Hi!! I have a one shot request (I hope I’m in the right place lmao)
What about a autistic (fem)reader who is super smart and seems to notice things about the case that the others haven’t and every time she tries to state her thoughts a rude sherif cuts her off/infantilising her and Emily defends her
Honestly my brain stopped at the thought of Emily, I need more of her 😔🫶
-anon ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
fem!plus size reader, wc: 517.
cw! asshole elders :/
a/n: i have had this finished but sitting in my drafts because i was too lazy to post it, but here it is! i hope that i was able to capture what you were looking for right! :] this can either be read as platonic or romantic!
You have been spoken over and shut down for the past hour, twenty minutes, and thirty seconds.
You hated being silenced, but one thing that trumps that was being infantilized. You worked hard to get where you were now, and you hated being treated like a child just because your way of thinking was different from your peers.
You have saved thousands of people and you’ll be damned if you continue to be treated like this.
“If you look closely, you can see that the area that these women were killed in must hold some kind of sentimental meaning to our unsub.” You grab the black marker and go to draw the inevitable triangle on the printed out map before you’re stopped by the sheriff.
“I’m sure the area these women were killed in was just pure coincidence, so we don’t wanna risk coloring in the paper just ‘cause you think you know somethin’.” He spoke as if he knew more than you did like he was the one with the degree, his tone absolutely rolling in condescension.
“Hold it now, sweetheart. Don’t just go markin’ up stuff.”
“I beg your pardon?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.
“I’m sorry but –” You try to say but the old fart cuts you off. “I’m sure you are –”
“Excuse me, sheriff, but I’m afraid Special Agent _______ made a great point.” Emily was quick to come to your aide, emphasizing the words ‘Special Agent’ just to reinforce her point.
You could see it in her narrowed eyes, and everyone else’s really, that she was about done with the Sheriff’s embarrassingly large ego. You send her an appreciative – albeit shy – smile, and she gets up, her eyes trained on the map as well.
“She’s right, because if you look here,” She points to the first crime scene and motions for you to draw a mark. “And here,” Her finger trails down to the second location and you follow close behind. “And here.” Her path finally ends, and so does your black ink.
There it was, just like you had first thought, a perfect triangle connecting them all.
“The most important thing should be right –” You finish her words and color in a big circle in the middle. “Here.” Emily sends you a proud look and it threatens to weaken your knees.
“I mean… I suppose that makes sense.” The man grumbled before leaving with his tail between his legs.
“Thank you.” You say quietly. The conversation was meant to be kept between the two of you. Of course you loved and trusted everyone on your team, but Emily was your comfort person, and she made time to understand you.
“No problem,” She responds back. “Everyone was done with his shit anyway.”
“Still, thank you.” You pressed the conversation, because you don’t really think she realized the gravity of the situation, of your appreciation.
For most of your life you had never been given a voice, and having someone stick up for you and even paving the way for you to make your point known was something that no gratitude could give.
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Cassandra x fucked up/psychopathic reader
Prompt: Cassandra gets herself someone with little to no morals, someone violent and appreciative of her sadistic tendencies
(Fem reader)
Warning for: Violence, partly NSFW content
Idea inspired and matched by @fantasy-relax . Go check out their take of the story written in the reader’s POV! I absolutely loved it, and I’ll link it here! :) I highly recommend reading it too, as it’s a direct counterpart to this!
Let’s get into it! ;)
Masterlists
Cassandra gasps in shock when she spots the small scratch on her sword. Immediately, this shock turns to anger.
“Hey!”, she yells, relishing in the wide, fearful eyes that land on her.
“"Look what have you done! My favorite sword has a scratch! You useless woman!", she curses.
She grabs the sword tightly, her gloved hand running alongside the blade. It’s not even close to being as sharp as it is meant to be!
Is this foolish imbecile trying to sabotage her?!
" I'm s-orry Lady Cassandra my arm was tired and I-AHH"
Cassandra laughs at the scream that follows, the fearful eyes widening in terror.
The cut made by the sword was fast and made with lethal precision. The arm rests on the soft carpet, and it draws more laughter from Cassandra.
She crackles at the sight of the imbecile falling to her knees, more and more tears spilling down her red cheeks.
"Not tired anymore I bet", she snickers. More screams and cries follow.
Please this, please that. Please spare me, please, please, please, please. As if the word has any meaning to Cassandra at all. She merely rolls her eyes at it. If her prey was a little more entertaining with her begging, at least!
She inspects the bloody blade, a sick smile coming to her lips.
Perhaps, it was sharpened properly after all. She shrugs it off. The scratch still lays beneath the blood!
With a large grin on her face, she steps to the kneeling woman again, her hand reaching out to grasp the little bit of her upper arm that is left.
Again, the woman is howling in pain.
With a quick cut to her other arm, it also falls to the floor. Cassandra crackles as blood spills and splutters in her face.
Now she sees the twitching fingers of the unattached arms, she giggles. She should’ve probably broken them first, but this one is really testing her patience!
With another slash to her chest, the woman screams again. She falls on her back, and Cassandra laughs loudly at the image. With no arms remaining, she can barely squirm away.
“Poor, little maid”, she states mockingly. Like a turtle turned on its shell.
She allows to drop the sword to the floor. It is in need of proper sharpening now!
Instead she brings out her sickle. She relishes in the fear that surrounds the maimed woman.
The maid keeps screaming, until Cassandra at last is done with her and cuts her head in another clean swipe of sickle.
She smirks to herself, yet nearly jumps in surprise upon hearing a hum.
In the doorway, stands another maid.
Golden eyes catch yours, and she gives you a sadistic smile.
"What is it, little morsel? Want to be next?", the taunts, giggling. Oh, two victims in such short times? Ah, and you practically ran into her arms!
She’s crackling with delight.
Rising from the floor, she walks up to you slowly, circling you such as a predator would their prey.
She licks the blood off her sickle, golden eyes wide in excitement. You smell so well already! Perhaps she would let you run along, merely to chase after you. Not that you’d stand a chance against her, of course.
She’s just about ready to raise her sickle to your pretty face when unexpected words fall from your dry lips.
"That was a clean cut my lady, you have a steady hand"
She freezes.
What?
Cassandra is left dumbfounded, her eyes, even with her lazy eye, wide as you easily walk past her and inspect the body.
You bend over it, and all she can do is watch.
What the?
She thinks she is just ready to catch herself again, to resume taunting you and kill you when another comment comes from you.
"You also have to be pretty strong or have a sharp weapon to make this so smoothly"
She finds herself frozen yet again, her flies buzzing in excitement beyond her control.
What’s going on?
She resists the urge to tell you, proudly, that the weapon was rather blunt and it was her sheer strength that allowed her to maim, then kill.
You’re standing now, and it’s as your eyes bore into hers. She doesn’t understand.
Why are you praising her for this? Maids usually cry at her sight. The staff calls her a monster.
And why is she liking your praise this much?! You’re a lowly maid! She shouldn’t be accepting compliments from the likes of you! What if her sisters found out? What if her mother was to fi-
Another comment.
"Truly impressive"
This one makes her chest feel light. Her eyes widen for a moment when she feels her cheeks heating up beyond her control and her flies buzz purr loudly.
Quickly, she swarms away, more and more until she is in the safety of her room.
Her prey is long forgotten as she falls into her large bed, face flushed and an uncomfortable ache in her chest and between her legs.
She groans at both.
With her blush only increasing and embarrassment taking over her, she swarms out of her dress and tends to the sudden wetness between her thighs.
Cassandra doesn’t know why she’s even doing this! She shouldn’t!
It’s a waste of time!
She’s only doing this to scare you!
You deserve to be scared!
She’s just proving things to you!
She definitely isn’t doing this to receive words of praises from you again…!
Still, she holds the unattached leg of a maid tightly, her scalpel making clean cuts into the soft flesh.
"How is this cut for you?", is carved inside in no time. She knows, it’s petty! Hell! She’s feeling petty!
“Pretty cut, bla bla!”, she curses. “I’ll show you this cut!”
You will have to falter in fear with this one! How dare you not fear her?! She’s going to show you! She will give you reasons to be afraid!
A petty pout turns to a wide, excited grin, she drops the leg in front of your door and knocks her gloved knuckles against it quickly and hard.
She feels her excitement bubbling in her chest.
She resists the urge to giggle when she hears you move about and quickly swarms to the ceiling, her dark golden eyes wide and curious as she clings to the wall.
Cassandra nearly curses herself for the blush on her cheeks. Stupid, stupid blush!
She can’t stop thinking of your words from yesterday. Your praise…
Cassandra bites her lip hard as she frowns and pouts.
She isn’t doing this to hear you praise her work!
At last, you are outside the door. Cassandra frowns when you pick up the leg with no qualms at all. Not even a little shriek? She could groan and growl in her aggravation!
Then, her breath hitches when you read her message aloud, a small smirk on your lips: "How is this cut for you?". Your voice is pretty…you are.
Cassandra squeaks suddenly at your next choice of words.
"Aww, My lady is pretty cute"
She’s blushing hard again, her entire face warm and pink, all the way up to the tips of her ears!
Cute?!
Cute?!
CUTE?!
She hasn’t- she’s never- never had anybody-
Cassandra’s eyes widen when you look up, her swarm quickly flying away. She still hears your soft laughter and nearly swarms face first into a chandelier.
Cassandra hums to herself as she cleans her sickle of blood again, when she suddenly hears some unlucky maid walk down the steps to the basement. She grins in anticipation.
Ah, what poor, unfortunate soul have they sent to clean this time?
She walks slowly, yet finds herself frozen in her spot again when she realises it’s you.
You’re inspecting one of the maids, one Cassandra has just finished playing with. She gulps.
What’s going on in your mind? Why are you just watching in wonder?
She prays there will be no blush appearing on her face this time.
She straightens her posture a little, forcing herself to fall back in her confident, predatory state.
"Seeing your future, little maid?", she hums. Golden eyes flicker with excitement when you flinch and she hears your heartbeat rate increase.
Ah, she knew she could scare you! She smirks confidently and hums in delight as she steps closer to you.
"I make sure to keep her miserable as long as possible by-
"Making cuts that are painful but not mortal, absolute brilliant, nothing less of expert like you"
Cassandra feels flustered yet again. What? What?!
She stands with her lips parted, her words having died on her tongue. Thankfully, you aren’t facing her.
She feels her cheeks burning as your fingers graze her arm to move her aside, and in her shocked state, feels herself move back when you push her hip and arm gently.
She watches, dumbfounded, as you take a look around. You seem so curious! So admiring of her work! It’s making her feel so flustered!
She growls, quietly, as though demanding to stop her body from reacting this way! She already feels the pull in her chest and the ache between her legs, the warm feeling on her cheeks.
She recalls her sisters’s words and growls again. She does not have a crush!
Cassandra Dimitrescu does not get such silly things as crushes! Even on a goddess like you…
She watches with more curiosity than she’d like to admit as you inspect one of her recent victims, a man-thing, held up by hooks that go through his hands.
He’s gagged, to stifle his annoying whimpers and cries. Cassandra has grown tired of hearing them.
She tenses when you poke his broken legs and giggle to yourself.
"Very creative", you admire.
Cassandra, happy you aren’t facing her, pulls her hood all the way down in an attempt to stop and hide her blush.
She’s purring, but hopes you’re unable to hear it. For a moment, she hits her own chest, as though to make the purring stop.
Of course, it doesn’t.
Full of curiosity, it seems, you keep exploring.
Praises fall from your lips like droplets from a waterfall, each making Cassandra feel more and more flustered and needy. She shouldn’t be so flustered at this! And she definitely shouldn’t be getting turned on for this!
"Astounding"
"Visionary"
"Imaginative"
Her swarm buzzes so loud, she knows you must hear it soon. Upon finding you’re starting to turn around, she quickly grabs you as a swarm and carries you out the door.
This is a first, she thinks with a blush, Cassandra throwing someone out of the dungeons.
"Rude", you remark as she drops you rather ungracefully and disappears back down.
She swarms until she is able to shut a door behind her, her back sliding against it as she sinks to the floor.
Cassandra’s face is burning bright pink and her flies buzz all too happily. She wishes she could fight the large grin on her lips as she hugs herself and pulls her hood down to cover her face again.
In the following days and weeks, Cassandra can’t help but gift you more limbs.
She can’t help but want to shower you in gifts. You’re so…perfect…she thinks with a dreamy sigh.
Upon finding that human ones are often praised and returned to her, she opts for gifting you animal meat instead. This one, you praise her for too, knowing she is spying, and even cook!
She recalls a couple of her gifts for you
A deer leg with the words “you have pretty eyes” carved inside. She remembers nearly falling from her spot at the ceiling when you read it out loud and hummed: “Mhm, my favourite colour has always been a dark gold”
Those were her eyes!
Her blush only went away hours after you said that!
A boar heart. She spent hours looking for one and was so proud to gift it to you with the attached note written in blood: “Did you know they are the most similar to humans?”
She nearly gasped upon seeing the fond smile on your lips and hearing the pretty giggle.
A full, juicy bunny. “Small like you”, written in blood. She had blushed at the small that was pulled from you.
This goes on for a small while, until one day a group of hunters try to raid the castle and kill the monsters inside.
Of course, they pose no challenge to Cassandra at all!
She crackles in delight, even, at the opportunity to kill this many!
Still, she’s pouting angrily. Daniela has six already! Bela has five and a few spare limbs! And her? Cassandra has only caught four so far.
She curses under her breath. Why must she be slower than her sisters?! She trains by far harder than them! It’s unfair!
With a start as she looks at one of the dead maidens on the floor, she remembers you.
She realises, unlike her, your life is in danger! Was, seeing as the intruders are now taken care of.
Bodies, blood and all kind of gore is in the floors and the carpets of the castle. Cassandra is unbothered by it. She must find-
Golden, dark eyes widen in delight when she first smells, then sees you kneeling on the floor at the main hall.
You’re well! At least she assumes as much.
In her worry, Cassandra can’t help but pounce. She tackles you to the floor easily, her body on top of yours, her thighs on each side of your hips as she leans down to inspect your beautiful face.
"Are you okay?! Did they hurt you?! Tell me who-"
"I'm fine lady bela take care of them", you interrupt gently. She calms down a little, yet frowns again when she sees the three bodies piled on one another in the corner of the hall.
"You took three", she states, curious.
"Oh yeah, that reminds me" You point at the three bodies, and she follows it. They’re all of decent size, and she’s quite impressed that you were able to take them on.
Quite refreshing, for a human.
"They are all yours, Lady Cassandra"
Her eyes snap back to you in surprise.
Hers? A gift? For her?
She smells their blood when she inhales…they smell scrumptious! She wants to take them, so bad. Yet…
There is a rule among the three sisters, to avoid fights, or at the very least lessen them.
Only the prey they hunt can be eaten by them. No sharing, no taking another sister’s prey. She blushes as she is once again reminded of her pathetic four bodies.
Then, she perks up. With your three, this would make seven! She’d have caught the most!
She knows, she is stronger than them…just not faster.
"I killed them, so they are mine, but I’m not gonna eat them, so they are all yours”, you reason. Cassandra blushes again.
She eyes the corner with the pile of bodies and grins widely again. Yes! She accepts! Mother will be so proud! Her sisters will be envious!
You…are so painfully adorable, perfect, hot and make her feel so flustered…
She gasps audibly above you when you grasp her chin tightly.
She keeps staring at you, golden eyes wide when you lift your apron to her face and begin to clean the blood around her lips.
She feels your thumb slide across them and can’t help but attempt to press her thighs together- something that clearly does not work with your hips between them.
Her face is bright red, pink cheeks and tip of her ears, an entirely flushed and warm face.
“Cute”, you whisper, and she really wishes she could’ve stopped that squeak that came from her.
She gasps when your hand moves from her chin and grabs the back of her neck instead, and with wide eyes, she feels herself be yanked downwards and to your lips.
After a second or so, she at last catches up and eagerly returns your kiss.
She’s moaning and whimpering, panting against your lips. She’s so flustered, and yet can’t help but grin and hold onto your hips tightly.
"FINALLY, the pining was killing me!”
You and her jump at the sudden voice in the main hall.
She’s covering you with her body, as though to protect you from an attack.
Instead, Cassandra blinks when her warm cheeks are smudged by her younger sister’s palm.
Quickly, she snarls at her and rips her face free.
"SHUT UP, DANIELA!”
From there on, you’re in a relationship. Cassandra eagerly brings you more and more gifts and shows you her appreciation for your praise in just the right ways.
She appreciates, too, when you bring her gifts.
Often, these include bratty maidens or animals you find out in the garden. Sometimes, rarely, you find her a rose and dip it in blood for her. She’s blushing endlessly when it is gifted to her. It’s beautiful!
She sits next to Daniela, rolling her eyes and acting as though she isn’t listening when her sister tells her of her latest book.
Suddenly, you come into the library, dragging a maiden behind you. Her eyes sparkle in delight! Lunch and a gift!
"Knock first! I know you have manners", Daniela fumes.
Cassandra snickers. She coos at you and resists the urge to get up and cup your cheeks. Like hers, they are flushed red. Yet while hers is the result of feeling flustered, she feels your heart beat angrily.
Still, she teases eagerly.
"Aww, did my draga mea miss me so much?”, she coos.
You seem to ignore her words, but certainly not her.
Pride blooms in her chest as you walk up to the table and grip her sickle.
The maid you’re carrying is dropped, crying and begging as she attempts to get away from you and the two murderous sisters.
Daniela rolls her eyes when she hears Cassandra’s heart rate pick up. She just wanted to gossip!
“Oh!”, Cassandra gasps when you grab the crying woman’s head by her hair, pull out her tongue and cut it off swiftly.
She crosses her legs and pushes her thighs together harshly at the ache and sting of her clit.
Never has she seen something this arousing before. Her face is flushed bright pink and she’s panting from only watching you.
"AHH-UGH!”, the pathethic woman cries. Cassandra watches with a dark, sadistic glint in her eyes as you merely grab her again and bash her head against the floor.
Neither her, nor you mind Daniela’s groans about the beautiful floor of her beloved library.
One, two, three, four, five bashes. She is out, and Cassandra feels as though she is drooling and her lips are dry at the same time.
You drop the woman her and walked to the sadist, and she gasps again when you throw the sickle on the table.
All words are taken from her. She can only look at you, her cheeks bright red and pink, her eyes wide and sparkling with love, admiration and arousal.
“Mgmph!”, she moans as her grin is grabbed and you kiss her deeply until she is panting. She feels the blush on her face just grow bigger and warmer at your actions and whimpers at the embarrassing purrs that come from her chest.
Cassandra bites her bruised lip as her gloved hand is grabbed by you, and smiles almost shyly when the tongue of the maimed woman is dropped in her hand.
She’s crying on the floor, bloodied and unable to move. She knows, if she did, Cassandra would be on her within seconds.
"Here my love, a snack", you speak softly. Cassandra blushes even more. She’s thankful Daniela seems to have taken her leave.
She moans when you kiss her again, your warm tongue inside her mouth and dominating hers easily.
She whimpers, almost, when you let go of her and only cup her bright pink, warm cheek.
You brush her hair behind her ear, and Cassandra feels too flustered to meet your eyes for a moment.
"I still have duties to attend, I’ll see you later, draga”, you coo, and she nearly whines again. The pressure between her legs is becoming nearly unbearable. How can you make such a display and then attempt to leave her to her own devices?!
She knows, she must look like a lovesick puppy. No better than Daniela. Oh, but she can’t help it at all!
She grabs your wrist quickly when you turn around, and blushes harder under your gaze. You’re smirking at her when you turn back to her.
“Don’t go…”, she breathes out, her thighs spreading a little. Her head spins when you inhale and kneel before her, your hand boldly squeezing her thigh through the fabric of her dress.
It seems, your duties can wait. They must!
“I-I’m your superior”, she breathes out. “You have different duties to attend to, now”, she adds.
You smirk at the panting woman, and Cassandra bites her lip at your hum.
“If my Lady wishes so…”, you whisper back, a sly smirk on your beautiful lips.
Suddenly, Cassandra feels herself be yanked off the cushioned sofa and onto the floor. She jumps when you lean close, your hand grabbing the crying woman’s bloodied chin.
“You best watch now, bitch. This is the closest you’re getting to your goal, you filth!”
She whimpers at the arousing scene, though feels puzzled. What? She doesn’t quite understand.
“What do you- YA!”, she shrieks when her hair is grabbed by you and you spread your legs.
Pulling down your underwear and tugging up your skirt, you push Cassandra’s head between your thighs.
She moans, your scent is making her feel lightheaded.
“Start, Cass. We don’t have all day”
She presses her thighs together harshly. She’s so wet, she feels it even through her entirely soaked, black panties.
Cassandra jumps when she notices you step on the squirming woman’s lower back, trapping her in place as you grant her a view of Cassandra’s tongue lapping at your folds.
She blushes at this, but knows: the woman won’t last. She will serve her as a snack after the meal she is having just now.
“Mghmm”, she moans, her eyes closing and her hands resting on your thighs.
Cassandra can’t help but thrust her hips forwards as she drags her tongue through your wet folds. She wants- needs- you so bad. And you seem to be in a similar state.
You’re utterly soaked for her, your pussy drooling your arousal and love for her. She’s panting as she licks you over and over again, before she at last wraps her lips around your clit.
Sharp moans and your nails digging into her head are her reward. She moans loudly, the vibrations of her against your clit only adding to the pleasure she grants you.
“Go-ood, keep going”, she hears you groan. You tug her hair sometimes, and she moans at each move.
Cassandra squirms and gasps, sucking and licking your lips all too eagerly.
“Mhmmmn, mhhnnnm”, she moans.
She feels you grind your core against her face, your hips shaking lightly.
The pathethic cries of the woman only fuel her further and add to the dripping wet arousal between her own thighs.
“Mhnnngn, she’s wonderful at this..!”, you groan, and she blushes and squirms again.
She hasn’t got a clue what the maid has done to deserve your wrath, but doesn’t care either. All she can focus on, is your quivering thighs.
With another broad lick across your southern lips, she collects more of your wetness.
“G-Good, so clo-ose”, you moan, and it’s music to her ears. She feels even more shameful and aroused when she pushes her clothed core against your leg, her soaked, panty covered clit rubbing against your ankle as she ruts against you.
She hears you chuckle breathlessly at this. She’s so needy, so pent up…
As her gloved fingertips dig into you slightly and she sucks your clit a little harder, she feels you orgasm against her lips.
Cassandra moans with you, her back arched and her tongue eagerly lapping her remaining meal.
“C’mere…”, you moan, and she obeys eagerly.
With a single pull and push, it’s now her who is smushed against the cushions. Yet, her cheeks burn hotly. Unlike you, she isn’t sitting.
She’s bent over, her chest and face against the cushions, her behind sticking out for you.
She digs her fingertips into the soft material of the sofa when you lift her dress and tear her black, partly transparent tights easily.
“Y-Yes…!”, she groans, eyes rolling to the back of her head at your rough actions. She knows, she’s right on the edge and utterly drenched for you.
“Good girl”, you praise as you tug her black panties off. She feels the air of the room hit her cunt for a mere moment and whimpers in embarrassment when you place your index and middle finger on one southern lip each, then pull them apart to reveal her completely.
Her face burns and her pussy drools.
“See that?”, you pant. She assumes you aren’t talking to her and it’s making her feel even hotter.
“That’s all mine, you fucking bitch. Don’t you forget that ever again!”, you curse. She squirms, and moans hotly when she feels your tongue drag through her soft folds.
Her back is arched and her thick thighs quiver, her fat ass shaking when you slap it playfully.
Cassandra feels so good, right there from all your beautiful teasing and demonstrations.
She moans hotly when a finger is pushed inside of her, then a second follows.
Her pussy grips you tightly, and a wet, squelching sound is heard with each thrust inside.
“A-Ah! Ye-es!! Don’t stop!”, she moans, her voice high pitched and loud. She groans and moans when she feels your lips wrap around her clit and suck it harshly into your mouth.
“Mhnnnm! F-Fuck! Yes yes! YES!”, she screams.
Your fingers thrust in and out of her fast, rubbing her warm insides and curling at her G-Spot as they thrust.
Cassandra sees stars when your teeth graze past her clit.
Soon, by far too fast for her to feel as though she has any of her dignity left, she cums on your fingers and feels a soft pair of kisses pressed against her thighs.
“That’s it, my Cassandra”
Her head spins at the possessiveness in your voice.
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Closing Manga Thoughts
I just deleted a long vent post about every single one of my feelings about the end of the podcast and the manga being over. Except not really over because it looks like there's a lot more interest in a physical edition than I was expecting. Hopefully I'll see y'all in the preorders in a couple weeks once I figure out how expensive this will be to make and from there how much I want to charge.
Anyways. Please humour me for a quick moment while I make a big deal out of my thing because it might look like sixteen goofy little drawings in boxes every other week, but it's been a really big deal for me over the last year and a half. I've decided all I really want to say about the end of the manga is thank you for being a fandom I was comfortable sharing something like this with. When I first got into DnDads I had never shared fanart anywhere and I had been fallen off the creative train for a while. So thank you for being here, for engaging with the manga because without that engagement I wouldn't have bothered to see this through to the end. Thank you for allowing me to foster an interest in making comics.
I feel really peaceful now that it's over. It's hard to explain, but I was always very anxious about if people would still be interested in the next pages, if I was wasting my time, if I had phoned it in and should have tried harder. But now that it's over, now that it's complete, and I'm proud of every single page, even the ones I was kind of lazy with, I'm just very content and grateful that I was able to share this very special project, and I don't care so much about if they'll be looked back on fondly, or laughed at, or ignored anymore. It's done, and I'm happy.
Now that the manga is over, if you're ever wondering what I'm going to be doing next, I'll still be here. I have more DnDads ideas, some comics that will escape the four panel format I've been locked into for so long, and I draw One Piece stuff too sometimes, and that won't be going anywhere for a while still haha. I also have an original fantasy comic about a magic that kills you that just entered it's third chapter and you can check it out starting here on Tumblr, or on it's own website here. And if you ever want to request art from me or just support me financially, I have a ko-fi, I take requests for the low price of literally any money.
Once more, thank you. This project has been so special to me, and I'm so unspeakably grateful that it was this fandom I was able to share it with, I don't think it would have lasted, or even started anywhere else, for anything else.
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Anger twists his features, his fingers quick to make a collar around her neck once more. His grip this time is forceful and rough as he jerks her head back, a snarl pushed past his teeth.
“Fair? You want to talk about fucking fair?” He throws her to the ground and so powerful is he that the momentum of it has her gasping for air when her back makes impact with the floor, all air knocked from her lungs. “Would you call leaving me blue-balled and unheeded in the forest fair?” He doesn’t give her time to react. He walks over her now prone body, his legs straddling her so he doesn’t step on her until he’s stood over her belly and leaning down to bite out,” Or how about the fact that you never listen to a thing I say even though I do everything for you? Or how about the fact that you lie to me when I have been nothing but honest with you always? How is that for fucking fair?”
His words seem to douse her awake, like cold water on a lazy morning. The growl that leaves his mouth drawing a whimper from her, her eyes widening in surprise when his grip on her throat tightens making her breath hitch, his weight on her lower torso growing impossibly heavier as he leans into her, locking her in place.
The look in his eyes is almost crazed, the black that now covers his irises seemingly an endless pit of rage and overwhelming lust, and she can't look away.
It's as if he's got her under a spell. It's addicting.
He leans down with a deathly intense stare, his breath heavy as it hits the shell of her ear when he speaks, his hand slinking back into her thick, sily hair before he tugs at it harshly, her back arching painfully at that, her breath knocked out of her when she gasps, tears filling her eyes at the sting at the base of her skull, her walls throbbing in need.
"How is that for fucking fair, omega?"
Realisation lightens her tense features, her eyes now downcast with slight guilt as she shakes her head in reply.
"Use your fucking words, slut." He growls, a harsh tug at her hair accompanying his words.
"I..i.. haven't been fair, sir."
“No,” he spits, the ball of it landing smack on her own mouth, “you haven’t.”
She has nothing to say to that. Of course she doesn’t. The truth of his words rings true even in her own ears. She’d been nothing but difficult for him for awhile now. He’d put up with her antics for far longer than even she’d thought possible.
For such a demanding male, he surely was tolerant of her. Or perhaps merciful was the better word. Or at least, he had been until now.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but if he really wanted to punish her, if he really wanted to hurt her, he’d have done it by now.
She, of all people, knew what he was capable of. She’d seen it. Heard it. Felt it. Fuck, she’d even dreamt of it.
She’d never forget the night he killed a man for coming too close to their den when she’d been in heat. He’d been out hunting, and she’d felt the signs of its arrival well before his return. She’d made the mistake of going outside where her scent had been carried to him by the wind, and so strongly did the smell of her desire waft from her that it summoned him to her. Barely clothed in more than a thin little shift, she’d not even noticed the second pair of eyes that had latched onto her when she stood waiting for her mate. She’d fallen to her knees at the sight of her naked mate who had departed from the valley of green before their den.
He’d been the picture of sex with crimson dripping down each side of his lips and chin, his golden eyes warming her belly in desire as his long fingernails retracted from the skull of a large, brown furred wolf the size of a bear, a trail of blood running behind it.
“He got too close to you,” her mate had said, “to what’s mine. I didn’t like it. Only I get to smell you when you’re wet for me like you are.”
With that, he’d thrown the lifeless body behind him, not caring about the fact that its blood spattered across his body.
Unbeknownst to him, the sight of him sullied in the blood of his enemies after such a display of strength and power…. It had made her need rage like a wildfire as he’d slowly sidled closer to her.
She’d all but jumped him that night.
And now, as she thinks of that memory, she can’t help but whine.
She wanted that. To let herself be at his mercy once again. She just wanted to see how far she could push him until she could see that same power once again. It aroused her, and he knew it.
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Silence is the key - Ficlet
As soon as Joe awakes, he knows today is not a good day. The spot next to him is already cold, having lost the warmth of Nicky’s body and the object Joe has buried his nose in turns out to be Nicky’s pillow.
On most occasions both of them like to start the day at a relaxed pace if they have the chance. Mornings filled with lazy kisses, unhasty movements, only meant to enjoy the intimate closeness, the feeling of bare skin on skin, sharing delicate touches of roaming hands and tenderly teasing fingertips, freshly baked pastries fed to each other, lounging in chairs on the patio after a small walk.
The atmosphere this morning is different though, spiked with the restlessness having driven away Nicky out of Joe’s arms and Joe rubs his face, brain starting to process the principle of time again only gradually.
His feet plod on the floor as he leaves their bedroom, following the audible noises on his search for Nicky.
He finds him in the living room, frantically scrubbing one window, humming nervously under his breath. A quick look into the kitchen shows Joe the started preparations for breakfast Nicky hasn’t finished which is nothing new on days like this. When Nicky’s mind can’t settle on one task, is uneasy and hectic, unable to let him rest, somersaulting in the process.
“Good morning, ya amar,” Joe greets his beloved, kissing him on the cheek but not stopping Nicky from cleaning.
“Hello,” Nicky gives back without sparing Joe a glance but leaning in the touch of his hand on his lower back. “I tried to make breakfast.”
He doesn’t say any more and he doesn’t need to. Nicky never has to explain or even justify the way he does things and everyone who’d force him to do so, Joe would kill without batting an eye.
“What do you think of going out for breakfast?” Joe proposes, offering Nicky a possibility to escape their house which presents less of a home for him right now and more of a cage. “We could visit the Café near the beach when you’re done and take a walk afterwards.”
Even though Nicky’s motions don’t come to a halt, Joe has a part of his attention. “I…hmm…I’m not…sure,” he says, each word carefully stressed and with that a strong contrast to the chaos in his brain which Nicky described to him some time ago in fascinating detail as shards of glass or barbed wire, unable to catch one single thought without cutting himself. “I’m not sure…I have to…I don’t…”
Nicky lets the rag fall in a bucket with water, huffing annoyed at himself and seemingly frustrated with his difficulty of putting the mess of his mind into words.
Over time it hasn’t become easier to watch a person you love struggle in any form and fight their own battle but Joe is more than aware that Nicky is an incredibly capable fighter. That doesn’t change, however, that it still pains Joe to see Nicky in discomfort, just as it troubles Nicky when Joe is haunted by memories of the past and gone by terrors.
“Hey, hey, take a deep breath.” Joe gently reaches for one of Nicky’s hands, interlacing their fingers to slot their palms together. “We have time, cuore mio. I’m fine with everything as long as my extremely hot husband doesn’t forsaken me because I couldn’t take it and would swoon at his feet.”
Nicky may not be laughing but Joe can read in his demeanor that he is slightly amused, concentration lifted off his tangled thoughts for a heartbeat. “I can’t choose today…I started making breakfast but I couldn’t finish it but I have to do something and I don’t know what because I want to do everything simultaneously and that is too much and I get angry at myself and that makes it worse and I…don’t know what to do.”
Nicky’s free hand grabs the hem of his hoodie, fumbling with the fabric. Finally, his bright eyes - not able to fix on a certain point - wander up to Joe’s face and something in Joe loosens as Nicky’s jaw muscles shift and the tense outlines of his jaw disappear.
“One step at a time,” Joe whispers, drawing a tiny circle on the back of Nicky’s slightly wet hand with his thumb, fingertip barely brushing Nicky’s skin.
He knows that words often don’t help but this is an important reminder for both of them when life around them threatens to outpace them. Especially in the 21st century it gets harder to keep up with a society that is only striving to be better, faster, stronger without taking an essential break to cherish the small moments you cannot replace by technology or else.
“One step at a time,” Nicky repeats strained, heaving a deep breath into his lungs, holding it for a couple of seconds before exhaling slowly. “Breakfast?” It is one step forward and Joe directs a radiant smile at him and nods.
“Sounds lovely.”
If Nicky’s pace is a little faster than usual after their breakfast, making it seem like he were jogging half-heartedly, while strolling at the beach, Joe doesn’t comment on it and just adapts his own walking speed, not letting go of Nicky’s hand once.
The sea wind ruffles Minnie’s head feathers which are poking out of Nicky’s hoodie pocket and Joe winks at the small owl as if she could actually see with her big eyes.
To his inner dismay the walk didn’t help Nicky’s troubled mind as much as Joe hoped it would but at least the urge to move urgently has subsided and Joe settles next to Nicky on the floor to puzzle.
In the background the soundtrack of Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron plays softly and they spend nearly two hours finishing one puzzle after another, working silently next to their soulmate. Of course, Joe uses the perfect opportunity to place kisses on everything he can reach from Nicky when the latter leans forward to search for a piece.
At some point Nicky has to smile, hardly visible every time he bends forward and as Joe, dutifully, shifts position to kiss Nicky’s temple he turns his head and catches Joe’s lips with his own.
The kiss is no Hollywood-kiss: through Nicky’s unexpected movement their lips don’t quite meet, leaving Joe to kiss most of Nicky’s nose and Nicky most of his beard which makes Joe splutter, accidentally spraying Nicky with some of his spit. With an adorable noise Nicky draws back, wiping his scrunched up face but he miscalculates the distance and gives Joe a hook to the chin.
“Ouch!” Joe yells dramatically and lets himself fall backwards, preventing to hit his head at the table corner by great fortune.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Yusuf.” Not a heartbeat after their collision, Nicky’s face hovers over him, hidden concern in his eyes which Joe can detect nonetheless. “That wasn’t my intention. Are you okay?”
Joe, sensing a chance to avert the hectic train of thoughts building up in Nicky’s head right now, opens his arms and closes his eyes. “I will be if I get a big cuddle. My husband gives the best hugs, you know. And I also love to hold him, so for me it’s a win-win situation either way.”
He keeps his arms spread wide, not peering, just waiting, giving Nicky as much time as he needs to make up his mind and yes, maybe he pulls the face he knows Nicky can’t resist most of the time. Bryan Adams sensitively sings …this is where I belong, and then Nicky melts into Joe’s arms with a silent sigh.
Tightly embraced they lay on the floor, dangerously close to the table and Joe joins the song, humming quietly along while he strokes Nicky’s head, carding his fingers through soft hair. Sometimes it scares him how much he feels for the love of his life and how deep these feelings reach, how strong they are rooted inside him. And how long he has known Nicky.
I couldn’t survive to lose you, this thought, with Nicky’s warmth and his breathing so close next to him that no sheet of paper would fit between them, wakes an unbearable ache in his heart. A pang of fear of the years that lie ahead of them, the unknown pain and deaths.
But as Nicky raises his head a little and rests his chin on his hand he puts on Joe’s chest, all worries dissolve into the Kaleidoscope eyes captivating Joe’s gaze. “Thank you,” Nicky tells him in that tone of voice he always uses when he speaks from the depths of his heart. Before Joe can reply, Nicky knits his eyebrows together, informing Joe that not all shadows have left his own eyes.
Nicky examines him for a moment but he doesn’t say anything, instead craning his neck to kiss Joe and express more than words ever could. It is a sweet kiss, tasting like eternity and faith and the adamant, unwavering confidence each of Nicky’s touches lets flow into him. And just like that the fear, merciless ice and steel inside Joe, is gone completely.
As they part, Joe smiles tenderly up at Nicky. “Thank you,” he returns.
It’s to here I will always, always return, the song rings out and Joe cups Nicky’s face and kisses him again.
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Koben's Day Job (Underworld Hits)
I have something to live for now other than just marching through life for its own sake, and that means it’s time for some requisitions. Decent speeder for one thing, trudging through sand is considerably more taxing than marching drills. Casual civilian clothes, people keep mistaking me for a trooper for some reason, and also seem not to like them—I’m not quite sure why. Maybe a blaster pistol, every other person carries a blaster pistol around here, but my blaster rifle draws eyes. All those things take credits; a lot more credits than I’ve been earning.
It’s a fresh new subcycle, I’m up before the suns, my armors structural integrity exceeds military standard, and I took my blaster apart for a complete maintenance check last night. As far as killing for credits goes: I couldn’t ask for more optimal parameters.
The only wrinkle in the plan is I don’t know anybody on this planet willing to pay me—yet. There has to be at least one crime syndicate; the Empire has too loose a grip for them to not set up shop. Where there’s one, there’s usually two; and where there’s two, there’s usually conflict. Conflict leads to killings, killings lead to revenge, revenge causes collateral. Leave two people alone without a Storm trooper telling them to move along and eventually someone gets shot. Just need to make sure someone too lazy to do the shooting knows I’m really good at it.
Just got to town and the last sun’s already up. Speeder’s definitely my first purchase. Now, where would I find a congregation of low lives around here? I think criminals have morning shifts – I’m a criminal and I’m awake. Not that everything around here doesn’t look like a breeding ground for crime, but that’s the problem; it all blends together. Guess I should start walking down alleys.
Oh, perfect, this one leads down a side street, half the businesses are abandoned: got to be a front. An alien’s leaning against the wall, good start. He’s pointing a blaster at me now—this is going great! ‘Hey who the hell-’ Grab his blaster, twist his wrist – not hard enough to break it – start negotiating from a position of power.
‘Hi! I’m looking for work: do you have a crime boss who’s willing to hire people freelance? I don’t really have the option of being tied down right now, but as you can see I’ve got nerves of steel and great combat abilities. If he has a shooting range I’d be willing to demonstrate my blaster prowess too.’
‘I just keep a lookout for troopers you freak. Aren’t you a trooper?’ ‘This armor is stolen.’ Half true. Definitely not telling him I deserted, but every piece of gear I took with me is technically owned by the Imperial Armory, so continuing to use it for unsanctioned work is theft. I really wish I didn’t have to spell it out all the time. Maybe I should put a new paint job on the shopping list. But black and white are both such good base colors, and those are already official. Silver maybe, blaster metal gray?
‘Well, I guess stealing a trooper’s armor is pretty hardcore. Fine, lemme make a call.’ Better disconnect the battery so if he tries to shoot me I don’t have to deal with a nasty welt. Gun’s holstered, datapad’s out, door’s open. Give him a thumbs up and walk inside. This is going really well so far! If negotiations are quick I might even be done by lunch.
This place certainly looks like a crime den. Spice heads staring off into the middle distance behind curtained off rooms, vaguely erotic moans so thoroughly permeating the air that I can’t pin down a source, a bunch of scowling aliens of species’ I can’t quite identify with muscles and blasters to keep the peace. Did they use the Imperial information broadcasts on how to identify crime dens as a blueprint? I guess if they want to avoid people stumbling in here by mistake it’s better not to be subtle about things. That’s smart, these guys are smart.
Alright, in front of their boss, my hands are up and there’s four blasters pointed at me: standard protocol, liking the professionalism. That regular office chair she’s sitting in undermines her authority, but a very solid grasp of the fundamentals of power projection. Reminds me of an Imperial officer. Of her.
Her henchmen look nervous, why? Oh, my fists clenched. Unwind them slowly. ‘So, you’re looking for work?’ ‘Yes Ma’am!’ Not sure why they’re all laughing at a standard greeting, but it broke the tension and this negotiation is back on track.
‘You’re in luck. One of my men decided to form his own little gang. Ten thousand if you kill him. Take out as many of his pals as you can too – I’ll throw you an extra thousand per head. Ten of ‘em altogether. Ah what the hell: I’ll round it up to twenty thousand if you kill the whole crew.’ Oh that’s a good warm up to get me back in the habit, I guess she figured this wasn’t worth wasting her real members’ time with.
‘Before you ask, I’m letting you do it because it’s suicide: either you prove yourself to be a very dangerous, and thus very lucrative, partner – or you get out of my hair.’ Oh. I might need to look elsewhere for future career opportunities. But credits are credits. ‘I accept, I’ll get right on it.’
Alright, better look through the summary on the way. Apartment block at the far side of town. One of them’s out front shaking down anyone who tries to get to their home, two diluting spice in the basement to stretch for a profit, three putting together shoddy homemade weapons to sell folks, four relaxing on the top floor.
Wow. This operation is terrible! She could have just waited six cycles for it to collapse from being stretched too thin or dying of fumes or blowing half the block apart with their jury rigging. Oh well, her impatience is credits in my pocket.
Half hour walk and I’m there, not too bad. Big guy out front, they at least know to play to their strengths. Walk up towards the door, not him, he’ll put his hand out to stop me. ‘Hey that’ll be fifty-’ Knife from the utility belt on the other side of my body, push his blaster aside, aim behind the nape of his neck, clean my knife off on his shirt, stuff the collar into his throat to muffle the gurgling, wipe the blood off my visor – blue with white spots in it, nasty. Scan his face and I’m up a thousand credits. Good start!
A few murmurs from the crowd out front as he slinks down, but a finger over the mouth port is a gesture understood by almost every sentient. Would be nice to handle this without getting shot at.
Should probably work my way up from the basement. Boots thump all the way down the rickety old stairs. ‘Hey, who the hell are-’ I’ve had enough of exotic blood colors for today. Fingers cradling the neck, knuckles supported against the wall, thumbs on the trachea, pop!
He slinks down; hands on his throat twitching and scrabbling around like if he finds the right angle he’ll be able to un-collapse his trachea. He has a box cutter right there, this is just embarrassing. The field tracheotomy wouldn’t help because I’m standing right here, but if you’re not gonna do that at least die respectably.
His partner’s coming out to investigate. Human, I’m familiar enough with that one. Knife to the temple on her way out the door, spin her around to at least keep most of it off me. Swipe each side down the back of her shirt, let her fall. Two more scans, two thousand more credits.
Hope those stairs don’t give out on my way back up. A blaster just went off. Missed me by a few degrees, but the Twi’lek just died with a smirk on his face. Clatter and shouting upstairs. I didn’t give him enough credit.
Double time up the stairs, the luxury of surprise is gone and this basement is a death trap. Three of them at the hallway intersection, blaster pistols in each hand. I beat them to the draw, but none of us have time to aim. Blind fire for each of their midsections, clip two in the arm. Good enough. They have a smaller target, but more shots.
Close the distance leading with my left side; not coming out of a point blank shootout feeling good, but a melee gives me decent odds. Feel warmth, then heat, then searing pain ripple in waves through my arm as each successive shot connects. It only becomes a problem if I stop feeling it. Pin the one I didn’t hit to the wall. He’s bigger, but with the suit I’m heavier. A few stabs to the midsection is all I have time for. Just have to trust that my old Lethal Puncture Drills were ingrained deeply enough.
Throw him at his friends, their blasters clatter across the floor. Hard to line up a shot while the feeling’s receding from my fingers. Might just have to stab them. Why’s there an electrical whine coming from down the other hall?
Really wish I’d heard the other three setting up a turret, the barrel’s already glowing. Just jump back and hit the floor, it looks like that thing can’t pivot downward: they were expecting their friends to last longer. Taking a second look, I don’t recognize that model.
Oh, I see. It’s custom built. Those must be the engineers. There’s two dozen rifle grade bolts cracking through the hallway on separate angles. That’s clever, in a way. Much easier to hold ground when you can put fire downrange of an entire corridor at once instead of needing to swivel a traditional turret. These people would have had a great career in Imperial R&D.
Can feel at least five points of impact from my legs up through my back. Hear the battery whining again, I should have at least a few seconds to assess the situation. Just need to roll over and sit up. Body doesn’t want anything more than to lay here and die, it’s fighting me every step of the way. I’ve beaten stronger enemies.
They’re using the armor plating as a seat, and the battery’s facing me. All that effort put into this killing machine, and they mounted it backwards. Unbelievable. I’ll definitely be insulted when I have the time.
It’s an easy shot at this distance, even one handed. Haven’t had a chance to appreciate my visors light equalizing tech lately, but that ball of plasma rupturing and flaring up all at once would definitely have blinded me otherwise. It blinded them, but that’s because their eyes boiled and popped once the heat hit them. Hope there’s something left of them to scan.
Alright, up on my feet. See scorch marks on the ones I was fighting, friendly fire is a bad way to – wait a minute this one’s not dead. Oh hell, they’re one of those fluid based species’. The heat dispersed under their membrane enough not to kill them instantly, but now their bodily functions are shutting down one by one as they boil alive from the inside.
That’s nine accounted for, last one’s probably the type to send other people to die for him so I should be able to handle him even banged up like this. Got time to put this one out of their misery. Never really studied xenobiology, but a cut straight down the middle should do it.
There: the steam’s escaping, the fluid’s pooling on the floor. Mercy killed by an enemy combatant isn’t a bad way to go. Hope whoever gets me gives me the same courtesy. Nine scans, nine thousand credits.
Retire the blaster rifle for now, arm’s in too bad shape to brace at the foregrip, pick up one of their pistols. It’s about as low power as they come, but still enough to kill an unarmored target. Sights are a few degrees out, trigger’s stiff, corrosion on the battery terminal. All fixable, but why spend the time and effort on something that barely passes the threshold to stop being classed as a stun weapon?
I should pick up a good sidearm when this is done, something that can blow clean through the armor on a speeder bike in one shot. Not too worried about concealment, just need something I can fire one handed. Everyone’s always way more impressed by blaster pistol deadshots than blaster rifle point troops. I’d have an excuse to do a ton of firing practice too, only ever got trained with longarms.
Maybe get a blaster proof vest and some heat diffusing leggings and learn how to fight like those holovid adventure stars. On the other hand, I’ve killed scores of idiots who looked and acted like the holovid stars, so maybe that stuff only works from the other side of a projector.
Stairs. Three flights of stairs between here and the top floor. Probably a bigger challenge than the target at this point. A damage evaluation should help pass the time. The skin on my left leg is probably cooked and peeling considering the pain recedes somewhat whenever I take the weight off it. Right leg has sustained minimal blaster fire, might even escape with just a bruise. Left arm is limp but I already knew that. Right arm and head both uninjured. Dull aching in my back, but I have enough mobility through the pain that I doubt there’s any spinal flash fusion or damage beyond the musculature. Nothing that bacta can’t solve.
As for my armor, the heat weave will definitely need a proper evaluation, might even need to replace a few pads. Haven’t bothered looking, but I have to assume the polish is ruined. This has also been a pretty gore spattered mission now that I think of it. Strip the plates, strip the heat weave, soak each one in cleaning solution and plain water respectively, see if there’s any meaningful damage, reevaluate from there. Should give me time to do a quick cursory on the circuitry, but nothing seems broken so far.
The stairs are behind me. A locked door is in front of me. The only electronic door in the whole building. More foresight than I was expecting, honestly. The walls in this place are pretty thin though. Fire a few rifle blasts, don’t have to worry about accuracy, to compromise the structural integrity and they should cave to my body weight. Take a few steps back, draw the pistol, brace for a lot of pain trying to get these legs to run. Three. Two. One.
Two screams as I hurtle through the wall, one his and another from the woman he’s using as a shield. Shit. Really don’t want to cause collateral. Killed enough civilians for one lifetime. They don’t know that though. All they can see is two meters of jet black imperial steel cast in blood and tempered with blaster fire. Play it cool. Play this ice cold, Koben.
‘Drop the blaster or I’ll kill her! She’s a mother, you want a mother’s blood on your hands?!’ ‘I’ve killed plenty of mothers.’ Can’t shoot him yet, his last twitch would pull the trigger on her. ‘Whatever she’s paying you I can match it!’ ‘I can’t buy credibility.’ Point it at me, what’s one more burn?
Take a tentative step forward. ‘Don’t come any closer, I’ll do it!’ ‘I’m waiting.’ Pure theatrics, but I’m the only one who knows it. Hostage takers know they can’t kill their leverage: the second they do their position collapses. The fact I’m already here to kill him complicates that though.
He’s soft. Played at the criminal life and fell in too deep too fast. I can see the sweat on his brow, shake in his hands. Barely holding the blaster any more. Just have to bait him with a sliver of hope, then spring the trap when he bolts for it.
‘What’s your plan? Stay here, wait for the Empire to follow up on those blaster shots?’ ‘There’s a fire escape! I’ll go out the back, take my speeder, skip town! Skip the planet! Skip the system once I can afford it!’ Pause to let him think I’m entertaining that stupid idea. ‘Fine. Twenty thousand. On the table, then go.’ He’s shifting his body to reach for his credits. He doesn’t know his wrist moved, messed up his grip. Line of fire would just singe her chin. Skin grows back.
This trigger feels awful. Good thing I keep my gauntlet calibrated, might have missed otherwise. His face isn’t holding up well, maybe this thing packs more punch than I thought. Not quite sure what just splashed across her face, it all blends together once it gets flash fried. He’s down. She’s really lucky his blaster slipped off his finger. Better disconnect it, prevent any last minute misfires from making all that effort to avoid shooting her pointless. Ten bodies, twenty thousand credits.
She’s screaming. Of course she’s screaming, she’s probably never seen a man die before. Can’t sit her down, people don’t respond well to being touched when they’re in hysterics. Best thing I can do is probably get her something to wipe her face. I burst through right next to the bathroom, which is good because that’s about as far as I can walk.
Grab a cloth. Slightly damp already. Throw it towards her and fall to the floor as gracefully as I can manage. That breach was already pushing it. Can I scan him from here, will it reach? Just barely, but good enough. Scan locked in. Should probably do a few stretches, get the blood pumping again. I have a long walk back to get paid.
‘What the hell are you doing?!’ ‘Stretching. You can go by the way. Might want to clean your face. I threw you a cloth.’ I don’t know what her expression is trying to say, but I doubt she does either. She picked up the cloth at least. Not wiping very well, but the emotional numbness as her adrenaline responses level out is probably setting in. Hard to focus on wiping dried viscera like that.
Time to get up. Feeling a little better, should probably keep trying to get the blood flowing in my left arm. Looting rights are practically implicit contract text in bounty killing jobs, so I should see if he had anything worth taking. Speeder keys, not bad. Pocket change. Of course he wasn’t carrying twenty thousand, nobody does.
She’s crying in the corner. Right, that’s what happens to your emotions if you’re not experienced. I guess she probably thinks I meant all that stuff I said. She’s unarmed, the helmet can come off. On the coffee table it goes, next to both blaster pistols. ‘I didn’t mean those things I said. I was just bluffing so he’d flinch.’ She’s still crying.
Not really sure what else to do. I should try to get some of this blood off of me, it’s really been building up on the edges of my visor. He only had the one cloth. I think I saw a dish cloth in the kitchen. The tears have receded into a rocking sob. ‘I’m sorry you had to watch your boyfriend die after he pointed a gun at you.’
She’s looking up at me. That’s progress. She’s angry too, so she’s at least past the numbness. ‘He wasn’t my boyfriend you...fucking idiot! He was a client! He was a regular. I thought he was pretty okay. He tipped a lot and he was always really up front about when he wanted to do weird stuff and sometimes we’d chat and one time he got his friends to really scare a clingy client and. I’ll miss him.’
Oh. She’s sobbing again. I don’t think I can make her feel any better. She got all the anger out so it doesn’t eat her up inside like a necrotic wound at least. The visor’s clean. I can help her plan at least. Always thought forward pretty well.
‘Can you get home?’ Her head just moved up and down between her knees. ‘Alright. I need to leave now. You should leave too. Sex work is illegal. It doesn’t matter to me, but the troopers will arrest you if you tell them the truth, and if you don’t they’ll still probably take you in for questioning and make you relive the whole thing.’ She’s getting on her feet. My helmet shows more emotion than her eyes are right now. ‘Yeah. Thanks. Hope I don’t see you around, but this is a small town. If you ever need a thrill, I guess I’ll take your credits. Bye.’
Decide to give her a few minute head start so we don’t have to stare at each other in the hallway. No bacta spray in the medicine cabinet, mostly just cheap street drugs. Some painkillers and antiseptic though, could use those. Probably already pushing it on the troopers showing up, so no time to strip down for some proper first aid. Got them wrapped up in a bag for later, making my way to the fire escape. That part of his plan was sound.
Half tempted to just throw myself over the edge. It would be faster, and if I land splayed out enough it might hurt less than walking down all those flights of stairs. Better not. Gravity is one of the few things it’s really hard to make armor for.
I’m shocked that his speeder is brand new. Guess he was a speeder guy, spent his first haul of ill gotten gains on it. More flashy than practical, but it should do the trick. Five minutes to get back, I could get used to not needing to march everywhere. Injuries notwithstanding, this job wasn’t a bad way to get my foot in the door on this planet. I saw a few eyes peeking out at me from the apartments during the gunfight, the HoloNet will be talking about the gang that just got taken out. Doubt she’ll go talking to the troops, so no names: just the jet black trooper who killed ten gangsters by herself. Word gets around, folks will want that trooper doing jobs for them, and I’ll have more credits than I know what to do with in no time.
One step out of the speeder and I’m on the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of me, and my good mood with it. Really have to ask them if they have any bacta spray, that was not a lot of pressure to put on that knee. Take a few seconds, breathe, push up on your less bad leg. There. I can already see that shifty doorman. Not fast enough to get the blaster out of his hand right now.
‘I’m the one your boss hired.’ Back in the holster. ‘Oh, right, sorry. You look like shit. What the hell’d the boss have you do?’ ‘Kill a rival gang.’ ‘Oh, like what, hunt them all down? You got that done pretty quick.’ This guy could go all day, and I really can’t right now. ‘I want to report back to her, not you.’ A clueless nod, quick ping on the datapad, the door opens. Mercifully.
I can put up with a few chuckles from the bouncers watching me limp and wince my way to the back room as long as the credits are good. Her Empire aping veneer of disinterested professionalism didn’t last long, I barely got in the door.
‘You lived? I’m already seeing news broadcasts about the gang being massacred. Half the video is blurred out. Why the knife, what happened to those three burnt ones, good Emperor on Coruscant why did you have to dissect that watery one?’ Too tired for professionalism or entertaining inane curiosities. ‘I could talk better after a bacta spray. Figure you don’t have a tank so I won’t even ask. Also my credits.’
Got a booth to myself and as many vials as I need. She offered to get some very pretty working girls to help spray me, but I’ve always preferred handling this myself. Armor plates still come off well, nothing’s been welded together. Body glove still slides off easily—oh yeah there’s a bunch of thigh flesh hanging off of it. Mostly bruising otherwise, minor first degree burns. Oh hell some necrotic flesh on the left arm. No way around that problem other than through.
Can’t use the usual method of testing what’s still alive considering I can’t feel anything below the shoulder, so I guess I’ll just have to settle for carving out the black parts. Burn goes deeper than I thought, I’m faced with a problem: it won’t heal right if I don’t carve out every last piece, but as soon as I do I’ll start bleeding out faster than I can bandage it. Nothing else for it I guess. ‘I need some help with this. Don’t pick a cute girl, they’ve gotta have medical experience.’
An alien half as tall as he is wide is waddling sideways through the door. ‘You know first aid?’ ‘I’m a doctor.’ He has an accent I couldn’t place with an astronav, but I’ll have to take his word for it. Flop the arm down on the table, four of his six hands start poking and prodding for a response. I don’t have one for him. ‘Not good, but with your field dressing I guess you already knew that. You used a combat knife for this? Why not just lop the thing off, cauterize it on a speeder exhaust?! I’ve got tools.’
He wasn’t lying about his medical skills. I can’t physically feel it, but watching him work is a relief. Finer and finer flakes of black carbon are starting to pile up on the table and not a drop of blood. Medical droids didn’t used to do this clean of a job, and all he has is a magnifying glass and a scalpel! This man should be serving the galaxy’s richest and finest, not working out of a place like this.
‘Why are you working out of a place like this with your skills?’ ‘Imperial officer came into my clinic. Told me he had a son with a rare neurological condition. Needed a full neuroskeletal graft or he’d never move again. Very tricky job.’ ‘And you didn’t succeed?’ ‘Hell no! He was a dick. His son was a bigger dick. Insulted my looks, insulted my staff, insulted the art I had up on the walls. Waved a credstick in my face like that’d make it all okay. I have my pride – I botched it on purpose. Didn’t just botch it, made it so nobody could unbotch it. That takes talent. Now he breathes in with a pump, out with a vacuum!’ He’s laughing so hard he has to pause.
‘Then he tried to have you killed?’ ‘You got it. So, don’t make fun of how I look, how I talk, or anything else; and I’ll stitch you up as good as a bacta tank!’ All I can respond with is a slow nod. ‘Speaking of, all done. Only a tiny bit of good flesh came out with it, but even that set off the waterworks. Keep it wrapped up for a week and it’ll be like it never happened.’ ‘What about the nerve damage?’ ‘What about the nerve damage? Bacta it, keep that armor off so it has room to work and you’ll be able to juggle before morning. You can pull a spray nozzle, can’t you?’ I’m starting to understand the hostility that led him here, but the spray is already starting to soak in. Second coat, it’s starting to leave a thin film, done.
The only parts of me that didn’t get hit were my feet and head, which means the only parts of my suit I can wear are the boots and helmet. Glad I always wear shorts and a tank top under the glove. Still feel naked walking back to her office with the rest of the suit bundled up in my arms.
‘I’ve given it some thought, and I don’t want to hear the story. You seem to value discretion, and you’ve shattered my expectations – I took you for a lunatic with a deathwish who’d only gotten this far through a string of bad decisions; but consider that opinion retracted. You solved a lot of problems for me today, and set the groundwork for a good deal of credits in my future. Consider the medical treatment a professional courtesy, just this once. Your payment.’
Suits me. ‘Just put it on the pile. Could you break change though? I can’t exactly do it at a bank, and paying in ten thousands looks suspicious. One of those, nine thousands, and ten hundreds please.’ ‘That’s the least I can do. You never gave me your name by the way. If we’re going to forge a friendship in credits, I’ll need something to call you.’ Her attitude changed completely now that she knows I’m useful. Maybe she really did used to be an officer.
‘Trooper.’ ‘Trooper. Trooooperr. Vague enough to be plausibly deniable, but not something that comes up enough to cause confusion. Well then, call me Vranki—and enjoy your credits Trooper.’
‘Affirmative Mrs. Vranki. If you have any contacts who could use my skills, pass my call sign along.’
I put enough bacta on that most of the pain has already receded. The skin isn’t visible through the film, so I can’t judge the actual healing, but at least the dull ache has been replaced with a gentle tingle.
The suns aren’t even at their apex yet. I should head home, rest up. Get started on that maintenance. Haven’t been injured that badly before midday since my jedi hunting days.
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Look what you made me do…
A different kind of pirate oc appears!
Haname is not of the same world as Vienny! Vienny’s world is steampunkish with a little cyper space punk sprinkled in with flying ships and people born with magic powers rather than using witchcraft to use spells
Haname’s world is built more like a storybook without space travel and the modernity that Vienny’s world has. Haname’s world is a bit medieval
Now story time:
Haname joined a pirate group for a quick mission. The crew was not meant to stick together after they attacked the Sun Kingdom but it did stick and they became a permanent crew
Haname is a vampiric demon, a species I can’t remember the name of (I’d have to look for my notes but I’m lazy) and because of this, she was shunned from her village and became a mercenary to survive. Because of this backstory, she makes quick friends with J, a man with a similar sob story. As the story progresses, J and Haname fall in love and start a bloodthirsty crazy and enthusiastic relationship (what can you expect from two unhinged vampire mercenaries)
This drawing was of my favorite scene of theirs to write, J’s death. Haname and her crew are minor antagonists of this story (a comic I had been working on now turned prologue called Secret Swords) so they didn’t have much to do during the attack on the Sun Kingdom’s capitol. At the time, they removed themselves from the war and didn’t care about taking down the Sun kingdom anymore, only about what they want to do and nothing else
Haname hadn’t seen J for some time now after he was separated from the crew a month back. At the capitol, the crew got caught in the middle of a surprise attack and were scrambling to escape it. J had already been there looking for signs of where the crew may be headed towards when he sensed his wifey.
Giddy and relieved, they rushed towards each other (possibly murdering people in their way) and reunited. It was short lived, someone used holy magic to try shooting Haname down and J shoved her out of the way and burned up in her arms. It’d happened so quickly and Haname was in such a state of grief that she slaughtered everyone in the vicinity with just her teeth
The scene is written to show how the pirate crew take the budding war lightly and as something that isn’t important. They killed many soldiers as they escaped when it didn’t affect them, all because they could. They didn’t assist the battle and had small talk while good people with families were dying.
J’s death pushes Haname over the edge and was done to show that despite how much the Pirate crew want to be separate from a war between two kingdoms they DONT care about, they can still be a casualty
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How to do a Better Velma Show
No, I haven't watched HBO's Velma because it sucks ass based on the reviews, and I don't wanna boost its ratings by hate-watching. So, instead, I'm gonna provide a few ideas that I have to make a better show centred around Velma. These are only my ideas but feel free to give your opinions on them.
Make Velma flawed, but likeable and relatable. No character is perfect, but it's fine to include a few flaws in some characters. For her, maybe make her just a little bossy, regarding Shaggy, but not to the point of insufferable, in fact make her learn what being a good leader is, while keeping in touch with her famous characteristics. Make her a bit too quick thinking, but eventually have her learn better critical analysis when it comes to solving mysteries.
Race swaps are fine; include them if you want, but leave out the goddamn stereotypes, e.g. Velma being a pretentious, know-it-all southeast Asian girl. Like, not all Asians are like this!
Cut down on the gore and sex scenes. This is when they were set in HIGH SCHOOL, right??? So, why does it have a scene of some girls showering with their lady parts covered? I mean, come on, I know it's supposed to be for adults, but don't sexualise kids! Or keep bringing up peepee jokes in relation to some kid! (I'm talking about the one with Fred) Plus, as someone who draws gore, gore doesn't equal "mature show". Putting gore in a show for shock value just comes off as lazy. I also recommend either having the murder victims killed off in a "clean" way (no violence like removing their brains, maybe something mysterious) or maybe have them kidnapped or something. Yeah, Mystery Incorporated had a lot of death but didn't go over the top with its violent scenes.
Hire better voice actors. The voice acting in this show is terrible, particularly for those voicing the side characters and Mindy Kaling. :/ The other main characters, I feel they could be better, but the character with the most tolerable voice acting is Norville, voiced by Sam Richardson. He could sound a little goofy like Shaggy, but not too much. Speaking of...
Give my man Shaggy more respect. He doesn't have to get with Velma, but he also doesn't need to be treated this shitty. Like, maybe have her be touched by Shaggy's confession, but politely let him down and apologise for not being able to return those feelings. Also, make him a dog lover, a foodie, and take out the "junkie" jokes. Make him smart yet goofy as well!
Fred could've SERIOUSLY been done better. -_- I don't mind him being written as a rich kid, but maybe have him be a kind guy who's eager to be independent and start his own trap making business. An idea his own dad looks down upon. Have him be fed up hanging around with his douchebag jock friends and start hanging with the Mystery Gang slowly over time. Oh, and a personal choice, make him neurodivergent. :D
Make Velma neurodivergent as well. Just saying. UWU
Take out the godawful meta humour and pop culture references. I don't need to explain why, but I will say that Mindy Kaling should've actually put a lot more effort into her writing.
Have Daphne be only a slight snob, but not a bitch. In fact, have her eventually diss the status quo and go hang with the Mystery Gang and embrace her goofy self like in some other incarnations, e.g. Be Cool, Scooby Doo. Oh, and have her be part of the karate club.
Maybe have Velma's parents be more loving and perhaps diss the "missing mother" subplot. Maybe have them be divorced and Velma missing the time when they used to be together.
Somehow introduce Scooby Doo into this. The gang isn't the same without him.
More convincing platonic and romantic chemistry between characters. Doesn't matter if they're hetero or LGBT, MAKE THEM WORK.
BETTER DEPICTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS.
Don't hire Mindy Kaling on the team. XD
OK, these are my thoughts on how to make a better Velma show! Feel free to add your own input as well!
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Vampire Bashter is everything.
if you have time/spoons for it, I would love a follow up to the last one with Jesters first meal.
HEY! Last Valentines ask, woo - I went a slightly different direction for this one, I hope you don't mind. It started as a little tiny leadup to a first nibble, but was starting to get a touch long for a quick snippet.
Everything after is pretty blurry. Not like she has something in her eye or anything - if anything, a few blinks in everything is sharper. Acute. But blurry as in smeared, as in everything is moving fast and she can hardly keep up, as in she’s moving fast and her head’s still looking a little too far to the left.
Oh. Oh man. She gets it now. Gets why Yasha’s eyes trail over the aftermath of a fight. Gets to feel her blood, what’s left, sloshing to lazy heartbeats. Gets is really doing work, is what she means.
Caleb’s blurry with blood - Jester skids through it when she throws herself down to help. There’s a second where she licks her lips, runs a finger through the caterpillar crawl, coaxes it onto her finger to admire, before - before it hits her this is Caleb, their Cay-leb, and he’s dead and she’s -
She casts Revivify. Expects it to hurt. It doesn’t.
Caleb breathes again, and his wounds give one last gurgle, and Jester gurgles something of her own and pats his head and stumbles away.
The fleshy, weeping walls of Cognouza look juicy.
--
Jester almost forgot about the whole ‘oh yeah I’m a vampire now’ thing. Honest. Really!
(They’d saved the world, and Lucien was dead, and Molly was too, and whoever was here was scared, and she wasn’t scared, she was just tired and hungry. So. Nothing to talk about! It could wait.)
The afternoon sun is drowsy, filtered through clouds like satin sheets.
It burns.
Yasha throws a wing over. The feathers don’t sear, though her exposed skin does as she gently shuffles Jester into the shade. A shove would have done the job.
“Yasha -”
“It’s fine,” she says, when they’re both under the trees. The rest of the Nein hasten to explain the broad strokes to the Clays, celebratory return (a heroes’ welcome! And she’s missing out!) dampened just a bit.
She isn’t, she really isn’t. So Jester huffs and - and she has to really lean up on her tippy-toes, so high she thinks she might topple, to take Yasha’s face in her hands and cast Cure Wounds. Just enough to help.
“Now it’s fine,” she declares. Hesitates - she can almost hover like this, with Yasha’s jaw as an achor, and feel the muscles pulling there. It’s almost normal, not like it was around the others. Because they’re both vampires, now.
“Yasha?”
“Hm?”
Jester bites her lip. Doesn’t think it through - her fangs are more, now, and they draw a nice little gash in red ink. She doesn’t have enough blood for that, anymore. “It - it’ll be fine, right, Yasha?”
Her brows furrow, her wings fold. “I - I mean. I can’t promise that. ‘Cause it wasn’t alright for me.” Jester winces. The honesty is nice, though, even as Yasha stammers. “But! We’ll try. Okay? We’ll try for fine.”
“Thanks, Yasha.” Jester sniffles.
She isn’t crying, even as her eyes burn, desperate for tears.
They always tell you how vampires get blood from other people. Like how Yasha drinks from Beau, sometimes from bad guys they’re killing anyways. Not that Jester’s seen her do it, but - she’s read a few books, okay?
No one ever talks about where the tears come from. Apparently because they’ve only got so many, after they turn.
Guess she used all of them on Molly’s body. Haha.
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headcanons: Goto Ryuji
content warning for mentions of alcoholism, domestic and child abuse, and murder
Quick headcanons -
Name: Goto Ryuji
Age: 32
Gender: Male
DOB/Place: April 8th, 2028 in Okinawa, Japan
Rank/Type: S Rank Fighter
Guild/Occupation: Draw Sword Guild Leader
Past Occupation(s):
Skills:
Weapons: Sword
Family: Hoshino Jun (brother in-law) (deceased)
Wakabayashi Anzu (mom) (alive)
Goto Isamu (dad) (alive)
Goto Fumiko (older sister) (deceased)
Hoshino Minoru (nephew) (alive)
Core headcanons -
Hidden talent: Pretty good at cooking
Favorite food: Crab legs
What motivates them: Minoru and the rest of his family,
Treasured possession: Any of the presents Minoru got for him (pots and pans, a fluffy blanket, a few cat themed things)
Deepest secret: He’s killed Minoru's father and hid the body and no one knows what happened to him
Best/Worst thing to happen to them: His family and his hunter family/His sister marrying that man
Random memories: Picking up Minoru in the pouring rain from his dad's house and the way he was clinging so tightly to him Goto had to let him keep his jacket, meeting Reiji for the first time and thinking he looks so edgy, watching an old lady feeding the cats in a nearby alley and doing the same when she stopped coming around, going out for a walk in the fields nearby with a friend and stargazing and realizing how he felt, going to his sisters baby shower and immediately picking up on husband's weird behavior when he caught him glaring at everyone behind their backs,
Best friend/Worst enemy: Hoshino Minoru/Nishimura Oniyuri, the founder and original leader of the Draw Sword Guild
Good/Bad traits: Practical, relaxed/Stubborn, literally suicidal, insensitive, possessive,
Things they’ve done/like to do: Cook his parents recipes, feed the neighborhood cats, help his parents out with various chores like picking vegetables, cleaning the dishes, setting the table, etc, collect various vinyl albums,
Personality type: “Virtuoso” ISTP-A (11% extraverted, 89% introverted; 26% intuitive, 74% observant; 69% thinking, 31% feeling; 33% judging, 67% prospecting; 71% assertive, 29% turbulent)
Nervous habit: Goto doesn’t get nervous (he gets infinitely more trigger happy), drinking,
Things they’re afraid of: Minoru losing faith/trust in him,
Things they want to accomplish: Befriending the pregnant neighborhood cat, getting the courage to teach Minoru some cooking recipes,
Additional headcanons -
He collects swords and also vinyls
He day drinks a lot
Has the patience for physical brain teaser puzzles, like Rubik cubes
He's a great cook but is too lazy to go out and get groceries so he just orders out a lot
His laugh is kinda obnoxious and he's quite self conscious of it
He really likes sunlight
He lives outside of the Draw Sword Guild dorms, partially because the house he got has such large windows that Ryuji absolutely loves
Really likes studio Ghibli movies and most old anime movies as well (Ponyo, Howl's Moving Castle, Spirited Away, Akira, etc)
Their Timeline -
Age 12: his sister gets married + moves out
Age 13: announces child + Ryuji picks up on abuse happening + Minoru is born
7 years pass; sister breaks her leg + leaves her job + returns to japan
Age 20: finally gets to see sister and Minoru again
Age 21: ryuji is confirmed A rank (still can't decide - flip a coin decided for me)
3 years pass; Ryuji spends time with Minoru and his sister
Age 24: Ryuji joins the draw sword guild + upgraded to group leader
Age 25: sister gets diagnosed with cancer and eternal sleep
Age 26: Ryuji is upgraded to vice
Age 27: sister passed away in her sleep, Ryuji didn't get to say goodbye
Age 28: red gate incident + Nishimura Oniyuri dies + reawakening as S rank
Age 29: Minoru’s phone call + killing his dad
Age 30: Minoru is confirmed S rank
Age 31: Minoru joins the draw sword guild
Age 32: now
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Some differences in battle scene + attempt to k*ll Charles + Lance monologue (daemon route)
Finished at last, lazy me. Here goes transcription of what I've noticed in daemon route.
AFTER ERIKA CREATES A SHIELD
I attacked with the tenebrous energy building up in my hands. Their screams of horror when I picked them up to destroy them. I was going to destroy every one of them. They could do nothing against me.
A SILHOUETTE APPEARS BEHIND MATHIEU.
Two tentacles of darkness immediately grabbed him. His scream went silent as they wrapped around his throat. There was a snap and the man fell to the ground with a muffled clatter. Mathieu turned toward me; he barely had time to understand what was happening.
M: You… you were not … What the hell is that?
ERIKA SAW THE GRENADE AND THREW IT BACK.
There were confused exclamations and it exploded. Its debris flew up and crashed into the wall of darkness that was erected in front of us.
ERIKA LANDS IN FRONT OF CHARLES AND TEMPLARS POINT THEIR WEAPONS AT HER.
When the daemons' darkness disappeared a second later, they were lying in pools of their own blood.
My father looked at me wide-eyed, perplexed. An aura of deep darkness covered me, swirls of dark energy coiled around me.
C: COME BACK WITH ME, I WILL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO YOU
Among the three options, the only different is:
E: I didn't come here to hear you, I just came to kill you.
With surprising vitality, he turned around to flee into the forest. Anger, frustration screamed inside me. How dare he, how dare he think he could escape me so easily?
A tentacle of darkness caught him by the ankle and he rolled on the ground. How could he still think he could get out of this situation? After all he had done, he dared to come here, to attack us in our city?
E: I think you have seriously underestimated our abilities.
My voice was barely shaking, but I was boiling with fury. My vision was blurry, I could barely control my movements. (the two previous lines were in both routes, subtly changed) The darkness grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up.
I threw him against the lemon tree and stepped towards him, drawing my sword from my belt. He tried to struggle for a moment, but quickly gave up. I stepped closer until his face was only inches from mine. I could see the dread in his eyes and found it delicious, it looked like the dread I had read in the eyes of his victims. The victims that had been calling for revenge inside me ever since I knew they existed.
C: wait, I am… still your father.
E: You do realize you're not making things better for you, don't you?
I squeezed his neck even tighter to shut him up. He was running out of air. This time, I would have my revenge. I stepped back and removed the sword.
LANCE SHOWS UP
I turned my head, Lance was standing there two steps away from me. (in the daemon version there is no "I didn't see him coming, blinded by my anger" line) Cameria was right behind him.
E: He knows nothing, lying is the only thing he knows.
L: That's not the point. HH will be able to read his mind.
E: It is not for you to decide, he is mine.
I raised the sword again to strike my father. Lance jumped towards me and caught me by the hilt. A ball of dark energy threw him backwards.
Caméria: Erika, you are crazy! He is not our enemy! quick change of heart of yours hein Caméria? *remembers her words to Lance not many episodes ago*
At that moment I felt that they were all my enemies.
Lance stood up, panting, and held out his hand to me.
L: Erika, listen. Don't kill him, I beg you.
E: You're in no position to lecture me!
L: Yes, that's right. Stop it. You won. You arrested him. That's enough.
I turn to my father. His eyes are glazed. He was vulnerable, I could… he was… vulnerable. I spit at his feet as I draw my sword again.
E: Remember this moment and ask yourself what kind of man you are, to the point of your enemy preventing your own daughter from killing you.
Lance remained silent and I begin to regain my composure.
(Daemon version line here: My vision was clearer, my heart beats slower). I took a deep breath and sat down on the floor.
AFTER LANCE'S "I BELIEVE THEY WERE THE LAST ONES, OR ALMOST" LINE
E: I am sorry for attacking you no, I am not. Did I hurt you?
L: No, I'm fine. I'll get a bruise, but I didn't break anything.
E: You shouldn't have stopped me, he should have died.
L: Maybe, but not by your hands. I didn't do it for him.
I raised my eyes in his direction. His features were rigid, serious.
AFTER LANCE'S "HIS MURDER WOULD BE OF NO USE TO ANYONE" LINE
L: And it wouldn't have relieved neither your anger nor your pain.
I bit my lip, frowning.
E: Anyway, it's too late now: we'll never know.
L: You have no idea how lucky you are.
I slowly stood up. I was all sore.
E: So, I suppose I should thank you?
L: I didn't say that.
I shrugged, I couldn't calm down. In fact, I wasn't even sure I wanted to calm down.
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@lee-sol sent:ㅤthem already laying on his bed as be walks into the room is something he’s definitely gotten used to, today however, after the shift he had… it’s more welcome than ever. he’d just gotten home from a tiring one, where the hours seemed to slow down, and he felt like he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.
he simply stares at them for a moment, before dropping his bag to the side, and crawling in to lay against them. a quick kiss is given in greeting, before he settles next to them.
“ i swear, people get more demanding around the holidays. ” it made sense to him, they were probably getting their christmas shopping done, getting that extra fuel of caffeine before embarking on their gift shopping journey. just because it made sense to him, doesn’t mean he had to like it. “ there were a few people holding up the lines, all because they didn’t like how i made their drinks, even though i made it just as they told me to. ” even recalling it makes his head hurt. “ wish you were there, i would’ve killed to see you put entitled assholes in their place. would’ve been pretty attractive…. ”
ㅤdozing in and out as they have been for the last hour or so, the sound of the bedroom door opening is enough to draw them out of their sleepy haze and make them stir. the strong smell of coffee which fills the room in the following moments tells them exactly who has entered, the comfort of which allows them to maintain the laziness of their rousing. laying on their side, one arm tucked under the pillow which their head rests upon, all byan has to do is allow their eyes to flutter open when they finally feel the weight of another person sinking into the mattress across from them.
unable to help the sickeningly sweet feelings of affection which bloom within their chest at the sight of him, a soft smile curves their lips. head turns slightly to receive the kiss he offers in greeting before their cheek drops back against the pillow, their somewhat bleary gaze admiring features that have become so familiar as he makes himself comfortable.
sol starts talking, and they listen, humming an acknowledging and vaguely sympathetic note while they slip deeper into the sense of security the sound of his voice brings. the arm previously curled to their chest shifts as he speaks, hand sliding up over his waist where fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, grabbing a loose hold on him.
ㅤㅤ" yeah? "ㅤsmile spreading wider at his note of wishing they'd been there, a quiet laugh is exhaled through their nose. oh, they like him... they wish they had been there too, to defend him against those obnoxiously hostile holiday shoppers. he looks exhausted, and they're sure it has a lot more to do with nasty customers than it does with making their stupidly specific drink orders.
ㅤㅤ" maybe i should come by tomorrow, hang around in case any of 'em try to cause you more trouble. "ㅤamusement marks their expression, but it's no joke — they're always dead serious when it comes to putting entitled shitheads in their place. that much more so when said entitled shitheads are giving their boyfriend a hard time at his minimum wage job.ㅤ" say all the shit to 'em that you're not allowed to, see how they like bein' yelled at while i tell 'em exactly where they can stick their drink if they got a problem with it. "
stifling a yawn, byan closes their eyes over again and draws in a breath full of sol's comforting scent.
ㅤㅤ" maybe even grab a few involuntary tips for ya for all the trouble. 'f they're out spendin' hundreds on presents for their stupid families, they can spare fifty bucks for the 'asshole fee' i'll implement. might even make 'em think twice next time. ...i mean, prob'ly not, "ㅤa beat, and their smile grows into a crooked grin,ㅤ" but that's when i start findin' their home addresses, y'know? "
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Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)
Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play, blood but not blood play...
He hated you.
Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin.
It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors.
Completely undiluted.
At the very beginning when you first moved in, you came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj."
Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America.
Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"
Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.
"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells.
Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness."
Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn.
Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.
But one can never be too sure
🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢
You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed. In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.
You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.
When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."
Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life.
The beauty.
Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?
It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.
You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek, "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch, I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.
Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now.
The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.
Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"
When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you.
Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web.
Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course."
Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.
You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.
You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole.
From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail, keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second.
Your large and in charge persona was cracking. You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due.
It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat. Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen.
His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth. Your insides gripped him ever so slightly. Sucking him back in as if he belonged there. He felt used and it felt good. His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity.
He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge.
"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.
Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness
The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?"
Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh.
Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.
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yours - jaemin x f reader
fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k
before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.
you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.
yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.
jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”
“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”
“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”
“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”
“you’re such a fucking leo.”
he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.
“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”
he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”
“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.
it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-
“let’s go home, yeah?”
he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.
it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.
“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.
your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”
“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.
“what?”
“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.
“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”
“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”
“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”
“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”
“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”
you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”
“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”
“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.
“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.
and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.
“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”
“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”
“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”
“hm?”
“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”
“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”
“what d’you mean?”
“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.
“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”
he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”
“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!
“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”
“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”
“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.
his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-
“what else would you be, jaem?”
he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.
he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.
“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.
“you wanna know what else i could be?”
you nod. “please.”
“i could be yours.”
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bro... idk about the whole plot of the drabble but it definitely should have some sexual tension going on but i'm not talking about a quick tension, you know... it could take hours or days idk i feel like you would kill it
“No, never,” you comment with a small shake of your head. Taehyung looks indignant.
“Everyone has done something outside of the bedroom at some point.”
You simply shake your head. “Not me.” Your eyes flick to Jeongguk briefly, his gaze drilling holes into the side of your face. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table.
“You’ve never needed someone so badly you couldn’t wait?” His voice is deep and husky, a hidden implication giving his words weight. You hold his gaze.
“The waiting is the fun part.” The corner of his mouth forms a faint smirk.
“That’s where we’ll have to disagree,” he replies, holding your eyes as he takes a long pull from his drink. Everyone breaks off into different conversations, the intrigue of your reluctance to perform sexual acts in a public space no longer the most interesting thing to discuss. Jeongguk appears to be the only one not ready to let it go.
You sit opposite him in the pub, enough people occupying the space that the din of background conversation makes it hard for others to hear as Jeongguk leans across the table once again.
“Do you really believe that? About waiting?” You’re not quite sure why he’s so interested but you entertain his line of questioning.
“100 percent,” you reply without hesitation and Jeongguk nods slowly as he considers your answer.
“You don’t think the desperation to have someone near you, in you, there and then is fun? How is that not better than waiting?” His eyebrows are drawn together in skepticism. He can’t for the life of him understand how you could enjoy waiting. It’s disheartening to hear when he’s spent the better part of the night trying to figure out a plan that would get you to follow him into the toilets. You’ve been acquaintances for about 4 months and he’s spent an embarrassingly large proportion of his time in your company thinking of all the different ways he’d like to spend his time with you if he could get you alone. And not for one second would he want to wait.
“I enjoy the anticipation,” you begin, moving to mirror his position. Jeongguk gets a wonderful eyeful of cleavage and he takes his time appreciating it.
“Wanting it so desperately and knowing you can’t have it now makes it all the better when it does happen.” For most of the sentence Jeongguk is picturing his dick between your tits so he only half hears what you say.
“Anticipation doesn’t change shit,” replies Jeongguk, leaning slightly closer. A small smile plays across your face, head tilted to the side slightly.
“It’s my favourite,” your voice has turned sultry, the alcohol muddling Jeongguk’s brain preventing him from noticing the change immediately. “The person is so close and not close enough, almost touching where you want and you could scream in frustration because two centimeters to the left and it would feel so fucking good, but they make you wait,” your voice is soft and captivating; even with everything happening around Jeongguk you’re the only one he can hear. His whole body feels jittery yet he’s glued to the spot, his chest beginning to rise and fall just a little deeper as you draw the perfect picture for him.
“And wait some more, until I could cry, until I’m begging for the slightest touch or kiss in just the right place, so desperate and needy.” The switch from describing a situation to talking about yourself doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeongguk. In fact, it makes the room seem a little hotter, his pants feel a little tighter, his brain seems a little more clouded as he tries to focus on anything but the sounds you’d make as you beg or the words you’d say to get what you wanted from him. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of you spread below him close to tears with desperation. Your eyes are alive and wild yet the rest of your face is the picture of innocence and he’s not sure how much more he can take. You’re inching closer to his face across the table as you speak.
“But you don’t like waiting, do you Jeongguk?” You ask and he can faintly feel the warmth of your breath against his lips from this distance. He swallows thickly.
“You don’t want to keep me waiting, don’t like the idea of making me beg for it? For you?” You add on innocently, eyebrows raised as though you’d asked a perfectly simple, appropriate question. Jeongguk can barely form a coherent sentence with his head so full of everything you’ve just said. You stay there leaning on the table for a few more seconds, Jeongguk’s eyes flicking down to your lips, the air around you both suffocating and heavy. You grin widely before leaning back into your chair triumphantly. Jeongguk’s eyes are clouded with arousal, not trying to hide where your words have taken him and his reluctance to return to the real world. By the time he does you’ve moved on to a conversation with Jimin, giggling at his shit jokes. You don’t look Jeongguk’s way once for the rest of the night and it drives him insane.
-----
Two weeks later and you’re at Jimin’s place for a barbecue with a friend. Only Jimin’s housemates are Yoongi and Jeongguk, and no one told Jeongguk you were coming over. Ever since the night at the pub, Jeongguk has fantasised about you more than he would care to admit - even to himself. More than a few times his hand wandered south with pictures of you flashing behind his eyelids, replaying the conversation you’d had over and over, vividly picturing you doing the things you’d described. So when he walks out of the patio doors into the garden to see you laid across a towel on the floor, the smallest bikini he has ever witnessed wrapped around your body, to describe his feelings as shocked is a gross understatement. From his vantage point he can watch you while you remain none the wiser, so he takes the precious time to appreciate everything that you are. Your legs go on for miles and are toned to perfection, your tits fill out your bikini with some left to spill over the side and yearning burns deep in his stomach to have his lips against the smooth flesh, dragging his tongue leisurely across your nipple. Images of you begging for him flash violently across his mind, and he’s itching to return to his bedroom for a few minutes. But then you turn over and notice him, a lazy grin creeping slowly across your mouth.
“Can I help you?” You ask innocently, eyes dancing with amusement at having caught Jeongguk staring. He saunters over to you, arms braced behind him as he sits down.
“You’re in my garden, I should be asking you that question.” Your eyes are glued on the way his biceps tense to support his weight. It should be illegal for Jeongguk to walk around shirtless, even if it is the height of summer. For the sake of your own sanity he should walk around in a full wetsuit - but you’re sure he’d manage to make that look sexy. His broad chest is on full display, the golden skin pulled taut against the toned muscles of his abdomen. Your eyes continue their journey down his stomach, thoughts swirling at the dusting of hair beneath his belly button, following it down until it disappears beneath his shorts.
“Are you nearly done?” Amusement drips from his words as you pull your eyes from their pleasant detour. You fight desperately to keep the heat from your face.
“Almost.” Jeongguk’s tongue pokes the side of his cheek at your answer. He’s used to girls fawning over him, melting into a puddle of shy giggles and doting compliments. Not this. The idea of having you begging beneath him becomes more and more appealing the more you demonstrate all the ways you need to be taught a lesson.
Both of you bask in the heat of the sun in silence, music drifting out from the kitchen, Yoongi’s contagious laughter bringing a smile to your face. Surreptitiously you peek one eye open, looking sideways at Jeongguk. The perfect definition of his jaw is showcased with the way his head is tilted towards the sun, little beads of sweat developing at his temples and clinging to the nape of his neck.
“You should really put suncream on,” you state, shutting your eye before he can catch you again.
“Are you offering?” His tone is bored but excitement thrills through his chest.
“Not really.” Jeongguk fights the smile threatening to reveal itself.
“If I end up burning, it'll be all your fault,” Jeongguk complains, and when you say nothing in return, his arms buckle under his weight dramatically, his back thudding against the grass.
“I can feel the blisters forming already,” he groans, rocking side to side. You suppress chuckles as you watch his performance.
“Unngh,” he groans, turning his head to look at you, a fake pained expression pulling against his features. “I need you to put suncream on me,” he whines, “please.” His lips jut into a pout.
“Only because you asked so nicely,” you reply with an eye roll, Jeongguk all but ignoring it as a delighted grin lights up his face.
While you grab the cream, Jeongguk arranges himself into his original position, a satisfied smile gracing his plump lips as he basks in both his small victory and the heat of the sun. His smile vanishes, eyes snapping open, when he feels the cool of a shadow passing across him only to be faced with you straddling his lap. Your expression is the picture of innocence, eyes wide, head tilted, soft lips slightly parted as you hold to bottle of cream in one hand expectantly, but a flicker of wickedness flashes across your eyes, there one second and gone so quickly Jeongguk could almost convince himself that you’re clueless to the effect your close proximity has on him. But the way your back arches into him gives you away.
Jeongguk hisses a breath through his teeth at the first contact of the suncream against his warm skin and you giggle. There’s no hint of amusement on his face. Having you so close and yet unable to touch you has his mind reeling and frustration bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach. You smell incredible, sweet and floral, and your hands are delicate as they roam his chest and stomach, eyes completely focused on the task at hand. He sighs deeply as he lets himself become lost in the way you touch him, the way your hands rove confidently, traversing low enough to have him forcing down the urge to buck his hips against you.
Nothing in the world is going to pull your gaze from the path your hands trace against Jeongguk’s skin. From his broad shoulders and collarbones you would be happy to drag your tongue across, to your palm grazing his nipple, noting the muscle in his jaw jumping at the contact. Down, down, down his stomach as low as his shorts allow, over his hips and waist. All amusement has vanished as your fingers explore. Jeongguk’s breathing is deep as you toy with the waistband of his shorts, slipping the tip of your finger just underneath. He’s watching you like a hawk, nostrils flaring as he wills you to just reach down, give him the look so he can take you upstairs and show you there’s no fun in waiting. Instead you raise your eyes to his and breathe out, “I need to do your arms.”
He shifts his weight forward, one arm held out for you, the other sliding around your body, hand resting gently on your arse. Raising your eyebrows questioningly at the placement, Jeongguk simply shrugs, a devilish smile flashing at you.
“What’s the matter, darling?” His deep voice questions. You forego a reply, squeezing cream directly onto his arm. He watches your face with delight as you continue.
“Turn around so I can do your back,” your voice is barely above a whisper. Having him so close for so long is starting to prove difficult. You can’t get your thoughts away from his hands, how strong and big they are in your own, how they’d wrap perfectly around your neck or how easy it would be for Jeongguk to prod and massage your g-spot until you were exhausted from overstimulation. It hasn’t slipped your notice that he’s been getting progressively harder beneath you, every inch of him pushing against your core. It’s getting hard to breathe, hard to look him in the eye - he relishes every second of your struggle with a cocky grin. His eyes are heavy and clouded with arousal and he drags his gaze leisurely down your body and back again.
“I’m sure you can reach from here, darling.” The determined look in your eye has Jeongguk chuckling. The action of reaching your hands over his shoulders and down his back has your chest pushing into his face and a small groan rumbles in Jeongguk’s throat. Your stomach burns with desire at the sound, a desperate need to hear the sound over and over, louder and then whispered into your ear, claws mercilessly at your insides, threatening to suffocate you. Without thinking you push your hips down in an effort to garner some friction against your swollen clit. The manoeuver doesn’t go unnoticed.
Jeongguk’s mind is blank. Your arse is pushing back into his palms, his fingers massaging the supple flesh delicately. With your tits so close to his face he determines it would be criminal if he doesn’t lean forward just a little more. His hair tickles your cheek as he moves, his nose brushing your chest as he gets closer. He flattens his tongue against the swell of your breast, licking a stripe against your glowing skin before sinking his teeth into you. A small gasp escapes your lips, hips rutting against him of their own accord. He groans again, using his hands to push you into him harder, desperation and frustration intermingling at the clothing separating your pussy from his bare skin. He pulls back to look up at you, the muscles of his jaw jumping as he restrains himself. Your lips are so close, both of your chests rising and falling rapidly, each waiting to see what the other will do, the atmosphere suffocating as the tension rises. Jeongguk’s gaze is intense and his eyes flick briefly down to your lips, his intentions and desires clear.
“Come to my room.” His voice is gravelly and shoots heat directly to where you need his touch the most. “Let me touch you, make you feel so good, princess.”
“We can’t,” you whisper back, lacking conviction.
“Why not?” Whines Jeongguk.
“Everyone will see and they’ll know.” It’s a feeble excuse and your resolve to stick with it is crumbling quickly.
“I’ll happily fuck you out here if that’s what you’d prefer.” Your cheeks flame at the idea. “It would be easy,” he continues, mind so consumed with you and his need to have you as close as possible. His fingers skim the apex of your thigh, toying with the edge of your bikini. “I’d just have to pull this to the side and then I’d see your pretty pussy, but I bet you have a tight cunt, couldn’t take my cock all at once.” Your core clenches reflexively at his words and you know you’re absolutely fucked.
“Come to my room,” he states, moving your hips over his with his hands. You smile devilishly, leaning forward until your lips almost brush.
“I’m sure you can wait a little bit longer.”
an; so i clearly don't know the meaning of the word drabble and you said i'd kill it so the perfectionism took over and i couldn't stop until i thought it was good
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