’re not particularly invested in what anyone has to say about you. These aren’t your coworkers. In a couple weeks’ time, you’ll be flown back to shore and you’ll never see any of them ever again. 

The walk back to your room-cum-office is different. Soap follows behind you quietly for a change, your additional samples in hand, and only the sound of his steel-toed boots clanging against the floor remind you that he’s still with you. You didn’t think he had it in him to stay quiet for so long. 

He follows in after you when you reach your room, not bothering to wait outside like anyone with common sense would. It would be more aggravating if he weren’t so handsome. It’s hard to look at him and hold on to any real anger though. 

“I—uh—I’m sorry you had a rough day,” you finally manage to blurt out. 

He must eye you dubiously because you can feel the weight of his gaze. Not like he doesn’t understand what you’re referring to, but more like he doesn’t quite trust your sincerity. 

“Ah must’ve been bonny crabby for ye tae apologize for that asshole,” he teases. You can tell through the joke that even now his pride is a little stung that you brought it up at all.  

If his temper weren’t so volatile, you might actually be tempted to spend more time with him. You have to shake that thought away as soon as it comes to you though; you won’t be on the rig for much longer anyway. 

“What’d you do anyway?” you blurt out, immediately thinking better of your words when Soap’s face darkens, nostrils flaring the slightest bit. “Sorry, that was—don’t answer that.”

“Nah, it’s no’—” he pauses, sucking air in between his teeth. “It’s no’ a secret or anythin’. Got myself mixed up in some bad shit, but it’s over, ah swear. Told Rennick that it wasnae anythin’ tae worry about, but he gave me hell anyway.” 

“He seems like a dick,” you say in consolation. 

“Aye,” Soap laughs. 

He waits until you’ve packed all your samples away before opening his mouth again. 

“Ye ken what would really make me feel better, bonnie?”

You glance over at him suspiciously, bracing yourself for something crass. You can feel it brewing—the culmination of days worth of purred words and heady glances, his interest so blatant that ignoring it feels almost pointless. He lays it on thick enough that you’d have to be blind not to have picked up on it. 

So, it catches you off guard when instead of making a licentious comment, he just sighs, “Ah could really use a hug.”

That’s—that’s a bit more reasonable than what you had anticipated. Surprising enough for you to lower your hackles and turn to face him. 

He holds his arms out in invitation, face expectant. That nearly makes you cringe before you catch yourself. You’ve been caught in this trap before—your tentative kindness leveraged for physical affection; pushing your boundaries at the first sign of weakness, like waging a siege on you—and even though your teeth itch with the urge to snap at him, it just doesn’t feel worth it. Easier just to capitulate and give what he wants. Just this once. 

Besides, it’s just a hug. 

His arms fold around you the second you step into them, constricting around your waist like two steel bands holding you in place. He hugs tight too, not an inch of space between your bodies, your breasts flush with his chest. Toes practically scraping the ground, lifted up by the strength of his arms. 

The blood rushes to your head. Weak kneed. It’s almost a blessing that Soap’s arms are holding you up. Every inch of your body feels electrified, nerves spitting hot fire; even your scalp tingles when he rests his chin on your crown. You don’t like to think about it—how little anyone touches you these days and how starved your body is for it. Even offshore, you haven’t dated in so long that it seems almost incomprehensible now that you’ve ever dated anyone before.

He groans into your hair, lost in his own head. One of his hands curves up and around your back until it cups over your shoulder, anchoring you even tighter to his chest. You can feel the bulge of every muscle, the tensile strength vibrating under his skin, and it’s only then that you realize that he’s shaking. 

The other thing you can’t ignore is the weight of his dick pressing into you. Your eyes bulge when you realize you can feel it thicken with blood against your belly. Even through the material of his pants, you can tell that it’s big. 

“Christ, bonnie,” Soap whines, pulling you somehow even tighter to him, nearly cutting off your breath. “Yer so fucking soft.”

“Soap—” you squeak. “Okay, I think that’s—I’ve—I’ve got work to do—”

You tense when his free hand drifts down your back and settles right over your ass. 

“Soap—” you hiss, then yelp when his hand drops even more and his fingers into a soft, fleshy cheek and he grinds his hips into your belly. You’re not sure if he’s even aware of what he’s doing, his hug devolving into something coarse and almost sexual. 

You reach a hand up to grab him by the jaw and push his head away, struggling feebly in his hold until his arms finally give a little and you’re able to wriggle out, scampering back until you’ve put some distance between the two of you. 

When you meet Soap’s eyes, you have to fight the urge to flinch. It takes him a second to regain control of himself, slack-jawed and hungry-eyed until he blinks and it starts to melt away. His chest heaves with his ragged breath. He looks every bit like a man that just got kicked out of bed before finishing, dick still hard in his pants. 

“Sorry, bonnie. Ah got a little carried away,” he says apologetically, eyes so round that they almost make him look puppyish. 

“It’s fine.” 

It’s not fine. You’re still shaky and your thighs are suspiciously damp and you’re fairly sure all the blood in your body has rushed to your face because your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but you also don’t want to acknowledge the obvious. The outline of his dick straining against his pant leg. The dark flush on his cheekbones and his glazed over eyes. The way you have to fight the urge not to stare at the fabric of his jumpsuit tight around his thighs and biceps. 

“Ah’ll, uh…ah’ll see ye later then.” He takes a step back, then another, waiting maybe for you to say something. For you to tell him that it’s alright to stay. 

You smile tightly instead, ignore the urge to call him back to you. Your smile only drops when he closes the door behind him. 

There’s trouble brewing. You can feel it swelling up like a wave, ready to crash into you.

Under you, you can feel the rig shift with the water and in the distance, something howls.

[uisceb]

Okay I want to talk about this moment between Morrible and Glinda for a sec because it adds such a wonderfully sinister layer to a scene that is otherwise a triumphant defining moment for Elphaba, and it sets up the dynamics for Part 2 so perfectly.

At this point, we are in the thick of “Defying Gravity.” Everyone’s attention is on Elphaba - and rightfully so, she’s up there declaring war on the Wizard, displaying incredible feats of magic, of course everyone’s attention is on her.

…Everyone, except Morrible.

Morrible has realized that Plan A was a bust, but rather than panicking, she’s already worked over Plans B through Z in her head and has realized that Glinda, not Elphaba, is actually the key figure here. Glinda is actually the best thing that could have happened to them.

Mind you, Morrible hates Glinda. She thinks Glinda is vapid and attention-seeking and completely without talent. It would be extremely easy for her to brand Glinda as an accomplice to Elphaba, have the guards drag her off, imprison her, never have to deal with her again, nice and neat.

Instead, while everyone else is focused on Elphaba, Morrible only has eyes for Glinda. She zeroes in on her, releases her, and comforts her, because she understands what no one else understands, which is that yes, that’s great that the Wizard now has an enemy to unify his people against, but they also need a symbol of hope, something that is the exact antithesis to Elphaba, something to keep everyone at extremes. 

The Wizard himself can’t really be a symbol of hope, because the key to his success is that he remains shrouded in mystery, and yes people think he’s wonderful, but there’s a level of uncertainty and intimidation to him. He is Oz the Great and Terrible, and everyone’s preeeeeetty sure he’s a good guy, but if you have someone like Elphaba out there - who Morrible knows from experience is very smart, very articulate, and has her own sort of magnetism - there’s a potential that she could turn at least enough people against the Wizard to make things very inconvenient.

So what they need, now that they have an enemy, is to have an equally magnetic figurehead representing the Wizard who embodies all these one-dimensional ideas of goodness, someone for the public to adore and fawn over so the association between Wizard and Goodness is crystal clear.

And by bringing Glinda along, Elphaba has unknowingly served that figurehead up on a platter.

Glinda is everything Elphaba isn’t, from personality, to appearance - Morrible has already set Elphaba up by calling her green skin an “outward manifestorium of her twisted nature,” which paves the way for Glinda, who is the perfect conventional beauty, to be an “outward manifestorium” of pure goodness. 

Morrible realizes they need these two lightning rods of Absolute Evil and Absolute Good in order to manipulate people - fear alone isn’t enough; the only way to effectively radicalize the populace is to make sure there is no gray area whatsoever, no room for question: you're either good, or you’re evil. And the Wizard alone isn’t a strong enough representation of “goodness” when by virtue of existing, he has to remain in the shadows. Glinda on the other hand? With her looks and her charm and her openness and her ability to expertly win over a crowd? Perfect for the role.

Now the tricky part for Morrible is taking into consideration that Glinda and Elphaba love each other. But we also know from earlier scenes that Morrible is a master at manipulating emotions. Right from the start when Elphaba is having trouble with her magic, Morrible casually brings up the “Animals should be seen and not heard” disturbance from class, spoon-feeding her just enough to get Elphaba upset, triggering her magic, after which Morrible makes sure to give her assurance and praise to keep Elphaba optimistic about her power.

She’s also aware that Glinda does have quite a bit of influence over Elphaba, because when Elphaba flees, Morrible immediately tasks her with winning her over, rather than simply relying on the guards or even going after Elphaba herself. She knows if anyone has a chance at roping Elphaba back in, it's Glinda.

Obviously, Glinda isn’t successful in getting her back, but while this puts a dent in Morrible’s plans to get control of Elphaba, it does give her an extra weak spot to exploit in Glinda.

So now, at the height of “Defying Gravity” when Elphaba has officially taken her stand against them, Morrible sees Glinda, and Glinda is at her most vulnerable, her most emotionally fragile. Not only is she heartbroken and in shock, she’s also just witnessed in real time exactly how easy it is to turn an entire nation against someone. She’s scared, she’s powerless. She’s just lost the love of her life her only friend, she has no one to turn to - Morrible has definitely picked up on the fact that even though Glinda has countless people who fawn over her, none of them can be considered a true friend except for Elphaba, which means Glinda is completely isolated. Glinda also has a very limited understanding of the bigger picture of what the Wizard is trying to accomplish, and because she’s never been a victim of the system the way Elphaba has, she is still desperately clinging to the idea that everything will be okay as long as she plays by the rules of the people in power.

She has been perfectly primed for Morrible to begin manipulating, not through violence or intimidation, but by offering her comfort when no one else would - when not even Glinda’s only friend would - when no one else is even paying attention to Glinda, because they have the very real and present threat of Elphaba quite literally hanging over them. In this moment, Morrible chooses Glinda, which Glinda has been striving for since the beginning. Elphaba has chosen her principles, the Wizard has chosen his enemy, but Morrible has chosen Glinda, and in this moment of being so alone and so afraid and so betrayed, that makes all the difference.

We also get kind of a parallel shot too - Elphaba really sealed her fate the second her hand closed around the broom. But here, Glinda seals her fate when she gives in and reciprocates Morrible’s hold on her.

THIS is the moment that sets us up for Part 2, with Elphaba and Glinda as our lightning rods for Absolute Evil and Absolute Good, but more to the point, it makes it clear that they’ve BOTH been used, they’ve BOTH played right into these respective roles Morrible and the Wizard need in order to be successful - even if it wasn’t how Morrible originally planned for things to go.

I just love it, because “Defying Gravity” is Elphaba’s song - it’s triumphant, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s everything a defining moment should be for a character. But by injecting this little moment between Morrible and Glinda into the scene, we also get an underlying current of dread because we know we’re about to see the consequences of Elphaba’s defiance versus Glinda’s compliance and how both serve to benefit the Wizard/Morrible’s propaganda.

TL;DR - when I said "I want to talk about this scene between Morrible and Glinda for a sec" I clearly meant "I'm gonna write a whole essay. Like a nerd."

[agentoffangirling]

As the Supreme Court is now hearing arguments on the TikTok ban, I feel like this is an excellent time to remind everyone that getting rid of TikTok is NOT a good thing

And the reason I bring it up specifically on here is bc I have seen far too many people claim that the ban is for the better, that they're so glad it's gone, that people spend way too much time on it (side note, that's social media in general, it's not just TikTok babes. You're spending 15 hours on Tumblr alone, I'll bet). Even if you don't use TikTok and you absolutely hate its guts, trust me when I say you'll want it to stay

Firstly, there's been very little evidence that TikTok's Chinese owner, Bytedance, has been data mining Americans on order of China. Majority of the evidence has not been released to the public and the stuff that has has been censored. Of course the risk that it could exists-- but you cannot simply assume it's doing this all the time, 24/7, when no current evidence has been presented

TikTok has been taking massive steps to insure that American data is protected, primarily with Project Texas. All American data is stored in the United States and controlled by Americans. Again, American data is with AMERICANS

It is also one of the very few apps that is not dominated by American companies. Does no one find it odd that the only foreign-owned application is being singled out, when companies like Meta and Google have arguably done worse damage? Is no one pointing that out?

Due to this, it allows for less mainstream news to flourish on the app. Palestinians have been able to raise their voices and call to attention what is happening in the region, and activists have pushed the crises of Congo and Sudan to the forefront. No other major social media app and news organization has done this, in fact, Meta censored pro-Palestinian content and immediately toggled on a feature for all users that limited political content

And TikTok is just the start. If it gets banned, do you really think everything else is safe? You think you're safe here on Tumblr? On Ao3? On Instagram? NO

At some point they are going to start going after other apps. They'll celebrate and pat themselves on the back that they "protected democracy" but really they limited free speech. They limited alternative voices. It is not an "if" but "when" they begin going after apps that do not conform to their every single standard

If TikTok goes down, they all do

[empressportugoose]

I lived in Brazil for fifteen years, I've seen everything from some really really sus clinics, to state of the art hospitals.

When I had to get my appendix out, I went to our local hospital. They couldn't tell at first if it was appendicitis. But they gave me pain medication and monitored me throughout the day, until they were able to tell for sure, and then they immediately wheeled me into surgery. I was not sedated, just numbed from the neck down. They put a curtain between me and the surgeon, but I was awake for the procedure. The doctor then showed me the appendix after he took it out (spoiler, it looked like a sad penis, which was absolutely hilarious to doped up 17 yrs old me). I was then sent to a shared room where I spent the next two days recovering. My roommate unfortunately for her, was a mentally ill patient who kept trying to escape the hospital. But she was sweet and clearly just having a very good no bad time, and we had a lovely chat.

Meanwhile, my sister in law gave birth to her first daughter via C-section, due to complications. C-sections are more common in Brazil, and she was sent home after... A day? But they had all sorts of specialists in the room with her and after. And she has since recovered wonderfully, and gotten specific counseling on things like breastfeeding, testing the baby for tongue and lip ties.

You know what both of those things cost us in the end?

Nothing.

So yeah, is it a bit of a mixed bag? Sure. Are there some weird things that may happen? Absolutely. But I've seen American hospitals with just as questionable if practices if not more. Just because they look nicer and fancier doesn't mean shit for quality of care.

And at least in Brazil, the area I was in, people could access healthcare. And I never heard of anyone's lives being destroyed by medical debt.

The current American system is pointless and unsustainable. The money we pay into it isn't even going to the workers in the hospital. It's going almost entirely into insurance company pockets. Healthcare doesn't have to be like this. It's just built that way in the US. There are options, and ways to make it better. We can be better.

Sometimes I see people from countries with public healthcare systems post videos that are like “This is the reality of socialized medicine. I had to wait in the ER with my sick baby for 4 hours.” “I had to wait 8 months to see a specialist. That’s egregious.” or “They didn’t have a bed for my loved one in mental health treatment.” and it’s like. Come to America babygirl. You can experience all of this and have your insurance deny it and pay thousands and thousands of dollars for it. Like I know healthcare systems in countries with public health can be bad but when I see someone imply they’re bad because the healthcare is universal, I want to jump through the screen and put my elbow on their throat. “The NHS is deeply flawed, therefore we should abolish it and go back to private healthcare. That will definitely make healthcare in this country better!” I am going to Kill You.

[wstviewvidal]

baby- w. maximoff

summary: things get said in the moment

pairing: rich!wanda x r

a/n: i wrote this in like two hours

minors do not interact

you give wanda a sideways glance as she coughs into her elbow, burrowed under her blanket, “i told you to wear your jacket on that trip.”

rolling her eyes, she adjusts how she’s laying on the couch, her legs draped over your lap, “it’s germs that get people sick, not the cold,” she mumbles into the blanket that’s covering her face.

“uh huh, and how’s that working out for you?” you tease as you cover her legs with another blanket.

wanda was recently invited to speak about her experience starting a multimillion dollar company at a conference in new york. of course, being the workaholic that she is, she did not think twice about booking a plane ticket out to the upper east side.

unfortunately, being in a cold climate with countless people stuffed into a closed off space only meant it was a matter of time before someone came down with a cold. even more worse, it happened to be wanda— your wanda. the workaholic in her is now paying the price.

and, boy, are you realizing how hardheaded she is when she gets sick.

“you didn’t have to come over, you know,” she says as you can hear the congestion in her voice, “i’m just going to take some medicine and go to sleep.”

wanda can be independent to a fault.

when you’d called her this morning to ask if she’d like to get breakfast, you could immediately hear the stuffiness in her nose. she didn’t even get half way through her response before you bombarded her with questions like, “are you sick?” “did you seriously not wear the clothes i told you to? i helped you pack, wanda,” and, “you don’t even have actual medicine at home, don’t you?”

she tried her best to ease your worries over the phone, but you were at her doorstep no less than an hour later with grocery bags in hand.

you rub her leg as it lays over your own, “i know i didn’t have to, but i wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” you say softly as you watch her burrow into the knitted blanket.

even though wanda preferred to deal with her things on her own, she’d always imagined what it’d be like to have someone to share these experienced with— to be cared for. that was something she’d kept buried deep inside, afraid it was a childish hope.

at the sound of you saying you want to take care of her, she felt her stomach flutter. her lips curled into a bashful smile as she tried her best to hide it. her cheeks turned a dark hue of pink— not from her fever, but from your words.

you didn’t see her reaction, you were too busy watching the show while absentmindedly rubbing her leg in a soothing matter. wanda watched you with a glint in her eye, taking in your gestures.

you turn to look at her, “i’m gonna make you some soup, okay?”

wanda knew it was a losing game to try to stop you, so she nodded and moved her legs to allow you the room to get up.

she laid in the couch, cocooned in blankets while you prepared a dinner for the two of you to eat together.

you walk back after a while with two bowls in hand. you place both on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you move to stand in front of the laying woman, hands on your hips as you assess how her nose is red and her eyes are glossy, “how are you feeling?”

wanda looks up at you with big eyes, shrugging, “the same.”

you nod and help her sit up, “i know, baby, i’m sorry,” you pout softly as you brush away hair from her face. your voice is gentle and warm as crouch in front of her as you fix the blanket she has wrapped around her body.

you touch her so delicately that it makes wanda’s heart swell— then she realizes what you said. she stares up at you with wide eyes, a subtle smile on her face. you called her baby— you’d never called her a petname before. you don’t notice the giddy look on her face, you’re too busy fussing over her comfort on the couch.

wanda wants to say something but the way you’re holding out a spoon for her to eat tells her that you didn’t even realize what you’d said. she stays quiet, but wants nothing more than to hear you say it again.

she takes the spoon from you, “you’re spoiling me,” she murmurs.

you settle beside her on the couch, soup in hand, “you deserve it.

deep down, wanda would love to tease you for your slip up, but she can’t help but want to keep it to herself.

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader hybrid smau

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter one

ೃ⁀➷ you start your stream with gojo, your childhood best friend who happens to be internet famous. you’re surprised to see how people react to your presence on his live.

masterlist. prev. next

you were nervous to answer the call that rung from your pc, shaking for godsake. it was not that serious, you tried telling yourself over and over in your head.

but the thing is, it IS that serious! how did gojo already have five hundred thousand viewers, the stream just started???

you joined the video call after a moments hesitation, waving shyly at the screen. no way were you having internet anxiety, was that even a thing? online-anxiety.. the dsm-5 definitely doesn’t categorize that as a disorder.

“hi,” you spoke in a much smaller voice than usual, one you use towards your professors or customers at work. gojo mustn’t have caught on to your shy and anxious behavior, considering he immediately started screaming about how excited he was to introduce you to stream and how excited he is to play with you.

his personality was overwhelming. it’s what drew you to him all the way back to when you were seven. it could be a lot at times- but it’s what made him so enjoyable to be around. if it were anybody else, it would give you a migraine.

“chat, stop acting weird.” you heard gojo say in a disgusted voice as you booted up your own stream and game, greeting all your fans and letting them know you’re streaming with gojo. they were all so excited for you! it warmed your heart, easing your anxiety. you’d just focus on your audience, not gojos almost one million- oh my god, one million?

you were going to question gojo on what was happening in his chat, worried they were making fun of you, but when you noticed he had one million viewers you almost passed out. this was terrifying.

you discreetly opened his stream chat, making small talk with gojo and your audience while you took a look at what people could possible be saying.

you were fucking shaking. this was NOT that serious- but you had such bad self consciousness, you just had to see what they were saying… were they calling you ugly? weird? oh no- where his diehard fangirls mad that he was streaming with a girl-

to your surprise, all you saw were nice comments. they were all complimenting you, asking gojo why he didn’t introduce you sooner. you were shocked, a small smile tugging at your lips as you continued to read.

GOJOMARRYME: EEE SHES SO CUTE! how does she only have 50k?!? GUYS MAKE HER FAMOUS!

gojosleftnutsock: is she dating gojo? love her already, im going to live vicariously through her

gojoandgetostan68: yn can i be your lap dog

sugurugetotv ✅: why have you never introduced us, gojo?

you had to stop yourself from reading before your face went bright red. no wonder gojo called them out, some of these messages were so weird. but the majority were sweet! you were glad you had a good first impression on everyone.

however, one message in particular caught your eye. he’s verified, you recognize his name from gojo. he’s talked about geto a few times, talked about how he’s going to play games with him but it’s not the same as playing with you. gojo just said that to guilt you, though.

“yn, who are you gonna play?” gojo asked, reeling you out of your thoughts as you realized you’ve already loaded into a match.

“i’ll play cloak and dagger,” you insisted, preferring to play support over any of the other roles. “how about you?” you asked, though you received no response.

“gojoooo?” you called out, eyebrows furrowing together as he went silent, still haven’t chosen a character. you wondered if the call bugged out, but when you looked at your video chat, he was still very much there. he looked upset about something, a look of… jealousy(?) on his face. you weren’t quite sure why he looked mad.

“you okay?” you asked, which seemed to snap him out of his trance. his face immediately twisted into a wide smile, “yea! my friends just being weird..” he muttered, though you could tell his tone was far from friendly. did geto make him mad? you weren’t sure, it wasn’t your place to ask so you just stayed silent.

gojo finally put his phone down, sighing as he looked at the character lineup. you were playing cloak and dagger, your teammates consisted of a solo player who chose doctor strange, while the other three were in a party and all played dps.

gojo was clearly upset this party of three stole his dps role, cursing about how a good team should have two of each role and then immediately also picking dps. well, you were totally losing this game.

toji never cared for his view count. he only streamed to play games with his friends, and get some money along with it. he was naturally successful and never cared how many viewers he had or lost.

until today.

he lost 16k viewers in the span of fifteen minutes. he thought he got cancelled for a good minute there, until his friends brought him into the loop of things.

sukuna of all people even tuned into gojos stream, what the hell? just for some random? it made no sense. sukuna and choso assured him the hype was for a reason, but until he saw you, he wouldn’t believe it.

toji scoffed, rolling his eyes when his friends finally joined his call and began naming off excuses as to why they were late to chat.

“right, just get on the game bro.” he spoke in his usual cold tone. those who don’t know him would think he was being harsh to his friends, but this was just how he spoke.

toji invited them to his party, the three of them queuing up for a match. toji was happy to see someone instalock support- cloak and dagger at that- usually nobody wanted to play healer. he was making small talk with choso when sukuna suddenly spoke up,

“chat told me we got matched with gojo and his friend.”

first chapter is up!! i’m so sorry, i know i said this would be an smau but clearly there’s more writing than pictures.. i want to do an equal amount of both but i have to add context for some things ):

tag list

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlythinkimanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb @ayla-1605

[greengoblinswifey]

Fatal Attraction II

pairing— The Salesman x Recruiter!Reader

summary— You and the Salesman navigate your undeniable attraction that has boiled over despite the consequences. You soon discover the reason for dread consuming you since the moment you decided to break the rules with the Salesman.

warnings— sexual tension, flirting, manipulation, nipple play, choking, fingering, hair pulling, oral(f&m receiving), praise kink, fluff, L bombs, death, mentions of blood, grief, angst.

a/n— last part! hope you guys enjoyed this, ik I did!

Part I

Dread and Desire. It seemed as though those two words were all that you knew the last few days. The last few days after your—interesting encounter with the Salesman. An encounter that had been building until the dam burst and would surely burst again. Just like the before, it was only a matter of time. His desire coupled with yours would fuel you but your dread overpowered all else.

It was no wonder there were studies showing women had more survival instincts than men. That women had deep intuition you believed was never wrong. You should’ve known something like this would happen—you knew you would pay the consequences but not like this.

Your curls cascading down your back flowed in the wind as you toyed with the expensive gold ring on your index finger. It was the first piece of jewelry the Salesman had ever gifted you. It signified the first time you had gotten recruits for the Squid Game. Gifting you the ring was his way of showing his appreciation and admiration, but now—it signified everything that terrified you.

An old and poorly clothed man groaning on a nearby park bench snapped you out of your deep thought. You needed to stay focused. That was the entire reason you opted to go about your recruitments in a different location than the Salesman. He took the subway station while you took the park. The sun was good for you anyway, it made you stay positive and highlighted the mahogany of your skin, capturing potential recruits’ attention.

The tight dressed hugged your figure as your hips swayed when you walked over to the man. He immediately shot up from the bench, your presence certainly commanding attention. You didn’t even need to speak first, he was already serving himself on a silver platter.

He looked you up and down, eyes roaming over your stocking-clad feet then coming back up to rest on your chest. “Well, hello gorgeous,” he said, his tone making you roll your eyes internally.

“Good morning sir. I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here all alone on this bench. Life hasn’t been treating you well, has it?” you asked.

A smirk tugged at his dry lips and he stared up at you as though your presence single-handedly turned his life around. “It hasn’t, but I bet it’ll get a whole lot better with you in it.”

You chuckled, strained but sweetly. This was too easy. “Partially. Here, take this card and your life will transform.”

He held on to every word as you manipulatively explained the game and the possibility of a hefty prize fund. As soon as you were finished, he thanked you profusely, even having the audacity to ask you for your number. Did he even have a phone?

By then, you had gotten enough recruits to call it a day. Sighing, you pulled out your phone to text the Salesman to inform him to pick you up as the day’s recruitment concluded. Within a few minutes, you exited the park and he pulled up at your feet.

This was another thing you dreaded—being alone in the car with him. The enclosed space made the tension even more palpable and you would try your best to avoid looking at him but each time you saw him out of the corner of your eye—he was already staring. His desire ran deep—fuck the rules. He needed you. You were his dream woman.

You buckled your seatbelt and kept your head straight, staring out the windshield as the car peeled away. You could sense he wanted to say something but he held back. Knowing you, you would’ve crashed the car killing you both to avoid any further discussion about the incident.

God—the incident. No matter how much you dreaded the consequences, you hadn’t stop thinking about it. Hadn’t stopped desiring more. The way he held your hips as you slowly moved back and forth on his thigh. The way his fingers tangled in your curls as you kissed ferociously. The way he called you a good girl as you slowly moved on his thigh. Your legs clenched instinctively—you needed more.

Maybe if you had gone all the way, had him fuck you right then and there, you wouldn’t be this needy. Maybe then the desire would fade away as the intensity of your connection finally reached its peak. It was probably delusion, you knew you’d end up desiring even more, and then if anyone found out, if the Front Man found out—

You gasped at the thought and the Salesman darted his gaze to you. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Still staring straight ahead you cleared your throat and nodded, though it wasn’t convincing.

He sighed, taking a hand off the steering wheel and running it through his silky hair. God—his hair. The same hair your fingers tangled in as he kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe.

“You’re still thinking about it aren’t you? And don’t lie, I know you are.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened as you approached your destination. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you and he won’t find out. Believe me.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did—hell maybe you did believe him. It was just that pang of dread you couldn’t shake, no matter how you tried.

“I’ve never seen you like this. I’ve never seen us like this. Please just believe me,” he pleaded, driving into the parking lot.

“You know what, you’re right.” You turned to look at him—actually look at him for the first time in a couple days. He looked as handsome as the day you met. Tailored suit fitting his large frame, dark hair tousled and that chiseled face you’d give anything to have between your legs.

“There she is,” a smiled tugged at the corner of his lips. A smile that could drop anyone’s panties.

“I’m not a woman of fear. I go after what I want and I always get what I want,” you murmured, your usual confidence laced in your tone.

“And what you want is me,” he interjected.

“Don’t flatter yourself. And let’s just sleep on this,” you retorted.

He opened the apartment door trailing behind you. You could feel his eyes on your ass as you slipped off your red bottoms. As you reached down to remove the other shoe, you felt his hands on your waist roaming until he reached down to your feet. Against your better judgment, you leaned into his touch and allowed him to slip off the other shoe.

His nose nuzzled in your neck, inhaling slowly and humming in content. “You always smell so good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his nose was replaced with his lips, pressing small kisses against your neck. You melted into his touch, small whimpers leaving your lips as he began sucking on the sensitive skin.

“God. I missed those moans.” His praise snapped you out of your trance and you pushed him away.

“Well, keep missing them.” You rolled your eyes and pulled away from him leaving him shaking his head.

“And she’s back,” he said trailing behind you.

His breath hitched watching intently as you slipped off your dress, leaving you in your matching bra and thong and the stocking gracing your long legs. Reaching behind, you unclasped your bra turned only your head. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He was a flustered mess, cheeks growing a rosy red. His eyes were still trained on you, enveloped in the same trance potential recruits would be caught up in. His eyes roamed your back, capturing a mental picture of how your ass moved, the way your curls bounced and the delicate angel wings tattoo on your lower back.

“You’re stunning,” he whispered, now behind you.

You didn’t even turn to look at him, instead, you pulled him by his tie, bringing him into the bathroom and locking the door behind you.

“You’re just torturing me at this point,” he huffed.

You finally turned around, your hard nipples on display. Looking down, you could see his prominent bulge. Hard and surely painful.

“What do you mean? I’m just saving water,” You shrugged him off and bent over, your pussy on full display as you took off your thong. You heard him gasp, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.

“Fucking hell. You’re such a temptress, so beautiful,” he ragged, trying to catch his breath.

You made your way into the shower before turning to look at him. “Aren’t you going to join me? I don’t usually give these offer out just like that.”

He nodded frantically, hurriedly stripping himself of his suit and undergarments.

There stood before you in all his glory was the Salesman. His body was toned, just as you expected but as your eyes trailed down, you caught sight of the deep V line followed by his very hard length. You could see the pre cum glistening from the pink tip and the long vein bulging from the light colored shaft.

He was everything you expected and more.

“See something you like?” His deep voice finally broke the silence and you just rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to accompany you in the shower.

The warm water reflected the heat between you and a content sigh left your lips as the water soaked your body. He was tense behind you, unsure of how to proceed, watching intently as you used your soapy rag to scour yourself.

You turned to face him, his cheeks heating up and he bit his lip, watching as you fondled your soapy tits. Your hands trailed down, covering your pelvis in soap then back up to your tits, groping them seductively.

“I’ve had enough of your shit.” The Salesman held your throat firmly but gently, pushing you against the shower wall. Your chest heaved as his eyes raked over you like a man possessed. “I’m sick of your games. I need you Y/N. I fucking need you. Get it through that pretty little that I don’t care about whatever rules were issued to us—whatever consequences. All I care about is you. Having you in my arms, feeling your body against mine.”

You were speechless, the same way he had you before. It was as though he put his own spell on you. “I’m in love with you. No rules, no consequences, nothing will come between that.”

He was in love with you. Your heart beat faster, threatening to tear away from your chest. No one had ever felt so deeply about you before. So deeply that they could care less about their potential demise.

Dread was at the forefront of your thoughts but desire consumed you. Your lips crashed together in a steamy kiss filled with emotion. His fingers tangled in your curls and yours in his damp silky hair, pulling each other closer than you already were. His body was now soapy as you ground against him, teeth clashing in the deep kiss and tongues battling for dominance.

When he finally pulled away he cupped your cheeks, staring into your eyes. “I can’t resist you any longer. Your very being consumes me. Please, let me have you.” The look in his eyes, pleading, told you everything you needed to know if his words hadn’t already.

“Take me.” At the sound of your voice the Salesman’s lips pressed against yours once more, this kiss somehow deeper than the last. His lips traveled down, nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck, hands groping your soapy tits, tugging at your nipples that were hardened.

“Every inch of you is beautiful.” He used the rag soaked with water to wash the soap from your chest before his tongue slid across your nipples. He suckled and bit down gently making your back arch from the wall and your knees wobble. His lips traveled lower, kissing your abdomen, licking your pelvis then he he fell to his knees.

“Can I taste you sweetheart?”

You slowly nodded your head, breath heaving at the sight of him on his knees for you.

“Use your words,” he said.

“Taste me. Please.” Your voice was thick with desire and you had no intention of hiding it any longer.

With your permission, the Salesman spread your legs apart, dipping his head into your pussy. His lips captured your clit, sucking and flicking as you tried to remain composed. “You—fuck, you taste better than I could ever imagine.” His praises somehow made you even wetter and he continued lapping at your juices like a man starved.

He was relentless, tongue flattening against your pussy before it slipped inside your hole. You clamped around it, your head falling against the shower walls. His hands were firm on your thigh, holding you steady as your legs shook. “You’re so wet, sweetheart, really enjoying this aren’t you?” he muttered, staring up at you.

“So so much, don’t stop.” His movements increased and he buried his face into your pussy, savoring your taste as you squirmed above him and moaned loudly. He moaned feeling your pussy clench around his tongue, the vibration sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body.

“That’s it. Cum for me, cum on my tongue,” he growled.

Your back arched off the wall and you squirmed above him as your juices spurted from your pussy and onto his tongue.

“Good girl, that’s it baby,” he cooed, drawing the last bit of liquid from you.

He stood up and you leaned against him, your legs turning to jelly after the ordeal. A smug smirk plastered on his face and seeing as you were practically helpless, he finished bathing you. His touch was gentle—intimate, as he washed every inch of your body thoroughly. When he finished, he planted a kiss on your forehead before wrapping you in a towel and carrying you to the bedroom.

“You really didn’t have to,” you murmured, watching intently as he gathered the products he knew you used on your skin.

He squeezed some cocoa butter in his hands, lathering your damp skin with it and inhaling the pleasant scent. “I like taking care of you, just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

It was refreshing to be taken care of. To be seen. Having spent so much time together, he knew the minuscule things about you, like the products you used after a shower. It was so intimate and made you feel actually loved. For the first time you let your walls down, you were still that seductress, but with him, you were just you. Not putting on a show to recruit players. He saw you for who you truly were.

All those days spent recruiting together built to this—it was unexpected, in the best way possible.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a slow kiss. It was tentative then he moved against your lips like you were something fragile. “I need you,” you pleaded, pulling back just enough to stare into his eyes.

He smiled at you, rubbing your thigh before his fingers found your dripping pussy. “Wet again, sweetheart? Fine, I’ll give my good girl what she’s been craving.” His lips found yours again and he slipped two fingers inside your pussy. You moaned into the kiss as he pumped his fingers steadily, curling them until they found the spot that made you squirm.

“You’re so tight baby. You really needed this.” You certainly did. As his fingers thrusted inside your heat, a thumb began rubbing rough circles on your clit and that was enough to have you convulsing.

Your fingers clawed his back as an intense orgasm washed over you, loud whimpers leaving your lips. “Good girl. Such a good fucking girl soaking my fingers like that.” He brought his fingers up to your mouth and you slowly took them in. Your tongue swirled around them, your eyes half lidded and bobbing your head as you seductively sucked.

“That fucking mouth, wow,” he breathed, “does that mean—”

His words were cut off by you sliding down the bed and taking ahold of his hard, long cock. Your hands almost looked small compared to it. He whimpered as you stroked him slowly before moving lower to cup and caress his balls.

“No teasing baby, please. I’ve waited too long for this,” he rasped.

“Yeah? Well beg me to suck your cock.” You were taking control again.

Without missing a beat, he did as he was told. “Please suck my cock, sweetheart. I need that pretty little mouth wrapped around me.”

You chuckled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his tip before taking him into your mouth. The size of him stretched your lips as you moved down slowly, letting him feel everything. His breath caught, and when you glanced up at him through your long lashes, his eyes were locked on yours. His mouth hung open, and your curls framing your face made the sight of you almost too much for him to handle.

You took his cock out with a pop before taking him deeper, your pace quickening as you worked him over. His hips bucked slightly, his whimpers turning into loud moans. “Oh, God—baby, you’re so good at this. I won’t last,” he stammered, his body trembling as you deep throated him. Your hand moved in sync with your mouth, your fingers grazing his sensitive skin.

You felt his balls tighten so you pushed the tip to the back of your throat and finally, he shuddered, releasing in a rush. He practically exploded in your mouth, ropes of cum going down your throat and as you eased him out of your mouth, he spurted all over your chest. His body trembled as he murmured soft, almost dazed thanks. You leaned up to kiss him, your hand in his hair as he whispered, “Thank you sweetheart. You’re fucking amazing.”

He kissed you once more relishing in the taste of his cum on your tongue before he flipped you so he was on top.

“Now, it’s your turn to beg. Beg me to fuck you.” If it was any other man you would’ve cursed him out and left but the Salesman had a strong hold on you.

“Please fuck me. Hard. I need your cock so bad.” Your pleads made him hard again and he used the tip to drag along your puffy lips. Slowly, he sank into you, but halted, allowing your tight pussy to adjust to his size.

“Oh God,” you gasped, as he took your breath away. “You’re so big.”

“I know baby, I know. But you can take it, you were made for my cock.”

Hs slammed into you, his pace steady as you adjusted and he buried his cock to the hilt. Your moans filled the room as he then began moving with a pace that had your toes curling and your red nails digging into his muscular back.

He pounded into you as though he was proving a point, your pussy was sure to remember the shape of his cock. You could feel him deep inside your cervix and as you looked down, you saw the faint outline of his cock moving inside you. His large hand snaked around your neck as your foreheads touched, small trickles of sweat mingling. He worked his hips into you, your mouth in an ‘O’ as you breathlessly moaned with him slamming into you.

“You feel so fucking good. So tight. So perfect. I fucking love you and this pussy,” he panted.

You cried out in response and he pulled out his cock, slapping the heavy tip on your clit making you jolt. As soon as it made contact with your clit, you squirted, your juices spurting all over his cock and abdomen.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised, leaning down to kiss you and then your tits.

He didn’t give you time to breathe. Instead, he flipped your almost limp body onto your back then brought your ass up to him. You arched your back, and gasped as you felt his cock probe your quivering pussy. You were so sensitive.

He sank into you from behind and slapped your ass making you moan.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, snapping his hips against you. “You should see how fucking beautiful you look from this angle. This ass, that tattoo, your pussy just clenching around my cock. Wow.”

You whimpered loudly at his praises and did your best to please him, slamming your ass back against him, his cock brushing that sweet spot deep inside you.

“Just like that baby, you’re doing so well,” he groaned. His fingers tangled gently in your curls, bringing you back so you were arching off him.

“Feels so fucking good. You’re so deep, m’gonna cum,” you cried out.

He reached in front, rubbing your clit and sending bolts of pleasure through you. “Cum for me then, squirt on my cock.”

Your body sagged against him and you cried out as you shuddered, squirting around him, your arousal dripping down to the sheets. His pace faltered and his own release washed over him. You were still cumming as you felt his hot load fill you up and he collapsed onto the bed with his arms around you.

As the high faded, exhaustion washed over you. He retreated to the bathroom then brought a towel to clean you up. He cleaned between your legs and chest with precision then lay beside you, pulling you into his big arms.

“That was amazing,” he beamed.

You snuggled into him and smiled, though the feeling of dread came once more. What was wrong with you?

“You’re amazing,” you said, kissing his chest.

You melted into him, savoring the moment as he held you close as though you would slip away. You had never felt this way about anyone—much less have them feel that way about you too. Soon, you drifted off to sleep, another day of recruiting was on the horizon.

The next morning, you woke up content, though the feeling of dread felt even closer now but you brushed it off. You and the Salesman got ready with him unable to keep his hands off you the entire morning.

“We have to be out soon, mm—calm down,” you giggled, the Salesman pressing kisses on your neck from behind.

He held his hands up defensively then laughed, lacing your hands with his as you exited the apartment.

As he locked the door behind him, there was a card with the Squid Game logo on it. At first, you thought a recruit had stalked you to give you back the card but as you both read what was on it, your heart fell.

“You didn’t think I’d find out, did you? There will be dire consequences for your actions. You have been eliminated.”

The last words sent a ripple through you. Those were the exact words that would be uttered to players before they were killed. The Salesman sensed your fear and wrapped his arms around you, your face burying into his chest.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The sentiment calmed you down and you nodded allowing him to comfort you.

The day was nothing short of chaotic with the Salesman switching it up a bit. You were still on edge so you allowed him to be in his element. He baited vagrants with lottery tickets and bread, giving them the choice to choose either, not both. When the majority of the vagrants choose the lottery tickets and then lost, he destroyed the bread they rejected, stomping all over them like he had lost his mind.

You held back a giggle at the horrified faces of the potential recruits, sitting perched on a park bench watching the entertaining scene unfold. After a partially successful recruitment session, you decided to call it a day. Your contentment for the day’s activities didn’t last long as you couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed.

“Stay at the apartment. I have something I need to deal with,” the Salesman said sternly as you relayed your concerns to him.

His tone left no room for defiance so you obediently went into the apartment, tossing the card that was still pasted on the door into the trash.

There it was again. That feeling of dread, and maybe now, it was impending doom. Something was seriously wrong and all you could do was pace the apartment trying to ease the feeling.

Hours passed with no word from the Salesman until a message was sent. A simple location. You sighed in relief, wondering what was going on but decided to ask all the questions when you arrived. You drove there, punching in the address of a shabby hotel you wouldn’t be caught dead in under any other circumstance.

Your legs shook as you slowly made your way up the dark stairwell. The Salesman had made sure to give you the room number. You wondered why he hadn’t just come out to meet you. All this was unlike him but he wouldn’t lead you in any danger. If anything, he probably had a few recruits lined up.

Your heels clicked softly as you walked through the hallway then came to a halt in front of the door. As you entered, you caught the end of a conversation.

“We'll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the culinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over. What do you say?”

Your heart dropped. You bent the corner, eyes wide.

A slightly older, tired looking man turned around just as the Salesman looked up at you.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asked, expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” the Salesman added, and you opted to answer him.

“I- I got your message to come here. What’s going on?”

The look on the Salesman’s face made fear course through your veins. He was horrified. He looked down at the gun, hands slightly shaking but his expression was replaced with a sly smile. Inside though, he was crumbling. This was all part of the grand plan. A sick plan orchestrated by his superiors—by the Front man.

Gi-Hun might’ve thought he was slick but he was a pawn in this game. You all were. This was the consequence and he couldn’t back down.

He mouthed an “I love you”, one that you caught and it left you terrified. Why was he telling you that he loved you like it was the last time? Why would he tell you that in the middle of a game? And why was the game involving a loaded gun? Who had sent the message, because it clearly wasn’t him.

You watched in horror as both men survived the game twice during which the Salesman sadistically toyed with the man. Before he shot the fifth round which you realized left him only a 50% chance of surviving, the Salesman taunted the man, baiting him to cheat and shoot him instead. Your mind was clouded, words and comprehension leaving you as you watched the twisted scene unfold.

This was it. This was the consequence, and the dread you felt reached an all time high.

The older man didn’t take the bait and put the gun to his own head, and to yours and the Salesman’s shock, he survived when he pulled the trigger. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, your palms growing sweaty as you came to a sudden realization. But there was nothing you could do. This was ordained the moment the organizers found out you had broken the one rule you were given.

“Any and all relations between recruiters are strictly prohibited. If breached there will be dire consequences—elimination.”

The man then repeated the Salesman’s haunting words to him, challenging him to cheat and shoot him dead—just as he was taunted before. He lost—the Salesman had lost the game and there was nothing either of you could do.

With shaky hands, he held the gun under his chin and tears flooded your eyes. You stood frozen in place, hand covering your mouth unable to move or speak. His gaze darted to yours, a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize and then he pulled the trigger.

Your blood curdling scream was almost as loud as the gun. The Salesman’s blood splattered across the wall as he shot a hole in his head. You fell to your knees, crawling over to him, clutching and shaking his already dead body.

You didn’t care that the other man was staring at you as you screamed and sobbed.

“No! No, please no!” you cried, your hands shaking the Salesman’s lifeless body. “No! No!”

You buried your face in his thigh, your usually freshly done makeup streaming down your cheeks with your tears. Your heart ached—he was the only one that made you remember you had a heart. The only one that made you feel loved and cared for. The only man to ever tell you he loved you and mean it. You hadn’t even said it back.

“I love you! There, I said it! Please, no! No!” you sobbed.

You chanted I love you like those were the only three words you knew. But no amount of declaring your love for him would bring him back. His consequence was death, an eternity without you. And yours was witnessing his demise and a lifetime without him.

This was your consequence. Dread had consumed desire and death reigned supreme.

[boopjuice]

@bluerosefox you have twisted my arm by giving me motivation to follow through on some ideas. Hope you enjoy this part

The logistics talk had to wait. Danny got a call from his parents, and it seemed to panic him because he immediately handed the phone back to the first person who'd had it. Dick thought his name was Tucker, is the second voice was to be believed.

"Sorry about that," the young voice said into the phone. "It's better for Danny to answer that, the last thing we want is for the Fenton's to not be able to get a hold of him and end up creating another world ending- I mean, they'll, uh, break down Sam's door! Yeah, because they're looking for him. Because he wasn't home at a normal time."

Well, if the others were as terrible liars as Tucker was, then there wouldn't be much of a problem figuring out who these people were. Not that there was going to be much of one anyway, considering how bored Tim looked typing away on his laptop.

"Sure. I get it. Overbearing parents can be a nightmare," Dick responded, ignoring the small look B sent his way. "I take it he still lives at home?"

"I mean, I guess we all do? We don't really have much of another choice."

"Danny mentioned school schedules. Are you all students?" Kori asked. Her grip on his shoulder had relaxed significantly since hearing their daughter's voice, and it showed in her speech too.

"Well, yeah."

"I see. What college do you go to?"

"College? I mean, I really want to get into MIT, but I'd settle for-" Tucker let out a pained huff on the other end, like someone had just hit him. There was a furious whisper session, possibly muffed behind a hand, before Tucker came back on the line.

"So, uh, Mar'i said you were a cop?"

Dick had the advantage of being a Bat almost his whole life, or he would have missed how the whole family perked up at the mention of wanting to go to college. Paired with the young voices and living at home, these kids couldn't have been out of high school yet.

"Yeah, a detective. But you managed to get a hold of my personal phone number less than three hours after my daughter went missing, so I assume you know at least that much."

"Oh, uh, well I- we! We have a, um... a really good... social media stalking method!" Dick heard Steph and Tim stifle laughs. He thought he heard a "Seriously, Tuck?" come through the line, too.

"I was better at deception by the time I was six," Damian whispered with a scowl that mirrored Bruce's. He'd bet money that the scowl was mostly genetic. It was kind of cute, how the two looked so much alike.

Aunty Ri-ri. Why had that kid, Dan, said that? There was no way Mar'i had any relation to him, and he'd be willing to bet that she definitely looked different enough that mistaking her as a relative wouldn't be an option.

There was your amnesia year, he thinks, and it twists his stomach into knots. Who knows what happened? Certainly not you.

"Perhaps we could begin to discuss how we could pick our daughter up? It sounds as though my husband needs to speak to your friend. When is a good time to meet?" Kori spoke up.

"Well, that's sort of... we'd have to do some coordinating with a few people. You know, because of club meetings and stuff! Danny's really involved in local clubs."

There was more scuffling over the phone, and Time tapped Dick's shoulder as the group waited for the two teens on the other side to stop fighting.

"The call's coming from the house of the Manson family. New socialites, so they don't have a lot of connections yet. They definitely try, though. They have a child, one Samantha Manson. I'm working on finding her connection to Danny and Tucker."

Dick nodded, turning back toward the phone as the female voice from earlier, Sam, began speaking.

"Danny's going to need too do the talking about logistics. He'd have to get away from his parents and clubs, but it might help when he gets back if he knows when some good times to meet you and your husband are."

"Of course. Richard, when do you think you can get time off so we can get Mar'i?"

"I can cover his patrol for a night if it runs long," Jason volunteered, and Dick really hoped that wouldn't be necessary. Jason pretending to be him would no doubt be the best time for his younger brother to set up some pranks that he'd rather avoid right after getting his daughter.

"No," B shut down. "Nightwing can ask one of the Titans to cover for him. If they all turn him down then you'll cover for him."

"I can call the captain. I might be able to get tomorrow off, but the day after's more likely. How long do you think the conversation's going to take? It'll be easier to set up a time if I know how long to expect to be gone."

"I can't give you a good estimate. But I would plan for a minimum of two hours."

"Alright. I'll ask the chief as soon as this call is done."

"Sounds good. The sooner we can get her home the better."

"You said it," Danny said. His voice was distant, and tired. "They still on the phone?"

"Yep," Sam said. There was a whooshing sound, and then a thunk. Sam had tossed Danny the phone, as evidenced by his now much clearer voice.

"Sorry about that. My parents wanted me to stop by for dinner with the frui- my godfather. They can be hard to get off my back about stuff to do with him. Anyway, we were about to discuss picking up Mar'i?"

Dick, Kori, and Danny ironed out details as best they could, agreeing to call each other in an hour with answers about getting out of their responsibilities elsewhere. Danny had sounded caught off guard when Dick brought up getting out of clubs, just solidifying that Tucker was lying on the spot.

Once he ended the call and texted his captain to ask for the following day off to get Mar'i he finally took in his family again. Bruce was busy supervising Damian digging through school files to look up Samantha Manson, but Tim was staring at his laptop in shock. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jason was standing behind Tim, also staring in shock.

"What? What did you find? Is she in danger?"

"No," Tim said. "But... Well, I think I know why Danny wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

"You're going to wanna see for yourself, Dickwing," Jason said, plucking the laptop off Tim's lap, much to his displeasure, and handing it to Dick.

Tim had successfully found Samantha Manson's social media accounts, as well as those of the two people on the phone. Tucker Foley and Daniel Fenton were the two most tagged people in Manson's posts, and featured in several photos.

Quick scans showed that the three appeared to be romantically involved, having been close friends since early middle school. In the past several years there were few photos of Danny, and photos with him in them often had him blurred, even if the rest of the image was clear.

Thankfully, Tim already had a picture of the boy from what must have been their freshman year pulled up. The three were posed in front of Casper high, which must be their high school. Tucker, to the far left, was smiling wide, an arm wrapped around Samantha, who stood in the middle. She would have looked bored, save for the small smile on her face and the way her arms wrapped around Tucker and Danny's shoulders.

And Danny...

Dick understood why Tim and Jason were so shocked. He doubted anything could have prepared him to seeing his own face staring back at him through the screen.

He heard Kori gasp as she looked over his shoulder, and it was everything he could do to not drop the computer. Danny Fenton had his dark hair, his eyes, his cheeks, and the start of his build. At least, he had in early high school.

"That was the most recent clear photo I've managed to find of him," Time said. "I tried using the image sharpening software, but it never turned out anything recognizable."

"Bruce..."

His father was behind him in a moment. He could feel the man's hesitation as he saw the photo, before he took the laptop and set it down.

"I... I have..."

"We don't know for certain," he said, turning Dick so they were facing one another. "We need to get more information. DNA, school records, birth certificates. But, if it turns out he is, how do you want to handle it?"

How did he want to handle it? He might have a son that he'd never gotten to even meet. That he was planning to go meet in the next few days. He had no idea how he wanted to handle it.

"We should finish deciding how we will be getting Mar'i home first," Kori said, slipping her hand into his own and giving it a squeeze.

"Yeah. The kid, Dan... He called Mar'i Aunty, and Danny didn't correct him. Which means they either strongly suspect a relation, or they know for certain. If I had to guess, that's why they want to talk.

"Don't think that just because Fenton may have some kind of blood relation to you that he can be brought into the fold immediately, Richard," Damian said. "I am more than capable of besting him should he try to take the mantle of Robin."

"I'm not going to tell him, Dami," he reassured his youngest brother. "Besides, I doubt he'd want to get wrapped up with our nightlife. He's clearly got his own normal life, I don't want to take that away from him."

~~~

Danny was going to kill Tucker. Since when had Danny ever been in any clubs? Now he'd have to come up with clubs to talk about if his maybe bio-dad asked about them. Sure, it'd be a little difficult since both of his partners were as liminal as Jazz, if not more by now, but he'd find a way.

After he contacted the Observants and made sure his usual band of rogues and friends left him alone for a week. Just in case his maybe dad (he had to come up with a better title) couldn't make it tomorrow or the day after.

Ancients, this was going to be such a hassle.

He'd probably meet outside of city limits anyway, just for an extra layer of security. If any ghosts decided to attack against his orders while his... while Dick was here, he wanted him as far away from the fight as possible. No point endangering him and Mar'i any more than necessary. Plus, they weren't Amity natives, ghosts wouldn't probably freak him and Mar'i out, not to mention Dick's wife.

Who was, apparently, an alien.

He hadn't thought about that really until just now. He could already feel the questions starting to bubble up, but he pushed the curiosity down. Schedule a week of with the Observants first, meet Dick second, ask the cool alien lady every question in the universe third.

"I'm going to go talk to the Council," Danny said, tossing the phone back to Tuck. "Am I okay to leave the kids here for a while?"

"Of course. You know they listen to us more than you anyway," Sam said, walking over to give him a quick goodbye hug.

"Yeah, and I'm eternally jealous. But at least they listen to someone," he said, walking over and kissing Tucker bye before walking into the kitchen and opening a portal to the Infinite Realms.

Every time he did that, he found himself grateful that Wulf had taught him how to get back and forth without the Fenton Portal. He'd destroyed midway through his sophomore year, and they'd been trying to rebuild it ever since.

He shuddered as he thought about it, shifting into his ghost form and feeling gravity revoke its hold on him before slipping through the portal. They'd called him earlier to ask if he'd seen where they left the blueprints they'd made from memory.

He did remember, he wasn't as stupid as his report card made him look. Which was why he wasn't stupid enough not to burn the blueprints when he'd found them.

~~~

He only barely got back in time to call Dick back. He hadn't gotten a week off, like he'd hoped. But they agreed to at least restrict access to the living world for a couple days. Not ideal, but at least it was better than nothing.

"How'd it go?" Tucker asked from the kitchen. He was setting out three plates of tacos for the kids, his own and Sam's sitting near the stove.

"Not ideal. But I got the eyeballs to at least lower the chances of any attacks for a few days, so at least it's not a sharp stick in the eye."

"Ouch, only reduced? Did you bring up her being... you know," his boyfriend said, stepping over to give him a hug. Danny felt like he could melt into his arms. It was unfair how good Tuck's hugs were when he was stressed.

"Yeah. That was why they decided to restrict everything. I probably should have talked to Clockwork first, gotten some advice, but you know how time works with him. I might've come back yesterday or two weeks from now."

"I hear ya. Come on, there's time for you to enjoy a taco before we call your maybe-bio-dad back. Sam's getting the kids together, so they'll be distracted during the call."

"Thanks, Tuck. You two are the best."

"Of course we are. Now, food. You know Sam won't let you get away with not taking care of yourself."

The taco was great, and Danny had vacuumed up half of it by the time the kids flew downstairs, chattering away between the three of them as they came to the kitchen table. Dan and Ellie were in their ghost forms as they sat, and Danny had to remind them that ghost powers weren't allowed at the table to get them to return to their human forms.

The dinner was uneventful, thankfully. Dan and Ellie had been busy showing Mar'i around the house, eventually turning it into a game of hide and seek tag. Ellie had gotten into a small fight with Dan when he'd used invisibility to cheat, but nothing to large thankfully. Mar'i, thankfully, seemed to be settling in well, and the other two weren't calling her Aunty, so small mercies.

"Alright. I'm gonna go call Ri-ri's dad back. Dan, Ellie, once dinner's done get ready for bed. See if you can find anything that would fit Mar'i to sleep in."

Danny stepped into the backyard, going ghost just long enough to fly up to the roof before changing back and dialing Dick's number.

"Hello, Dick Grayson-Wayne speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hey, it's Danny."

"Oh! Hi, Danny. Um... I guess the first thing to ask is if you managed to get out of your clubs?"

"Mostly, yeah. I might get called away last minute, but hopefully that won't be happening. School's a little harder."

"Yeah, I get that. I managed to get the next two days off, so Kori and i can be there by tomorrow. I assume after school works better for you?"

"Please. Mr. Lancer's going to have my head if I miss another class this week." Shulker had decided to attack right in the middle of English. It had been halfway across the city, though, so Danny'd had to make an hour long bathroom trip. lancer had been... less than impressed with him.

"You're missing class?" Shit.

"It's not important. I just... um... We should meet outside the city!" Danny prayed Dick would just drop the skipping school angle.

"... I was going to suggest the same thing. I'd rather not risk running into paparazzi. We've managed to keep them away from Mar'i so far, and I'd like to continue that if at all possible." Thank the Ancients.

"Yeah, totally. I get that. Is your wife coming with?"

"Yes. I figured she can take Mar'i and then we can talk like you wanted to." Danny sat, leaning against one of the chimney's on the house and looking up. It was a clear night, and even if the sun hadn't set all the way yet he could see the stars.

"That sounds good. There's a small mom and pop shop right outside the city. It's got indoor and outdoor seating, whichever you prefer. I know I'd rather keep the conversation private, for both our sakes, so if we could sit there there's fewer people that would be appreciated."

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow. Before you go, though, could I talk to Mar'i?"

"Yeah. It might take a minute to get down- to get the kids downstairs. They tend to be a bit hard to wrangle, especially when they have a friend over. I'll put you on hold."

Danny didn't wait for a response before hitting the hold button, going ghost to float to the ground before becoming human again. He strode inside, taking a deep breath before shouting for Mar'i, only to be met with three small voices, plus Sam's, yelling at him for yelling inside.

Shortly after, a stampede of two sets of feet came barreling down the stairs towards him. Mar'i was still flying, but Danny could tell that the bandages under her robot pajamas were fresh. hopefully, she would be able to walk with only minimal discomfort tomorrow.

"Woah, woah!" he said, holding the phone up. he felt the haptics that told him he'd hit a button on accident, he just had to hope that it wasn't the button to hang up.

"Dan, Ellie, it's bedtime for you two. Did you remember to brush your teeth?"

"Yes, Daddy," Ellie said, "but we wanna say hi to Au- to Ri-ri's mommy and daddy too!"

"How did you know that's- doesn't matter. It's bedtime."

"Aw, pleeeaaaassse, Daddy?" Dan said, teaming up with Ellie to give him puppy eyes.

"No. You heard your dad, it's bedtime."

"But Mama," Ellie whined, only to be met with Sam's hard stare.

"Bedtime. Mar'i Will be going to bed after she getes to talk with her parents, and I'll send Papa and Daddy up with her to tuck you in. Now, move your butts upstairs."

Dan and Ellie sulked their way upstairs, followed by Sam. She'd be back down in a few minutes after reading the four and six year olds a story and tucking them in. Which meant Mar'i would have some privacy to talk with her parents.

"Here you go Ri-ri," he said, double checking that he hadn't accidentally hung up. He hadn't, but Dick was very definitely not on hold like Danny remembered. Well, it wasn't like they'd said anything about ghosts, so it was fine.

"Stay in the living room, and then bring the phone back to me when you're done. I'm going to be in the kitchen." Mar'i was quick to snatch the phone from his hand, flying over to sit on the couch.

"Hi daddy!" he heard her say as he stepped into the kitchen to make another taco. Say what you would about Tuck, he could make a mean taco, even if they were vegetarian for Sam.

He intentionally tuned out Mar'i's voice. She, like Dan and Ellie, didn't have the best grip on volume control, especially on the phone. The conversation had nothing to do with him, so he instead busied himself looking up what he remembered from early.

Tamaranian was fairly easy, since Ri-ri had already mentioned they were a kind of alien. He found a few things about their home planet of Tamaran, power sets, and the like. Nothing struck him as too alarming or dangerous.

Which left the Joker. A quick search brought up two dozen articles, all from news sites located in Gotham. From what he could gather, the guy was a grade A wackjob. He'd killed dozens, caused significant damage to the city he lived in. He seemed to enjoy playing with lives like some kind of game.

The only reason he hadn't done more damage and hurt more people was because of someone called Batman, apparently a vigilante local to the city. Some research into him showed that he'd started as a solo hero, but had built a team that people called "The Birds" over the years. He also was apparently a part of a group called the Justice League.

He was about to do some digging into them when Mar'i ran in with the phone.

"Here you go, Mr. Danny! I'm going to go to bed now. See you tomorrow!"

"Night, Mar'i," he called after the girl rushing upstairs. he brought the phone back to his ear.

"So, I guess We'll talk tomorrow?"

"You're in high school, right?"

"Um... yeah?" Dick was quiet for a minute, enough that Danny wondered if he'd hung up.

"Ri-ri was telling me about your kids. I take it they're Miss Manson's?"

"W-what?!" he sputtered. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm a detective, Danny," Dick said. it sounded a lot like Jazz when she was explaining why it was important for him to get enough sleep. "It wasn't hard to find out that you two and Mr. Foley are involved together."

"Well, yeah, but we're not- they aren't- look, it's a long story that involves a fruitloop who was obsessed with me being his son, and I'd rather not try and explain over the phone."

"Right. Sorry, just... Sorry. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Talk to you then. Night."

"Night, Danny."

Danny hung up, staring down at the phone. He'd have to see if Sam or Tucker could pick up the kids tomorrow. Oh god, how was he going to take care of Mar'i tomorrow? Well, the daycare attendant had said a while ago that she'd owe Phantom a favor for saving the daycare. Maybe he could show up early as Phantom and ask that she take care of an extra kid?

He groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. The phone smacked uncomfortably against his forehead, but he paid it no mind. He already agreed to help his parents look for those blueprints, which meant he was going to have to spend the night at home, which meant he wasn't going to sleep, which meant-

He shook himself out of his spiral. One step at a time, that's what Jazz always said. One step. Right now, the next step was to tuck in his kids and kid sister.

Right. That was a task he could manage.

Hmmm

I'm on a Danny is Dick's child kick rn so I'm making more.

But lets add in some Ghost King Danny!, Dad to a deaged Ellie and Dan! And toddler Mar'i Grayson.

Danny was conceived during Dick's amnesia year when he was Ric and the woman couldn't find him to tell him (or maybe the Owls caught wind of the pregnancy and took her) and he ended up somehow (hmmm maybe a meddling time keeper?) with the Fentons.

Danny grows as a Fenton, he knows he was adopted btw, then becomes Phantom, protects Amity, becomes the Ghost King and things seem to be going okay between Amity Parkers and the Infinite Realms since they took care of the GIW problem, AND has been a good doting teen dad to his deaged 'cousins/clones' turned kids.

Danny was going to go pick his kids up from daycare one day when CHAOS happens. Just as he wrangles Ellie onto his shoulders, cause she wants to be tall today, and about to take Dan's hand cause he's and I quote "A big boy and not a baby like Ellie, Dad!" he suddenly feels the tug of his family being in danger.

Thing is, its a blood related danger. Meaning someone blood related to him was in grave danger, and by the emotions he can feel, its someone young, way younger than him.

Problem.

The only people Danny knows with his blood in their veins and are young enough for the feeling are with him.

So who?

But due to Danny being a protector spirit AND knowing the feeling is from someone as young as his own kids, Danny decides to use his Ghost King Powers to summon said person from the danger to him.

Danny opens his free arms out just as a tiny toddler with black hair like his own but with bright green eyes, even the sclera were green, in a ruined party dress drops from the sky from the summoning circle that had opened above him.

Danny stares at the terrified child, whose hands are tied by rope and was crying, and takes notes of certain traits she had that he saw every time in the mirror or on his own kids, same eye shape and cheekbones. He can tell his ghost core has claimed her as family but not as his kid though.

No the connection that formed was almost like his connection with Jazz but a bit stronger.

This kid, was his sister. His blood related one.

-Meanwhile-

Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, and his family were freaking the fuck out.

Dick was already panicked when his daughter Mar'i had gotten kidnapped just a few hours ago by the Joker.

Now he was feeling pure dread when his daughter, who was about to be killed, was suddenly pulled into a strange glowing circle at the last minute and disappeared into thin air.

[wonderjanga]

Damage

Billy literally cannot touch anything that has electricity or else it will break. The strange thing is that there’s only started happening after the bubble popped so something is clearly wrong with these people and it’s obviously not Billy’s fault. That doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty though.

Flash: “Dude, can you take a picture of us?”

Marvel: “I- Uh-”

Flash: “Thanks!” *shoves it into his hands*

Marvel: “-NO!” *phone literally explodes*

*silence*

Marvel: *covered in ash, holding the broken phone* “I… I’m so sorry.” *awkwardly hands it back to Flash*

or

Supes: *showing Cap around the tower* “This is the Watchtower- why are you flying?”

Marvel: “Huh?” *is hovering about a foot above the ground*

Supes: “Why are you flying? Captain, we’re already here.”

Marvel: “Oh uhm… I don’t wanna break your Watchtower, Mr. Superman Sir.”

Supes: “What?”

Marvel: “I said I don’t wanna break your Watchtower.”

Supes: *stares for a bit* “Wha- Captain, I assure you, you won’t break the watchtower if you just touchdown.”

Marvel: “Are you sure…? I don’t really believe you.”

Supes: “Yes, I’m sure. If you don’t believe me, just float down. I promise if you break anything, it’ll be on me.”

Marvel: *hesitantly touches down* “…Nothing. Nothing happened. Yay!”

The Watchtower then proceeded to lose all electricity and have every single computer absolutely decimated. That resulted in him and a bunch of other heavy hitters having to stop the Watchtower from falling down to the Earth.

or

Lex Luthor: “Captain Marvel. I have come to ask you something.” *in his mech suit*

Marvel: “What is it, Mr. Lex Luthor Sir?”

Lex Luthor: “Are you… Kryptonian?!” *points to him and has his pointer finger like a centimeter away from Billy’s nose*

Marvel: “No…?”

Lex Luthor: “Do not lie.”

Marvel: “I’m not.”

Lex Luthor: “Then explain your similarities!”

Marvel: “…We just have similar powers?”

Lex Luthor: “So you are Kryptonian!”

Marvel: *annoyed at the face in his face and slaps it away* “No I’m not-”

Lex Luthor: *entire suit immediately breaks apart*

[reidology13]

we don't talk about it

Spencer Reid x fem victim!reader

cw: fluff, angst, attempted murder, drug use, drug addiction, hospitals, badly written withdrawal, bad parenting mention, gambling mention, set around season 4, that's it I think wc: 2.6k a/n: this is the first part of a fairly short series I have planned for the next while, hope you enjoy!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You registered the blood before you felt the pain. The beat of the music pumped the blood through your veins, sweat hanging in the air alongside the cloying scent of perfume.

You popped a pill into your mouth, unsure what it was or where it had come from, stumbling over to the bar for a shot of vodka to wash it down. You’d just made it to the bar when a man shoved past you, hitting you roughly in the torso. You could tell something was off by the way that the pressure lingered after he had walked away. Your hand reached for the feeling, trying to figure out what was causing it, and found an odd, slightly sticky liquid soaking your dress.

You cringed, pulling your hand back to look at it, expecting to see nothing, the clear remnants of a sugary cocktail spilt on your dress. Instead, you were faced with a darkness painting your palms, and even then it took you a moment to realise what it was, the coloured lights altering its appearance. When you did recognise it, the pain still lagged, and you wondered if the plethora of drugs in your system were acting as an anaesthetic. 

You stumbled outside, growing lightheaded from the blood loss, holding your hand over the wound to stifle the seemingly endless stream of blood that flowed between your fingers. You flipped open your phone, about to call 911, when, finally, the pain hit. Something between the blood loss, the drugs, and the excruciating pain you were in sent your head spinning towards the ground, and the last thing you remembered before you passed out was the thought that you were never going to wake up.

.*☆¸•

You did, however, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying down in a hospital bed, the sharp, sanitised smell instantly recognisable. You had spent enough early mornings recovering from exceptionally dangerous highs to know your way around most of the hospitals in the Upper East Side with your eyes closed. Which, at the time, they were. When you did open them, you regretted it immediately, squinting against the blinding whiteness of the room in an attempt to see your surroundings. There was someone sitting next to your bed, a blurry figure that you were sure you had never seen before. You blinked repeatedly until your vision cleared slightly, and you were faced with a greasy mop of hair, underneath which might have been a man.

“You’re awake.” He sounded too relieved to be a stranger, and you momentarily questioned if you were suffering from amnesia. Then you saw the badge attached to his belt, which made a lot more sense as a reason to be invested in your wellbeing.

“What happened?” You rubbed at your eyes with a shaking hand, trying to ward off the headache that was already forming in the harsh light. You were surprised by how fine you felt, given the fact that your most recent memory was of being covered in blood. 

“Well, you were stabbed two days ago by a serial killer. You’re lucky, he’d been shooting his victims until now. He needed to be closer to his victims, and he made a mistake.” The man leaned towards you, his features growing clearer with proximity.

“Oh. Who are you?” You weren't quite prepared to process just how close to death you had really been just yet. Changing the topic seemed to be the only way to postpone the impending interview that would force you to face it.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI.” The way his voice went up as he spoke was a little bit annoying, and wasn’t doing anything to help the steady throbbing in your skull. Scratch your original plan of postponing the serious talk, you wanted to get everything over and done with as fast as possible so that you could get some rest.

“Well, I didn’t really notice at first, he knocked into me. I didn’t feel any pain ‘cause, fuck-” You groaned, a painful shiver running down your spine.

“Yes, they found GHB, cocaine, methamphetamines, and alcohol in your system. That pain you're feeling right now is withdrawal, something I’m guessing you haven’t felt before.” Despite his words, his voice carried none of the sympathy or disgust you would have suspected from someone like him. It didn’t feel like a judgement, but an acknowledgement of how hard it was: it was understanding.

“That… that makes sense.” Your thoughts were foggy, stopping just before they were fully formed, leaving incomplete puzzles with a single piece missing, words without any vowels. Enough that everything you said or felt was left wanting.

“Since you’re the only person so far to survive him, you’re the best witness we have. You’re also the most at risk.” He paused, and you took the chance to butt in, asking the question that seemed the most pertinent before you could forget it.

“What do you mean, ‘at risk’?” You grumbled, the roughness of your voice doing its best to cover up the genuine curiosity in your tone. This was a negotiation, no matter what he said, and you knew negotiations. If your father had taught you one good thing, it was that you never showed anyone your hand. Technically, at the time that hadn’t been metaphorical, he had been teaching you how to play poker at the ripe age of six.

“There’s a fairly significant chance that he’ll come back, try and finish the job. If he finds out you’re still alive, that is.” He said it like it wasn’t anything at all, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing you had ever been told, just common sense. To him, you supposed it was.

“He’s going to try and kill me again?” There went keeping your cards to your chest. Whose voice was going up now, huh? To be fair, he hadn’t just been told that he was the target of a serial killer who had just landed him in the hospital by stabbing him.

“If you’re willing to do exactly what I say, then no.” His tone had gained a seriousness that it had been lacking before, and maybe that was what had been annoying you, because it was suddenly mostly bearable.

“And so, your plan is for us to…” You trailed off, painfully aware of your loss of footing in the conversation. Again, only one of you was coming down from a high while also healing from a stab wound, and you felt that it was deeply unfair of him to use your circumstances to his advantage.

“You and I would stay in an FBI safe house, working on the case and reporting any breakthroughs back to my team until they find and arrest him.”

“Safe house?” You baulked, “Like, stuck inside with you all of the time, no going out, no fun? That kind of safe house?” The thought of it sent a shiver of anxiety and apprehension through you. For one, you didn’t know this man, and you would be locked in a small space with him for who knew how long, you could only imagine all of the gross habits he had. He probably didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet.

To be completely fair, you had snorted coke off of a public toilet roll holder before, so you couldn’t really judge him when it came to hygiene. That brought you to your second problem with the propositioned arrangement: any time spent in the safe house was time where you would be fully, stone-cold, sober. It wasn’t a feeling you were particularly accustomed with, nor was it one you wanted to be.

“If by ‘fun,’ you mean what I think you mean, then yes. Personally, I’m sure that we, if you agree to help, will have plenty of fun while we’re there. More importantly, I’m sure we will solve the case.” He spoke like he was trying to sell you something, like you really had a choice at all in the matter. Death or time in a house with some guy. The answer was pretty straight forward.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be your witness.” You conceded, hoping that your agreement would be enough to make him go away for a while. If you were going to spend the next however long with him, you would like to take the short span of time you had as a free woman and keep it to yourself.

He did, standing up and silently leaving the room, as well as you to your own thoughts. You hoped that they would report you as dead on the news, that they wouldn’t tell your parents what was going on. A little bit because you wanted to scare them, make them care about you for a moment. Mostly because it sounded fucking hilarious.

.*☆¸•

You didn’t have to wait long for your answer, depending on what we’re going to consider a long period of time. It was only a few days that you spent in the hospital, but they were painful, and to be completely honest, fucking terrifying. It was like a four day fever, but with added muscle spasms, constant paranoia, and anxiety unlike anything you’d ever felt before. No matter how stretched out those days felt, the moment the time came to leave, it felt as though you’d only been given a few minutes to prepare yourself mentally. Spencer walked into your room on the third day, bringing with him two other people, one was a man you had never seen before, while the other was a woman you’d seen outside your room on your first day at the hospital. Well, technically, your third. Spencer introduced you, although you were sure they both already knew your name, and probably all of your darkest secrets. Then he turned back to you, gesturing to the duo as he introduced them.

“This is Aaron Hotchner and Jennifer Jareau. They’ll be our point of contact while we work on your case.” Aaron nodded simply, and Jennifer offered a wave alongside a short greeting.

“Hi.” You waved back weakly, your arm aching with the movement. Jennifer gave you a kind, if not slightly pitying, smile as you dropped your arm with a wince. She seemed nice, but you were glad that it wasn’t her you were sharing the safe house with.

“Call me JJ, I’m the media liaison with the BAU, so I’ll be in charge of keeping the media from endangering you by reporting your survival.” She took a few steps forward, standing directly in front of you, and you could tell she was expecting you to ask questions. Luckily for her, you actually had one.

“What will my parents get told?” You tried not to sound too anxious for an answer, knowing that she would assume you wanted them told the truth of your circumstances.

“Due to the fact that you're not a minor, we have no legal reason to tell them. So unless there are any extenuating circumstances we’re unaware of, they will be told that you are dead. I know that might be hard for-” You cut her off before she could continue to believe that either party cared about the situation.

“Good, I don’t want them to know.” You spoke bluntly, a clear statement, leaving no room for questions or misunderstandings. JJ stepped back, taking your words as her sign to leave.

The man didn’t speak, simply standing beside Spencer as the number of people in the room dropped from four to three. There was silence for a while, none of you willing to speak and break it. Eventually, Spencer must have decided it had been long enough, clearing his throat in that pointed way people think is subtle, and glanced over at the man – Agent Hotchner, you reminded yourself. 

“We’ll check in on you via phone calls regularly, so that you can update us on the case and tell us what you need delivered to the safe house.” Spencer had already told you that, but you didn’t say anything, just nodding and thanking him, “Please write down a list of things you want to be moved to the safe house from your apartment.” He handed you a notepad, along with a pencil, and you wrote down all of the basics you could think of, as well as a few less necessary items—well, that depends on the definition of ‘necessary’ we’re using, you value your sanity—including makeup, your violin, books, and a few other hobbies. You gave him the notepad back, before grabbing it again, scribbling down to include your iPod and your headphones. He looked over it, nodded, and walked out of the room without another word. You liked him.

When it was just Spencer and you left in the room, he came and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at you softly.

“How are you? You look a bit better than you have for the past few days.” He was being ridiculously nice and understanding, just like he had been since you’d woken up in the hospital. It made you feel even more guilty for yelling at him the day before when he had come into your room and asked how you were doing. You’d thought it was pretty obvious that the answer was ‘not good’ and made sure to tell him just that, in probably the meanest way possible.

“Yeah, I feel better.” You gave him your weak attempt at a grin, accompanied by a small wince because your whole body ached, that muscle deep ache that sinks its claws into your soul just to ruin your day.

“Good.” He smiled, tight-lipped and stilted, the kind that never appeared on a red carpet or magazine cover, but now that you’d seen it, you decided it definitely needed to.

“When are we going to the safe house?” You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer as you pushed yourself up in the bed, sitting with a soft grunt. 

“It should be fully set up by now.” He tapped his fingers against the paper thin sheets as he spoke, the constant movement slightly distracting. “Hopefully we’ll be able to go tomorrow after your personal items are moved in.”

“Perfect, this hospital is so not hot.”

“They do have a very good air conditioning system.” You tried—and miserably failed—to hold back a very ungraceful laugh at his words, deciding quite quickly that this was going to be an entertaining few weeks, if nothing else.

“That’s not what I meant.” You winced at the soft pain that reverberated through you alongside your laughter.

“Oh, um, what did you mean?” He was completely oblivious, and seemed rather embarrassed about the fact, you couldn’t help but attempt to comfort him.

“It means, like, something is bad. ‘Hot’ means it’s cool.” You figured any mentions of Paris Hilton would only further confuse him, given how pop culture blind he clearly was.

“Um, okay.” He gave you that awkward smile, waving as he stumbled towards the exit of the room. He looked like he was fairly used to not being in the know, and like that was something he was judged for fairly frequently. You felt a little bad, but more than anything you wanted to be alone, the headache from the previous days creeping back in. So you settled for just being as nice to him as you could, and letting him leave.

“See you tomorrow?” You smiled softly at the sweet face he made, halting on his way out the door to speak again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“See you.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast - Comment to be added <3

[fear-is-truth]

SHE’S MY COLLAR ࣪࿐ྂ

tate langdon being submissive, headcanons // content warning : fem!reader. smut. mdni

TATE LANGDON wasn’t someone who liked to admit what he wanted. maybe it was pride, or maybe it was fear of rejection—he wasn’t even sure anymore. letting people in had never worked out for him. people left. people disappointed…or worse, they stayed long enough to realise what he really was. it was easier to stay closed off, let his mind fill in the blanks where emotions and feelings should be.

but with you, there was something different. you didn’t push. you didn’t pry. you just… leaned in, test his limits in the subtlest ways, like you were teasing the vulnerability out of him.

it’s always the little things, really. a hand grazing his jawline, nails scratching at his scalp and fingers curling in his hair as you let the soft strands slip through—it disarmed him instantly, though he’d never let it show.

his face would stay impassive, mouth set in that smug little line, but his body language always betrayed him—head tilting toward your touch, as if asking for more without ever saying a word.

you had a knack for finding out exactly what would unravel him. something as simple as straddling him, knees bracketing his hips, your palms flat against his chest. the casual act of dominance never fails to send blood rushing straight down his groin.

“you’re quiet,” your fingers playing idly with the hem of his shirt. “cat got your tongue?”

he’d shake his head, adam’s apple bobbing. “no.” but his voice would lack conviction, and you’d grin because you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

then, you’d push him back against the mattress, hands trailing up his arms to pin his wrists above his head. tate didn’t fight it, just looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. there was something devastatingly pretty about him like this. flushed cheeks tinted with a rosy hue, plump lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.

you’d kiss his jawline, just below his ear, and he’d let out this soft, involuntary groan, biting down on his lip like he could keep it from happening again. he’d try to stay still, to keep that smirk on his face intact, but you’d catch the way his breathing picked up the tiniest bit. that, and the feeling of something hardening underneath you.

his earlobes were your secret weapon, though, the one thing that made him come undone with almost embarrassing ease. you’d discovered it once by accident, the way he’d jolted when your teeth grazed the sensitive skin.

masculine pride would kick in immediately after, head jerking away with a scoff, but you’d seen it. how his eyes darkened with interest. now, you’d use it against him. you’d let your lips linger there, tongue tracing the cartilage of his ear, and his whole body would betray him—a sharp inhale, his fingers twitching against your waist like he doesn’t know whether to push you away or pull you closer.

and then there’s the wrestling. it’d start as playful horsing around, always. he’d like to bait you into it, poking at you until you retaliate. but tate doesn’t account for how good you are at playing dirty.

before he knows it, he’s flat on his back, your hands pressing his wrists into the mattress. he’d freeze for a split second, wide-eyed, and you’d see the conflict warring in his eyes—pride demanding he push you off, and something else begging him to stay exactly like this.

he’d smirk up at you, trying to maintain that air of cocky indifference, but his lips would twitch, betraying how much he liked it. he’d place both hands on your waist in a half-hearted attempt to shove you off, but it was all for show. tate never actually wanted you to stop.

but then his hips would arch up against yours in an instinctive, desperate motion, seeking more friction. his already weak resolve crumbling the moment you ground down in response.

“oh f-fuck, yes.” the word dissolved into a shaky exhale when you ground your hips against him again, deliberately slow, and you’d smirk at the way his lashes fluttered, his head pressing back into the pillow.

he liked to watch you on top of him, taking in the way your body moved with an almost feline grace. your face, the small changes in your expression as you focused, caught his attention the most. a gentle determination in your eyes and the soft plush of your lips, which parted ever so slightly as you lowered yourself onto his cock.

his gaze would continue to linger on your face, tracing the way your eyebrows furrowed, caught between concentration and pleasure. how your lips parted slightly, the soft breaths that seemed to vibrate between you, pushing him further into the silence of his own mind, where all he could think about was you, you, you.

tate likes not having to lift a finger when you’re on top. it’s indulgent, almost lazy, but there’s something about it that soothes him. he’d sink into the feeling of being cared for, his hands finding yours because he needed that connection. interlocking fingers like that—it’s intimate in a way that’s hard to put into words, making him feel involved while still giving up control.

and if he whimpered a little during the process, well. that was just for you to know.

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[pacofprunes]

die with a smile

daeho x reader

warnings — angst, pure drabble, death, typical squid game shit, crying, gunshots, mentions of blood, inspired by bruno mars and lady g’s song “die with a smile.”

you and daeho had known each other before you joined the games. you both always had a thing for each other, neither wanting to confess. you always feared that if you got together, what if he died in the marines? and he always worried that what if you’d say no? but both of you being in terrible debt, neither one fessing up to the other, joining the games and seeing each other across the room, it felt like the world just stopped for you two.

after the first game and realizing this was a life or death type of thing, you found him once it was over and gave him the tightest hug you could give. he squeezed you back as you cried into his shoulder.

“why would you come? why wouldn’t you tell me? how stupid could you be dae?”

he wipes your tears with his thumb as they keep flowing and he laughs softly.

“you’re here too, remember? no need to yell at me about it. why wouldn’t you tell me?”

you just stay silent and place your face in his chest as he rubs his hand through your hair.

“we’ll stick together. i won’t let anything happen to you, i promise.”

you press your face away from his chest and look up at him.

“really?”

he smiles at you. that signature smile that could light up the whole room.

“wherever you go that’s where I’ll follow”

the second game, you guys were on the same team. you guys made it but seeing all those people die around you, all the blood on the floor that you almost slipped on while racing to the finish line for your life had opened your eyes completely. you couldn’t stay here. voting came around and you pressed the big red ‘X’. you watched as dae-ho’s turn came around and prayed he’d make the smart choice. he hits the red ‘X’ and switches out the blue ‘O’ on his chest before walking over to you and smiling, hooking his arm underneath yours as you lean your head against his shoulder.

after the night comes around he gets up and nudges your shoulder, trying to wake you up. you start to move and finally get up and rub your eyes, immediately smiling once you see it’s him. you pat a spot on your bed, giving him a sign to sit with you. he hops up and you lean your head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around yours.

“dae, do you think we’ll get out of here?”

he goes to speak but you cut him off.

“alive.”

he thinks for a little and it’s silent but then he squeezes your shoulder before speaking.

“i think we’ll get out of here together.”

you take a deep breath and almost hold it there. all the tension in your body threatening to spill. he looks at you concerned before a shaky breath spills out of your mouth.

“dae, i don’t wanna do this anymore.”

the tears well up in your eyes before you can even speak but you stop yourself from talking more and hold your breath once again to keep them in. he pulls you into his chest and wraps his hand around your head and keeps your face in the crook of his neck as he feels the spot get wetter and wetter. he takes a deep breath now before speaking.

“i love you.”

you still and move away, looking at him with your teary eyes in shock.

“what..?”

“i love you.”

he holds his breath. scared of what you may say. hoping he read all the signs correctly and that it was the right time to admit it.

“dae, we can’t.”

he chokes on his own breath, upset about what you may be insinuating.

“why? im sorry.”

you put your hand on his cheek and squeeze his hand with your other hand.

“don’t be sorry. i love you too. but we can’t. if you were to die here, i don’t know what i’d do. if i was left here without you, i—”

he presses you into a tight kiss, bring his free hand up to your cheek while you’re still holding his other and pulls away.

“that’s only going to make me love you even harder. knowing that you feel so deeply about me. i feel the same. but i told you,”

he cups your face with both hands now.

“wherever you go that’s where i’ll follow. as long as you’re here i’m not going anywhere.”

you stare, almost looking through his eyes now and you speak, taking a breath.

“nobody’s promised tomorrow.”

he smiles at you before leaning his forehead into yours and looking into your eyes.

“but as long as you’re here i am.”

—

the third game comes around and was finally announced. it was definitely intense and quite nerve wrecking but daeho makes sure to give you a smile of reassurance.

he squeezes your hand tight as the platform spins around. the speaker called for five people in a room. you run together but you end up getting separated. he’s in a room, the perfect amount of people, but he notices you out there instead of in with him. somebody else was right next to the door he was in, so he opens it and lets them in, allowing them to lock it behind him. gi-hun screams for him, but he just runs to you. he locks you in a hug and you guys pull away and just look each other in the eyes.

“dae-ho, i don’t wanna do this anymore.”

he cups your face in his hands.

“we don’t have to anymore, my love, i love you so much.”

you place your heads in each others necks, hugging as tight as possible, just like before when you first arrived, and then you both tense against each other. gunshots ringing through the air, into your ears, and through your bodies. you both fall to the ground, still in each others arms. with the few breaths he has left, he cups your face in his hand one last time, sending a smile your way. tears filling your eyes before they finally shut, you smile back to him. and even when you both pass, that smile never fully fades.

[coldhndss]

A sight for sore eyes

Yukimiya Kenyu

@sailorstar9

“You don’t have to come by you know..” Your hesitant voice sounded through the phone to the other end of the speaker.

“Sounds like you really don’t want me to meet your family.” He hummed in thought, the clicking of his car’s indicator lingering in the background.

With a deep sigh and a smile to yourself, you wrapped your arms around a large pillow on your bed, placing the phone beside your ear on speaker. “It’s not like that, Yuki. I can’t exactly explain it, but you’d be able to tell straight away if you see it.”

 “…Guess I’ll take your word for it then.” A soft chuckle strung alongside his words. “I’m still going to come over though. I’ll just have to deal with it, right?”

He sounded so confident that it’d be fine, though you worried how things would unfold knowing your younger sister was back from college and would be for a while. She’d always been spoiled by your parents who fold under any pressure from her.

“I… I can’t take this anymore…!” She’d ‘sulk’ to herself, before rushing to her room, locking the door behind her. She’d sit there for upwards of 10 minutes max, and soon after, she’d give up and return with another attempt at garnering sympathy.

For the second round, she’d exaggerate her sobs, heaving and heavily coughing. After a few moments of feature film acting, she’d drop the bomb.

With a hand loosely holding her neck, she’d begin wheezing and shakily pointing to the counter where her asthma puffer sat. You’d seen this hundreds of times. Of course, she had her moments where she’d genuinely suffer an asthma attack. But it was painfully obvious to you when she was faking it.

Despite that, your parents would give in, rushing to her assistance and complying with her out of fear of her having another lethal attack similar to the one she had as a child.

You had a feeling she’d pull a stunt once she sees him, knowing he was out of her reach. Despite your worries, Yukimiya ensured you that he’d be there to meet your parents, not to meddle in things that didn’t concern him.

Ending the call, he told you he’d be there in around half an hour. You quietly let your parents know, and headed back to your room to prepare an outfit.

Sitting on the couch in the living room, you fiddled with the fabric of your dress, nervously waiting. Suddenly, your sister walked in, inspecting the living room with her arms crossed.

“Why is the house so… tidy all of a sudden?” Her scrutinizing gaze fell to you. “And why are you dressed up like that? Having a photoshoot?” She sneered.

“A friend is coming over.” You replied, wondering what made her come out of her room where she’d usually be sleeping until midday.

Your mother was preparing a fruit platter in the kitchen, when her voice called out to your sister. You exhaled a sigh as relief as she left the living room; one step closer to her returning to her room.

Almost immediately as she was out of sight, a knock came from the door. You stood up, flattening your dress and taking one last glance in the mirror before opening the door.

“Ah, there you are.” You were greeted by Yukimiya who was carrying a cake box and a large bouquet of elegant, neutral coloured flowers whose hue matched his clothes. He wore an overcoat that ran down to his shins, complimenting the fall colours present within his turtleneck and pants.

Before you could say anything, the overly familiar sound of your sister gushing met your ears. Whipping your head around, you shot her a glare as though to say ‘don’t you dare.’ It might keep her at bay for now.

He hadn’t even stepped foot inside your house yet, and you were already worried.“May I come in?” He smiled, offering the gifts to you. Taking them from him you led him inside to the house.

“You didn’t need to do all this...” Forgetting the annoyance you felt towards your sister moments before, your lips curved upwards.

“I happened to be at the pastry store and they had your favourite. How could I leave without getting it for you?” He chuckled as the two of you made your way to the living room where your parents and unsurprisingly, sister were waiting.

The three of them stood up, politely greeting Yukimiya. Your father shook hands with him and your mother took the gifts from you, placing the pastry box and bouquet on the coffee table in between the couches.

Though your sister wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions. While four of you sat, chatting together, she suddenly shifted from where she was sitting next to your parents – to the couch you sat on with Yukimiya.  

“A Model?” Your mother questioned “Well, you certainly are very tall and handsome.” She looked towards your father who smiled.

Yukimiya let out a coy laugh “It’s not much, really”.

Though suddenly, your sister’s unwanted voice swamped the conversation that the four of you were having.

“You are handsome!” With a giggle, she inched closer and placed a hand on Yukimiya’s shoulder. “I look pretty good, but what if you and I were together? Two people who are…” Her gaze narrowed as it shifted to you “…easier on the eyes.”

Yukimiya uncomfortably stood, shrugging her hand off his shoulder as he did so. He politely smiled at your parents, excusing himself before asking you where the bathroom was. As you lead him to the corridor outside the living room, your eyes reflected apology - what you had worried about seemed to be happening right in front of you.

Once you returned, you noticed that your sister looked elated, and she took your hand by force, leading you to back the corridor to ‘chat’.

“Where did you meet him?!” She whispered in a scolding tone.

“None of your business.” Your words were blunt, telling her more than enough.

“Is that so?” She sneered. “Well, he won’t be with you any longer now that I’m around.”

That was the last straw. For as long as you could remember, she’s ripped toys, books and many belongings out from your hands whenever she pleased, and once she was done with them, she’d get rid of them. But this time it was something completely different.

Threatening to ‘take’ a person away was low. Especially Yukimiya, who was one of the only people you had met who actually paid genuine attention to your needs, considering your thoughts and feelings instead of treating you like a burden. Ever since you and him became closer to each other, the void in your heart has begun to heal - allowing you to feel what it’s like to be acknowledged and understood. So her threat did not come lightly to you at all.

“You wouldn’t dare do anything.” A scoff escaped your lips as you crossed your arms.

She sighed, mocking you with false pity“Come on, we know how this goes, don’t we?” She whispered, cocking her head to the entry of the corridor where your parents, who were none the wiser to her intentions sat.

“It won’t work on him. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Though, it seemed that she forgot to consider a circumstance where she might’ve been heard.

The doorknob to the bathroom at the end of the hallway clicked and turned with Yukimiya stepping out wearing a surprised expression.

“Is everything okay?” He smiled, looking in your direction.

Sashaying a few steps in his direction, she locked her arm around his. “Yukimiya… My big sister, she’s...” Cracking her voice into a sob, she began to gradually elevate the sound. Just a few more words and your parents would come rushing.

“She’s.. so mean to me..!” As she rubbed her moistening eyes, he looked at her, confused. He then shot you a look that read ‘So this is what you meant.’ You couldn’t help but snicker a little. Though your little laugh seemed to get to your sister, as she decided that to be the reason for her to start shrieking.

“You have the nerve to let out such an ugly laugh while I’m crying!?” She whipped her head towards you. “You think you’re so pretty just because this guy gave you a second of attention?”

Dumbfounded, you opened your mouth to defend yourself but no words came out. You knew she wasn’t too fond of you but this was a whole new level of disdain. Suddenly, Yukimiya annoyedly yanked his arm away from her, and took a few steps towards you, standing bu your side

“I don’t exactly have a place to speak in this…” He looked at her, then back to you “family.. discussion. But the way you’re acting is completely uncalled for.” He’d been able to speak clearly for as long as you’ve known him, but to be able to shut your sister up hadn’t been within your expectations.

As he spoke, your parents appeared behind you, confused by the situation. Your mothers first instinct was usually to coddle your sister and ask her what was wrong. Though before she could do so, she dug the hole even further.

“But… but I’m so much prettier than she is! You don’t seriously like her?” She scoffed, folding her arms.

“Like?” His eyebrows were slightly raised in confusion. “I don’t think I’d come to visit the family of a girl I only liked, no?” He wore a smile, but you’d seen that expression multiple times before; and you knew he wasn’t about to lose his cool over a girl like her.

As a last resort, she tried to farm remorse from him; thinking that he’d fall for her exaggerations. She caught a glimpse of your parents standing behind you and him in shock, and panic began to wash over her as she realised that they’d seen the way she had been acting. Her eyes were dry despite all the fake sobbing she had done, and despite this, she began to heave, coughing and placing a hand on her chest. Although your mother did immediately rush to her side, this time it was to tell her off. Your father apologised to Yukimiya, and offered the two of you to sit back down wherever, and that they’d be there soon.

Leaving the corridor, you could still hear your mother and father scolding her, calling her behaviour ‘unacceptable’ as they saw through the act she had been putting up for years. As you sat back down on the couch, an audible exhale escaped your lips. “This is what I was talking about.”

Removing his glasses, he wiped them with a cloth from his pocket as he spoke, “Nothing I haven’t been through before.” He looked at you with warmth in his smile, as he turned his body to face yours. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you for a little – just the two of us.”

Your eyes followed his hand as it reached inside his coat pocket, pulling out a small box. He gently opened it, revealing a glistening gold ring with a sizeable diamond perched at the top. Your gaze lifted, following his hand that took yours as he slipped the ring onto your finger. Warmth crept up on your face as your eyes began to moisten, and once again, you were at a loss for words, although this time was unlike before.

Eventually, you choked out a few words. “Yuki, you…”

Holding your hand with his two, his thumbs held your fingers, rubbing the back of your hand. “I did say I didn’t only like you.” He chuckled, his cheeks painted a gentle hue of red. “Unless, well, you don’t actually like me.”

The growing lump in your throat protested against your words you fought to speak once more. “Of course I like you…” You smiled as a memory played back in your head. “Didn’t I tell you that in high school?”

He nodded in response, being taken back to the same memory. “And what did I tell you then?”

The memory lapsed in your head, the words the same as they were when you first heard them. The redness on both of your faces, how you were too shy to meet each other’s eyes, and the way his voice shook ever so slightly when he spoke.

“That you’d always be with me.”

[postilionstruckbylightning]

What I liked about hearing the news was that I thought of her getting pied in the face before I thought of her homophobia. Like, obviously that second fact came to mind immediately after the first, but for me at least, that’s how her legacy operates. She’s not “that homophobe who got a pie to the face”, she’s “that person who got owned by a pie, a thing that happened because she was a homophobe.”

no one thinks “Anita Bryant, musician” everyone thinks “Anita Bryant, homophobe” and most of the headlines surrounding her death reflect that. which is awesome.