#Delirious Compulsion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prythiansprincess · 2 months ago

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DELIRIUM | a stalker! theo au.

"you're so fucking special; I wish I was special."

word count: 5,662.

warnings: please read all trigger warnings before proceeding. dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder, coercion, stalking, assault, manipulation, gaslighting, knife play, blood play, abusive behavior.

author's note: I don't say it lightly when I say that this fic is very dark. I fully understand that the topics and themes discussed are not for everyone, so please be mindful of the warnings before engaging. special thanks to @writingsbychlo for proofreading and encouraging my over all psychophathy.

♫ creep - radiohead. nav. stalker! theo.

There was something wrong with Theo Nott.

Perhaps it was a result of his traumatic upbringing or perhaps it was simply encrypted into his genetic code, but whether nature or nurture was to be blamed, this simple truth was certain: a sick, twisted, and insatiable monster lurked within him and its hunger could be satiated by one thing and one thing only — you.

In the deepest and darkest depths of his inky black heart, Theo knew that he was completely and utterly fucked up. This thing inside of him — this madness — rendered him incapable of forming healthy relationships. Time and time again, his passions and proclivities hinted towards a more sinister nature. Some called him deranged, delirious, delusional, but Theo simply thought of himself as a hopeless romantic.

Theo was not the type of man to harbor a crush or entertain a fling or succumb to a fleeting infatuation that eventually faded over time. When he loved, he loved with his entire being. He loved until it became a fixation, a compulsion, an obsession. This has and always will be his fatal flaw.

From a young age, Theo learned that he was not normal. When he presented Pansy Parkinson with the front teeth of the boy who dared knock her off the swings, that was not normal. When he gifted Daphne Greengrass the rotting carcass of a bird that had kept her up with the incessant tapping of its beak against her bedroom window, that was not normal. When he offered to carve the initials of Mattheo Riddle into his skin to prove his loyalty, that was not normal.

Theo was bereft when his friends cried and fled from him, feeling distraught and disappointed by their reactions. After all, he had only done those things to make them happy. Why couldn’t they see that?

When his mother found him crying in the Nott Manor gardens, she explained to him that he was a very special boy. That his capacity for love would be misunderstood by those around him because they simply could not feel the way that he did. The intensity of his emotions surpassed their understanding; they didn’t know what it was like to be irrevocably consumed by love. His devotion could be misconstrued, his affection scorned, which is why it became imperative for Theo to shield himself from the world until the right person came along.

So, he conformed, he adapted, he survived, but Theo knew it was only a matter of time before his carefully constructed mask slipped.

In the back of a crowded restaurant, Theo swirled the glass of wine in his hand before taking a long sip. The waiter had recommended the red vintage, droning on and on about the quality of the 1978 Barolo Montorfino and the meticulous aging process of the Nebbiolo grapes to produce this particular bottle. Theo fought the urge to roll his eyes. He already knew all of this, given that the wine was produced by his family’s vineyard in the Italian countryside.

The complex flavor danced on his tongue. On any other occasion, he might have savored the hints of cherry, roses, and truffle peeking through its rich-bodied profile, but Theo tasted nothing but ash in his mouth. Because across the rooftop sat the woman of his dreams, drinking and laughing and dining with another man. Theo gripped the stem of his glass until his knuckles turned white.

Needless to say, the night was not going as Theo intended it to. It was supposed to be him feeding you little bites of tagliatelle, topping your wine off with a wink, and listening to your melodious voice recount silly anecdotes about yourself. Instead, Adrian fucking Pucey was blattering on like a bloody twat, failing to appreciate the goddess seated across from him. The stupid prick was probably too busy gauging whether or not he was going to get lucky tonight. As if Theo would ever let that happen.

No, that simply wouldn’t do.

Sure, he had enjoyed the game of cat and mouse between you over the past few months. Since the day you moved into the house next to his, there had been this constant push and pull between you. The flirtatious banter as he helped you carry your dresser into the foyer after he found you struggling in the yard, the freshly baked goods you presented to him as thanks after the fact, the shy way you smiled at him every time you crossed paths when you departed and arrived back home.

Something awakened within him the second he laid eyes on you. Something dark, something dangerous, something that he thought was long buried in the depths of his depraved soul.

It wasn’t all in his head. Hell, you had invited him in on that very first day. You wanted him there. You wanted him near you. You wanted him.

All the darkness that he tried so hard to push down seemed to resurface all at once. Suddenly, Theo found himself falling back into old old habits. Watching you through your bedroom window while you undressed, sneaking into your house while you were away at work, planting cameras in every room without your knowledge, and even going so far as stealing your lingerie.

But Theo wasn’t stalking you.

No.

He was merely keeping an eye on you.

Clearly, you needed someone to look after you if you were putting your trust in a man like Adrian Pucey. You were too soft and sweet and innocent for this world. Theo wanted to protect you. In his eyes, Pucey was a threat to your relationship and there was only one way to deal with a threat — eliminate it.

The opportunity presented itself after that sordid dinner. After dessert was served, Theo quietly slipped out ahead of the happy couple. Well, the two of you wouldn’t be happy for long. Not if he had anything to do with it.

Surrounded by silence and darkness, Theo laid in wait until he heard the tell-tale sounds of the front door unlocking. He observed in quiet rage as Adrian kissed his girl. The door snicked shut, but the two of you barely noticed as you stumbled through the foyer, his lips sucking at your neck, his hands roaming underneath your dress, his cock pressing against your core as you mewled for him. Theo couldn’t stomach a second more of this. The sound of Pucey’s name falling from your lips was enough to awaken the monster within him.

A sickening thud echoed through the house as Pucey dropped to the floor. With wide eyes, you scrambled in the darkness, blinking in disbelief at the sight before you. The silk strap of your dress fell from your shoulders at the abruptness of the attack. Your pupils, which were previously blown from desire, now shifted into fear.

“T — Theo?” Disbelief colored your expression as you looked up at your neighbor. Dressed in all black, his tall and lithe form blended in with his surroundings. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t really think I’d let this prick weasel his way into your bed, did you?”

You blinked in confusion. On the floor of your living room, Adrian nursed his broken nose, trying and failing to staunch the blood flowing through his fingers.

“Do you know this asshole, Y/N?”

“He’s my neighbor,” you answered. Theo’s face twisted in anger at your response. You cowered under his gaze and scooted backwards against the wall. “Theo, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

Theo sneered. “Isn’t it obvious, bella?” Your blood ran cold when a flash of silver appeared in his hand. “I know why you went on this date tonight. You wanted me to fight for you, so here I am. I love you and I won’t let anyone keep us apart.”

“What are you talking about, Theo?” You cried as he stalked towards you. “I barely know you. We’re neighbors, just neighbors, that’s all.” You pleaded, begging for him to listen to reason. “Please, just stop this. You don’t have to do any of this.”

“Shh, my sweet Y/N,” Theo cooed as he wiped a stray tear away with his thumb. His blue eyes bore into you with such intensity that it made you shiver. There was something lurking behind that dead eyed stare and you feared for whatever it might unleash.

Theo caressed your cheek with reverence while you trembled in fear. “You just don’t know any better, cara mia. But don’t worry, I’ll show you how much I love you. I’ll protect you; I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m going to take care of this. He will never come between us again.”

Before you could protest, Theo had already rounded on Adrian. The brunette threw his hands up as Theo pulled him up by his collar. “I almost feel sorry for you, you know,” Theo taunted. “You probably thought you were so smart, preying on someone as sweet and innocent as Y/N. You never deserved her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian retorted, crimson staining his dress shirt as he struggled against his captor’s hold. “It was just a few harmless dates.”

“A few harmless dates?” Theo repeated in a mocking tone. “Christ, you can’t truly be that stupid, can you? You don’t even understand how lucky you are to have gotten the chance to be in her company. She’s a fucking goddess and you — “ Adrian groaned when Theo yanked his hair back to give him a proper view of you. “Well, you’re nothing.”

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I was just lookin for an easy fuck — “

Fury simmered in Theo’s gaze. The careless words that Adrian spoke cut you deep, but not nearly as deep as the blade that sliced his throat open. The crimson river flowing from Adrian’s neck bathed Theo in blood, covering his face, his hair, and his clothes.

You screamed as Adrian slumped to the floor, his lifeless body discarded onto your cream rug as his vacant gaze stared at nothing. The gravity of his death sent a surge of adrenaline in your veins. You needed to get the fuck away, The instinct to survive kicked in and you darted for the door, but unfortunately, Theo was quicker.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you away from your only form of escape. You struggled in his hold, clawing and kicking and screaming as Theo dragged you through the living room.

“You killed him!” You screamed while you continued thrashing. “He’s dead, you killed him, oh my god — “

“Don’t be like that, cara mia,” Theo said in a soothing voice. “I thought you would be happy. With our little problem out of the way, we can finally be together.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath!”

With a swift kick to the balls, Theo stumbled backwards which gave you time to frantically reach for your purse. The slick blood that coated the wooden floors now sullied your dress, but you pushed the thought away as you recovered your phone. As you tapped on the screen, it came alive with a bright light. With shaking hands, you tried to swipe up to dial emergency services, but the screen buzzed with static before completely dying out.

“No!” You screamed in frustration as you pressed the dead screen over and over again. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening!”

Behind you, Theo sighed and shook his head in disappointment. Crouching down before you, the warmth of his palm felt like a slap to the face as he cradled your jaw.

“You’ve been a bad girl, bella,” Theo purred. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

Your eyes widened as he produced a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “No, please, you don’t have to do this. Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Let you go?” Theo repeated in a cold, menacing voice as he clamped the handcuffs over your wrists. “After all that I’ve done for you, do you really think I would be capable of just letting you go?” He tutted in disapproval as he tugged you towards the stairs. “You’re all mine now, you’re not going anywhere.”

The short walk to your bedroom felt like a march towards death. You began to shake violently as Theo guided you towards the bed, instructing you to lie down as he tinkered with the handcuffs. Tears blurred your vision as your heart hammered against your ribcage.

“Are you going to kill me?” you whispered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Theo said with a scoff as he rearranged the cuffs and chained you to the bed. “You wouldn’t be any fun if you’re dead.”

Fear gripped every fiber of your being in a chokehold. Theo leaned back and admired his work. The intensity of his gaze felt like a brand against your skin as he drank in the sight of you spread out for him. The silk of your dress was stained with blood, the fabric nearly see through from how soaked it was.

“You’re such a pretty little thing all tied up like a present for me, principessa.”

His blue eyes were nearly black as he gazed at you with unadulterated desire. The pale moonlight streaming through the window casted sinister shadows on his face.

“If you’re not going to kill me, then what do you plan on doing?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Theo declared with a deranged smile as he brandished his knife. “I plan on worshipping every inch of your body.” The cold edge of his blade traced the curve of your jaw. “I plan on making you see God with my tongue, my fingers, my cock.” The knife continued its path down the valley of your breasts. “I plan on possessing you, owning you, and ruining you for every other man.”

“You barely even know me,” you pleaded, shying away from the blade that now rested on the hem of your dress. “I’m not yours, Theo.”

The air left your lungs all at once as his hand wrapped around your throat. The lack of oxygen made you dizzy and you grew limp against the bed, barely even registering the blade caressing your skin.

“I’ll carve my name into your thigh if that’s what it takes to get it through your pretty little head that you are mine.”

You coughed as he released his hold, disoriented by the sudden rush of air into your lungs. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me, oh fuck —“

Your hips jerked at the sudden cold sensation between your legs. Theo watched in amusement as he pressed the hilt of his blade against your clothed core, drinking in the way you writhed underneath him.

“What was that, bella?” Theo teased. “I can’t hear you over all that moaning.”

Your cheeks burned with shame as you continued his ministrations against your clit. It was a purely physical response, but it felt like your own body was betraying you. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. You hated the way you reacted to his touch, his words, his gaze. You hated him.

“You’re a sick fuck,” you yelled as you tugged at your restraints. Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pleasure. “This is vile, this is evil. I hate you. I fucking hate you —“

Theo chuckled darkly as he tugged your panties to the side and slipped the hilt of his blade through your folds without warning. “Then why are you so fucking wet for me?”

“I’m not!” In all your life, you had never felt more degraded and humiliated. The conflicting emotions warred in your mind, but the truth of the matter was that you had absolutely no control over your own arousal. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Theo growled as the handle of his blade squelched in your slick. “But by all means, keep lying to yourself. In fact, I quite prefer it if you put up a fight. I like it rough.”

You groaned, delirious with need as he fucked you with his knife. “When I make you cum, I know that I’ve earned it.”

You bit down on your bottom lip until blood filled your mouth. The horror of the scene unfolding before you filled you with dread yet you couldn’t stop the moans and whines that escaped past your lips. When you looked up, Theo was transfixed by the sight of your greedy cunt taking his knife.

“That’s it, Y/N,” hummed Theo. “This will be a lot easier if you just stop fighting it. You want this. You want me.”

“I — I don’t! I don’t want —“

“I —I don’t want,” Theo mocked. “How fucking pathetic. You can’t even finish that sentence without moaning.” He pulled out his knife and slid two fingers in without warning. His cruel laugh echoed in the bedroom when the sound of your slick filled the silence. “If you don’t want me, then why are you riding my fingers like this, hm?”

There was no answer as he plunged the hilt of his knife into you again, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. His thumb rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves in tantalizing circles, pushing you towards the edge of pleasure.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an orgasm, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no stopping the intense pleasure that barrelled through your body. As you crested over the finish line, your vision went dark. The depravity of the act filled you with mortification and indignity. Theo, on the other hand, looked euphoric.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum,” he whispered softly.

You wanted to claw and scratch and hit him for the way he made you feel. Theo presented the knife to you with reverence. The blade was soaked in blood, but the hilt dripped with your cum. His tongue darted out and licked and lapped at your arousal with long, languid strokes as his eyes rolled back in euphoria. The way he moaned when he tasted you was obscene.

“You taste so sweet,” Theo rasped in a choked groan. “Such a good girl for me.”

This was beyond fucked up.

Theo was beyond fucked up.

You watched in alarm, waiting for disgust to overwhelm your senses, but it never came. Instead, your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight. What the fuck was wrong with you?

Theo leaned over you, his brown curls brushing against your nose as he smirked. “Don’t I get a kiss as a reward for making you feel so good?”

The absence of pleasure finally made you come to your senses. “Fuck you.”

The depth of his blue eyes was swallowed by a void that threatened to suffocate you. The man before you transformed into a monster as he growled and held his knife against your throat. “Let me rephrase that,” he hissed as the blade nicked your skin. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

You whimpered as the blade dug deeper into your neck, causing small droplets of blood to stain your sheets. Theo stared at you with malice, his face hovering a few inches from yours as he waited for your next move. His cool breath fanned over your skin while his lips ghosted over yours.

“Please, Y/N?” Theo pouted as he blinked down at you through his thick, dark lashes. “Just one kiss, please.”

It was apparent that he wanted you to make the first move. As if it would absolve him from this abhorrent act. As if it would exculpate him despite the threat he made on your life if you refused to comply. In some sick, twisted way, you knew that the second your lips touched his, Theo felt absolutely vindicated.

The growl that crawled out of his throat was purely animalistic. It spoke of need, of desire, of lust that had simmered underneath the surface for far too long. The taste of you, soft and supple and sweet, was better than anything Theo could have ever imagined. His cock strained against his pants as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping over the seam of your lips to demand entrance.

A part of you wanted to fight back, to pull away from him, but it was nearly impossible when he harshly grabbed your jaw and forced his way in. You opened for him reluctantly, but that was all he needed. Theo was the type of person to take a mile when given an inch. His hands roamed your body while his tongue massaged yours, moaning, panting, licking the roof of your mouth with unabashed glee. Theo squeezed your tits and gripped your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt like a dog in heat as he rutted himself against your clothed cunt.

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt.

Dazed and drunk with desire, Theo pulled away, his gaze sweeping over your kiss bitten lips and flushed cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

It was fucking horrible, horrendous, atrocious. You wanted the deepest pits of hell to open up and swallow you whole. Because that kiss had lit a fire in your belly despite your disgust for the man forcing himself on you.

Before you could think twice, you reared back and spit right into his face. Theo blinked in surprise. You expected anger, but amusement greeted you instead. The motherfucker was enjoying this.

“You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” Theo drawled as he unclasped his belt. The sight caused panic to grip you from all sides. “Don’t worry, principessa. I’ll fuck the fight right out of you. I will break you until you become the good girl that I know you can be.”

“Theo please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed and begged. “Don’t do this, please.”

Theo chuckled darkly. “You’re not sorry,” he said as he cut your dress open with his blade. “But you will be.”

Exposed and vulnerable, you struggled against your restraints as Theo trailed kisses down your torso. His lips were a searing brand against your skin, sucking and biting and marking your skin as though he was staking his claim on your body. His deft fingers unhooked your bra and his pupils were completely black as he ogled your chest.

With his lips latched around your nipple, Theo blinked innocently up at you. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” he murmured as he flicked his tongue over the stiffened peak. “You make me crazy, Y/N.”

You moaned as he sucked fervently, losing himself in the heat of your skin and the scent of your perfume. Roses and vanilla. Sweet and simple, just like his pretty girl. Theo groaned as he lavished your other nipple the same treatment.

There was such reverence and awe in the way that he touched you. For a brief moment, you forgot how truly vile he was because the second his fingers slipped inside of you and curved against that sweet spot, every ounce of common sense abandoned you.

“I bet Adrian would’ve never gotten you this wet, huh?”

Your eyes snapped open at the reminder. Somewhere underneath you, Adrian’s lifeless body was still bleeding out on your wooden floors. “You’re fucking awful — o —oh —“

The involuntary whimper that crawled up your throat was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Theo had ripped your panties to shreds and positioned the head of his cock over your folds, teasing and taunting at your entrance as you continued to resist.

“Theo, Theo, please,” you pleaded as he began to breach your cunt. You kicked your legs in the air and tilted your hips away from him, anything to keep him away from you, but it didn’t work.

Theo held your hips down, his large hands forming bruises on your skin. “Stay fucking still,” he growled against your neck before biting down hard.

Shocked, you stopped struggling and cried as the sting broke skin. Theo took the opportunity to push the head of his cock inside of you, making your eyes water from the sheer length of him. He was too big, it didn’t fit, it fucking hurt. But the desperate pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as Theo fully sheathed himself in your warmth.

“So fucking tight,” Theo grunted as he slowly dragged his cock out of your pussy, entranced at the way your bodies melded together, watching your cunt clench around nothing before slamming all the way in. Your teeth clattered together from the force. “Dio mio, you feel so fucking good. I want to ruin you.”

Once more, he pulled out and pushed into your warmth, savoring the way you squeezed around him. The sensation made you dizzy with desire. Try as you might to fight it, every breach of his cock only stretched and filled you even more, the filthy sound of your pussy squelching with every thrust echoing in the room.

“Wanted this for so long,” Theo grunted. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me, cara mia.” His hips snapped against your ass while he drove deeper and deeper, thick cock kissing the tip of your cervix. “But now I finally get to have you all to myself.”

Your knees buckled, every brush of his cock within your snug walls weakening your resolve as he fucked you into the mattress. His pace was relentless, punishing, and it was all you could do to lose yourself in him completely.

“Don’t fight it, bella.” Theo murmured as he hiked your legs up over his shoulders. “I could be so good to you.” He punctuated his statement with a slam of his hips. “I know everything about you. Probably better than you know yourself. I’ve watched, I’ve waited, I’ve wanted.” Another slam caused you to writhe and arch your back off the bed. “No one else could ever love you like I do.”

A breathy moan pushed its way past your lips without your consent. Self-loathing made you flush with embarrassment; your body was betraying you in the worst way as your own slick dripped down your thighs while Theo angled your hips to sink in deeper. He had spoken true about knowing you better than you knew yourself, because he seemed to know how to caress you, how to kiss you, how to command you until you were teetering off the edge once again.

His long fingers circled your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in the exact same way that he had watched you touch yourself over the past few months. Theo was diligent in every sense of the word; his studious nature pushed him to perfection. The focus in which he devoted into pleasuring you was singular. He was obsessive and possessive; he was determined to make this good for you. His pretty girl deserved nothing but the best.

“You can’t deny that we’re a perfect fit,” he murmured, dead-eyed gaze drinking in the sight of him slipping in and out of you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Theo gripped your chun and forced you to watch. “Look how well you’re taking me. It’s like we were made for each other, my love.”

Words failed you at the heat of the moment and even if you regained the ability to speak, you wouldn’t know what to say. Theo took your silence for submission, his lips pressed against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip while he pounded into you.

The instinct to fight dimmed with each urgent thrust, buried deep within the recesses of your mind. All you could do was moan in pleasure and Theo eagerly drank in every gasp and pant and whimper, studying your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

“Please, please,” you panted. You weren’t quite sure whether you were begging him to stop or urging him to continue, but either way, Theo seemed to know exactly what you needed.

His kisses were open mouthed and filthy, swallowing your protests with the flick of his tongue. You jerked when Theo slapped your pussy, chuckling against your mouth before he kneaded his thumb against your tender nub harder and faster.

“Theo —“ The realization that your climax was near filled you with both excitement and indignation.

“Be a good girl and come for me, Y/N.”

You clenched as Theo squeezed your throat in his fist, momentarily robbing you of oxygen. Somehow its absence intensified the sensations. The combination of Theo pushing his cock into you again and again while his thumb stroked your clit harder and harder sent you barreling over the edge. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake and your walls spasm around his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Theo cursed, his resolve close to breaking. “Just like that, cara mia. Squeezing me so tight, milking my fucking cock dry.”

Stars burst behind your lids as his balls slapped against your clit, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. Your mind went fuzzy with static. A faint ringing echoed in your ears while you trembled and convulsed.

“Such a good girl,” Theo grunted as he chased after his own pleasure. You were limp and boneless underneath him, unable to respond save for a pathetic whimper. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up with my cum, bella. You’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

You started to shake your head, but Theo paid the action no mind. “Take it, cara mia,” he said forcefully. “Take my cock, take my heart, take all of me.”

Your tits jiggled as he fucked you through his own orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled his thick, hot cum inside of you. His eyes rolled back at the thought of filling you and stuffing you full of his seed. It overflowed past your sensitive, puffy folds and dripped down your thighs. Even when he pulled his softening cock out of you, Theo made sure to push it all back in with his fingers. You whimpered at the sensitivity between your legs as he leaned back to admire his work.

Theo seemed to take pity on you, tutting at the red circles around your wrist. “M’gonna take the cuffs off now, okay, bella?”

You nodded, trembling slightly when he finally unchained you from the bed. Theo cooed over your raw wrists, kissing and fawning over the sensitive skin. Taking full advantage of the distraction, you snatched the knife Theo had carelessly discarded by his thigh and drove the blade into his shoulder.

Theo hissed in surprise, his blue eyes widening. “You fucking stabbed me,” he declared incredulously. “You really fucking stabbed me.”

“Oh my God —“ you sobbed, regret flooding you all at once as your hands shook over the blade. “Theo, I didn’t mean — fuck, are you okay —“

The shock caused you to let your guard down, tears streaming down your face as the realization of what you had just done crashed over you. Despite the blade sticking out from his shoulder, Theo seamlessly switched positions so that you were straddling his lap.

Your right hand was frozen in place, still holding the blade while shaking violently. You expected anger and fear, but Theo only flashed you a lovesick smile as he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrist. “Don’t be shy, Y/N,” Theo teased. “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

You screamed as Theo drove the blade further into his shoulder, the wound splattering a rain of blood all over your face and hair. “Stop, stop it! Don’t. Theo, stop, please —”

Theo tilted his head and examined you with a curious expression. His gaze softened as you sobbed and trembled in his lap. In his silky voice, he whispered soothing words in your ear and stroked your back to calm your growing hysteria.

“Aw, you’re worried about me? That’s cute, bella.” The timbre of his voice almost sounded proud. “I wouldn’t waste your tears, though. I'll be fine. It’s just a silly little nick. Besides, now that I’ve had you, it won’t be that easy to get rid of me.”

You gasped as his hardness poked against your ass. How could he be fucking hard at a time like this? There was goddamn knife sticking out of his shoulder, for fuck’s sake!

“Look at you, crying over me.” His voice was husky with need as he rolled his erection against you. It seemed that not even a murder attempt could faze the man underneath you. If anything, Theo seemed turned on by it. God, he was so fucked up. “It’s a good sign, bella. It means that you care. To think, just moments ago, you said you hated me, but here you are concerned for my well being.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to listen to him speak. It only confused you more. Theo kissed your tears away and caressed your cheek. His violation of you earlier was a direct contradiction of the way he handled you with such gentleness and care, almost like you were something precious to him. You couldn’t reconcile the warring versions of him in your mind.

“Please, stop,” you murmured as you tried to cover your ears. “You’re confusing me.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Clearly, you care about me. Otherwise, you would have aimed for my heart.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered in a broken sob. “I just wanted — I wanted —”

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. It was all too traumatic and taxing to fully process. Theo pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Shh, hush now, principessa. I told you, I’ll take care of you. You never have to worry about anything ever again. You can trust me, I promise. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries. I love you so fucking much.”

Theo gently pried your wrists away and kissed your fingertips. “You don’t love me yet,” he admitted in a wistful tone. “But you will, bella.”

#── .✦ stalker! theo. ‧ ₊˚ ⋅#theo nott #theo nott smut #theo nott fic #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine

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crushmeeren · 2 years ago

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♡ Todoroki/Fem Reader

♡ Master List Link

⇢ Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+.

⇢ Warnings; cursing, making out, dirty talk, Shouto is a champ at eating pussy/ass, fingering, vaginal sex, Shouto is a little subby in this

♡ Authors Note; I had to complete the headcannons for my favorite three MHA boys sooner rather than later. I love Shouto, he deserves all the good things and a lot of hugs.

Shouto who comes off as cold, uninterested, a giant dick — but who is so sweet and so loving it makes your teeth ache. Who is the kind of person that writes down facts about you so he doesn’t forget — you accidentally stumbled upon the list in his notes app and promptly cried.

Shouto who never ceases to buy extra of what he’s eating so you can have some too, even if you weren’t hungry in the first place.

Shouto who doesn’t understand social cues very well. Who tilts his head adorably when he’s confused. Who wears a blank, spaced out expression on his face often when he’s unsure of what’s going on.

Shouto who lets you teach him how to read the room a bit easier, to understand body language and tone. Whose pretty smile could melt icy glaciers with its tender warmth. Who is so comfortable with you he makes all sorts of facial expression, which you take as a triumphant win.

Shouto who you met in high school but didn’t date until after graduation. Who you crossed paths with while battling a villain and you caught mid air as he was nose diving from the top of a building. Who was probably a bit delirious because he swears he saw you with a halo, because he “fell in love with an Angel that day.”

Shouto who loves to drink strawberry milk. Who has so many cartons cluttering the fridge in your home it drives you nuts. Who compulsively brings you a glass when he’s drinking some because he’s learned he can show you he loves you by sharing what enjoys. It’s so cute when you get a glass out of nowhere.

Shouto who decides to be a bit “rebellious” after he gets out of high school. Who decides to cut his hair shaggy and short. Who gets a nose ring, pierces his ears and acquires a tongue ring. Who is with you when you get your own body modifications, and often wears jewelry that reminds him of you.

Shouto who claims his absolute favorite thing in the world is to snuggle up with you on the couch. Especially when it’s raining and the two of you are wrapped up in a fluffy blanket burrito, watching movies and napping. If it turns X rated, well who can blame you?

Shouto who is a dry texter. We’re talking Sahara Desert dry. Who does still take the time to send you pictures of things you love while he’s out on patrol, especially of dogs that he encounters. Who gets so happy when you respond in kind, forming your own language with one another.

Shouto who tends to wear a streetwear style when he’s not working. Who likes to wear matching clothes with you. Who even bought you both a pair of matching underwear with your faces on them. You’re unable to resist, you’re technically sitting on his face all day… right??

Shouto who is terrible at almost every video game, but who can annihilate anyone at Mario Kart. You’re definitely not bitter about that. Funnily enough, the best part of game night when everyone is over is watching Bakugou lose his mind when Sho decimates repeatedly.

Shouto who has remained tight knit with Midoriya. Who considers the man as his brother by extension, and who you’ve grown close to as well. Who goes to the #1 hero for help planning you a surprise party by sending Midoriya a series of increasingly concerning emojis until he agrees.

Shouto who loves to eat peach gummy rings. Who you have, on more than one occasion, woken up to eating the candy at 2:00 am. Who offers you one, which you casually eat and go back to bed. Who memorizes your favorite candy and leaves it for you to find everywhere.

Shouto who has told you the story of how he got his burn scar. About his father, his brother and all the horrors of his past. Who opened up to you, willingly sharing a side of himself others don’t get the privilege to see.

Shouto who has taken you to meet his family, to meet his mother. Who added you to the group chat with all his siblings, which is unbelievably entertaining. Who tries to fit his face with more than one expression when he meets your parents, but you make sure he knows he’s perfect for you just the way he is.

Shouto who loves you unconditionally. Who is your soul mate, your best friend. Whose love for you has grown bigger than a California Redwood tree. Who becomes your husband, who you love more than life itself. You’d start a goddamn war for this man.

Shouto who enjoys kissing. Who loves to lazily make out with you. Whose cock starts twitching in his briefs when the kiss turns messy. Whose lips get slick and puffy as they press together consistently with yours. Who eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it and sinking his teeth into your bottom lip so roughly it stings.

Shouto who likes to spread you out on your back in bed, stripping you until your only in one of his large T-shirts. Who leers at you when he pushes it up your belly, gently letting it catch on your tits until he can watch them fall and bounce. Who makes you keep the shirt up around your collarbone when he sucks on your nipples.

Shouto who bites the skin on your sternum, plush lips tickling your belly as he makes his way to your pussy. Who grips the bottoms of your thighs and presses them backwards to your chest. Who stares at you with heavy lidded eyes as he licks from your pussy to your clit, making sure to swirl the cold metal of his tongue ring around it.

Shouto whose eyes flutter closed while he eats you out. Who makes you cry out when he sucks your clit, tongue ring passing over it with each methodical swipe of his tongue. Who praises you murmuring “your pussy is amazing angel, will you let me eat your ass? pretty please?”

Shouto who strips you both. Whose flushed cock stands full and heavy when you see it. Who flips you, yanking your ass in the air and shoving your face into the sheets. Who spanks you unforgivingly and grips the thick flesh of your ass to spread you open. Who chills his tongue ring even more and kitten licks at your rim until you want to scream.

Shouto who shoves two fingers in your pussy without warning. Who curls and thrusts them as he sucks on your rim until you cum so hard you see stars. Who pulls away from you, stroking himself for relief and speaks with a wrecked voice pleading “I want to put my cock in you so badly, can I please princess?”

Shouto who is aware you’re a pillow princess, but has hearts in his eyes, cheeks flushing bubblegum pink when you tell him you’ll ride him for a bit. Who props his back up against the headboard with a couple pillows, allowing you to flip around so your back faces him. Who holds your wrists behind your back as you ride him, letting out delicate and whiny moans while you make his toes curl.

Shouto who spreads you with his free hand, eyes glued as his cock disappears into your pussy while you bounce in his lap. Whose dick throbs, breathing hitching when you throw your head back and you moan “fuck Shouto, your cock is so good, you’re gonna make me cum!”

Shouto who reaches his limit, pushing you off his cock and onto your back whispering filthy praise in your ear. Who grips his shaft, teasing your clit with the tip before slipping his dick all the way back inside with one fluid roll of his hips.

Shouto who bends you in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders and folding you into a mating press. Who fucks you roughly, hips curling up with the intention to bully your g-spot. Who makes sure you feel each drag of his cock, coaxing you into cumming with a handful of strokes. Who gets you to cum over and over, little water balloons of warm pleasure popping and coursing through you.

Shouto who produces low moans when your pussy squeezes his cock. Who desperately pleads with you to cum one more time because he can’t hold on for much longer.

Shouto who makes you feel dizzy as you chase your pleasure once more while folded as a pretzel. Who cums instantly when your sweet cries hit his ears, praising and encouraging him all at once. Who pushes into the hilt, grinding against you as he bursts at the seams, panting to catch his breath.

Shouto who giggles with you as he untangles your limbs. Who flops down beside you, lacing your fingers together as you enjoy the leftover bliss.

Shouto who eventually gets up to clean you both. Who finds the shirt you were previously wearing and some clean panties for you to wear. Who pulls you into a hug, murmuring how much he loves you, planting kisses all over your face. Shouto who then goes to the kitchen and brings you a glass of strawberry milk.

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snail-day · 4 months ago

Text

A Hypothesis on You

Sum: You led on the nice guy, but they don't always finish last.

Yandere Nerd!Gojo x Reader

Next part: Gaslighting? Baby, I'm just lovebombing (not official title)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, murder, implied unprepped anal, toy mention, masturbation, kidnapping, noncon, brief gore/violence, forced discord kitten, mdni

WC: 3.6k

Satoru Gojo had arrived at a definitive conclusion, one backed by indisputable, empirical data collected through careful observation. The hypothesis? You were in love with him. And, naturally, upon evaluating this data, he had no choice but to reciprocate with an all-consuming, maddening adoration of his own.

The evidence was overwhelmingly positive.

Exhibit A: The Discord Calls

The instant the Discord ringtone reverberates through his headset, a low-frequency hum tickles his synapses. His heart rate accelerates - not in an alarming, fight-or-flight way, but in a perfectly measurable, dopamine-infused, love-induced response. He notes the variables at play: the sharp pang of anticipation, the compulsive need to fix his posture, the way his pupils dilate when he catches sight of your profile picture - just the default Discord logo, a bland, impersonal icon that only fuels his insatiable curiosity.

Who are you, really?

What do you do in your free time? What are your hobbies, your secret indulgences, your intricate thought processes? And most critically - what is your type?

He should be focusing on the study session, reviewing notes, optimizing memory retention, and running mental simulations of possible test questions. Instead, he’s staring at that stupid little logo, heart stuttering at the mere idea of your fingers brushing against your keyboard, your voice filling his ears any second now.

And there it is.

Your voice, chipper and bright, crackling through his headset like an electrical current straight to his nervous system. You ask to compare answers for the homework - again. How predictable. How utterly adorable. His lips quirk up, concealed behind a palm as a distinct warmth creeps up his pale face. He knows you’re copying his answers. He always has.

But isn’t that just another irrefutable piece of evidence?

You trust him. You rely on him. You need him.

The sound of frantic scribbling in the background doesn’t go unnoticed - oh no, his genius-level intellect catches every minor detail, every rushed stroke of your pen, every minuscule pause where your breath hitches as you struggle to keep up. A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, but he keeps his tone light, unassuming.

“Your calculations must’ve been off again, huh? Silly girl.”

He could just give you the answers outright - he wants to, craves the idea of you depending on him, owing him. But it’s much more satisfying to hear the subtle, breathy giggle on the other end of the line, the quiet little “thank you, Gojo” that slips past your lips. An auditory reward.

Exhibit B: The Study Sessions

Oh, how he craves you when you ask him for help. It’s intoxicating, the way your voice, normally so light and confident, softens into something hesitant and uncertain as the test creeps closer. As if you’re nervous, as if the pressure is gnawing at you, sinking sharp little teeth into your resolve, and the only person who can fix it, the only one who can calm you, is him.

That realization? That knowledge that you need him, that you trust him enough to ask?

It sends something thick, honey-sweet, and deliriously suffocating curling low in his stomach, burrowing deep in his chest like a sickness - festering, spreading - one he never wants to recover from.

"Gojo, can we go over the Kreb’s cycle again?"

Your soft, saccharine voice makes his fingers tighten, twitch over his pen. His pink lips part, something between a smirk and a weak, aching sigh, a sound so pathetically fragile, so awed, it nearly makes him sick.

"Again?" he teases, tilting his head slightly as he leans closer to his mic, pretending as if he’s unaffected, as if his body isn’t trembling from the mere sound of you.

You huff, breathy and a little sheepish, like you hate admitting you need him. It’s adorable.

"Yeah… I just - ugh, I always get confused on this part. You explain it better than the professor, anyway."

Oh.

Oh, God.

His brain empties, whites out, dissolves into nothing but static and heat and throbbing, unbearable pleasure. You think he explains it better. Better than the professor. Better than the textbooks, the lectures, every single, mind-numbingly boring source of knowledge you could have gone to - yet you chose him.

He exhales slowly, carefully, forcing himself to stay composed, forcing his grin to stay teasing, lighthearted, like he isn’t about to collapse under the weight of your praise, your trust, your utter dependence on him.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, I guess I can help you out one more time."

He drawls it out, slow and syrupy, because he loves the way you laugh when he flirts - how it always sounds a little shy, a little uncertain, like you don’t know whether he’s joking or not. (He’s not.)

So, he guides you. Carefully. Methodically. Painstakingly.

(He could be a little more patient, but who cares about patience when you’re hanging onto his every word?)

His voice stays playful, painting each step of the process into your mind with such excruciating care, as if his words alone could wrap around you, cocoon you, pull you deeper into him.

And oh, the way you listen. So perfectly. So obediently. So helplessly.

Every little fact, every single note, all scribbled onto your cheat sheet, one you really should have written last night, but you didn’t. Because you needed him to explain it. Because he explains it better. When you finally repeat his words back to him - carefully, thoughtfully - your voice slipping into that sweet, focused lilt that makes his breath hitch, makes his vision blur and darken at the edges - his long, slender fingers twitch over his notes.

God, you sound so pretty when you’re focused. So adorably unsure of yourself, as if you’re afraid you’ll do something wrong. Baby, you don’t have to worry about that. You’ve got him wrapped so tightly around your fingers, he might as well be bound, gagged, and helpless at your mercy.

And yet, it’s him who keeps chasing the sound of your voice, his body betraying him like the sniveling, desperate wreck that he is. Heat begins to coil, low and tight and unbearable, an awful, cloying pressure building deep, deep in his gut, in his chest, in every aching, pathetic part of him that only responds to you.

He has to mute himself.

Has to slouch back in his chair, sucking in sharp, uneven breaths, as his hand - shaking, trembling, fevered and desperate - palms himself through his navy blue sweatpants, pressing against the unbearable, aching strain beneath the fabric.

He shouldn’t.

Really, he shouldn’t.

But your voice - soft and sweet and so fucking eager to learn from him - curls into his ears like a siren’s song, wrapping tight around his throat, unraveling him from the inside out. When you reach past the citric acid portion, stumbling just slightly, your voice breathy, triumphant, proud, it makes his body lock up.

Keep going.

His thighs clench, his lips part soundlessly, a pathetic little whimper catching in his throat, his hand moving against himself without even thinking, mindlessly chasing the unbearable, excruciating bliss of you. Before he can stop himself, before you can even utter the words oxidative phosphorylation, he’s coming, thick, hot white ropes spilling messily over his hand, just picturing how pretty they’d look on your sweet, stunned face, those wide, innocent eyes looking up at him, dumb and pliant and utterly dependent on him.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His head tips forward, cheek pressing against the desk, eyes glassy, unfocused, dazed, utterly shattered as the aftershocks rip through him.

The Discord call remains active.

"Gojo? Are you still there?"

Shit.

His nerves jolt, his hand jerks back from the mess in his lap, and he scrambles, wiping himself down with sharp, frantic movements, fingers shaking as he fumbles for the mouse.

Unmute. Breathe. Act normal.

He clears his throat, forces a lazy, almost airy chuckle past his lips, masking the remnants of his absolute, pitiful, all-consuming climax with that same easygoing drawl.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Just, y’know…" A pause, a slow grin curling at the edges of his mouth, voice dropping into something thick, teasing, syrupy smooth. "Kinda hard not to zone out when you sound that cute."

You scoff, exasperated, but flustered - just the way he expects, just the way he needs.

"Shut up, Gojo."

He just laughs. Because you don’t mean it. Because if you flunk, you won’t be able to take the next class with him.

That? That would be unacceptable. Because you need him. And he needs to hear that pretty little voice for much, much longer.

Exhibit C: The Messages

His texts are simple. Uncomplicated. Texts that linger unread, swallowed by the void of your notifications, responses so infrequent they might as well be artifacts of a bygone era. And yet, he is always at your beck and call. A constant. A fixed variable in the chaotic equation of your life.

Perhaps you’re just not a big texter. You’re cute like that. You probably prefer face-to-face interactions, don’t you? You want to see him, hear him, breathe the same air. Of course you do. It’s only natural.

Your response, as always, is frustratingly brief.

BlueEyesWhiteDragon: Hope you ate well today! There’s a new bakery nearby, want to check it out?

BlueEyesWhiteDragon: Test scores are out! Let’s celebrate! Drinks on me :3

You: Sorry Gojo! I’m busy :(

Ah. An anomaly. A deviation in the otherwise flawless data set that is you. That’s fine. He understands. Really. Truly.

…Except, no, he doesn’t.

Because then you waltz into class, oblivious and radiant, a walking contradiction wrapped in soft smiles and gentle warmth. You stop by his desk without hesitation, fingers barely grazing his as you press something into his palm - a Digimon (limited edition) pen. A relic from overseas, something rare, something treasured.

"I really appreciate you, Gojo." Soft words, spun from silk, weaving their way into the tangled web of his mind. His fingers tighten around the pen. Neural pathways ignite, synapses firing in a frenzied, luminous cascade. Patterns emerge, connections solidify, conclusions crystallize into absolute truth.

This is an offering. A token of devotion.

Penguins do this, scientifically speaking. They scour the earth for the perfect rock, presenting it to their chosen mate as a vow, a bond, a forever.

Is that what this is?

It has to be.

Because you always sit next to him. Because on test days, you arrive early, never too soon, never too late, just in time to secure the seat beside him. Because your leg brushes his, again and again, warmth seeping through the fabric, sinking into his skin.

Because you lean in, voice hushed, lips barely parting as you whisper, "I’m not looking at your paper, I promise."

But Satoru doesn’t need to analyze probability, doesn’t need statistical models to confirm the truth. The evidence is irrefutable.

You love him.

However, there is an inconsistency in the data. A variable unaccounted for. A contradiction in the flawless theorem that is: you + him = inevitability.

You rejected him.

The memory loops in his mind like a corrupted file, fragmented yet perfectly preserved. He remembers it all, every detail, every nuance, every pixel of your expression. The way his voice had been effortlessly light when he’d asked, his body leaning in, his grin the very picture of confidence as he peered over tinted glasses.

"C’mon, you owe me. How about we grab a meal together? Or, better yet, let’s hit up the arcade. I’ll win you a prize and everything." He had been prepared for many things. Flustered giggles. An exasperated but fond sigh. A teasing eye roll before you inevitably gave in, brushing off his boldness with a "Fine, but you better actually win me something good."

Instead. You hesitated.

Your fingers fidgeted at the hem of your sleeve. Your eyes flickered away. And your lips - so sweet, so cruel - curled into something fragile.

"I’m… I’m not really ready for a relationship right now."

Something fractured. A hairline crack, nearly imperceptible, but there. A fault in the foundation of his reality, small but damning.

"I just have a lot going on, but… maybe when I have some free time, we could… give it a shot?"

And then - then you reached for him. So gently. So thoughtlessly. Tugging at his sleeve in a fleeting, absentminded motion. A mere second of contact, but Satoru felt it everywhere. Your fingertips through the thin fabric of his navy sweater. The featherlight scrape of your nails before retreating. The way your gaze softened when it met his, hesitant, uncertain, but undeniably warm.

It should have pacified him. It should have soothed the sharp, gnawing tightness in his chest, the static buzz at the edges of his mind.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it confounded him.

Because if you truly weren’t ready, if you truly wanted distance, then why did you touch him like that?

Why was your voice so gentle?

Why leave the door open, just a crack, just a sliver of an invitation, just enough for him to slip through like a whisper on the wind?

It doesn’t make sense.

Which means: You’re scared.

Of course, you must be. It’s the only explanation. You’re utterly, helplessly terrified of how much you love him, of the sheer intensity of it, the unfathomable depth, the suffocating inevitability, the inescapable, all-consuming truth that binds you to him. You don’t understand it yet. You don’t see the full picture, don’t grasp the overwhelming magnitude of what you feel, the way it stretches into infinity.

But that’s okay. He can wait. Patience is a virtue he’s mastered. He can guide you - new things are daunting, unsettling, horrifying even. He understands; he was the same way with Suguru. A little hesitant. A little afraid. But love is a science, an immutable force, a precise and predictable phenomenon governed by distinct, repeatable patterns. And you - his perfect, brilliant girl - are simply a variable in need of proper calibration. A puzzle to be meticulously solved. An equation to be elegantly balanced.

Though Satoru wasn’t expecting to black out so soon. Not like this. Not from something so trivial, so insignificant, so utterly beneath him. There you were. Standing in that dimly lit hallway of the old lab building, facing away from him while that pathetic, insignificant little man faced him. There you were. Laughing. Twirling your hair. Tilting your chin up in a way that he has never been privy to, pretty eyes flickering with something playful, something forbidden.

Your lip caught between your teeth.

A smile you had never once given him.

Hiding.

Hiding everything.

Satoru blinked. When he opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else. His breath came in shallow, sharp gasps, the copper-tinged taste of adrenaline thick on his tongue. Those slender, pale fingers of his ached, stiff, strained, bloodied. Perfectly manicured nails were splintered. Jagged crescents of flesh wedged beneath them. He wasn’t sure when his hands had wrapped around the bastard’s throat, when he had squeezed until there was a crack, a wet, ugly sound that didn’t quite register until the body collapsed onto the flooring in a graceless, lifeless heap.

Not like the movies. There was no dramatic last words. No struggle. Just the light fading from the bastard's eyes and your screams.

Satoru exhaled, slow and even, watching the body twitch, watching the useless, pitiful sack of flesh that had touched you, looked at you, laughed with you, go still.

No witnesses. No evidence. No problem.

Satoru had paid someone to take care of it. It was just that simple. Blood money for blood stains. A phone call. A transfer. A sigh. A body gone. Clean. Efficient. Effortless. You - his sweet, little traitor - had been so easy to take after that.

Dragging you away was nothing. You were too shocked to fight, too stunned to understand. To light in his arms, even as you thrashed, kicked, screamed, all useless, all futile. He had shoved you into the car, tucked you so nicely into the back seat. Your muffled screams, your fists pounding against the door, such adorable resistance. All it took was a few words, a whispered warning, and your fight died.

"If you scream, kitten, someone else is gonna have to disappear tonight."

You were much more pliant after that, bounded, subdued. Perfectly still. Those pretty, glistening tears streamed down your horrified face, carving delicate, shimmering paths along your flushed, trembling skin. Satoru wiped the last crimson remnants from his hands, his mouth quirking into a lopsided, exhausted smile - lazy, almost affectionate.

“Sorry, kitten,” he murmured, his voice light, breathless, far too casual and sweet. A teasing lilt was buried beneath the softness, barely masked.

Like this was normal.

Like this was just another one of his usual flirtations.

“Sorry you had to wake up here,” he cooed, tilting his head as if in thought, his crystalline eyes gleaming with playfulness. “But you did kind of ask for it.”

Your throat bobbed with a silent, quivering sob, the gag muffling the fractured sound into something weak and helpless. Satoru studied you, his gaze lingering, indulgent. You did look so pretty like this, eyes blown wide, glossy with pitiful tears, frantic and pleading. Your lips, raw and swollen from desperate, futile struggles, clung helplessly to the gag, little muffled whimpers slipping through. Your body trembled in the sweetest, most delicate shakes, the shivers rippling down your spine, your chest rising and falling in frantic, uneven heaves, every panicked breath proof of your helplessness. So small. So utterly, exquisitely defenseless.

His eyes darkened, something wild and untamed curling deep in his gut, a primal, simmering heat coiling beneath his ribs.

"You lied to me." A slow quirk of his lips, his voice dipping into something softer, almost sing-song, a dangerous kind of amusement threading through the lilt of his words as he moved closer. Satoru crouched before you, knees bending with an almost lazy, effortless grace, one hand resting on his thigh, the other reaching for your tear-streaked face with an unsettling gentleness.

Your breath hitched.

You flinched away.

A mistake.

His fingers tightened instantly. Gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his dull blue-eyed gaze - pressing, pressing, pressing - the tips of his bloodstained nails biting into the fragile skin of your cheeks. Tiny pinpricks of pressure. Your frantic, choked whimpers were music to him. A trembling, pitiful melody that sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. A sharp inhale before dragging his thumb down the curve of your cheek, smearing the warmth of your tears with an almost devout reverence. Worshipful. Possessive.

"You called me pathetic," he murmured, light, conversational, as though this were nothing more than idle chatter. "A loser."

Your pupils dilated, wide and glassy, breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts, your chest rising and falling too fast, too erratic.

"You lied," Satoru continued, voice dipping lower, rougher, tinged with something ravenous. "Said you weren’t ready for a relationship. But I saw your phone, kitten. Saw all those little apps. Saw what you said about me." Your body shuddered beneath his grip, trembling like a fragile, wounded thing, and something deep in his chest thrummed - a slow, indulgent pulse of pleasure at your helplessness.

"I really just wanted you to be my girlfriend, you know?"

His tone was fond. Almost dreamy. A slow exhale, savoring the moment, fingers ghosting down the delicate curve of your jaw before dipping lower, feeling the erratic rhythm of your pulse, the delicious, frantic flutter of your heartbeat thrumming beneath his touch.

"But being my kitten…?" A soft sigh. "That could work too."

Your tears spilled, unchecked - hot, feverish, slipping down your cheeks in shimmering rivulets, a plea of sorts. One that will go unheard. Satoru hummed a quiet, pleased sound, dragging the pad of his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, feeling the tremble, the way you struggled to hold back the sobs choking your throat.

“I was saving this for our anniversary,” he mused, his voice light, conversational, as if this was nothing more than an offhand remark. His free hand moved, reaching beside him, fingers curling around a carefully bundled package. A costume. Soft velvet, delicate lace. Cat ears and a tail.

For you.

For his new kitten. One that he won't have to listen to on discord anymore. His smile widened as he held it up, tilting his head as if admiring his own thoughtfulness.

"I guess we’ll just have to celebrate early," he cooed, voice dripping with saccharine delight.

You screamed and thrashed as he shoved you down, face-first onto the cold, polished floor, his weight pressing down on you, a purr of amusement vibrating in his chest.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay." Satoru ran his fingers through your hair, twisting tight at the roots - yanking your head up, forcing you to stare at the glossy, pristine poster in front of you.

Geto Suguru. Your favorite idol. One you would talk to Satoru in the lab about. A common interest between you to. Little did you know, he was a little closer to that interest of yours.

"I did promise you were going to meet him soon, didn’t I?" His breath was hot against your ear, lips curled into something stretched and unhinged. "Mommy is really going to like you."

Your broken, choked sobs filled the room, but he just hummed, smiling like he’d just gifted you something precious. Pressing his lips to your shaking temple. Your breath came in sharp, rapid gasps - panicked, broken, desperate - but Gojo Satoru sighed, twirling a loose strand of your hair between his fingers.

His voice dropped into something dark, low, and breathy. "Daddy is going to take such good care of you." Your body jerked, muscles pulsing with adrenaline. however, his grip tightened, ensuring you were safely in place. Satoru's bright, hungry blue eyes flicked toward the cat tail in his hand -the matching little ears tucked away for later. Lips stretching into something impossibly wide, impossibly giddy.

"Sorry, kitten." A mocking chuckle filled the room as he flipped up your skirt, dragging the steel along your clammy, fevered skin. "I was going to be gentle." Your eyes widened at the coldness, a soft sigh escaped his lips as he titled his head as if deep in thought, then continued to trace a slow, lingering touch over the goosebumps rising along your skin. "But you really, really broke my heart."

A pause.

"Don’t worry, though."

His breath was warm against your cheek, hot, feverish, as you felt his warm hand push your panties down.

"Mommy will be home soon to make everything better."

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo satoru #yandere #yandere gojo #yandere satoru #yandere x reader #yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere satoru x reader #yandere nerd!gojo #yandere jjk #male yandere x reader

410 notes · View notes

thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 year ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Part 2 to Truth or Dare

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: After a game of Truth or Dare leaves you and your lieutenant breathless and yearning for more, will you both be able to leave things alone or will one of you not be able to hold out? And what happens when you meet again?

Word Count: 5 k

Part 3: READ HERE

So many questions are left on Lt. Riley’s tongue as he finishes another cigarette and leaves the group of officers behind in the rec to make his way back to his quarter, the spectre's touch of your full lips still causing the skin on his mouth to tingle from the sudden lack of all that delicious pressure. There is so much he wants to make clear, even more he wants to do, but where to begin? It’s all so confusing.

As he lays down in his empty bed staring up at the ceiling, struggling to relax his feverish limbs as it still feels like he has been struck by a live wire, he fails to keep his wandering mind focused on his breathing to ignore the gnawing emptiness that is filling his chest from the absence of your presence. That’s when the questions start to roll in.

Did you feel something too? Maybe it was all just an act? Does that even matter if it was?

“No,” Simon mutters to himself through the silence to stop his train of thought from running rampant. He’s allowing himself to get distracted worrying about the unknown and that is something that will only cause more problems, but he is in turmoil.

Unsuccessfully he tosses and turns in the darkness that fills the space, his thoughts drifting back to that feeling of heat from the proximity of your bodies, the residual pressure from your mouth plastered to his, the look of pure lust in your gaze, and the gnawing compulsion of his fingers to get at your curves.

But this isn’t a lover’s island, there is a job to be done here and he has seniority. Maybe it is better to leave this alone where it stands; who knows what disaster could come from getting involved with another officer in such a capacity. And yet…

There is no stopping his mind from wandering ceaselessly back to those breathless moments where his lips fought yours for dominance with the mind-numbing electricity flowing between you, the attraction so strong it did not seem possible for you both to pull from it.

He has a problem and it isn’t going away.

Across base, laying in the dark in your own bed, your heartbeat pounding heavily in your chest, an ache runs its course throughout your limbs. There is a need for something to ease this overwhelming desire to be craved in a desperate, debilitating way, though you really don’t want to admit it. No, you don’t need something…you need someone. You need him.

You hadn’t been ready to admit it then, but there was a spark between you that is no longer possible to ignore now that you are alone, but you don’t know how to handle things any other way than to just ignore and move on; maybe the desire to have him again will die away if you just let it be. Even as the thought enters your mind you know it’s pure bullshit. There is no denying that things became complicated the second your lips met, that it was like igniting gasoline with a blowtorch. What was once mere infatuation that you could handle, has now grown into an untamed beast inside that leaves you feeling delirious and out of control.

Rolling onto your side, you convince yourself to leave all these questions alone and focus on something else, anything to get your mind off of what you would be doing with the lieutenant at this moment if you both had not been interrupted. As you close your eyes to force sleep to come, visions of a bare and glistening officer thrusting between your legs fills your subconscious and you hope the morning comes soon enough because sleep is going to be short tonight.

Luckily, life around base rarely stands still long enough for anything other than work to get tended to. Any hopes of exploring that tension and ecstasy has to be put on the back burner as life in the taskforce resumes its usual chaos. Daily operations keep your schedule packed completely full all week so that certain thoughts get pushed to the back of your mind. And yet, during those slower moments of the day, they come creeping back up just like they never left.

“ ‘ello?” Soap says as he waves his hand in front of your blank face. “Ye in there, lass?”

Your fork hangs limply from your hand, teetering over your plate lunch and threatening to fall with a clatter as you realize that you drifted off again. This is the third time this week that you have gotten so lost in thought trying to recall that feeling of the lieutenant’s lips that it’s becoming apparent to your fellow sergeant that something is off. Blinking a few times, you shake your head to clear your mind.

“What?” you shoot back at him as you stab the food and push it around the plate, pretending to eat even though you aren’t hungry.

“I’ve been talkin’ for a good five minutes and ye ain’t heard a word,” he says with a hint of agitation. His steady glare gives you the once over as he tries to read your face. “Where ye at these last few days, hmm?”

You mask your face behind your customary smile. “Maybe I’m just trying to imagine a more engaging conversation than the one I’m currently in,” you pick, but Johnny isn’t letting this drop.

His eyes are still on you, scrutinizing your body language even as you stare down into your food to avoid his gaze. From the corner of your eye you can see the gears turning in that mind of his as if he is trying to put things together. You let it go on a few more seconds before you speak up.

“You got a problem or something?”

“It’s just strange,” he chuckles and you raise an eyebrow as you tilt your head to the side. “It’s just…I was speakin’ to Gaz yesterday and he mentioned that the lieutenant seems…distracted…as well lately. Same vacant look ye got goin’ on. Ye wouldn’t happen ta know why, would ye?”

Your heart leaps with a strong thud in your chest. Just what the hell is he implying? You had been certain that Johnny knew nothing, but now you aren’t so sure. Maybe you aren’t being as convincing as you think. “Why the fuck would I know that?” you play it off as you swallow down the lump in your throat. “Do I just know everything that goes on with everyone around here? I’ve got enough on my mind then to worry about the rest of you lot.”

Johnny leans in a bit closer over his plate and lowers his voice as he says the next part, making your blood run cold. “Must be a coincidence then, that both a ye just happen ta be actin’ different at the same time, ay? Ye know, on account a tha other night.”

The heel of your boot immediately connects with his foot only hard enough to make him yelp and pop back upright in surprise. You always forget that Johnny is smarter than he lets on and it’s clear he has been paying attention. Too bad you will never give him the satisfaction of admitting anything. With a laugh he sits back in his seat as you stare him down before rolling your eyes.

“Why are you so worried about the lieutenant? Seems like someone’s a bit too obsessed and that can be a problem. You should probably talk to someone about that.”

He shakes his head. “Whatever ye say, lass,” he says, punctuating it with another chuckle as he tucks back into his lunch. “Whatever ye say.”

Firearms and ammunition is on the schedule for the rest of your day. It is your job to take inventory of all the munitions you’ll need for tomorrow’s end of week training. At least the repetitious task will keep you busy enough that hopefully you won’t be thinking about a certain lieutenant and what he could be up to right now.

At least that is the plan that you start with, but just as every other day this week soon that hulking officer begins to creep his way into your mind. Has Johnny been lying about how distracted the lieutenant seems lately? Could it be about what happened the other night or could it be something that has nothing to do with you? Little by little, it chips away at your calm until that is all you can focus on, even as you try and get through counting and gathering all the materials you’ll be needing for tomorrow.

There is no way for you to know, but at that exact moment there is someone coming your way with a burning question that needs answering.

All week Lt. Riley has gone about his days as usual, except try as he might to focus only on the tasks given to him, all he can do is mull over the same question in his mind: did you feel something in the kiss the way he did? It is eating him alive to know the answer and no matter where he is, who is speaking with, or what he is doing, the question is there to make him restless.

Until finally he has had enough. Just as the question overwhelms his mind again he throws down the work on his desk, shoves his chair back to get out, and leaves his office in a flurry. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but as he walks he passes by Captain Price’s office, the one person that would know where you are stationed today. Quickly he steps inside the doorway to ask.

Price checks his computer screen that has all that information already pulled up. “She has firearm trainin’ tomorrow with the newer recruits, so she will be takin’ inventory in munitions today,” the captain relays the information, curious as to why his lieutenant seems tense and sounds a little out of breath.

Before the captain can ask any more probing questions or mention to his officer that he will need to speak with him in a bit, the lieutenant heads off in a rush towards the munitions depot. No matter, the captain will let him conduct his business with you and send a messenger in a bit to bring him back.

Lt. Riley crosses the base with nothing else on his mind but to get to you and when he does he finds you are completely lost in your work, none the wiser that you aren’t alone anymore until it’s too late. You don’t hear that signature click that means the main door is opening, nor the careful, but heavily booted footsteps padding across the floor in your direction. Just a few feet from you he stops and stares silently, waiting to see if you notice his presence.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel a pair of eyes on you and looking up you come face to face with the person that was just on your mind. You can’t stop the way you hold your breath the moment your eyes connect as every involuntary process in your body gets interrupted by his sudden appearance. Desperately you try to regain composure and shake off that initial surprise; there is no need to make this awkward, it will only make things worse for yourself in the long run.

Clearing your throat, you shoot him a smile. “Sir,” you greet him with a nod and a slight tremor in your voice that you quickly swallow back down. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here. Did you need something?”

The adrenaline makes your limbs tingle and instead of just standing there awkwardly as you wait for him to respond, you put your hands back to the task before you hoping to cause your nervousness to settle. If you have to stand looking into his face in the stillness of the room for much longer, you might combust and the risk of looking like a fool is enough to make you act out being too busy to give him your full attention.

Standing this close with the lingering feelings from the reaction that happened the last time you were together, the lieutenant is overwhelmed and it makes him pause. That same magnetism that he had felt that night is already pulling him to you, until his composure falls apart faster than he can calm it. Still, there is a question on the tip of his tongue that he is choking to ask; it’s the whole reason he’s here and he’s not leaving without an answer no matter what.

“I need ya to stop and look at me,” he says as he steps in towards you. You discreetly take a deep breath as you set your things down to turn your face back to look up at him.

He’s already scrutinizing your body language, focusing on any sign that might give him an idea of where your thoughts are at this moment. Those brown eyes catch how tense your shoulders are through your t-shirt, how your pupils seem dilated as you meet his gaze, and finally the way your hands tremble as they hang at your sides.

“I want ya to tell me the truth, yeah?” he says with a nod.

You stare back at him, big doe-eyes sparkling in the overhead lights as your pulse runs fiery hot through your limbs with the growing anxiety from wondering what the hell is going on. “Yes, sir?”

The mask covering his face clings a little too tightly and the clothing on his chest traps in the heat rising in his body, making his skin clammy as he struggles to vocalize that loaded question he’s had swirling in his mind for days. Lt. Riley clears his throat; he thought he’d come up with something better than this, but thinking clearly has long gone now. All he can do is just spit it out.

“Mactavish’s stupid fuckin’ dare, ya remember it? I keep thinkin’ ‘bout it and I need ya to tell me somethin’: was it all an act, the way we kissed?”

Fuck, how are you supposed to answer this?

There is warmth blossoming in your cheeks as the thumping grows stronger in your chest. His question is simple enough, yet there isn’t a simple way for you to answer. Tell the truth? Could you actually go through with something that risky? For all you know he could be asking just to tell you that the kiss is to mean nothing because it will never happen again, that he wants you to let it all go to clear the air of any misconceptions. You pray that that is not what he’s about to say, but as you silently think about how to answer, he pushes for you to stop avoiding the question.

“I need ya to answer me,” he says firmly, eyes never leaving yours. “Were ya pretendin’ or did ya not want it to fuckin’ end?”

A sharp inhale of air does nothing in helping to calm your nerves; you just have to get on with it. “I-it…wasn’t an act,” you say.

The lieutenant has his answer, that’s what he wanted, right? Just to hear you say that the spark ignited between you in those few ecstasy-fueled minutes were genuine; that is it, isn’t it? His curiosity is sated and he should be able to move on, but he can’t. With your confession comes something more, something that he can’t let go of, and that is now that he knows it was real he wants it again. It consumes him to the point that he cannot move away and instead steps in closer as he grabs your biceps, forcing you to move backwards until you find yourself against the wall directly behind you.

“Sir?” you ask to get his attention as he continues to stand there staring intensely into your face without so much as a sound. You hadn’t felt this overwhelmed by his presence since the night you two kissed, but now it is back to cloud your mind and set your pulse pounding through your limbs.

Your furrow-browed stare wavers as you clear your throat and repeat your question again. “Sir?”

Consequences are an inconceivable concept right now; the only thing playing in his mind are how fucking soft your lips look and how he desperately wants to get lost in them again. The sensations of reliving that experience from that night in the rec consumes every molecule in his body until there is nothing left inside him except for you.

He needs it, he needs it now, and as that deep, longing ache settles itself in his chest to cause his heart to pound so hard that he can hear the beat in his ears, he throws sensibility away as he moves to grab your hips firmly in his gloved hands.

“We really shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he says, his body pressing against yours as he draws you in. “Ya know it’s trouble.”

His actions don’t match his words and the contradiction causes your mind to falter on what you should do. Did he want this to end or not? Does he even really know?

“Do you want to stop, sir?” you ask timidly as your body begins to vibrate with the sudden, intense pleasure of his hands as they are back on you again. “You know we can just forget it; it’s really fine.”

One of his hands leaves the curve of your hip and travels upwards so that those long, covered fingers can string themselves through the strands of hair at the back of your head. “Who said I wanted ta forget, hmm?” he admits with his eyes firmly on your lips, watching as they part slightly so you can take quick, short breaths in and out. “Do ya think I wasn’t there, that I didn’t feel what was happenin’ between us that night? Ya think I could just forget all that? Do ya think I want to?”

His gloved thumb wraps around your face so that he can brush it over your bottom lip, letting the electricity pass through the fabric from his fingertips into your mouth. You gasp from the ache his touch leaves behind and he exhales heavily at your reaction. “Do ya know the fuckin’ power ya have over me after that? Shit, I’m riskin’ a lot just ta be here like this with ya again, knowing what could happen when we’re alone. All because ‘a one fuckin’ kiss.”

You swear if he doesn’t do something soon you are going to pass out; your mind is spinning in circles as the warm tension gathering between your bodies becomes unbearable. Only a small swatch of fabric covering his face keeps you both apart and yet you can still sense the heated air from his mouth as it sweeps across the delicate skin of your lips the closer he lowers his head.

He can’t do it, he can’t stop the way he craves you to the point of insanity right now. No, if he was going to stop it should have been long before now. As his hands cling to your body, there isn’t any chance that he is going to let you get away. He needs you, he has to have you, and it has to be right this fucking second to ease the painful longing that has kept him up all week.

Lt. Riley is gone; in his place is a depraved being that only yearns to feel that overwhelming passion that you gave him once again.

“I need more of the way it felt,” he groans adamantly. “I need ya, now.”

Before you can properly react to his heart-stopping statement, the lieutenant frantically wrenches his mask up and completely off his face, not wanting to be hindered at all from you anymore. All you catch is a crown of short blonde hair as he lets the cloth fall to the floor, closes his eyes, and leans in without another word to harshly smash his juicy lips together with yours in a reckless abandon that makes your knees buckle.

Fucking hell it’s everything that he remembered and so much more; you taste like the best type of sin and he is ready to pay everything for it.

The force of his advance shoves your head backward into the wall as he takes your mouth with dizzying harshness, not hesitating to shove in his tongue to fill the cavity behind your lips to capacity. The tip of that wet muscle strokes across the roof of your mouth and the sensation causes your eyes to roll back into your head. If there was any doubt left in your mind, it has all dissipated now that his mouth is back on yours.

“Stop callin’ me sir. Say my name,” he forcefully demands in that husky, breathless tone, a yearning in his voice that makes your soul burn as he speaks those desperate words onto your skin. “Call me Simon.”

You break from his mouth, your lips instantly desperate to form the word and say it aloud. “Simon,” you moan and it breathes new life into his name that he could never have predicted he needed.

Pining you tighter to the wall, he overtakes you rougher and rougher until the harshness of his movements abrades the skin of your mouth to make it swell and bruise. Relentlessly he siphones the breath from you to keep him going. That moist air fills his mouth so that he can speak. “Say it again,” he orders in a growl.

It’s like honey as it rolls off your tongue and you can’t help but want to repeat it. “Mmm, Simon,” you whimper onto his mouth and goddamn the euphoria of having to swallow down the desperation in your voice suddenly awakens an insatiable ache that will need more to quench.

His gloves have to go, now, as his bare hands are burning to get their fill of your curves. Those thin pieces of fabric are hindering him from being able to connect with all that silky skin so that he can know what it feels like against his calloused palms. It is torment to be kept from all that ecstasy. Struggling to peel them off his fingers as he cannot pry his mouth away from yours at all, he finally frees those long, brawny digits and they waste no time in pawing wildly at your body.

Greedy fingers recklessly claw and tear at your clothing, searching for an opening where he can penetrate to find enough balmy skin available to fill his hands until he cannot hold anymore. Deliriously and without looking he rips the pieces of your uniform up until he can get underneath them and let his fingertips get that first touch he has craved nonstop since the second he had pulled away from you that night. Those hungry lips continue to overwhelm your own as Simon is able to grab the hem and his hands have finally found their prize.

Laborious panting breaths fill up the space between you as the roughness of his hands grip into your hips and square them up against his own, pelvis’ grinding together in search of as much friction as they can find. Only a few layers of clothing keep your bodies apart, but that doesn’t stop Simon from rutting against you and you matching his movements. There is nothing else inside your head except the overwhelming euphoria of his touch along the lines of your body and the growing bulge in his pants that drills into you harder and harder the more it grows.

No immediate danger is there to keep you both tame, no time limit looms over your heads that will force you to stop, and when two desperate things have nothing to lose, they simply let go.

Every single one of his senses is overflowing with all of you: the feeling of your lips against his, the taste of your sweet breath in his mouth, the warmth of your skin brushing over his, the beat of your heart that he can feel through his fingertips, the sound of your quiet whimpers making his head spin. Goddammit you are eager, so willing to meet his advancements with everything you have; there is no question about what you want. And he cannot lie that he wants it too. You’ve both started down this path and there is no turning back; he knows it’s wrong, he knows he should stop, but he won’t.

You are in his veins, circling inside his mind, part of the very air he breathes; whatever risk comes with this could never outweigh the reward of getting to sate the hunger that has been driving him insane.

“Fuck it all,” he growls and suddenly his hands are under your arms and you are being hoisted up off the ground.

Your body reacts from pure instinct by spreading your legs wide and wrapping them around his broad hips, securing yourself to him with a clench of your thighs together. Simon knocks a gasp out of you as he slams your back up against the wall to use it for leverage, his body crushing yours as he begins to grind up into you with that throbbing, engorged cock that is straining to break the zipper of his pants.

Through your clothes he thrusts up into you with powerful strikes, hips rolling into yours over and over with desperation as he tries to get just a little bit more friction between your bodies. You use your thighs to help push yourself up off of him, bouncing over his crotch in response to mimic the way you’d fuck him.

Simon knows he shouldn’t go any further, that he should slow things down because this isn’t the place, but he won’t. Everything is already so close, but still not close enough. He needs the real thing, not this cheap imitation. Even in the haze of this delirious union, there is only one thing he knows he has to do.

He has to get you both naked.

Feverish fingers claw into the negative space between your bodies at the bottom of your shirt until Simon can find the hem. The cooler air outside of your clothing hits your skin with a tingle to make goosebumps appear as he pulls it up off your stomach and over the swell of your breasts.

“Lift up your arms,” he says quickly and your eyes flutter open so that you can follow the demand.

In one swift motion the shirt is off and Simon doesn’t waste any time in ripping off his shirt as well. The feeling of skin to skin sends shivers of ecstasy down his spine as he presses against you. So soft, so warm, fucking hell is he in over his head. He leans in, bending forward so that he can kiss the tops of your breasts through your bra as he hands wander again between your bodies to the clasp on your pants.

Just as his fingers loop through the waistband, you hear the tail end of it. There is no mistaking it, it’s the signature sound of the door to the armory closing shut. You have no time to act as a private with a message from Captain Price enters in a hurry, not paying attention, and stumbles upon something he shouldn’t have under no fault of his own.

“Lt. Riley, Price needs to see y–” the messenger says as he finally looks up, immediately stopping dead in his tracks as his cheeks flush bright red at coming face to face with the two of you half naked and twined together.

The private is tripping over his words as an exasperated growl shuts him right up. “Outside; now,” Simon barks harshly through a heavy pant as he turns his head enough to lock eyes with the now terrified private. Quickly the young man turns tail and bolts for the door, stumbling over his feet to get out as fast as he physically can. Once the click from the door closing shut is heard, those brown eyes turn back to you.

Simon draws in a deep breath before his head falls forward to rest up against yours, foreheads pressed together as he just holds onto you for a moment. “Goddammit,” he curses under his breath in disappointment.

Carefully he untangles his body from yours and sets you back down onto your feet. “Times up,” he repeats the phrase that ended your encounter the last time, though his tone is markedly more miserable this time, and you can’t help the way your stomach knots tightly.

Simon grabs all your clothing back up off the ground, handing you your shirt back as he goes to put his own back on. You immediately redress and straighten your uniform as best you can with your unsteady hands. Everything gets tucked back in place once again as you wait for him to head out without a word, since this seems to be following a certain pattern now.

But instead of simply walking away leaving you to agonize about if you will ever get a chance like this again, his arm reaches out and those long gloved fingers wrap around your belt buckle, gripping it tight in his hand so that he can drag you back against him. The other hand finds its way under your chin to force you to maintain eye contact with him; he needs you to hear him and make no mistake about what he is saying.

“This isn’t over,” he murmurs as he guides your head forward to place one last, lingering kiss on your lips before he breaks away to situate his mask back down over his face.

With that he turns and heads outside to the private patiently waiting to finish giving him the message from the captain. You let your eyes follow him the entire way out the door and only when he’s gone do you finally release the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

This isn’t over. The words repeat on a loop in your mind. Fuck, you sure hope so.

Now the question is: when?

Tagging: @spooky-pomegranate

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aeyumicore · 9 months ago

Text

get drunk, get me drunk, drown - william rex

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: william rex x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with very little plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 2.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight dub-con/coercion (william uses his power but mc is very much willing), mutual masturbation, p in v seggs, mc on top, cumming inside, unprotected seggs, lots of pet names, mc/you are kate, lots of praise, drunk sex, william is drunk, multiple orgasmssss

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3 | translation i referenced

━ ✧.˖ A/N: first ever ikevil fic! a spin off of william’s event story ‘get drunk, get me drunk, drown.’ this is not entirely dialogue and event accurate, as i added my own spin to it to make it flow better as a smut (with the translator’s permission of course @/dark-frosted-heart)

for all my lads girlies, even if you don’t play ikevil you can read this! i would recommend reading the translation linked above first. the only thing you need to know to understand it is that william has the queen of hearts curse which gives him the power of compulsion; he can force others to obey his verbal commands (he can choose which commands are compelled).

i would also recommend playing ikevil overall…if you’re into darker/real world themes hehe. but be warned it is not necessarily a wallet friendly game, though you can enjoy it without spending, which is what i am doing!

without further ado, my first, of many, ikevil fics <3

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“My sweet Y/N…cum for me thrice, using only your own hands.”

The serene look on William’s ethereal face was a stark contrast to the sinister edge laced into his deep purr, his words slightly slurred by the expensive liquor Roger had given you to share with him.

Your eyes widen, your lips moving instantly to protest, “Wh-what?! No way!”

But of course, your body was no match for William’s power, obeying his every command. Your fingers crawl to the absolute mess the snow-haired man had made in between your legs. But he wasn’t solely to blame; your body was always so ready to react to his every touch. It was inevitable you’d become so utterly aroused by the way he’d just commanded you to kiss him, the alcohol on his tongue still lingering on your own.

Even if you wanted to stop, it was too late. Your body had already succumbed to William’s alluring demands, seeking out a pleasure that was already on the tip of your consciousness. As your fingers began to work at your sopping clit, William moved to situate himself on the plush armchair across the bed you were sprawled on.

Even drunk, he moved as elegantly as a swan across the lake surface, sinking into the deep cushion, his hands resting on the armrests and his legs spread wide. His crimson eyes burned into your already scorched body, watching the way you glisten against the extravagant chandelier that hung in his room.

You pant, back arching off the mattress as your fingers expertly toyed at your clit, in ways that only William, or the influence of WIlliam’s power, knew how to do.

“What a splendid sight,” William croons, his long sharp ruby-red nails digging into the seams of the armchair. If you weren’t so delirious from the way your fingers pleasured your own body, you might’ve noticed the way William’s chest, peeking out from the undone buttons of his black dress shirt, heaved at the sight of you. Or how his pulse bulged against his ivory skin, his own breath coming out in heedy gasps.

The room was filled with nothing but the filthy wet sounds of your fingers against your slit, and your pathetic attempts to hide your moans.

“Don’t hide. Sing for me, my little robin.”

Your hand was ripped away from your parted lips, your mewls coming out embarrassingly loud and unabashed. William grins in satisfaction, the throbbing bulge in between his lap becoming hard to the point of pain.

“You’re – nghn – cruel,” you cry as your fingers paw at your clit relentlessly.

“Really? I find myself to be quite charitable…” William says thoughtfully. As if to prove his point, he commands you, the glint in his crimson eyes becoming dangerous, “Put a finger in, darling.”

You cry out when your middle finger penetrates your quivering hole, eyes rolling at the way he’s able to guide you to instantly find your sweetest spots. Areas he had mapped out so thoroughly himself.

“Eyes on me, Y/N,” William commands. With your free hand, your body moves to prop itself up without ever abandoning your pussy. Your limbs feel foreign, in a way you’d become intimately familiar with, having enjoyed William’s powers many a time.

You gasp as you’re met with the sight of William sitting like an emperor on his throne. He was the King of Villains in every sense of the word, especially now as he held his bare cock in his hand, languidly pumping up and down as he watched you pleasure yourself on his command.

The color of his pale pink erection against his deep red nails is hypnotizing, the veins darkened under his long and slender fingers. He is so incredibly hard, a milky stream of precum already dribbling down his shaft, catching and pooling at his fingers. His free hand still rests against the arms of the chair, his fingers gently tapping at the luxurious material. Almost as if his will-power is teetering on the edge.

It’s so unbelievably erotic, watching him pleasure himself to the sight of you writhing helplessly on his bed, that you find yourself careening over the edge violently. When his eyes catch yours, the amusement and need evident in the reflection of his vermillion irises, you come undone. Your back arches, toes curling into the comforter, as your fingers work you into an absolute frenzy.

“Ngh – ahh!” you cry out as you cum, your hands drenched in your arousal. You want to throw your head back, but your eyes stay locked on William as you submit to your orgasm, just how he’d ordered. He continues to fist himself, nails digging into the chair, pants haphazardly pulled slightly down to give himself better access.

Even as your body reels with overstimulation, your fingers don’t stop.

“I came!” you cry, “Please let me stop.”

“I said three times,” comes William’s simple response, his lips curled up into a devilishly charming and sly grin that lets you know there’s absolutely no way you’re getting out of this.

—

You’re a screaming teary-eyed mess when you finally do cum for the third time. Your fingers finally relent, and your body goes slack. You melt into the plush bed, nearly passing out right then and there, only snapping back to consciousness when William speaks, still at his seat in the armchair.

“You’re not allowed to pass out until I’m satisfied.”

You groan, a mixture of anticipation and fear coursing through your ragged body, “William, please.”

“Did you not say you would take responsibility for whatever happens when I get intoxicated?”

You groan as your previous words come back to bite you in the ass. Though your thighs quiver, you can feel a fire being rekindled in your gut at William’s hoarse words, his composure coming undone as he continues to stare at the beautiful glimmering slick between your shaking legs.

But even with the influence of his power, William waits for your approval before going further. When you finally look up shyly, giving him a slow nod of approval, he finally purrs.

“Come here, my beloved.”

Even without the undeniable command of his power, your body finds itself crawling across the bed to him, clambering off and walking the short distance to the chair he still sits on.

He truly was the King of Villains, and he was inviting you to sit on his throne.

You climb atop of William’s awaiting lap, straddling him as he gently places his hands on the plush of your hips, his beautifully dark eyes looking up at you expectantly.

“Well? Will you take responsibility for this?”

William takes the base of his cock into his hands, stroking it lazily in front of your naval, his other hand still gripping your waist, his sharp nails digging into you.

You bite your lip at the erotic sight, already feeling your body ready yourself to take him, in all his thick and imposing glory. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, and nod, suddenly feeling shy, as if William hadn’t just watched you commit the most filthy acts to yourself.

“Perfect little robin,” he murmurs. You’re fully expecting him to command you to position himself at your sex, command you to ride him until your thighs physically give out.

But you squeak in surprise when William hoists you up, his long fingers wrapping around your waist. Without another warning he impales you onto himself, letting out a drawn out growl of ecstasy as he sinks you all the way down to his thighs.

“William!” you screech, your body struggling to accommodate his girth, despite the countless times he’d taken you like this, “Ngh – oh…”

“That’s it, my heart,” he coos, his voice annoyingly smooth even as he fills you completely. Within himself fully seated inside you, his cockhead nudging against your cervix, he forgeos all attempts to maintain his collected demeanor. After all, there’s nothing William believes in more than being honest with one’s desires, with their heart.

He curses, something the refined nobleman rarely ever did, “My love, I fear…I cannot hold back tonight.”

Your chest tightens at the desperation in his guttural plea, and you find yourself more excited than ever, even after three orgasms, “Then don’t, William.”

William stares at you for a fleeting moment, a dark flash of blood red hunger flickering in his equally ruby eyes.

Without letting another breath so much as escape your kiss bitten lips, he begins to bounce you on his lap. With the help of his hands gripping your plush waist, he uses his strong thighs to start rocking you onto him, the mess of your previous climaxes smearing onto his lap. His pants had long been discarded, leaving him bare against your soiled thighs.

“Can you feel how perfectly we fit, my love?”

You nod fervently as he bounces you shamelessly on top of him, his tip reaching right against your cervix at every thrust. Your eyes are screwed shut, so you don’t see the way William watches you, in an absolute trance.

William only grows harder at the sight of your face screwed in utter pleasure, his beautiful little robin bouncing so wildly, so eager to indulge in the pleasures of his body. So eager to please him.

“Ngh – ah! William…”

Even in his drunken state, only sobering slightly after watching yourself toy with yourself, William is capable of giving you so much ecstasy. He grips your body effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all, while he rocks into you, chasing a pleasure only you can give him.

With your eyes shut, you don’t see William lowering his face onto the swell of your exposed breasts, his teeth nipping at the soft mound of flesh. Your eyes blink open drearily as he trails a path of wet kisses down to your nipples.

“W-Will,” you gasp, choking on your stuttering breaths, back arching into him, pushing your breasts further into his face.

William chuckles, speaking in between suckling at your soft delicious skin, “Yes?”

“Ngh – feels…” you sigh, clinging onto his toned shoulders as he indulges further in your breasts. You’re rendered speechless when his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping into your disheveled hair. His other hand seeks out the space between your bodies, finding your slick covered nub, still quivering with a sated exhaustion.

“Hm…can’t speak Y/N?” William smirks into your skin, as he begins to pound you particularly hard onto his lap. Your thighs sting at the impact, but it’s only a fleck of pain compared to the boundless euphoria William’s body bestows upon yours.

“Tell me how it feels.”

Your eyes widen as the words are pulled out of your lips, your tongue moving fluidly against his command, “Feel s’full Will, like I might die. You feel s-so good inside me. Never want to – nghn – stop.”

“Keep going.”

Your tongue moves on its own accord once more, spilling your filthiest thoughts for the Cursed below you, “Nothing, n-no one, can make me feel better than you can.“

“Ngh — ah….I love you William.”

Your cheeks burn at the way he pulls the deepest truths out of you, shame and humility a long forgotten concept. You bury your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment.

William’s heart pounds against your body, reveling in your sweet filthy words and your adoring confession.

He’d never tire of hearing you confess your love for him.

“And I love you.”

William bites his cheek as you tighten at his words, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow as the feeling drives him closer to his first orgasm of the night. In his drunken state, he can hardly control himself any longer.

He’s careful with his words when he makes his final demand, “I want you to cum for me, my love.” But he doesn’t use his power, wanting you to cum on your own accord, fueled by nothing but his body and not by his power.

His soft plea sends you over the edge, your nails digging into his shoulder as you teeter over into the abyss of your fourth climax. William supports you through it, cooing sweet words into your ears as he continues to flick at your clit.

“That’s it, Y/N. That’s my beautiful girl. Just like that.”

You whimper into him, your soft mewls driving him insane. At the apex of your orgasm, your lower body coils so tightly, forcing William to cum with you. He releases with a strangled moan, his essence filling you deeply. It’s hot, plentiful, and thick as it coats your vibrating walls.

“Take it all, my love,” William demands, again without his power, wanting you to accept him on your own. And you do so happily, willingly, desperately.

Having children wasn’t something you and William had ever discussed, but he couldn’t help filling you to the brim. And you couldn’t help but shiver in satisfaction at the feeling of being so utterly filled with his milky essence. The idea of him sharing himself with you so willingly and intimately made your heart throb, your body tightening against him, wringing every last drop of him into you.

Your bodies heave together as you ride out your orgasms with one another. William grinds himself into you, gently enough where the overstimulation isn’t too much, but desperately enough where your toes curl against his knees. Your fingers unwittingly clench into a fist as they rest on his chest, trying to withstand the feeling of his member still nudged against your sore cervix.

William smiles to himself, gently unfurling your fist so he can hold your smaller hand in his slender fingers, stroking your soft skin under the pads of his thumb. With his soothing and adoring touch working literal magic on your exhausted body, your eyelids start to droop, your body losing consciousness as you listen to his steady heartbeat.

William’s chest clenched as he watched you doze off, your face looking so breathtakingly angelic and tranquil. You looked so peaceful that he nearly wanted to carry you to his bed and let you rest.

Nearly.

So when he does set you on his bed, he shakes you awake and he leans down to whisper in your ear. His breath is hot against your neck, making you shiver into consciousness. Your body arches into him as he hovers above you, and you feel his cock press into your stomach, realizing he is still very much erect.

“W-Will?” you whisper groggily

“No passing out until I’m satisfied, remember?” William murmurs, licking at your pulse.

You feel a splash of adrenaline coursing through your veins, suddenly more awake than ever. You moan, your body submitting to William’s power-fueled command.

He smiles into your skin, feeling your renewed consciousness at his whims. He presses a wet kiss into your collar, “That’s it, my dear little robin.”

William would never hurt you, that much you were absolutely certain of, but as his lips trailed down your naked body, you knew getting William this intoxicated was a mistake.

There was no way you’d make it out of tonight alive.

And yet, every cell in your body knew you’d enjoy each second of it.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

#.ᐟ✧ aeyumi writes #.ᐟ✧ aeyumi’s ikevil obsession #william rex #william rex smut #ikevil smut #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikemen villains smut #ikemen william #ikemen villains william #ikevil william #william smut #ikemen #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #cybird otome

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rhodophoria · 1 month ago

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Killer and Nightmare biting you at the same time .... 👀👀👀

you're speaking my language anon,,,

(cw compulsion mention, dub-con themes, blood)

Don't imagine Killer as a freshly turned vampire, half-feral and ravenous for his first blood meal. You, as Nightmare's newest thrall. The ancient vampire has fed on you a few times, each encounter more pleasurable than the last. You've become a willing victim, compulsion no longer needed as your body grows dependent on the feeling of his venom in your veins.

And Nightmare is feeling gracious, for once willing to share the sweet bounty of your blood. So here you are: Nightmare at your back, supporting you against his chest as he reclines back on the chaise longue in his study. Killer pressed to your front, mouth latched greedily against your throat. Nightmare's voice is soft but commanding in your ear, encouraging the other vampire to take his fill, and to be mindful of hurting you... too much. He knows his thrall, after all; can feel how you writhe with pleasure in his lap.

It's no surprise, really, when you feel another set of fangs graze the other side of your neck. With the smell of your blood in the air, the sight of it staining another's teeth... can you blame him for feeling possessive? He knows you can take it. Knows you have enough life in you to spare.

And if you're delirious afterwards, from the potent mixture of blood loss and the venom of two powerful vampires?

...Well.

That just makes you more fun for them to play with.

#{🌹💌}#{🌹📕}#sans x reader #bad sanses x reader #nightmare #killer #reader insert #vampire au

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argyrocratie · 9 months ago

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"People’s consciousness is not “raised” by burying them under an avalanche of horror stories, or even under an avalanche of information. Information that is not critically assimilated and used is soon forgotten. Mental as well as physical health requires some balance between what we take in and what we do with it. It may sometimes be necessary to force complacent people to face some outrage they are unaware of, but even in such cases harping on the same thing ad nauseam usually accomplishes nothing more than driving them to escape to less boring and depressing spectacles.

One of the main things that keeps us from understanding our situation is the spectacle of other people’s apparent happiness, which makes us see our own unhappiness as a shameful sign of failure. But an omnipresent spectacle of misery also keeps us from seeing our positive potentials. The constant broadcasting of delirious ideas and nauseating atrocities paralyzes us, turns us into paranoids and compulsive cynics.

Strident leftist propaganda, fixating on the insidiousness and loathsomeness of “oppressors,” often feeds this delirium, appealing to the most morbid and mean-spirited side of people. If we get caught up in brooding on evils, if we let the sickness and ugliness of this society pervade even our rebellion against it, we forget what we are fighting for and end up losing the very capacity to love, to create, to enjoy."

-Ken Knabb, "The joy of revolution" (1997)

#ken knabb

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formiito · 13 days ago

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Hii I hope you don't mind this but could I request a Dazai x reader with any phantom siitaa song or shoka by ado for the songfic event? It's up to you which one you wanna do, don't force urself tho, if you want you can skip this it's up to you ƪ(‾ε‾“)ʃ

花喰み hanabami ; dazai osamu

SYNOPSIS : dazai and you throughout the years; adorning, deceiving, lying and pretending. in between your weariness and his shame, there is something beautiful. after all, what could be more beautiful than something artificial? based on phantom siita's song, hanabami (花喰み). wc: 2.1k

content warnings : unhealthy relationship dynamics, slight obsessive compulsive tendencies if you squint, implied/referenced alcoholism, dazai-typical attempts.

authors note : hi SO sorry this took so long. i hope this is to your liking anon </3 wrote this while crashing out at night sorry. this lowkey flopped but idc !!

read on ao3!!

The thin film of moonlight washed over the city clung to the shadows of the buildings and pavements. Painted in broad strokes, the illumination that makes the creeping rot from city's crevices that much more obvious.

In the empty night, two people make their way through the side street, one in lead and the other naturally following. One adorned in fresh bandages, other in new gloves, in the hour where the voices of the waking had already dulled. The time for nighttime escape.

The moment of uncertainty that lives in the recesses of the mind, between the memories that cast their own shadow.

Your legs can't carry you any farther, so your nails dig into the back of Dazai's coat. You will be running for longer. Much, much longer than you want to, and much further than you thought it was ever possible to go.

The initial shock had faded already. Perhaps now you realized what you were truly going to do, the full weight to your words. That idea you blindly agreed to a few minutes ago, without the luxury of the time to think, suddenly started feeling more and more concrete as the cold air brushed past your cheek.

No, this was really happening.

You really were leaving the Port Mafia.

Handing him over your life willingly, so that your fates will be combined. That if anyone decided to look for Dazai tomorrow, your disappearance would be entangled with his. You should've given it more thought, but the only thing that ran through your mind was the delirious thought that this was it.

The fork in the road.

The diverging path.

It's hard to tell why, between him and the mafia, you were ready to throw those years of unquestionable loyalty away so easily. Perhaps it was because you knew that your life was little more than a charade the moment it became intertwined with that place.

All you ever did was advertise your loyalty, and yet there's not a single person you know that you haven't eventually betrayed.

That was it, right? He was simply the final nail in the coffin that had closed up long ago.

Or perhaps it was just that you felt as though if you missed this chance, you wouldn't ever see him again.

His absence would've torn down your flimsy worldview entirely—that fragile sense of meaning that was slowly slipping through your fingers. The lies that the both of you had carefully wrapped yourselves in were crumbling under their own weight.

You haven't asked the crucial question yet. Why? You didn't know the full extent of his reasons then. Only that for once in both of your lives he looked at you with honesty, true honesty, and it was enough for you to step out of that safehouse without a second thought. Blind leading the blind, dancing to the tune of a pied piper, whatever it was that compelled you, it brought you here. Here where you had no choice but to not have any regrets.

Explanations could always wait.

You've learnt enough patience for a lifetime.

He's only asking for a little more, isn't he?

In or out of the Port Mafia, it didn't matter. To you, your lives would be as unfulfilling and lacking as they had been before. If you asked Dazai his solution to this, perhaps you'd find it in you to disagree. After all, it's not worth the trouble of killing yourself, because you always kill yourself too late.

In that way, you didn't think quite like him.

But even you too would have been aware of the fact that the lines keep on blurring. Thoughts and ideals meshing into one another, stitched like rough patchwork—the way even the scars on your body were slowly beginning to mirror his—this strange mimesis was all you both had.

In a way, it made him feel closer to you. This steady, downward spiral that converges with the two of you; it doesn't matter what either of you were doing to yourselves as long as the neither of you were alone.

Maybe that's why he asked you to leave with him tonight.

It should've been pitiful. A love that was no love at all, but a desperate measure to cling onto something familiar. To console oneself even while descending down all consuming spirals. Whether the pain is self inflicted or not, it never matters. All that matters is whether there's an excuse you can use to tell yourself that it's alright to make the same mistakes again.

So much so that the scrutinising gazes and silent judgements never really bothered either of you.

It must still be a lie, even if the both of you are willing to be deceived.

Dazai, of course, doesn't question it. Not now. He doesn't know out of which misplaced sense of devotion—if it can be called devotion at all—you agreed to leave with him. All he knows that is that if there was anyone who could do it, if anyone could take his word and trust it without having a reason to, it would've been you.

You never disappoint, do you?

Sometimes, he just wishes you could've proved him wrong for once. But why would you pretend and dress yourself up in unconvincing lies for him? Him, who you claim to love, who disgusts you so? Who you know is no better than you, maybe even worse?

If you ever asked for his honesty, he would've given it to you. He would've given it to you if you were willing to bear the pain of it, but isn't it more beautiful this way?

It's you who trusts him in this way to drag you away from all you've ever known.

Is there anything more beautiful than that, even if it's only artificial?

—

The next few days, neither of you know where you were going. Where you were, for that matter. The hours seemed to blur together, and at one point, you could no longer tell the weeks apart.

The grief hadn't yet dissipated, it stuck where it had settled in his chest.

You tried picking up the pieces, but there was nothing to put back together.

Your trust didn't mean much when it came to helping him. Although, in truth, you didn't even know why you wanted to help him. Was it just because you were the only one he had around? Did you just want to feel important?

You wondered if it could ever be just because you cared. If you could swallow your pride and give up selfishness. If you were capable of that whole, pure-hearted affection people dreamed of in this rotten world.

Flitting about from place to place, each more unsafe than the last—the uncertainty had become a close companion. Uncertainty of the future, this relationship, his emotions and yours. It was the time when you felt closest to Dazai, somehow—for that time alone you both were the only ones who could know what either of you were experiencing.

You asked him what you could've done.

If there's anything that could've been done.

"Do you want the truth, then?"

You didn't answer, for speaking it out loud would've shattered that comfortable illusion of the two of you in your mind.

He told you that he didn't want you to understand him.

It was unlikely you could've, even knowing the truth. The only person who was closest to understanding him was gone, after all.

If anything, peeling back those layers of gauze, pretense and shame would need you to open your own wounds too. And in the end, all that you have to show for it would be sullied bandages, open cuts and bloody hands.

So you never tried to rip the bandaid off, even after the wound closed up.

He wished he could've said it then, but he was glad for that.

—

Years after, all you did was just that.

Cutting, pasting, wrapping—trying to convince yourselves of another lie to stack atop those crumbling beneath. Pretending to be honest, to be on the good side knowing that neither of you belonged there. Not truly, not in the way the people around you were, with their convictions and beliefs.

Meanwhile, you believed in nothing, or rather, you could never believe in something for too long.

This facade feels even more elaborate than the last— the idea that either of you can be good. Good in the most honest sense of the word that it can be. To you, it still feels like an empty joke, one that falls flat when you think about it too much, yet it's one that you live every hour of the day.

Sometimes, you could almost find yourself to believe that you were the same as them. That somehow time had absolved you of all your sins; even though no amount of soap or water could wash the blood off your hands. You tried, you really did, but all you had to show for it were chapped fingers, scrubbed raw.

Your mouth runs dry when you look at Dazai again. There is a faint glimpse of the light in his eyes now. Something softer there where emptiness used to be.

The bitterness and resentment that used to choke your throat all those years doesn't hurt as much as you want it to, either.

Yet, he always looks at you like he knows what you're trying to hide, and he does.

This strange game of charades continues. Like that time too, you call it as love, because this is the closest to it you're capable of. There is no one who would know of the extent of your lies better than the two of you. That time of your life would always be permanently entangled with his own— sins shared and wounds exposed.

Wounds that would never heal if the both of you kept touching at them, but could never ignore nonetheless.

He became a mirror in which you could only see yourself.

One night, bandages discarded and empty alcohol bottles tossed to the side, you asked him what he saw in you that night, when you both ran away. If only you had been able to stay awake for a few moments more, perhaps you could've finally had that answer.

Dazai said nothing, only pulled your half-unconscious body back onto the futon, pulling the blanket over your body.

The kiss on your forehead felt like a cheap consolation.

Maybe he too knew that since this question was all that your precarious bond hinged upon, it wouldn't answer it as long as he could afford to.

Even he has several lies to tell himself just to keep you around. Worst of all, he would spin that web of deception as many times as he could if it meant not being alone.

It didn't matter if this endless dance wasn't fair to either of you, or if it was disingenuous. If the affection and care the both of you showed each other meant nothing, then atleast you two could call it a sign of devotion. However dishonest that may be.

If you found yourself at the edge of the bridge on a midnight whim of his, if you chose to lace your marred fingers together and let yourself fall into the inky water beneath; perhaps this is the closest thing to love you both could get.

You'd struggle for it all the same.

The fluorescent city lights reflect on the surface of the river, like stars on earth. The mist from the splash shines in the air a fraction of a second after you fall in. You see it, you see it all—fingers still interlaced, floating on the uncertain waves, the full moon obscured by clouds above. His sticky hands coloured red, holding onto a nearby branch.

You don't know why he kept the both of you tethered to the riverbank.

All you saw was the smile on his face as he tugged on your hand hard, pulling you both ashore. Your clothes were heavy and waterlogged, wet hair dripping onto the grass below, and Dazai's hand was still badly cut.

For some reason, in a fit of unexpected madness, you both laughed. Laughed till there were tears in your eyes, till you were coughing for breath. Laughed at the absurdity of this connection neither of you could justify, yet were unwilling to give up all the same.

Somehow, that night, hands intertwined and walking back to that place the two of you called home, he felt closer to you than ever.

And you, in that river the color of lead, finally got your answer. That affirmation which, though never spoken aloud, became your shared truth. A careful idea of love; all that is misty, artificial, painful, real.

taglist : @gravitatives @ejkreader (ask in inbox to be added/removed in taglist!!)

#݁ᛪ༙ the gazette #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd fics #bsd fanfic #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #dazai bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu bsd #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #dazai x reader angst #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bsd dazai x reader #bsd headcannons #dazai hcs

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kaijuim · 8 months ago

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I need her carnally, desperately, violently, submissively, painfully, agonizingly, religiously, sinfully, cannibalistically, diagnostically, prescriptively, consumingly, miserably, seriously, critically, severely, urgently, immediately, instantaneously, intensely, chronically, hopelessly, perilously, utterly, despairingly, solely, congenitally, fundamentally, naturally, intrinsically, constitutionally, politically, verbally, publicly, horrifically, terrifyingly, deliriously, radically, eternally, uncontrollably, compulsively, deductively, lawfully, visibly, deeply, hypocritically, academically, corporately, passionately, frantically, morally, immorally, maniacally, vehemently, imminently, insatiably, astronomically, astrologically, universally, enviously, hemispherically, gravitationally, animalistically, cellularly, molecularly, biologically, genetically, chemically, geographically, technologically, culturally, psychologically, unhealthily, musically, athletically, sensually, romantically, sexually, homosexually, erotically, physically, emotionally, mentally, deeply, financially, apocalyptically, catastrophically, ravenously, torturously, unabashedly, holistically, socially, artistically, poetically, symbolically, medically, viscerally, innately,

#caitlyn arcane #arcane #caitlyn kiramman #league of legends caitlyn #league of legends #Caitlyn #lesbian

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literaryvein-reblogs · 7 months ago

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more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

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shippofuri · 10 months ago

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(half delirious) my postcanon thistle & falin scenario is kind of cruel to both of them. need to write it but suffice to say: 5-10 years later when thistle becomes functional enough to have awful emotional outbursts falin (on an entirely different continent) discovers that she is very much still soulbonded & emotionally linked to him as "his dragon". when he's distressed she's distressed. initially just feels vaguely restless for reasons she doesn't understand but once she finally understands the cause of this feeling she finds herself compelled to come back to him and it's a very unhealthy thing going on that neither of them really want but she feels compelled to orbit him. she wants to be free but she feels like she has to be by his side. tethered down. vying for his approval out of some strange compulsion. they're both kind of miserable. it isn't something sweet or beautiful it's something kind of festering and sickly

compensating for this with the good ending: mid-40s falin and mostly recovered thistle going on adventures together :)

#cicada's thoughts #dunmeshi spoilers #thistle #falin #i am soooo lightheaded right now this is probably incoherent #plan on writing something with this eventually. i have a vision. its a fun headspace to get into

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autistic-gale-dekarios · 2 months ago

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BG3 OC Lore: Fenton

This little meow-meow is Fenton, my utter trainwreck of an embrace Durge from my third BG3 playthrough. I finally had time to make a post about him if anyone cares

Basics

Full name: Kroniban Del’yviir (<- His birth name. Do not call him that unless you want to get murdered) (He’s gone by “Fenton” for the last ~50 years)

Race: Lolthsworn half-drow

Gender: M (cis) (he/him)

Birth date: 16 Uktar 1415 DR (age ~76 during game events)

Class: Storm Sorcerer

Background: Haunted One (Dark Urge)

Stats: 8 STR | 13 DEX | 15 CON | 12 INT | 10 WIS | 17 CHA

Moral alignment: CE

Personality (MBTI, Enneagram): ENFP, Type 7

Neuro stuff: BPD, C-PTSD, dissociative amnesia, type 1 bipolar

Sexuality: Bi

Romanced character: Astarion (ship name: Bloodslay)

Media

Tags: #oc: fenton; #fenton core

Pinterest board (CW for blood/gore/horror imagery)

Character playlist

Bloodslay playlist

Backstory infodump under the cut <3 (CW for descriptions of abuse, fantasy violence, mental illness and substance abuse mention; and ofc BG3/Dark Urge plot spoilers)

Pre-game

Early life

Fenton was born and grew up in the Underdark city of T’lindhet, Great Bhaerynden. His mother was a Lolthsworn drow, the first daughter of the minor House Del’yviir, and his father was a human slave who was executed before Fenton was born. He had four older half-siblings (3 sisters, 1 brother), all full drow.

Being a bastard, half-human AND male, Fenton was dealt the shittest hand possible in drow society. The first two decades of his life were miserable. He was essentially imprisoned and enslaved by his own family, enduring pretty much every kind of abuse, most of it from his mother.

From early childhood Fenton had regular hallucinations. He would see flashes of blood and gore where there was none, and hear voices telling him to commit unspeakable violence. But these barely fazed him; they were an almost pleasant retreat from the horrible reality of his life. He already hated everyone around him so much his Urge to kill them felt pretty appropriate, actually (like that one text post, "demonic possession wouldn’t even affect me, with all the other shit I got going on").

The first time Fenton saw Bhaal was the night before he turned 25. He’d just been locked into his room after a bad beating, and was lying half-conscious in his own blood. Bhaal appeared to him as a reflection in the blood and told him that the next day he would wake up with arcane powers, and he must use these to free himself, travel to the Surface and seek the temple of Bhaal where he would “fulfil his destiny”. Fenton had never heard of Bhaal at this point, and initially assumed he was just delirious from blood loss, but the small possibility that this was real -- that someone was watching over him, that he might have a real purpose -- was too tantalising to ignore.

Fenton woke the next morning feeling like a new person. Where he should have been sore and weak from last night, he felt impossibly strong and deeply in touch with magic, like he could reach into the Weave and pull out whatever he wanted. His Urge was also amplified tenfold, to the point of compulsion, like his actions were entirely automatic. The exact events that led to Fenton escaping home were mostly a blur, except the memory of killing his mother, which remained crystal clear (best moment of his life).

Now convinced that a god really had spoken to him, Fenton found his way to the Surface and spent the next few years searching for Bhaal’s temple. At first he was incredibly maladjusted, couldn’t speak a word of Common and didn’t really know how to interact with people. But he picked up the social skills and language surprisingly quickly, and discovered he was actually quite extroverted. He’d spent so long with no one to talk or turn to, he was now desperate for interaction in any and all forms. Fenton genuinely liked the Surface folk and tried to integrate himself. He was still subjected to prejudice for his obvious drow heritage, but it was a cakewalk compared to his treatment in the Underdark. He ditched his birth name and started calling himself “Fenton” after the first name he saw written on a poster on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate.

Fenton became increasingly gregarious throughout his time on the Surface, seeking friends and lovers in everyone he met. This devolved into an unhealthy spiral of toxic, short-lived relationships that always ended with him either getting distracted and abandoning the other person, or getting too intense and scaring them off. And as a side effect of his promiscuity, he got involved in petty crime and other generally ill-advised behaviour. Fenton lost sight of his mission to find Bhaal for a couple years, quieting his Urge with recreational substances, bar fights, unsafe sex and the like.

Cult of Bhaal

Fenton eventually discovered the temple pretty much by accident during a drunken wander through the sewers. But once the cult found him and took him in, it didn’t take much to get him back on board with the whole Bhaalspawn thing. He was just happy to be part of a community. The ritualistic butchering of innocents was a worthwhile trade for a supportive family (“Look Daddy, I slaughtered all these people for you! Are you proud of me? Do you love me? Tell me I’m good!”)

During his ~45 years in Bhaal’s cult, Fenton continued to lead a pleasure-driven lifestyle. He gained notoriety among Bhaalists for his “murder parties” and “murder orgies” which were exactly what they sound like. But through all of this Fenton never lost touch with his emotions. He could be incredibly affectionate in his fucked up way. Fenton loved Orin like a sister, and was utterly oblivious to her envy of his power. Later, Fenton and Gortash became fuckbuddies close friends while working on the Absolute plot. (Fenton even tried it on with Ketheric once, without success)

During game

Although Fenton lost his memories after the Orin incident, his personality was mostly unchanged. The Urges were a little disconcerting at first, but they were also familiar, weirdly comforting.

Fenton warmed up quickly to the rest of the party. Despite being kind of a weirdo, he was almost charmingly pathetic and an endless supply of comic relief, making him relatively likeable on a surface level. And he remained horny as ever, sleeping with half the camp by the end of Act 1. Minthara was his proudest lay (he helped her slaughter the Grove purely because he had a crush on her), but when she left for Moonrise, Astarion got his claws in him, and Fenton fell hard and never looked back.

Fenton and Astarion were an obvious match (chaotic evil, traumatised, slutty gayboys with a thing for blood). The only stark difference between them was, unlike Astarion, Fenton had zero sense of pride or shame. Nothing was below him. He’d lick a stranger’s shoe for a pat on the head. And this made him extra vulnerable to exploitation. (Not that he was naive or gullible per se -- more that he was so desperate, he’d knowingly let himself be exploited in pursuit of intimacy.) Ofc Astarion took full advantage of basically having his own simpy little attack dog following him around.

Fenton embraced his Urges throughout most of the game events. Being a good Bhaalspawn was simple early on, since Astarion generally approved of murder and the like. But gradually tensions arose as Bhaal and Astarion each became more possessive and controlling, and Fenton tried frantically to please them both. In Act 3, Fenton helped Astarion ascend, and agreed to become his slave consort, but he also accepted Bhaal’s charge after defeating Orin. In his desperation, he failed to realise that these two destinies were incompatible.

(Sidenote: by this point he is Slayer, half-illithid, and a vampire spawn. That PLUS being a half-drow on the Surface = literally the most fucked up little freak you’ve ever seen. But Fenton likes being a freak, he likes being different because that’s all he’s ever known. Anyway)

Fenton’s plan was to take joint control of the Netherbrain with Astarion, use it to take over the world, and eventually enact Bhaal’s will. But once he had the Netherstones and was ready to dominate the brain, Bhaal spoke to him at the last second, and told him that in order to prove his loyalty, he would be compelled to kill Astarion as the very first sacrifice of his new reign. This was exactly the opposite of what Sceleritas had told him (that he could “keep” his lover if he killed everyone else). Fenton realised he’d been played. If he obeyed his Father, he’d have to lose the one person he didn’t want to kill. The reward for his service to Bhaal was to be alone forever. In that moment, he saw too many similarities between Bhaal and his late mother, and the need to rebel overpowered all else. So he destroyed the Netherbrain -- not for any heroic reason, but out of blind indignation. To him, saving Baldur’s Gate from illithid armageddon was an unfortunate side effect of pursuing his own catharsis.

Fenton told Astarion what had happened, and while Astarion was a little annoyed that Fenton had destroyed their chances with the brain, he also empathised with the feeling of being used, and admired Fenton for rebelling for once instead of just letting himself be trodden all over as usual. Unfortunately, this would all be for nothing. Bhaal was PISSED and determined to make this everyone’s problem.

Post-game

After game events, Fenton went to live with Astarion in the Szarr palace. It went okay for a while. That was until Fenton started getting blackouts and episodes of crazed, insatiable violence that he had zero control over, and these became increasingly frequent and intense. He would attack everyone and everything in sight, including Astarion. Bhaal was wreaking havoc on Fenton’s sanity to such an extent that Astarion couldn’t even compel his spawn to behave, and was eventually forced to keep him locked up and even chained up for hours, days at a time. Fenton was back in captivity, back to the cruel isolation he knew so well.

With Astarion ascending toward vampiric royalty and Fenton descending into madness, their relationship grew increasingly cold and toxic until there was very little real affection left. Astarion eventually tired of the thankless burden his consort had become, and one night he had his other spawn forcibly remove Fenton from the palace and dump him in an alleyway at the other end of the city.

Fenton is a tragic character, and I wanted him to have a suitably tragic ending. So there he is, abandoned, alone, completely losing his mind, allergic to daylight and riddled with a hunger for blood that can never be satisfied. He spends the rest of his tragically indeterminate existence malingering in the shadows of Faerûn: by night, killing anyone and anything unfortunate enough to cross his path, and by day, dreaming of blood and guts, but also -- in a small, unreachable corner of his mind -- dreaming of another life where he could make people proud, where he could make people love him.

Trivia

Fenton’s favourite colour is blood red (who'da thunk), his favourite season is summer, his favourite food is cherry pie or was, back when he ate food and not people, and his favourite animals are scorpions and diregoats.

Fenton’s birth name, Kroniban, literally means “sick joke” in drow Elven, because that's all he was in his mother's eyes

Fenton was raised in such isolation, he lowkey thought the Surface was a myth until he saw it for himself

Fenton is just so silly. He's loud and kooky, he loves to laugh and loves making other people laugh, which he’s pretty good at (even if much of the time, people are laughing at him rather than with him)

Fenton is the kinkiest most sadomasochistic mf you’ve ever met. Naturally he’s a bratty bottom, but he’ll try anything and has done p much everything at least once

Characters that inspired Fenton include: Klaus Hargreeves (TUA), Jinx (Arcane), Roman Roy (Succession), The Joker (esp Heath Ledger’s Joker) (DC), and Jack Sparrow (PoTC). Also, not fictional characters, but musicians Jon Davis (KoRn) and Keith Flint (The Prodigy) each get a mention because their respective styles as artists/performers both DEFINITELY went into Fenton

Fenton’s is the angstiest OC lore I’ve written to date. Maybe one day I’ll top it

Other OC lore posts: Hugo | Ernest | Casper

#god this took so long to write up because i had to pause to Scream In Agony about him every three sentences #ok to reblog #if you so desire #oc: fenton #my ocs #bg3 #long post #mine

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immeasurable-depths · 1 year ago

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Dorian isn’t sure how long they’ve been travelling for. Dusk had bled into nightfall, and they had continued their trek. Even daybreak hadn’t slowed them down, the watery yellow light cresting over the mountain peaks and igniting the path in front of them. Still they had walked, too exhausted and too broken to really think about anything else; just letting their broken bodies stumble on, on, guided by Opal’s final compulsion to send them away. Away from the fight; away from her; away from the bodies littered on the forest floor, spider and humanoid, the blood leaching into the ground to become an indelible part of the detritus beneath the trees.

One body, in particular.

Dorian doesn’t want to think about it too much - to think about anything, too much. Instead, he focuses on one foot in front of the other, hauling his aching legs up the mountain path in front of him, feeling the fatigue burning through his muscles. This way is easier. Easier than - well, he’s trying not to think about that.

Dariax treads beside him. They haven’t said anything to each other, not since the fight. Dariax seems lost in his own thoughts, only occasionally shooting a worried, sideways glance at his companion. But he doesn’t seem to know how to start a conversation, and Dorian doesn’t have anything to say.

***

Sooo I sat down and wrote this in a blind fugue state this afternoon, it’s super rough and unedited but I might turn it into something more substantial later possibly? Idk I’ve never written these characters before but I felt spurred by the response to my last post (thank you everyone that interacted with it ily ❤️). Anyway, more angst below the cut…

So, they walk.

It’s late afternoon when Opal’s spell wears off. They have been lurching forward relentlessly for a day now, almost delirious from lack of sleep and from trying to crush the swell of grief and loss that swirls deep in Dorian’s stomach. When it fades, there is no flash of magic energy; no rush of sound or light or spider’s webs that signal the termination of her suggestion. Just a creeping emptiness that unfurls inside Dorian’s chest, as the drive to just walk away leaches out of him slowly. Another thing that slips away, silently and irretrievably, from him.

He sees that Dariax feels it, too. Or rather, notices the lack of feeling. Both of their steps falter, progress petering out to a halt. The crashing realisation of why they have been so determined to put distance between themselves and that desecrated patch of forest engulfs them.

Suddenly Dorian’s limbs are like lead, as the total exhaustion floods through every part of his body. He looks over at Dariax, who smiles wearily as they make eye contact for the first time in hours.

“Well. Guess Opal knew what she was doing, huh?” he chuckles, and even with the heavy bags under his eyes, they still crinkle at the corners with genuine warmth.

“I hope she didn’t,” Dorian whispers quietly. He looks away, unable to meet Dariax’s piercing, earnest stare.

“Oh. You’re right. Shit,” Dariax curses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just meant… heh, it doesn’t matter.” He trails off. Dorian shrugs, too tired to offer anything else.

Dariax shuffles uncomfortably, before flopping down onto the floor and opening his pack.

“We should eat,” he mumbles, already pulling strips of dried meat and stale bread out and offering them to Dorian.

Dorian can’t help but smile at this. Even in times like this, Dariax doesn’t overcomplicate things. The world might be ending - maybe it already has, for Dorian - but they’re still alive and their broken bodies still need sustenance. He shoots a warm - if slightly exasperated - look at Dariax, and sits on the ground next to him.

He places his palms flat on the floor, digs his fingertips into the damp moss and clenches tight. The ground is cool, and smells a little like mould. A few small insects crawl away from his touch - not spiders, he can’t help but notice, and feel relief.

The ground feels the same as it always did. The sky still shines with the same thin yellow light that tries to fight through the canopy cover. And his friend Dariax is the same as ever, humming a quiet tune to himself as he uses his molars to bite into a piece of overly tough jerky.

But how could this be the same world? A world without his brother in it doesn’t make sense. Though it feels the same on the surface, it is a shadow of what it was before - a grim, dark reflection.

He’s trying not to think about it.

He blinks, hard, and when he opens his eyes again, Dariax is holding out his hand, brandishing an improvised plate in the form of the back of his shield, loaded with crumbling bread and hard cheese and dried meat.

He nods, too overwhelmed to risk opening his mouth to thank him with words, and takes the plate.

He eats.

A few more words are exchanged: now free from Opal’s spell, they have to decide what their next steps are. Where to go. What their purpose is, now that the Crownkeepers have fractured.

Zephrah.

Zephrah seems like the next logical step. They had been aiming for there before… before all of this. Zephrah means some sense of safety, removed as it is from the main civilisations of Tal Dorei; Dorian is relatively confident the reach of Poska and The Nameless Ones wouldn’t extend there, from what Orym had told them about his hometown.

Orym.

Zephrah means the possibility of some connection with - maybe even a reunion with - Orym.

He is trying not to think about that too much, either.

Because how can he let Orym see him like this? How can he bear to face his friend, to tell him that the Crownkeepers were sundered on his watch, that Opal is lost and Fy’Ra is following her to the untimely end of the universe? That without them he is lost, floating aimlessly in the winds without direction? That his brother is dead, and the world doesn’t seem to make sense anymore and every nerve in his body burns with the fiery need for revenge?

“I’ve heard it’s real pretty, Zephrah.” Dariax’s voice pulls Dorian back into his body. The dwarf claps him companionably on the shoulder. “We’ll get cleaned up there, and then we can figure out where to go next. Right, buddy?” He offers a callused hand to Dorian, and Dorian lets himself be pulled to his feet.

Zephrah. He can make it that far. And what comes after doesn’t matter anymore.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #doriax #dorym #dorian storm #orym #orym of the air ashari #dariax zaveon #robbie daymond #cr campaign three #matt mercer #liam o'brien #cr3e93 #angst #this does not have a happy ending I’m sorry

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