#he does not have to change or force himself to feel a certain way

[thranduel]

some thoughts about astarion because i'm tired of the internet reducing him to one thing

when bg3 came out in early access, astarion was always seen as the extremely flirty, confident guy who enjoyed sex (or so we thought) and spoke about it like it was his favourite thing. he was also kinda marketed as the “sexy vampire”, so you can understand why many people saw him that way based on the little amount of content we had. even while playing act 1 and act 2, many players still might think of him like that because he does have a very charismatic personality and he asks to sleep with you very early on, so it just automatically makes you think he’s genuinely happy doing that and being totally serious.

BUT!!!!!!! we end up finding out later on that’s NOT the case and it was all part of a plan to seduce us in order for him to gain protection. he opens up about his past and his trauma and how he was forced to use his body to lure people back to cazador. he struggles with intimacy and relationships in general because of this. that’s why i really hope that people stop reducing him to “hot sexy vampire that loves flirting and having sex with everyone” when that is not who he is, he’s literally traumatised because of sex due to being forced into it and he’s slowly trying to heal. he’s also so much more than just “the hot vampire”, ya know? if you actually put in the effort to get to know him, you will see who he truly is underneath and he has many loveable traits to appreciate.

you may not see the “soft” side of him very often because he hides it, but it’s there!! one thing i noticed that really stood out to me was that when i gave food to an orphan in act 3 and he approved. back when you first met him, he probably would’ve done the opposite or had no reaction at all. i also saw a clip of someone trying to romance karlach and astarion and he literally told tav to choose karlach over him because he can see that karlach loves her. he said normally an arrangement would work for him but after everything karlach has been through, he doesn’t want to get in the way or see her hurt. letting tav go is also hard for him as well but he still thought about someone else. he could’ve whined or been possessive or jealous but he didn’t do that at all. where are all those people who reduce astarion to “the guy that flirts and sleeps with everyone” now? seriously. that’s not what he does, and when he was forced into it by cazador, he was trying to survive, he didn’t do it for his own pleasure. it’s not a “hot” personality trait of his, it’s literally trauma. and because he did it so much, he got used to it, and that resulted in him disassociating and feeling empty.

apparently if you ask him to join you and sleep with the drows at the brothel (something i will never make him do in my playthroughs), he only says yes because he struggles to say no. but he disassociates. and if you’re in a high approval relationship with him and he loves you, he will feel safe enough to express his feelings and say he’s not comfortable. this happens before you fight cazador. i’m not sure if he gives the same response after, but either way, if he joins in, he will always disassociate and it’s not something he wants to do despite what he may say.

that being said, it’s obviously still okay to appreciate his beauty and attractiveness, because he is very beautiful. he appreciates it and even likes being called beautiful. calling him “hot” and “sexy” isn’t a bad thing either, we know he can be and i'm sure he knows it too! it’s just annoying when people act like that’s ALL he is and they don’t even mention anything else about his character. the love scenes are beautifully done too (i personally prefer the second one after you’ve stopped him from doing the ritual, because that’s the one where he decided he truly wanted it and felt safe and comfortable because he genuinely loves you), and i actually would’ve been fine if they didn’t have any scenes like that at all because it’s totally understandable and valid if he didn’t feel comfortable, but i just hope that people don’t take things too far and over-sexualise him just because of how he appeared to be in the first half of the game and the way he’s often marketed on social media. and yes i know he’s fictional and nothing on the internet is going to hurt his feelings!!!! it’s more about the fact that he canonically has sexual trauma and many people still say really disturbing stuff even AFTER they find out about that, and it just makes me uncomfortable to think that people are okay with treating someone like a sexual object especially when they've said they're traumatised and it makes them uncomfortable. idk if this makes sense 😭

but yeah he doesn't want to flirt and sleep with everyone as i've seen people claim. and if in an alternate universe he did, and he did it on his OWN terms, and the other people he had relationships with enjoyed it too, then good for them! absolutely nothing wrong with that if there's consent, respect and honesty. however, that's not the case with what happened with astarion, because 1. he was forced into using his body WHEN HE DID NOT WANT TO and 2. he misled people and lured them to a miserable fate. it's so horrible and devastating for everyone involved. sex was never something fun for him, and it certainly isn't a "personality trait" of his. it was a survival tactic. he was forced to. he didn’t want to.

obviously when he becomes more comfortable, then it's totally understandable to get excited when he flirts and shows physical affection. he can be so charming, funny, sweet and romantic and i love that. it’s so beautiful to see him heal, genuinely find comfort in someone for the first time and experience intimacy that he feels ready and comfortable for. he deserves to love and be loved on his own terms instead of being forced. but again, he is so much more than the guy we were introduced to at the beginning. the internet just sees one thing and sticks with it but i really hope people start to actually appreciate him for who he is and the complexity of his character.

aaaaand i just had to leave this here <3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #sorry for rambling i’ve just been very emotional about him recently 😭 #also i hope people remember that even if he NEVER EVER wanted to have sex again he is 100% valid #he does not have to change or force himself to feel a certain way #especially after everything he’s been through #and if you think he does then you’re gross. he doesn’t owe anyone ANYTHING #anyways #when he kept apologising for not sleeping with tav i wanted to cry #there is literally a scene where if you tell him halsin is interested in you he says it’s ok to go to him #but then he gets concerned and asks if it’s because he hasn’t slept with you for a while #and i wanted to cry #he should NEVER have to feel guilty for that #honestly the only reason why i think he might eventually feel comfortable with sex again is because -> #in act 3 after his genuine love confession after you help him defeat cazador he initiates it himself #and it feels like it’s something he truly wants after developing a strong emotional bond with someone for the first time #and i think that’s really beautiful that he chose to do it on his own terms when he felt ready #but also #for a while i wasn’t sure if he was repulsed and uncomfortable by sex in general and hated it entirely #or if he only feels comfortable after he develops a strong emotional bond #the only reason i think the second one now is because of what happened in act 3 #but regardless whatever it is i just want him to feel safe and comfortable and happy #my posts

[anantaru]

EX BOYFRIEND LYNEY

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! boyfriend lyney headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, a lil possessive lyney, friends with benefits, rough, experienced lyney

ex boyfriend lyney moves in a way that you cannot possibly get an eyeful of, no hint of what he's planning, no inkling of why he did it— his precise yet persistent methods to win you over again aren't for one to notice, in fact, he doesn't lose his frame of mind during the entire process of your break-up, his aura and certain outbursts are ultimately swallowed down by him so you cannot see them.

the man was keeping his emotions in check in an almost frightening fashion that in recollection, it scares you. one might even go as far and assume that it was for the sake of you, or himself, to suppress his negative feelings in order to make the environment easier for the both of you.

ex boyfriend lyney remains silent for a good while after your break-up, he doesn't reach out to you often but it's because he believes you will take time to get used to being without him again. on the contrary, it gave him the perfect gateway of carefully planning each step out— not unexpectedly, of course, it's important to note that he wouldn't force you to stay with him because he deeply cares about your happiness.

you really want to break up? well, if that's what your heart desires, lyney wouldn't want to stand in your way— instead, he'd make it his most important task to remain friends with you, in order to win you over once more. what most people told you is that “once a book is finished, you cannot reread and take parts out of it, just because you didn't like it or want to change the narrative” it's over, ancient history, printed out on paper.

almost comical, ex boyfriend lyney thinks— after all, he was a magician and utterly skilled in his craft. he could pull it off, right?

before you know it, he will demonstrate the love he harbors for you in a blink of an eye, that passion that was too dark for dim eyes to discover currently— yet one day, he promises you, that he'll draw a veil over all deeds passed and walk you through a new beginning.

ex boyfriend lyney cannot imagine a life without you, it is out of the question because he sees you as family, a part of him, he wants and needs to protect you even after your break up. such strong amibition of shielding his significant other (or now ex), specifically wanting to protect them might stem from him being a big brother and always looking after his siblings.

in the act of love, no other individual could make him feel like you did— it's as if magic pulled at his heartstrings when he sees you, or when you smile at you.

his chest pumps with affection when you're here. he's so eager to show you again, wanting to reproduce memories of the past, back when love was him and you.

ex boyfriend lyney supports you, always, and he does it flawlessly when he fuels your needs, his smoldering gaze always here to help and burning into your body, sending shivers down your spine. there was a problem you faced? do not be scared, because ironically enough, lyney always seems to be there for you, at the right time, the right place and with the right words hand in hand to say.

ex boyfriend lyney will always be there when you need him, and in conjuction, he'll be the answer to all of your hardships, as if he somehow knew why they were happening in the first place. you can count on him always, no? with one voice and the beat of his heart, he's there to look after you while inching closer, giving your cheek a good squeeze before calling your stressed-out expression cute.

ex boyfriend lyney can immediately notice how different you were a couple weeks well into the break-up, but he also likes how you're still getting shy when his attention is solely fixated on you again, like your previous defenses have never drawn life in the first place— it's a pain, a taxing one at that when you realize that you still like him, despite the fact that you promised yourself to detach from any further interactions you and lyney could have in the future, yet proceeding to go against your better judgement.

but after a while, ex boyfriend lyney and you couldn't resist the temptations anymore as you're first agreeing to be friends with benefits for a while— only until one of you finds a serious match again, or another person that was able to outshine any of you, when in reality none of you had even considered dating again.

needless to say, it felt good, like every small movement of him was ten times stronger when he presses himself into you, when he rubs warmly over the throbbing spots only he knew were to find, "you're always so pretty.." he drawls out as your stomach flips at his drunken thoughts becoming real words, angelic tones you could hear.

ex boyfriend lyney makes you take every long breath a lot more meaningful, you felt as if you were breathing in the fumes of a volcano as it captured you in a smoldering haze— taking into account how the bedroom was slowly developing into something humid, heavy, and hot.

ex boyfriend lyney lets you succumb to it fully, and there was so much pressure on your cunt that your back was arching up into his body, your figure held by two hands slipped underneath, the almost agony-like sensation of fullness bristling on your sex as lyney moves and explores further into the realm of your beautiful body.

ex boyfriend lyney knows all of your kinks, or the certain spots you liked being stimulated, the very places you only hoped he'd do whenever he's got you split in half. you definitely notice his self assurance too, it's a bit stronger than last time— how he cannot possibly hold back a ravishing smirk when you're this easy to please.

there's no confusion in his face either, nor was he unfocused, only a dark lust was painted behind his eyes.

ex boyfriend lyney pulls one hand from your hip to your cheek before slanting your head down in order for you to witness the mess he's made in between your thighs.

your hips were pressing up off of the mattress in order to taste more of him, the lustful hankering mounting in your veins as your mouth turns dry as desert bones when your moans increase in length. a just released greed develops from your desperate yearning, it expands in your stomach and multiplies the more lyney pleasured you, the faster he flicks his length over your walls and smears his pre in waves on your wet sex.

"lyney..." you drawl out in an angelic tone that immediately made his heart flutter, "I n-need more," you say, smirking, your hand slowly wafting to your breasts before you're squeezing one of them, twinging at your nipple next. this was on purpose— because you knew how much he liked it whenever you put on a show for him.

so you continue, without a hurry, going with the flow and moving gently between the valley of your breasts until sliding past your lower stomach that was currently feeling full to the brim. yet your hand doesn't stop yet, only halting right above your clit when decent on it.

"I can't... you're so, fuck," his voice cracks, a moan sliding up through his throat. he's done for, you got him now.

ex boyfriend lyney shakes from the warm greeting of your walls sucking him tight, salivating at the sight of your poor pussy squelching clamorously. the magician missed you so much that he didn't want to conceal the burly emotions of his mind from you anymore— in truth, lyney was pathetic, truly without shame.

he shamelessly whimpers into your mouth before lapping at your bottom lip, biting it, sucking and toying with your tongue. he's whining, on the verge of crying due to pleasure, his eyes closed and hips rutting into your heat as the tips of his ears slowly turn pink.

ex boyfriend lyney moans out your name when you lock your legs around his hips, the rough squeezes of your pussy tightening as your body began to ready itself, the pleasure of your climax coming through you in a formidable wave of bliss as the both of you came at the same time, feeling like all the relief in the world settled in your stomach as your arousal glazes all over his shaft.

ex boyfriend lyney lets out a deep, muffled groan as you shake underneath his body. he collapses shortly after on top of you— yet it's all too much for you to keep up with. possible regrets? well, probably, but you're way too dizzy and fucked out of your mind to even force yourself to think about it.

what's there to know for you was that ex boyfriend lyney still loves you more than anything— and if being in this kind of "special relationship" was the best possible outcome for now, so be it.

on the grounds that sooner or later, he will get you back again.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #lyney x reader #lyney smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #lyney x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x y/n #lyney x y/n #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

[armageddidnt]

Welcome to My Collection of Random Thoughts during my nth* rewatch of Good Omens Season 2

*only amazon prime knows the exact number at this point but I’m fairly certain it’s in the double digits

Episode 1: Gabriel’s fly lurking in the box when Aziraphale first takes it inside 👀

Crowley’s promise of “two minutes” basically means that he’s been homeless and living in his car for the past 4 years strictly so that he can be within 2 driving minutes of Aziraphale at all times in case his angel needs him I’m not crying you are

So here I think the key word is “fragile,” Crowley knows they are ostensibly safe from their respective sides but that could change at any moment so he’s basically spent the last 4 years in anxiety-ridden terror hovering as close to Aziraphale as he can to try and protect him from heaven, hell, and anyone else that would want to bring him harm after all that business they pulled in season 1 with stopping Armageddon

Episode 2: I just happened to pause the episode while Aziraphale is lying to the angels about his miracle and LOL Michael really outdid himself here (Sheen, not the Archangel)

Gabriel trying to swat flies and almost smashing the repository of every single one of his memories

I’m cAckling

So if Good Omens exists in Good Omens, does that mean Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett exist in Good Omens?? Do you think they based their Aziraphale and Crowley characters on Aziraphale and Crowley??

Episode 3: So I’m trying to find any hints or foreshadowing of the Gabriel Beelzebub thing bc tbh I did kind of feel like it came out of nowhere which is really the only issue I have with them. I found this one scene where Beelzebub almost ?? seems to be concerned about Gabriel ?? But it’s blink and you miss it and there could be lots of other reasons why Beelzebub doesn’t want to fail in locating Gabriel (pressure from/leverage over heaven, etc) so idk

More Foreshadowing Fly content 🪰

Episode 4: So here we’ve seen that Shax can just appear inside the Bentley bc she did it earlier to talk to Crowley. Shax only pretended to be a hitchhiker so she could be invited in because Azirpahale was driving so technically she needed permission to cross the threshold of an angel 👀

This scene will never not destroy me the 1941 flashback is the absolute sOFTEST thing ever to happen on this show

We really need more context here I need to see the Crowley-Furfur Monkey Rides

Episode 5: ahahaha thank you google translate for absolutely destroying my sanity this evening

POP goes the Ziraphale

Okay I know you can’t hear it in the gif but just before Nina takes Maggie’s hand, there’s a very quiet miracle noise, like Azirpahale literally MADE Nina dance with Maggie, he said I’m writing a Mina Jane-Austen-Ball-AU and my otp will KISS godDAMMIT

Azirpahale seems lowkey kind of manic this whole scene tho, he’s controlling literally everyone to force Nina and Maggie together and whenever Crowley says anything that pokes holes in Aziraphale’s Magical Jane Austen Ball Fairytale, Aziraphale just straight up denies it. He wants Nina and Maggie to dance and he wants him and Crowley to dance and he refuses to acknowledge anything beyond that.

Is this just Shax insulting Crowley for how much of a nuisance he’s been or a reference to his former status as an angel ???

They’re both completely dismissive of each other when they’re trying to say something important and that’s the main issue they’ve been having this entire season tbh

Episode 6: I think it’s funny that Crowley describes the angels as bees here because in the book, Neil/Terry describe humans the same way. Guess we have more in common than we thought huh?

So the metatron was the one who originally decided Gabriel would be memory wiped and not sent to hell, and he was also the one that decided not to sound an alarm about Gabriel for some reason and said ‘just go find him yourself’ instead. The metatron has definitely got his own agenda and you can bet he doesn’t want Aziraphale up there in heaven because he’s a “leader” and he’s “honest” like that’s exactly what Gabriel was and look where it got him 👀

There’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on about the metatron bringing Aziraphale a coffee from “give me coffee or give me death” and then asking Aziraphale if he’s going to take the coffee he’s giving him…

I have not seen a single person talk about this since s2 came out but Nina literally calls Maggie “angel” because that’s the term of endearment they hear Crowley using for Aziraphale !!!! I’m still going fERAL over this and I can’t believe no one else is eitHER

Something about this part of The Final Fifteen compared to this scene from the first episode is so representative of the entire season. Azirpahale keeps saying “my way or get out” and Crowley finally hits a wall and can follow Aziraphale no further. So he does just that. He goes.

I’m sure a lot of us by now have seen this post that brings up how Aziraphale literally pushes the remains of Crowley into his mouth and swallows and it’s the only thing I see when I watch this now

We still don’t know for certain if Crowley queued up this song to play on their way to the Ritz or if the Bentley started playing it all on its own and it’s driving me insane

Basically how I am doing after my Truly-Alarming-Number-th watch of this traumatizing episode/season. WELP hope you enjoyed this garbage dump of my thoughts and feelings time to go cry for a bit again BYE

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #my season 2 rewatch aka: I Went Insane #i am unwell #I haven't slept properly in 44 days and counting #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #angel #demon #armageddidnt-blog #armageddidnt-gifset #armageddidnt-screaming #armageddidnt-pain #good omens 2x06

[tojisun]

old mask ghost does things to me for real :(( he's so cunty it's annoying.

•°. *࿐

(he's also annoying in another ways—like breaking your heart, for example.

"this thing between us?" he asked, voice gentle as you two settled on your bed. the euphoria of your orgasm had filled you up with a certain sense of quiet elation, but you feel it slowly wilting into the heavy dregs of reality at his sudden prodding.

you hummed, not knowing where he was going with this.

you felt simon shrug, the warm drag of his palm over the slope of your back stuttering to a halt. this made you blink your eyes open, shifting enough to meet his gaze.

"what?"

he smiled. soft and charmingly cruel because—

"well, hope you remember that it's all physical, yeah?" he finally finished off, grinning like he did not just slam a hammer into your glass heart.

...oh.)

"fuck y'doin' here?" you ask, voice pinched in your exhaustion.

you feel too overstimulated—your jacket's falling off your shoulder, your pants are sliding off your hips, all the while the rain has drenched you. so really, all your clothes have no right to be grappling with your trembling body like this.

someone also blasted the damn heater in your apartment building.

who the fuck cranked it up that high? yeah, the rain's pouring but what the actual hel-

"oh, y'know," your menace of a friend-with-benefits says, shrugging. "missed you, s'all."

"oh, shut it," you snap, glaring up at him.

who even let him in?

all simon does is laugh, before shifting to grab some of the grocery bags you're carrying. thank god for that because if he didn't, you're a hundred percent sure you were going to fling the one with the jug of milk towards him, targeting his skull.

no bullet can kill this motherfucker but you and your jug of milk would sure be willing to try.

simon makes himself at home because of course he does. he's shameless like that. clearly no amount of distance would fix him; men used to come home changed after being shipped off-

"what're you murmurin' over there?" simon teases, his voice ricocheting from the small space of your kitchen.

you squeal, swivelling to stare up at him in your mortification. you rest your palm atop your chest, feeling it thudding against the webbings of your ribs, before feeling the full force of your stomach fluttering because he's so close.

god. you actually missed him.

the ridiculous mask is still on his face but he's at least removed those shades, giving you a view of his pretty, pretty eyes. they're crinkled in his smile, his cheeks pudging up from underneath his mask. despite all that, you note the way the skin around his eyes are gaunt, bagged with dark lines. exhaustion pulses from his very being and yet there he is, traversing the storm, just so he can settle in your apartment.

what was it again that he's running away from?

"c'mere," you finally say, a breathy mumble, and simon lets out a pleased little sigh as he crowds you with his bulk.

you lift a hand up, sliding your knuckles along the fraying material of his mask, before sliding your hand down to the base of his neck. the edges of his mask are curling slightly, a sign of its overuse, and you wonder how much has simon spent underneath this measly thing?

maybe he needs a new mask? where will you get one though? this man has such particular tastes-

"so? are you goin' to kiss me?"

your breath wavers, rasping into a quiet squeak, feeling your cheeks fill up with warmth. then, gently, almost tentatively, you pinch the edge of his mask, tugging it up.

he curls his hand around your wrist—something that you know must be grounding for him. his fingers twitch just slightly, tensed, and you wonder why he even gave you this privilege?

what pushed him to trust you so much?

the thoughts trickle into silence the moment the mask is lifted past simon's lips, resting just underneath his nose.

you're right, you think, giggling in your delight. he is smiling underneath that thing.

simon bends forward, forehead bumping against yours. the smell of old leather fills your senses, your nose twitching at the unfamiliar scent, before his chapped lips meet your own.

you will yourself not to think too much into this kiss—not to feel too much with this kiss—but it is futile.

after all, you have always been in love with him.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #suns #old mask ghost looks like he's a menace but i still luv him ur honour #q

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: III

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: As promised :) Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoy!

GIF by urmingirl

Masterlist, Latibule 2.II

Taehyung looked up from his cellphone to his eldest hyung that was currently cooking their dinner. He pouted when he was not given the appropriate amount of attention he should be given. Honestly, he deserved it! After a moment when he still did not get what he wanted, he finally asked the question he had been dying to know the answer to.

“Hyung, is it always like that?”

“Hmm? Like what, Tae?” he asked while chopping diligently the vegetables the renowned doctor was preparing for a certain psychologist and his brothers that insisted they were hungry as well.

“When it ends…does it always hurt like that?”

Seokjin blinked at Taehyung’s unprompted question. He paused before he finally brought his eyes to the actor. He knew that the younger man had always been eccentric. His clinical condition definitely explained his behavior, but not this. He was never curious about the emotions he couldn’t feel, nor did he ever show any interest on understanding emotions. As the years passed by, Kim Taehyung got better at masking and pretending by learning the root causes of the emotions he could see. The brothers had always thought that this was precisely why he chose to be an actor. Everytime they watched him cried, laughed, or acted furious for his movies and dramas, they thought he was a different person.

Jin thought it was just understandable why he dropped the knife he was holding.

“What brought this on?”

“He-“ he lifted his mobile phone to show Jin the picture Jimin snapped of their Yoongi hyung looking like he had lost all his will to live. Taehyung found it so ridiculous that Jimin even made a collage of him and a cat that depicted their hyung. “-looks like breathing is a chore and is only fighting to live so he can end his enemies.”

Jin would have laughed had this happened before he met his sunshine. But now, the mere thought of her leaving set him on edge, and he knew he would be similar to Yoongi if not worse. Slowly, he picked up his knife as he carefully chose his words. He was always like this with Taehyung ever since he knew that something was not quite right in his mind, well…more than any of them, to be honest. The younger man took things at face value, and all the brothers knew to talk in a straightforward manner so there wouldn’t be any confusion on Taehyung’s part.

He kidded you not, once when they were still teenagers, they asked him to go ahead and get them a table in a restaurant. He left without any qualms only to return not an hour later carrying a big ass table from a restaurant. That was a horrifying memory, Jin thought, and that was when they all decided to change the way they talked. It was Namjoon that took it too far and enrolled the man in a body language class to better cope with society. However, it was Jungkook that forced him to take psychology classes with him for fun.

“I think it’s different,” Jin started, busying himself once again with cooking. “Yoongi never has love like that, I guess. It’s understandable that he acts like a sad lonely cat.”

Seokjin could still clearly remember how Yoongi looked at you. It was like you were all he ever wanted and more, like you were his reprieve from the darkness in his life. You were, as he called you, an angel to him. And then he lost you.

“Why?”

“Well…she’s his personal slice of heaven,” he answered, his voice contemplative and understanding of what Yoongi was going through. Jin paused in his chopping, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as he carefully considered his words. “And he’s been living in hell the very moment he was born. What do you think would happen if he was given a taste of heaven and then lost it?”

“Just like Hoseok hyung,” Taehyung nodded, slightly understanding the downfall of these strong men.

“Seriously, you are all worse than the ahjummas who love to talk about other people’s lives. Be better than that, guys,” Kim Namjoon observed with his deadpanned voice as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He took in the scene of the two men conversing and the other man quietly eating the snack Jin prepared him.

Jin scoffed as he rolled his eyes at Namjoon. “As if you wouldn’t react like that when your secretary finally resigns.”

To which, Namjoon only smirked. “Who says she can leave?”

“How will you stop her and her son if the father finally shows up?”

Namjoon, with his hand in his pocket, calmly uttered words that no normal people would believe to have any other meaning. “Well, as you said, the dead don’t exactly come back to life, do they?”

 Jin chuckled at Namjoon. Of course, he did something about that man. It was apparent, he thought. He could still vividly remember the look in Namjoon’s eyes when he told him that his secretary was pregnant and that the asshole of a father even put his hands on her. Suffice to say, it was the most unhinged Namjoon ever was.

“I think Namjoon will be the worst among us if he ever loses the love of his life,” Jin noted with lightness in his voice.

“Nah,” Jungkook finally lifted his head from his bowl. “I sincerely think it’ll be Taehyung.”

The conversation never left Jeon Jungkook’s mind. Anyway, he didn’t need anyone to tell him to do this. He did this out of the bond he shared with his brothers. Had this happened to any among them, he would have done the same.

He thought that it was cruel to let them experience the same hell he had been living every single day.

And so, he worked tirelessly and utilized every available technology and connection he had just to look for Yoongi’s angel. When he said she was alive, when he said he felt in his heart that you could have not gone where he couldn’t follow, then he’d believed him. He wouldn’t lose anything by looking for you, Jungkook rationalized. But he didn’t want to unnecessarily get his brother’s hopes up until he had evidence that you were indeed alive.

One morning, it finally happened. There you were.

Jungkook’s eyes could not have gone any bigger as he watched the CCTV of a far province in his office.

That was you, he was sure.

Without a moment's hesitation, he reached for his phone and dialed the person he knew he could trust. "Hyung, can you come to my office?" he requested urgently, the excitement and disbelief evident in his voice.

“That’s her,” Kim Namjoon validated after a moment. He was standing beside Jungkook’s seated form as he leaned in the monitor. He was ever the image of calmness with his hand in his pocket, his suit immaculate and not a crease in sight.

Seokjin raised his brows as he sat in a relaxed manner on the couch. Jungkook didn’t even call him, yet he was here because he was, per his words, bored and that a certain sunshine was not where she should be. “So the dead can indeed come back to life,” he noted with a tone the two men couldn’t understand. “Pray tell, Namjoon-ah. Should we tell Yoongi?”

Jungkook blinked at the rising tension between the two men. Whereas Jin merely looked curious, Namjoon looked like he was looking at the end of the sword with the way his jaw was clenched. He stood up straight and took a second to answer Seokjin.

“Of course, hyung. This is a great news, after all.”

“Hmm,” Seokjin smirked, his legs crossed as though nothing could have fazed him. It was moment like this when Jungkook could see the mafia prince in his usually playful hyung. Everybody knew not to cross this man despite him appearing goofy and motherlike to them.

Jungkook thought that it would only take one momentous catastrophe for him to return to his dark persona. He didn’t want to see that, though.

“He’s suffered enough, right?” Jin asked the room with a light tone, yet his eyes pierced through Namjoon’s. “Right, Namjoon-ah?”

Seven Mississippis passed before he answered. Jungkook knew because he counted, and he hated the tension he didn’t know why was present.

“Jungkook, tell Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon ordered.

—-

Min Yoongi’s brows were pulled together as he walked in a bustling street of a faraway province. He had to drive almost four hours just because their maknae told him to be here at this exact hour, claiming that he desperately needed him to be there. However, Jungkook was not answering his phone despite numerous calls from him.

Where was even that little shit, Yoongi asked himself as he surveyed the whole place.  

Despite barely getting any sleep, he found himself in a situation where he might have to scold his youngest brother for the first time. He should have been in Seoul right now, but he couldn’t exactly say no to him. He had shit ton of things to do and yet he was indulging the youngest brother.

Maybe this was exactly why he was spoiled? Ah, but anyway, he was a good kid.

So where was he?!

He walked further into the thick of the plaza, his phone plastered in his ear as he listened to the annoying and incessant ringback tone of Jungkook. Seriously, at this day and age? His eyes roamed the area of happy locals, at which he rolled his eyes.

He was on the verge of deciding whether he should just go ahead and kill Jungkook when he finally answered.

“Where the fuck are you?” he growled over the other line, his patience running thin when the man just answered innocently.

“At Seoul, hyung-“

“Then why am I here?! I swear to heavens, if you made me drive here just to buy you a weird snack then I’ll really kill you!”

“Seokjin hyung will be mad!”

Right. The eldest was protective of the youngest. What a nuisance, he thought. “Then I’ll do it in secret.”

Jungkook chuckled nervously. He couldn’t place whether he was joking or not. His money was that if his hyung could get away with it, he’d be floating in the river at this very moment. “I asked you to go there because I have a surprise for you, hyung.”

“I don’t particularly enjoy surprises-” he began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“I know, I know. But this one, I’m sure you’ll like. This is the most beautiful, most precious, most amazing surprise ever. You’ll stop sulking and looking like a sad cat and Jimin hyung will finally stop taking badly captured and cropped photos of you and make it into a collage. Taehyung hyung will stop observing your miserable demeanor for his next movie. You’ll finally stop living like it’s such a chore and-“

His back was bumped by a force. Turning around, he prepared to glare at the perpetrator only to stop because there it was.

There was you.

It was as if the universe finally said that he had enough and stopped punishing him because he saw you when he was not even looking for you. Your mouth hanged agape, your hand going to your forehead as you murmured apologies to him.

He was stunted. No, he was bewildered.

Was this real? Or was this one of his cruel dreams again, a figment of his mind playing tricks on him?

But no.

He had been living in hell, yet moment he heard your voice, all the sufferings disappeared. This was really you. You were truly alive. He was frozen as his wildest dream was brought into life. His whole body went into a state of shock, something that he never thought could ever happen.

It didn’t really matter the years he spent without you because one touch, one word- these were all it took for him to forget the bitterness your separation brought him.

With a trembling voice, Yoongi dared to call for you. “Ange-”

But before he could say another word, you interrupted, your voice light and apologetic.

“I’m really sorry, mister. I didn’t see you,” you chuckled, slightly lifting your walking stick to explain the small accident. You bowed down at the man before going your way.

And he stood there, watching as the love of his life walked away from him, unseeing. He thought he could no longer hurt. He thought that nothing could have fazed him any longer. But he was wrong. Watching you walked, unseeing as you traversed the plaza with only your walking stick pained him.

How did this happen to you?

Was it because of the incident?

Was that why you couldn’t return to him? Because you weren’t able to?

Or did he miss all the glaring signs?

Slowly, he lifted the old phone you gifted him years ago to his ear. “You didn’t stop looking for her?”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. “Well…I would never wish this hell on anyone, much less my brother,” he stated, his voice carrying a certain tone of sadness they often heard from him. “Go get her, hyung.”

The bustling city streets faded into a blur around you as you walked, your steps slow and deliberate despite the cacophony of noise that surrounded you. Your sight may have been almost gone, but your other senses seemed to have sharpened in response, each sound and scent painting a vivid picture in his mind.

You remembered that when you were younger, you read a passage from a book entitled, ‘The Song of Achilles’. You thought it was a well-written book, a love that transcended even death. There was a line your college friends always thought to be a masterpiece. But you never understood it. The line so many people loved never really touched you.

Until it did.

Until you understood each word written in that book.

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

Because right now, the words made sense. You could recognize him despite your deteriorating eyesight. You knew him. He was here. And he was following you…to what exactly? Was he here to end you? Was he here to make sure that you wouldn’t tell the world of his secret identity?

Regardless of the reason, you tried to remain calm as Hoseok always ordered you to. You had no choice but to lead him back home, otherwise you were sure that he would be suspicious. The man that you used to love was perceptive, and any suspicious movements could alert him. From the moment you opened the front door to the time you closed it, you knew you only had a couple of seconds.

You fished the phone Hoseok gave you, one with tactile buttons and controls that made it easier for you to use it. You knew you couldn’t use the speech-to-text feature, otherwise he’d hear. And so, with a tense movement, you sent a message to him.

He’s here. Don’t come home. Leave with my son.

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts fanfic #bts yandere #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x y/n #mafia bts fic #yandere min yoongi #suga x y/n

[highly-flammable]

While Peeta’s declaration of love for Katniss on national television was certainly in order to gain attention for both himself and Katniss, the deeper meaning to it is way more important.

Peeta, no matter how well he could play the audience, deep down resented the idea of the games. For him, the biggest slap in the face to the Capitol that he could give was to highlight the brutality of it on national television. This was very heavy-handed in his interview in CF, but it is equally a driving force in THG.

In CF, he put the focus on a family being broken up and destroyed, because he claimed he and Katniss were married with a baby she was carrying. But Peeta putting the spotlight on loss is a common element in his first interview as well.

Since he was distant with his family and had already been callously alluded to as good as dead by his mother, he was not going to point out how his family will be losing their youngest son. If you look at Katniss’ first interview, her role as the elder sister who needed to get back to her little sister was the emotional hook. Peeta could not have used his family in order to drive a similar sense of tragedy. Even if he could by lying, I don’t believe he could have brought himself to do that.

Then how does a boy who doesn’t think his family needs him, a boy who is certain he is going to die, make a statement to the Capitol? How does he contribute to the sense of tragedy? By sharing his longing for the one connection he wishes he had. While he didn’t force Katniss to respond to his declaration, what he did do through his interview and subsequent actions (teaming up with the careers to mislead them, staying up all night to watch over her when they have her trapped in the tree, getting her to run after the tracker jacker attack), was making it clear that when he dies, Katniss will lose out on someone that really really loves her. That is the tragedy, that even if she lives, she lost out. He, with all his love and all his best intentions would have made her happy, could have been happy with her, if not for the Capitol.

Knowing Peeta’s character, I am going to say that he even felt like he could make that declaration because he didn’t believe there were any way he could have survived the games. Both of them being alive at the end was obviously an unimaginable scenario so there was no circumstance in his mind where he believed Katniss would be forced to reciprocate.

People have this uncharitable assumption that Peeta did this to get Katniss to be with him, but the truth is precisely the opposite. The two of them being together only became a possibility after the rule change and Katniss coming to find him, and even then, Peeta was pointing out that while they might play the audience, they themselves know it’s an act. The reason he got confused and believed it was genuine later on was because Katniss risked her own life to save his and because on some level it was genuine and he could feel it.

#the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark

[mjlovescm]

Traces of you on my pillowcase, 🍋

A/n: idk how I feel about this one but I am clearing old one shots out, so enjoy!

Turning in his bed, Rodrick presses his face to his pillow. Snoring, he inhales deeply. A familiar scent fills his nose and your name rings in his mind.

A few minutes pass and Rodrick can’t fight it anymore. His eyes aren't open, but he's definitely awake. And earlier than he needs to be at that. Rodrick groans, glancing at his alarm clock. There's still two hours before he needs to drag himself out of bed.

Eyes still closed, Rodrick stayed in bed in hopes of falling back to sleep naturally. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he gives up. Annoyed, Rodrick buries his face in a pillow and yells. Once he’s done, though, the scent is back, stronger this time.

Head still submerged in the soft case, the smell of you brought Rodrick back to the night before.

Cuddling in bed together, in matching pajamas, and eating ice cream. That was after Rodrick showed you how much he missed you by burying his fingers in you. But no matter how long you and Rodrick spent together, it was never enough for him. Because after those hours of fun, you’d have to go home, and Rodrick would be left without you again.

His hips shift against his bed, and it's clear Rodrick is more than awake.

“Fuck.” he whispers to himself, growing harder.

Again he turns, laying on his back and clearing the messy brown hair from his face. Slowly, Rodrick lifted his cover and found a great opportunity to be out like a light in only a few minutes. All thanks to you. Well, you and your smell.

He drops the cover, leaving his hand beneath it. Rodrick starts slowly, his palm gently grazing his boxers. The layer of clothes was an added touch to the overall sensations. The feel of the fabric against his sensitive skin sends chills through his body.

His mind as always led to you. Eyes closed, Rodrick uses his dirty memories of you to replace his hands with yours.

He envisions soft brown hands. Palming him with a mischievous smile.

“Already?” you’d question with a needy smile and dangerous eyes.

As if you hadn’t been working him up for an hour and playing innocent.

“Dirty girl.” He whispers to himself.

Quickly freeing himself from the now tight confident of his boxers, Rodrick continues to touch himself to the thought of you.

With a firm grip, Rodrick holds his dick in his hand. He groans at the feeling of his slow up and down pumps. He keeps this pace as pre-cum drips from his tip. With a wet thumb, Rodrick presses slow, deep circles against this sensitive spot.

“I know you like it sloppy.”

His mind plays your previous words back to him, forcing a noise from Rodrick.

“I love it when you moan.”

Sensitive, Rodrick’s hips push back into the bed. But still he continues to tease himself in your honor.

“Mmm, baby j- uh- just like that.”

His thumb leaves his tip, and Rodrick’s hands quicken. The pumps quickly grew faster and faster.

“Ugh-h y-y/n.” He moans. “Just like that baby.”

Wrist speeding up, Rodrick’s change in pace fuels more thoughts and memories of you. Filthy fantasies, either real or not. All of you. His beautiful, loving girlfriend.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He says through his teeth.

Again and Again he strokes himself, reaching a desperation he was all too familiar with. And with that desperation and speed comes a certain roughness. In the way he gripped himself, the way his hands moved. Fast and messy.

“Ye-yes.” Rodrick says with a shaky voice. “Keep fucking going ba-bay I- I-”

Rodrick turns himself into a stuttering mess over you. He pushes himself closer and closer to that sweet release. Without a second thought, Rodrick finishes saying your name. Praising the hypothetical you as he does.

Minutes pass, adrenaline dies down and sleep sets in. Rodrick turns to his alarm clock and feels a sudden sense of accomplishment.

“I think that’s a new record.” He tells himself.

Just as before, Rodrick lifts his cover and finds the mess he’s made of himself. Hands, fingers and sheets. Whether it was sweat or cum, he was covered in it nonetheless.

Instead of rolling over and calling it a day, Rodrick exits his room with a towel and makes his way to the shower. For a cleanup and… for round two.

Masterlist Drum Lesson, 🍋 Makeup sex, 🍋

#rodrick heffley #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley smut #black fem reader #black!reader #black reader smut #mjlovescm #reader insert smut #reader insert

[little-diable]

"Angel" He calls me – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Listen, this is fucked up – even I was unsure where this came from. But I ain't sorry for it, I know y'all will love this, you filthy heathen (i love you). Shamelessly inspired by the song "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Her mother accuses the reader of preparing a satanic ritual, so she hopes that Priest Riddle can free the young girl from the devil's grasp. What a shame that the young priest is even more cunning than the Devil himself.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, smut in a church, heavy dub!con, choking, wax play, blood play, Tom being Tom, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (about 2k words)

My love, are you the devil? I would worship you instead of him, I have no time for confession, for I'm too busy committing sins

“Priest Riddle!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the empty church, repeated with every further step she took. (Y/n) struggled against her mother’s grasp, feet dragged along the cold ground as if she prayed that the floor would open up, that something or someone would crawl from the eternal darkness to hold onto her, rescue her from the hell she would experience any moment now. “Priest Riddle!”

The tall man appeared after another loud call of his name, concern tugged on his features, a facade her mother instantly seemed to buy into; a facade (y/n) instantly saw through. Priest Riddle was a devilish handsome man, a man so handsome he easily fooled those who clung to him, distracting them from his sinful character. 

“Mathilda, (y/n), what is going on?” His bright eyes carried concern as he looked at (y/n)’s mother, concern that changed into something dark the second his gaze found (y/n)’s. Her mother’s torture was nothing against what he’d do to her, that much she was certain of after all those confessions she had been forced through – confessions that had ended with her knees having a carpet burn, with her ass bruised, and her jaw pulsing in pain from being stretched open. 

“She’s gone insane, I’ve found her worshipping the devil! He has his dark grasp on her, oh you have to free my girl, you’re my only chance of finding help for her sinning soul, Father!” Tears dripped from her mother’s eyes, tears (y/n) silently cursed. She had done no such thing, all she had done was read a book Priest Riddle had borrowed her, one of the few interests both shared – Latin prayers her mother had mistaken for satanic rituals as (y/n) had tried to pronounce the words. 

For a second, he studied (y/n), the annoyance she couldn’t shake, the wide pupils he had grown all too used to, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers at the excitement now thumping through his veins. “Leave her with me, Mathilda. She’s in good hands. I’ll take care of our girl.”

"Angel“ he calls me, does he know that I'm falling from a precipice that I tripped off long ago?

“Rituals, huh?” Her mother had left the church seconds ago, leaving the two of them behind. (Y/n)’s skin prickled, she was fighting against the need to scream, to throw a tantrum against her mother’s foolish behaviour. All because of him. 

“This is your fault! She heard me read that prayer book of yours.” Within seconds he stood in front of her, ringed hand wrapped around her throat. Her heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins, he could feel (y/n)’s fast pulse against his fingertips, a sensation that left the man smirking. 

“My fault?” The way he spoke the words, with a voice so raspy and deep, (y/n) didn’t manage to stop her body from reacting, her thighs from trembling and her walls from clenching around nothing. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, all they did was stare at one another. “My fault, really, (y/n)?”

“I,” her words got stuck in her throat as he squeezed, cutting off her strength to pronounce any words. Priest Riddle always enjoyed silencing her, showing her how much power he held over her. (Y/n) was shoved backwards as he let go of her, watching her fall onto the stone stairs leading up to the altar. 

“You see, (y/n), your mother may think I’m the saving grace, the voice of reason, but I think you know better, don’t you? There is no saving left for you, no grace I can give you. The Devil would have tried to save you, what a shame that I’m not him.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears that began to drip as a laugh clawed through him. There was no escaping him, no matter how much her mind begged her to run, to never return to these unholy walls, her body craved his touch, desperate for everything he could offer. 

“Undress, lay down on the altar, for me.” It took (y/n) a second to snap into motion, to undo the buttons of her dress with shaky fingers. Not once did her glassy eyes leave his frame, not as she stood naked, not as she slowly heaved herself onto the altar, not as she watched him alight the red candle placed next to the Holy Bible.

“Do you remember what John teaches us, (y/n)? He tells us: Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil, for the devil has been sinning from the beginning. But tonight you will sin, tonight you will offer yourself to the devil, even though he will never have you. He fears me, and he will fear my precious toy once I’m done with you.”

“In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” He was standing behind the altar, with his ringed fingers holding onto the burned candle. (Y/n) was forced to watch him tilt the candle, letting the wax drip down onto the valley between her naked breasts. She hissed at the sensation, torn between excitement and fear, and yet she craved more. 

“Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus.” Priest Riddle’s voice didn’t carry any emotion as he spoke the lines of the prayer to Saint Michael, a prayer used in exorcisms, a prayer he used to mock her now. The candle kept dripping, one by one the drops of wax marked her body, leaving (y/n) moaning as his cold hand joined the wax, touching her hardening nipples with a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Veni in auxilium hominum, quos Deus ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno. Te custodem et patronum sancta veneratur Ecclesia; tibi tradidit Dominus animas redemptorum in superna felicitate locandas.” No longer did (y/n) try to keep her moans bottled in, she arched her back off the altar as he added more strength to his touch, tweaking her nipples as the wax dripped onto her stomach. It felt as if he was making an offering, sacrificing (y/n) for the sins they had committed together, giving her up for his eternal salvation. 

“Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas draconem, serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas, et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes. Amen.” The last drop of wax fell as Priest Riddle ended the prayer, tossing the blown-out candle aside to press his lips against (y/n)’s. Both moaned in unison as her fingers began to work on his belt, needing to free his cock with the silent hope that he’d fuck her on the altar spurring her on. 

He twitched in her grasp, a sensation so familiar, she found herself relaxing, giving her mind a few seconds to relax. Seconds he used to study her with danger laced in his gaze, danger that deepened as her eyes were drawn to his throat, watching him rip his silvery necklace from his neck. The necklace twinkled in the dim light, momentarily entrancing (y/n) as if she was studying a rare gem, an offering only God would make. 

“We have been bound together for months, you are my possession, and you will do as I say, you will let me lead you till I no longer think you’re worthy of my time.” He tightened his grasp on his necklace, and without another warning, he ran the sharp edge of the cross along his skin, instantly drawing blood. Blood so red, it looked like sacred wine, richer than Jesus’ blood, more powerful than any other offering.

He wiped his bleeding thumb along her lips, letting her taste the copper staining her skin like a tattoo made for eternity. They held eye contact as she parted her lips, letting her tongue lick his skin clean, unable to stop her moan from clawing out of her. She was nothing but a toy, someone he used to pass time with, someone to fuck whenever his body called for excitement – and she loved it, every fucked up second of their time together. 

Priest Riddle let go of her to position himself between her thighs, his fingertips dug into her skin as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon he’d fuck her, soon he’d remind her that she was his – his only. 

You're faithless, for you pitched me, against your holy father and it seems that I am winning

Without giving (y/n) any chance to prepare herself, he pushed into her, forcing his cock into her tightness. Her arousal allowed him to move without any struggles, moving as if their bodies had been made for one another. In some fucked up way she could have found something romantic in this, claimed in a church for all holy and unholy eyes to see, but the darkness he emanated was enough to keep her from thinking these thoughts. 

Months ago when this had happened for the first time, (y/n) had been frightened, not knowing what the man would do to her. But after the first of many orgasms had wrecked through her, she had felt like Judas, the backstabber, the liar she had been turned into. No longer held back by the fear of sinning, rather giving in – all for the promise of being punished by Priest Riddle. 

“Even the devil wouldn’t take you in, a soul filled with sins that even He would turn his back on. I’m your only rescue.” He panted his words as he buried himself deep inside of her, eyes staring down at her. Without stopping his movements, his hips from snapping against hers, he pushed the cross past her lips, forcing her to hold it between her teeth. (Y/n) could still taste his blood – heightening her senses as her walls fluttered around him. 

She hated herself for enjoying this, for being at his mercy with her legs spread and her back arched. He only spoke the truth, he was her only chance of guidance, the only one to cling to as the others had left her behind, engulfed in darkness. Her saving grace, the poison she was addicted to, the bruising grasp she couldn’t shake. 

“Cum for me, show them that there is no chance of rescuing you from me.” With the cross held between her teeth, she moaned for him. (Y/n)’s orgasm wrecked through her, leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. But the priest kept moving, searching his own high with his fingertips digging into her skin. 

A heavy moan rumbled through Priest Riddle as he came, imprinting himself on her walls without giving her a warning. Once again marked by the man who called her his own property, once again marked by the devil’s most brutal brother. 

“I need you on your knees, it’s time to beg for His forgiveness, (y/n).” 

……

Translation of the Latin prayer: 

St. Michael the Archangel, illustrious leader of the heavenly army, defend us in the battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of darkness and the spirit of wickedness in high places.

Come to the rescue of mankind, whom God has made in His own image and likeness, and purchased from Satan's tyranny at so great a price.

Holy Church venerates you as her patron and guardian. The Lord has entrusted to you the task of leading the souls of the redeemed to heavenly blessedness.

Entreat the Lord of peace to cast Satan down under our feet, so as to keep him from further holding man captive and doing harm to the Church.

Carry our prayers up to God's throne, that the mercy of the Lord may quickly come and lay hold of the beast, the serpent of old, Satan and his demons, casting him in chains into the abyss, so that he can no longer seduce the nations. Amen.

#Tom Riddle smut #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle imagine #priest fic #Harry Potter smut

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

There is an intimacy to sharing a body with someone. That's an obvious conclusion to make, but to experience it is something else entirely.

Shadow Milk may be adept at controlling people, but he has never possessed anyone before, not like this. He has never had any need to in the first place, because before his unjust imprisonment, he'd had his own body. Even if there hypothetically could have been a need, he much preferred the detachment his puppet strings allowed him. There was a superiority to having full control of a situation while being completely untouched by it, and that aside, inhabiting some insignificant Cookie's body as a concept was irritating, an insult to his own skill and strength.

Unfortunately, the circumstances have now changed. It is a compromise he is willing to accept though, because he'd take anything over staying sealed, and because he isn't sharing a body with just anyone.

No, it is Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is nowhere near as brilliant as Shadow Milk himself, but nowhere near as insignficant as the rest of Cookiekind either. No, he's special, and he has Shadow Milk's Soul Jam, so it is ultimately a matter of efficiency, to latch onto him.

Still, he had expected it to feel odd. Shadow Milk hasn't had a physical body in a long, long time so on principle, he figured becoming grounded and solid again would already be a strange feeling, let alone in a body that wasn't his original one.

But when he settles into Pure Vanilla's dough for the first time, Shadow Milk is forced to reassess his assumptions, because while it isn't familiar, it feels right. Like it is already his, and was always meant to be.

Thinking on it now, it is obvious that it would. Pure Vanilla isn't just anybody – he is the current holder of his Soul Jam, and no matter how undeserving that may be, that must make them compatible with one another. Even now, Shadow Milk can feel the core of his stolen power, so close yet just far out of reach.

That, of course, is the drawback of this little plan. Pure Vanilla is awfully paranoid – though Shadow Milk will admit, he is flattered with how often he crosses his mind – so he doesn't get many opportunities to seize control, and the ones he does get, he has to achingly hold back from jumping at.

Shadow Milk may be a jester, but he's no fool. He understands dramatic tension and build-up better than anyone else, and something like this is only worthy of being a heartstopping cliffhanger reveal, right on the cusp of the show's climax! To be able to do that, he has to play the waiting game for a little bit. It's aggravating, especially since he had planned to be free as a bird by now, but it isn't the worse. More fun than growing stale in a tree, at least.

And Shadow Milk really is fascinated by the intimacy of sharing this body. The inherent closeness, the blurring of lines and the warmth. Pure Vanilla's thoughts run like a river, sometimes churning furiously and other times meandering slow like honey, and he fishes them up effortlessly to marvel at how soft and ridiculous he is.

Pure Vanilla is not aware of Shadow Milk's presence. Well, that isn't quite true, because he obviously has suspicions, with how he mumbles questions and warnings to his reflection with a wary, anxious tone. How could he not, when Shadow Milk entertains himself with whispers and visions and taunts that are intangible enough to be classed as hallucination?

But he doesn't know about Shadow Milk's presence for certain, which means he can't fish Shadow Milk's thoughts out in return. It doesn't seem like they spill over naturally either. Shadow Milk wishes they did, wishes some of his more fun thoughts seeped into Pure Vanilla's brain like syrup, just to see how he would startle and panic.

Ah well. There were other ways to fluster him. It was easy, actually, as long as you knew what to say, and Shadow Milk is a master with words.

Shadow Milk taps their finger lazily against the staff while Pure Vanilla is busy, focused on his conversation with White Lily and those itty-bitty Cookies – and they really are itty-bitty, barely out the Oven, especially not compared to him. It's an easily overlooked movement, but that is exactly why Shadow Milk does it, finding it exciting to slowly push at those boundaries.

Moving the body without full control makes it feel less like his own hand, and more like his hand is laying on the top of Pure Vanilla's and moving it in tandem. It is almost similar to puppeting, if it wasn't for the added sensation of their hands merging together with the movement, warm and cold and heavy with the presence of another person. It feels thrilling, and it feels like two opposite magnets forced together, and it feels like coming home.

Shadow Milk knows it will feel even better when he is in full control. The freedom is exciting on its own, but Pure Vanilla will probably kick up a little fuss too. To press him into surrender under his presence, to surround and suffocate him so thoroughly that he lives in his very dough, that their minds and spirits have no choice but to intertwine – that is the sort of romanticism lovesick maidens would crumble for, truly, to be possessed in all senses of the word, and Shadow Milk is going to offer it all to Pure Vanilla on a silver platter. He should be thankful, he really should!

As for him, to possess Pure Vanilla in every meaningful way possible just feels natural. Again, Shadow Milk finds himself considering how Pure Vanilla really is his, and it is just as true as before. It has been true since the moment Pure Vanilla recieved his Soul Jam, and the moment Shadow Milk first laid eyes on him, which are incidentally one and the same.

It's so unfair, really. That he has to wait even longer when he could take over completely at the slightest push of effort.

Pure Vanilla, seemingly finished with his little conversation, begins to stroll off on his own. He pauses on a bridge, looking over the edge into the clear waters below, and Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to wink at him, Pure Vanilla's mouth twitching into an echo of a smirk, just to tease.

Pure Vanilla jolts, and blinks furiously back, shaking his head. Shadow Milk retreats from the surface to soak himself in the rushing of Pure Vanilla's thoughts.

I didn't– did I? No, no, no, I must be seeing things. The water's surface is quite far away, and the current must have disrupted my reflection–

Shadow Milk hums, pleased with himself, and it translates to an ominous chill down Pure Vanilla's spine.

Shadow Milk still wants his own body again, eventually. It isn't exactly feasible to share one long-term, because even though he is confident in his own abilities, there will always be a non-zero chance of Pure Vanilla stealing control at a vital moment.

For now, though, it's fun. A novelty he hasn't grown tired of yet.

It's only fair, anyway, since Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam. If anything, it's his right.

#i was actually working on a follow-up from my previous fic #but then i was overtaken by demons (sm) again so. sorry. #wanted to write a quick one about early stage sv possession. bone apple teeth! #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #the biscuit library

[aphroditelovesu]

Hi! I don't know if you are taking any requests, if you don't, just ignore this

Can you do headcanons of platonic yandere hannibal (2013 TV show) with a darling that looks like abigail hobbs? Can you add will Graham as well? Thank you!

<33

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I should have posted this yesterday but it ended up not being possible as a practical class in the laboratory, but here it is! I hope you like it, anon. Forgive me for any mistakes and good reading!! ❤️🥰

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, kidnapping, forced cannibalism and mention of death.

❝🔎pairing: platonic yandere!hannigram x gender neutral!reader.

After everything that had happened between them and Abigail, Hannibal and Will had no plans on trying to care for someone else anytime soon, if ever. They were starting their life together after Red Dragon and in a calm place where there was no danger of being found by the FBI when they met you.

When Hannibal and Will first met you, they initially kept a cautious distance. Still reeling from the events with Abigail, they were reluctant to make room for someone else in their lives. However, over time, you proved to be a comforting and intriguing presence. It didn't help that you remembered her in some ways. Maybe it was your looks or your personality, but they couldn't help but find it refreshing and bizarre at the same time how much you reminded them of her.

As the days passed, you showed a unique understanding of the complexities of the human mind, something that fascinated them deeply. Your calm presence and ability to adapt to your surroundings intrigued them. Will felt comfortable around you, something few people had the ability to do and Hannibal found himself drawn to the way you thought more and more.

Your presence brought a sense of normalcy to them, something they had long lost. You brought a good feeling to them, something they had lost along the way. It was Hannibal who convinced Will to "adopt", to bring you to live with them. Will, although a little reluctant to take you away from your family, eventually accepted. That was how you became part of their family and they had no intention of letting you go.

Hannibal was the one who brought you in and Will covered for him. Although they wanted to make you part of their twisted family in a "normal" way, plans quickly changed. The initial plans were to get close to you and manipulate you, make you hate your family so that you would realize that they were the only ones who could truly care for you.

But when it became clear that you didn't seem to respond to the manipulations, they decided to take another course of action. During one night when you were walking alone, much to their disapproval, Hannibal quickly knocked you out and brought you with him. You would finally be safe with them. Will placed you on the bed prepared for you, covering you as he tended to your sleep.

You would have to accept your place quickly or there will be consequences. Hannibal is a psychiatrist, he knows that what they did can inflict trauma on you and he will be patient with you for as long as you need, but if you are too stubborn or don't respond to the mandatory therapy he will give you, he is not against using other means to make you accept your place.

Hannibal will try to be patient with you and he will, will tolerate stubbornness to a certain extent, as he understands that it may be due to the stress of being taken away from your old life, but if you are too stubborn and even rude, he will have to teach you good manners. Hannibal does not tolerate rude people at all.

Will is more compassionate towards you, he knows and understands that it may be difficult for you to accept this new reality, so he will try to be understanding with you and he is. Will will always be by your side and although it seems like a kind action to him, in reality it becomes overwhelming. There will be no privacy, because he wants to be close to you and he believes he is helping you by not letting go of you.

He will try to cheer you up, spoiling you and even making you escape punishments that Hannibal might try to apply to you. Will is no saint, but he cares about you, a lot, and he doesn't want to see you hurt, whether physically or emotionally, so he will try to help you as much as he can. But he has his limits and if you don't cooperate, Will won't interfere with Hannibal's punishments.

As the days passed, you found yourself trapped in this new reality, surrounded by Hannibal and Will, each with their own motivations and methods. Hannibal, with his sharp and manipulative mind, tried to shape your perception of the world and your own identity, while Will, with his peculiar empathy, sought to comfort you amid the chaos that had become your life. It wouldn't be long before you gave in to Hannibal's manipulations, he'll be sure of that.

They like to think that they are great parents to you, better than your family ever was. Hannibal and Will love to spoil you and take care of you, the former being the one who buys you the most material things and the latter being quite clingy. Do you want something absurdly expensive and ridiculous? You got it, but only if you are a good child to them.

You will follow the Hannibal diet and there are no arguments about it. If you are vegetarian or vegan, however, he will not force you to eat meat but he will try to induce you to do so. He might cook separate portions for you, but there's disappointment evident on his face. But if you eat meat, you will try his favorite delicacy, lamb. Will isn't exactly the biggest fan of Hannibal's eating habits, but he has no problem eating and is pleased to see you eat. It makes you more close to them when you eat human flesh, you know?

They are extremely overprotective and possessive of you and will not tolerate potential love interests. Hannibal doesn't believe there is anyone good enough for you and Will hates the idea of ​​you being taken from them. Friends they can tolerate, but only if they are thoroughly analyzed by them and if they are a good influence on you.

Any injury that would be inflicted on you by someone, even if it is a chipped nail, will not be treated lightly. Hannibal will make sure whoever dared to hurt you is dealt with slowly and painfully and perhaps served to you later and Will will stay by your side, comforting you. No one can hurt you, no one other than them.

Once you became their child, someone they truly cared about, you would be doomed. They may care for you and even love you in their twisted way, but in the end, you will truly find yourself trapped. Hannibal and Will believe that the best way to take care of you is to keep you trapped, safe with them. And you can't run away because they will catch you and if that happens, you will never see the light of day again.

It's in your best interest to get used to them, to your new family. Hannibal has no problem breaking you down for this and Will will be there to pick up the pieces. After all, family always takes care of each other, right?

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #yandere hannibal #hannibal nbc #yandere hannibal lecter #yandere platonic hannibal lecter #yandere hannibal lecter x reader #yandere will graham #yandere platonic will graham #yandere will graham x reader #yandere hannigram #yandere hannigram x reader #yandere platonic hannigram #hannigram x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #platonic yandere #yandere headcanons #headcanons

[midnightsunnyday]

Thinking a bit about Mammon and what we know of him canonically, his behavior, values, principles, and conduct, and how they seem entirely different from what we know of his fanon interpretation.

Canon Mammon is…well, let’s just call a spade a spade, he’s a clown. The certified Butt-Monkey of the brothers, if something bad is going to happen, nine times out of ten, it’s going to happen to him. Dude is a truffle pig for trouble and for the most part, loves to sniff it out and roll in it.

Have the fans explain it, and Mammon is a saint who's never done anything wrong in his life ever, yet story-wise, Mammon’s downfalls and shortcomings are usually due to his own dubious inclinations, though to be fair, are a consequence of him being the literal physical manifestation of one of humanity’s sins: greed. We see this through his gambling habits, his tendency to engage in shady deals or practices, his lying, and his cheating, but what really gains him the ire of most of his siblings and others is his tendency to steal and sell any and everything he assumes may bring him a profit, regardless if the item is sentimental or not.

Needless to say, Mammon isn’t the most respected of his brothers, and they remind him of it every chance they get, specifically with the words “scumbag,” ‘moron,” “idiot,” “money-obsessed moron,” etc. Mammon even suffers for his actions physically, with Lucifer finding little issue in stringing him up and leaving him there to rot for a while.

There’s also the fact that in the first season of the OG game, like most of the brothers, Mammon is kind of an asshole. Your typical Tsundere archetype, his personality is initially brash and not too keen on learning of his forced role as a human attendant, constantly insulting the MC while bemoaning his position all the while, a position he almost fails in upholding more than once when the MC’s life is threatened.

Yet because this is an otome game, Mammon eventually begins to have feelings for the MC as soon as the fourth lesson, and that whole being your “first” thing holds a lot of weight to Mammon, so much so that he’ll bring it up repeatedly. He becomes a bit more clingy, vying for the MC’s attention, to the point where personal space is but a mere myth to this man.

For you see, beyond his salty attitude is a man with a huge heart. Canon Mammon is competent and capable of showing a surprising amount of wisdom, intelligence, strength, and kindness when he puts his mind to it (the man admits himself to being sensitive, after all).

Despite his shortcomings, there’s a reason Lucifer entrusted Mammon with the MC, as out of all of his siblings, he is the only character capable of keeping his “bloodlust” in check. And despite his flakiness at times, Lucifer relies heavily on Mammon to complete certain tasks, to the point where he’s accused of showing favoritism towards the secondborn. Speaking of which, that second-born title also includes his power level, having the ability to clearly fight and defend himself, yet choosing to either run or hide from altercations, if possible. It’s rare for him to get angry or fight back, which is why it’s so scary when he does.

More importantly, Mammon is completely and utterly in love with the MC. This is true for all the brothers, but Mammon is the most consistent, a constant in his character that never changes and is the main drive to his appeal imo. Unlike the other brothers, who seem to have interests and relationships outside of the MC, Mammon’s focus is single-targeted, and it’s one of the many reasons why he’s the most popular character in the game. There are no limitations to his affections. No scary or overly complicated parts to his character. We are his “first,” and that’s a comfortable place to be because regardless of what we do or how we look, Mammon isn’t one to give up and will literally fight, yell, and cry his way into your heart, whether you choose someone else or not.

However, you wouldn’t be able to tell this with Fanon Mammon, a soggy wad of therapy session tissues. He is an absolutely miserable wreck of a man. A traumatized, suicidal-inclined, helpless dude in need of a serious hug. A prone character to hurt/comfort fics, he's the trauma dumpster for the fans who like to project, which would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that these traits are sometimes treated as actual aspects of Mammon’s canon character. Fanon Mammon is essentially boiled down to his most pathetic traits, woobifying him. In fics where the brothers are present, such as Lucifer and Asmodeus, expect them to be written OOC to make Mammon appear even worse. In essense, Fanon Mammon not only has his complexity completely taken away, but takes away the complexity of everyone else around him in the process.

I'm not certain why this happens to Mammon more than other characters. Maybe because of his "kick the dog" status in canon, which causes people to sympathize with him more. And if you're someone who can relate to a lot of Mammon’s shortcomings, then that probably adds to his "woobie" nature.

And this isn't to say you can never go beyond canon and write Mammon any other way, yet it's like I've stated before, there's your headcanon and there's canon. You can think what you want, write what you want, yet something doesn't become a fact just because you want it to be/are emotional about it. And you also don't get the right to attack people for it.

Anyway, these are just things I've noticed about his fanon vs canon that I personally don't like, though opinions are always appreciated.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me nightbringer

[gotham-daydreams]

Honestly (I know it’s typical yandere behavior) but instead of kidnapping, what if the batfam tries manipulating y/n into coming back to the manor? A lot of people forget that Bruce can be manipulative when he wants to be. Like each of them show up at Y/n’s usual hangouts, like they try to apologize but Y/n walks away and/or tells them off, “One apology isn’t going to erase the fact that you all neglected me!”

But each of them just pops in random places that Y/n happens to be to try to wear them down.

I'd say that jumping straight to some sort of kidnapping has become more common and typical of yanderes, honestly, which is part of the reason I'm putting it off- and also because of what you pointed out!

Some of the Batfam can be really manipulative and smart with their moves, and even more careful about what they say and how they say it to swing things in their favor. Bruce is also a very good example of this, as you've said! Though I'd also go as far as to say that Alfred can be as well but in a different way when compared to Bruce- and I feel like I've kind of shown that already.

Alfred from what I've shown does take a more hands off approach for the most part. Giving just enough of a nudge to get someone started (like Bruce), and or also conveniently place certain things that may or may not spark something, like what he does with Bruce, Jason, and Cass. Though he does also give a little more of a nudge at times as well, like what he does with Dick amd handing him the rest of the flyers for events that the reader wanted the Batfam to go too. And, well, we all see how that turned out.

As for Bruce, he'll simply insert himself into the reader's life as you've stated, and what can further his own manipulation is the family itself. Not to mention he has money, and even if it doesn't work on the reader, who's to say Bruce can't attach and pull a few strings on the people around them? I won't say much, but Bruce is definitely the type to where he controls the situation and environment itself, while Alfred does careful placements instead. Which both can be effective if they know their target well, and even if in this situation one does know the reader and their life better than the other, nothing says that little detail can't change.

What helps with how Bruce tends to be manipulative is that the reader has performances. Rather if their public of private, it doesn't matter because, again, Bruce has money. Lots of it. He could get in without even having to breathe.

Even if apologies don't cut it, there are always other ways to control certain things, and I keep pointing out how much money Bruce has- and honestly just a good portion of the Batfam because that could easily spell the end of it.

They could buy out the reader's apartment building. If they don't want to ruin the reader's career, they very well could easily ruin the lives of the people who dare to associate with them. They could cancel every performance or sell out each and every one just so that they could be the only ones that get to watch the reader perform.

Even without all of that! They could attend each and every performance or event that they know for a fact that the reader is going to, and basically force them into an interaction right then and there. They could even weaponize both their own popularity AND the reader's just to trap them, to overwhelm them, to keep them put so they can actually have a conversation- to keep them close.

There is lots that they could do, and even if the reader were to even gets ideas? What are they doing to do? What can they do? Run away? Leave before they're stripped of anything else or shown how vulnerable they really are without their family? Before they're further deluded into believing that one only people who'll ever see them, that'll ever hear them are the very people who start to show them how invisible they really were in the first place?

Best case scenario is that they manage to get away, but is that even possible? Who knows. Especially with someone as smart as Bruce Wayne on your ass.

----

Even if an arguably 'calmer' route is taken, with the Bruce and the rest of the Batfam trying to lure in the reader willing but without driving to the point or near insanity or collapse. I still feel like in a way they'd feel... infectious?

Like, as you mentioned- they'd appear around where the reader is a LOT, and I'd imagine it could get to a point where it feels like every waking moment, at least one of them is around. They'd make small talk, not being too pushy and if anything being careful, as if almost trying to be considerate of the reader's feelings- and that's what makes it so frustrating.

They're almost being reasonable- at least Bruce is with his endless amounts of patience, almost holding up a calm and collected attitude. The reader knows where he gets it from, seeing as it heavily reminds them of Alfred, but even if they appreciated it from Alfred in the past, with Bruce maybe they just can't help but hate it a little. It makes it so hard to hate Bruce when he's being cooperative and listening to the reader's wishes, giving them space and time when they ask for it (even if it's by telling him off), and listening to their woes.

He's actually being present now, and it's dreadful.

Ah! But excuse my ramblings! I love talking about these kinds of things if you couldn't tell, and I'd rather stop now before I spoil any potential ideas I might use in the future!

Regardless, no matter the approach taken, they are very determined to bring the reader home! Though I feel as if why a particular detail I'm going to include in a semi-later part doesn't last as long as it does is because the Batfam feels the need to fix things right now. They don't want to wait- already feeling as if they've wasted enough time without the reader, and we'll see if that gets across or not when that comes around :]

#talking daydreams #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #gn reader #sibling reader #yandere dc #platonic yandere

[skzdarlings]

part iii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (word count; 4800)

warning for this chapter: more explicit violence, physical abuse directed at felix.

-

When his dark roots start to show, Felix attempts to bleach his own hair.  You ask why the aesthetic choice is so important. 

“I just don’t like the dark,” he says with a toothy, too-casual smile. 

You watch from the open bathroom door as he accidentally turns himself into a red-head.   He fingers a vibrant red-orange strand, cocks his head, shrugs, and smiles. 

His hair is a shifting mess of yellow-orange-red over the next two years.  The nightmares start halfway through.

The first one frightens you awake as Felix shoots upright in a sweaty panic.  A startled shriek claws up your throat and comes out raspy, your sleepy eyes darting around in the dark for an intruder only to realize the room is empty. 

Felix slumps against the headboard, wiping his forehead.  The fiery strands of his bangs are sticking to his face and his hands are shaking so uncharacteristically.  Felix only occasionally loses his cool and even then, his retorts are curt and sarcastic rather than emotional.   It is the first time you have ever see him like this, so small and so very human, and all you can do is stare until he gets his breathing under control. 

“Are you okay?” you ask each other at the same time. 

“Me?” you croak.  “You were the one who just—” 

“It was just a dream,” he says, in that clipped tone when his patience runs out.  His breathing is still a little shaky.  He goes to the bathroom then makes his rounds to check the security system, even though it is close to four in the morning.  Your own adrenaline is still dwindling so you are awake when he gets back in bed. 

You don’t know how to comfort someone.  No one has ever comforted you in a substantial way.  Even if they tried, you would probably rebuff it in confusion.   You are certain Felix will do the same thing.  He does not like focussing on himself. 

But he is radiating so much stress and tension that you can feel it burning off him like a heat wave.  He lays stiffly on his back and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep.   You know if you say anything about it, he will ignore you. 

You look at him thoughtfully, then you say in the smallest voice you can, “Felix, I’m scared.” 

His eyes pop open, his brow immediately furrowed in concern.  He looks at you and offers a hand. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, like nothing was amiss with him.   

“Bad dreams too,” you say.  Your nightmares have never caused you to wake so violently, but you do occasionally have them.  You are in the habit of burrowing deep in your blankets and staring at Felix until you fall asleep, calmed by his presence. 

Somehow, some way, you have found comfort in that silent company. 

“Can you hold me, please?” you say. 

You say it because his hand is clammy and cold in yours, despite all the heat of his anxiety.  You say it because his forehead is still damp and his breathing is a little laboured.   You say it because if you offer a hug, he will say he doesn’t need it, but he does. 

Maybe he falls for it, knowing you have a good reason to have nightmares too.  Maybe he sees through your ruse and doesn’t care right now.  But he nods and tugs you closer. 

A year of sharing a bed, not to mention every minute of the day, has made you a little thoughtless in regards to easy proximity, but this embrace is much more deliberate.  You feel very aware of the way he fits around you. His arm loops around your shoulders and you hug his waist, your head fitting perfectly in the crook under his chin. 

You realize you have never hugged anyone like this.  You initiated contact for his sake, but the cradle of his arms and the warmth of his body relaxes your own tension.  It feels like a great exhale, both of you releasing a breath you had been holding for a long time. 

A part of you wants to shove him away.  You think it would be very easy to find his embrace addicting and that is a weakness you cannot afford to have.   You know this, he must know this, but you’re tired, so you fall asleep wrapped around him. 

The next time he wakes with a nightmare, you don’t have to say anything.   He pulls you close and you fall asleep with your head on his chest.  By now you are used to him – behind you in class, beside you in the car, across the kitchen counter, standing at the bathroom sink, laying on the other side of your shared bed – so you let yourself drift, caught in the undertow of his comfortable presence, and you fall asleep like that.   

Again and again. 

His nightmares get worse before they get better.  For a few months, Felix wakes every other night with a startled burst.  He never talks about it.  Sometimes he grounds himself and plasters on a bad smile, but it never fools you.  

He always checks the security system after.  One night he doesn’t return and you imagine the worst, plagued by fears that will seem nonsensical in daylight but pose a very real threat in the darkness.  You turn on every light as you stumble down the corridor, a blanket around your shoulders, too frightened to shout his name as you shuffle along.   

You find him in the gym.  Felix is as strict with his daily regimen as every other protocol, from diet to exercise and back, so the sight of him sweating buckets in the house gym is not unusual.   But it being three in the morning, coupled with the nightmares and your anxiety, makes you erupt with feelings you cannot articulate.

You are relieved he is here.  You hate that you are relieved.  You hate that you were afraid at all.  You hate that you wanted him beside you when you should be relieved in his absence.  When did it all get so backwards?  He still reports to your father.  You should still hate his presence.  You shouldn’t be here, shaking, furious that he abandoned you. 

You throw the blanket on the floor and the motion catches his eye.  He turns, pushing his sweaty red hair off his forehead.  His face contorts in funny ways before he forces himself to smile. 

“Come back to bed,” you say before he can voice a stupid platitude.  “Now.” 

His smile disappears.  He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, just looking at you.  Then he nods. 

He showers and gets back in bed.  You are wide awake, but you stubbornly lay with your back to him.  You say and do nothing when he slides up behind you, crossing the vast space of that big bed to curl himself around you. 

“You’re safe in the house,” he says.  “You don’t have to worry.” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” you say before you can stop yourself. 

He is silent for a long moment.  He shifts behind you then exhales, his warm breath fluttering over your neck. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he says.  That’s not your job, is the unspoken addition your brain supplies.  Because Felix shouldn’t care about you either.  This is just a job.  You have no real obligation to each other.   

His arm is around your waist.  He breathes out again. 

“The nightmares,” he finally says.  “It’s not… I think it’s just… Before this, everyday, there was a lot going in my life, yeah?  And not… not good things.  But now things are… calm… compared to that so I think it’s just… catching up to me.  Um.  I was going too fast before but now I’m… I’m just here.” 

You know he won’t tell you what those nightmares entail.  If you ask me, I’ll tell you, I will never lie to you, he once said. 

You are too afraid to ask.  It is scary enough, laying in his arms, at once adrift and secure.  Scarier still to turn around and hide your face in his neck.   You do anyway. 

He strokes your back, a feather-soft touch, up and down.   It becomes a familiar pattern, absent-minded.  One night he touches you with that lazy caress while talking about nothing particular.  Neither of you can sleep, but his low voice and gentle touch lulls you into a hazy in-between world.     

You grab his hand and put it up the back of your shirt, not really thinking.  You do not mean to be suggestive and realize too late it could be misconstrued.  You are too embarrassed to apologize, laying there with a warm face pressed against his chest, his hand on your back.  He stops talking and his hand freezes, fingers splayed on your bare spine. 

You have never spoken aloud about how this kind of hugging is too intimate, even if it is innocent, considering what you are supposed to be to each other. 

After a moment, he continues, his touch still gentle.  You almost forget he is not a gentle boy, that he wouldn’t be here if he was.  You fall asleep soon after.   

-

You see your father less these days, no longer in trouble with the same frequency.  It makes you understand Felix, the way he spoke about nightmares catching up to him.   Over the years, your wounds have seldom had time to heal before they re-opened, both literally and emotionally.  Now you have time to scab.  

Those poorly stitched wounds start to fester. 

One night, you and Felix have an argument.  It is a petty, inconsequential quarrel in the greater scheme of things, and it ends with him rolling his eyes. 

Irritation is an itch under your skin, worsened by your ongoing state of aggravation.  When he goes to the gym for his work-out, trusting you to keep your own routine, you simply walk out the front door.  You know he will track you down but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Your act of petty retribution spirals out of control when your father gets home at the same time you are trying to leave.  One of his men literally snatches you in the driveway.  Your adrenaline was already running high from the argument, so you are a thrashing bundle of limbs as they carry you into the house. 

Your father is frighteningly quiet on the walk to his home office.  All at once you recognize this countenance.  It has nothing to do with you, but his business.  Something went wrong today, however menial or substantial, and his rage is an icy current.  You slipped and tumbled headfirst into the flood. 

You stop fighting.  You try to muster the same icy resolve as he seats himself on the couch in the office. 

In a way, you are almost relieved.  It has been so long since you last stood here, but you knew it would eventually happen.  Now it isn’t hanging over you.  Now your wounds aren’t festering.  Now you can rip the messy scab right off and finally just bleed. 

Your father pats the seat beside him on the couch.  You have only just sat when he says to his own guard, “Find me Felix.” 

Felix is waiting right outside the door like the dutiful little soldier he is.  He is in his work-out clothes, baggy basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running shoes, his hair messy from exertion.  There is a flush to his complexion and it makes him look his age, sixteen and bright-eyed.  He is a stark contrast to your father’s guard, a grown man with a hardened face as stern and full as a pit-bull. 

Felix looks at you, a momentary flicker of eye contact before he half-bows for your father.   Then he straightens, robotic.  He clasps his hands behind his back in the same pose as the adult guard. 

The dramatic pageantry makes you huff.   You know your father will mete out punishment regardless of what Felix has to say.  You do not know what Felix includes his daily reports, only that he has kept you out of trouble, but his cleverness will not save you now.  It never could, you remind yourself.  The hugs, the intimacy, the careful threads of friendship unspooling strand by strand, day by day – it was never going to save you. 

“My daughter is headstrong to a fault, isn’t she?” your father says.

Felix glances at you then averts his gaze entirely.   He nods sharply, just once.   “Sir,” he says, an acknowledgement.

“Mm.”  Your father sits back in his seat, his casual posture denoting apathy.  He is staring into space, rubbing his chin.  You realize he has not spoken to you directly when he says, “You know what happens now, don’t you?”  It seems like it should finally be directed at you, but his gaze is still on Felix.   

Felix says nothing, though his brow is furrowed with some consternation.  You stay quiet.  Felix has seen your father punish you more than once now, and you cannot find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about it.  Maybe Felix needs a reminder too.  Or maybe he has known all along there was no real substance to your connection, that you would always end up here and he would always betray you with his professional stoicism.   

“Sir,” Felix says again, as expected. 

You roll your eyes and look away from them all.  You hear the tell-tale clink of a belt.  A frisson is already scratching down your spine, a phantom laceration of its own.  

You have this script memorized, having played out this scene time and again.  Your father’s guard will hand him a belt, the room will be emptied so you are alone with your father, and he will remove the disobedience and weakness from your body – and the frustration and weakness from his – one stroke at a time.  You will leave, contrite and penitent in the freshness of pain and humiliation.  It will fade with your scars.  You will be back here again. 

Your father grabs your face and jerks it back to him.  As if reading your thoughts, he says, “It never sticks with you, does it?  Not one single lesson.”  He lets go with a sharp snap, your chin smarting.  You refrain from touching it.  “Felix brought this to my attention on his report.  You know, you could learn a lesson on reflection from him.” 

You roll your eyes and cross your arms.  You feel sick in an unusual way, more affected than you want to be.  Your father does not know or care if you have ever sought Felix for comfort, so he does not know or care if it hurts for Felix to betray you.  Felix is doing his job and playing his part.  Your father is playing his.  He will make sure you learn to play yours. 

And then your father says, “I agreed with his assertion.  Punishing you like a child does nothing to teach you true consequences.   Being my daughter puts you in a certain position in this world.   Thanks to the work I have done, your place will always be above subordinate persons.  When you make a mistake, when you step out of line, there will be consequences, and those consequences will not only affect you, but all those other people too.”   He waves a hand and the motion draws your eye.   “Felix,” he says. 

The other guard approaches at your father’s gesture.  The belt is folded over in his hand.  Felix glances at it, his expression inscrutable, as if a shadow has fallen over his brow.   He does not look at you again, even when your attention focusses on him. 

Your stomach turns over then seems to drop right out of you, a sharp plummet in your gut when Felix removes his shirt with a swift tug.  His motions are choppy and automatic, his face set.  He faces the large desk and puts his hands on it, his back to the guard.   

“What is this?” you say, looking at your father and his impassive countenance.  “What are you doing?  What is—”

You flinch at the crack of the belt, a full body shudder as if you were struck.  But the hit was not for you.  You whip around to look at Felix, his mouth pressed tightly shut and his gaze on the wall ahead.  When he is struck again, his instinctive recoil is smaller than yours, merely an eye twitch and hard exhale through his nose. 

You start to stand but your father yanks you down again. 

“Consequences,” your father says. 

The blood freezes in your veins.  Sardonic, you think about how moments ago you were wishing for that icy reserve.   Now it locks you in places like a cold shackle.  You watch with a bemused sort of detachment, like this can’t really be happening, and only when Felix’s arm shakes and his elbow caves, doubling him over the desk, do you snap out of it.  The ice melts and water runs, your eyes filling with tears as your voice claws its way up your throat, fighting, fighting, fighting until you rasp, “Enough.  Stop it.  Stop it!” 

You have yelled at your father many times, but this scream is so loud that it reverberates in the large room.  A painting shakes.  The guard actually stops. 

Felix lifts his head and looks at you.  His expression is pinched with fury, a barrier guarding the escape of any other emotion. 

You know your own face is open with all that emotion.  Felix has told you before that he can read you like a book, but right now anyone could.  Your masks crack and you look at him then your father with terror. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “Lesson learned, I—”  

Your father waves a hand.  A frantic, “No!” has scarcely your left mouth before the guard hits Felix with a ferocity never once directed at you.  You throw a hand over your mouth, horrified as Felix loses composure, face screwed up with pain as he collapses on the desk.  A bit of skin is torn right off his back and you look away, sick, before everything goes quiet. 

The guard steps back.  Felix is breathing loudly.  Your hand is shaking when your father pries it off your mouth. 

“Thank you, Felix,” your father says.  “I’ll send someone to administer first aid.”  Like this is a casual workplace injury.  Like he didn’t just—because of you—and—

You can’t look at Felix.  You stare at the ground, still shaking, your breathing as ragged as his.

“That’s all right,” Felix says in a remarkably steady voice.  He clears his throat.  “I can take care of myself.” 

Whatever happens next is a blur.   The room empties and your father administers a lecture, looking very self-satisfied.  When other things transpire out of his control, it is clearly reassuring to exert power where he can.  He just as clearly believes he has finally got the permanent best of you.   He might not be wrong. 

You walk in a hazy shuffle, out the door, up the stairs.  Near the top step, your pace quickens.   You find yourself crashing through the bedroom doorway, only snapping out of your stunned trance when you see Felix.  He is laying facedown on the bed, his bare and bleeding back a red canvas of pain. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the pillow, “I’ll get up.  Just… give me a sec—”

You shove the door closed and approach the bed, your hands hovering with no where to go.  You stare at his bare backside, the angry red lines and the long stripe where he is bleeding.  You reach, your fingers shaking, then you withdraw.   

“I know, I know, I’m crazy,” he says dryly.  “In my defense, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“That,” you say.  “What was—”

Your voice cracks and disappears.  You cannot find it again.  Felix finally turns his head, somehow looking more composed than you despite the pain he must be in.  Surprise is his most prominent emotion, deepening to confusion as he stares at you in your state.  Then he exhales and closes his eyes, finally scrunching his face in pain. 

“I didn’t think…” he says.  He takes another deep breath.  “I told your father I would… volunteer… for this…  But that’s because I… I thought you didn’t…”

Your eyes meet.  You stare at each other with equal intensity, your stare still rife with terror and his wet with grief. 

“They would have stopped sooner,” Felix says, his voice low, barely above a whisper.  “If they thought you didn’t care, it would have stopped sooner.  I thought it would—I thought you didn’t—”

“Be quiet,” you finally say.  You wipe the tears when they fall, then shake your head like you are scolding yourself.   Your voice is shaky when you say, “Just don’t speak.” 

I thought you didn’t care about me, was undoubtedly what he meant to say.   He thought he could volunteer to take a beating for you and that you would be so stone-faced and indifferent, maybe even happy to see him suffering, that your father would not waste time with a prolonged punishment. 

But you did care.  Your father saw and your father acted accordingly. 

I’m sorry, does not suffice as a reply.  Sorry for running just to win an argument?  Sorry for sitting there and watching them hit you? 

Sorry I care about you. I wish I just hated you.

“I can take care of it,” Felix says when you fetch a first aid kit and sit on the bed.  He says that, but he hisses when he tries to move.  His arms shake with uncharacteristic weakness when he pushes himself up. 

“Lay down, stupid,” you say, laying a clean cloth over the wound to soak up the blood.    

He laughs.  It is a little breathless, but it is that familiar deep rumble of mostly happy sound.  Your face feels hot and your stomach rolls over with a topsy-turvy mess of feelings. 

You quietly clean and apply medicinal ointment to his back.  He lays with his chin on the back of his hands, staring for a while at the headboard, then looking at you.  You can feel him looking, his gaze like a touch as it wanders your face, but you do not look away from your task. 

When you are done, the injury still looks vicious.  You know it will get worse before it gets better, the marked skin already darkening, but it will heal.  You tenderly brush your fingertips over a line, gathering excess salve.  

“I don’t remember what we were fighting about,” he says, “but I think won now, yeah?” 

You suck in a breath to stop yourself from laughing.  He laughs, still deep but more boisterous.  It ends with a hiss of pain as he moves too much.  You shake your head, biting your lip. 

“Serves you right,” you say.  “None of this is funny.”

“Uh-huuuh.”  The weirdo is still chuckling. 

“Well, don’t worry about the future.”  You busy yourself with packing up the first aid kit so you don’t have to meet his eye when you say, “It won’t happen again.  I’ll hate you and I’ll make sure he knows it.” 

“Mm.”  He watches you fold the cloth, over and over, his freckled cheek squished into the pillow.  “I’d say you should offer to do it yourself, but I’ve seen you on a rampage, kicking a vending machine for not giving you your change, sooo… I think I’ll take my chances with them.” 

“Keep up the jokes and I really will hit you,” you say with no animosity. 

“Right,” Felix says, smirking into the bedsheets, “because you hate me.” 

“Yes,” you say, still not meeting his eye.  It convinces no one when you say, “Because I hate you.” 

That night Felix is restless, forced to lay on his front.  He shifts and twitches and groans, tugging a pillow of his head to whine into the sheets.   He can’t get comfortable. 

You open your arms to him.  You think he might reject you.  Though Felix is trusted with his work and they never intrude, there are other people in the house tonight, so it is a little reckless. 

Usually, he would be careful, but you think he might feel a certain resignation.  A dam has been broken, a wall torn down.   The worst has happened and you’re still here. 

He looks at you thoughtfully then slides across the bed.  You realize too late his shirtlessness adds another level of intimacy.  Your face and neck and chest all feel hot, plus there is a sensation like butterfly wings fluttering in your belly, but you swallow it down and stare at the ceiling as Felix carefully lays against you.   He also seems to realize the awkwardness, the tips of his ears red hot with embarrassment when he puts his head on your chest.  

You both lay there, stiff as boards, awkward and young and ridiculous. 

Eventually, your nervousness bubbles out of you in the form of a strangled laugh.  Your emotions are swinging on a rapid-moving pendulum and all that terror and sadness turns to a random euphoric burst of laughter.  Felix lifts his head and looks at you, laughing just because you are.  It goes on for a while, Felix the first to recover. 

“Shh,” he finally says, stifling himself.  He props himself up on an elbow, leaning over you, and puts a hand over your lips to keep you quiet.  

Your heart stutters, stops, starts, and you stare at him through the blue dark of your room.   His mouth opens but he doesn’t say anything.  He slowly slides his hand off your mouth.  Neither of you move, the newfound silence covering you like a fuzzy blanket.  

He flicks his head to toss his shaggy bangs out of his eyes.  The red is vibrant even in the dark.  You are touching his hair before you can think about why you shouldn’t touch him at all. 

He looks his age again, wide-eyed and nervous.  Apparently bracing himself for a beating is not a daunting task, but you touching his hair is petrifying. 

You twist a dyed lock around your finger.  After some consideration, you ask, “Do you like the red?”

“Uhh… I preferred the, uh, the blonde, but, uh, yeah, I guess…”  His voice sounds a little lower.  He clears his throat.  “I just can’t figure it out.  Ha.” 

“Hmm,” you say, letting him go.  “Maybe we can figure it out together.”  That sounds like a heavy promise, implicitly about more than just a hair colour.  It registers with him, his brow furrowing.  You quickly deflect by adding, “Because we’re gonna be seniors soon.  You can’t spend your last year of high school with bad hair.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling. 

“Not like I’m a real student,” he says, “but suuure.  Sounds good.  Thanks.”  

You look down the length of his back.  You think about how he described his life now as calm, compared to whatever came before.   This is the lesser of two evils, this shoving and hitting and dehumanizing.   The pendulum swings back and your throat clogs with a sob.  You manage to swallow it down but you have to look away from him.  Your hand blindly settles in his hair, absently feathering strands between your fingers. 

“You don’t need to say it like that,” you say.  “You’re still a real person.” 

You look at him only because he does not answer.  He is staring at you, lips drawn into a line and brows knit together. 

“Some people might disagree,” he says in a very low, soft voice, almost conspiratorially. 

Your heart skips a beat.  You roll your eyes.  “Like my father?” you ask. “Well.  I never agree with him on anything.  You know that.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips again.  “Uh, yeah, I definitely know that.”  A joking tone returns and he pulls a sarcastic face, like that much should be obvious. 

“Be quiet,” you say, lightly teasing.  “Just go to sleep.” 

Your hand is still in his hair so you yank him down.  You stifle a laugh when he hits your chest with a squeak.  He clears his throat, forcing a stern expression as he turns his face so he is not completely planted in your cleavage. 

“Good night, Felix,” you say. 

“All right,” he says.  “Good night.” 

You fall asleep first.  He is sensible enough to slide back to his side of the bed before properly sleeping.  The motion stirs you and you instinctively reach for him.  Your hand falls open between you.  He takes it and holds it, palm to palm, and you fall asleep once more. 

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #bodyguard au

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Twelve

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 1,7k

Warnings | +18, angst, mentions of childhood abuse, references to rape, torture, beatings, outbursts of anger, death of a background character, MC is having a really hard time, murder(?), triggering content, this is not for minor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➢ Author's Note | In this chapter Jimin finds out what really happened to MC in the past 💔I recommend reading to a +18 audience, let me know what you think of course! It always makes me very happy to read your comments 🥹💕

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse, @jiminismine4ever, @btssimpjaneth, @antisocial-mochi267

Taglist is open!

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He would have wanted to vomit.

Their men were on Minho's trail, but the bastard had so much property in Korea that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack; what was certain was that he was no longer in town.

It had been five days since her disappearance, Jimin was not even eating anymore, so much were his nerves gnawing at him.

He would not even look Taehyung in the face. It was his job to take care of her and he had left her alone in revenge, no one was home to watch over her, no one.

At the mercy of herself and loneliness.

Just the thought lacerated Jimin in several places, the physical wounds were soon forgotten, the doctor who had been forced by Namjoon to examine Jimin, despite the latter's insistence that it was a waste of time, said the cuts were healing well. But Jimin did not care.

She was his fixed thought.

He was storming Choi hideouts, capturing and torturing members of his gang and allies, but no one knew Y/N, no one had captured her, and everyone did not have close relations with Minho, Jimin felt on the high seas.

Taehyung on his part had not stopped for a moment to carry out to the letter the directives Jimin gave him through Namjoon.

He felt terribly guilty.

With Jimin, and fuck, even with Y/N.

He had not appreciated the girl's gesture, not at all, and in those days he would have liked to use her as target practice, he would not have denied it, but objectively analyzing the situation it was normal that she would sooner or later react that way if pushed beyond her limits.

She still deserved punishment, but not death, and in Minho's hands she would have received both instead, he knew that very well and Jimin did too, an additional reason that drove his friend further and further into madness.

Seeing Jimin destroyed like that had made him realize that she was not just "Jimin's bitch," even if the boy did not admit it, she was "Jimin's woman." One of the family.

Perhaps the man himself still could not understand it, but Taehyung knew that soon Jimin would fully understand his feelings.

The man in question saw the door to his office at the Dark Moon open for Namjoon to appear, carrying a dark folder.

"Any news?" he asked wearily, rubbing his eyes.

"I have what you asked for," he replied, putting that folder on his desk, "I'll leave you alone, okay?"

He didn't want to invade Jimin's privacy, what he was going to read soon would not be easy to digest and he didn't want to witness the boy's weakness, Jimin would not stand for it.

Namjoon left the room in silence and Jimin was left alone with Y/N's past.

He hesitantly took those papers, aware that he was the one who had requested them, sighed before removing the rubber band.

L/N Y/N.

At last he knew her real name, with a strange feeling he continued to read each word carefully.

Her father and mother were foreigners, but they had resided in South Korea since Y/N's birth, who had not finished her studies due to lack of money.

But things got strange after the third page, there were complaints, many.

All made by the mother and all involving the same subject, Y/N.

But they were soon withdrawn.

Statements of bruises, physical and verbal abuse against the girl who at the time was only a ten-year-old girl, the mother accused her husband's brother, she said that he took advantage of the help he offered them to do things with the woman's underage daughter, she did not say explicitly what, she simply pinned Y/N's physical and mental injuries on the man, Mikkel, except that she later withdrew everything.

The authorities soon grew tired of that tirade, paid her no further heed, and ignored the latest complaint, dismissing it as the ramblings of a madwoman.

Jimin's hands trembled as he held the papers, finding a legal and authentic medical report proving sexual assault on Y/N, who was 13 years old. But no one had lifted a finger to help her, even though she was born in Korea she was the daughter of foreigners and bore no Korean surname, who cared about her?

Jimin's dark eyes glittered with fury as he dwelled on the name of the man who had made Y/N's childhood and adolescence a living hell, he now understood many things and felt disgusted with himself.

He too had repeatedly ignored her pleas for help, seeing her as an enemy to be put down and humiliated because she was a woman.

But she was not that kind of despicable, power-hungry woman; she was just a desperate girl.

A gasp went up his esophagus at remembering the despicable words about her virginity, not to mention what a bastard he had been while drunk that last time.

'Now you are no longer a virgin,' he had told her.

He had taken more purity from her without her permission, he felt like a monster.

And he laughed at himself, "You brought me to my knees, baby.... You did it," he said, slumping back against the chair.

"I don't know anything!"

Jimin glowered at the older man; he was as furious as a beast. It had been eight fucking days and still nothing from Y/N.

He was tired of that fucking game.

"I'm going to tell you again, you old ass-kisser, Choi Minho kidnapped my girlfriend and now you're going to tell me where he is right now, you're his fucking butler, you need to know that!" he ranted with his face transfigured with rage, kicking the chair on which the elderly man was tied, tipping it over furiously.

They had found the man in one of the last properties they had searched, it was an English-style mansion, the asshole had lavish fantasies.

"Mr. Choi never warns me about his moves-" a traumatic punch hit him right in the mouth, the old man found himself spitting blood and teeth.

"THEN YOU WILL MAKE ME A LIST OF THE PLACES WHERE YOUR BOSS IS USUALLY HIDING LIKE A SEWAGE RAT!" he ranted, hitting him again, Taehyung and Jungkook looked at him in amazement, never had Jimin lost his temper like that, "And pray that it's in one of them, because if you tease me and anything has happened to her, I'll rip your heart out with my bare hands," he hissed venomously with swollen neck veins.

"Jimin."

Seokjin watched the scene with folded arms and a serious look.

"What?" he did not turn to look at his boss, feeling dejected and tired, nervous and angry. He wanted to kill everyone.

"Calm down, that's not how we're going to find her."

"Yes, I will! I'll cut the throat of anyone who gets in the way, Jin!" he was beside himself, understood a good deal of his feelings, and wanted her back by his side as soon as possible.

He would never leave her alone again.

The insistent ringing of a phone interrupted the flow of his thoughts, he ignored the moans of the man on the ground and concentrated on Seokjin. The boy answered without thinking, and from his expression Jimin guessed that something had happened.

"...So you found the house?" Jimin instantly revived.

Like lightning he reached out and snatched the phone from Seokjin's hands, on the other side was Hoseok.

"Did you find her? Where, tell me where the fuck you are," he began to tar and feather him with questions and expletives until Hoseok could overpower his voice, "... I'll see you there, don't move a fucking muscle, Jung Hoseok," he ordered him, Jin voluntarily took back his phone shaking his head.

"Good job, Hoseok...no, do as he told you," he brought two fingers to his forehead trying to calm his headache, amplified by the prisoner's moans of pain.

He pulled his gun out of his classically cut jacket and fired two quick shots in the direction of the elderly man.

"Namjoon, go with him and prevent him from exposing himself too much, he is still wounded."

"You made me do it, princess," sighed Minho buttoning his pants once more, "If you had listened to me you wouldn't be like this now."

But Y/N was not listening to him, she had no voice left so much she had screamed, her expressionless eyes staring at everything and nothing.

The torture had continued every day, Minhyun beat her and Minho raped her, bringing her to the brink of death every single time when he clutched her neck in a death grip.

She had not eaten for days and was given water only when she did not shriek too much. Like a prize.

She was deeply distraught.

"Now you're boring me, though. Where the fuck is the Bangtan hideout, you know! Jimin would never keep so close to a mere escort, you must count for something to him!"

She counted for nothing to Jimin, otherwise he would have already found and rescued her. Jimin had gotten rid of a burden like her, Minho had done him a favor.

Hot tears slid disgustingly down her bruised face.

That thought hurt her more than any of Minhyun's punches, she had been used to the end, but now she had run out of batteries, she only prayed that with her sister, life had been more merciful and gentle.

"Mr. Choi!" Minhyun slammed the door of that prison alarmingly.

"Who taught you to enter like that!"

"Four of the Bangtans and their men are here," he said in a strained voice, the atmosphere in the room becoming heavy, "One of them is that bastard Park himself, he has already shot and taken out eight of our men at the entrance."

Y/N could see the trembling take over Minho's body, who licked his suddenly dry lips.

Her heart was beating incessantly, Jimin was there, he was there!

"We must leave, now!" exclaimed his bodyguard once again, Minho woke up and turned sharply toward the girl.

A strange expression was present on his face.

"Nothing personal, little girl... " he said before nodding to his henchman, who firmly grabbed his glock, "But the idea that Jimin might get you back doesn't appeal to me one bit," he ran out of the room like a coward, as the deafening sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, a sharp and terrifying sensation expanded from her chest to her nerves, she gaped her lips in a gasp, but blood rushed up her throat and blocked her attempt to catch her breath.

She was dying, really dying.

#yandere jimin x reader #bts yandere x reader #jimin fic #jimin fiction #jimin imagine #jimin ff #bts fanfic #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin smut #bts smut #yandere bts smut #bts yandere smut #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x you #jimin x you #bts dark fanfiction #bts smut yandere #bts yandere #bts x y/n #jimin x y/n #yandere jimin x y/n #seokjin fanfic #namjoon fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #taehyung fanfic

[kingkatsuki]

— make it fit

Based on this post here.

Kirishima says he’ll make it fit, but it really really won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+, size difference, hinted first time, creampie, Kirishima jerks off in readers pussy, Kiri talks to your pussy like it’s a person sorry not sorry, not proofread.

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.2k.

It’s no secret that Kirishima is big.

The number eight Pro-Hero is a force to be reckoned with as he towers over most other heroes, especially his old classmates. He’s a towering wall of muscle and dwarfs you with ease, whenever you hold his hand or sit on his lap you’re reminded about just how contrasting the size difference is. And being a man of his stature means there isn’t a part of Kirishima that’s small.

“Fuck,” Kirishima grunts as the swollen tip of his cock catches against your hole, leaning into the give as he begins to press his hips forward.

But he’s too big, too thick.

It feels like all the air has been stolen from your lungs as he begins to breach your wet heat, certain you can feel him in your throat as you begin to seize up.

“Shit, baby,” He chokes, moving a calloused thumb to press sloppy circles against your clit, “You gotta relax.”

And you’re trying, you really are. Thinking back to all the nights you’d spent dreaming of this moment, your fingers stuffed into your tight cunt as you tried to imagine they were his cock. Spreading and scissoring your digits in a feeble attempt of replicating the size, but of course you hadn’t prepared for him to be quite this big.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh shit—“ Kirishima clenches his eyes shut tight, terrified that if he opens them he’ll cum too soon. The debauched expression on your face veiled with the slightest hint of pain has his cock pulsing, his balls tightening as he contemplates just rutting his hips forward and forcing his cock into your wet, warm hole, “Come on, sweet girl. You got this, I got you—”

He’s panting now, short chaste breaths which have his chest heaving. It does nothing to quell the ache between your thighs, only serving to have your clit throbbing with desire when his eyes roll back.

“Eiji— it hurts,” Your jaw tightens as you hiss through gritted teeth when Kirishima shifts his hips, your cunt drooling around him does nothing to help ease him inside. The lubrication no match for his thick girth as he tries a different angle. A different approach as he presses palm to your thigh, raising your hips but to no avail.

“I know, baby. I know,” He coos, leaning down to pepper wet kisses against your cheek. Following the path of the tears that streak down the apples of your cheeks as the change of angle has you gasping in surprise, a pained squeal tumbles from the back of your throat as you make a sound akin to a wounded animal, “Fuck, sweetheart. I’m sorry—”

But Kirishima still doesn’t pull out. He feels like a monster for deliberately trying to continue when you’re in pain, when he’s hurting you. It’s not his fault. Not when you feel so good, his cock begs for more as he cherishes the way your cunt wraps around him. Even with just the tip buried inside you he can still feel the way you clench around him, like your needy cunt is desperately trying to milk him for all he’s got.

“I just gotta get this tight little pussy used to me is all,” He groans, letting his fingers feel around his cock, pressing down on where your bodies are connected as he collects your slick against his fingers, “Get her all nice and ready for my cock.”

Kirishima loves the way your cunt pulses at his praise, gazing down at you through half-lidded eyes as he begins to stroke himself. Smearing your slick along his length as he wraps himself in a fist, tightening it to try and replicate how tight your cunt would be if he just forced his hips forward.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll keep trying yeah? Keep trying until I stretch this pretty pussy out.” He’s rambling now, drunk on pleasure as he imagines just how deep inside you he would be if you took him all. His free hand tracing a path along your pelvis towards your stomach as he presses down.

Your smaller hands wrap around his wrist for some semblance of reality as Kirishima continues to jerk himself off with his swollen tip still buried inside you.

“Please, Eiji.” His fist bumps your clit with each forward motion as he watches you writhe beneath him, almost like you’re begging for his cum.

And who is he to deny you? He’s a gentleman after all.

“I think she can take me all, she’s just shy.” He continued, flicking his wrist as he continued to stroke his cock, “But she can take all my cum, can’t she?”

Your tits are bouncing from the force of his fist as he begins to buck his hips into his touch, more of his cock disappears inside you as you choke back a moan. A constant heartbeat throbs in your trachea as your nails dig into the soft skin on his wrist, watching as Kirishima practically loses himself inside your cunt. Messy wisps of red hair stick to his temples as the crude schlick of his hand stroking his cock echos around the room, paired with his guttural groans as he works himself towards his end.

“So pretty like this, so tight, wet— fuck,” He’s losing himself, delirium setting in as he follows his bliss. The familiar sensation rumbles between his thighs as his cock begins to twitch, pressing his palm down on your belly as he cums hard. Spilling rope after rope of warm, thick cum into your tight hole.

Kirishima sounds even better saying your name when it’s at the end of a crescendo, the husky rasp to his tone has your walls clamping down around him as you feel a warmth beginning to consume you from the inside. His cheeks flushed as he gazed down at you, pulling his tip out from your tight cunt to watch his milky cum drool out of you. Your little hole barely stretched, but he can tell the difference. The slight flutter of your walls an indication of just how much he’d managed to fit inside.

And he’d make you take more, you’d take every inch of him soon enough. Of course you would.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” Kirishima mumbled, his hands already circling beneath your thighs, “Such a good girl.”

“But it didn’t fit.” You pouted, like an insubordinate child who didn’t get their own way.

“It’s okay, baby.” He cooed, “I’ll make it fit.”

He’s already tugging your thighs apart to hoist your hips up to his eager mouth, his tongue gliding through your slick as he pushes against your drooling hole full of his release.

“Let me clean you up and we’ll try again, yeah sweetheart?”

#red daddy riot

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 8. exhibitionism

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “come watch me play”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ vessel likes to put on a show for the christmas cheers. what kind of performance does he have in mind?

pairing: vessel x gn!reader

a/n: first sleep token fic in this little event 🫣

cw: nsfw content. exhibitionism. voyeurism. semi-public sex. degradation. masturbation. blowjob. kinda has iii x ivy. vessel is a bit of a dick.

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“yes… yess that’s it. all eyes on me. watch me fuck this bitch like a dog in heat.” —❤︎

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the moment ii, iii and ivy walked into their recording studio, they were met with a rather… compromising sight.

“… well?”

vessel’s voice ringed out, irritated with his bandmates just standing there. but could anyone blame them? the three of them were stunned, flabbergasted even. they didn’t know what to do.

“well don’t just stand there, you idiots. either you watch the show, or you leave.”

it took a moment for the three of them to even register the sight before them. it wasn’t until iii’s senses came back, and he bashfully shut the door behind them for some reason, he didn’t even know why he did.

what a sight for sore eyes. vessel had you bent over a table that originally had a bunch of sheet music and song lyrics, which were now scattered all across the red-carpeted floor from vessel shoving them off to make room for you. your nails dug into the sides of the table’s surface for support, because vessel’s cock was plowing into your tight, needy hole like it was the last fuck he’d ever have. the fierceness of him stretching you wide for your fellow bandmates to see was only making you more aroused, but fuck was it humiliating.

ii, iii and ivy were stunned, a wave of clashing emotions consuming their minds all at once. ii was stunned, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of the sight. iii was being bashful about it, awkwardly looking away and trying to hide the problem in his pants. and ivy, well, he was straight up into it.

“hmm… this is what you do while we’re away, boss?” ivy inquired, his tone of voice not really being questioning, but more so intrigued with a certain lustful tinge. “.. didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“i do.” vessel panted between thrusts, gripping your hair and forcing your head up to show your fucked out face in front of the three masked men watching you.

“consider it an early christmas gift.” the sleep entity managed out, his voice quickly turning into a low, husky chuckle.

“well it’s certainly a good one.” ivy snickered, his tone silky smooth. he turned to face his fellow members, smirking underneath his mask. “isn’t that right boys?”

ii was zoned out, he was too focused on checking yours and vessel’s half-naked bodies out. meanwhile iii snapped his head to ivy’s direction, face tomato red underneath the signature face covering.

he slapped ii’s shoulder to get his attention, and they both nodded.

“totally.”

“uh— yes.”

vessel’s voice was hoarse, trembling with pure lust and desire. he was so goddamn horny just from the feeling of multiple pairs of eyes watching him fuck the ever living shit out of you. you didn’t even know how you ended up in this situation. it was one event followed by another, then boom, here you are.

vessel’s strong, veiny hands gripped onto one of your legs and hooked it around his waist from behind, changing the angle and where his thrusts hit inside of you. he started hitting a certain spot that had you seeing stars, and you whined loudly.

“shit!” vessel cursed, gripping your hair more tightly, leaning down to whisper into your ear. “keep making noises like that. i want them to hear how good i fuck you.”

your mind was clouded with pure kinky desire. you could hear the sound of one of your fellow bandmate’s groaning and unzipping his pants, most likely to relieve himself of the boner you and vessel had given him. with this new angle vessel was hitting, you swore you were going to pass out of pure pleasure. it felt way too good to not express it through loud moans, whimpers and cries.

“god fucking damnit.” ii cursed, sagging off his jeans and leaning against the wall to rub his hardened cock. he could not keep his piercing, calculated eyes off of the sight. “i’m so damn horny just from watching this.”

for a moment he locked eyes with you, and that teary-eyed, hazy look on your face only got ii harder, and copious amounts of precum leaked from the head of his veiny length while he jerked himself off.

he never kept his eyes off of you.

as ii was groaning at the feeling of his self-pleasure, iii turned his head to look over at ivy. the guitarist looked so worked up, frustrated and horny from how his leader was going to town on you. he let out little grunts of fury as he desperately tried to jerk himself off.

without saying much, iii gulped, before taking a bold leap, and slipping his head between ivy’s legs, lifting his face mask up a bit to free his mouth. ivy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t object to feeling iii’s warm, wet mouth envelop his dick whole. iii choked and gagged as he took him in deeper, but the salty, almost sweet taste of ivy’s cock was enough to keep him going.

ivy cursed loudly and forced iii’s head down on his cock more, feeling something other than his hand to get him off was so much better. ivy out a loud moan and looking over at vessel and you.

vessel was having the time of his life. he loved the effect that his little sex toy had on the three of them. you just looked so good, your face all fucked out from how many times you came, and ii, iii and ivy were all getting so incredibly turned on from watching you. vessel was enjoying the power he had over his team, it made that dark lust sitting within him brew into something stronger, something that took over his body and made his thrusts more precise, quick and hard.

“yes… yess that’s it. all eyes on me. watch me fuck this bitch like a dog in heat.” vessel cried out loudly, his thrusts getting more forceful, and each moan eliciting from your throat got more raspy and needy.

with ii jerking himself off, and iii giving ivy the head of his life, none of them took their eyes off the sight. they were getting off to it. what perverts they were.

but you couldn’t say much, because you too, liked it. you liked the seductive effect your body had on them.

vessel forced your head into the table more, and kept thrusting. the room was filled with moans and groans of pure euphoria, and the sight couldn’t be more erotic.

vessel then chuckled and spoke to you again, keeping his voice hushed just for you.

“i hope you’re comfy, darling, because i’m gonna keep this show going on and on until you physically can’t cum anymore. got that?”

you nodded pathetically, and screamed vessel’s name loudly for your bandmates to hear.

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#holiday hoes event #sleep token fanfic #sleep token vessel #vessel x reader #vessel smut #ii sleep token #iii sleep token #iv sleep token #sleep token ivy #sleep token smut #sleep token fanfiction #smutty headcanons #smutty drabble #christmas #christmas prompts