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dandylovesturtles · 2 days

Note

Using a random number generator for the angst prompts: 20 Starved + 30 Dangerous Temperatures

... and Leo, of course.

OH GOD OK

uh so. I had an idea. and I decided to write it for this ask I got forever ago. And then, uh.

it really

really got out of hand.

This is a pretty dark fic (even for me) and at the current moment in time it is hurt/no comfort. I do intend to write a part 2, probably tomorrow, but as of the time I'm typing this author's note I've been writing for around 5+ hours straight and I need to take a break! So please, if you don't want to read all this without the comfort included, feel free to wait for the next part before reading! I'll link it and the end once it's posted.

Content warnings: Kidnapping, confinement, psychological torture, nonconsensual voyeurism (I guess this is the best way to put this; Leo isn't doing anything sexual but it's still violating), mild violence, HEAVY ANGST, Leo just having the shittiest time possible.

I HOPE?? YOU ENJOY??? hahahaha....

btw this is set between S2 and the movie (though tbh its canon compliance is... /waves hand)

-----

When Leo imagined himself getting captured by some kind of shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, it was never anything like this.

When he let his mind go there, he always pictured that he would be strapped to a table. Maybe muzzled. That scientists would stand over him, scalpels and drills in hand, and start to take him apart. That they'd examine him piece by piece, and wouldn't give him any anesthesia while they did it.

But there is no table, no muzzle, no restraints at all. He's just in a room.

Well, a cell, technically - the steel door is locked, and there are no windows, no furniture but a bare cot in one corner and a lone toilet in another. But it doesn't really look like a cell. It looks like a room.

A very, very white room. White walls. White ceiling. White tiles (with white grout, even). The toilet is white, a roll of white toilet paper on the floor next to it. The only things that aren't white are the cot and the door and Leo himself.

They took his gear and his weapons, because of course they did. Since the door is steel, he already knows he's not breaking it down; he gives it a half-hearted slam anyway, just to say he tried. He should be able to just portal out, except he hasn't learned how to use his portals without his swords to channel his ninpo through, and there's nothing in here with him that he can use to make new ones.

So he's stuck. He's going to have to wait until someone opens that door for some reason. Or, of course, until his family swings by to pick him up. Though, if possible, he'd like to escape before that happens. The image in his mind, of sitting outside his cell and grinning at them as they arrive to rescue him, is too cool to pass up.

He's not sure how long it's been already. He knows that they knocked him out after ambushing him, and he doesn't know how long he was unconscious. The heavy molasses feel of his head and arms when he woke up suggests that he was drugged. It's wearing off now, though, which means he has a clear head to take in the all of nothing that's in the room with him.

He sits on the cot he woke up on and waits for something to happen.

There's no way for him to tell time, but he thinks it's an hour or so later when there's a sudden beep, and then the sound of a metal panel sliding up. It's a slot near the door that has just opened - inside the revealed alcove is a bottle of water.

He comes to it curiously, taking a long look around the bottle. The slot doesn't open straight through, and even if it did, it's not big enough for anything more than his arm or a foot to fit through. He thinks it must function like an airlock, or maybe they slid the bottle down from somewhere above - he feels around just in case, and finds that the slot is enclosed on all sides but his. Probably his airlock theory, then.

As soon as he removes the bottle, the panel slams shut again.

"You're really determined to keep me in here, huh?" he says to whatever hidden cameras are watching him. He carries the water bottle back to his cot, but doesn't open it, instead setting it down on the floor by the wall. The paranoid part of his brain, the one that doesn't miss a trick, is reminding him that drinking the water is probably a bad idea. Who knows what they might have put in it?

He sits on the cot for awhile longer. Still, nothing happens.

"I'm getting pretty bored in here," he says for the audience that must be somewhere. "Come on, you have a one of a kind turtle in here, and you don't even want to talk to me?"

Time passes, slow and quiet. Leo goes through periods where his anxiety spikes and he starts to wonder if he's been abandoned by whoever brought him here, before the boredom eventually numbs the anxiety back out. Another bottle of water is eventually delivered, and this one he keeps in his hands after retrieving it. It's completely unlabeled, not even a "Use by" date printed on the bottle itself, so it doesn't provide much mental stimulation. He spins the bottle to make little whirlpools inside, because it's something to do.

He's trying to make the fastest whirlpool he can when he hears a sudden click, different from the beep of the water bottle hole, and he looks up just in time to see a large section of the wall in front of him turn black, and then light up to show the room beyond his cell.

He jolts, setting the bottle aside. He knew they must be watching him, but somehow he didn't catch that part of the wall was a whole window.

His audience isn't very large - five people, unless there are others he can't see. Two wear lab coats, two wear fatigues... but the one who comes to stand directly in front of the window is wearing a black suit, with steel rimmed glasses. He leans forward, and speaks into a small microphone.

"Inmate 24365," says the suited man. "I am Agent Bishop, of the Earth Protection Force. My subordinates tell me that you can speak and understand the English language. Is this correct?"

"Qué?" Leo asks.

Bishop does not look amused. "Inmate 24365," he says, "you have two options. You can cooperate with me, answer my questions, and we will make your stay here more comfortable. Do not cooperate, and we will make your stay uncomfortable. Do you understand?"

Leo pretends to hem and haw over this. "How comfortable are we talkin'?"

"I'm sure you would like some dinner."

"You know, I'm not really hungry." He says it to be difficult, but it's actually true - the uncertainty of the situation has put his stomach in too many knots to want to eat anything. "Maybe if you offer me some comic books? Or a TV?

To Bishop's credit, his face doesn't so much as twitch. He keeps his steely eyes locked on Leo. "Answer our questions, and you will receive food. Do you understand?"

Leo stays noncommittal. "What are the questions?"

He's expecting Bishop to ask about his family. He's not expecting what comes next.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave?" he asks. "How are these gateways accessed? What kind of defensive capabilities do the yokai have?"

Leo keeps the surprise off his face. Bishop thinks he's a yokai.

This is, overall, a good development. Bishop might not know about Leo's family, then, or at least not know that they live on the surface. This means the Earth Protection Force likely isn't pursuing his brothers, which means they will be safe until they can help Leo get out of here.

He doesn't let the relief show through, either. Bishop doesn't know anything, and now Leo just has to ride out the next few hours until the calvary arrives.

"You know," he says, "I think I'm good with my current levels of comfort."

If Bishop is mad or frustrated or dismayed by this choice, he doesn't show it. His expression stays stony as he stares in at Leo, sizing him up.

"Very well," he says after a few more seconds. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

The window goes dark, and then turns stark white to match the walls. Leo wants to go over and tap at it, see if it feels different when he touches it, but knowing that Bishop is surely still there, watching him, keeps him rooted to the cot.

He goes back to making whirlpools with the bottle. If they aren't going to entertain him, he isn't going to entertain them, either.

-----

Another water bottle comes some time after his talk with Bishop. He finally opens this one and takes a cautious sip. Nothing tastes off or strange, so he drinks more. They don't want to feed him, but they're fine keeping him hydrated. No reason to stay thirsty, then.

He wishes the water calmed the anxiety still roiling in his stomach, but if anything it just makes him feel even more energized. He bounces his foot and surveys his room again, looking for any weak spots or access points. He can't see anything, though, other than the areas where he knows the water bottle hole and window are; even the vents that relentlessly blow cold air into the room are well hidden.

Knowing that there are people standing just outside his cell watching him, like some kind of zoo animal, puts him on edge. The window is so big that he's pretty sure the only blind spots are either directly underneath it or right by the door on the same wall. After debating it, he leaves his cot and sits on the floor underneath the window, surveying the room from a different angle now and still coming up empty. At least they're going to have a harder time staring at him.

His eyes catch on the toilet in the corner, directly across from the window. It's not in the blind spot, and realizing this makes his insides lurch uncomfortably - hopefully he has a chance to bust out before using it becomes necessary.

Though, he's not sure when that chance is going to come. If they have a slot to pass him water, they could use that to pass him food, too, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to open the door unless they need to take him out.

So maybe his fantasy of being outside when his brothers arrive isn't going to happen. Well, that's okay; he'll just be sure to make some other part of their escape totally rad. That will make up for the embarrassment of getting kidnapped a block from Run of the Mill.

(Seriously, some kind of ninja he is, to let a bunch of human soldiers sneak up on him.)

He drains the water bottle, then starts to roll it back and forth across the floor, like a cat batting at a toy. Leo's not sure what's worse right now: the worry or the boredom. There's nothing to look at and no one to talk to, just an empty room with him and his water bottles.

He's too keyed up to sleep, and the fluorescent lights are still on, anyway. He has no way of telling what time it is, so maybe it just isn't that late yet. And even sitting here, in the blind spot, the idea of closing his eyes while people are watching makes unease crawl up his spine. Staying awake is the easy choice. He'll sleep after he's out of here.

So he sits under the window and rolls his bottle back and forth, back and forth, with only the sound of plastic on tile to keep his thoughts company.

-----

The first three water bottles came pretty regularly, but now there is a very long stretch where nothing is delivered. Leo is starting to think maybe it really is night now. They don't turn off the lights in his cell, though, and he has no controls to do it himself. At least it helps with the whole "staying awake" thing.

Just in case they've decided to suspend his water privileges along with the food, he holds off drinking any more for now.

Speaking of food, his appetite has finally decided to return. His stomach starts to growl at him after several hours (he thinks) of sitting in the floor, an annoying emptiness in his stomach. Knowing there's no food accessible just makes the hunger sharper, but he puts it out of his mind the best he can with nothing else to focus on. He can eat once he's free.

Which should be soon. Seriously, his brothers have to be on their way by now, right?

He's pretty sure it's been the better part of a day, if not a whole day, since he was kidnapped. And, okay, he's willing to give them some leeway; it's understandable if they got a late start. He did storm out of the lair after his latest fight with Raph, and no one ever came to check on him when he did that. Understandably, he thinks, because who wants to be around Bad Mood Leo? Not even Leo wants to be around Bad Mood Leo!

But he'd already turned back into Good Mood Leo by the time he left Hueso's, so surely they knew it had been more than enough time. They would have noticed when he didn't come home. They would have realized something happened. They would be looking for him.

And if they're looking for him, they'll find him! Obviously.

His stomach growls again, and Leo leans his head back against the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't think of being at Hueso's. Now he just wants pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe, or Hawaiian. Mix it up a little with the barbeque chicken.

Another growl. He groans out loud.

He stays awake, twisting and crinkling the empty bottle in his hands, until another full one finally arrives.

-----

No chance to escape comes before using the toilet is necessary.

He tried to hold out, he really did, but he ended up drinking more water to stave off the growing hunger, and it's lowkey cold in here, which doesn't help. Still, the issue of the window sends an uneasy shiver up his spine, doubting that any people outside will feel the need to turn away and give him some privacy. Maybe he should have gone while he suspected it was nighttime.

(Maybe he shouldn't assume they ever aren't watching him.)

He stands up and walks over to the cot, giving it a light nudge with his foot. In a stroke of luck, it isn't bolted to the floor, and it's light enough that he can lift it. The black mesh it's made of is tightly woven, enough that not much is visible through it. It will have to do.

He picks it up and drags it over in front of the toilet, propping it up on its legs so it makes a small wall between himself and the window. It's hardly ideal, but the semblance of privacy makes him relax somewhat.

(He can't think about how there are surely cameras in the room watching him from all angles, making his attempt at a barrier moot. He knows better than anyone that sometimes pleasant lies are necessary.)

After he does his business, he leaves the cot propped where it is; it's not like he's sleeping on it. There's no sink for him to wash his hands, but he's never been the strictest about it, anyway (much to Donnie's disgust). He returns to his spot under the window, squeezing the water bottle to the rhythm of the first song that comes to mind.

Only two verses and a bridge later, the window above his head turns black, then goes clear. Thinking that Bishop might have been watching him just now makes a cold, slimy feeling roll down his spine. Creepy!

"Inmate 24365," comes Bishop's voice through the unseen speaker. "Stand."

Leo doesn't. He stays right where he is, under the window.

Bishop waits only a few seconds. Then Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

He gets up at that, turning and leaning his arm against the window. It strangely doesn't feel like glass, even though it must be. "It's already cold enough in here," he says. He wonders how they can hear him, when he doesn't see a microphone on his side.

"You were told your conditions would only be made comfortable after you answer our questions," Bishop informs him. "The same as before: how many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways-"

"How about you answer my questions first," Leo interjects. "You keep calling me "inmate," but I haven't been charged with anything. Pretty sure you can't detain me without cause."

"The EPF is authorized to detain non-human inmates for as long as deemed necessary for the security of the United States," says Bishop smoothly. "Probable cause doctrine does not apply in this case."

"That's gotta be unconstitutional."

"The constitution does not recognize the rights of yokai. You have no right to counsel, no right to a speedy trial, and no right to protections from cruel and unusual punishments." Bishop's stare is colder than the temperature in the room. "But I am not an unfair man. Answer my questions, and I will provide you with food and clothing."

Leo tosses a glance over his shoulder. "How about a private bathroom?"

Bishop's expression stays ever in place, unimpressed and stoic. "Food and clothing," he repeats.

Leo gives his head a shake. "Then nope," he says, popping the "p". "I plead the fifth."

"As I have already explained, the Bill of Rights does not apply to you."

"That's such crap." Leo bangs his fist on the window. "You can't just keep me here forever for no reason!"

"I do have reasons." Bishop leans closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. "Let's try a different question. What is your relation to Baron Draxum?"

The surprise is fast and sharp, but Leo just manages to keep it from showing on his face. "Who?" he asks innocently, even as the panic sets into his chest. If they know about Draxum, what else do they know?

"We know you are acquainted with him," says Bishop. "What is the nature of your relationship?"

Leo knows they aren't bluffing - why would they bring up that very specific name otherwise? There's no lie he can tell that won't reveal something.

So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his back to the window and sits down, staring resolutely at the opposite wall.

Bishop clicks his tongue. "Very well," he says. "I am a patient man. I can wait." Then, more muffled, like he's facing away from the microphone, Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

The window goes dark, then turns back to white. Leo doesn't move for a long time.

-----

The third water bottle arrives, so he guesses that's the end of day two.

He's shaking as he gets up to retrieve it, adding it to his growing water bottle hoard. He's gone through three and a half by now, but he's trying not to drink them too fast.

As promised, no food is delivered, and his stomach growls and rumbles in protest. The water helps, but only slightly. He needs to eat.

He also needs to sleep.

The panicked adrenaline spikes that have kept him awake this long are starting to die down, with more and more long stretches of exhaustion between them. The shaking is near constant, bringing with it the weird jittery feeling he gets when his insomnia gets particularly bad.

The window is still unnerving him. The idea of sleeping while they're watching him feels staggeringly unsafe.

But he doesn't think he can hold out now until his family gets here. Sure, they're probably getting close (they have to be getting close), but they're sure taking their sweet time. And he's just so tired.

After a long internal debate, he lays down on the cold tile floor. It's not at all comfortable, but somehow he doubts the cot would be any better. Besides, even if he moves the cot under the window, he thinks it would be easier to see him if he uses it. So on the floor it is.

He presses as close to the wall as he can, curling up into a ball for warmth. He wishes he had a blanket.

He wishes he was home.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces back the sudden wave of overwhelming homesickness. There's no reason to feel this way. It's only been two days! What is he, a baby?

It's fine. It's all fine. They're definitely on his trail now. Raph is leading the team. Donnie is using some kind of invention to blah blah blah nerd stuff. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative journalism skills to find clues.

They're on their way. He just has to hold out a little longer. He can do this.

He sleeps, and in his dreams, something grabs him tight and drags him down and down and down where he can't escape.

-----

The same routine plays out over the next two days.

Leo gets two water bottles delivered, spaced, if he had to guess, about five hours apart. Bishop comes to visit him some time after the second bottle. Leo refuses to answer his questions. Bishop turns the temperature down and then leaves. A few hours later his last water bottle comes. Then nothing for the whole night.

They still don't turn off his lights, but exhaustion is starting to win over the brightness.

More than a few times, Leo tries to summon a portal on his own, without his swords. If his family is going to take their sweet time in coming, he might as well try to help them out. He tries to summon his ninpo (without glowing), tries to feel the tug inside of him that he always does when he teleports, tries to envision the place he wants to go and tunnel through space to get there.

Nothing. Always nothing.

(Donnie can make his constructs independent of his bo staff. Raph can send his projections away from his sai. Mikey's learning to use mystic powers without his nunchucks. So why does Leo need his katana? Why is he the only one this useless?)

It probably doesn't help that he's so damn hungry. It's a constant companion now, a low and hollow ache that chooses inconvenient times to turn into white hot stabs of urgency, into seizing cramps that steal his breath. The water only helps so much - it keeps him alive but doesn't satisfy, doesn't soothe. In some ways it just makes the feeling worse.

And he's always shaking, too, but he doesn't know if that's the hunger or the cold.

Maybe the cold wouldn't bother him so much if it were at least still. But the vents blow fresh air inside relentlessly, and no matter where he goes he can't seem to get out of the direct stream. The cold wind batters his tired body, and there's places his skin is starting to turn dry and flaky. His nose won't stop running, and he's allowed himself a small section of his one roll of toilet paper to blow it, already stiff and congealed and disgusting.

It's miserable.

And there's still nothing to do.

He stacks a pyramid out of his empty water bottles, knocks it down, then stacks it up again. He tries to come up with some new and exciting ways to demolish it, but it's only new and exciting for so long.

He spends a few hours of day three singing karaoke as obnoxiously as possible. He hopes everyone outside enjoys the performance.

He recounts every issue of Jupiter Jim he knows to himself, then the plot of every movie. Then he goes through Lou Jitsu films, then anything else he can think of. That eats up a good chunk of day four.

By the time he gets his first water bottle of day five, he's out of ideas to entertain himself. He's never been good at this. He doesn't know how introverts like Donnie can go multiple days without talking to someone.

But when Bishop comes back with his daily offer of conversation, Leo once again impolitely declines.

-----

Something new happens on night five.

It's been a long time since the last water bottle. Leo has been trying to sleep, but it's not coming easy; he's exhausted, but the floor is so cold and he's so sore from staying on it night after night. Not to mention, his nightmares have been getting worse, and he isn't eager to return to them.

Add on the hunger, and sleep is elusive.

Suddenly, there's the telltale shadow of the window above him turning dark - this time, though, it doesn't light up as much as normal. Confused and curious, Leo sits up and takes a peek.

The room beyond is dim, only the glow of a green EXIT sign and a small desk lamp lighting the space. But it's enough for Leo to see a man standing there, looking inside. It's not Bishop - in fact, he doesn't recognize this person at all. They're wearing fatigues, but it's not anyone he's seen in the room during Bishop's normal interrogations.

The man catches sight of Leo, and the grinning leer on his face makes Leo regret looking.

He beckons for Leo to stand up. Warily, Leo does, unable to help but keep his arms folded tight over his chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some clothes - his gear, at the very least. Anything to not feel quite so exposed.

The man reaches down and picks something up, holding it aloft for Leo's inspection. "Want a sandwich?" he asks into the microphone.

The sandwich looks like white bread and bologna. No cheese, no other toppings that Leo can spot. Maybe some mustard, if anything. Overall, the most boring possible sandwich he could have been offered.

Leo's mouth is watering.

He has to swallow hard before answering. He doesn't trust this. Even if his stomach is slamming up and down at the promise of food, food, food.

"I'm not hungry," he lies.

The man laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Sure you ain't," he says. "You spend every night curled up on the floor like the dumb animal you are. Can you even eat this?" He waves the sandwich for emphasis.

Leo doesn't answer. He takes a step back from the window, like that will put any kind of distance between them. Like that will save him.

The man watches him with a sleezy grin. He waves the sandwich again.

"You want this," he says.

Leo shakes his head.

"You really sure?"

Leo shudders. Stands tall. Nods.

The man watches him for a long, long moment. Leo fights the urge to hide.

Finally, with a shrug, the man says, "Suit yourself."

Then he starts eating the sandwich. Right where Leo can watch.

Leo's stomach growls, loud and angry in his ears, and he has to physically hold himself back from crumpling.

After several bites, the man suddenly reaches out and taps the window, indicating the cot stood up in front of the toilet.

"That," he says, giving another tap for emphasis, "doesn't do shit."

Leo wants to crawl out of his own skin.

The need to hide is suddenly too great. He rushes to the cot, grabbing it and dragging it back to the blind spot under the window. He sets it down on all four legs, so it's as close to the floor as possible.

Then he lies down on his belly and wriggles underneath. It's a tight squeeze, and the cot ends up pushed up by his shell, suspended in the air, but he doesn't care.

He curls up in his pleasant lie of privacy and bites his hand to keep from screaming himself hoarse.

After an eternity, the window above him turns white again. It doesn't matter. Leo knows he's still there. Still watching.

-----

"You look tired," Bishop greets him. Leo answers with a dead-eyed stare.

"I keep telling you, if you want your conditions to improve, all you have to do is answer my questions."

Leo says nothing. He just stares, arms wrapped tight around himself to try and keep his body heat in.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways accessed?"

For a moment, Leo considers just... telling him.

His family doesn't live in the Hidden City. The yokai have never exactly greeted them with open arms. What does he care if these military guys go after them? At least then, maybe he can finally eat something.

That's not what a hero does, Leo! echoes Mind Raph disapprovingly. Innocent people will get hurt!

Right. He's a hero. And heroes don't give into the demands of shitty guys like Bishop.

Leo swallows hard. "No comment."

Bishop's face changes ever so slightly: his brow creases. Leo wonders if that's good or bad for him.

"You understand that Baron Draxum is a known threat, don't you?" he asks. "We are aware of his plans to commit mass murder on the human population. We also know that he has been dormant for some time, and we need information on what he is planning."

Leo thinks of Barry's ambitions to be recognized as the best lunchperson in all of America and can't help but laugh. It comes out cracked and wheezing.

Bishop's furrow gets deeper. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Little bit," says Leo.

Bishop has a chasm to rival Raph's now. Leo knows he shouldn't, but he grins. It's his one moment of triumph - only he can be this aggravating.

And then Bishop says, "Temperature down seven degrees," and that wipes the smile right off Leo's face.

-----

The plastic of the water bottles is soft and pliable and feels weirdly good under Leo's teeth.

He chews the top of the bottle, gnawing at it until it's completely flattened out, pockmarked with little tiny indents from his incisors. It's not eating - it won't fill his belly or ease the persistent hunger pains. But something about the motion is soothing. The place-bo effect.

Pla-ce-bo, corrects Donnie's voice in his mind, sounding testy.

Where are you? Leo thinks back.

There's no answer.

He's gnawed his way through four water bottles. There's eighteen in total now, two and a half still full of water. He thought about using one to wash up a bit, but decided against it in the end. He knows he stinks, but the last thing he wants right now is to be wet. Not when he's starting to see his breath.

Oh well. It's not like he has anywhere to be.

He turns his attentions to the lids next. These are harder and thus tougher to chew. Still, if Leo uses his molars, he can eventually crack the lip, and then bend the plastic in and in, chewing until he ends up with a flat disc.

It's just small enough that Leo could swallow it, if he wanted to.

He thinks he remembers watching some kind of wildlife documentary. Or maybe he didn't watch it himself, but Mikey told him about it. Or maybe April? He doesn't know. His thoughts swim in and out and get lost on the way.

Point is. Sea turtles in the wild die all the time because of plastic in the water. They cut open their stomachs and find trash inside.

Well, Leo is a turtle in captivity. Maybe that means he's immune. Maybe he could swallow this plastic lid, and then he'd finally feel full and the pain pain pain of his empty stomach would go away.

He does not swallow the plastic lid. But it's more tempting than he'd like to admit.

It's going to be okay. When his family gets him out of here, they'll have a big pizza to celebrate. Maybe he can even talk them into letting him have the last slice.

It has to be any moment now, right? It's been a week. They have to be closing in. Any moment now, the door will open, and there they'll be to take him home.

The air conditioning blows relentlessly against his skin. He sneezes, then rubs the snot on his arm. He's given up on the tissue paper.

It'll be over soon. It has to be. Just hang in there, Leon, just a little longer.

He picks up another bottle and starts chewing.

-----

He's playing a mindless little game with his flattened bottle lids the next time Bishop comes.

"I'm surprised you still have any energy at all," says Bishop, and Leo wants to punch him.

(Really, he wants to do more than that. But those kinds of thoughts always make him feel weird and bad, so he pushes them away.)

"You should have learned by now," he says, pushing to his feet and trying not to show how badly he's trembling, "you can't keep me down."

"This is all unnecessary," says Bishop. "I'll feed you as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo barks out a laugh. "Sure you will."

"I will," says Bishop. He turns and says over his shoulder, "Bring it here."

One of the men in fatigues steps forward and hands a tray with a covered plate over to Bishop. Bishop uncovers the tray and holds it where Leo can see.

Baked chicken, broccoli with cheese, mashed potatoes.

Leo's stomach twists and cramps so painfully he has to bend at the hips and clutch his midriff.

"This is yours, as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo pointedly keeps from looking at the food. He shakes his head. He can't. He can't.

"Such persistence." Bishop's voice is scolding now. "You understand that you are a known accomplice to a terrorist, don't you? But if you become a cooperating witness, you will be granted some leniency."

Leo barks a laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Bishop's face, and pointedly not the food. "What's the point?" he asks. "If I'm not... protected by the constitution, or whatever. Are you going to let me go?"

"No," says Bishop. "But as I have told you, your conditions will become more comfortable." He waves the tray of food.

Leo stares at him, before a manic smile splits his face.

"You... stupid bastard. I can't even answer your questions." He slams a shaking hand against his plastron. "I'm not even a yokai! Do you get that? I'm not a yokai!"

Bishop looks skeptical. "Obviously you are."

"I'm not!" Leo rages. "I'm a mutant! I'm from New York! I don't even live in the Hidden City!"

Bishop's eyes flash. "I see," he says, "so you do know of it."

Leo falters, his body going slack.

What an obvious, stupid mistake.

(Some face-man he is.)

It takes Leo a long moment to answer. Bishop stays right where he is, holding the food so tantalizingly close and yet still out of reach.

"...I don't know about the gateways," he says finally. "I don't know about their defensive capabilities. I don't know what Baron Draxum is planning."

"Your lies are obvious," says Bishop. "You really don't want this? It's your last chance today."

Leo stares at the food. His mouth is watering so hard it might start to drip. Would it really be so bad to answer? They don't live in the Hidden City. And Draxum dropped him off a roof.

Draxum is trying to change, says Mind Raph. You see what these guys are like. You can't turn the yokai over to them. They'll hurt them!

What about me? he asks. Is it okay if I get hurt?

You're a hero, Leo, says Mind Raph. You can deal with it for a little longer. It's just a room. Just a little cold. Just some hunger.

He's a hero. He can deal with it. He can. He can.

He'll make them proud. Show them they can trust him.

It takes everything he has, but he shakes his head.

Bishop tuts. Then he throws the entire plate in the trash.

"Tomorrow, then," he says. Then the window is gone.

Leo collapses on his cot and tries not to cry.

-----

After his third water bottle on day eight, one of the fluorescent lights over his head flickers and then dies out.

It's not surprising, since they keep them running twenty-four seven. The blessedly dimmed lighting is actually nice, for once. Leo thinks maybe he could get some sleep, if the gnawing hunger and the constant shivers don't keep him awake.

He's just closed his eyes and snuggled up under his cot when it occurs to him: they may come in to fix it. If keeping the lights on day and night is part of their plan to torture him, to keep him exhausted and anxious and on edge, then they have to.

Which means his chance is finally here.

He has to be careful about this. He has to be ready to move, but he can't let them know he's ready to move. He has to let them think he's too weak, too exhausted, to make an escape attempt.

(He can't let himself think that, though. He can't give up before he tries.)

So he stays under his cot, but subtly shifts it so it won't restrict his movement. He has to be ready to burst out as soon as he gets a chance. Get past whoever comes in, then get out the door. It's after the last water bottle, so it's nighttime. There will be fewer people. He can do this. He can do this.

Find his swords. Make a portal. Get out.

Just as he was thinking, after a long time has passed, there is a loud warning beep, different from the water bottle beep. An automated voice says from somewhere unseen, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Then the door slides open, and someone comes in.

It's a man wearing fatigues. Leo thinks this is the one who "offered" him a sandwich the other day. He's holding some kind of gun with a long barrel. He does a sweep of the room with his eyes, coming to rest on Leo under his cot. He gives Leo the same leering grin, and waves the barrel of the gun in his direction.

"Now you behave, and we'll get along just fine," he says.

He steps to the side, and another man enters, this one wearing the kind of jumpsuit Leo sees janitors in on TV. He's carrying a stepladder in one hand and a long tube in the other. Is that what fluorescent lights look like? Leo didn't know.

The man walks to the middle of the room and sets up his stepladder. Then he walks up and pulls off the light casing. When he unhooks the old bulb, it causes the other bulb to flicker, just for a few moments.

Leo explodes out from under the cot, grabbing the man in fatigues by the legs and yanking as hard as he can. The man yelps in surprise, and Leo hears the sound of the gun going off in a random direction. The janitor shouts and drops the light bulb - the sound of shattering glass joins the cacophony.

Leo jumps to his feet and runs out the door they had been too stupid to close, sprinting toward the EXIT sign. He's exhausted and shaky but he's coursing with adrenaline, and he leans on it hard to keep him moving. Don't stop, don't stop, get out of here. He'll figure out what to do next once he's free.

Past the exit sign there's a large open room with desks and computer monitors. Most of them are off, but one lingering woman in a lab coat, seated at her desk, screams when she sees Leo dash through the middle of the office space.

"Security!" she screams into a device on her chest. "Inmate is escaping! Inmate is escaping!"

Leo doesn't have time to shut her up, he just keeps moving. He pushes through the next door and arrives in a hallway; he only has time to glance one way and then the other before scrambling to the left, hoping it was a good choice.

He rounds a corner and sees another green EXIT sign up ahead. It's not where he meant to go - he meant to find where they're keeping his swords first. But he hears shouting behind him and doesn't stop. Fine, so no portals - he'll figure out something else once he's away from here.

He throws himself forward into the exit door, which leads him into yet another hallway. Another long sprint, with shouting and slamming doors at his heels, and then finally, finally, a third EXIT sign, and he crashes outside.

Where there's snow on the ground, snow on the trees.

It steals his breath away. There shouldn't be snow. It's May.

Where is he?

He takes a breath of air so cold it seizes his lungs, then takes a step forward. He'll worry about that-

BANG!

A piercing pain in his shoulder nearly sends him toppling over. Leo shouts, grasping for the wound and feeling something sticking out of his skin. He grabs it and yanks, pulling it free.

It's a dart.

Damn it, he thinks, before his vision goes woozy, and he collapses into the snow.

-----

"Are you proud of your little escape attempt?" comes Bishop's voice.

Leo looks up from his cot. Bishop has to get so close to the window to see him that his nose is pressed flat against it. It should be hilarious, but Leo doesn't really have the energy to laugh. Or to do much of anything.

He's hungry. He's tired. He's cold. He's still sluggish from the drugs.

And they threw away all his water bottles. Fuckers.

Leo rolls over on the cot and covers his ears.

"What a childish response," says Bishop, and that's funny, too, because Leo literally is a child. Or a teenager, anyway. He doesn't feel like it will help him much to point that out, though.

"All you have to do is answer my questions, and all this will be fixed."

That's the funniest thing of all. The idea that he spills his guts and Bishop treats him to a five course meal to make up for all the pain up till now. Hilarious.

He says nothing.

Bishop sighs.

"You are likely still affected by the tranquilizing agent. I'll return tomorrow."

Before he leaves, he says, "Temperature down five degrees."

-----

The same man is back that night. He opens the window and looks down at Leo with the same leering smile. Leo can't even take satisfaction in the bandage on the side of his head.

"Neat little trick you had yesterday," he says. "Almost got me fired."

Leo wishes it had gotten him fired. But he clearly has no luck in this situation.

"You know, I respect the attempt. And you probably would have gotten farther with a little food in your belly." The man reaches down, then retrieves a sandwich, as mouth-wateringly unappetizing as the last time. "You sure you don't want this?"

And Leo knows he shouldn't trust this guy. Leo knows he should say no.

But he's just...

so...

hungry.

So he gets up. And he turns to the window. On shaking limbs that can barely hold him upright anymore. With a body that is laced with pain and aches and cramps.

And he nods.

The man's smile gets wider. "What do you say?" he asks, in the sing-song tone of a parent scolding a child.

It makes a sick nausea rise in Leo's throat. But he wants the sandwich.

"Please," he gasps out.

"Mmm... not good enough." The man waves the sandwich. "You want this? You beg for it."

Leo stares, eyes wide. But the sandwich... the sandwich...

He gets down on his knees. Feels a searing flush of humiliation. His stomach is rolling and gurgling and cramping with pain, a hollow, empty chasm inside him desperate to be filled.

He lowers his head.

"Please," he says. "I... I want the sandwich. I'm... begging you, please."

The man laughs, loud and long. When Leo finally finds it in him to raise his eyes, the sandwich is already half eaten.

"Hey, good job," says the man, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. "That was real convincin'."

And then he takes another bite.

Just like that, Leo forgets about the pain, the aches, the cold, the hunger. All that's left is pure, white hot, screaming rage.

Leo lunges at the window and slams his fist into it so hard it cracks. Not enough to break the glass. Not enough to free him. But enough that the man startles and steps back.

And Leo starts to laugh. High and manic and unhinged even to his own ears.

"I'll kill you," he says, and his voice sounds almost joking, and yet- "I'll kill you. You're dead. You're dead, as soon as I get out of here, you're dead, I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!"

The man has dropped the rest of his sandwich. He fumbles for his gun, left somewhere on a table to the side. For one satisfying moment, Leo sees a flash of genuine fear on the man's face.

"Shit," he says, his voice far away the further he gets from the microphone. "Pretty scary, frogboy."

Then he slams a button, and the window goes black, and Leo gets a glimpse of his own reflection.

His face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes are ringed by deep circles, so dark they look like bruises. His body is shaking like a leaf.

And his stripes...

His stripes are lit up like when he uses his ninpo, but they aren't their usual Neon Leon bright.

They're almost black.

Leo gasps and stumbles back just as the window goes white. The full body quakes he feels now aren't from the cold or the hunger or the exhaustion.

He turns and sinks onto the cot. Puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Tries to will his ninpo to stop rolling and snapping and to go back to normal.

This isn't what he wants. This isn't him.

This place is breaking him. He's letting it break him.

He pulls his legs up onto the cot and buries his face in his knees. Wraps his arms around them and rocks gently, the way Donnie used to do when things got overwhelming. Maybe he understands that better, now.

This isn't him. He's Leonardo, Neon Leon, the face-man, the jokester! The one who's always ready with a quip and a laugh. The one who can do anything!

Except portal out of his room. Except escape from this building. Except resist begging for a sandwich like he's a dog.

Leo's breath hitches, and for once he doesn't stop himself. He knows the guy outside is probably watching. He knows there are cameras recording this. He hates giving them the satisfaction.

But he's tired, and hungry, and he...

He wants to go home.

He cries, silently, until he's completely rung out.

-----

Maybe they aren't coming.

That's the thought that pops into his head, just a bit after the first water bottle of the day.

He knew they would have gotten a late start, because he stormed out. And he knew it would take them awhile to figure out who took him - he hadn't heard of the EPF before, so why would they? And he knew it would take them time to figure out where he had been taken, which must have been pretty far out if it's snowing outside. But the EPF got him here within a night, he's pretty sure, so unless they have a super fast jet, he must still be on the continent somewhere.

So... so surely they must have figured it out by now, right? Raph is leading the team. Donnie is doing science things. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative skills.

Unless they aren't coming.

Maybe... maybe it's true. Why would they want him back, after all? Leo took Raph's leader position, and since then all he'd managed to do was piss Raph off. Mikey and Donnie hadn't been happy about it, either, and he'd noticed that they'd been avoiding him more and more. April claimed she wasn't taking sides, but she always seemed to be on Raph's anyway. And Dad... well, he was probably disappointed that he made Leo leader only for him to do nothing and then get himself kidnapped.

He doesn't bring anything to the team. He doesn't bring anything to the family. And no one likes his jokes.

So. Maybe they just... aren't looking. Maybe they aren't going to come.

Maybe he's held out this long for no reason. Maybe he's been cold and starving for no reason at all.

Maybe it's time to give up.

---

Don't give up, says a new voice in his head.

You are not alone.

-----

He has no energy left to stand when Bishop comes. The man looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You don't look well," he observes.

No shit, Leo wants to say.

"This has gone on long enough. Answer my questions, and we will provide you with food, clothing, and medical care."

The list is getting longer. Leo's fuzzy eyes stare up at Bishop. Medical care. Does he need that?

"You already know what I want to know." Bishop has a furrow between his eyebrows now. "Will you talk to me?"

He could. He could do it. He could finally have some relief from all the pain. All the hunger. All the cold.

But they might hurt the yokai in the Hidden City.

They might hurt Draxum.

They might hurt his family.

And maybe, if nothing else... if Leo could just keep his mouth shut, just this once...

Maybe that would finally make Raph, Dad, and everyone proud of him.

Maybe they'd finally trust him.

Maybe, at least, he can have that much.

Leo shakes his head.

Bishop scowls.

"Temperature down ten degrees."

-----

Leo isn't shivering anymore. That's probably a bad sign.

He can still see his breath, each time he exhales. It rises like smoke, before disappearing into the air.

He doesn't have any energy left, not even to chew on his new water bottles. He hasn't even collected the last two, and they sit crowded together in the slot, untouched.

He kind of wishes they had just dissected him from the beginning. It would have been faster. Freezing to death, he's decided, is a real zero out of ten. Starving to death isn't any better. No stars.

Even though the damn lights are still on, he feels extremely sleepy. It's probably the cold. He wonders what will happen if he brumates. He's never done it before, not like his little cousins, and he has no idea if it's even safe.

Probably not, given he has no calorie reserves left. All it means is he won't be drinking water, either.

But he's so sleepy.

It's going to be time soon for Bishop to come back. Leo doesn't know what the point is anymore. Maybe he'll just sleep through it. Yeah, that would really make him mad. And making Bishop mad is all he has at this point.

And he'll get to sleep. It's a win-win.

So thinking, Leo rolls himself over onto his belly. Then, one by one, he pulls his limbs into his shell.

He doesn't do this much anymore, not since he started growing. His body just doesn't seem to fit his shell like it should - a side effect of the mutation, probably. It's not really comfortable to be inside for long.

But Leo is sleepy. And his shell feels like the best place to be.

So he pulls in his legs, then his arms, and then, finally, his head.

It's not any warmer in here. But at least it's dark.

At least he's not shivering.

Leo sighs, content, and closes his eyes, and drifts to sleep.

-----

(Outside his cell, there's a bang, and shouting, and a gunshot.

The sound is muffled, and Leo sleeps on.)

-----

Part 2 (not yet out)

#rottmnt #rise leo #agent bishop #cw: psychological torture #dandy fanfiction #I want it to be clear that any time Leo is hearing “Mind Raph”#that's just his own inner voice manifesting #please don't be mad at Raph himself lol

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changbunnies · 2 days

Text

Coy, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Inexperienced!Bang Chan x Experienced Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff and smut with a lil plot :)

♡ Word Count: 7.7k

♡ Summary: What occurs when joking about sex with your roommate leads to a shocking discovery about his lack of experience in the bedroom.

♡ Smut Warnings: not intended to have overt dom/sub dynamics but you can infer vibes if you want lol, chan is rlly insecure but reader is here to help!!, nipple play, handjob, oral (m rec), fingering (f rec), protected piv

♡ Notes: hey yall, i wanted to write something small and fun before my next big fic so here we are :’) honestly i was torn between writing this for chan or bin and ended up choosing chan but lmk if you'd want to see a fic like this for binnie! i went super perfectionist mode and rewrote this several times…. like at least 7 fsdgdsfg but i don't want it in my drafts anymore !! just take it !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All you said was a lighthearted joke- something said in jest to make your roommate-turned-best friend’s face flush red and burn all the way to the tips of his ears.

That was always the reaction Chan had when you brought up having had sex, you noticed; cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away from yours to look anywhere else, thumbs nervously twiddling where his hands rested in his lap. You assumed he had plenty of experience, but was more of a “heat of the moment” kind of guy- where you imagined he’d be confident and sure of himself with his partner, but talking about sex outside of the moment turned him into a shy, stuttering mess.

And it’s not that you purposely went out of your way to imagine what Chan was like during sex, but your mind would often wander there on its own. He was attractive, to put it lightly- devoted to fine-tuning his muscles with diligently followed routines and strictly maintained effort. You were witness to his toned body on more than one occasion, as he often wandered around the apartment shirtless while having just woken up or doing his laundry.

It was a treat for the eyes for sure, but you were respectful. You never drooled over him- at least not anywhere but in the privacy of your bedroom. But it wasn’t just his body that you adored; he had the absolute cutest smile you’d ever seen, eyes crinkling into the prettiest crescent moons as dimples showed on his cheeks. You loved his fluffy, natural hair, and the deep brown color of his eyes, and the way warmth radiated off him when he pulled you into a hug.

So maybe you have a crush on him- but you aren’t going to act on it. You live together in a careful balance, in which you are close enough to him to become good friends while also hiding your attraction to him to maintain the peace. God forbid he doesn't return your attraction, or he does and down the line it makes things complicated. The last thing you need is to scramble for a new place to live after things between you don’t work out- you’d never be able to afford it, and you’ll gladly swallow your feelings for home security.

But just because you couldn’t have sex with Chan, didn’t mean you couldn’t talk about it with him.

Chan is shy- that much you knew for certain. And sex, while a natural and fun part of life, is something that some people are embarrassed to be open about despite the normality. That's what you saw Chan as; a shy, easily embarrassed person. You thought it was so cute, and just a teensy bit funny; and with all that in mind, it was fun to tease him- to watch his eyes widen in surprise before he let out an awkward cough and looked away, hoping to hide the red forming on his cheeks.

So today, after bringing up how your last date ended, and seeing how brightly Chan’s face burned when you talked about the way they touched you, you couldn’t help but joke around with him. “Oh, c’mon Channie, don’t be coy. I know you’re drowning in pussy when I’m not here,” you teased him with a smirk. Considering your crush on him, you didn’t like to think about it too hard, but you did believe it- surely he brings people back to the apartment while you’re out on your dates.

“O-Oh, no, I’m not- I don’t-” he started to stutter out, and you giggled, because really, how could you believe anything else? He’s perfect- intelligent, funny, talented, as adorable as he is devastatingly hot; obviously he can get whoever he wants, and you believe he does- because Chan is certainly a fucking catch. But still, he continues to stammer and shake his head, blush spreading down his neck as he refutes your statement.

He isn’t a virgin, you have that much right; but he also isn’t some smooth operator hitting hookups with the classic “my roommate isn’t home 👀” text like you seem to think. He doesn’t even know why you think he’s secretly so cool- he’s only ever shown you the most embarrassing version of himself, much to his own chagrin. He’d like to be the person you think he is, but that’s simply not reality.

And as your giggling comes to a stop, and you really look at Chan and take in his expression, you can tell- he's being serious. "Oh," you blink in surprise, smacked with the realization that all your assumptions about him may have been entirely off base.

You frown, wondering if you've actually been making him uncomfortable this entire time. It was always meant to be in good fun, as you thought his bashful reactions were incredibly cute and endearing; but now you realize the truth. Chan isn’t shy about sex because he’s a private person- he’s shy about sex because he isn't having any.

Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed about all the times you talked about yourself; maybe it's karma for all the times you've subtly teased him. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or crossed a line or anything, I didn't mean to, really-" You start to apologize, but Chan interjects, quickly shaking his head.

"N-No, no, you're fine! I just, uh-" he nervously stumbles on his words again, not even sure what he’s doing at this point. He doesn't even know why he refuted your joke so strongly- sure, it wasn’t true, but wouldn’t it be better for him if you believed it?

Chan likes you- like, really likes you; but he can't imagine someone as experienced and confident as you will go for a guy like him. Because while he isn't a virgin, his past experiences have been woefully cringe-inducing to even recall.

He was always so eager and clumsy, with trembling hands and face so red he was sure he looked like a tomato. He was embarrassingly sensitive, every touch feeling so overwhelmingly good that he could hardly contain all the noises threatening to leave his throat. He came so fast that he didn’t even know what to do with himself when it was all said and done, hiding his face beneath his arm while he muttered a string of low apologies.

And subjecting you to all of that? No thanks, falling off the face of the earth would be more preferable. You're the most sex positive person he's ever met, and you won’t make fun of him, he logically knows, but there’s part of him that fears it anyways. On top of that, apparently you had an extremely positive perception of his skills, and now he's ruined it.

While he's unsure what about him led you to believe he's desirable enough to have people biting at the chance to be with him, that impression, for better or worse, will never come back. So should he just be honest? Admit that he's actually really down bad for you but nowhere near confident enough to think he's enough for you?

That sounds like a bad idea. Terrible, even. Chan swallows as he looks at you, doing his best to ignore the way anxiety builds from deep in his gut. You're looking at him so patiently, caringly, that it makes his heart squeeze in his chest. Fuck it- he doesn't have to be completely honest and bear his heart on his sleeve, but he can trust you enough to admit a little bit of what he feels, right? If he can't confide in you then who else can he confide in?

"I just, uhm, I'm not very confident, I guess," he says after a careful breath, nervously scratching at the back of his neck as he darts his eyes away, "like.. in myself, or.. my skills, you know. So I just, uh.. don't have sex." You don't respond right away, simply blinking as you process the information, and regret starts to flood over the anxiety as Chan begins to overthink everything he’s admitted to you.

Really, you’re just shocked; Chan is sexy- like, really sexy. So the revelation that he isn’t confident in himself enough to enjoy sex to its fullest extent is baffling. He has such effortless charisma in other aspects of his life despite his shy nature, and you always assumed it carried over into his sex life; where his bashful looks and timid grins would melt away into someone confident and assured once the moment kicked off.

“I could help you,” you finally offer once the initial surprise wears off, and instantly his brain is short circuiting, not even realizing that his astounded “huh?” left him audibly. You didn't really plan on confessing your attraction to Chan this way, if ever, but well.. here you are.

"It's just- you're like, the hottest person I know. Seriously. And I don't care if you lack experience, I'd have sex with you regardless," you explain, a rare blush of your own beginning to heat your face, "So, yeah, you know- if you want me like I want you, then.." You start to trail off, but you think he gets what you were intending to say.

It's a bit embarrassing to be blushing yourself considering all the casual sex you have, but it's not your fault- Chan is the only person you've caught feelings for in years, so you can't help but blush a little. Chan, meanwhile, is still stunned; you're attracted to him? You want to have sex with him? Really?

On one hand, it's exciting- you want him, he wants you, and you don't care that he's inexperienced. But still, on the other hand.. With all the experience you have, don’t you want to sleep with someone who matches your energy? He can't imagine that you'd enjoy watching him fumble his way through your time together, or that he’d bring you any pleasure with his lackluster skills.

And what would your relationship be afterwards? Just friends and roommates who happened to fuck once, or something more? Will the mutual attraction die off the moment you realize his insecurities are way more than you signed on for?

“You don’t have to answer right now,” you assure him, offering all the time he may need to think about your proposition. Maybe it won’t be the most casual of your experiences considering your massive crush on him, but how could you pass up the chance to help him? Especially when helping means having sex with the guy of your dreams- because really, that’s what Chan is.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, swallows the lump in his throat, and takes a breath- because despite all his fears, he really likes you, and of course he wants to fuck you. Chan always figured he’d never have a chance with you unless you experienced a huge lapse in judgment; and maybe this is one and done, maybe it doesn't mean as much for you as it does for him, but he’ll still take that chance, insecurities be damned; he’d be a fool not to.

“I want to,” he tells you, soft and timid, but certain. You smile, equally as soft, as you inch closer to him on the sofa. “Can I kiss you?” you ask him, giggling when he quickly nods. It’s cute- equally as cute as the small, involuntary noise he makes from the back of his throat when your lips touch his. You start slow, pressing long, lingering kisses to his plush lips- as soft as you always imagined.

His breath hitches when you crawl onto his lap, pulling away to look at you with widened eyes. “Too much?” you ask, ready to pull yourself off of him but he quickly shakes his head. “You’re just-” he pauses, licks his lips as his face flushes a deeper pink, but continues “..so pretty. Really pretty. Can't believe this is really happening."

It feels a bit silly being so shy to tell you how pretty you are to him when you’ve been kissing him and are quite literally sitting on top of his dick, but he can’t help the way you make him feel. It’s a simple compliment too, one that normally wouldn’t affect you very much, but makes your heart pick up ever so slightly in speed regardless; you suppose because Chan is the one saying it.

You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when you kiss him again, keeping them clenched and firmly stuck to his side. You take them in your hands, guiding them to your body and resting them on your hips. “Touch me, Channie,” you breathe against his lips, “anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere..?” he questions with a shaky exhale, hands trembling where they rest on your body. “Mhm, want to feel you,” you tell him sweetly, and God, he already feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest before he’s even really begun. But he listens, hands carefully traveling up and down your body as you lean back in to continue kissing him.

You let your own hands wander as well- over his arms, across his chest, down the toned abs you can distinctly feel even beneath his sweater. You lick his bottom lip, feeling his body shiver beneath the tips of your fingers as he opens his mouth for you, letting your tongue inside.

He brings his hands to your chest, palming your breasts before he carefully squeezes them. You bring one of your hands to hover over his, encouraging him to continue by squeezing your hand atop his. He’s only touching you over your clothes, but he already feels impossibly dizzy from the excitement- he can’t even focus on how pathetic that would normally make him feel either, because your tongue in his mouth fogs his brain.

The next time you pull away, it’s to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head so swiftly that Chan barely even has time to process what he’s about to see. He sucks in a breath as he looks at your tits; it doesn’t even matter that they’re still contained by a bra- it’s still more than enough to send him reeling. Pretty, pretty, pretty, is all he can think, his mind unable to conjure a thought any more complex than simple words.

You move your hands behind your back, ready to unhook your bra and expose yourself to him entirely, but he briefly stops you. “Can I- Can I try..?” he asks, clearly nervous but eager to try and prove himself in whatever way you’ll let him. “Course, Channie,” you smile at him as you let your arms fall back to your side, “go ahead.” You lean closer to him, bringing your hands to his shoulders as he brings his own to your back.

You press kisses to his jaw as you wait for him to act, eventually trailing down to his neck. It makes him gasp and bite his lip, the skin of his neck evidently more sensitive than he ever even realized. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best not to get too distracted by the feeling of your lips on the sensitive spots of his neck before he continues.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra, his trembling hands causing his grip to slip more than once. It’s embarrassing how badly he’s failing at this simple task, but you pay no mind to it, continuing to kiss him as he takes his time to figure it out. You caress his arms, pulling away to reassure him when his shaking fingers mess up for the third time.

“Relax, baby, you’ve got it,” you tell him, the affectionate term unintentionally slipping out- but Chan seems to welcome it, offering you a soft smile and nod as he timidly tries again. He lets out the breath he was unconsciously holding when he finally succeeds, watching attentively as you bring your hands to the now loose straps, sliding them down your arms.

You toss your bra aside when your arms are freed from the straps, and Chan can’t help but stare at your now bare chest. He can count on a single hand the amount of tits he’s seen, so his thoughts may be a bit biased in your favor, but he firmly believes yours are the prettiest he’s ever looked at. Chewing on his bottom lip, he looks to you for permission to touch them again, which you easily grant him.

The soft noise you let out when his thumbs brush over your nipples both surprises him and makes his cock throb; he can still hardly even believe you’re really letting him touch you. “Is that good?” he asks as he does it again, intoxicated by the way you whimper and squirm. “Mhm, feels good. Feels better when they’re wet, though,” you tell him, watching as the gears turn in his brain.

He licks his lips and leans down, bringing his face to your chest. He sticks out his tongue, slowly swiping it against one of your hardened nipples, eyes glued to your face as he does. “This what you want?” he asks, repeating the action when you gasp and nod. You thread your fingers through his hair, another whimper leaving you as he wraps his lips around your nipple and swirls his tongue around it.

You reach for his other hand and bring his fingers to your mouth, licking and coating them in your saliva. He whines at the feeling of your tongue sliding against his fingers, his imagination running wild with images of what it’d feel like on different parts of his body. Once satisfied with the wetness of his fingers, you take them from your mouth and bring them back down to the nipple currently not in his mouth. “Use them to touch me, please-”

Chan wastes no time in doing what you ask, a soft whine escaping him when you gently tug on his hair. His cock is painfully hard and straining against his jeans that are now uncomfortably tight around him. You can feel it pressing against your ass, his eyes fluttering shut when his treatment of your nipples cause you to squirm and rub against his erection. The friction is overwhelming, your noises are intoxicating, the combination makes him dizzy with need for more.

More of your touch on his skin, more of your pretty whimpers in his ear, more of anything and everything you’re willing to give him, he wants it all. Soon you’re reaching for the hem of Chan’s sweater, and he separates from you, allowing you to pull it up and over his head, discarding it to the floor with the rest of your clothing. You admire him, trace his pecs and his abs with your fingers, smiling at him sweetly when he shivers beneath your touch.

“You’re so handsome, Channie,” you tell him as you continue to run your fingers along his torso, “so hot, you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you.” He whines and turns his face away, a vain attempt to hide the heat that rises to it. “That’s- I-I.. didn’t know..” he mumbles shyly, hesitant to meet your gaze again- mostly because he thinks his heart will burst if he looks at you while you’re saying things like that to him.

He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to look at you without going red in the face after this, or how he’s going to be able to hear your voice again without his cock getting hard. Better yet, how is he going to look at you without thinking about how bad he wants you to be his, or for him to be yours? Either way, that’s a problem for the future- because your hands and lips are all over him, and that’s what he wants to focus on now.

Chan sucks in a breath when your hand brushes his erection over his jeans, bites his lip when you start to undo the button, lets out a shaky exhale as you begin to pull down the zipper. He’s not sure what you’ll think of his length, but he hopes you like it, prays that it’s enough to satisfy you. “You should have more confidence in yourself, Channie,” is the first thing you say as you take it in your hand, “you’ve got the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

“W-What? No way, that’s- you’re just saying that,” he pouts, the blush covering his face and ears becoming unbearably hot. You can’t mean that- he almost refuses to believe it; because he simply can’t comprehend that you would prefer him to anyone else. “I’m not, baby. I mean it,” you tell him, and the way he throbs in your hand gives away that he likes the compliment, even if he doesn’t entirely believe it’s true.

You really are being honest; it’s not the longest you’ve ever had, but it’s among the thickest, with pretty veins that accentuate it. You want to trace them- with your fingers, your lips, your tongue, everything. And then there’s the way his pre-cum leaks from the tip, steadily dripping and pooling where it falls- all you can say is that it’s mouth-watering. The look in your eyes makes Chan feel impossibly shy, and it takes everything within him not to cover his face when your eyes meet again.

He never imagined that look would be for him; that he would ever be deserving of your touch and affectionate words. And the sweet smile you offer him when you start to earnestly stroke his cock- he’s done for, absolutely done for. He’ll never be able to hide how bad he wants you after this- maybe he should listen to you and gain some confidence, ask you to be his before someone else steals you away.

Chan quickly loses his ability to form coherent thought once you start picking up your pace however, your hand having quickly become slick from his pre-cum. His head falls back against the sofa, breaths growing more and more labored with each stroke of your soft, warm, wet hand. You can feel his thighs twitch beneath you, and the way his hips jolt up to try to seek further friction from your hand, though your weight atop his legs prevents him doing so.

“Want you in my mouth,” you tell him, pleased with the way the words make him gasp and squirm, “You want that, Channie? Will you let me suck you off?” Fuck, do you even have to ask? As if there is any reality in which he would ever say no; you can have him, all of him, he doesn’t care as long as it’s you- he’ll never deny you any part of him. “Yeah, yeah, want that, please,” he breathes, an almost shameless plea for you to do whatever you want with him.

You offer him a pretty smile, placing a quick but affectionate kiss to his lips before you remove yourself from his lap. Sinking to your knees, you pull Chan’s jeans and boxers down his legs and to his ankles, and wait for him to step out of them and spread his legs wide enough for you to fit between them. There’s an apprehensive look in his eye when you scoot closer to him, and you pause, looking up at him with concern. “Are you nervous?” you ask, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if he needs you to.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I just-” he pauses, an awkward, nervous laugh leaving him as he averts his gaze away from yours, “I just.. ‘m worried I’m gonna cum too fast when you.. Uh, yeah, you know.” He feels a bit pathetic admitting it, and he keeps his eyes locked on a random corner of the room, still holding onto the irrational fear that you’ll judge or laugh at him. Of course, you do neither- you simply lean forward on your knees, reaching a hand up to touch his face and bring his eyes back to yours.

“Don’t worry about that, I won’t mind if you cum fast, okay? It won’t bother me, and I won’t be mad. Just enjoy yourself,” you tell him earnestly, smiling sweetly at him when he slowly nods. You want to show him that you’re more than happy to take care of him until he gets the confidence in himself he needs, that there’s no shame in feeling so good that he can’t help but let go, that you’ll want him regardless.

You settle back on your knees, rubbing your hands up and down his thighs until you feel like his nerves have settled. He nods to you when he’s ready, and you give him one last smile before you bring your face directly to his waiting cock. The kisses you place to the tip are already enough to have him gasping and squirming in his seat- soft, delicate, and wet. Your fingers hold him at the base, keeping it held in place even as it twitches in response to every kiss you leave behind.

You stick out your tongue, let spit dribble down and further wet his leaking tip, and it’s positively the most erotic thing Chan has ever witnessed; he has to cover his face to stop himself from losing his mind. Head fallen back against the sofa with his arm thrown over his face, he gasps once more when he feels your tongue press against his skin. You lick slowly- whether to savor the taste or prolong the moment, Chan is unsure, but he welcomes it either way.

He can’t suppress the throaty groan that leaves him when you drag your tongue across the entirety of his length, tracing the veins with it just as you wished to. “O-Oh my god, baby-” he gasps when you finally start to take his cock into your mouth, too far gone to realize that he too let the pet name slip out. You don’t seem to mind, at least; after all, despite this “casual” encounter, you’ve already done the same, and been more affectionate than he ever anticipated.

Chan wants to believe you’re affectionate just with him; that none of your other casual partners have ever been looked at the way you’ve looked at him, that you never called them sweet names or given them such caring glances. Maybe he’s feeding himself a delusion, but he wants to believe you want him as bad as he wants you- beyond just the physical. He wants to believe this isn’t just a one time thing, and most of all he wants to believe that you’ll fall in love with him.

Is it normal to think about love when your cock is deep down your crush's throat? He doesn’t know- but all he can think about, apart from how amazing your mouth feels, is how much he loves and adores you. Letting his arm fall back to his side, he lifts his head from the sofa to look at you once more, and fuck, what a site you are. Eyes glassy and pretty as you gaze up at him through your lashes, cheeks flushed red, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

The sounds you make as you bob your head are so salacious it makes his head spin, his thighs tremble with each motion of your tongue on the underside of his length, and every time his tip touches the back of your throat he can’t help but let out a moan. His fingers struggle to find purchase on the sofa’s cushion, so instead he clenches his fist, knuckles quickly turning white. You notice, of course, so you bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers and letting him squeeze your hand instead.

God, that fucks with his heart- but he hardly has any time to dwell on it. He’s barely been holding back his orgasm, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last. “Babe, baby, feels so good, I can’t- o-oh, please, ‘m gonna cum-” he babbles his warning, whimpering when you hum in response and continue to take him as deep into your mouth as he can go. His eyes roll back, cock throbbing and entire body trembling- and one more swipe of your tongue and swallow around his length is all it takes to have him cumming.

“O-Oh my- fuck, fuck, sorry, ‘m cumming, baby-” he rambles, thankfully too far gone to be embarrassed by all the things he’s saying to you. You swallow all he has to give you, not pulling off him until he starts to come down from his high and cock begins to soften. He’s dazed and breathless as he looks at you, chest heaving as his brain tries to recalibrate itself after how good you just made him feel.

You rise from your knees and set yourself back on the sofa, leaning towards Chan to kiss him after he’s caught his breath. He can taste himself on your lips, but he doesn’t hate it; there’s a strange part of him that even enjoys it. “‘m sorry,” he mumbles with a nervous pout when you pull away, “I tried to hold it back, but..”

“Channie, I told you not to worry about that. It felt good, right? That’s all that matters,” you tell him, directing him to look at you when he tries to avert his gaze again. He swallows the anxiety down, trying to look at you without feeling like disappearing into a void. But he can tell after just a moment how sincere you’re being, and it spreads relief through his veins. It’s not that he really doubted you, but his internal dialogue is far from rational.

You’ve been so good to him since the start, and though he’s incredibly shy and equally as nervous, there’s nothing more he wants now than to return the favor. He still doubts he’s good enough to give you what you deserve, to skillfully make you cum and cry out for him, but he’ll try- God, he’ll fucking try.

It takes all the confidence he can muster to speak what he wants to say, but he thankfully manages alright. “I want, uh- ..w-want to make you cum too,” he admits, doing his best to hold your gaze despite the way shyness claws at him and his blush burns his face. “Yeah?” you smile, honestly pretty eager to let Chan touch you more.

While you were more than ready to keep taking the lead, to guide him along and take care of him, you’re happy to see a surge of confidence in him- even if it’s a small one. “Touch me then, Channie. Make me cum,” you tell him as you beckon him closer, letting out a soft, content hum when he kisses you. You let him guide you back until your back is flat against the sofa, spreading your legs so that he can nestle between them.

You can feel his hands trembling again as they travel your body, but Chan doesn’t let the nerves prevent him from hooking his fingers into your pants. He continues to kiss you as he slides them down your legs, along with your panties- not just because he loves kissing you, but also because he’s not quite ready to look at your bare pussy; he genuinely thinks his heart will give out if he doesn’t mentally prepare himself first.

Pretty soon though, he does have to separate from you so he can let you slip your feet out of your clothes, and subsequently toss them to the floor with all the rest of your discarded clothing. He tries to keep his eyes locked on your face, but he can’t help but let his eyes trail down and roam over the rest of your exposed body. He’s mesmerized in an instant; you’re so impossibly pretty, every inch of you breathtaking and beautiful and- God, just perfect.

He knows his words will fail him, so he hopes his lips on yours will do enough of the talking for him, hopes that he can show how bad he adores and desires you with actions alone. You intended initially to let him take his time, but you’ve been impossibly wet and worked up this entire time; and besides, doesn’t he need a little push?

So you take one of his hands, guiding it to your dripping center. Chan lets out an involuntary whine from the back of his throat, body shivering in response. “Y-You’re so- oh my god, how are you so wet?” he asks, as in awe of you as he is surprised. “You, baby,” you answer, voice growing shakier now that he’s rubbing his fingers between your folds, “I told you, you- you’re so handsome, you know? Get me so hot, ‘ve wanted you so bad.”

God, he still can’t believe it- how is it possible that you’ve wanted him as bad as he’s wanted you? And there’s no way his insecurities can make him believe you’re just saying it to make him feel good about himself anymore- because he can feel the proof of your words with his fingers. “Tell me- tell me what you like, what you want, please,” he softly pleads, “need to make you feel good.”

“Inside, want your pretty fingers inside me,” you tell him, shivering when you feel the tips of his fingers pressing against your hole. He starts slow and careful, gently pushing one of his fingers inside, alternating between watching his hand and looking up to your face. You’re so slick and warm, and the way you squeeze around even just one of his fingers makes his head spin- because he can’t help but imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

“Another, add another, please,” you all but beg once you’re adjusted to how one feels, and he wastes no time in obliging you, delighting in the way it makes your eyes flutter closed. You bite your lip when he starts to instinctively move his fingers faster, little whimpers escaping as your breaths become heavier. “You sound so pretty,” he says, gasping when he realizes it caused you to clench harder around his fingers.

Do you like when he talks to you? He doesn’t know if it’s his voice you like, or what he said in particular, but if you like it then he won’t stop. “F-Feels so amazing, I can’t- can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like around me, want it so bad, want to be inside you,” he starts to ramble, doing his best to voice everything that comes to his mind, anything he thinks you’ll like and will have you clenching again, even if it embarrasses him to say it.

He experiments with his fingers as he talks to you- changing angles and curling his fingers, trying to find what you like the best. You gasp when he finds your spot with the tips of his fingers, body trembling and back arching. “R-Right there, fuck, feels so good, Channie, your fingers feel so good,” you tell him breathlessly, and he can’t help the way he stiffens and throbs once more in response.

And really, how is he supposed to look at the way you shake beneath him, hear your pretty voice praise the way he’s touching you, and not get hard again? He wants nothing more than to make you cum- to make you cry and writhe in pleasure for him, because of him; almost desperate for it, he hits your spot over and over again, hoping to bring you closer and closer to the release you both crave.

He’s mesmerized by the way your eyes roll back, by the rise and fall of your chest and tremble of your thighs; addicted to the way your moans and whimpers grow higher in pitch, and the messy, wet sounds his fingers create between your legs. Chan glances down to your pussy, taking notice of your puffy, neglected clit.

He wants to taste it, to wrap his lips around and let his tongue lavish it, but he doesn’t trust himself to be able to get down smoothly or without messing up his rhythm; so instead, he brings his thumb to it- something he’s seen done in porn that woman always seemed to like (and he desperately hopes you like it too.) Thankfully, he gets the effect he was hoping for- you let out a whimper and squirm, nails digging into his skin.

Chan doesn’t let up even when his wrist begins to grow sore, running purely on desire and instinct. “F-Fuck, Channie, baby, ‘m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum,” you gasp out, voice whiny and strained, but still oh so pretty in his ears. He can’t believe he’s actually going to make you cum, can’t believe how lucky he is; and he's utterly transfixed on the way your body moves, drunk on the sounds that freely spill from you.

He gasps when you reach out and unexpectedly pull him closer, letting out a soft, surprised whine when you eagerly crash your lips into his. It’s the messiest kiss he’s ever had, tongues dancing and drool falling from the corners of your mouth, hot and heavy breaths passed between each other. Your thighs squeeze his hand as your orgasm takes you, entire body shaking as your back arches off the sofa, arousal gushing and further coating his fingers.

Chan slowly slides his fingers out of you as you catch your breath, meeting your gaze shyly when you open your eyes to look at him once more. He’s so fucking hard, again, and you instantly notice, much to his embarrassment. He wants to fuck you, there’s no denying it- but he can’t help but continue to feel self-conscious, even now.

You sit up and kiss him once more, as if to dispel all doubts and worries from his racing mind. “Want you, Channie,” you tell him, voice soft, sweet, and reassuring, “do you still want me? Wanna fuck me?�� He whines from deep in his throat, knowing he’d never be able to deny it, even if he wanted to.

“Yes, God, yes, wanna fuck you,” he answers honestly, nervously chewing on his bottom lip, “b-but I- I just.. don’t want to disappoint you.” He’ll never forgive himself if he fucks this up and leaves you wanting and unsatisfied; he wants to be nothing less than perfect for you and he already knows that he isn’t.

“Channie, baby, look at me,” you say as you reach a hand to his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes again, “you won’t disappoint me, you could never.” You place soft, comforting pecks to his lips, holding his hands and rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs until you feel him start to lose his tension. “Remember what I said? Don’t worry about anything but feeling good. I want you to cum again,” you tell him, smiling as he nods, his face flushing a deeper red.

Leaning towards the coffee table, you reach for where you dropped your purse before sitting down with Chan, digging around inside until you find one of the spare condoms you make sure to keep for your dates. He swallows as he watches you pull it out, beyond nervous but equally as excited to finally feel you wrapped around him.

Even just watching you tear open the packaging is enough to have him trembling, and when you glance at him to make sure he’s ready, he ignores his insecurities the best he can to offer you a timid smile. You return the smile, taking his cock in your hand and giving it a few slow pumps to make sure he’s ready. He squirms and softly whines, still sensitive from his previous orgasm, but there’s no way he’s going to let that stop him from having this moment with you.

He shivers when you easily roll the condom down his length, biting his lip as you crawl back onto his lap after you’ve finished. His heart is beating fast and erratic, and he wonders if you can hear how loudly it’s thumping against his chest. He lies half propped up by one of the sofa’s cushions, looking up at you with eyes akin to a puppy, watching your every move with bated breath.

You reach between your bodies to hold his cock at the base, angling it with your still soaked entrance. You let go once you start to sink down on it, moving your hand to his chest to support yourself as his cock pushes inside. “Oh, fuck-” Chan lets out a choked gasp, already overwhelmed by the sensation even before you’re fully sat on his length.

Even with a condom on, he can still feel how warm and wet you are, your walls squeezing him so tight it takes his breath away. “Fuck, baby, oh my god, it already feels so good, what the fuck-” he gasps again once your hips are flush together. He doesn’t remember it feeling this amazing the last time he had sex; is it because he’s more sensitive from before? Or is it because it’s you?

No matter the answer, he’s certain of one thing- and that’s that he’s definitely going to cum fast; he just hopes you meant it when you said it’s okay. He lets out an obscenely loud moan when you start to lift and drop your hips- one that would normally make him extremely embarrassed, but he feels way too good to even focus on it; all he can think about is how fucking good you feel.

His hands squeeze your hips, and he looks at you with stars in his eyes. How can you be so pretty, so beautiful? How can you feel this good? The way he’s looking at you makes your heart stutter and pussy clench, an act that makes Chan’s head fall back against the cushion as he moans. He’s so handsome, with the way his curly hair clings to his forehead with sweat, his bitten lips and flushed cheeks- it's insane that he can't see how crazy for him you are.

You lean forward to kiss him, bringing one of your hands up to thread your fingers through his hair as your tongue slips past his parted lips. He feels dizzy with pleasure, each of his loud moans and whines muffled only by your lips on his. You’re both panting by the time you separate, with you falling forward and burying your face into his neck.

Your legs and knees quickly begin to scream at you, but you ignore it as best you can in favor of chasing pleasure, bouncing on his cock with all the energy you can muster. You know he won’t last much longer- he was already sensitive to start, and you can feel him twitching and throbbing more and more with each additional motion of your hips.

“Baby, ‘m so close-” Chan whimpers, eyes rolling back when you clench around him harder. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for me, Channie? Gonna cum with me?” you ask as you snake your hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit in quick circles so that you can cum together. He quickly nods and bites his lip, hands squeezing you tighter and hips rising to chase you every time you lift off him.

It only takes a couple more rolls of your hips to have him cumming again, white, hot pleasure coursing through his veins and overwhelming every inch of his body, filling the condom with all he has to give. You follow quickly behind, hips stuttering and losing all sense of rhythm as you ride out your release.

You collapse against his chest with a heavy sigh once you’re done, utterly exhausted from all the effort, but completely satisfied. You’re both breathless, eyes closed as you collect yourselves and racing hearts start to return to normal speed. Well, in Chan’s case it doesn’t completely return to normal; because you’re still naked on top of him, and even after having just had sex, he still can’t believe you’re here with him right now like this.

You lift your hips and let his softening cock slide out of you, laying on Chan’s side with his arm as support so you don’t fall off the sofa. You carefully remove the condom, tying it off and preparing it to be thrown away once you’re ready to get up- for now, you’re too tired to move, and you just want to stay next to Chan for as long as you can.

You lay your leg across his body, cuddling close to him while he continues to support your weight with his arm. “How was it? Fun?” you ask him, smiling when he blushes and looks away, still unable to help being shy even after all you just did together. “Of course, you’re.. incredible,” he answers honestly, chewing on his lip before he continues, “But, were you- ..was I good enough for you..?”

“Channie, are you kidding? You were perfect, I promise,” you assure him, giggling softly when he breathes a sigh of relief. “You get stuck in your head too much, baby,” you continue, absentmindedly tracing circles in his skin as you speak, “I promise you, you could have anyone you want. I mean it when I say you’re perfect.” He still doesn’t quite believe what you’re saying is true, but he can at least accept that you believe it.

But he wonders if you know- it’s not just anyone he wants, but you. He was only able to do this because it was you that offered- anyone else, and he would’ve instantly turned them down, or wouldn't have been able to enjoy himself if he did accept. Looking at you now reaffirms what he’s long since thought- you’re the only one for him.

“Baby, I want you to be mine- want you to be my girlfriend,” is what he wants to say- but Chan is much too shy, and can’t bring himself to do it. “C-Can we- can we do this again sometime..?” is what he ends up saying insead. And you smile as you nod, sweetly running your fingers through his messy curls before you give him another kiss, “Course, baby. Anytime you want me, I’m yours.”

network tags: @skzstarnet @ksmutsociety

#“something small” i say as i write 5k more words than intended of pure smut #ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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polyo-nym-y · 2 days

Text

Desserts, Served.

[Bon Appétit Pt.2]

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Alastor x Female Reader

[What to expect/Warnings: NSFW MDNI!!Blood, begging, P in V, you get restrained by his tendrils, soft ending, dirty talk, idk its tame for how I write Alastor LOL]

[Part 1 Here]

[Link to full drawing here]

Hello! Oh my goodness I am just utterly speechless by the positivity within this little horny community!

Thank you to everyone who liked my first post and who commented wanting a part two. This is for you guys <3 I’m sorry it took FOREVER to finish but I was nervous about disappointing lol.

But I needed to get this posted cause I have SO much planned for the future >:3

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You watched as his long fingers hook under each suspender, slowly slinking them off his shoulders. He sent a toothy grin down to your disheveled form. As if the red of his eyes were literal hell-fire, you felt his gaze rake over your body, heat quickly following wherever they went. “What do you say, darling, are you ready for dessert?” His voice was low and heavy, the sound settling in your ears but you were unable to process what he exactly said. Your own rapid heart rate was all you could focus on as you tried to calm yourself down from the overdose of dopamine you just experienced.

A chuckle rattled from him as he reached a hand out, talons holding your chin to direct your gaze at him. His ears twitched as he cocked his head to the side, staring into your wide and glossy gaze. “Hello~? Still with me? I don’t recall eating that tongue of yours.”

Your head was foggy from your release and eyes too focused on how beautiful he looked right now. The room was dark save for the soft lighting of a lamp on a far table. His eyes glowing ethereally and his smile softening around the edges.

Alastor leaned, pressing his hips further against you. The feeling of his clothed hard-on against your exposed flesh was more than enough to wake you from your dreamy state. Glancing down trying to see him pressed into you. “W-What?”

“I asked you a question.” Pinching your chin his claws dug in slightly, trying to get your eyes back up to his. “It’s not a proper meal without dessert, you know.” He hummed a tune you didn’t recognize as he leaned back and away from you. “But if you’re full-“ He physically withdrew himself from you, reusing the same manipulation tactic he used earlier.

Just as he hoped, it brought panic to your eyes. Once again the idea of losing his touch rocked you to your core, literally. Suddenly realizing how cold and empty you felt without him and his addicting touch. The exhaustion you once felt melted away as you pushed yourself up from resting on your elbows. You lurched forward, fingers yanking Alastor in by his shirt. Crashing your lips into his you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him into you, ensuring he couldn’t back away any further.

He watched with wide eyes for only a moment before he quickly melted into the kiss. One arm wrapped around your waist to press you flush to his chest. His other hand came to hold you by the back of your neck with a firm pressure.

His half-lidded gaze never left you as he swiped his tongue over your lips, asking entrance. To his dismay, however, you instead pulled away from him. His long fingers tightening at your neck as you struggled to pull your lips from his, his own hunger and greed showing.

You slowly slipped your eyes open to find him already staring at you. Having leaned away from his lips just enough to ghost words across them. “I’ll never count a meal as satisfying until I’m feeling stuffed.” You could feel his grin grow as he narrowed his eyes on you. “And I’m famished.”

Once again you felt the air around you grow heavy. Static began to prick at your skin as it buzzed in your ears. The lamp flickered in the background as the entire room grew darker. “Oh, Mon Cher…” his words were so heavily filtered you could barely hear him, the static began to rise further. His claws danced from the back of your neck as his hand nestled to your front. His large palm gripping you by your throat as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I'm going to fuck you stupid.” Instantly, blood rushed to your cheeks. He dropped the innuendos and the shock from it had you frozen like a deer in headlights.

You felt him tighten his grip around your throat, lips parting to gasp air instinctively. The room grew dark, too dark, as the space was completely shrouded in shadows. The only presence was Alastor, his glowing gaze seeming brighter than before. His little antlers began to grow above you. Perhaps, you thought, you were indulging him too much.

Fear flooded your senses as he drew himself up from you, stature taller than before. Suddenly, you were being thrown down against the desk by your throat. Body tensing as you braced for a hard impact of wood and vintage radio equipment. Your hands flew to grip his wrist as you were thrown back. But the pain you expected never came as instead a plush softness enveloped you. You blinked, darting your gaze around as the shadows withdrew, allowing light back in.

The sound of a zipper and a rattling laugh snapped your attention back to Alastor. He loomed over where you laid on the edge of a soft surface. “Oh ho! You should’ve seen yourself just now!” His shoulders bounced, his genuine laughter had you squeezing your thighs together. “Fear looks good on you, my dear.” He’d coo over you.

Confused, you glance away from him as you begin to crawl backwards, you turn your attention to the room. Realizing you were no longer in his radio tower. Instead, you were resting on a soft bed in a familiar room, your room. “Wha-” You turned back to Alastor squinting up at him. “Oh, fuck you! You think you’re so funny?” You tried to keep the playful squint but you couldn’t stop the smile that wanted to form.

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, eyes glued to the open zipper as he untucked his shirt. The bed dipped as he stalked closer, his knee settling on the mattress. “I know I’m funny, darling.” You had just barely caught a glimpse of his dark happy trail before you came face to face with Alastor, who had crawled over to you. One black palm settled flush against your chest. A devious smirk returning to his features as he pushed you back down on your back.

A huff of air left your lungs as you were knocked down. Eyes scanning over his face as he situated himself above you. As you felt his hands pry your legs open at your knees, you let out a scoff. “Tch yeah…funny-looking..” you would taunt under your breath.

He quirked a brow at you as he sat on his knees between your legs. “Ha. Ha.” One of his hands worked on removing his bow tie whilst the other flicked the bite he left on your inner thigh. Chuckling when you flinched and yelped in reaction, the wound still raw and tender.

Your gaze lingered lower as he began popping the first few buttons of his shirt open. “You know? Maybe I should eat that naughty tongue of yours.” When your gaze snapped back up his bones cracked, antlers reaching out like dead tree limbs. He fell onto his palms as his large body caged you against the bed.

A nervous smile crossed your expression as that similar fear rose in you. But it wasn’t typical fear, no, this feeling was something raw and instinctual. The fear a prey would feel when cornered by a predator, with a sprinkle of lustful anticipation. Your body tensed under him as one hand grabbed your jaw, fingers that somehow grew longer squish your cheeks forward. “You’d miss it.” You’d mumble out with your lips being forced to purse.

“I don’t know, my dear, you can still moan without one~“ releasing your face, his hand trailed down between your breasts and settling on the softness of your stomach.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard it before you realized what he was doing. Goosebumps littered your skin at the sound of ripping fabric. “Alastor!-“ a gasp of his name left you. He tore your nightgown straight down the middle and sliced the remains of your underwear that clung around your waist.

“I would, however, miss that.” His eyes fell from yours and followed down the dip of your breasts.

Just as quickly as you went to cover your exposed chest did his shadow-y tendrils appear. Multiple jutted out from his back as they wormed their way towards you, slipping around your wrists and tangling all the way down your elbows. You fought against them at first but they were stronger than you, as they yanked your arms above your head pressing them into the bed. Your back arches as you weakly struggle against his hold, mostly just testing him. But your body freezes as you feel something hot and hard smack against your pubis area.

One hand holds his exposed cock at the base where it pokes out from above his pants. A toothy grin as he watches you jolt with each smack of his swollen tip against the hood of your clit. The mere sight of him had your arousal re-awakening, needy cunt clenching around nothing.

“C’mon.” He slowly pumped his cock, spreading the precum that eagerly dripped from his tip. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

Your jaw clenched at his vulgar request as you felt your whole body flush. Though your eyes never left the monster he held against you, swallowing nervously as your lips parted slowly. You found it difficult to ask for something so depraved. Not to mention you were growing more nervous at the realization that when his body grew larger, everything grew.

He saw your hesitation, and usually he’d take time to enjoy your dismay and embarrassment. But right now? He needed you completely and he was done stalling.

Lazily he rubbed his cock up and down your slit, mixing his pre-cum with your slick. When he saw your face contort he moved with more intention, his cock twitching in his hand as he rubbed against your clit slowly.

“Please..” you pleaded meekly as your eyes rose to meet his. The look he sent down to you sent a tingling feeling through your body. There was such a deep hunger in them that you were certain he was just as desperate for this as you were. The thought of The Radio Demon nearing a breaking point to have you? That had a small smirk forming across your face. You felt him twitch and throb against you as soon as you smiled.

“Alastor, Please.” His grin strained as he watched a cocky glint appear in your eyes. “You said you’d fuck me stupid. Aren’t you a man of your word?” You stretched as much as you could as you rolled your hips up against him. “Or is the scary Radio Demon a-“

A growl interrupted your taunting, a choking gasp leaving you. Without warning he thrusted into you with his hands shifting to grip your hips. Thankfully, you were thoroughly lubricated. However, you were not prepared for the burning stretch you felt as his thick member fought against your tight walls. Tears welled in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling and you were shocked to see he wasn’t even halfway in.

Trailing claws scratched down your tense thighs as his hands cupped under your knees. In one quick movement he had your knees pressed against your chest, ass lifting from the bed slightly. With this movement alone you felt him slip in just a little more, were you panting? “To think I ever planned on being gentle. You don’t want gentle, do you?” His glowing red gaze flickered as darkness flooded them. The air in the room began to tingle and prick at your skin as his filter grew heavier once again. Something that you were noticing indicated a strong surge of emotions coming from Alastor. As if what he felt was so heavy it practically oozed from him, sticking to your skin. You tried to control your breathing but he was making it difficult in more ways than one.

Tears slipped down the sides of your face as you tried to blink away the blur they caused. Trying to focus on Alastor who loomed above you like a monster. Body unnaturally large, grin spread tightly across his face and his dark eyes spun with red dials at their center. That confidence to poke the bear melted away quickly as you tugged at the tendrils around your arms. But they only responded by pressing your hands into the bed further. Your lips parted to try and frantically babble some weak reply. But any words you planned on saying were distorted into a yelp-like scream. With a sudden snap of his hips he buried his ungodly length into you, sinking to the hilt. Through bleary vision you saw the shape of him pushing up your stomach from where it reached deep inside of you. For the first time in your afterlife you thanked God you were dead, knowing well that Alastor did not intend on going easy on you.

Just as you thought, he did not give you the luxury to adjust. His claws dug into your skin where he held your legs. All you felt was the intense fullness, unaware of the small cuts his hands left as blood slowly began to drip down onto your chest. Gritting his teeth he fought against your tight hole to wrench himself out before snapping back into you. The force of it involuntarily rips a moan from you as your eyes roll back before slipping closed altogether.

Like a well trained dog your eyes snapped back open, missing their momentary rest already. Your obedience won, however, as you instantly looked up to him at the sound of your name. A sweet staticky purr rumbling from him as he spoke. “Eyes on me, Mon Cher, I want to witness your descent into madness.”

Your heart fluttered and he sucked in sharply as he felt you clench around him. How did he manage to be so alluring whilst being so demonically horrid? Perhaps that was a fault on your part and your questionable desires.

“Hm~? You like that?” His voice, the air, your body and his body on yours, everything felt heavy and hot. The heat of it all coated your skin in sweat as you felt your thoughts literally melt away into pathetic puddles. Panting, trying to will your body to grow accustomed to his size, you couldn’t do anything but look up at him with pleading eyes. “The thought of me corrupting you? Ruining you?” You felt warmth slither under your back as more tendrils worked their way to you. Pushing your lower half up from the bed completely as he contorted you. He shifted, sitting up on his knees as he buried himself deep inside you. The lifted angle had you seeing stars, swearing that he’d pierce through your womb completely.

You choked, spittle running over your lips as he rutted into you. He started a deep and focused pace. Laughing sadistically at the sounds of your choked out moans and the squelching of your cunt. Tendrils replaced the hold under your knees as they held your legs open wide for him. Talons now free to rake up your body as he enjoyed your quivering response.

“P-Please-“ you wheezed out between gasping breaths. “T-Too much-“ despite your pleas, you both felt how eagerly your walls twitched around him. Your cunt had a firm grip on him, making it difficult to even pull out for a shallow thrust. Even with the slower pace you felt that coil begin to twist in your stomach.

“What do you mean, darling? Did you not say you wanted to be stuffed?” You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold in the cry you wanted to let out. Your own hubris has come to bite you in the ass, like it often does. All you could do is whine, meekly shaking your head. “You poor little thing. Have you gone stupid already? Because despite what that mouth says- down here?” Another deep thrust rocks your whole body but he doesn’t pull back. Grinding his hips down into yours so roughly you swore your bones were bruising. “Down here is begging for the exact opposite.”

“F-Fuck- please-” Somehow he managed to grind right into your sweet spot. His breathing became ragged above you as he felt his last little bit of restraint leave him. A static hiss left him as he drew his hips back only to drive his cock roughly back in. Frantics pleas tumbled from you as you were begging for your second release.

“Say it-” his thrusts were hard and fast as he fucked into your cunt, chasing his own pleasure. “Say my name- fuck,” his filter dropped as your ears were blessed with his raw voice. At some point more and more tendrils leaked from him as they wrapped around you, their warm grip flexing with every thrust.

He had you completely bound by his tendrils, forced to be nothing but a hole for his cock. His hands were so tight on you and right now he could care less if it hurt. Alastor watched you wheeze under him as he grew frantic and sloppy with his thrusts. As one of the shadows slithered between your bodies to lovingly rub against your clit, you felt your orgasm come to its cusp. You screeched his name like a dying animal as every muscle in your body tensed. His thrusts became shallow and deep as your cunt spasmed around him. Your second rush of dopamine settled over your body in waves as he continued fucking you through your orgasm.

His hips stuttered as he panted out a laugh and brought a hand down to grab your face. Keeping your head still as he bore into your fucked-dumb eyes, watching them widen as he reached his peak with a grunt. Your legs spasmed and a deep warmth flooded your abdomen as he pumped his cum into you. Your release tipped into overstimulation as he didnt stop fucking into you even after cumming. “My sweet girl.” A long moment passed before he finally slowed his assault. Coming to a full stop once he saw your eyes fully glaze over as he knew he was losing you again. His chest rose and fell rapidly as each tendril slowly left your body, gently lowering you back onto the bed. “Youre my sweet girl, right?” He wanted to see if you were still listening.

You blinked through tears as you watched his body shrink back to its original size, albeit still large compared to you. You nodded up to him slowly and winced when he removed his claws from where they dug shallow cuts into you. His smile was soft as he slipped himself out from you. He couldn't stop his eyes snapping down to watch his seed seep from your lips.

A silence fell between you as you laid there trying to lower your heart rate. Your eyes watched him as he cleaned himself up before tending to you. His touch was much gentler on you as he scooped you up to tuck you under your blankets. As your mind began to clear you began to worry- was your deal just for one night? “Alastor?”

He hummed a response as he looked you over. He saw that familiar fear, the fear of him leaving. An amused sigh left him as he settled into the bed beside you. “Hush now, dear, you need to get some rest.” He snapped his fingers to turn the lights off before pulling you into his chest. “Afterall, I intend on sharing many more meals with you.”

You felt him bury his lips into the top of your head as your anxiety melted away. Within the dark you wore a soft smile as you let your eyes close. “I’ll hold you to that.” All you felt was comfort and warmth as you let yourself drift to sleep to the sound of Alastors heart.

————————————————————

[Tags for those who asked for PT. 2 <3: @saturn-alone @lustylita @karmakillz @saint-altruist ]

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader

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mustainegf · 2 days

Note

Can you do a step dad/current! James Hetfield smut??its fine if you can't I completely understand!!(srry if its so short I was in a rush!!)

this is actually so good and I had so much fun writing!!

❕ FEMALE CHARACTER IS 18+ ❕

WARNINGS: use of “daddy”, use of “princess”, stepdad x daughter, Reader is 18+, oral m & f receiving, unprotected sex, creampie

My breaths came out quick and hoarse, my fingers disappearing inside of me over and over.

I was so turned on by my new stepdad, but I couldn't do anything about it since he had just moved in a few months ago.

He was in his fifties or sixties and looked hot as hell with his broad shoulders and muscles. He had this sexy silver-grey hair that made him look more attractive than ever.

He was also very tall, almost towering over me. I kinda avoided him so he wouldn't sense how horny I'd get in his presence.

I continued to work at myself, imagining his cock inside me instead. I whimpered out. "J-James!"

I was home alone so It didn't matter.

I wanted to feel him inside me so bad. I didn't care if he was with mom, I wanted him to hold me down and fuck me as hard as he could.

Being alone, I didn't try to filter my vulgar noises; letting them spill out into the quiet room. "Daddy! Daddy, just like that!" I whined.

I rubbed my clit fiercely, just picturing his face.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum!" I shook.

But before I could feel that sweet release, the sound of someone clearing their throat echoed from my doorway.

I gasped, and tugged my blanket up to cover me, my eyes darting to the doorway where the tall man stood.

Leaning agaisnt my door frame, a grin plastered over his face, was James, my fucking stepdad.

"Oh my god," I stuttered, my cheeks heating. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in." I tried to act cool even though I knew I wasn't.

He took a step forward. "You were really enjoying yourself there." My blush deepened as I stared at the ground.

I didn't respond I was far too mortified. James sat up and stepped into the room.

"Look at me," he said softly. I met his gaze. His eyes glittered with mischief and desire.

"I'm not going to judge you, sweetheart. I see it all the time when I look at you. You are always so hot and bothered around me."

Hidden by the blanket, I couldn't help but apply a small bit of pressure to my clit. "I could hear you saying my name.." James whispered.

"How often to you masturbate to me, honey?" He continued, ghosting his fingers under my chin.

"E-Every single night," I admitted.

“That makes me so happy, sweetheart. Are you gonna quit playing games with me? Tell me what you want." He stated calmly, lifting the corner of the blanket to uncover my wet panties that cling to my body.

"Y-you.. James." I whined as his fingers brushed last the damp fabric.

"Don't call me that honey," he said under his breath, staring me down as his fingers toyed with me.

He shoved the blanket aside, kneeling in bed ahead of me, looking down at me. "Speak up, baby."

"If you don't say what I know you want to, then maybe I should just leave.." he taunted, setting his hands on my knees.

"Daddy, please!" I whined.

He grinned as I gave him what he wanted, his hands spreading my legs apart. I was terrified to do something like this with my stepdad, but It was all I wanted

I needed it. And I trusted him enough to let him have his way with me. A strong hand gripped me by the thigh, bringing me closer to the edge.

"I think about touching this pretty pussy all the time, Princess." He hummed.

The air grew thick between us as he leaned in closer. My chest heaving with rapid breaths, I nodded. "Yes, Daddy. Please!" I moaned. My eyes widened in surprise when he grabbed my ankle and dragged me toward him.

He grabbed my panties tugging them down my legs and illiciting a breathy gasp from me.

"You are so beautiful," he praised. "Thank you, Daddy," I whispered. "I have never seen anyone look as sexy as you do right now."

He said, his voice husky. "Your pussy is glistening. So perfect, just like I thought." He rubbed his thumb against my clit, making me cry out.

"Hmm. Maybe I should start here," he murmured, kissing my inner thigh.

"Is that okay?" He asked. I bit my lip, nodding.

"Whatever you want, Daddy." I breathed. His fingers skimmed over my legs, dipping into the valley of my hips. "Such a good girl for your daddy."

He cooed, kissing my lower stomach before licking his way down until his tongue was lapping up every drop of my juices. "Mmm..." He groaned.

"You taste delicious, little princess. "

He paused. Lifting his head, his Light blue eyes fixed on mine. The look on his face told me he meant every word.

This was one of the hottest things I'd ever witnessed. I loved it.

“Keep going, Angel. Your daddy wants you to cum so hard you can't walk tomorrow." My eyes rolled back as I came undone.

His tongue was ruthless. I felt him swallow every ounce of my orgasm down. I cried out as my body tightened, he licked me clean. I lay there, spent, my heart thumping wildly against my chest.

"Now it's your turn missy.." he leaned upright and towards me. "I want you to suck me off," he growled in my ear.

I could hardly wrap my head around the fact that my stepdad wanted me to suck his dick. I loved it.

James switched places with me, tugging off his shirt.

I admired his stalkish build, and the slightly faded tattoos that lay beneath the thin layer of silver hairs on his chest.

"Don't be shy, honey," he cooed, helping me undo his jeans and tug them down.

He kicked off his jeans, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. I could easily see the huge bulge that strained beneath the fabric. Fuck.

"Take 'em off baby, you're a big girl," he taunted, nudging his hips just slightly.

With a gulp, I reached for the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.

The moment they passed his ankles, I gasped. God, he was massive. He watched me, chuckling under his breath.

"What did I tell you, baby?" he asked with a smirk. I stared at his cock, licking my lips. I had never seen anything quite like it. My stepdad was seriously well endowed.

It looked so smooth and soft, the head swollen.

James eyed me as he gripped the base, waiting for me to put my mouth to use.

"Suck it, babe. Show me you mean it." I moved to straddle him, taking his cock into my hand. It was a bit thicker than I thought it would be, and it was longer too.

I had known he was hung, but seeing it first hand was crazy. There was so much of it to grasp onto. I hesitated before putting it in my mouth. No turning back now.

Gripping it firmly, I slid the length of it into my mouth. Fuck, it tasted so good. I got lost in the flavor. The vein running along the side of it was silky, yet rough. The tip was sensitive and made me salivate.

Leaning forward, I swallowed his length and let my tongue lick over the sensitive tip. "Fuck, princess," he grunted. "You're such a good girl." He murmured, petting my hair. A shiver ran through me at his words. "Such a dirty girl, sucking your stepdads cock."

He moaned. I bobbed up and down, loving how it felt in my mouth. I was able to fit a lot of it in. "So good," he breathed. The feel of him in my mouth caused me to get wetter. My clit throbbed, demanding attention.

If I had been standing, I would have fallen. I sucked harder, moving my head faster. I loved how my stepdad was using his free hand to play with my breasts, tweaking my nipples.

They were so sensitive. "Just like that, babe," he encouraged. I looked up, locking eyes with him.

His eyes were closed as he rocked into my mouth, driving deeper.

Ohhh, my god. I loved everything about it. How he felt in my mouth, the taste of him. James was truly the best. He was good at everything. In my eyes, there was nothing better.

"That's it princess, bouta make me cum..." he groaned.

I bobbed my head faster, letting my saliva drip down his length each time. James gripped the back of my head, shoving me down further as I gagged.

I didn't Protest this though, I wanted to do anything to make him cum.

"Right there, right there, fuck..." James panted, still forcing me down, I could feel him swelling in my mouth.

I moaned around his cock, holding it tightly in my throat. "That's it, baby," he grunted. "Swallow my cum, Princess." I could feel his balls tighten. He was close.

His hands were in my hair again, pulling me up. I kept his cock deep in my throat, milking him. His body shook. "Fuuuuck!" He shouted. He filled my mouth. He came so much. So much I started to gag, choking on his cum.

"Good girl, good girl, you're such a good girl," he babbled, petting my hair, stroking me until I stopped coughing. I milked him until he finished emptying himself down my throat.

"Daddy.." I whispered, my throat finally free as he pulled his dick out.

"I can see that look in your eye, baby. You want me to be inside you, honey?" He cooed, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

"Please, please daddy.." I begged, crawling into his lap.

"So eager, aren't you princess?" He smiled, giving his cock a few pumps.

I grabbed his face, locking my lips with his for the first time. It was an odd concept; kissing my stepdad, but it felt right. And so good.

He kissed me right back, tongue forcing its way into my mouth.

I groaned, opening wider to allow him access. My stepdad was so hot. I couldn't imagine being without him. I just wanted to be with him forever.

James broke the kiss, looking me in the eyes.

"How bad do you want daddy to fuck you?" He hissed soflty, my body suddenly filled with the sensation of him running the tip through my folds.

My breath caught in my throat. "Bad," I moaned.

"Very bad." He chuckled. "You better not scream too loud, princess. I don't want anyone to hear you."

I rocked my hips on the pressure of his cock. I was a little worried that he wouldn't fit inside me, I'd only had sex once or twice. Him on the other hand was extremely experienced, not to mention huge.

I didn't want to embarrass myself by not being able to take him. But I couldn't go any longer without feeling him inside me. I needed him. Desperately.

"Daddy, please.." I whimpered, my neck twitching.

He ran his hand up and down my spine, then trailed it down my ass, pushing my legs farther open. "Hmm, what's that baby?" He purred, sliding the tip inside me.

I squirmed at the sudden penetration, gripping his shoulders as I whined loudly. James' hands gripped my hips gently, holding me in place.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he urged. "I need to hear the words, princess. Don't make me stop." I looked up at him, meeting his stare.

"I want you, Daddy. I need you. Please."

I whimpered, wiggling my hips against his. He chuckled lowly. "Lord knows, I need you too, little one. I've wanted you for so long." He grinned as he slid his cock inside me in one powerful thrust.

The pain was intense, and I clawed at his shoulders. "Shh, baby. Just breathe. Feel your daddy inside you. Relax." He repeated as he held me still.

I was right, it stretched me a lot, but it was also the best feeling in the world.

James bounced me on his cock, thrusting up alongside. "Fuck! Daddy!" I cried out.

"Right there honey….. god, I think you're the tightest I've fucked." he groaned.

"Mmmm, that's right baby, ride that dick, just like that. Fuck, your wetness is driving me wild." He hissed, still pumping into me.

“Ooh, that's right... daddy, harder, fuck me harder, daddy." I bucked my hips.

He squeezed my thighs with large tattooed hands, gripping me tighter, ramming me into the mattress. I could barely keep up with him. I rode him until I couldn't anymore.

"Such a good girl," he growled as I collapsed, hardly having enough energy to keep riding him.

"Just relax while daddy fucks you."

He ordered. Ilaid my head on his chest, breathing heavily. I wasn't sure I could handle more. He held me up, still inside me, cradling me in his arms as he rammed into me.

"Yes, Daddy, yes, that's it..." I whined, my body getting used to him, and I became more flexible.

"Oooh, yes! Yes, yes!" I cried out. James's pace picked up.

I arched my back, causing him to push harder into me. I was soon screaming out his name, throwing my head back. "James!" I cried out, holding on for dear life as I was transported to another plane of existence.

He continued to thrust into me. I was so full, I thought I would burst. "Daddy, daddy, I'm going to cum again." I squealed.

“Cum all over daddy's cock, princess. Let it happen." He encouraged.

I cried out his name as my walls pulsated around him. "Ohhh, daddy!" I gasped. "Ohhh, fuck, I'm cumming too." James slammed into me, jerking his hips as he shot rope after rope of seed into me.

"That's it baby, cum on my cock. That's it." He growled. He continued to hold me, both of us breathing heavily. When he started to soften, we both dropped onto the bed, both of us exhausted.

I couldn't believe my own stepdad had just cum inside me. I loved it.

"You're gonna make me addicted to you, Princess." He murmured, rubbing up my back.

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lis-likes-fics · 3 days

Text

Shijetra Nyke, Mandia

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader Word Count: 5.9k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon bc coercion, fingering, implied age gap (she's laena's little sister), multiple orgasms, p in v sex, breeding kink, sort of cheating, mentions of death and war, swearing, technically reader is black but she can be read as any race, High Valyrian, Daemon is not a good person... A/N: Hey, everyone! Was trying to hold off on this one but I decided to just post it anyway. Super excited for HOTD S2 to come out in June. I promise there are ideas for Aemond but writing sucks so much ass so it's just taking a while to get to it. Thank you so much and happy reading!

The seas are steady tonight. As the moon glints off its gentle waves, the water seems to mourn as you do. It was hard to find sleep. You came all the way out here to watch the crashing waves, in hopes of finding some solace in the sea, but even it does not seem to have the strength to roar tonight.

Your nightgown blows in the soft winds of the night as you watch the ocean.

The rustling of sand pulls a sigh from you, and you grit your teeth as you turn away from the man coming to stand next to you. You don't have to look at him to know who it is. You could tell him anywhere.

“I wish to be alone,” you whisper.

Daemon clasps his hands in front of himself as he looks out at the sea. “That is understandable, my lady.”

“And, yet, you are still here.” You look up at him, your features hard as you glare.

His voice is soft. You're not quite sure it fits him. The non-confrontation in his voice feels strange.

“I thought you might need company,” he says, examining your face as he does. For a moment, you think he can see the ghosts of the dried tears you've shed. “It has been a tiring day, after all.”

You huff, turning away again. Looking at him for too long makes your skin crawl. “I have not want of company.”

He hums. “I said ‘need’, not want.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, I have no need for your company.”

He seems unphased by your hostility. “Even so…” he looks down at you, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine, “you shall have it.” You stare at him, wanting to step back but not wanting to give him that satisfaction. He turns his body to face yours, craning his head down to watch you better.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in, as if there were thousands of people here and the secret he is to bestow upon you is too dangerous to say aloud. “It is in times like these, I hear, times where we are most vulnerable, that a bit of presence does one good.”

Despite your urge to stay planted in your sandy spot, you take a small step back without breaking your feigned confidence. “Very well, then,” you say. “You may go and fetch someone else to give me presence. I do not need yours.”

He almost seems amused, though he dies it well. He leans his head back a slight. “You despise me so, yet I have done nothing.”

You let out a breathy scoff, turning away from him and toward your humorless response. “Well, that's the whole of it, isn't it?” You shake your head, your frustration piquing once more. “You've done nothing.”

He hums. “I don't think I understand.”

You look at him, and he can see the anger simmering in your gaze. “Don't you?” You step closer to him, invading his space as he does yours, daring to play his game. “Where were you when my sister left her birthing bed? Where were you when she left the walls of the castle to give herself to her dragon's breath?” Your voice broke as the pain threatened to tear apart your anger. “Where were you when she ordered Vaghar to take her life?”

He almost rolls his eyes at your accusations. “I tried to stop her.”

“But you didn't try hard enough,” you seethe. “Or she would be standing next to me.”

He steps closer, taking the control back. His voice is still quiet, though his level tone is twinged with annoyance. “Laena had her own spirit,” he insists. “She did as she liked well enough. I see not why I should have blame for her own decisions.” His near lack of regard fuels you. “And besides, she would have died anyway. The maesters told me so.”

You shove him back, and your rage is flared by the knowledge that he only moves because he allows you to move him.

“She was everything to me!” Your uneven breaths have your chest heaving as your voice echoes across the water. “Not only my sister, my blood—she was my protector.” You sigh shakily, angrily wiping away the tears welling in your eyes. Your voice softens, though not because you want it to. “Now she is gone.”

He remains silent for a moment, letting it sit until it's no longer comfortable. He tilts his head, still standing so close. “And yet, I am not to blame.”

You roll your eyes, unable to look him in the eyes anymore as you look past his head. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” he insists. “She was my lady wife, after all.”

You raise a brow. “Yet you do not mourn.”

He shrugs a shoulder, entirely unconvincing. “Everyone mourns differently.”

You nod. “And you mourn by shedding no tears and strutting through the castle halls?”

Daemon hums. “You must forgive me if I have offended you, my lady.”

You stare up at him, unblinking as your rage and grief continues to give you the strength to look in his eyes and speak your truth. “You have, and I don't.”

A huge part of that strength crumbles when he steps so close to you that you're forced to step back. You falter, a momentarily fear in your eyes at the predatory gaze in his own. His eyes seem to examine you, taking in each and every little curve of your body every crease in your dress. You try not to shrink under his scrutinization.

His voice is so soft, and your flesh crawls with the sound of it. “What do you need from me?”

You have no choice but to break eye contact. It's too much, too close. You swallow thickly, your voice quieting to a low request, rather than the command you had wanted. “I need nothing from you but for you to remove yourself from my presence. Hastily.”

He stands completely still for a while, his eyes just as fixed on your face. When he moves, it almost startles you. His hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek. You're quick to swat him away with a harsh swipe of your hand, taking a step back. “Do not touch me.”

He says nothing, and the silence is unbearable. He just…watches you. His gaze is intense, focused, terrifying. He stands there, still as a statue for the longest time, before making another attempt for your face. You're just as quick as the first, if not quicker with your flickering frustrations.

“I said don't–”

He grabs your face, not caring this time for gentleness as his dull nails dig into the flesh of your jaw and hold you, pulling you close and keeping there, no matter how much you fight him. Your heart pounds against your ribs, beating so heavily that you think it'll stop any moment now. The fear that washes over you is both a searing chill and a molten burn. “Get off of me!”

Leaning in close, he shakes his head. “Shh, “ he bids. “Hush, little river.”

You hate that. Your family calls you that on occasion because you're the youngest of the Velaryon siblings, Laena especially. It's meant to be kind, for rivers are the waters that feed the sea, but when Daemon says it, you feel so small. You feel so insignificant. He taunts you with it.

“Don't call me that,” you hiss. “Get off of me!” You try to push him away, but as you suspect, he doesn't budge. But his next words make you freeze in your spot.

“You are just as beautiful as her,” he says, tilting his head as he stares. “Your sweet sister.”

You're stunned into silence, into stillness. You stare wide-eyed at him, holding your breath as the sound of the waves slowly beginning to build and the sound of your own heart beating away in your chest fill your ears.

You blink, confusion and shock coloring your face. “What?”

He tilts his head. “I wanted you, you know,” he whispers, his words lingering in the tiny space between you. You can hardly breathe, but you can't look away with his iron grip on your face. “When I married your big sister, I wanted it to be you I would bed that night… I only settled for her.”

Your shaking breath became loud as you tried to remove his hand from you, grasping his wrist with all your strength in an effort to pull him away, to no avail. “Daemon. Don't do this–”

“Now that she has taken her leave of us, bless her…” the slightest smirk slips onto his lips, “I am free to pursue my true desires.”

You shake your head, “Daemon–”

You turn your head just in time to avoid his kiss as his lips press against your cheek. Your squirm, squeezing your eyes shut as frightened tears spring to your eyes. Daemon chuckles darkly, taking a slip of your flesh between his teeth in a nip.

You have no control when he turns your head for you. His lips press hungrily into yours, forcing his lust down your throat whether you want it or not. Your protest comes out as a whimper, and it fuels his fire as his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body.

You push against him, struggling to get any traction to shove him away. You reach around to grab his hand at your waist, pulling at his pinkie until you've bent it too far for him to continue holding you. He pulls away, pride shining in his face as he smirks. You push him, but this time he doesn't move.

“Get your fucking hands off me before I call for Arlaryx!” Your command is sharp, but he doesn't seem all that phased by it. You honestly hadn't expected him to be.

He inclines his head back, sneering. “And bring her against my war-grown beast?” He stalks forward, invading your space again, no matter how far you stumble back. “You know your dear thing would not stand a chance.”

The thought of your precious creature in the jaws of Daemon's monstrous demon makes your blood run cold. He's right. She would not be enough against Caraxes.

You shake your head. Your voice is weak. “Please.”

He sighs contently, his smile curling into something especially evil. “I like you begging,” he purrs. “So small and sweet you are, when you do not spit venom.”

A deep snarl just barely resounds over the waves picking up about the sea. As you look over your shoulder, you both take in the sight of Arlaryx, her scales almost as blue as sapphires, a color that blends with the deep seas.

Her towering figure stalks out onto the beach, smoke billowing from her nose as she watches the both of you. Another snarl rumbles in her chest.

The faint sound of another snarl, one much different from her own, is heard seemingly in the back of your mind. But you know you did not imagine it. By the smirk on Daemon's face, you know you have not imagined it.

He bends down, his lips by your ear as he whispers. “Do you want to do this, little river?”

You stare at her, your eyes watering at the haunting images of her torn apart on the sand. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you know she feels it because she begins to snarl again. Her claws dig into the sand, her long tail swishes the water when she takes another step forward.

You steady your breath, opening your mouth and hesitating for a moment. You clear your throat, speaking as level as you can manage.

“Dohaeris, Alarlyx,” you command, swallowing roughly. “Dohaeris. Nyke sȳz.”

The beast makes no move to leave, and you sigh heavily. Curse her and her loyalties. They will get her killed.

You steel your voice, trying to sound stronger than you feel. She will not listen to you if you sound weak. “Lyrkiri,” you insist. The smoke diminishes, becoming thinner and thinner until it has stopped. “Sōvēs, Arlaryx, sōvēs.”

She lifts a heavy claw, easing slightly like she'll actually listen.

Then Daemon wraps an arm around your midsection, pulling your body against his as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You wince, squirming in his grasp.

Arlaryx’s mind seems to be made up. She crouches again, advancing slowly once more as her snarls become louder. Smoke arises once again from her nostrils as she opens her mouth, the burning heart of her rage billowing inside of her.

You both know it's just a threat. She would not put you in such danger, but Daemon's crimes against you have officially enraged her.

But Caraxes’ distant croaks and growls fill your head, and you can't stand it. You nearly shout, sounding almost as desperate as you feel as you drop your voice and command her.

“Dohaeris, Arlaryx,” you bellow. “Dohaeris se sōvēs.”

Her warning snarls are replaced with a sort of whining sound as she takes a hesitant step back. She grunts, and you watch the smoke dissipate. Unfurling her great wings, she takes flight as she disappears into the night. Caraxes’ sounds have ceased. You sigh, almost relieved until Daemon's teeth nip at your ear. Anxiety fills you once more.

“That one is just as stubborn as you.” He kisses your cheek, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. He inhales your scent, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Shutting your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. “Just get this over with.”

Anticipation swirls in your belly, the prospect of his hands on you, his mouth, his…

But he just laughs at you, pulling away from your body and leaving you cold. You turn, surprise on your face as you try to figure out why he'd suddenly pulled away from you. Is he so fickle in his interests that he should let you go before having his way?

You have half a mind to run.

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona.” Don't do that. He remains close, his predatory gaze follows you. “Nyke gīmigon jaelā nyke, riña. Tepagon isse, byka qelbar.” I know you want me, girl. Give in, little river.

You clench your jaw, balling your hands into fists as you step closer. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao,” you spit. I don't want you.

He chuckles, leaning in until your faces are inches apart. “Pirtra.” Lies.

He takes a step forward, continuing this back and forth dance—you step, he steps, forward and back, left and right. Then he begins to circle you as you stand there, feeling as small as he probably views you.

“You think I don't notice when your eyes follow me down the hall?” he asks, and the question makes your blood run cold. “You think I don't see you peeking over your cup at dinner?” He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and whispering in your ear, his lips caressing the shell. “You crave my touch so deeply, it makes you look pathetic.”

His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you close. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand teasing you, reaching down, down, down.

“I hear you.” Your breath hitches. “At night when you touch yourself to my name.” The smallest breath slips from your lips when his hand cups your heat, his finger teasing your clit over your gown.

“Does it feel good?” His voice is a purr in your ear. “Imagining my fingers plunging inside of you? Wishing it was my teeth sunk into your flesh and not your own nails digging into your skin?”

Your legs tremble, his words resonating in your bones. You shake your head, taking a breath for courage as you object.

“You are not mine,” you whisper, your voice weak. You break out of his hold, turning to watch him as you try to recollect your wavering dignity. “Dead or alive, you are my sister's. I will not sully her memory this way.”

“Oh, come off it.” He comes closer. “Either way, your sister is dead. Why deny yourself pleasure for the memory of a dead sister?”

You slap him. His head whips to the side as your hand inspires a large red blush over his cheek. His fingers brush his skin, a large crooked grin taking his face as he slowly turns to look at you.

You take a small step back, anxiety creeping into you at the way he watches you, like prey being stalked by a cruel beast. He says nothing as he stands there. He begins to walk forward.

And you run.

Sand kicks into the air as you bolt away, your breath loud in your ears and your heart heavy in your chest. Tears spring to your ears as the exertion, the cold thrill of his hunt encourages your escape.

You don't get far. He's faster than you, and his strength is far superior to yours as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you from the ground. You kick your feet, trying to break free from his hold. But it's of no use. You shout over the crashing waves of the tides, waves that have picked up since Daemon arrived. Like they mourn with you, they fight for you, too.

He wrestles you to the ground, flipping you onto your back as he pins your arms down by your head. He looms over you, positioning himself between your legs and ignoring your fight like you're nothing against him. And perhaps you are.

“Go ahead,” he grins, spurred on by your struggle. “Pretend you despise me. Perhaps, now, you do.” He leans in close, whispering in your ear. “But we are all the way out here, with no one to hear your screams but the sea.”

Your fight diminishes, the reality of his words sinking in. You look at him, your eyes wide and struck with adrenaline-coated tears. His gaze is dark, his smile even darker. He shifts one of your arms to the other, grasping both your wrists in one of his big hands as the other strokes your side, dipping beneath your thin gown to touch your bare skin beneath. You shudder at the feeling, anxiety pooling in your belly at the knowledge that you can do nothing to fight him.

“Will you lose breath screaming or cumming?”

Your voice is weak and broken. It's barely a whisper when you speak. “Please.”

He shushes you, his lips so close to yours. You can almost feel it, the heat of his kiss as he would devour you.

And then he does. He presses his lips roughly against yours, his tongue slipping past them to taste you. He grips your side, his dull nail digging into your flesh. You can't help the whine you let out into his mouth, regretting the way you seek him out, especially after he pulls away. And he smiles triumphantly, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

“Don't worry, little river.” A quiet gasp erupts from your chest when his hand cups your bare cunt, his fingers rubbing against your folds before he parts them to plunge his finger inside of you. Your mouth falls open, sharp breaths teetering in and out at the way he touches you, at the way you clench around his finger like you'll die if he pulls away now.

“I'll give you what you've been craving all these years.”

He moves like fire. His hand is insistent as his finger plunges in and out of your wet heat, pulling more and more arousal from your already damp folds. You clench your jaw, stifling your moans as he forces the pleasure down your throat.

When he thrusts another finger inside of you, you moan at the stretch, your eyes rolling back at the way he curls them inside of you. You grab his arm, gripping it tight, though you're not sure if you're trying to stop him or not.

He moves quickly. You don't have time to catch up with the harsh thrusts of his fingers, so you lay back and take it as the pleasure explodes all over your body.

It feels so good. His fingers reach deeper, faster, too. The feeling of someone else's fingers inside of you instead of your own is so foreign. Your frantic breath makes you light-headed, and you can hardly keep your thoughts straight.

“I know it's exhausting,” he mumbles as his palm slaps against your clit, “fighting me.”

But you must fight. For your sister, who meant so much to you. You must fight against this man who let her die. Who would you be if you allowed yourself to succumb to your late sister's husband? She practically raised you, and this is how you repay her?

But here you are. She died hardly two days ago, and you were laying on the sand with Daemon's fingers in your cunt.

Being in this position is surreal. Because he was right, you had been craving this moment for years, wanting so deeply to feel Daemon's passion on your skin. His lips brush your cheek, and he murmurs into your ear. “You'll feel better when you let go.”

Your breath hitches. “Daemon.”

“That's it,” he smirks, feeling you leaning into him. “Close your eyes and give in to me, little river.”

Your eyes flutter shut. The pace of his hand, the feeling of his fingers thrusting so deeply, the pleasure scours your body until you feel yourself reaching your limit.

“Ȳdra daor keligon, Daemon,” you sigh, your voice high with bliss as you pull your hands away from his grasp. “Nyke jorrāelagon ziry.” Don't stop. I need it.

“Qilōni?” Who?

“Ao!” You! You moan, rolling your hips into his hand as he continues to coax your release from you. Your head is spinning, and you've long since left reason behind. “Nyke jorrāelagon ao,” you beg. I need you.

You turn your head to lay your eyes upon the sea, the pleasure within you swelling like the waves crashing against the shore. “Shijetra nyke, mandia.”

Forgive me, sister.

Your lips part and your back arches off the sand as you come undone. Your moans echo off the waters, becoming all the worse when Daemon's teeth nip the flesh of your neck.

It feels amazing, freeing almost. His hand continues to work out through your pleasure, even when it all fades into oversensitivity. He lets go of you, pulling away from your body and staring down at you. You watch through hooded eyes as he examines his hand, watching the way your arousal glistens off his fingers in the moonlight. He looks at you as he licks his fingers clean.

The scene is so erotic, the way he groans at the taste of you on his tongue. “Such a magnificent treat you are,” he hums. He bends down and takes your lips against his own, his tongue licking into your mouth as you taste yourself on him.

You watch as his hand reaches for his belt, and you can't help the way your legs close at the thought of him revealing himself to you. He reaches a hand out, gripping your knee and pushing your legs apart again. “Do not move.”

You do as you're told, waiting with bated breath as he unlatches his belt and sets himself free. You gasp silently at the sight of him, long and solid and flushed pink at the tip. When your eyes lock with his, he looks quite proud of himself.

Daemon turns you on your belly, positioning you as he wants you, with your face shoved into the sand and your hips in the air. His harsh hands grope your body, your ass, your waist, your thighs. You groan, your hips jerking when his thumbs spread your folds apart.

“You're fucking dripping,” he says, a dark smirk in his words as he runs a finger between them.

“Kostilus,” you whisper, taking handfuls of sand to try to control yourself. You were in too deep. Your desire for him has turned to a desperate need embedding itself in the pit of your stomach. Please.

He chuckles, “Say it again.”

You have no mind to refuse him. You've long since lost your dignity, and you've betrayed your sister like you never thought you would. It's too late for you. Why deny yourself pleasure over broken promises?

“Kostilus, Daemon,” you whine, shuddering at the way his hand strokes down your spine. “Nyke jaelagon ao.” I want you.

He puts you out of your misery with a harsh thrust into your needy cunt. You moan, your heavy breaths blowing sand into the air. “Ondoso se gods…” By the gods…

A long groan rumbles in his chest as he closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of your tight pussy. “Fuck,” he curses as he bottoms out. “You are a virgin.” He grips your hips, burying himself so deep that you feel like you can't breathe. “With all your supposed virtue, I thought you were pretending you weren't a dirty whore.”

As he grips you tight, Daemon doesn't take you, he fucks you. He holds you, digs his nails in your flesh. He thrusts his cock in and out of your tight hole, fast and rough and with the recklessness of a starving man devouring his food. The ocean rages. You're not sure if it's a reflection of your betrayal or your need. The sea is strange in that way, it's versatility.

You wish you could disappear into the dark waters, break away from this beast of a man and let the sea consume you. At least then you'd be at peace with yours, part of the waters of your bloodline.

But here are you, consumed by fire as you ignore the burn of the sand scratching your skin. It's a molten kind of pleasure, the kind that oozes out of you in lingering bliss and deep desires. You're slick with arousal, which makes it easier for him to glide in and out of you. His relentless pace smacks against you, the sound of it echoes through the air with the heavy heat of his passion.

Your position is so compromising. Anyone could happen across you. Anyone could walk the shoreline and find you being fucked into the sand by your sister's husband.

Your rationale falls short because the fear of it is nowhere near as strong as it should be. If the lords of Pentos saw you, they would surely gossip. Word would spread through the city, and that word would spread all the way across the sea. Everyone would know, your nieces, your brother, your mother and father. They would reject, disown you. They would strip you of Velaryon, you would be just another Waters bastard of Driftmark.

You could say he made you. You could tell them he threw you to the sand and took you as he pleased, ravaged you as though you were nothing but meat. But Corlys would go to war over you. To have your honor destroyed in such a way, it would be a war of sea against fire, a war full of bloodshed and hatred.

The idea has you running cold, but the chill doesn't last long with the way Daemon's hips thrust into you, full of his own fire.

“What I wouldn't give to spend every moment snug in this virgin cunt,” he grunts, reaching forward as he flattens his hand against the back of your skull. He twists your hair around his fingers and pulls, keeping you secure in his grip. You go limp at the feeling, the weakness seeping into your bones.

“Perhaps I should breed you,” he sighs with a laugh. “I'll fill you full of my seed, maybe even keep you as my broodmare. I'll keep you round with my children, always ready for me to fuck as I please. Is that what you want, little river?”

So truly blinded by your pleasure, you have no choice but to agree. You lean into the way he makes you feel, letting your troubles melt away, your concerns and your hesitations a thing of the past. They will do you no good now.

“Yes,” you gasp, allowing yourself to be ravaged. “Yes, Daemon, I want that.”

The triumphant look in his eyes shines at the way you give in so completely. Empowered by your submission, his thrusts become more merciless. He grunts and groans behind you, tugging on your hair and holding you still as you return the passion.

All of the sudden, he pulls out of you, leaving you cold and shaking. A stray whine seeps off your tongue, but you have no time to let it linger before he’s flipping you onto your back. He throws your legs onto his shoulder and shoves himself back inside of you in just a couple fluid motions. His ruthless thrusts have you nearly crying for him. The blunt head of his cock reaches so deeply like this, punching against that spongy part inside of you as stars swirl in your vision.

“It feels so good,” you moan, though you’re sure your words are nearly incoherent. It feeds Daemon’s ego either way, encouraging a rougher fuck as he gives you what you want, gives himself what he’s been craving all along. He was right. You do feel as good as he thought, better even. You’re so tight, so inexperienced and untouched that all of his cruel pleasure wrecks your body in your sensitivity.

“You can get louder, can’t you?” he asks, bending down to fold you in half for a different angle.

Your head falls back against the sand. You must look a mess, covered in tiny grainy crystals, hair all over the place. But it doesn’t matter. That’s probably what he wants. Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him close as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are shorter, harder now. You’re running out of breath quickly, struggling to keep up.

“Fuck, don’t stop!” The breathy wail feels almost like it was forced from your lungs. As he reaches his hand down to touch your clit, you’re done for and you know it. “Oh, Daemon, please.”

He’s intent on making you cum, and with the skill he’s acquired throughout his years, you know he’ll be successful. He’s already got you crying his name.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, girl?” he questions, his breath heavy and his hair messy upon his head. “I know you want to, you’re squeezing me so tight.” You cant your hips up into his own, seeking out your sweet release as he hangs it over your head. “Tell me who you want.”

Your eyes, blurry with tears, watch him hazily. “You.”

He tuts. “You can do better than that. If you want to cum, you will tell me who you want to breed this tight little hole of yours.”

You have no mind to refuse him—you have no mind to do anything but follow where the pleasure takes you. With shallow breaths, you blink pleasure tears from your eyes. “I want you, Daemon. Please, I want you to cum in me and make me your whore.”

He doesn’t know if you could have said it any better. Making harsh circles over your clit, he fucks you with all the strength he’s got. You feel like he’ll bruise you with how brutal he’s being. You feel a tightening coil in your belly, one that just clenches and clenches and clenches with every circle on the sensitive pearl he attacks.

“Cum for me, little river,” he commands, leaving you and your body no room to refuse him as he pulls it out of you. “Cum all over my cock and scream my name like the perfect whore that you are.”

And you obey. It’s like a lever being pulled. One moment you’re teetering on the edge, the next you're arching your back and feeling pleasure consuming your body in a fire that makes you shiver. He doesn’t stop fucking you. If anything, the way you tighten around him only makes his thrusts shorter and his grinding rougher. You’re dizzy and your moans are high and pathetic.

He doesn’t stop attacking your clit. You’re so sensitive, once the pleasure wanes and the movements sting, you squirm away from him, but he doesn’t care. He holds you in place and commands you as though you were one of the dragon beasts he meant to train. He wraps his free hand around your throat, leaning down to bite and suck at your neck. “Dohaeris,” he hisses, his tone sharp and quiet but full of so much of a threat that you bear through the discomfort until it twists in your gut into the dizzying sensation of overstimulated pleasure again.

His name falls from your lips like a chant. The sound of it continues to spur him on, his thumb becoming faster as he searches for that same release for himself. “Please, Daemon,” you whimper, “please cum inside of me. I need you to cum inside of me, please.”

You tip him over the edge. With a growl, he shoves his cock as far as he can go, far enough that it hurts when he buries himself so deep. Grinding into you, his hot release fills you to the brim. Encouraged by the adrenaline, his ruthless thumb carries on until you’re cumming with him.

Your sounds mix in the air, his grunts, your moans, the squelching sound of his cock thrusting into your clenching cunt. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he praises, his voice rough with the effects of his release.

With two more thrusts, as rough as he can make them—just for the fun of it—he pulls out of you. You whine, laying limply on the sand. He watches you, smiling at the way you seem to struggle to stay conscious.

He considers just leaving you there to recuperate on your own.

Daemon adjusts himself, stuffing his cock back into his trousers and fixing his belt. He stares at your cunt all the while, using his fingers to shove his cum back inside of you every time it begins to leak out.

He sits you up, fixing your gown and pulling your face to sit inches from his own. “Iksā ñuhon,” he mutters into your ear, his words clear. “Daorys kostagon renigon ao sir.” You shudder at his claim, your eyes fluttering shut as he whispers to you. You are mine. No one can touch you now.

”Do you understand me?” he asks, and you know you cannot refuse.

Not that you ever want to.

You nod slowly, looking up at him as you accept your fate. “Kessa, Daemon.”

He hums. “Good.” Staring at your lips, he leans in and kisses you. He kisses you with force and power, using a kind of domination that was quite unnecessary—given the fact that he’d already taken your virginity and, quite possibly, bred you with his children. There’s a hint of something in the background, however, a hunger, a desperation that seeps into your skin and makes you feel warm.

Under the cruelty is a gentleness that is entirely foreign to you. You chalk it up to imagination as he pulls away, pinching your cheek. “Come with me,” he orders. “I am not done with you yet, my little river.”

Shijetra nyke, mandia.

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yogurt200 · 2 days

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do you have any advice for those just starting out using renpy/ making games?

im still learning my way around renpy and making visual novels and what works best ..here are some personal findings:

..try to replace renpys default ui and mess with the options.rpy and screens.rpy right away , the more time put into it the easier it will become to make something unique to your senses. you can change basically everything. you dont have to make a widescreen vn either..4:3, square or portrait mode are possible as well

..look into layered images, the feature is really awesome if you want sprites that change outfits or want to be able to do unique expression combinations without having to save a png of every one

..its good to define characters, atl(animations), images, transitions etc each in their own .rpy file. you can make as many .rpy files as you need and you dont have to only use "script.rpy" to write your story. i divide my script into act files to make it easier..

n some not renpy stuff:

..this software helps you take breaks and avoid RSI and it is pretty invaluable for me. it will track based on the time you spend moving your mouse or keyboard. this also helps keep on task n if you get distracted you're more aware of it.

..if you are a writer, i cant recommend getting an alphasmart neo2 enough. especially if you cant handwrite. its an old device that lets you type textfiles without a bluelight screen. you can 'send' what you write directly to your computer through a printer cable and it types it out. it fits plenty and its useful for writing script outside the computer. refurbished ones on ebay are good.

..its easy to get really overambitious and perfectionist and then not make anything as a result..my advice if this comes up is to prioritize the existence of the thing rather than its ability to match the impossible image in your head. that ideal picture will always be shifting into more impossible territory as you improve anyway, so think about what you're actually capable of and make it actually happen!! important to remember ur not triple A studio.. being independent is an advantage cuz you can do anything!

thts all i can get from the top of my head tht i havent said here before(ithink?)..i think about the last one a lot honestly i think thats my best advice i have if you can call it that

hopefully this helps.. good luck with your vn/game!

#answer

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tadpolesonalgae · 21 hours

Text

Predator and Prey[***]

Dark!Rhys x reader

a/n: Okay, so, this isn’t ‘canon’ to the Desk Pet series, it’s more like it’s set in that universe but it’s a what-if scenario! Because I read this and wanted to write a little drabble for it!!!

warnings: uh, I think it turned into angst? It’s not written to be sad, but you might read it as sad? Um, anyway, Rhys doesn’t die, he’s fine, it just cuts off dramatically. Enjoy! :) (also, reference to past noncon, please be careful)

word count: 2,638

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Velaris.

The city of Starlight.

Home to the High Lord, and rumoured to be a haven for dreams.

A place to rest and recover, where the colours shone brighter and the air tasted crisper. Where sleep was no longer a restless resignation but settled over its citizens fully, a night to guarantee fresh minds in the morning, relieved of aching joins or a heaviness to their eyelids. Where even the sun shone brighter, and the moon appeared like a silver coin in the sky, starlight glittering like dewdrops on a cobweb caught in the early morning light.

And it was true—any occupant would gladly testify to Velaris’ strangely healing nature, the rare beauty that painted the streets colourful and full of life, that had the denizens struggling to remain in a foul mood for long, but then something strange happened. A small change that caused the eventual death of that wonder and healing safety. Few details were given, but it was clear something had happened. Something detrimental to the Court’s well-being.

And one by one, the stars began winking out.

It started with a curfew—no citizens were permitted to roam the streets past midnight, and were required to remain indoors until the sun broke across the horizon.

Then the darkness started to feel thicker; heavier. Gone were the clear nights; the twinkling stars. Instead they were replaced with cloying shadows, a tension that wound its way through the streets and scratched slowly at doors. Searching. Hunting.

Then at last came the beast itself.

No one had ever seen it, but to deny its presence would be pointless. They could all feel it, they had all noticed the weight that descended across the city, the clawing tension that tightened skin and had throats constricting. No one knew what would happen if they disobeyed the curfew, what would happen if they ventured out into the night to seek out the thing that had swallowed their beloved starlight whole.

Except you.

————

It’s been less than a month since you escaped his bruising touch, the sharp bite of his teeth.

Less than a month, and your body still aches with phantom pains that blister and swell as though his talons are still raking gently through your mind, plucking at your pain to keep you under his thumb.

The cool night air is like a balm to your skin, burning hot from anxiety as the clocktower strikes twelve, and the few lights that had been illuminated are snuffed out. You watch from the small attic window as the darkness unfurls, rising from the cobbles, giving the unshakable impression that it never truly leaves but rather temporarily sinks below the floorboards, just waiting to slink out and drag you down into the earth.

It’s why you’ve kept to sneaking into deserted attics rather that hiding out in garden sheds.

You don’t want him to be able to find you.

Just a few more days, that’s all you need, and you’ll be out of Velaris for good. You can worry about what you’ll do after once you’re out, for now you just need to make it past that last house.

You’ve managed to scout out a couple nearby and have picked the one you’ll stay in for your last night. Then first thing in the morning you’ll be free. As soon as the sun breaks over the horizon, you’ll run and never look back.

————

Your heart is pounding in your chest, wild and alive as you spring through the undergrowth, bag on your back weighed with enough to keep you going healthily for a day or two, but you’re out!

The air tastes different, clearer and purer. Even the ground feels different, more secure in some way and you’re struck with the urge to remove your shoes and feel the grass beneath your bare soles. It’s been so long since you’ve been out in the woods that shroud the outskirts of the city, and emotion swells in your chest.

But you don’t have time for that yet. You’re onto your next task, escaping the court as a whole.

You’re familiar with the territory—maps were easy to locate in his study, and easier still to pluck from a draw before leaving.

As far as you can tell you have three options that you’ve been running through ever since you made it into that last house. Option one would be the swiftest escape but also the most likely to get you caught: escaping by sea. Velaris isn’t far from the coast and you could likely make it on foot in a day and a half if you pushed yourself, but the docks would be busy and you don’t doubt he’ll be keeping an eye on them. And with his daemati powers you’d be easily recognisable to anyone he’s commanded to pull you from the ships on sight.

Option two is to make your way southeast down to the Day Court boarders. Once you’ve crossed, safety won’t be assured but you’ll be a hell of a lot more protected than remaining in his territory. But it will take time and you aren’t sure you can afford to risk such delayed escape. It won’t be long before he begins searching further than Velaris, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to sneak into houses unfamiliar to you which would mean being outside overnight, which will guarantee your capture.

Option three: you remain in the Night Court and hope for him to grow bored or restless. Wait for him to make a move and reveal his cards. The last option and least favourable, one you’d only pick if the first two were ruled out for some reason. It’s a last resort—you don’t want to spend a second longer in his territory more than you absolutely must.

Of the three, the safest would probably be to trail down the coast for the swiftest path but it’s true he might predict that, in which case you should muddle your route—keep more inland and go that way, stopping from town to town and slowly making your route South.

Yes, that has to be the right choice.

————

He hears the voices around him but is paying no attention to their flurried chatter, useless and completely unaware of the real problems, concerned only with menial issues that will solve nothing important.

His violet eyes are blank as usual, expression cold and unreadable as the meeting proceeds, watching from somewhere far behind his eyes as mouths move, hands raise in gestures of outrage and demand, postures folded into defensive positions when they’re targeted. His mood darkens—how they manage to occupy themselves so fervently, how they manage to swell such unseemly waves of emotion over such meaningless topics, it’s waring his temper dangerously thin.

It’s been nearly a month since she disappeared from his life, vanishing from the house he’d kept for her and running out into the night. He still remembers the strange emptiness he’d felt when he’d returned, tired and worn out, seeking nothing more than to fall into bed with her. Nothing more than to inhale her scent again, to feel the soft shape of her body as it slots against his own, hear the quiet noises of her breath as she tries to keep it from hitching whenever he reaches for her. The tinge of fear in her scent whenever he approaches, or the flash of terror then rage that passes behind her eyes so swiftly it leaves him slightly breathless.

He had thought she was warming up to him. That the lack of protest had been promising, and that the steady disappearance of resistance had meant she was beginning to forget. And he had responded to that by granting her more freedom—not much, but she had access to the gardens—and being that small bit less forceful in his touch.

Resurfacing into the current reality, the voices swarm at his mind, loud and grunting as they argue themselves in circles.

He had been close last night, had caught her scent on the ledge of a window near the outskirts of his city, but it had been faint and days old. She will have likely made it out into the forests by now.

Darkness unspools across the floor, his mood seeping into the room as tension spreads itself across the table, tightening around the council’s throats.

He needs to find her soon. For her to be out in the woods, alone and near nightfall. If something happens to her…

The faelights fail, flicking softly before they wink out, and the chamber falls into silence as the absent darkness at last finishes plying the life from their bodies, at last allowing silence to settle.

————

The boarder isn’t far now, but your heart is pounding so hard from running you’re worried he’ll be able to hear it in the few seconds it takes to inhale.

He’s much too close for your liking, and one wrong move…

He’s relentless in this hunt, stalking your steps as he prowls after your scent, tracking you how he’d been raised to, following the signs you’re unable to hide in the spare moments your magic deactivates. You’re lucky you’d had no reason to use it after Amarantha’s fall.

It’s been a while since you’ve handled it, but you can temporarily go invisible to hide yourself from sight. A handy trick certainly, but it wouldn’t be enough to get past him on its own. Which is why you’re thankful for its one step further.

For the duration you can hold your breath, it’s as if you don’t exist. You can run through the brush, step on as many twigs as you like and no one will hear. Can sidle up to birds and other creatures without them even noticing you. Even your scent is covered. Were it not for this, you wouldn’t have stood a chance of escaping.

And yet between those breaths when you resurface into reality, he’s able to sense you. An acute awareness he’s pinned onto you that alerts him of your movements in those bare seconds.

The darkness swarms to the position you’d been not even a minute before, and your heart stops when you spot the silhouette that’s prowling through the shadow. Tall and intimidating, perfectly cut lines stark against the inky blue of the night sky, able to make out the locks of blue-black hair that glint like raven’s feathers beneath the sliver of moonlight.

Terror filters through your blood as he calls your name, pausing at the foot of the tree you’d been at, glancing at the ground before his violet eyes skim the surrounding area.

Nails dig into your palms when his attention pauses on you, watching the darkness between the trees that you’re hidden in, brows narrowing ever so slightly.

It’s impossible. There’s no way for him to know where you are. Your scent is covered, and noise you make is absolutely annulled, your presence itself entirely smothered, so how?

You don’t waste time considering it—how sharp his senses must be—keeping your breath held as you dart away, running for your life through the darkness of the woods. The boarder of Day is still far off, there’s no way you’ll be able to reach it before the sun rises.

He’s going to find you.

He’s going to take you back.

Your lungs are burning, and you’re forced to yield another gasping breath before returning into that invisible pocket that’s keeping you separate from him.

In that one second you feel as he shifts, the immensity of his power concentrating to the space not even three steps behind you, and your legs fumble, giving out from terror at how close he’d come.

You flip onto your back, scrambling away, heart pounding as he stands there, violet eyes practically glowing in the dark as he scans the surrounding area.

You aren’t going to escape. He’ll find you with the next breath.

Your heart stutters, pulse spiking as your trembling fingers brush the hilt of the blade at your side.

At a normal pace you can last about four minutes, five if you’re patient and concentrating. Now, with the panic set in, the wild flutter of your pulse, you have a minute and a half. Two at most. One-hundred and twenty seconds to figure out what to do with the blade at your side and the male stood before you, blessedly unaware that you’re crumpled on the floor two strides from his feet.

It’s simple once you think about it.

You have a blade, and he’s unable to sense you.

You can kill him. Or at least incapacitate him.

The realisation shocks through you, hands tightening around the hilt of the blade, banishing the tremble from your fingertips as you shakily get to your feet, standing before him as violet eyes search for a hint of your presence.

Again your heart stutters as he somehow looks straight at you, watching the space exactly before him that, to all of his senses, should be empty. And yet.

You look at him silently, blade grasped tightly in your hands, and you can imagine how it will feel to slide the steel up through his ribs. Even if he is High Lord, even if it’s Illyrian steel and not ash, it will be enough.

His brows narrow almost imperceptibly, hands removing themselves from his pockets and your stomach clenches as he takes a step forward.

It’s all you need to get you moving, your feet shoving against the ground as you run at him, pulling the blade back, allowing the breath to slip past your lips as you inhale sharply to give your muscles the air they need to stab the blade up into his chest.

Violet eyes go wide as you appear before him, moonlight glinting on steel a fraction of a moment before it cuts clean into him, sliding through his ribs and piercing his heart. Your lip is curled, hands shaking around the hilt, fingers trembling where blood is dripping down, features twisted into an expression of frightening fury.

Has he done that to you?

The momentum combined with the agonising pain knocks him back, your own strength so focused on forcing the blade as deep into his rotted heart as you can that your legs give out with him, bodies falling together, crushing into the ground as his arms wrap around you.

Disgust crawls across your skin and you think you might be sick, but you keep one hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade, meeting his horrifically familiar violet gaze as you manage to twist the steel in his chest. His features contort in pain, hot liquid burning against your palm as it saturates through the fine material of his clothes, sinking into your sleeves.

Breath pants from his lips as he tries to steady his breathing, and you brace for whatever fury he’ll unleash upon you, already making to inhale again in order to escape, but his arm has wrapped around the base of your spine, his palm cupping your jaw so he can look at you. Violet seems to almost shudder, and you can hear the frantic pulse of his heart, skin already paler than seconds before.

You freeze beneath that look, body paralysed at the familiar softness to his irises. How he’d look at you before…everything.

Blood pushes from between his lips, colouring his teeth a raw red as life leaks from the wound you’ve made and it looks like he’s trying to speak.

His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, settling gently down as he pulls you to his chest, a look like relief on his pained features.

“You’re back,” he breathes, fingers stroking across your hair. “You’re back.”

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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#dark!rhysand x reader #desk pet series #dark!rhysand #dark!rhys x you #predator and prey

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thewertsearch · 1 day

Text

Ask Comp 13/05

@garnetduodecim asked: I always assumed jack spent the first 4 hours in the troll session, before destroying prospit, destroying Aradiabots, there were A LOT of them.

Maybe one of the Aradiabots got in a lucky shot, and was able to tag him with a weaker, non-God Tier variant of her freeze ability. That'd certainly at least delay him.

@morganwick asked: So, you were talking about Aradia "injuring" Vriska (post/704357246751113217) and comparing Vriska to a fairy godmother character (post/722100305374986240)?

@manorinthewoods asked: Serendipity Gospels is by Tamsyn Muir??? Really? Um, that's… hoo. That was one of the fanfics that I didn't end up liking. Might need to revisit that. Side note: 'Doc Scratch's School for Supernaturally Gifted Adolescents' feels more like something Locked Tomb-esque to me. So that's really… ah. ~LOSS (3/5/24)

I do wonder how similar the Gospels are to TLT's writing style.

Actually, can anyone confirm at what point the fic will be safe to read? I could just wait until I'm reading panels from after its publication date, but if I can check it out before, I will.

@abysswarlock asked: Ooh I’ve had this hypothesis for a while now but you just said something that made me lock in my guess that your classpect is Prince of Doom

The classpect wheel continues to turn!

I'm married to Doom for at least one of my 'sonas, but my Class is still up in the air, since we know even less about them than aspects.

@manorinthewoods asked: As a sort of Part 2 to that sylladex comment - how do you think the Sylladex works? Do you think that Homestuck will go into more detail about Sylladices, or do you think they'll fade into the background as different aspects of the magic system come to the fore? ~LOSS (24/4/24)

I think the latter is a lot more likely. Most aspects (lol) of Homestuck's magic system are there to serve the story first and foremost. As much as I'd love the comic to turn into a treatise on Sburb deeplore, it really doesn't feel like something Hussie would be interested in doing.

The story won't really suffer without, say, a detailed explanation of every facet of alchemy - I just really like speculating, because I'm all about shit like that.

@heliotropopause asked: What are your thoughts on Homestuck's translation convention(s)? As an example, take page 2251, line "Arrivederci, Megido.": Is she writing in something close enough to Earth English to scan as such to the reader, no translation necessary? Is Vriska saying a word in Troll Italian, which gets translated to Earth Italian? Is she expressing a sentiment in her usual language that's best translated as the word "arrivederci" as it's used in English? Has Doc Scratch secretly been translating all cross-species communication we've seen so far?

Vriska's arrivederci seems diegetic to me. If we inherited English from Alternia, it makes sense that some of our other languages might come from there too.

tl;dr: Troll Italy is real 🇮🇹

Anonymous asked: im not one to dip my toes into The Vriscourse but this one piece of analysis i really liked is that vriska is jealous of tavros, that hes had a much easier life compared to her and that hes allowed to be more of a wimp while she has to be the toughest fuck alive or else shell die

It's only one piece of the Vriska-Tavros puzzle, but it's an important one. She'll refuse to acknowledge it to the end, though, because the idea of being jealous of Tavros is disgusting to her.

@obscureaeguran asked: Are there any current theories of yours that you want to be wrong about?

Confident as I am in my Vriska death theory, I don't actually want to be right.

I really like Vriska's character, and I want to see her grow past the worldview that's preventing her from finding peace. I just don't think that's likely, given her current trajectory.

Anonymous asked: 'In what universe are 13-year-olds the people most qualified to make universes?' well per the beta version of homestuck (when hussie wanted to make the whole thing in flash before deciding against it) they were all going to be 10 instead, i think this is the much better option!

How young can we go, anyway?

AU where the Homestuck Babies aren't sent to Earth at all, and just start playing immediately.

@manorinthewoods asked: Have you played Deltarune? ~LOSS (9/4/24)

I have! I was actually replaying it on day one of the liveblog - hence the several references I made to it at the time. That feels forever ago, now.

@bladekindeyewear asked: Jade changed pretty drastically as a person after her dreamself died, if you think about it— demanding Feferi stop using her quirk in chat, standing up to the trolls for the first time, getting angry, to such an extent that Karkat was so surprised that it turned his opinion of her around completely in a single conversation. Even forcing a password system to keep talks linear instead of using cloud visions to do everything out of order. This doesn’t just feel to me like dream Jade being a “different individual”, it also feels like a metaphorical confrontation between her NEW self and her OLD self…

I think it's both.

Jade's been through a lot in the last couple of hours, and she really isn't the same girl who died on Prospit.

Being an oracle of Skaia's visions led to disaster. They showed her that John's Dream Self would awaken, leading her to believe she was finally going to meet him, but neglected to mention that she'd die the moment he opened his eyes - or that Prospit would die alongside her.

As a result, the new Jade seems to have made a decision to completely reject all prophetic information. She'll supply the minimum possible intel to her past self, and no more.

It's clear her Dream Self's death was a catalyst for a pretty dramatic shift in her worldview. She's angry - at the trolls, at herself, and at the world that betrayed her trust. She's tired of being jerked around, and her tumultuous emotions are making her rather testy. Basically, she's sick of all the bullshit, and she won't take it from anyone anymore.

Jadesprite has experienced the same catalyst, and has also come to mistrust the clouds, but for different reasons.

Jade rejects prophecies, in part, because she doesn't want to be deceived - but Jadesprite rejects them out of sheer hopelessness. She just doesn't care anymore.

They both have the same trauma, but they're dealing with it in very different ways - and at this point, I really do consider them to be different people.

And then on a metaphorical level, Jadesprite represents the 'silly', absent-minded childhood self that got Jade into this mess.

I think this taunt from Karkat hit very, very close to home for her, and I'm sure she associates the traits he described with her idyllic days on Prospit. It's part of why Dream Jade is such a perfect target for her fury.

@spyril4132 asked: i beg to differ on the entry item similarities only applying to prospit. iirc, rose shatters a bottle, and dave hatches an egg; both involve breaking open some sort of "shell", and neither are associated with a larger object, which could be seen as similar types of items. (while jade does break a piñata, she does so by shooting it, not by splitting it apart)

It's true that Rose and Dave's object's have some physical similarities, but John and Jade are both summoning the same tree, which feels like a much stronger connection.

Rose and Dave's entry cards also summoned auxiliary items, but they were different - a cabinet and bird, respectively. From where I'm sitting, the link between the two Prospit items does seem unique.

@skelekingfeddy asked: what herptiles would sally and sahlee have as their consorts? i feel like a monitor lizard would fit for one of them…maybe losas has like, turtle or tortoise consorts, what with their long-livedness and the wise sagely vibe and all.

I was thinking pretty much the same thing for Sahlee. Let's say they're Galápagos tortoises, because the Sage gives me Oogway vibes.

For Sally's Consorts, I'm going to get really funky and say they're a type of pterosaur.

@sparten4ever92 asked: The HS version of Megalovania is slept on way too much, the Vriska guitar adds so much to it that the UT version just doesn't have. @sanctferum asked: Finally, MeGaLoVania by Toby Fox (feat. Joren "Tensei" deBruin on guitar)! Would you say that Tavros had an…unpleasant chronological progression? (btw I do love the bit of Spider's Claw that plays during the Vriska segment, which is (obviously) unique to this Megalovania) also, the audiovisual style of homestuck flashes is just really cool imo @mimescantscream asked: You have no idea how long we've waited for the Megalovania

This version of Megalovania was a great choice for Aradia's finest hour - or at least, her finest hour so far.

It's moments like this which are why I decided to stop listening to the albums in advance. If I hadn't first heard Aradia's Megalovania in this flash, it wouldn't have hit the way it did.

@elkian asked: MEGALOVANIA TIME BAYBEEEE! Also, let's go back to that theory you had about Aradia getting more alive, because you NAILED it. @iris-in-the-dark-world asked: i am so excited to see aradia again and finally as herself :33<

She's fucking BACK, baby!

Seeing Aradia smiling for real after all this time is genuinely heartwarming - and with her time-stop attack, she's almost unkillable. It'd take some absolute nonsense to take Aradia out of the picture again, and I think she'll be sticking around for a long time. Hopefully forever.

@grippingtraverse asked: notice any similarities during megalovania between aradia vs. jack & sans vs. player? 0u0

The best I can come up with is that Aradia and Frisk are both time travelers whose signature color is red.

Or maybe Jack is the Frisk analogue, since he's the one wiping out all life in the session, and Aradia is the last foe he faces.

@captorations asked: please consider, with this new information about aradia, what it could mean for her literary descendant dulcie septimus. please also keep considering this as you continue and see more of aradia. i am very normal about both of these characters

Ooh, they do have similar vibes, don't they? They're both doomed, they're strongly associated with death, and they both have a cheerful side that comes out when you don't expect it to.

@duorogue asked: "You have to give Nepeta some credit. The literal first thing she did after this traumatic murder was log into Trollian and report on Jack’s activities." To be fair to her, when I have a bad nightmare the first thing I do is log onto discord

nepeta hopping on mic at 2am to complain about the hat man (the hat man is doc scratch)

@absinthe-and-alabaster asked: when the writ keeper was introduced as fifth exile you mentioned that it was a little fucked up how the king was the only prospitian that was preserved - i just wanted to remind you that no, he wasn't ! on page 1974 we see all the other prospitians that were exiled with the white queen on her ship (including ms paint!) WQ just left them to go wander the desert

I'd actually forgotten about that. So much happened during the Act 4 ending that it completely slipped my mind. I even missed Ms. Paint!

Anonymous asked: Hey, as you noticed, the Dave Coin Split is a plot hole. We've never seen the timeline split because of someone's choice before. Compare to John flying to the seventh gate, there weren't two timelines based on his choice, the timeline only changed because Dave came back from the original timeline and changed it. And of course, like you said in the tags, Terezi shouldn't have been able to communicate with Doomed Dave, including to tell him the result of the FL1P. Have you noticed any other plot holes or things that don't seem to make sense?

While I see what you're saying, it might not necessarily be a plot hole! Certainly the Dave Coin Timeline was created in a different manner to Davesprite's - but that might just mean there are multiple ways to split a timeline, or that there are certain requirements that must be fulfilled for a decision to spawn one.

Because of things like that, it's hard to tell whether something's actually a plot hole, or if it'll eventually make sense in light of later reveals.

This is particularly true for aspects of the plot involving time travel, like the one you just described. Like, remember before I learned about Doomed Timelines, when I thought Davesprite broke Homestuck's predestination rules?

Anonymous asked: You said "God Tiering is just another way to inhabit your Dream Self," so do you think the things that Dream Selves can do (such as Jade growing extra arms) can be done by God Tiers?

I never really thought about that!

I think it's definitely possible. God Tier bodies can fly the same way that Dream Selves can, so other powers might transfer, too. Maybe the only reason Vriska, Aradia and John aren't shapeshifters is because Jade hasn't taught them to how to dream up extra limbs.

She might be one of the only Dream Selves who've learned how to shapeshift this fluidly. Logging thousands of hours on Prospit has its perks!

#asks #full liveblog #act 5.2 #homestucksona

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akunoniwa · 3 days

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Knife Prty

AN: gang. I've not published anything in like. Three months. For me, this ""piece"" is more of a way to break the ice of my mind that's since frozen over. Overall, I am very reluctant to write, let alone publish, Astarion for various reasons, but I was listening to Deftones one day and was feeling devious.

Synopsis: In which you hold the memory of your first encounter with him very near and dear... He uses it to his tactical advantage...

Pairing: Astarion x fem!reader/tav

Warnings: MDNI, knife play, most definitely would not recommend fucking or getting fucked with a knife handle, sorry it sounded hot,

WC: ~2.3k

A knife balanced against your neck, a familiar blade, increasingly warm with your heat. It was a grave distraction as it teetered threateningly along the grain of your skin, but you’d made a purposeful mistake of telling Astarion how nice it felt to be not just beneath him, but his dagger. It was objectively dangerous, the feeling wasn’t conveniently replicated, thus it felt… real this way, vital. His hand had an instinctual way of slotting itself between your thighs, the heart of his palm blanketing your blooming clit. Two fingers coaxing slick sweetness and moans from your body that twined around him.

“Is this…” Your hand searched behind you to grab at his right upper thigh, pulling him into your backside, “...What you needed, my love?” His words, shrouded in his misty tone, implored you in tandem with his hand.

He was in too many lovely places at once, your muscles slacking in unison as you both stood bare in the middle of the large bath in the vacant House of Hope. Fresh killers you were, in need of a cleanse in every sense, but something about finally taking out Raphael and his accessories had you both at peculiar odds. Astarion was made to witness your vulnerabilities to Haarlep, and despite knowing you well at this point, he found he was unable to accept that you were actually susceptible to its charm. Even if that weren’t the case, he wasn’t about to say he was basking happily in the image of you being ridden by an incubus who ought to just be Raphael himself. The more he was made to think about it after the fact– fighting beasts to save Hope, slashing down Raphael himself… His mind deviated drunkenly back to your body… You. With someone… Something else.

He decided he’d have you in that very spot, right in the Hells where his heat in this moment would make even the waters here boil over.

You two haven't really spoken about what happened in the graveyard, perhaps enough had already been said and done. It’d been weeks since, and no matter how paramount it was to you both, in different respects, Cazador had virtually nothing to do with the looming Elder Brain.

But Astarion’s declaration of his new ‘life’, or an amendment of his living death, still prevailed. This revitalization of sorts stood prominently, following him decisively like a shadow he didn’t have. Constant proof of him as him.

The sharpened metal at your throat was an afterthought to you at the time, but a thought nonetheless– one Astarion had hung onto dearly. Ever since you’d told him in a passing moment that you found your first encounter with him haunting your more unsavory moments, he couldn’t rid himself of the reminders.

“Gods, yes…” You shamelessly ground your hips into his beckoning hand, requiring his attention like nothing else. He was, needless to say, extremely turned on by you in any case, but here… Like this, adorned with his blade that had just slain that imbecilic devil, in addition to his enslaver just weeks prior. He could hardly allow his mind to wander trying to understand, but here his knife somehow signified something of untouchable worth. Trust… A morbid reenactment, sure, but how he adored you so, obsessed with how he was able to thrill you in such an asinine way.

You could feel him straining against you, that familiar sensation of his needing you… Though, he enthusiastically opted to see how long he could play with you, guiding your orgasm through the thickets of his teasing maze.

“Sick little love… I can feel you pulsing against my fingers, so fucking hot and wet.” His remark was serpentine and crude, hips rutting his cock ever so slightly between the swells of your perched ass, “How many times have you thought about this…?” He needed to sift through your tainted mind, needed to hear of your hunger, starvation, for him, as much as he tries to pretend he doesn’t love the assurance. Does your mind, too, think of him like he does of you? Remind me… He’d think– You must keep reminding him of how he tears your sanity to such decadent shreds.

His pace slowed only to allow for precision, his middle and ring finger hooked inside you knowingly as he worked at your left shoulder with his tongue.

“Fuck…” Your small, overwhelmed squeak indicated he was doing exactly as he should, rubbing the velvety spot just past the threshold of your cunt that made you shudder in his embrace, “I don’t even know…” He felt your head fall back on his right shoulder in blissful dejection, “It was more than a few.”

“My routine of devouring you isn’t enough, hm?” His fine-pointed fangs indented your skin on cue, not yet drawing blood.

You let out a breathy laugh, “Admittedly… I was nervous about the pain at first, but… You always manage to make such reckless things feel so good…”

“You drive me insane, darling. Utterly insane. Especially when you say deranged things like that…” Still hooked, his fingers sped up with dedicated intent to make you cum, skin sticky with sweat as you were sealed against his front, “A knife to your sweet neck is all it takes to make you drip down my hand?” You made him feel murderous, vulturine… Alive? Your adorable reactions picked at all the right places within him like crows.

You hummed a dizzied whine in time with his firm pace, a rush of everything creating a cyclone deep within your core, “But, you’re holding it…”

“That I am, dear. Watching you fucking lose yourself like this is truly a sight to behold.” The knife pressed its taunts as he fucked into you while you tried to keep steady.

“Don’t stop…” You couldn’t and didn’t want to fixate on anything else but the pleasure he was giving you, “Please…” Your free hand subconsciously rushed to blanket the one that worked at your beckoning hole, making him gleam beneath your needy touch. His precum began to gradually garnish your backside– Why in the Hells would he stop now?

He need not hide his satisfaction, never with you, a grin causing his words to fray upward with lust, “Pretty, pretty thing… Cum for me.” He sprinkled your shoulder with nipping kisses once more, “ Give it all to me…” He crooned right into your center, his tone broad and smoky.

Hardly needing much past a syllable, your violent shakes when you cum were one of his favorite things to witness, let alone cause. His hand was caught in a vice grip between the tide of your plush thighs as he continued to press into that perfect spot as you came, your moans resonating through his cock. He loved the way your nails dug into the back of his thigh to bring him impossibly close, the other hand around his wrist… Holding onto him for all that you were worth in this moment.

“So divine…” He dragged the knife torturously down your chest, its fine point flicking just barely at your nipples, circling them, “I know how much you like when I tease here…”

You wanted to cry out, every nerve ablaze after your orgasm as you warmed his coated fingers. Instead, you gnawed on another dulled groan in your mouth as the metal tip tickled your areola.

“Let me hear you, darling… There’s no one around.” His voice enveloped your mind like a lecherous fog, words enunciated as they cut into you, “I’d almost say that’s a shame, as I can’t decide if I’d want everyone in all the Hells and beyond to hear your little noises, or have you all to myself.”

“Astarion…” He was breaking you, collecting your pieces, and puzzling your lust-drunk self back together as he pleased.

It seems everyone at camp has been reaching the apex of their struggles at once, especially since reaching Baldur’s Gate– seeing an unwanted face or two is inevitable. It’s been a smothered blur, and to put it more plainly, you and Astarion have not really been afforded time together. It was absurd, fighting almost toe to steel toe beside him, but this was the case day in, day out, everything else had to wait. You’d begun to miss him… You’d tried to brush it off, perhaps it was just you and some arrangement of irrational justifications. His biting quips seemed more distant, even when he held you after a long outing, he felt… Far. And the only reason for this was the non-squirmy affliction you both shared for each other. Of course, he missed you dreadfully. Hence his body currently being superimposed onto yours, an eclipse of raw, splitting desire.

“Give me more… Say it again.” He urged feverishly as your hips still twitched here and there, your movements waking through him.

“Astarion.” You trailed a caressing hand up the arm he latched around your front, just listening to what little was left in your mind. You found the hilt of his dagger gripped in his other hand, guiding it so the fuller would rest on your flattened tongue. Licking a careful stripe towards the tip, he watched in an attentive daze, your projections onto the knife translating to his groin just as you’d hoped.

“Yes, darling…” He finally pulled his fingers from you, experimentally wiping your slick onto the knife. You could feel his smirk radiating beside your cheek as he tugged the blade to his lips. Making sure to secure your eyes, you watched as he tasted your sweet mixed with metallic, making you writhe beneath the image before you.

Swiftly, as he does, he flipped the dagger to lead the rounded pommel down over your stomach, slowly flowing over your pelvis, ultimately pressing down on your clit. He managed to grip it in a way so as to avoid cutting his own hand, running the ball between your swollen folds.

“Mm, I wanna touch you…” You whined pitifully as you writhed, wanting to make him feel as good as he was making you feel, lavish him in pleasure as you’d been ceaselessly imagining.

The moonlight was damn near blinding that night on the overgrown plot of his not-so-restful place… How he pushed you back, fiercely, claiming everything as his own– most importantly, himself. You almost giggle at your spontaneous recollections, how forceful yet tediously careful his movements were as he made it no secret that he’d take you then and there. How his knee swiftly presented you to him, his relentless, passionate kisses…–

“Perhaps I want to be sure that we are on the same page…” The pommel grazed your quivering center, rolling your arousal to a fro, insinuating his intent, “Do you think I enjoyed watching you moan beneath that infernal wretch?”

“I was truly trying to sort out the hammer business… I can’t say I was willingly enthused, he had to charm me just to get me to consider taking my clothes off.”

“It was certainly a… production… But I must be frank, it was not something I ever dreamed of being made to see. How that… Thing nearly made you succumb to its little tricks.” He angled the dagger so as to push it inside you, just a bit, dragging out another melodious moan from you.

He chuckled at this, deciding to drop the matter for the moment, “My filthy darling… You wouldn’t cum around my dagger, would you?” He chided, knowing full well that he’d see to that being the case, “It seems… You just need to be fucked, no matter how.”

The hilt was thick, stretching you generously as its smooth leather pushed further into you. He gripped the guard to avoid splitting his hand, but the risk of a small injury paled in comparison to this, “Maybe there’s something about Avernus, this house… I just feel… Hot,” You debated momentarily, wondering if it’d be more of a burden to speak from what little of your mind remained, “...And I didn’t want to bother you by telling you that I missed you. In any capacity… I’ve missed all of you.” You forced coherence despite him establishing a cyclic rhythm.

He kissed your cheek a few times in response, though found himself quickly perplexed, “Bother me– Darling, never. You’ve… Missed me?”

“It’s been fighting nonstop for weeks, and save for… A few instances, the last few months. All I’ve wanted was to just be able to relax with you, to truly just be.”

“You’re going to tell me this as I’ve buried a dagger handle inside you? You’ve got peculiar timing, my sweet.” His movements subconsciously stilled as he was looking to you for an unknown kind of answer.

“Gods–” You clenched as he kissed your neck this time, allowing his fangs to indent just enough to make themselves known again, “I’m sorry… I guess I could’ve said it any time… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, no, no– love, so could I,” He opted to always shower you with every pet name he could recite, perhaps as a habitual hedge, perhaps to drown you in his doting, “I’ve most certainly missed you, too.” He could feel you attempting to move onto the dagger, sending his body and estranged soul into a frenzy, “So, so much…” He found he just wanted to make you scream, in this particular instance. He’d been rearranging the meaning of intimacy in his mind slowly but steadily alongside you. While harrowing associations would inevitably remain attached to the act, he wanted to overwrite as much of that as he could with images of you. Of true rejoice, pleasure. He swore, his cock twitched upon reminding himself just how good you make him feel, body and beyond.

#i need to get out of this stagnation so here's more garbage #again this is kind of an abrupt end bc i didn't like the rest of it as much #astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 smut #astarion smut

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tragedyslut · 2 days

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why did ur dad joel work make me cry it’s everything </3 i love dad joel i need him to adopt me

♡ too cold out here ♡

✶ [ j.miller ] ✶

♡ ADOPTIVE!FATHER!JOEL MILLER X FEM!PRE-TEEN!READER ♡

🩷 SUMMARY — written especially for you anon, i hope you love this as much as the last one<3 reader is roughly 11-12,ellie doesn't exist in this au(my girl is just poof, never met her or anything), joel lives in jackson with tommy and goes out on parrol one day, its extremely snowy and cold, so when he finds you his heart melts. you remind him of sarah. he adopts you, you're his daughter. even if its not by blood:((<33 ill probably write a part 2 to this soon, just probably not for the next day or two cause im sleepy 🪽

your family had been eaten by a hoard of walkers. you got out. you didn't know how, in all honesty. you just ran, you ran until you couldn't anymore. you were curled up in your pajamas under a tree around 3 miles away from where you and your parents had been holed up. you weren't even wearing socks. the bottom of your pajamas were wet with snow. so was your back from lying on snow and dirt. you were so cold. your icy tears burned your cheeks as you desperately tried to stay alive.

on the other hand, joel was on patrol. it was calming, or so he thought. he was going down his usual route on his horse, just humming a tune and keeping warm in his jacket. he froze up when he saw you, curled up like that. he thought you were dead until he got closer and heard your weak sniffles and whimpers. and you were clutching a blue teddy bear with one of your hands. it reminded him of sarah. when she got shot, the way she curled up when she knew she was going to die. it broke his heart. he couldn't leave a child like that.

he hopped off his horse, geing careful not to scare you as he approached you.

" hey kid.. what're you doing out here alone? " he said sweetly. he got on his knees and sat you up, you looked terrified. and freezing. you definitely had hypothermia by now. you were practically going blue.

" you alone? " he said, taking note on how you frantically nodded.

" okay. its alright now. ive got you. you're safe. " he said, tearing off his jacket to put it around you instead. he then reached out to pick you up. you clung onto him like a parasite. it was adorable. he made sure to pick up your stuffed animal too, putting it in his gear back. he hopped back on his horse, putting you infront of him since he doubted you had enough strength to hold him to keep yourself on the horse.

it didn't take long for him to be back in jackson. he soon had a worried tommy running over to him.

" what the fuck- whos that? is she dead?! " the younger man shouted, making you flinch and instinctively curl against joel. whimpering.

" calm the fuck down. you're scaring her. i found her in the woods. theres no way i could've left her. she was freezing. " joel muttered. he hopped down from his horse, taking you straight inside his own house and setting you on the couch. he took out your stuffed animal from his gear back, tucking it in your grasp. tommy had followed him inside, sighing loudly.

" you sigh like that again and ill get Maria to shove her foot up your ass. you know how she feels about kids. no child should get left out in the woods to die like that. so i don't know what you expected from me. " to joels relief, tommy shut up after that.

he found a clean tshirt of his, and decided to let you change into that. it wasn't much, and it would definitely be more like a night gown on you, but it was something. its not like he'd have little girls clothes in your size anyways, he wasn't a creep that kept those sorts of things on hand, especially not during the apocalypse.

" here kiddo, change into this. itll be long on you, like a night gown. nice and warm. just lemme know if you need help, its what im here for. " he said, exiting the room along with tommy to give you some privacy. he kept a listen out in case you didn't have the strength to get changed, he was worried you'd collapse or something. you'd barely moved since he'd found you. though he turned his attention to tommy. who had returned back to sighing loudly.

" what're you gonna do with her? keep her?! adopt her?! " tommy said, seething.

" what if i do? what if I do huh? you don't get to decide what the hell i do. i have a spare room, jackson ain't low on supplies, so whats the issue?! that kid needs someone to take care of her, because she was all alone for god knows how long, and i don't care what you say. im going to take care of her. shes my responsibility now. "

tommy was silent. he just nodded. they both perked up at the sound of pattering feet coming towards them. you soon appeared in the doorway. you had gotten changed, and the tshirt was basically a nightgown just like joel thought. it was adorable. the sight of you just staring up at the two of them. you had your stuffed animal in your hand still.

" hey kid. can you talk now? do you wanna tell me your name? " joel said gently, kneeling down so he was at your level.

" .. y/n. " you mumbled, your voice was weak, like it hadn't been used for a long time. joel smiled.

" thats such a pretty name. what happened to your parents y/n? " he said, trying not to make you too upset, but he had to know.

" there.. was a hoard of.. those clicky things.. and they ate my parents.. and i ran.. but it was really cold.. " you muttered, tearing up. in an instant, you were back in joels arms. he held you tight, letting you just cry.

" listen sweetheart, im gonna protect you okay? ill take care of you. i promise. " he said, stroking your hair. he was so gentle, incase he somehow hurt you. tommy couldn't help but smile at the sight.

that night, we found that you wouldn't let him leave you. you were terrified of being alone. which, wasn't that surpising. he ended up taking you into his room, laying down with you. you clung onto him. he found you adorable.

" get some sleep darling, you're safe here. " he muttered, making sure you went to sleep.

those few weeks after, he spent making sure you were well cared for and protected.

he made you food, scavenged for clothes that would actually fit you, made sure you slept well. it all payed off. you were adorable. you still clung onto him constantly and he didn't mind. you were just a scared kid.

eventually, one night you woke him up.

he felt you tugging on his tshirt, and saying something over and over.

" dad, wake up " you were muttering. it melted his heart. he hadn't been called dad in ages. years. it felt so good. he was your dad, you were his daughter. thats all that mattered.

" yea sweetheart? " he mumbled, pulling you close.

you forgot what you were going to ask. all you wanted was your dad to hold you, forever.

taglist : join my taglist here

@massacredkitty

@cherryyreddd

@pr1nc3ss-sc4r

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r4d1c4lw31rd0 · 3 days

Text

Unseen Grave (Yandere!Venture x Reader)

My first post and it's about Venture LOLZ- I've never used tumblr before, I kinda just skim through here on occasion for cool art, writing for some of my favorite characters, and headcanons- Sorry if this is bad- This is also on AO3! I don't mind any requests either, can't promise to get to them quickly though-

CW: Minor Character death, implied/referenced past non/con, dead dove kinda, stalking, non graphic violence, skippable NSFW (This isn't non-con), a kinda abrupt ending, OOC Mauga, No use of Y/N, Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Your POV

Where did all of this go wrong? You only ever wanted to live a normal and happy life. Forced into a world of crime, you made it your mission to get yourself and your comrades out of this hell hole. This slimy, sludgy pit you all had seemed perpetually stuck in, but you knew there was better out there. You could all live that lavish and carefree life you always dreamed of, you just had to claw your way to it. So when Mauga approached you, you saw it as an opportunity. Talon spotted your talent, your knack for creating poisons and toxins capable of killing or simple paralysis. Why they sent this big brute you’d never understand.

He held his hand out to you, that devious smirk on his dashing features captivating you like no other, drawing you in like a fly to a honeypot. You couldn’t see the web just inches from it though, nor could you see the spider eyeing you and waiting patiently for you to get stuck in its home. He gave you an offer you simply couldn’t ignore. A whole new identity and payment beyond what you could fathom, more than petty pocket change for simple side hustles, no you’d be playing in the big leagues. If you impressed Doomfist himself enough that is. All you had to do was complete a rather simple task and the position was all yours.

Despite what you’d heard about Mauga, he was quite tricky and conniving with his words. The smartest? Not by a long shot. He couldn’t quite comprehend the big words you used, but he could read you like an open book, and that was enough for him. The smallest twitch or glance was all he needed to know almost exactly what you were thinking and just how much more persuasion you were going to need. A true predator cornering its prey.

If you knew then what you know now, you never would’ve agreed. Then again, Talon may not have let you off the hook so easily. It may have cost you your life. You agreed to the simple mission, poisoning an important political figure and rendering him desperate enough to turn to Talon for a cure. Your unique little toxins could only be cured by you, considering they were abominations to medical science and were something entirely new and original all together. The mere fact that you only had to change one component to make it cause different effects was something you were proud of.

You didn’t doubt yourself in the slightest, so when word of your success was all over the news you felt your pride and ego swell. Doomfist had introduced you into a new world, one where the pay was greater and the tasks were challenging enough for a brilliant mind like yours. Working alongside Dr. O’deorain was fascinating, considering it was she who had inspired you to push the boundaries of the medical world. At the time, Talon seemed like it would give you everything you needed, but blinded by that desire for more and where it could take you you didn’t see it for what it truly was. Just as much of a hell hole as the rest of the world had been.

They squashed your hopes of getting somewhere, of having peace and calm rather than the hustle and bustle of the streets. No, working for them you never knew any kind of peace. A sense of hate began to form inside of you, alongside resentment. Watching them turn your brilliance into mush and treat it as if it was the common whore was devastating. They had the audacity to demand better from you. Working with Talon, you began to develop the belief that a life of crime and hate was your only option, that staying in this pit was the only option for you. The heinous acts you committed just to gain a lick of fortune was the only thing you’d ever be good for. Of course, you blamed Mauga for all of it. He had gotten you into Talon after all with his stupid face and smug words.

You had found yourself in some kind of relationship with him. He never said you two were together but he surely acted like it, getting irritable when others flirted with you or tried to ask you out. The relationship hadn't been the best nor the healthiest, but at the time you were just happy someone wanted you and didn't view you as a monster because of things you couldn't control. He called you so many sweet names, complimented you when Doomfist tried to put you down and offered you a place to run to in any time of need. It was all for his own advantage of course, but you didn’t know that. You just knew you could be vulnerable with him. You were unaware that you’d finally crept too close to the spider's web. No, he wasn’t a spider, he was a wolf. And you were a lamb, strayed too far from the safety of the herd and right into the wolf’s den.

Needless to say, he took advantage of you and your trust in him. The whole time you two were entangled in your complex relationship, he was almost always borderline violent with you and was very hot and cold with you, treating you as if you were some kind of dog that needed to be trained. You complied with almost everything he asked of you, and even when you didn't he forced you to anyway. Countless nights you lay next to him feeling used like some cheap toy for a rabid animal, and yet you stayed. Because Talon was all you had. Because he was all you had. No one was coming to save a monster, especially not one as sneaky and atrocious as you.

In the end, when you finally had enough, Mauga broke you down and ripped your heart to shreds. He called you so many awful names, told you how much he despised you and watched you crumble with disgusting glee. It hurt. Even though he had treated you so poorly, you were still so distraught by his words and callous behavior. The fact that you were readily available for him was the only reason he kept you around, to be a punching bag and plaything when he felt like it. His betrayal fueled a kind of rage you didn’t know you were capable of feeling, and made you realize for the first time that this world was cruel no matter where you looked at it from and you were stuck in an echo chamber of miserable people. Maybe that's why they let you spiral. Used that rage and hurt against you, and made you numb to everything because it was just easier that way. It kept them from picking at your vulnerability any longer, from seeing you as weak..

You weren’t cared for in the slightest at Talon and you were just fine with that. You didn’t need to be babied or coddled anymore than you had when you were first introduced to this raunchy life, especially not by people who were as disingenuous and callous as your “co-workers”. The only one who showed a hint of sympathy or empathy was Dr. Kuiper and Sombra, probably some of the only people in that place capable of expressing such a thing.You couldn’t complain. You still made money so long as you did what was asked of you and didn’t retaliate when you were degraded for your progress or your work. You were pretty sure things took a turn when you met Sloane, who at the time was “Venture” to you.

Pesky, annoying, and constantly getting in the way of your mission to find some artifact for Doomfist from some kind of ancient gravesite. The two of you were naturally enemies, being on opposite sides and all. And yet they intrigued you. Their happy-go-lucky manner and their quippy remarks as they effortlessly kicked the asses of your useless “assistants” you didn’t understand why Doomfist bothered sending. Truthfully, you could’ve accomplished the mission just as well on your own. You probably would’ve killed them too if Overwatch hadn’t shown up. Just as annoying as ever, they helped finish off the rest of your shitty squad, leaving you running off to hide like a dog with its tail between its legs. That mission you had been left behind, abandoned like an injured pup and left to fend for yourself. Badly injured, you would have cared less if you died. Sitting and stewing in your own misery had made you indifferent to life or death.

Doomfist didn’t want to lose you as an asset, but your location didn’t provide him any opportunity to send you an escape route, so you were stuck slinking about the Petra ruins, avoiding the ever-watchful eyes of Overwatch and the Wayfinders as you waited for your wounds to take you out. You’d only been caught because that insufferable archaeologist found you. You were dehydrated with infected wounds, and even then you still bared your teeth at their approach. They had been on guard at first, but seeing you in such a pathetic state had made them take pity on you, something you hadn’t been gracious enough to receive since you were a child.

Taken to the on-site medical facility, you were put under watch but nonetheless you were cared for. You were unfit to go to jail and serve for your crimes right away, so you were stuck there with the Wayfinders, under their care until you could be sent off. For whatever reason, Venture had stuck with you whenever they could, offering short conversation that was mostly one-sided. You didn’t talk much and only glared, uncomfortable with the hospitality. You would’ve preferred if they were rude to you. It was what you were used to. Three days was all it took for you to finally crack. Three days of consistent visits and kind words. Naturally, you were hesitant. Last time you had opened yourself up you were burnt terribly, and had been several times before. Kindness was a poison to you, and yet they made it so desirable. Their genuinity with it and the way they handed it out so easily had you craving it.

After about a month you had completely recovered, well enough to finally go serve for your crimes. The last day you and Venture spent together, you had taken their hand, feeling its warmth as you pressed a small kiss to the back of it. Their flustered reaction made you laugh for the first time since becoming what you were, and it was warm and joyous.

“Thank you, Sloane.” You whispered, refusing to look at them. You didn’t want them to see you cry. “You’ve been so kind to me, even though I’m so undeserving of it. I wish things were different. I wish we’d met before . . . everything.”

“Not everyone deserves a second chance.” Their words stung, making you shrink in on yourself slightly. “But, you’re . . . different. I don’t think you ever really wanted to do the things you did.”

You looked up at them. They saw you, truly saw you, what you were beneath the muck that had clung to you and thickly coated your skin. Something about the way they looked at you gently made you want to melt and embrace them, but you didn’t, still too timid to trust completely.

“You’re not a bad guy, you were just forced into a shitty situation. Try not to be so hard on yourself.” Their smile wasn’t as wide as it usually was, but it was still filled with just as much charisma and warmth.

Looking back on it, you believe it was this small interaction that led to the actions after. That simple and innocent act of gratitude. If not that, then you weren’t sure what, but you could recall that new glint in their eyes when they watched you get taken away. The way their gaze lingered far longer than it ever had. The way they subtly caressed the hand you kissed.

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

Your time in jail wasn’t bad, made better by the fact that you received letters and small gifts and pictures from Sloane. The letters were innocent to you at the time, but thinking back on it the signs were there. You wrote back, sent small handmade gifts of your own, and kept every picture and ecstatic letter they sent you from each of their journeys that they shared with you. Unfamiliar with the whole concept of having someone truly care about you, you didn’t notice anything weird. You fought a bit with the other inmates who tried their hand at intimidating the newbie, especially with how widespread your reputation had become working with Talon. You had believed yourself doomed to rot there, considering you had attacked several political figures, harmed many innocents, and stolen that much more. You’d also broken Hippocratic Oath and used your research for worse.

But like some unwanted blessing, you found yourself hightailing it out of there early. Talon had come back for you, after abandoning you for months, and before you would’ve run back to them with open arms. Things were different now though, you had changed for the better and knew going back promised nothing but misery. You ran the second you could, barely escaping but escaping nonetheless. Hiding in a sewer wasn’t ideal but it helped you get away from that prison and away from Talon. The one good thing they could’ve done for you, and probably the last. You knew now though that they would be looking for you. Doomfist would be pissed, knowing he wasted valuable time and resources trying to get you out of prison just for you to run off, but that was his own problem. You never asked for his help, perfectly content with rotting in a cell but now gifted a chance of freedom. With nowhere to go though, you turned to the only person you felt you could trust. The one person who made you feel some sense of normalcy.

Going to Sloane was a huge gamble, considering that you were still a wanted criminal and they were pretty much some kind of vigilante hero type. It took you forever to get to Petra, but you managed, lying in wait until you could talk to Sloane again. In the dead of night, you startled them awake, covering their mouth to prevent them from shouting.

“Shhhh. It’s just me.” You whispered, letting their sleepy eyes adjust to the dark, watching them widen at the sight of you. “Follow.”

The simple command was all they needed as they trailed after you, the two of you finding a quiet little spot away from the dig site to speak freely. Sloane was dressed in a form fitting tank top, allowing you to see the various tattoos that decorated their muscular arms, but you tried not to oogle too much.

“W-What are you doing here? I thought you were in prison? . . .” Sloane spoke slowly, voice still laced with the smallest inklings of sleep as they yawned, pushing stray strands of hair from their face.

“Talon came for me.” You saw them tense, scrambling to finish explaining. “I ran though. They don’t know I’m here, but they are searching for me, and I-” your voice caught in your throat as you swallowed thickly. “I can’t go back.”

You never told Venture the full story of your time at Talon, just that it was awful. They didn’t know about Mauga, didn’t know what was said to you, or any of what you had experienced. It was difficult to bring up. What they did know was that you weren’t treated kindly, and that was enough for them.

“I just need somewhere to hide so I can create a new identity for myself. I just want to live a normal life. That’s all I want.” You stumbled forward, taking a hold of their hands, steady in your trembling ones. “I can’t trust anyone else to keep me hidden. Please, I promise you’ll never have to hear from me, I won’t cause anyone any harm, I just-”

Your desperate ranting was cut off as they pulled you into a tight hug. Their scent was calming, earthy and refreshing. They held you gently, a solid rock amidst the swirling storm of emotion you felt. You weren’t sure how to react, arms shaking as you cautiously hugged them back. You felt safe. Accepted. Warm. You began to hitch as your legs buckled and gave out, taking both of you to the ground as you buried your face into their shoulder. How long has it been since you allowed yourself to cry like this? Ugly sobs wrench their way free from your body as they hold you, rubbing slow and calming circles between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re safe with me, I promise.” They spoke in a hushed tone, accepting you as you were. “You don’t gotta explain anything to me right now, all that can come later.”

They shifted so that they could hold you more comfortably, letting you cry into them without complaint. When you calmed down, you leaned back, their arms slowly falling from you as you stared down at your lap, furiously wiping away tears. You sniffled slightly, before their hands came into view, holding yours.

“You’ll rub your face raw if you keep doing that, it’s okay to be not okay, camarada.” They were gentle with you, scooting closer to you. “I’d be happy to help you out, especially if it’ll bring you some peace. You deserve at least that much, and you’ve more than proven that you deserve it. Apologies won’t make up for much though, there’s only so far words will take you. You gotta make an effort to do better.”

You looked up to meet their gaze, warm brown eyes scanning your face. You didn’t feel judged, and instead could feel that love and care you always so desperately searched for. You did have a long way to go if you even wanted to atone for a fraction of what you had done, but you were aware no amount of repenting would fix anything. You still did what you did, and there was nothing you could do to fix it. And yet, here in Venture’s arms, you felt so sure that things would get better, especially with them at your side. So distracted by your thoughts and their comfort, you barely registered the way they looked at you with a burning possession and the way their smile slightly faltered when you removed yourself from their hold.

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

Venture POV

Six months. For six, sweet months Venture had you all to themself. It was a miracle of some kind, it had to be. When the two of you had been separated they could hardly stand it, they wanted to go to you and take you from that prison themself. Hide you away from the world where only they could find you. But they had a reputation to uphold, and they wouldn’t be doing anyone much good if they were in prison with you. When you had first arrived all that time ago, Sloane had thought of you as a bad guy working for talon and nothing more, but when they talked to you in the infirmary, they could tell you were different. When you kissed their hand so sweetly, holding back tears, they felt their heart nearly explode.

At first they were scared and confused. These feelings were new and foreign, they’d never felt this way about anyone else before. But you . . . you lit a new fire in them they didn’t know existed, and they wanted more. They wanted you, but you were gone, so they made do with letters and sending you gifts. They remembered when you finally started writing back they could hardly contain themself, not to mention when you sent the little gifts you made by hand. Countless nights Sloane had spent thinking about you, depressed by the thought that they’d never get to touch or hold you. They tossed and turned dreaming about what it would be like to have you next to them instead, but it did nothing to soothe the growing flames of their obsession with you.

And then right out of thin air you appeared, needing them. It had to be fate, the way you came back to them like a lost dog, dependent upon them and their helping hand. Talon had finally done a good thing for them, and that was bringing you two together again. They had been more than willing to do anything for you, but you were so shy and timid. They had to be careful, or else you’d run off and never come back. They had to put on a facade, but was it really a facade when it felt so genuine with you? Because they did care about you, they’d go so far as to say that they loved you. However, they knew you were fragile, knew that this pillar of trust they had built up could be snapped in an instant if you caught a whiff of how they truly felt, because no matter how right this felt to Venture, they knew it was wrong . They had to do this the right way, and that meant keeping their feelings for you a secret.

At first, there wasn’t much to worry about. They had you all to themself by default, considering if anyone saw you they’d send you right back to prison. As they had promised, they kept you hidden away from the prying eyes of everyone at the dig site, whisked away where they wouldn’t find you while they helped you rebuild. They helped you change your appearance, making you look different than what you were before but still vaguely the same. They gave you a place to rest your head, and provided you with food and water. They took care of you, like any good partner would. You probably didn’t see it that way, but Sloane had convinced themself you would with due time. You’d recognize their effort and fall into their arms. You’d let them touch you more, and you’d open up to them and share all your secrets like good partners did. But you didn’t.

No matter what they did, you always seemed to be so far from their reach, withdrawing from their attempts to touch or soothe you when you clearly needed it, and each time they respected that boundary, though patience was wearing thin. You were so close, how could they not want to touch you? They always made due with taking things of yours. Articles of clothing in particular that smelled strongly of you. They loved your smell. It was a unique scent, and they always felt so perverted sniffing your shirts in private. The shame fueled their hunger though, and occasionally they’d get bold enough to take your underwear. Not often, but when they really wanted to.

When you finally cultivated a new identity, they helped you get a job at the Petra site, if only to keep you closer to them. You may have been part of the bio-archaeology team, but you were still theirs. They had been concerned at first, afraid that someone there might catch your eye and take you away from them, but you did wonders in keeping people away. The others might have called you ‘rude’ and ‘scary’, but Venture knew the true you, them and them alone. You kept the rest of the world at bay, and kept them close.

If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. The two of you were clearly meant for each other, and everyday that passed that you still treated them as a simple friend pained them more and more. Why couldn’t you see what the two of you had? You still tortured them, tempting them to get closer, close enough to touch. Sloane was content playing a well-behaved best friend, but they couldn’t explain that aching desire for more that coiled in their gut as time ticked by.

Despite their own turmoil, you were happy and that was all that mattered. As upsetting as it was seeing you start to open up with others, they couldn’t deny that the look on your face was worth it. Nothing compared to what they could make you feel, but it satisfied them knowing that you were getting what you wanted and what they had promised you’d have. Peace. And they planned on keeping it that way. You believed that Talon couldn’t find you. But the truth was they had, and tried several times to take you away and back into their nasty clutches. But every time, Sloane was there to stop them, dispatching them all with ease. Every time they rammed their drill into a talon goons body, piercing and mangling their flesh, they always thought of you. How this was all for you and only you.

Every bone broken, scream muffled, and skull cracked beneath a boot was all done in your name. These guys wanted to take you back to a place that hurt you, wipe that sweet precious smile off your face forever and undo all of Sloane’s progress. Sloane didn’t feel bad watching their blood stain their clothes because they deserved it, and if they could they would’ve killed every single person working for Talon, but they needed to stay here with you to keep a watchful eye and keep you blissfully unaware. These disgusting bastards wouldn’t ruin you again, not if Venture had anything to say about it.

Tonight was no different as they carelessly tossed more mangled bodies into a ravine, a small smirk of satisfaction evident on their features. How many more would they send before they stopped trying? Then again, it always gave them a rush when they took out these idiots, thinking about how grateful you’d be to them if you knew. Sometimes, when you pulled away they wanted to drag you closer, shake you and confess everything. Confess their love, the things they’d done to those Talon goons who were trying to snag you, maybe then you’d appreciate them. Perhaps you’d even reciprocate their love.

It was becoming too much for them to bear, and as ashamed as they were of the action, they had tried to get closer to you while you were sleeping. They always wanted to consider that it would be the perfect moment to get close to you. They underestimated how light of a sleeper you were though, panicking when you opened your eyes and caught them right in the act. They had to come up with an excuse, one that you surprisingly believed before they excused themself. It wasn’t their proudest moment, but at least they knew not to try it again. You were sleeping now, tired from the day's events, but Sloane lay wide awake in their bed, twitching with anticipation. They hadn’t seen you most of the day, with both of you being busy. As much as they loved what they did, Sloane loved you more.

They wanted to visit you now more than ever, feeling hot and bothered after dispatching those goons, but knowing damn well you wouldn’t allow it. They thought about it several times, coming to you after finishing them off, covered in their blood and giving you a kiss. Your hands roaming them as you praised them for their work. They huffed softly, hands grabbing at their shirt as they flipped over.

~NSFW START~

They were feeling particularly needy tonight, pulling out a shirt of yours they had recently taken. They pressed it to their nose, inhaling deeply and taking in your delectable scent. It still smelled so strongly of you, and it brought them inexplicable joy. They practically salivated over it, breath coming out in whiny gasps. They sat up slightly, taking their pillow and pushing it beneath their body. They let out a soft growl as their hips grinded against the pillow, imagining it to be you instead as they closed their eyes and sniffed again. They shuddered as they let out a breath, whimpering as they continued to grind some more against the pillow.

They thought about how vocal you could be, imaging your hands roaming over their muscles, massaging them as you went. Your legs wrapping around them as they provided you with pleasure, your face contorting in ways they could only cause. The praise you’d give as they followed your every command. Sloane moaned softly as they humped the pillow faster, rougher, free hand curling into the sheets as they pressed their face further into your shirt.

“Joder querido por favor~ I need you~” They whispered the words in a hushed tone, slowing their pace for a moment. “ He sido tan bueno, lo prometo~”

Gods, they could imagine how you would feel, body pressed against theirs, flesh touching flesh as the sound of your love would reverberate through the room. The two of you could care less who would hear, it would just be the both of you in the moment. The marks they would leave on you, nipping at as much exposed flesh as they could, marking you up and claiming you as theirs. You’d beg them for more and they’d happily oblige, giving you what you wanted. They could be gentle, or they could be rough. They could pin your hands and make you squirm and beg for their touch, or perhaps you’d like to be on top, having them worship every inch of you and beg to touch you. Beg you for relief.

“Dios ya no puedo más, te necesito mucho mi amor por favor~” Their voice was high pitched and whiny, desperation laced in their tone. “Tell me how good I’ve been for you~ Fuck ~ You feel so good mi amor~ Tell me how good I make you feel~”

Their moans gradually got louder the deeper into the fantasies they sank, desperately wishing for the real thing. They could only think about how soon enough it could be you, you just needed a little more coaxing and to realize your feelings that you undoubtedly had for them. They could see it in the way you looked at them, feel it when you touched them. Your words were so gentle with them, and you were so sweet. God they couldn’t wait to have you. They’d take it as slow as you needed if only it meant you’d be closer to them. How would your lips finally feel once you let them get close enough? How would you taste?

“Mine, mine, mine. All mine. Only mine.” Their words were muffled, coming out in short growls, matching the pace they had set for themself. “Eres toda mía, mi amor, toda mía~” The words came out in a chant, laying some unknown claim on you for their own sake and sanity.

Sloane slowed their movement against the pillow, thinking about how whiny you’d get when they went slower than you liked, and then picked up again in the same beat to keep you on your toes. Their thrusts got rougher as they groaned, panting desperately as they approached their climax, their last few thrusts desperate as they let out one last cry, sweat dripping from their body as they relaxed, nuzzling their face into your shirt.

~NSFW END~

Sloane instantly felt much more relaxed, feeling the tension leave their body. Such a mess they’d made. They thought about laying next to you, giving you soft kisses and praise as they cleaned you up and snuggled close to go to bed. Unfortunately, they weren’t with you and couldn’t sleep while being such a mess. They lifted themself from their bed, tucking your shirt away again for a later date. For now, they needed to clean themself up, grabbing a towel as they headed for the showers. In due time the two of you would be together. You’d recognize your love for them, and they’d be waiting for you with open arms, no matter how long it took. Until then, they were content just being near you, protecting you from afar.

#writers #overwatch #overwatch 2 #venture x reader #venture overwatch #sloan cameron #yandere

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sluckythewizard · 1 day

Text

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden THUNK of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a gun shot in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans, offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more.

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression.

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face.

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them.

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda.

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again…

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill.

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again.. Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people. All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

#NO MAIN TAGS WE DIE LIKE ROADKILL #WOW ISNT IT WEIRD THAT YOUR BESTEST FRIEND IN THE WHOOOLE WORLD EATS PEOPLE NOW #ISNT IT WEIRD THAT YOU KIND OF WISH YOU WOULD BE EATEN. EXCEPT NOT RLY BC U WOULD DIE. MAYBE HE COULD HAVE A NIBBLE #i might come back to ramble in the tags more later. STAY TUNED!!!#OKAY IM BACK TO RAMBLE. FIZZFAGS SEAL O APPROVAL IN THE TAGS U MEAN THE WWWOORRLLD TO MEEEE #THIS IS ALL YOUR FFAAAUULTT UR THE ONLY REASON THESE LOSERS ARE ROTATING IN MY BRAIN SO SO FAST #I DO INTEND TO WRITE MORE!! AND I DO INTEND TO LET IT GET WEIRDER #Iwanna make a lil chapter two w them hanging out at the funny intersection while soda maybe tries to patch emizel up.#wouldnt it be fucked up if u saw ur best friend get bled out n then sired right infront of u #and wouldnt it be fucked up if ina vampiric daze he almost sinks his crazy shark teeth into your throat #and wouldnt it be fucked up if you kinda wish he did. like not in a weird way or anything its not weird its not weird at all #RAAHH IM SO HAPPY THAT PPL LIKE MY WRITING STYLE N MY CHARACTERIZATIONS ASWELL IT MEANS SO MUCH TO MMEEEE #NICE WORDS GIVE ME SO MMUCH POOWWEERRRRR RAAGHGHHH!!!thank you guys for being so niceys to me #ive also been thinkin abt writing Post Suckening fics. EXCITED FOR SEASON TWO. in the meantime what if theo had to put up w shenanigens #one shenanigen for example being emizel going feral and attacking a comrade.#then theo needs to stake him n pull him aside n set him straight or something. set him gay. whatever.#ive also had an idea in my head. BC GABRIEL IS TOTALLY INSIDE OF EMIZELS BRAIN NOW #could u imagine doing acid or shrooms w ur homies n then suddenly ur nemesis is showing up in ur fractal hallucinations #anyway i think thats all da ramble i got in me. thanku for enjoying my writing thank yooouuu

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mrswarnerxo · 2 days

Text

❪ ★ ❫ safe space.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: aaron warner x ADHD fem!reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: in where aaron warner helps his girlfriend with her ADHD.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: slight burnout, pet names, stress, slight eating disorder, mental illnesses, anxiety(?), comfort, fluff, use of Y/N, fem reader, modern AU (this is totally a self insert but idc because I NEED TJIS RN OKAY DONT BLAME EM GUYS BLAME GOD)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 1343

𝐀/𝐍: i like totally needed this because i just got overwhelmed and had a breakdown yesterday and i dont feel motivated to do shit todsu (its glimg to go away tomorrow but let me be dramatic smh) ANYWAS THIS IS FOR ALL MY ADHD GIRLIES WHO ARE LIKE ME AND SUFFER WITH THIS <333 (also idk if this is realistic or just normal for yall, i just put the things that happen to me everyday that classifies as adhd😾)

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐀/𝐍: ykw idk if tjis ks good or not i made this at like 1 am so im tirdx bfo but whayever ima post it and see what happens lol

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑.

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃: ✓

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @reminiscentreader @never-enough-novels @ilyiwdtpyiwmyhmtkys @evaswarner @sc11vb @sophiesonlinediary @starrynightsxo @f4iry-bell @his-littlefox @viivdle @aaron-warner @reyreadersblog @urbanflorals @heqrtlcss (ask if you want to be added or removed from taglist! <3)

1. executive dysfunction.

(ONE example: focusing too much on one thing, OR, hyperfixation.)

now, you know that you were supposed to be doing something else. it’s about 11:20, and that’s when you and aaron eat lunch together. but, you had to finish this.

plus, it’ll only take a little while, right? it isn’t like you’ll spend thirty more minutes writing a synopsis for a book you read for a friend who asked about it.

wrong.

ten minutes later, your shoulder gets gently pushed. your eyes immediately trail to the owner of the hands and find aaron.

“i know, i know, i’m almost finished,” you say, going back to quickly typing on the keyboard of your laptop. you could feel aaron frown, his eyes still on your head.

“love, it’s time for lunch. you know you have to eat, right?” he asks, putting his hands on the armrest of your chair. though, you barely pay attention to it. “i know. i’m almost finished, though.”

aaron sighs before you find yourself getting turned around in your chair, making your arms fling to the armrest. the blond leans down so he can meet your eyes, his face stern.

“y/n. you know i love you—so much—but it’s time to stop and eat lunch. you know that,” he says, sternly, his eyes focused on you.

you frown and glance back to your laptop before sighing and agreeing with him. “okay, okay,” you grumble, getting up from your chair.

aaron smiles as he follows behind you as you walk into the living room to eat lunch with him.

2. uncontrollable fidgeting.

(a physical reaction to stress or concentration.)

you couldn’t help it. you practically needed something to fidget with. this day was already stressful with you forgetting to set your alarm clock, causing both you and aaron to wake up late; not to mention work being stressful and hard for you.

it was an instinct to fidget whenever you were stressed.

you quickly put your keys down once you made it into your house and immediately looked around for aaron. sadly, you didn’t see him in the living room, or kitchen, so you went to your shared bedroom.

luckily, you find aaron on the bed, who, surprisingly, is wearing a grey hoodie and sweatpants. you don’t have time to gawk before you walk up to your boyfriend and practically lounge on top of his chest, making him grunt in shock.

“angel?” he asks, turning off the tv with the remote before his hands wrap around your hips.

you start to fidget with the strings of his hoodie, tugging on them and folding them up. normally you’d have one of those pop-its or a different kind of fidget toy, but this time, you don't.

aaron thankfully figures out what’s happening when you don’t respond and quickly leans over to his bedside counter, careful not to move you, and gets one of the fidget toys he got for you.

huh, you didn’t even realize that was there.

“here, angel,” he says softly, smiling whenever you look up at him take the toy from his hands and start to fidget with it on his chest.

you see him grab the remote and turn on the movie that he was watching before moving one of his hands behind his head, his other hand still resting on your hip.

3. choice paralysis.

(inability to choose choices or decisions.)

you bite your lip in stress, your fingers tapping against your thigh. you and your friends decided to hang out, and they wanted to meet up somewhere again.

it was going fine until one of your friends decided to let you choose since you’d never chosen before.

“so, where are we going, y/n?” your friend beside you asks, lifting an eyebrow at you. it isn't their fault that they don't know about your adhd. only your close friends do, but they’re not here right now. and that makes this 10x worse.

“uhm… i don’t know,” you say with a shrug. saying i don’t know to things was always easier than making decisions. choosing made you panic, stressed, even though you didn’t know why.

“come on, y/n. you can’t just say i don’t know about this,” your other friend sighs, looking up at you from the floor. you nervously bite your lip, moving your feet around.

“well—i don’t really know places y’know? why don’t one of you guys choose?” you asked hopefully, hoping that they would spare you.

they didn’t.

“nope. it’s your turn to choose. we all chose,” the friend beside you says, shrugging nonchalantly. you begin to wish that aaron was there right now.

good thing that apparently, he’s a genie.

“you could just go to that cafe that just opened.” your friends turn to the voice who butted in, revealing aaron, leaning against the kitchen counter with his phone in hand.

“oh, yeah! i heard that it’s really good!” another friend butts in, smiling. the friend beside you frowns, looking at you. “are you sure you don’t want to choose this time? i mean we could let you choose—“

“no, no! it’s fine!”

4. trouble recalling commonly used words.

(you don’t remember the word you need to use, even though you’ve used it a hundred times before.)

you were pacing around your room with aaron sitting on your bed, watching you with a smile as you use your hands to exclaim your excitement about a new book you’ve read.

he always knew that books were one of your hyperfixations, and he never said no to you asking to buy piles of books.

“and then—oh my god—he literally smiled. like, he knew! he literally knew that he was going to win the case even though she worked so hard to collect—“ you cut off, trying to remember the word that you were going to use.

“uhm.. wait, what was the word—“

“proof?”

“yes! proof that he was a bastard and deserved to go to jail, but no! they just had to believe him over poor becca and nat who literally are in the fucking right! like, can you believe that?!” you rant, hitting your hand with your other hand in a chopping motion.

aaron lifts an eyebrow. “that sounds like the trial was flawed,” he says. words like that always came easy for him, which you never understood. you always had to think about easy words for some reason.

“it is! like, he’s literally so stupid and annoying—and—wait—and—irritating!” you groan, running a hand down your face.

aaron can’t help but chuckle at your aggression, hiding his smile with his hand. “shut up, aaron,” you deadpan.

5. poor sense of time.

(forgetting what time or day it is.)

oh shit, oh shit. you forgot all about this project. you quickly rush on the paper, your handwriting messy but you’re too stressed to care about that now.

you thought that it was wednesday. not thursday. how could it be thursday? you literally checked the time before and it was thursday. or was it?—you don’t remember anymore.

“angel?” aaron asks curiously, looking at your rushed state. “wait.” you continue to write down on the paper quickly, knowing that the deadline is in five minutes.

“shit, i thought it was wednesday,” you rant to aaron, continuing to scribble down words. “did you forget again?” aaron asks, though it isn’t judgmental.

“yes,” you groan, sticking your hand in your hair so you can lay the side of your face on your palm. “literally, how is it thursday?”

aaron just signs before walking closer to you, putting a hand on your back, and beginning to rub it gently in a form of comfort.

“well, now you know it’s thursday. and, you’re almost finished. even if it’s past the deadline, you’ll be finished with it quickly. don’t worry, love,” he says softly.

you glance up at him before swallowing, nodding your head softly. “yeah, yeah. thank you, darling,” you mumble, calming down. though, you still slightly rush to get through the paper so it doesn’t get late.

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whorety-k · 3 days

Text

Ebony Coasts [Part 1]

Happy Mermay everybody!! I'm deciding to come out of the woodworks and actually write something because of the brain worms all of my favorite writers are giving me. I decided on some Corvus Corax love today because I feel like he's often part of the forgotten Primarchs in fanfiction (and I'm also a Raven Guard girlie <3).

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: The Night Does Not Belong To God - Sleep Token

"And you remember everything / Only till the sun recedes once again / And the night comes down like heaven."

Warnings: Ocean mentions / potential thalassophobia

Word Count: 2.2k

[Part 2]

The full moon above hung in the sky like a beacon, illuminating the ebb and flow of the tides. Stars were all but drowned out by its glow, glimmers of the crashing waves reflecting what little light they put out. As it so often did this time of night, the chill settled deep into your bones. Still you were at ease.

You were never quite sure what called you out to the ocean so late in the night, and for whatever reason 'The waves are calming,' wasn't enough for your friends and coworkers to get off of your back. It had become a habit to gaze at the stars as a stress-reliever after your recent move closer to the coast. The two-hour work commute had taken its toll on your psyche, and you have not regretted your choice to find an apartment closer to your workplace.

What you now lacked in commute stress, you more than made up for stressing over your newest case. Coastline conservation was your forte; you were the one often called in to solve complex cases, and yet this one seemed to leave you puzzled each time. From kids tearing up the natural flora or an illegal succulent harvesting operation, you had been able to solve every situation that had been thrown your way before, but this situation didn't match any of the patterns you had trained yourself to look for.

It stumped you.

Caves were dug practically overnight into the cliffside, then left completely uninhabited by the time you found them. No one man could have accomplished such a feat without at least a noise complaint from the houses on the cliff above.

Random caches of sea glass, precious stones, jewelry, and other shiny objects were tucked away within pits in the caverns as if hidden for later. Interestingly enough, these caches seemed to grow in size if they were left untouched. The last hoard you had taken as evidence resulted in that particular cave being completely abandoned overnight, often filled in.

And most puzzling: there were no other actual signs of anyone ever having tread there. No tools, no trash, no foot prints. Nothing but the little stores of trinkets. It was infuriating. Whatever punks had been tearing up the coastline were masters at their craft.

Tonight, you were determined to catch the bastards that had been giving you stress once and for all. You even had the local authorities on speed dial (despite your distrust in them properly handling the situation) in case anyone decided to get violent.

A gust of frigid wind draws you from your thoughts. The night isn't getting any younger, and you need to get down to the cave. You hug your windbreaker jacket closer to your body as you wander back down the metal dock, boots clunking loudly across the water. The crackle of gravelly sand crunching replaces the heavy thumps as you descend onto the illuminated beachfront.

You almost lose track of time as you travel along the high tides. You've walked this particular beach head a hundred times at nearly all times of day, and by now it's all beginning to blur together. You force yourself to focus on the present this time, fiddling with the moonstone pendant around your neck. You had taken it from the last cave for study, but when it solved absolutely nothing, you decided to keep it as a token to remember what you were working towards. ‘A stone of new beginnings’, they say. Maybe it'll be the beginning of actually solving this damned case.

A cavity in the cliff face finally comes into view. From this distance, the high tide creates a shallow cove that appears to fill part of the cavern. There aren't any tracks other than your own as you approach. Whoever created the small structure must not have returned to it just yet.

A flicker of white catches your eye.

You come to a dead stop.

It barely registers that you're just at the maw of the cavern when you remember how to breathe. You quietly chastise yourself with an annoyed huff. Doing this job for as long as you have, you really should be more used to the way the reflections on the water’s surface play tricks on you, especially when at nightfall. With a shake of your head, you take a step into the thin layer of salty water covering the floor of the cavern. You silently thank the waders you wear for keeping your feet dry.

The moonlight doesn't reach farther than a few meters in the darkness of the space, you note as you tread deeper into its embrace. Without the wind chill, it is far warmer than the marine layer settling just outside. Your hand fishes into an inner jacket pocket to retrieve your flashlight–

Splash!

…Of course you'd drop it. Right now, of all times. Professional.

You kneel down into the sparkling abyss and feel around for the waterproof torch, letting out a sigh of relief when its plastic casing finds your fingers. You grasp the pesky light and stand back up to onyx orbs peering directly into yours.

You blink. It blinks.

A flurry of movement torrents the cave as rapid splashing fills the air. In your panic, you slip on the wet stones and fall back into the water as the jet-and-alabaster creature looms before you, eyes boring into your very core. This thing is huge. Its skin gleams unnaturally white, rippling with lithe muscles as it leans down over you, trapping you between its muscular arms. You desperately look up into its (his?) stony face as you try to sprawl backwards, searching for any purchase in the puddle currently soaking your backside. It stops you with a large clawed hand on your chest, pinning you down firmly to the flooded floor. The creature (man?) is delicate enough not to slice you open.

“Stop.”

You freeze. He stills. Did he just speak–?

“Your efforts are fruitless. Cease this before you harm yourself.” The deep voice that comes from the man is rough, as if it is not often used. “Please,” it adds, quieter.

You stare up at the man like cornered prey, but you heed his words and stop your fight. The hand on your chest briefly trails to your neck, claw catching on something before shifting to cradle your back. He lifts your upper half until you are sitting upright once again, assuring you'll hold the position before he retrieves his hand.

The moon and proximity allow you to finally get a semi-decent look at the man before you. He must be at least three meters tall, even leaning over slightly. Long black hair frames a strong, admittedly handsome face. His blunt, wispy bangs just barely hide black eyebrows knit with concern and amusement. Webbed ear-fins hide amongst his ebony hair in the dark, a gradient of charcoal grey at their edges. Your eyes respectfully shy away from his athletic chest to the gills tucked along his ribcage. When he finally moves back enough for you to fully sit upright, you notice the dorsal fin that trails down his entire back, leading into a tail that looks as if its melting into the water below. His fins drape over him like the softest silks, sharing that charcoal gradient from what you can see in the dark.

Your eyes widen at the sight, and the giant seems to catch on.

“Why do you continue to return here, little human?” he inquires.

You look back up at his face to once again see that perfectly neutral expression. It frightens you to know that he knows you've been here before, when you had no idea he even existed until just now. Finding your voice takes an embarrassingly long time. “...I…”, you start, voice laced with thinly veiled awe, “...work in coastal habitat conservation. I've been trying to figure out who was vandalizing protected areas on this beach head.”

The man’s head cocks to the side curiously, the only indication that he had heard you. It's his turn to observe you now– at least, you think that's what he's doing from the subtle shifts of the muscles surrounding his eyes. The fully black scleras do not make his gaze clear in the low light, but you swear you can see how his expression seems to fall.

“I am no vandal. I am merely an inhabitant, and I do not appreciate such accusations,” he growls.

Your words get lost in your throat as you straighten up and move to apologize, instinct kicking into to reassure the creature you've just met that you didn't mean to imply that he was a vandal. If anything, in hindsight, you're the asshole raiding his home.

You're cut off when he raises a hand to silence you, softly shaking his head. He seems disappointed, but the wave passes him by. Firmly, he presses, “I intend to stay here, and I would hope that you will be of no trouble for me to do just that.” You don't miss how he clasps his clawed hands together before him.

You quickly nod your head, shifting to stand back up. The chill of the sea water soaking through your clothes down into your waders is starting to become too much. Your body begins to tremble. With an unsteady voice, you croak out, “Nope! No problem here! Technically, it's my job to protect your habitat, so…” You voice drifts off as you realize you're either going to have to:

A. Convince the world that mermaids exist, or,

B. Lie on your report.

…And telling the world about merfolk sounds like a lot more paperwork than you're willing to do in this lifetime. You can't imagine what horrors bureaucracy and media would do to this (so far) gentle giant. If he exists, there's certainly more of his kind and you are not about to accidentally start an illegal merfolk poaching trade.

A quiet huff leaves the pale merman, and you focus back up on him. It takes a moment for you to realize he's laughing at your crisis. You fold your arms, body still shuddering from the chill. “Your secret is safe with me,” you declare, confidently standing up straight.

The merfolk nods in response, clearly amused by the whole situation despite the grim countenance that colors him. A silent staring contest commences between the two of you, gentle sounds of crashing waves filling the air from outside of the cavern. The scattered moonlight causes his scales to glitter like obsidian. You get the feeling that you're going to be watched from the shadows to assure you keep your promise, and you're not sure how to feel about it.

His soft voice breaks the silence, notably warmer. “You will be returning here again regardless.”

It's not a question; it's a statement, and you reckon it's not an incorrect one. You defend yourself, “It's not every day that I discover something out of my childhood fantasies is real and causing me hassles with my job.”

Your comment earns you another soft huff of a laugh. It's the best you'll get out of him, you assume. “It is not every day that a human raids my den and steals my belongings,” he chides.

Sputtering at his accusation, you avert your gaze and draw your lips into a tight line. The heat in your cheeks could burn a hole through steel. “I didn't know! I... can't exactly get those back for you until they're cleared out of evidence, but I will try.”

The answer seems to charm and please him. “That would be pleasant.”

Another bout of silence fills the cavern as you feel yourself being studied. Awkwardly, you tell the merfolk your name, extending an arm out for a handshake.

The man stares at it blankly, blinking once before he places his hand on top of yours. It's not correct, but at least he has the spirit. Now that you're not in a panic, you notice just how cold his hand is on yours. “You may call me Corvus Corax,” he says, withdrawing, “Is it normal for your kind to shake as you do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, rubbing your hands over the wet jacket covering your upper arms. “Not particularly. I'm wet and it's freezing,” you jest, giving Corvus a smile.

The words have little weight on Corvus Corax. Cold and wet are his normal. If hypothermia doesn't take you, embarrassment and culture shock certainly will. You look down at your clammy hands.

“I should get home before I freeze to death,” you state bluntly, wincing as a breeze from the mouth of the cave causes the wet windbreaker to stick to your back.

Corvus nods, simply staring. You aren't sure what you're expecting when you give him a wave, but the sheer amount of nothing he seems to give only serves to intrigue you further. You can feel his eyes on you as you turn to exit the cave, mentally preparing yourself to falsify a report about a group of ne’er-do-wells digging into the cliff face for an unknown reason and how they narrowly evaded identification… however unbelievable it is. You step out of the cave in a distracted daze, still convincing yourself of everything as your boots crack on the gravel once more.

You know you'll be returning. Corvus knows you'll be returning. Gingerly, with trembling hands, you reach up to fiddle with your pendant once more to ground yourself when you have a jarring realization.

That bastard took your necklace.

[Part 2]

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #corvus corax #primarch #primarch x reader #corvus corax x reader #warhammer fanfic #mermay #your honor i love him #raven lady writings

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bluedalahorse · 2 days

Text

on flaws as opportunities and organizing the beef

I’m in the place now where I have enough distance from Young Royals season 3 to think about what felt flawed about it for me, and it led me to some interesting revelations about how I understand the characters and the story.

And to be clear: this does not mean I didn’t love season 3 with every fiber of my being, or that I think it sucks forever. Even a great production has flaws. The wonderful thing about being in fandom is that we love our shows deeply but also like to pick them apart, and in picking them apart we come up with ideas for future fics and fix its and character studies. Writing flaws are always an opportunity.

Anyway…

Thesis statement: Wilhelm and Simon don’t actually have the same beef with August, and the show should recognize that.

Or, to put it more formally, August causes them different problems that need to be addressed differently. I think that by acknowledging that more directly, and leaning into the discomfort that creates between Wille and Simon as a couple, the writers could have cleaned up some of the Wilmon-related messiness I saw in season 3 and have been mulling over for a while.

Caveat: I still need to do a full, formal rewatch of the third season. But I’ve rewatched here and there these are my preliminary thoughts.

To start, let’s recap Wille and Simon’s conflicts with August in season 1. For Simon, August is a bully and a gatekeeper when it comes to the world of Hillerska. He makes fun of Simon for being “socialist” and puts Simon in a position where he’s bringing in alcohol and then drugs for richer students’ recreation. August doesn’t pay Simon back for the alcohol the first time, which also shows a profound lack of awareness of Simon’s financial situation. Despite bullying Simon, there are times in August’s mind that he probably thinks he’s done Simon a favor. I do think, as flawed as he is about it and as much as he’s making weird speeches and doing aggressive forehead kisses, August assumes he’s really helped Simon out by getting him on the rowing team. But from Simon’s point of view this is all just more gatekeeping. Simon sees Hillerska as his ticket out of Bjärstad, and he wants to succeed in his merits as a student and a musician. But the way August treats him reminds him that his talent matters less than how many favors he can do rich boys. It also reminds him that he’s expendable to Hillerska students—August is absolutely ready to let Simon take the fall for the drugs when he feels it threatens his position.

Wille, meanwhile, is not excluded or gatekept by August but rather included more than he wants to be. Prior to the release of the video, Wille mostly finds August’s “come here and let me play your surrogate big brother” antics annoying. The debate over whether to let Simon or Alexander take the fall for the drugs is something that increases Wille’s ire toward August and makes it more serious, enough that we see Wille out August for his money troubles. But Wille also entrenches himself further in the system as a result of their argument—he still uses Alexander as a scapegoat, and he offers to pay August’s boarding fees afterward as an attempt to restore the peace between them. Their relationship isn’t seriously fractured until August releases the video. This harms Wille in the sense that it sets Wille up to deny his authentic self and makes it hard for him to engage in intimacy without trauma getting in the way. In essence, it puts Wille in a similar position of trauma that August was put in when the Erik and the third years initiated him. (Much much much more publicly, yes, but let’s note that transfer of trauma, because YR is about cycles.)

The video also throws Wilhelm into a space where he starts to doubt his connection with Erik, because Erik told Wilhelm he could trust August. At the end of 3.4, Wille tells August that Erik would hate what he did, but I suspect he’s been wrestling with the uncertainty over whether Erik would really accept him and Simon for a long time. I don’t know if Wille really trusts Erik even though he says he does. In my opinion, it’s August’s release of the video that first brings this sense of doubt about Erik into Wille’s mind, and for three seasons we’re watching him slow burn toward actually voicing that doubt and grappling with it.

I think it’s tempting to believe that the trauma of the video release unites Wilhelm and Simon against August, and makes them feel the same sense of pain and loss, but ultimately I don’t know if that’s true. I’m not sure I see Wille and Simon as two boys in love against the world, at least not in a way that isn’t complicated. For Wille, the video affects his ability to express himself authentically and makes him doubt his relationships with his family. For Simon, the scandal of the video will now forever follow him when he wants to break free of Bjärstad and become recognized for his own merits. These are different harms from the same event that need to be dealt with differently.

One of Wille’s flaws is that he doesn’t fully realize that. I think he tends to center himself without realizing it, and sees the harm that happens to Simon as an extension of harm to himself. I actually think this is pretty interesting, and pretty in line with how Wille would have been raised as a prince. We see Kristina telling him that everything he does reflects on her and the family, so it’s natural that Wille might see a threat against Simon as a threat to himself without really thinking through how they’re going to be impacted differently. And the “prince” as a literary archetype has always been somewhat rooted in the “rescue” of others.

I explained this to @heliza24 and she said something really smart, which is, “the thing that necessarily gets lost when you muddy that is how much Wilhelm’s violations of Simon resemble August’s violations of Wilhelm.” And she’s right. I’d been trying to find a way to say that some of Wille’s actions in s3 remind me of August’s more toxic traits, and that part of Wille’s hamartia in s3 is he can’t see the ways he’s behaving similarly to August even as he shuts August out. When August releases the video, it puts Wille in a position where the royal court and Kristina are forcing him to conform more-more-more, and to hide his authentic voice from the world. Wille in turn inflicts that on Simon, acting as the royal court’s mouthpiece when they want Simon’s songs or May Day pictures deleted. We see Simon worn down to the point where he’s almost fading away. It’s actually pretty upsetting.

To that end: I also can’t help draw parallels between Wilhelm’s insistence on public gestures of affection with Simon and the way August and Felice walk arm in arm after they get together, the way he clearly wants to be seen with her. I also look at the way Wille craves Simon’s constant emotional support—especially on the night of his birthday—and see August reaching out to Sara as his emotional support lifeline.

Now, for what it’s worth, I still don’t see Wille as this awful, irredeemable person. (I don’t see August as this irredeemable person either, for that matter, and this is part of why I see Wille and August’s healing as intertwined and interdependent.) But I do think one place that season 3 fell flat for me was in the way Wille never got to recognize that his own issues with August and Simon’s issues with August weren’t exactly alike. And for Wille to recognize that some of the things he’s trying to do to heal aren’t equally healing for Simon. (Seriously, I almost tore my hair out when Wille joined the choir. It wasn’t a romantic gesture to me—I found it creepy! Let Simon have one space to himself!)

It probably would have helped to have one scene where Simon articulates that to Wille, and really point it out. I get it if we don’t have time for Simon and August to resolve their shit in one season, and since Wille is the protagonist, he and August resolving their shit is going to take precedence. But when Wille and August are still at odds in the first part of the season, I do feel this vibe where like, Wille assumes he’s the avenger for wrong done to both him and Simon. And I kind of wanted to see that reckless avenger vibe get addressed.

@heliza24 probably describes this better than I do, but season three does have a habit of obscuring Simon’s agency from the audience, mostly so the writers can manipulate the audience’s reactions to Wilhelm and Simon, and especially so they can keep us in the dark about the fate of the Wilmon relationship during the breakup cliffhanger between episodes 5 and 6. I don’t know if this was the greatest choice, to dangle the cliffhanger over our heads, because it ends up moving a lot of Wille’s development into the last 10-15 minutes of the season and creates an issue in pacing and character arc. I wonder if they could have spaced his character arc out a little more and infused the tension into other moments and ideas. I think that could have been more satisfying.

Incidentally, this is a season 3 writing problem that’s foreshadowed in season 2 with the way Felice and Wille’s friendship is written. Felice essentially becomes Wille’s confidant as Wille attempts revenge on August. This makes sense, as Felice has her own beef with August based on how awfully he treated her in their relationship, and she’s friends with Wille, so it’s a natural alliance. But once again, it’s different beef, impacted by Felice moving through the world as a Black girl with a rich white mom, and not a white boy prince, and Felice never gets a chance to say so. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but it does matter because season 2 episode 3 ends with… Wille kissing Felice just to feel something!!! And at the beginning of episode 4 everyone’s talking about what happened and what might be a new relationship between Wille and Felice!!! Gosh does that remind anyone of Felice’s predicament in the middle of season 1? It sure does remind the random girl in the choir, who says Felice only dates bluebloods!

The thing is, I wish Felice had been able to make that comparison more explicitly in her conversations with Wilhelm. Things obviously don’t get as bad with Wilhelm as they do with August, and Wille and Felice talk things out. But Felice doesn’t get to express herself about that as much as I wanted her to, and we don’t get much of a sense as to whether or not this changes Felice’s views of Wille’s revenge plot. She forgives him pretty quickly, and I don’t know if she should have. Just a little more careful planning on the writers’ parts could have given Felice the agency she needed in season 2.

Anyway! Let’s talk about stakes. The stakes for Wilhelm in season 3 are that he’ll become August—or more accurately, that he’ll construct an armored facade like August has constructed to get through life, and that he’ll hurt other people in the process. (This is true for Wille even with him being queer, I think. Wille may be queer, but his whiteness and wealth and power and literal hired staff of PR-minded humans are going to frame how the rest of the world responds to that queerness.) Whereas for Simon, Sara, and Felice the danger is that, in order to maintain their place in the upper class system, they’ll become dependent on someone like future August or future Wilhelm, who has a lot of power and spends most of their life in armored facade mode.

Wilhelm and August reconciling is still important, because when they recognize one another’s humanity, they can actually be vulnerable with one another the way they need to be, and take that armor off. And I think by forging that relationship with one another, they have a space to really question the values they are raised with and act better to loved ones in the future. But we’re really just witnessing the first step. And there’s a lot more steps they need to take with one another, and with the other people in their lives.

What can I learn from this as a fan and writer?

Thinking about this actually helped me understand a point of view in fandom that I’ve always disagreed with. I still disagree with it, but I think I understand it better now. Periodically I’ll encounter points of view where August is seen as the worst kind of evil, the sort of person where you unite with each other to take him down once and for all. You know… Avengers Assemble! Or something. In some fan’s minds, he’s the kind of guy everyone at Hillerska should turn against at once and ultimately reject for the sake of narrative catharsis. A symbol of the corrupt system and nothing more.

And I never really saw August that way. He can be awful and annoying at times, and extremely harmful at other times. He often makes things much worse for our other main characters a lot of the time. Often times he is the most direct representative of the system that’s causing them problems. On the other hand, he’s also capable of really, truly caring about people and community, as much as he gets in his own way about it. We also know a greater extent of his trauma now and how it affects him. All in all he seems as human and as in need of liberation as all the other characters of Young Royals. It makes sense that he’s the one of five who hasn’t left behind the system yet, but I feel like one day he can maybe get there. I feel like those are the writers’ intentions, and the show’s intentions overall. Certainly this is also the version of August that Malte’s acting reflects.

I think I also understand now why I don’t always see eye to eye with others about Wille. I adore Wille, but I think sometimes the assertion others make that “Wille has one brain cell and it’s being in love with Simon” feels threatening to me rather than adorable. Wille is really really fascinating to me in that falling in love nudges him to question things about his position, but it doesn’t erase his relationship to his privilege entirely, and he can be pretty flawed in how he understands his power and how it plays out in a relationship. I think for others, they might see Wille as protective and caring toward Simon. Whereas I see him (and prefer to see him portrayed) as intending to be protective but definitely at times overstepping and putting Simon in a more negative place than before. I think part of this is caused by a writing problem in seasons 2 and 3. We see the negative impact the relationship can have on Simon—look it absolutely breaks my heart when Ayub mentions how Simon deleting his social media will make him sad—but I don’t know if Simon gets as much of a chance to articulate that to Wille or even to the audience as I want him to. And I also see Simon and Wille’s very different conflicts with August as part of that.

Moving forward… these flaws in seasons 2 and 3 don’t ruin my love of the show. They aren’t me saying the show is bad. They’re disappointing, because Young Royals is so good in so many ways that it sucks when it does let us down. But basically everything I like has a flaw one way or another, because literally no work is perfect. And right now I’d rather look at the flaws in YR and say, this is something I can learn from and play with in fanfic.

(And sometimes there are times when tumblr wants to explain all the flaws of a show away and idealize it and I wonder… can we not do that? Because sometimes claiming a show is perfect and flawless limits discussion and creativity. I get just as frustrated with people idealizing the Wilmon pairing and putting it on a moral pedestal, which has ultimately led to me blocking the tag from my dash. I like them a lot more when I think about them as complex teenage humans who fuck up a lot and not a godlike ideal of romance. I love them, your honor! But I think I need to love them independent of the tag.)

As for where this goes in fanfic, I think this once again leaves things open for fans to explore. Once again, I think there’s a whole interesting story to be explored in terms of how August and Simon work through their shit, and how that really has to happen in a space that’s in part independent of Wille. A shared relationship with Wilhelm might be the catalyst for why they’re working through their shit, but some of what’s going to happen has to happen without him there. (For what it’s worth, I think we see flashes of Simon and August beginning to understand one another throughout the series—Simon is running some really interesting mental calculus when he realizes August has an eating disorder, shout out to Omar’s acting there—but those threads always get dropped or interrupted. It’s infinitely frustrating to me as someone who likes both characters and wanted to see them talk honestly for once but didn’t quite get that.)

I also think this gives me interesting questions about where Wille and Simon’s relationship could go next in fanfic. Independent of the monarchy, I think Wille is still going to have to work through his instinct to be an angry avenger or reckless rescuer at times, and the part where he assumes he and Simon are harmed in the same way by the same things. Even in a world where Wille doesn’t have a title, he’ll still have wealth and white privilege that Simon doesn’t. And I don’t think that has to get in the way of their future happiness, but watching them navigate through that is something that draws me into a story idea.

So, you know. This has been an update on my fannish desires. At least, my fannish desires that do not involve the rest of the YR characters, various ships on Heartbreak High, and Interview with the Vampire season 2 finally airing today. There’s a lot going on in this brain and none of it is the work I need to get done.

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