#just “man this guy is strange and annoying”

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Hide and what...?

I started writing this for Sethos' bday but then got writers block and then tonight i managed to spew out the rest so here it is

I FINALLY got Sethos thanks to the new event, after waiting for... however long he's been out for and UGHHHHH I FUCKING LOVE HIM SM GRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGR PRETTY BOY

Anyways enjoy<3

Also on ao3

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Sethos x Scaramouche (romantic)

Lee: Scaramouche

Ler: Sethos

Warnings: Tickles! Its 3am help me

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Whoever thought that playing hide and seek at night was a good idea? Wanderer simply wanted some peace and quiet, until that annoying busy bee came up to him with the audacity to ask to play something as childish as hide and seek. 

Despite how bothersome it seemed, Scaramouche couldn’t find it in himself to reject the guy. Maybe it was something in the air, maybe it was the fact that it was his birthday, who knows. 

So there was Scara, wandering around the darkened desert, with only the stars as his guide. At first, he thought he could perhaps ditch Sethos while the latter counted, but that was proving to be difficult. No matter where Wanderer went, he could hear the taunting teases of that annoying bee.

“I’m gonna getcha~”

No matter where he looked, there was no sign of the bow wielder. Where was he even hiding? There's only sand all around!

Before he could curse at his surroundings, a pair of hands materialized from what felt like thin air and poked at his sides. 

“GAH! What the-?!” Wanderer instantly whipped his head around to look for the perpetrator, only to find nada. How strange.

He tried to keep walking, only to shriek in surprise at the sudden squeeze he felt on his hip. And again, no sight of that mischievous bee. 

This same song and dance carried on for a while, with those pesky hands poking and prodding at Scara’s torso. Causing the ex-harbinger to let out an array of embarrassing noises, without much luck at catching the perpetrator. He felt like the desert dweller was just toying with him at this point, tormenting him for his selfish amusement. It annoyed him to no end! Definitely didn’t leave him flustered. What’s that? His cheeks are all red? Shut up, it’s just the light from the moon playing tricks. 

Anticipating another attack, Scara managed to snatch a wrist, quickly turning to apprehend the offendor. Indigo eyes locked onto mischievous, emerald ones.

“Found you~ You’re not very good at hiding, y’know?”

“Where was I even supposed to hide? There’s only sand for miles ahead” Wanderer huffed, definitely not upset at having lost this silly game. Nuh uh.

Sethos could only laugh in response, the sound sending a strange, fluttery feeling through Hat guy’s chest. Though, he chose to ignore it.

“Y’know, I never realized how ticklish you are” the brunette landed a poke on Wanderer’s side, earning a startled squeak. 

“Do that again and I’ll make you regret it” he growled out, which only made him seem cuter, in Sethos’ humble opinion. 

“Oh? Well, I’m always up for a challenge~”

Wanderer wasn’t sure what happened. One moment he was glaring at that annoying bee, and then he’s suddenly laying down on the sand, hat fallen off, getting a full view of the night’s sky. He felt the warm weight of Sethos settling on top of his hips, keeping him stuck, though that didn’t stop him from struggling. He twisted and turned, kicked out his legs, but it was all useless. When that failed, he opted to glare at the man on top of him, even if he knew deep down that it was ineffective. Since the first day they met, Sethos had always been drawn to him like a moth to a flame, never afraid. It was odd, receiving all this attention, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Hat guy’s inner monologue came to a halt when those fingers rested against his sides, lightly tapping up and down. He hated how it made his skin jump. He hated how much this stupid bee affected him, no matter how hard he tried to control himself. 

“C’mon, laugh for me~” Sethos cooed encouragingly, a bright smile blossoming along his lips at the sight of that delicious red blush painting Scaramouche’s cheeks. 

“I do not lahaugh- waHAit! NoHOho!” any semblance of composure went out the window the moment that those fingers climbed their way up his ribcage, feeling those unbearable pokes and prods along the bones and between them. 

“Haha! You’re even cuter when you actually smile and laugh” the electro user laughed along with him, only serving to further embarrass him. Scara would desperately try to bite down on his lip, to keep those awful sounds at bay, but that sly bee somehow managed to find every little spot that made him want to crawl out of his skin. 

The higher those fingers went, the more desperate Scaramouche’s laughter got. 

“I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that I’m about to reach a sweet spot~” the brunette leaned down to whisper against the flushed ear, serving to fluster the squirming male beneath him further. 

Once he managed to worm his fingers up to Scara’s underarms, the dam finally broke. Loud, unrestrained laughter flowed out of the latter’s mouth. Sethos felt his mouth go agape, he never thought that this ball of grump could ever sound so… free? Happy? Joyful? All the above? It was truly such a mesmerizing sound, as great as finding an oasis in the middle of the desert. Paired up with the rare but beautiful wide smile. Yup, he could pass away to celestia right now. 

When Wanderer went all limp under him did he finally let up, though he couldn’t stop himself from ogling at the mess he left behind. Indigo hair all tussled out of place, flushed puffed out cheeks, and that smile that Scara tried to hide but couldn’t stop himself. 

“Beautiful…” the words escaped his lips without realizing, surprising the both of them. He could’ve sworn that Scaramouche’s blush deepened, a blush of his own not trailing far behind. 

He suddenly tumbled off with a soft ‘oof’ when Scara pushed him off, seemingly trying to ignore… whatever just happened. He watched as the wanderer stood up, grabbing his hat and dusting the sand off before putting it back on. Was he leaving already? “Wait, where are you going?” 

“It’s still your birthday, right? C’mon, I have something to give you” he stretched his hand out to Sethos, pulling the brunette to his feet. The whirlwind of emotions felt even more intense now, and the bow user didn’t know what to do with himself. 

In an act of impulse, Sethos placed a quick kiss on Scara’s cheek, causing the anemo user to freeze up. Indigo eyes widened in surprise, though there was no anger or annoyance behind them. He reached to touch the patch of skin that had been grazed by soft lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a faint smile.

“Tch… annoying bee” Scara feigned annoyance, yet his hand found its way to Sethos’, linking their fingers together as they walked. 

“Happy birthday” Wanderer whispered, like a sweet breeze against Sethos’ skin. To think that a silly game of hide and seek could’ve lead to something much greater. Truly the best birthday yet.  

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[01101101ute]

OC x Canon is great, but what about oc X canon, as in they just don't fuckin like each other

[peteytheparrot]

Lil messy comic I made for the shits n giggles

[gumy-shark]

these two guys are the exact same character to me. will GLADLY elaborate on this at the slightest sign of interest btw

[kulliare]

yippeeee the dices

[orcelito]

Finished ep 402. Could do without the fatphobic caricature I will be honest

[pureconancommentary]

I'm going to say it now, since it's confirmed that the glass was cut: Conan was awake the entire time, and cutting glass makes that scraping nails on chalkboard sound. He should absolutely have heard it well before there was an axe raised above the bed. It's a stealthy, unconventional entry into what's normally a locked room... but only when no one is in the room to hear it.

[444venicebitch444]

a/n: ty guys so much for all the love on my last post, i absolutely wasn’t expecting it. probably gonna write something about joel miller in the next few days. if you have requests, send away, ly!

simon riley who gets a new neighbour that won’t keep her fucking blinds closed. 

he'd seen the moving truck, a pretty bird thanking the movers and hadn’t thought much of it; he wasn’t one to make conversation with his neighbors, so he minded his own business. 

or at least he tried, but it was real fucking difficult when he could see through your windows at any god given moment.

at the beginning it wasn’t even intentional, he actually found himself getting annoyed at how exposed you were. did you have no fucking self preservation sense, letting anyone and everyone look into your house? christ, people these days.

but then the fascination creeped in and he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel to you. watching as you sat on the couch on your phone, watching tv, reading, whatever. 

he observed as you came home from work, talking on your phone way too loudly for his liking, or laughing like the girls he always found insufferable in school when your friends came over. 

after only a few weeks he put a name, and every other thing there was to know, to the pretty face. not like it was hard: you had your name on your mailbox, public social media profiles, and readily available professional and academic information on the first page of his google search.

simon knew it was weird, that he should stop watching, maybe mention your lack of blinds to you, but he couldn’t. not when he saw you undressing in a way that felt like you knew he was watching, like you were doing this on purpose, teasing him. 

he tried telling himself that this was a bloody mid-life crisis, that he was too bored after retiring and needed to pull his shit together, but it did little to quell his growing enchantment. 

so when he saw you struggling with your ground floor window, a rusted old thing he’d noticed quite a while ago, he exited his home withe the excuse of collecting his mail despite his mailbox being empty and shot a casual, gruff “everything all right?”

you were polite, sweet, assured him it was nothing, just the old house acting up, but he insisted. 

he pulled at the old wooden frame with big, calloused hands, your gaze inevitably slipping to his strong, ink covered bicep, the muscle flexing as the window finally budged.

he noticed your look, of course he did, and couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk as he stepped back, “there you go, love”.

you thanked him profusely, then introduced yourself, obtaining his name right back, and offered him a cup of tea, but simon wanted to take his time. he had to think with his head, not his cock, and make sure you were the right one before getting himself too invested.

so, despite every bone in his body wanting to do the opposite, he refused “maybe some other time”

“I’m holding you to that, simon” you smiled and the sound of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of honies almost made his knees buckle. 

after your interaction simon got more diligent, looking for anything wrong with you, anything to turn him away, to put a stop to this; but he couldn’t.

every bit of information he attained made him fall deeper, fed his growing love for you, validated the idea he had created in his head. you were bloody perfect for him.

so he did take you up on your offer of tea and biscuits, and showed up at your doorstep.  

the sight of you greeting him with a soft smile and wearing a pretty sundress almost had him throwing his self control out the window and just telling you how you were made to be his. but he resisted.

he was a little awkward, but in a strangely endearing way. he made you laugh (god, he would die a happy man if your laughter was the last thing he heard), and was respectful, polite. 

and obviously you found him attractive, you weren’t being exactly subtle: simon knew he wasn’t that funny and that there was absolutely no need for you to grab his arm as you giggled. 

simon held onto every touch, every laugh, every time his name left your mouth like a man starved, his chest warming at the realization that he might have a chance, that you might love him back if he made an effort.

and sure, he might’ve placed a tiny listening device under your coffee table while you made a second kettle of tea, but that was just because he wanted to understand you better. to know how to please you, how to make you happy.

the ego boost he go from it a few days later as he listened in on your phone call was just a bonus. he couldn’t help the smile that decorated his face as you ranted to you friend, “he’s, like, unbelievably hot, build like a fucking tank. and sweet too! i know fucking your neighbour isn’t a good idea but christ”.

so you could imagine his surprise when he saw you come out of a car that wasn’t yours, an arm that wasn’t his around your waist. when the wanker kissed you at your doorstep, practically eating your face off, his fists clenched, blunt nails leaving bloody crescent moons on his palm.

who the fuck was that bloke? what the fuck were you doing? didn’t you like him? hadn’t you said that-

simon took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. 

this wasn’t your fault, of course it wasn’t. you didn’t know how he felt, he hadn’t told you yet, how were you supposed to know?

you were his sweet, little bird, you’d never do anything to purposely hurt him. you weren’t like that.

so any ounce of anger towards you disappeared as soon as it appeared. that man, though?

the entire night, simon seethed. he’d closed his curtains but the image of him around you was burned on the front of his brain and he fantasised. fantasised about being the one driving you home, kissing you, pulling you upstairs, tasting you, burying himself into you as you screamed out his name. fantasised about crushing that man’s skull, cutting him up limb by limb, making him eat his own tongue, teaching him to keep it in his mouth instead of letting it slip into yours.

but simon wasn’t one to just steep in his fury, he did something about it. 

so in the morning, as soon as he saw you and the asshole go downstairs, he turned the volume up on the laptop hooked to the listening device as he got dressed.

the guy offered to make you breakfast, and simon’s eyes damn near fell from his skull at how fast they rolled.

“that’s…nice, but I have to go to work, micheal” your voice came out static-y from the old computer, but the annoyance in it was unmistakable. simon knew you didn’t work on saturdays and it made him grin: you didn’t even like the bloke, you just needed a shag. and while simon didn’t exactly approve the way about which you went about it (i mean, he was literally across the street, love), he could understand that.

had you thought of him while he fucked you? had you imagined his strong arms around you? his cleft lip against your plush ones?

simon realised something good had come out of your little hook up: it had given him a courage of sorts. you were his, not this man’s who he was sure hadn’t fucked you right, who certainly didn’t love you as much as he did, and who wasn’t even enjoyable enough to keep around for breakfast.

so that same afternoon, he knocked on your door, had another cuppa and finally asked you on a date, being met with the brightest smile you’d given him as of yet, and making you promptly forget about micheal.

which was good because simon really didn’t want you knowing about how micheal hadn’t shown up to work the next day and the police had found his car abandoned, specs of blood on the seat.

[aahsoka]

i dont get the man vs bear thing but like i could kill a man easier than i could kill a bear if it came down to it .

[gumii-bearr]

thinking about... ❝ roommates ❞

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), roommate!megumi, megumi is bad at feelings (who is surprised), subtle!alt!megumi, dick piercing (what who said that??), fingering, blowjob, alcohol

author's note: i freaking love this anon so i'm doing a drabble while i write the megumi car sex fic

── roommate!megumi who is super cold and dismissive when you first move in. you needed a place for college and your friend hooked it up but she neglected to tell you he was fucking hot.

── roommate!megumi barely talks to you, and when he does, it's brief and short and makes you think he hates you for some reason. but what you're really annoyed about is how attractive he is and he gives you nothing.

── roommate!megumi who is so fucking hot when he's fixing the sink or when he casually mentions your car is making a weird sound and he fixes it like it's nothing and shit– he takes his shirt off to wipe the grease off his hands and the man is sex on a stick with ink adorning his body like some kind of emo greek god.

── roommate!megumi who comes back from the gym in compression shirts and low hanging sweatpants and you're trying to focus on your college assignment but he's being really distracting when he lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face, showing off his sculpted abs.

── you're starting to think he's doing it on purpose when he wordlessly brings you takeout or offers to drive you to campus when it's raining because "driving in this weather would be fucking stupid."

── but things are still weird between you and roommate!megumi because even tho he can be strangely considerate, he's also impossible to read. that is why you buy him a fancy bottle of liquor to thank him for letting you stay in the spare room.

── roommate!megumi who loosens up after a little alcohol, take out and movies, the two of you talking and drinking until well into the night.

── roommate!megumi who gets a little bold, moving some of your hair out of your face and telling you that you're cute when you get flustered because he's not dumb, he sees your sly glances and how you choke on air when he walks into the kitchen without a shirt on.

── but also roommate!megumi who is just as fucking guilty of checking you out when you come home from the club with your friends in a tiny fucking dress and heels, or when you lounge around in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen and a tight tank top.

── you operating on liquid courage and finally admitting that you find him pretty hot, "you gotta know i'm into you by now, fushiguro."

── roommate!megumi who thinks you're so cute, "yeah, i can tell." and he's running his thumb over your lips and suddenly you two are tipsy and clumsily making out on the couch.

── roommate!megumi who is so handsy, groping your tits through your shirt, grabbing at the flesh of your ass over your flimsy pyjama pants and manhandling you into his lap to grab at your hips and pull your shirt over your head.

── roommate!megumi who always wears rings on his fingers and they're so cold against your warm skin as he plays with your tits and pushes his hand down your panties.

── roommate!megumi who gets you off on his fingers alone while you whine and hump against his hard-on.

── and roommate!megumi who presses his fingers against your tongue until you suck his fingers clean of your arousal.

── and now you're sliding down his body until you're perched between his legs on your knees, his fingers tangling in your hair as he chuckles at your still quivering legs and hands as you reach for his hard cock in his boxers.

── and of course, roommate!megumi who has a secret frenum piercing. a cute silver barbell staring you dead in the eyes.

── and while you're beyond intimidated, you're fucking salivating at the idea of having him down your throat, but knowing you, you've always gotta be a teasing smart ass, "didn't take you for a jewellery kinda guy, megumi."

── roommate!megumi who chuckles lowly and sits back, "piercing isn't for me, baby."

── roommate!megumi who quickly becomes your scary dog privilege boyfriend and fucks you against every surface in your apartment like his life fucking depends on it.

author's note: and they were roommates (p.s. should i make this a series?? cus he got me feelin some typa wayyy)

[somnoir]

Down Bad in Distress

Bruce Wayne is kidnapped... A lot. And it's always so weird that only Batman is allowed to save him. That this dumb, charming, but kidnap-able Billionaire doesn't have a bodyguard.

Now, Bruce can simply go "Oh, we've got Batman. No need to worry for that!" But people are fussy nowadays. He underestimates just bow much Gotham loves their disaster of a prince with a golden heart. Even his company employees are begging him to hire a bodyguard. (This is from the many files being sent to his office, obvious recommendations on competent bodyguards)

Cut to the new bodyguard for hire—who was recommended by Alfred of all people (something about him being the disciple of a good old friend of his). The man was large. Fucking huge. Taller than Jason, if one would like to admit (Jason is his 6'4" baby and this fucking fridge if a man looked 6'6").

But he was all soft and warm. Like a golden retriever the size of a bear.

Anyways, Danny was a rather kind man. When he wasn't following Bruce around and playing bodyguard, he was indulging the kids. Entertaining them with the most obscure things and stories from his childhood. Better yet, Danny would be the kids' bodyguard rather than Bruce's whenever they went out.

It was a miracle when they realized that Damian wasn't reacting badly to the man. Very strange since Damian would think it'd be shameful for someone to protect him during the day. But then again, Bruce once saw Danny effortlessly pick up Damian so his son could coax a cat out of a tree. That was most likely the kicker.

Anyways, Danny looked and felt soft.

It wasn't easy for him to settle into the man's ever present presence, but it's been almost four months since Danny's been hired and Bruce doesn't even flinch when the man brightly greets him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, mr. Wayne!" Danny would say, all teeth and bright eyes in his suit.

"Bruce," he'd correct immediately.

And then Danny would pause, laugh, and— "Good morning, Bruce."

Then his kids would follow and Danny would affectionately greet them all, ask where they plan to go and if they needed Danny to follow.

His bodyguard was like sunshine and warmth incarnate.

But if course, Danny was a bodyguard.

There were instances where Bruce would have to take a second to remind himself that this man that would look down at socialites like he's ready to crush their hands is the same one who once gave him puppy-dog eyes to back up Damian when his son asked to keep the kittens.

That the same man who grabbed someone by the scruff of their collar like they were weightless was the same one who talked about poetry and literature with Jason.

That the man who once hauled Bruce off the ground and walked right out the gala when the smoke alarms blared is the same one who would gently coax Tim off the coach and into a proper bed.

But right now, that's not his concern. No. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he's gotten kidnapped again.

Everyone was most likely alerted. They were. He could hear Red Robin, Blackbat and Spoiler talking over the comms, checking in on Red Hood and Robin in case things went off.

"B, don't move. These guys are more prepared than the usual ones." Tim's voice filters into the comms, evidently annoyed. "I've got Oracle checking if there are any bombs in the place."

Bruce stayed silent, watching the masked men and women walk around, guns in hand and crates surrounding them. He had been knocked out during a party. The last thing he saw was Danny's eyes—god, it frightened him a bit. How those pretty blues suddenly turned green like Jason's.

Then he was here. Most likely with a concussion.

"B?"

"I'm okay... Be careful..." He murmurs under his breath, hearing his children sigh in relief.

"Good. We've got Red Ho—What the fuck is that?" Barbara immediately cut herself off, her voice strained and pitched with surprise.

"Oracle?"

"Spoiler—Do you have a view on that?" Oracle frantically asked. "Shit—the cameras just went down. Guys?"

"is that—" Stephanie chokes out, "Is that Danny?"

Bruce froze. Danny?

Jason always knew that Danny was kinda off. The first time he met the man, it wasn't his size that Jason immediately noticed. It was how his eyes flashed green when they met his. At first, he felt threatened, ready to attack whatever the fuck thought it was a good idea to infiltrate his family.

But then... Then Danny smiled at him. Offered his hand with a kind greeting. Jason took that hand and... And felt calm. Like the buzz in his head melted away, like the Lazarus was cleansed.

And Danny most likely knew. Because the man was smiling in satisfaction, like he was pleased that Jason suddenly didn't feel starved and angry and hurt.

"I don't know what happened to you kid, but whatever the hell did, it wasn't good for you. Hopefully you'll get better now." Danny whispered softly and then withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back.

Jason doesn't know what the fuck Danny was but the man was worth keeping around.

Admittedly, he turned to Danny a lot nowadays. Jason can't call Bruce all the time. No. His relationship with Bruce still isn't good enough to warrant Jason to call him constantly.

But Danny? Again, Jason doesn't know what the hell this guy is but whenever Jason was in trouble, he dialed Danny's phone immediately. And he came... Every, single, fucking time. No questions asked, just pick Jason up and patch him up like nothing.

Danny was a good guy. Like sunshine, like golden retrievers. All teeth with some fangs.

And that same guy just snapped a man's neck with his bare hands.

"Hood... Are you seeing this?" Robin asked beside him, equally stunned as they watched their usually kind and sweet bodyguard effortlessly tear through the group of men with his bare hands. There was already blood around. Everywhere, maybe. Some already on Danny.

"He's on a fucking warpath." Jason murmurs. Every bit of admiration he had for Danny just multiplied by a thousand when he watched him grab a gun right out of a guy's hand and slam it into their head. Fucking amazing.

If Bruce doesn't square up and ask this guy on a date, Jason would have to start planning to parent trap them.

Fucking shit, he needed this guy as a dad.

The doors don’t just open—they explode off their hinges, a violent crack echoing through the warehouse. Guns swing up, barrels glinting under harsh light, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the figure in the doorway.

Bruce’s pulse slams against his ribs.

And then Danny walks in, dragging a half-conscious man by the leg, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake. He doesn’t even look winded.

Blood stains his usually pristine uniform—smeared across his face, streaked over the white of his shirt, soaking into his knuckles. His tie is gone. His collar is open, a few buttons undone, exposing a sliver of skin beneath the mess. There’s blood on his face, drying in streaks, and his knuckles—his knuckles are raw, dripping, alive. He looks… disheveled. Lethal. Gorgeous.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! THAT'S DANNY!" Spoiler screeched, "HE'S BODYING THOSE FUCKERS! RED! RED, ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS?!"

"SOMEONE RECORD THIS! SHIT! SOMEONE RECORD THIS!" Red Robin replied, equally loud and frantic as if trying desperately to find the old camera he used to stalk Bruce many years ago.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t hesitate.

Danny launches the man he was dragging, sending him crashing into the nearest gunman with a sickening thud. Before anyone can react, he moves—crossing the room in impossibly fluid strides, twisting a wrist until a gun clatters to the floor, elbowing another man so hard in the ribs that something audibly cracks. A shot goes off, a wild, panicked attempt—Danny doesn’t even flinch. He snatches the arm holding the gun and bends it the wrong way. The scream is immediate.

Bruce’s breath catches.

Another man rushes Danny with a knife—big mistake. Danny catches his wrist mid-swing, wrenches it to the side with bone-snapping efficiency, then drives the same blade into another attacker’s thigh. The man howls, but Danny is already moving, slamming someone’s face into the nearest table hard enough to leave a smear of red on the wood.

They never stood a chance.

Two minutes. Two damn minutes, and the entire room is a battlefield of unconscious, broken bodies.

And Bruce cannot focus.

Bruce barely registers Jason swearing at him through the comms, telling him to get it together. He can’t.

And then Danny turns to him.

His face is splattered with blood, his chest rising and falling steadily as he steps forward. His hands, bruised and raw, reach out, and Bruce swallows hard.

Danny kneels, gaze flicking to Bruce’s bound wrists, and his touch—gentle, so gentle—works at the ropes with precise care. The knots had been tight, biting into his skin enough to bruise, to draw blood. Danny’s jaw clenches at the sight.

Bruce should say something. Should thank him. Should not be thinking about how unfairly attractive he looks like this—wild, wrecked, utterly devoted.

But he can’t help it.

He’s so gone.

"Mr. Wayne."

On instruct, Bruce corrects him. "Bruce."

And Danny pauses.

The chaos settles—not in the room, where bodies lay crumpled, groaning, and barely conscious—but in him. Just for a second. Just long enough for Bruce to see it.

Blue flickers into green. A warning. A promise.

Bruce doesn’t look away. Can’t. Even as Danny tilts his head, something unhinged curling at the edges of his smile. His chest rises and falls, slow, deliberate, the blood on his face catching the dim light. His knuckles, split and raw, flex at his sides before he exhales a laugh—low, sharp, guttural.

Almost a growl.

And Bruce—God help him—feels something thrill in his spine.

Then Danny takes his wrists. Carefully. Reverently. Those same hands that had snapped bones and silenced screams mere moments ago now hold Bruce’s bruised, bloodied skin like it’s something precious.

Then—cold.

Not warm. Not comforting. Cold lips, pressing soft against each wound, his touch featherlight against the raw skin. Bruce shudders.

Danny pulls back just enough for Bruce to see his lips—stained red with his blood. And he grins, sharp fangs more prominent than ever, his eyes molten with something Bruce can’t name.

"Bruce…"

Danny says it like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a goddamn claim.

Exasperated. Excited. Fond. And something else entirely.

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Bruce… Or I might just end up blowing up Gotham to get you back.

Bruce’s breath stutters.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Bruce is so utterly gone.

(Someone laughs in the background, shadows curling at their feet. Lady Gotham is pleased.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

[slutoru1207]

Stranger in a Strange Land

Viltrimite!Mark x Reader

When Mark first arrived on Earth, he saw it as nothing more than a mission. A planet to study, integrate into, and eventually conquer.

Then, he met you.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No explosions, no fights, no cosmic events shifting fate itself. You just… bumped into him.

Literally.

You were in a rush, balancing coffee, your bag, and about ten different things when you crashed right into him—and bounced off like you hit a brick wall.

Your coffee spilled. Your things scattered. And you ended up on the pavement, blinking up at the tall, broad strangerwho didn’t even budge.

He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed, golden eyes studying you with sharp curiosity.

“…You’re fragile.”

That was the first thing he said to you.

And instead of being terrified—you got annoyed.

"Gee, thanks, man," you muttered, gathering your things. "Glad to know I’m not made of steel."

His head tilted, clearly confused. You sighed. Another clueless dude with zero social skills.

Still, he crouched, far too close, picking up your bag like it weighed nothing before offering you a hand.

That’s when you got a good look at him.

He was gorgeous.

Tall, stupidly muscular, sharp jawline, tousled black hair—but his eyes. They were different. Golden, intense, watching you like you were some strange new species.

You hesitated before taking his hand.

It was warm. Solid. And when he pulled you up—he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing.

That was the beginning.

-

You quickly learned that Mark wasn’t just weird.

He was entirely clueless.

He didn’t understand social norms, personal space, or why humans didn’t casually lift cars to move them out of parking spots.

"What do you mean I can’t?" he frowned, watching as you dragged him away from a busy intersection. "It’s inefficient."

"It’s illegal," you corrected. "And it freaks people out!"

"But I’m helping."

"You're scaring people, Mark!"

He looked at the pedestrians, who were staring in horror after watching him lift a sedan with one hand.

"…They should be grateful."

You groaned. "Okay, we need to talk."

Mark didn’t understand human food, either.

"You’re telling me," he said, staring at the plate of pancakes in front of him, "that this is considered 'breakfast'?"

"Yeah?" you said, confused. "Why? What do you eat?"

His eyes darkened just slightly.

You decided not to ask.

Instead, you shoved a fork into his hand. "Just try it."

He sighed, looking skeptical—but took a bite.

And then… he froze.

You watched as his expression slowly shifted—surprise, wonder, then… something almost like awe.

"…This is good," he muttered.

You grinned. "See? Welcome to the magic of pancakes."

For the first time, he smiled.

A real, genuine, boyish grin. And it made your stomach flip.

-

Mark was blunt, honest, and terrifyingly intense.

But as time passed, he softened—at least around you.

You caught him watching you sometimes. Not in a creepy way—but in pure fascination.

"You’re so small," he’d say out of nowhere.

You raised an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks."

His lips twitched. "I like it."

…Oh.

Then there were the moments he got protective.

Like the time a guy got too close, too pushy.

Mark didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

He just stepped forward, standing at his full overpowering height, eyes glowing, and… yeah. The guy practically ran.

You had to drag Mark away before he could actually kill someone.

"You can’t just threaten people, Mark!"

"Why not?"

"Because that’s not how humans work!"

"Then how do I make sure no one touches you?"

You paused.

Your heart pounded.

"...You just ask me if I want them to."

His gaze flickered. He was silent for a long time before muttering, "I don’t want anyone else to touch you."

Oh.

-

Mark didn’t know what love was.

Not in the way humans did.

But he knew that whenever he was near you, his chest felt lighter. That when you laughed, something warm spread through him. That when you weren’t around, he felt restless.

And when someone even looked at you the wrong way, he had to physically restrain himself from acting on pure, primal instinct.

So, one night—he just asked.

"What does it mean when you want to keep someone?"

You blinked. "What?"

"When you don’t want anyone else near them. When you think about them constantly. When their happiness makes your chest feel—" he paused, searching for the word, "—lighter."

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, you set your drink down. "Mark…"

He stared at you, waiting. Expectant. Hopeful.

"You’re describing love," you whispered.

Something in his expression shifted.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally—he reached for your hand.

His grip was gentle. Careful.

Like he had already decided.

"Then, I love you."

And just like that—you were ruined.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[bloomiize]

i'll be watching

pairing → jay x yn

warnings → smut, THERES A PLOT KINDA, stalking behaviour, he is OBSESSED, hes still a """"gentleman""", dom jay, fem reader, dubcon, reader gets drunk, coercion

wc: ~3.5k

synopsis → One smile was all it took. The moment your eyes glanced at him, he knew. Jay had already found your full name, your age, where you worked, and exactly where you lived. You just didn’t know you loved him yet and that's okay. He was going to make sure you felt it, too.

You were always quiet, minding your own business and in your own world. It was peaceful, unbothered and drama-free. Juggling a full course load and working at the cafe, you didn't have the time to care about all the guys who tried to get your attention. A compliment here and there, maybe a little note slip on the counter with a phone number on it.

"I have work."

"This assignment is due tomorrow."

"My schedule is packed for this weekend."

You say over and over again. Some would nod their heads understandingly and leave. Others got upset, accusing you of being a tease, wasting their time. But it was always the truth. You just didn’t care to date. It wasn’t a priority. Never was.

The cafe became a soft space for you, and it was a routine you enjoyed. Coffee, latte, baked goods and the warm hum of happy customers filled your days when you weren't busy daydreaming or studying.

"Hi! What can I get you?" You asked, voice light and shining with infinite possibilities. The greeting rolling off your tongue like a script. You didn’t glance up this time, opting to refill the cupcake stand that was being sold at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

"Coffee. Black." The voice was low. Rushed, like he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

You finally looked up, and what a sight it was.

Neat, dark hair. Sharp features that didn't look real. His hands fiddling with— what looks to be— an expensive watch. He didn’t look like the usual customers who came in between classes or after lectures. He looked out of place. Cold, quiet and probably had way too much money.

Then he looked up, staring right at you.

You gave him a warm smile, polite and practiced— the same one you offered to every customer. But his gaze didn’t soften. It stayed locked on yours, curious, unwavering, like he could see past the surface. Like he was trying to figure something out about you that even you didn’t know yet.

When you called out his order, he grabbed it from the counter and left with a quick "Thank you" slipping from his lips. What an interesting guy, wasn't he? And you continued your shift, forgetting all about the strange man. But he never forgot about you.

Jay hated cafes.

Overpriced coffee. Pretentious menus. The same recycled “minimalist” aesthetic with fake plants and Instagrammable drinks that tasted like burnt water and regret. He took his coffee seriously—dark, rich, and brewed with precision. Not watered down through shit using a machine that's probably already rusting.

But today was different.

His morning meeting had been moved earlier without notice, and he didn’t have time to grind the beans himself, didn’t get to hear the satisfying sound of it being poured, didn’t get to take that first quiet sip in the dark comfort of his kitchen. Instead, he was running late. Annoyed. And in desperate need of caffeine.

What a waste, he thought bitterly, eyes scanning the ugly brown exterior of a small cafe on the corner. The obnoxious chalkboard screamed “OPEN!” and jutted out onto the sidewalk like it was begging for attention. Tacky.

Still, he stepped inside, the little chime above the door making his eye twitch. The place was warm, smelled faintly of cinnamon and espresso. Surprisingly, he didn't find bright lights or fake plants or Instagrammable murals. He joined the short line, checking his watch every few seconds.

This better be quick.

He was already thinking about how he’d never let Heeseung schedule his meetings again when something shifted.

A voice.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

You.

The barista behind the counter.

Eyes that shimmered with something— curiosity? Joy? Maybe it was just the reflection of the morning sun, but it caught him off guard. You had a warm smile, a soft voice that was so effortlessly kind it almost irritated him. No fake chipper tone. No forced customer service greeting. You looked real.

His mouth moved before he could think. “Coffee. Black.”

And for the first time that morning, he thought about something other than killing Heeseung.

He kept visiting after that. The cup you made him didn't taste disgusting, he was pleasantly surprised. But it wasn’t the coffee that brought him back the next day. Or the day after that. At first, he sat by the window, pretending to scroll through emails or read a news article. Something to excuse the fact that he hadn’t taken a single sip of the drink cooling beside him.

He was watching you.

The way you tied your apron without thinking, the way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear when you were focused on something. The soft laugh you gave when your coworker said something stupid. It annoyed him how much of your attention everyone else got.

So he listened.

He learned that your favourite pastry was the chocolate croissant, that you hated oat milk, and that you were taking some brutal university class you always complained about on Mondays. He would do all your work for you if it meant you never had to lift a finger. Anything for you to smile.

He learned you only worked mornings on weekdays and full days on weekends. He picked up the rhythm of your schedule with unsettling ease, pretending as if it were his own. Jay started telling his assistant he'd be working remotely more often—from home, he said. But home wasn’t his apartment anymore. It was the window seat at the café.

Your café.

It was a calm morning, he was still watching— still listening. As he sat at his usual corner table pretending to answer emails, he heard your name.

"Y/N, can you grab another box of lids from the back?"

Y/N. It echoed in his head like a siren's curse.

His fingers twitched around his cup. How could your coworker say something so sacred without a care in the world? It annoyed him. But that was all he needed; Jay had a name now. A real one. The moment he heard it, something settled deep in his chest. Like he unlocked a new level. As if knowing it gave him some invisible thread that tied you to him—whether you realized it or not. You let him know your name.

You hadn’t looked at him since that first day. You didn’t remember him. He was just another customer, a regular who always ordered a black coffee. You smiled politely like you did to everyone else. That irked him more than he expected. How could you show that to everyone? It was only supposed to be for him.

But it was okay. He was patient. He'd wait for you forever.

You didn’t know you were his yet. But you would eventually, he’d make sure of it.

You were already running late to class—your shift had dragged longer than expected, and your manager needed help with the register changeover. You said yes, of course. You always did.

Then the kid happened.

Sugar-high, giggling, and sticky-handed, he barreled straight into you as you stepped out from behind the counter. Your drink slipped from your fingers, crashing against your front, staining your white t-shirt in a swirl of espresso and foam. You laughed it off with his mom as she scolded him for being a handful, apologizing profusely while dabbing at your clothes with napkins.

Back in the kitchen, you tried scrubbing it out with soap and water, but the mess clung to the fabric like it belonged there. You were soaked. And the coffee smell followed you like a curse. You had ten minutes to make it to your lecture, barely enough time to breathe, let alone run home and change.

You stepped out of the café with your head down, already mentally preparing your apology for walking into class late and causing a scene. Suddenly, you hit something solid. No, not something. Someone.

You stumbled, arms flailing slightly as the impact caught you off guard, but before you could trip, two hands grabbed your arms. Steady. Warm. Strong.

A chest. Broad. A body, hard with muscle beneath his shirt. It was hard not to stare for a bit.

“Careful,” a low voice murmured above you.

You looked up. One of the regulars at the cafe— Jack? Jake? Jay? His name was something along those lines. His eyes flicked down to your soaked top, his brows pinched together, like he was in pain. How odd.

You scrambled for words. "I'm so sorry!" you blurted, looking up and meeting his gaze with wide, apologetic eyes. That nearly killed him.

"Your next cup is on me, but I really have to go! Point me out next time at the counter," You say, embarrassment taking over your face. You back up, getting ready to sprint across campus.

He almost let you go. Almost.

“Do you… need a sweater?” he called after you, his voice lower, more careful. “For the stain. On your shirt.”

Suddenly, you're standing in front of him and he's taking off his sweater. A neat navy blue quarter zip, as he lifted it over his head, you got a glimpse of his midriff. Tone, perfectly sculpted abs. You ripped your gaze away, masking the awkward silence with a cough. He handed it to you with care and told you to keep it.

"I'll give it back next time i see you I swear!" You said running off waving at him with a smiling. There it was, that smile. Only for him.

He replayed the moment multiple times in his head. How you smelled of vanilla and dark roast. How you felt so warm and soft, his mind often wondered if you would feel the same under him. Jay palmed his dick night after night. How your shirt clung so tightly to your chest. He could see everything. And the way you smiled at him had him unravelling on his sheets. Moving up and down, breathlessly saying your name like a chant.

Life was a blur— assignments, lectures, shifts— and the sweater ended up in your closet. You wore it to work the next week, not thinking twice. At the cafe, Jay stood in line ahead of you. He turned, eyes landing on the sweater, a slow smile spreading. “So, you’re still wearing it.”

You spew out apologies and explanations but he let out a chuckle. Low. Deep. It vibrated in you.

“Keep it,” he laughed. “Looks like it’s yours now.” His gaze lingered. “Let me take you out, I'm sure you're tired of coffee by now.” His tone was light, but his eyes were focused on you. He was handsome, kind, and you basically stole his sweater, this was the least you could do to make up for it.

“Sure,” you smiled and wrote your number on his cup with a small smiley face beside it.

That date turned into hours of talking. Jay was funny, attentive, remembering tiny details like your love for plants and how you refused to allow any fake ones in the cafe, fighting the manager if you had to. You didn’t know he’d studied you online, memorizing your posts, your likes, the plushy bear you’d mentioned wanting. He knew you more than you knew yourself.

The second date was perfect: a park walk, dinner at a cozy bistro. The third was a movie night at your place, laughing together with his arm around you. He never crossed a line unless you wanted him to, always checking if you're okay with whatever he's doing, whether it be a hug or a light kiss on your lips. Jay was a nice guy; he would never do anything weird, maybe that's why you were so comfortable with him. He liked everything you liked. He listened to you rant about your professors and classmates. It was like he was made for you.

By the fourth, you knew you liked him. Jay was perfect—he opened doors, never let you pay, always drove you home and walked you back to your door. When he handed you the plush bear you’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago, your eyes lit up.

“You remembered,” you beamed, pulling it into your arms.

“Of course I did,” he said, watching you like you hung the stars.

You didn’t notice the glint in the bear’s right eye, a tiny lens tucked behind the button. He wanted to keep seeing you smile. Even when you thought you were alone.

At night, when you changed, he was there, on his screen, heart racing. Jay sat in his darkened apartment, the laptop screen casting a sickly glow across his face. The plushy’s camera feed showed you in your room, taking off your shirt after a long day. His breath caught, uneven, as you unhooked your bra, your breasts spilling free, soft and perfect under the lamp’s dim light. He licked his lips, imagining his tongue swirling over your nipples, sucking hard until they pebbled, leaving wet trails and purple marks across your chest. He wanted to bite, to claim every inch of you.

“God, Y/N,” he growled, voice thick with lust, leaning so close his nose nearly brushed the screen. If he stuck out his tongue he could taste it, he could taste you. His eyes devoured you—your delicate collarbone, the maddening curve of your waist, the way your hair draped over your shoulder like an invitation for him to hold your hair up. His hand was already in his pants, gripping himself, the ache unbearable, so needy. Your body was a fucking altar, and he was a starving worshipper.

He groaned as you bent to grab a tee, your breasts swaying slightly, the view sending a violent jolt through him. His strokes were frantic now, sloppy, his palm slick with precum. He pictured pinning you to the bed, spreading you open, licking every curve until you screamed his name. The thought of anyone else seeing you—your classmates, those café creeps—made his gut fill up with rage. “Mine, mine, mine,” he gasped, hips bucking as he came, hot and messy, splattering across his hand. He panted, eyes still locked on you slipping into bed, oblivious, his perfect obsession.

He wiped himself off, breath uneven, knowing you curl up with the plushy. His plushy. His eyes. He’d never let you go.

Jay invited you to his place for dinner, and you couldn’t say no. His apartment was stunning—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The table was set with candles, a spread of homemade pasta, and a bottle of red wine. “You cook?” you teased, impressed and honoured.

“Only for you, angel,” he said, pouring you a generous glass. His smile was warm, but his eyes burned with something darker, a need. He kept refilling your glass, his hand lingering on yours. “You deserve to take a break, Y/N. You work so hard.” He cooed.

The wine hit fast, warming your limbs, clouding your thoughts. Jay was charming, leaning close, his smile growing bigger. You giggled, head fuzzy, his voice smooth and low as he talked. By the third glass, the room tilted, your cheeks flushed, your body uncontrollable. He moved to the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come here love.” “You’re so… nice, Jay,” you mumbled, head lolling slightly, cheeks flushed. By the fourth glass, the room spun, your body heavy, limbs loose. Guilt clawed at you—he’d done so much, the dinner, the plushy, the sweater. You owed him, didn’t you? 

You stumbled, and he pulled you into his lap. His scent wrapped around you, intoxicating. He looked at you like you were his everything, and it felt too good, too warm, even as a faint voice screamed to leave. His hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, inching under your skirt. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, voice thick. “All soft and sweet, just for me.”

“Jay, I… I’m really drunk,” you slurred, trying to push his hand away, but your fingers were clumsy. Your head felt like clouds, the wine drowning out your senses. “Maybe I should… go home.”

“Shh, angel,” he cooed, fingers tightening, ignoring your weak protest. “You can’t leave me after all this, can you? You’re my special girl tonight.” His eyes locked on yours, intense, needy. “You trust me, don’t you? I’ve been so good to you.” 

Guilt twisted harder. He had been good—perfect, even. The sweater, the bear, the way he always showed up at the cafe with a smile. He was so kind and caring, always attentive to your needs. He never pushed any lines; you owed him this, right? Just this once. “Okay..” you whispered, voice small, embarrassed, your body betraying you as his touch sent shocks through you.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you deeply, his tongue and yours mixing perfectly, tasting the wine off your lips. He pushed you back on the couch, hands roaming all over you, tugging off your clothes with a rapid pace. “So fucking cute,” he murmured, unhooking your bra, lips grazing your collarbone. He smiled, sliding your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down. “Look at you,” he whispered, playing with your folds, finding you slick despite your confusion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? And you wanted to go home like this?” He circled your clit slowly, teasing, watching you squirm. “Yeah? You like that?”

“S’good,” you slurred, hips twitching, embarrassed but unable to stop the heat building in you. His praise felt like a drug—cute, perfect, his angel.

“Aw,” he teased, slipping two fingers inside, pumping gently, his thumb on your clit. “Do you think of me when you wear my sweater?” he asked, voice low, eyes glinting as if he didn’t already know the answer. He’s watched you do it countless times by now.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, voice shaky, picturing the cozy navy quarter-zip and how many times you’ve touched yourself while wearing it. He groaned, fingers curling. “So dirty,” he whispered, voice thick with approval. “My dirty little angel, thinking of me like that.” He moved faster, but when you whimpered, close to the edge, he stopped, pulling his fingers out, licking them clean while staring at you. “Not yet. I want to play with you longer.”

You whined, needy, head too foggy to argue, the alcohol was making everything feel lighter. “Jay, please,” you begged, barely coherent.

“Patience,” he chuckled, spreading your thighs wider. He didn’t wait long, his need overtook him. He shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, thick and heavy, the size making your eyes widen even through the drunken haze. “Jay, wait,” you slurred, panic flickering. “It’s… too big.”

“It’ll fit angel, it’ll fit,” he soothed, voice dripping with false gentleness, his hand rubbing your stomach as he lined himself up. “I’ll make it fit.” He pushed in, slow but relentless, stretching you, the burn making you cry out. You were wet, dripping even, yet he was still too big. “Hurts,” you whimpered, hands pushing weakly at his chest.

“I know, love,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his hand pressing your stomach, feeling the bulge where he filled you. “You’re taking me so well. My perfect fuckdoll.” He thrust slowly, savouring your whines, each whimper and gasp fueling him. “So cute like this, whimpering for me,” You were gone. Your head was dizzy and all you could do was moan his name out, gripping onto him like he could save you.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, your head lolling as the pain mixed with pleasure. “Too much,” you’re slurring, but your body arched into him, betraying you.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, thrusting deeper, still slow, watching the bulge in your stomach move. “My perfect girl, letting me have you like this. You owe me this, don’t you? After everything I’ve done for you.” His words sank into your drunken mind. You really did owe Jay everything. You nod barely understanding, just wanting to please him.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, picking up the pace slightly, his hand stroking your hair. “You feel so good, Y/N. Made for me.” He groaned, voice tightening. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You blinked, a flicker of clarity cutting through the fog. “Jay… condom?” you mumbled weakly, too drunk to care fully, the question more curiosity than concern.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he whispered, hand cupping your cheek, thrusting harder. “We’re gonna have such a good family. I’ll take care of you, always.” His hips snapped forward, and he came, hot and thick robes flooded inside you, groaning into your neck as he filled you, no hesitation. Like he planned this.

You whimpered, too fucked out and drunk to process, your body limp beneath him. He held you close, kissing your forehead, murmuring, “My perfect girl. You did so good.” You drifted off in his arms while he cleaned you up. What a gentleman.

a/n: jay being devious is my new favourite thing I fear... anyways I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! sorry for not posting for a bit I've been super busy so let me yap for a bit. i started my summer courses KILL ME and I just started my new job YAY! I have wayyy too many drafts rn LOL pls lmk what you think! comments and reblogs are appreciated I LOVE YOU GUYS! <3

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[riricatria]

Hello, hello, first post!

The template is heavily inspired by @cinnamonest, I'm a big fan ┴┬┴┤◕‿◕｡)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Dark content (dead dove), cisfem!Reader, verbal abuse, physical abuse (blood, bruises), one (1) bone breaking, the general psychological stuff that comes with yandere (obsession, possessiveness, imprisonment...), vague talk about depression, forced non-smechxual touching, NONCON, periods, brief anal, fingering, brief overstim, oral in both directions, rough boombayah, predator/prey dynamics.

Disclaimers can be found in my pinned post.

S-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 1. General look: How are they like? How do they behave around the darling? Are there any warning signs?

Mydei, Mydeimos, Son of Gorgo, the crown prince of Kremnos, Lil’ De, or the tall, handsome Chrysos Heir that only speaks rough words and puts a strange amount of effort into trying to best Phainon of Aedes Elysiae in whatever challenge they have made up that day. You don’t know him well. Very few people do, really.

He has a pretty face, a toned body, and a beautiful mane of hair that brings a large feline to mind. Very few people can truthfully say that he’s not an attractive guy. You’re not one of them, either: You have caught yourself eyeing the man a few times, just from afar. The gossip about him has reached your ears, they say that he’s actually a big softie (he sometimes plays with the children in his free time, they insist), but the aura he gives off is nothing but gruff. He doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate random people coming up to him to chat.

That, and you’ve gotten the picture that he isn’t particularly fond of your company. From how he looks at you in passing, it seems like he would rather be talking with the talking lion statue on the wall. He has a nasty habit of making his feelings known, too, you think. When you walk past him at the bathhouse, he might click his tongue in annoyance or fold his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. Subconsciously, you begin taking the longer route around, just to make sure you don’t bump into him.

But what’s going on in his mind is the complete opposite of what you have gathered. He can’t get his eyes off of you. Maybe you’re just a random citizen that has moved in Okhema, wandering around the city, or maybe you’re with the Astral Express, completely new to the planet. Whatever it is, the moment he lays his gaze on you, it’s downhill from there.

He tries to deny it at first. That what’s growing inside of him isn’t infatuation, it’s actually just him finding you incredibly irritating and annoying and a waste of space and beautiful and mesmerizing and cute and-… this is the point where the tongue-click usually happens.

In a way, it’s convenient that he himself acts as the warning sign, although in a very reverse way. You think he can’t stand you, so naturally, you distance yourself from him, which is exactly what he does not want, but he can’t really help himself. The ball is already rolling (and the hill is so steep that the ball is basically just falling by this point), and you can do very little to prevent the continuum of events from happening.

Mydei is a bit peculiar in the sense that he doesn’t even attempt to court you in regular ways. No nice words, no compliments, no flowers, not even a hello, nothing. His brain just goes from ”oh she’s pretty” to ”I need to have her immediately” in the span of, like, ten minutes. It doesn’t take much brainwork, although he tries his absolute hardest to turn the whole set-up on its head in his mind. He isn’t one to fall in love, probably truly hasn’t in all of his years, even, so while the feeling is new to him. Still, he’s in control in the sense that he won’t make any rushed decisions.

The downside is that the said decisions that he ultimately settles on are… questionable at the very least. He’s a warrior at heart and very much used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. And what he wants is you, nothing less, nothing more. He almost feels entitled to you, in a way. Look at all he has done, look how incredible and strong he is, he deserves you. You’re nobody compared to him, you don’t get a say in the matter.

But at the same time, he’s terrified of the sheer humanness of the sentiment. He equates the feelings to a show of weakness (hence he tries to twist them into actually hating you), and it gnaws on his sense of self. You’re an obstacle, but at the same time, you’re a need.

So, then he starts stalking you. Or not stalking, it’s more about seeing how you go on about your day, walking around the city to maybe see what you’re up to, discreetly tailing you when you make your way home (it’s definitely stalking you). You begin seeing him more often in random places like at the market or at the plaza. His eyes always find yours for a moment before he makes a brief, sour expression. You start wondering if the crown prince really is that big of an ass, if he really dedicates precious time from his schedule to searching you out just to express his distaste towards you face-to-face. It’s ridiculous, you think, but even then, it’s up to you if you decide to change up your routes just to avoid him. Not that it’ll help; soon enough, you’ll start bumping into him again.

Mydei knows he’s being weird, or at least that his behaviour appears strange to you. Still, he rationalizes it in, quite frankly, a ridiculous way. Yeah, what he’s doing is strange, but because he’s a powerful figure, a Chrysos Heir, the warrior of Okhema, whatever he’s doing is not strange. Because he’s so far above everyone else. Obviously this is within his rights.

Phainon and Tribbie are the only ones that may comment on his activities. Tribbie is encouraging in the way that she tries to get Mydei to actually, you know, try to get you to like him. She very carefully suggests that the reverse-psychology trick he’s got going on may not yield very good results, she tries to direct him down the correct path, only to be faced with little to no results. Phainon is more humorous about it, teases him, might even come chat to you about him if he’s feeling mischievous. You, of course, don’t believe a word he says, you think he’s just trying to lift your mood or protect your self-esteem from the constant dirty looks, so you just end up rolling your eyes and telling him to tell Mydei to leave you alone. You would say it to the crown prince directly if it weren’t for the immediate public humiliation you would face, you reason.

However, in the end, it is Phainon that ends up being the catalyst and airing a proposal to Mydei which ultimately seals your fate. The two of them are chatting idly, maybe in the middle of their rivalry again, and Phainon speaks out a cheeky remark: ”Maybe you should just grab her for yourself if she’s that big of a deal to you”. Mydei is about to snap right back with a bicker, but when the sentence registers in his brain, he comes to think. Wait, what if…?

Surely, it would be alright. He’s the crown prince of Kremnos, a Chrysos Heir, he’s THE Mydeimos. Would it be that immoral of him to want something like that? Surely he has done enough for the city and its people to deserve this one thing? Surely he has suffered enough? And so, the final nail is hammered into your coffin.

˗ˏˋ ★ 2. Securing: How will they abduct their darling? When, where and how?

It’s quick, it’s sudden, it’s very vaguely thought-out, it’s rough.

The reason why the plan isn’t very calculated or meticulous is because he himself doesn’t see a need for it to be that way. It works, and that’s all that matters to him. There isn’t even any impulsivity to it, either, he just decides the day and time and goes with it.

He takes you from your own residence, likely in the city. The Okheman architecture is convenient in the way that the windows are wide open, and he uses that to his advantage. It’s late into the night, and he’s standing at the base of your apartment, looking up at what he knows is your bedroom window. It’s quite high up, but a leap of a dozen meters is nothing to his honed, immortal body.

You’re in your bed. The night is hot, and you’re wearing nothing but your sleeping attire. You have moved the blanket to the side, baring yourself to his scrutiny. You’re fast asleep.

It’s ridiculous how easy it is for him to just reach down and grab your body. It even takes you a moment to wake up from your slumber, to try to comprehend the situation you’re in, but by the time you actually open your eyes, there’s a gauntleted hand over your mouth and a rock-solid arm wrapped around your upper body.

You recognize the attacker. He sees your eyes widen, the way reality sinks in your mind. The terror is nearly tangible.

You think he’s going to kill you. That Mydeimos, the Chrysos Heir is actually going to murder you in your own home. His hand over your face prevents you from screaming out, and the arm is, with so little effort, restricting any and all movement. It’s petrifying, the way your life flashes before your eyes, your mind goes to the image of your friends finding your bloody corpse by the bed. How your loved ones will stand by your grave, mourning your destiny without possibly ever getting to know what happened to you.

But then, Mydei just tells you to shut up before hauling your body around and hoisting it up like you weigh nothing. And to him, you don’t. With one hand still on your mouth and the other holding you up and against him, he flees the room through the window and starts making his way to the ruins of Castrum Kremnos.

The trip to the castle is not a quick one. Even with his impressive speed, it takes a good while for you to reach the premises. That, and he’s sprinting with you in his arms. It wouldn’t even be an effort if it wasn’t for the way you’re trying to flail around, trying to punch him, squirm out of his grasp, make as much noise as possible. It almost makes him want to give your head a good bonk so you would go quiet. But he doesn’t. And soon enough, you reach his home city.

The plan being very vague includes that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to do with you once he reaches the place. You need a spot to stay, obviously, somewhere the titankin can’t reach you, where you can’t escape from, where you can comfortably stay for the better part of your day. That, at least for the time being, ends up being a small, dark room on one of the high towers of the castle. There’s not a lot of space, no furniture, only rubble and dust with a single, small opening in the wall where the light pools in from. The view is frankly depressing, even to his eyes.

After the crescent moon shaped lock clicks shut behind him, he finally sets you down and removes his hands from your body. The moment your feet hit the ground, you’re scrambling away until your back hits the opposite wall, creating as much space between you and him as you’re able. You point a finger up at him, eyes wide and a couple of tears spilling past your lashes, and you immediately start spitting profanities and questions at him, screaming your lungs out, threatening to tell the other Heirs. The act isn’t very convincing to him, though; he can see the way your knees buckle and your arms shake, the way your eyes dart around the room.

And he’s so nonchalant about it that you nearly explode. After haunting you for weeks on end, he has decided to, what, ”take you for himself”? You’re livid just as much as you’re terrified, but that does very little to wound his pride. He simply folds his arms and answers your questions with little to no compassion, stating things as matter-of-fact rather than even trying to console you.

Though, he does understand your concerns. He doubts anybody would find the experience of being kidnapped very pleasant. Then, you start yelling him about more trivial matters like ”where the fuck do you expect me to sleep here?!” and ”what the hell will I eat?”. These are the things that he hasn’t yet had time to arrange, and the points are valid in that sense. He himself doesn’t like sleeping on cold, hard ground, either. He should find you a mattress, he thinks, though he doubts there are any just lying around in the ruins.

Then you start complaining that it’s cold in there, and you’re only in your pyjamas, that everything is bad, horrible. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, raising his voice and telling you that you’ll sleep with him for tonight and that he’ll get you a bed tomorrow.

Your jaw hangs open at the sheer audacity of this man, but ultimately, you can’t do much when he walks to you in a few, long strides, grabs your body like a sack of flour, rests down by the wall and settles you in his lap. Obviously, you don’t just give up and go to sleep right away. Instead, you attempt to throw punches at him, kicking him to the best of your ability, trying to squirm out of his iron grip. It’s kind of funny to him, actually, and he makes it known by straight up laughing at your face. You can either go to sleep or fight him until the morning if you’d like, it won’t change anything, he scoffs at you. And, after struggling an hour or two, you go slack in his hold.

˗ˏˋ ★ 3. Life: What is it like to live with them? How do they treat the darling?

It’s less than ideal at first. Considering the factor that you don’t have all the comforts of your previous home like, eh, a bed, the first few days are especially rough. You’re alone for a good portion of your day, locked away in a small room with practically nothing to do. Your only source of light is the small window, and even with it, you’re mostly encased in dimness. The door is firmly locked, and the window is so small in size that your shoulders and you don’t think your hips would squeeze through it even if you tried. You contemplate on finding out for yourself, but for now, you don’t, since you have bigger things to worry about, such as making sure you don’t die of thirst while he’s away.

Conveniently, the moon symbol on the lock starts spinning just as you start worrying, the door opens. Mydei steps into the room and tells you to get up. When you fail to immediately comply, he walks over to you and grabs you by the arm. You protest, telling him that you’re able to walk on your own two feet, but it isn’t until you voluntarily take proper steps without dragging that he lets you not be carried.

He takes you to a different part of the castle. It’s much cleaner, there’s less rubble, less dust here. He leads you past the hallways and to a larger door embedded in the wall. Behind it, you find a more spacious, furnished room. There’s a sizable, plush bed, there’s a shelf, there’s a door to what you assume is the bathroom, a desk, a chair. He leads you in with a firm hand on your upper back. There’s a large window on the east wall, one you could easily fit through. You make a mental note of it.

Everything you need is in the room. There’s even a bowl of pomegranates on the desk. It takes a moment for the puzzle pieces to click together in your brain. Albeit expressionless, Mydei’s eyes keenly observe your reaction from the way your brows knit together to how you look around the room in confusion. And then you start lashing out again, telling him how there’s ”no fucking way that you're gonna live in some monster-filled ruins with zero social contacts and activities”. Huh, activities? Oh, of course. You need something to entertain yourself with when he’s away on his business and whatnot. In a dismissive voice, he promises to do something about it tomorrow, but for tonight, the two of you are sleeping in your brand new bed (he holds you while you writhe and scratch at him).

In the following day, as he promised, he gets you something to busy yourself with. He’ll visit the market or the Grove to get you a book or two. He’ll go around the city and get you some snacks. Mydei would be lying through his teeth if he said that he knows exactly what you like, but the idea is still there. Besides, if the stuff doesn’t suit your preferences, he can just bring you more.

It takes a few days for you to warm up to the idea of accepting his gifts. After hours and hours on end of sitting around doing nothing but sleeping and staring at the ceiling, you finally pick up the book he brought you. It’s not particularly interesting; just some tales about the Titans and such, but opposed to spending even one more minute in complete boredom, you would much rather have this.

Mydei also takes you outside regularly. Some days he’s not able to spend too much time with you during the day, but even then, he knows the importance of sunlight exposure and fresh air. So, the two of you may walk around the ruins for a bit, he takes you to different parts of the castle at first. Then, if you don’t show too much resistance, he might start taking you back to Okhema, albeit on very limited terms. It’s only in hidden areas, mostly those where only the Heirs are allowed to enter. You’re strictly prohibited from talking to anyone, too, and if you do, you’ll never see the city again, he threatens. You mostly get to wander around a bit — under his watchful eye, of course. You even get to talk to Phainon a few times since Mydei seems to trust him enough to have you around him.

Furthermore, Mydei attempts to make it so that you’ll get to bathe in the bathhouse once a day, or at least every two days. Oftentimes, that ends up being the highlight of your nights. He rarely demands anything from you during those times, so you’ll get to have some peace for yourself.

In contrast, moments you dread the most are those when he’s actually forcing you to spend time with him. If he doesn’t have anything better to do (and you’re considerably high up on his list of priorities), he might just sit around in your room and stare at you until you give him attention. Attention meaning that you’ll talk to him, and even then he’ll pretend to be somewhat uninterested just to save face. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if that’s really how dense he is, but the only way to eventually get him to leave you alone is to entertain him. What a prick. He would love to hold you, too, if you’d just let him. And he might do it even if you’re less than willing.

Your life falls into a cycle of sorts. You wake up with Mydei (typically encased in his arms), he gets you food, he leaves for his business for a few hours, you stay in your room, he comes back, you spend time with him, he might take you outside, night rolls around, you get to go to the baths, you come back, you go to sleep, encased in his arms, naturally.

If you’re lucky, he might even move you back to Okhema a few months into your captivity. This is only if you’ve been on your best behaviour, though. And if you attempt an escape, you’ll go right back to square one.

˗ˏˋ ★ 4. Rules: What kind of rules do they enforce? How lenient are they? How do they keep their darling in check?

He doesn’t actually have a thought-out set of rules for the darling. He expects you to have common sense, to understand unspoken expectations. It’s mostly just things like ”don’t escape” and ”don’t break stuff” and ”do what I say”. He never speaks these things out loud, but they have become quite clear to you. If you do something that displeases him, he lets you know in non-verbal ways like roughly grabbing you by the arm.

Other than the basics, he doesn’t really care what you do when you’re in your own room since there’s nothing much that could cause harm to you (or him) there. Mydei, if anybody, knows that it’s important not to restrict a person too much if you want them to remain happy, so he doesn’t intervene with your me-time too much. He won’t let you roam around, though — not without him, anyway. You’re going to stay locked up in your room.

If you’ve proven to be untrustworthy (an escape attempt, trying to hurt him, that sort of thing), he’ll keep you chained to the bed by one of your ankles with a heavy leg iron. If you’re actively trying to hurt yourself, he might shackle your hands to the bedposts, too. He won’t let you out of your bindings until you’ve been compliant for a good amount of time.

Aside from the physical restrictions, his presence alone is enough to keep you on good behaviour most of the time. You’re much too scared to attempt anything under his watchful eye, and he’s very aware of this himself. Most of the time, he utilizes the effect he has on you, to keep you in check. Though, at times, he thinks it would be nice if you just remained pliant by your own volition. Frightening you is somewhat counter-intuitive if his goal is to get you to like him, after all.

˗ˏˋ ★ 5. Consequences: What kind of punishments will the darling face? How do they punish different offences?

Oh, it’s not pretty. As stated, Mydei (in the eye of the public, anyway) isn’t known to be a very gentle person, and that translates to how he will deal with a disobedient darling. He’s quite an irritable man in general, so even the mildest offences can earn a disproportionately violent reaction from him.

Mydei has got a sharp tongue. He isn’t a man of many words, but at the same time, he most definitely isn’t one to spare any of them if need be. That being said, his most likely response to the smallest misdemeanours is a few harsh words. It doesn’t even need to be an actual offence, really. It can be things such as accidentally dropping a plate on the floor, or even something like making an expression that didn’t appease him at the moment. He will comment on it, berating you in that aggressive yet indifferent tone of his. He calls you things like ”insolent thing”, ”weak fool” or ”puny woman” and follows them with an insult directed at whatever you did wrong.

Note that scolding is the mildest possible consequence you can receive, and it, too, is heavily dependent on his mood. If he’s having a particularly bad day, even something as miniscule as you stumbling on something could be enough to have him grab you by the shoulder and throw you right back into your room.

The mildest of wrongdoings aside, the punishment for deliberate acts of disobedience is almost always physical. He’s incredibly strong, so even if he doesn’t actually mean to hurt you, the way he manhandles you is usually painful enough to get the point across. Talking back at him, rejecting his touches, refusing to eat out of spite, such things commonly earn you pain in one form or another. If he’s feeling merciful, he may just yank you by your arm and have his gauntlet dig into your skin as he verbally degrades you. If his mood is less than ideal, he might even grab you by the hair and push you to the ground, lightly (although it doesn’t feel like that to you) dig his heel into your side until you get the point. And usually, by then, you’ve swallowed whatever spite you had.

Mydei isn’t one to be psychologically cruel about his methods of punishment. The most deliberate mental torment you might face with him is being locked in your room for a few hours, and, if he’s being completely truthful, that’s more for him than you, as well. Not having you in his immediate vicinity gives him a chance to cool down and rethink what is a suitable consequence for you — this way he doesn’t cave in to his first instinct which is to physically hurt you.

Your privileges may very well get revoked if you misbehave. If you continuously spit back at him or show defiance in other ways, he might just take your means of entertainment away. Oh, you pulled away when he tried to embrace you? That book he had got you a few days ago will be locked away for the day. You yelled at him (after he called you weak and incapable)? He’s not going to take you for a walk today, you’re just going to have to spend time with him inside. See how it feels.

When it comes to the most serious of offences, though, that’s when his worst sides come out. His response is very in-the-moment, rough, and uncontrolled. He has a hard time keeping his own strength in check at these times.

Most likely into the early weeks of your captivity, you’ll get a first taste of how Mydei is when he’s really mad. You’re about to commit your first escape attempt, you’re going to try to flee the ruins he has trapped you in. It’s not much, but you’ve prepared yourself a make-shift dagger (to stab him if need be and to defend yourself from the titankin roaming the place), and you’re pretty sure that you can make the jump off the balcony and to the building on the other side.

It’s one of those days when he goes out to Okhema — Chrysos Heir business or something, you’re not really sure and asking him about it has proven mostly futile — and you’re good to go. He naively trusts you to have enough common sense not to try to leap into your death via the open window, and the time to take advantage of that has come.

You make the jump, only barely managing to cling onto the window sill and succeeding in pulling yourself into safety. This room is not locked, and you’re able to make your way down the staircase and out of the building.

The ruins are difficult to navigate, there’s rubble everywhere, there are strange mechanisms that you’re unable to operate, and most horrifyingly, the monsters are everywhere. You’re scared, terrified, running for your life through the collapsing bridges and twisting hallways. However, with your objective in mind, you gather your strength and wander further.

It’s obvious, it should’ve been obvious to you as well, but you were never destined to make it far. Not even fifteen minutes into your stunt, blood-curdling, other-wordly shrieks and the sound of creatures twice your size being thrown into walls catches up with you. By this point, you know it’s over, but despite the inevitable, you still continue sprinting for the remaining twenty seconds you have left until a hand finds your shoulder.

You’re jerked backwards in a movement so violent that it throws you straight onto the ground. Then, in a blink of an eye, Mydei’s armoured fingers dig into your scalp, grabbing a fistful of hair before he pulls your head off the floor. He doesn’t utter a word, and you make the mistake of straining your neck to take a look at his face.

His nostrils are flared, his eyes are blown wide, and he’s panting out in rapid, deep breaths as if he’s holding onto the last ounces of self-restraint he has. He silently glares you in the eye for a good few seconds before he mushes your face against the floor. You can screech and cry out your desperation, you can try and beg him to stop, but that won’t deter him from pressing your cheek against the marble until you’re sure there’s a bruise forming on the side of your head. At this point, he will begin spouting profanities and insults at you, first hissing and growling before it builds up to full-blown yelling. Some of it is berating you for putting yourself in mortal danger, but a good part of it is just shouting at you for the sake of it. He exercises his status that way. It’s loud and guttural, and it would get the point across even without the words.

After a long while, he will yank your now limp body off the ground and throw it over his shoulder. If you decide that you still have one in you at this point, he just might throw you on the ground like a ragdoll and actually step on you. It would be the wisest to just accept your fate at this point.

The scariest part, however, comes when you’re back at where he keeps you. He reaches your room, and as the door slides shut behind him, he drops you down without care and with so much force that you don’t even get a chance to find solid footing. You fall onto the floor butt first, but before you can even try to scramble back up, his fingers are wrapped around your wrist.

There’s still that same, frenzied look in his eyes when his hold tightens, the metal claws pierce your skin. You can howl in pain all you want, you can try to thrash around. His grip won’t loosen, even when he yanks you up from the floor and grabs you by the head with his free hand. He resumes hissing curses at you while he practically dangles you in the air. His hold just becomes firmer, he presses harder, his fingers burrow deeper. Your cries grow louder, more panicked, as the pressure becomes unbearable, something is going to break, something is going to-

And then, he hears the sickening, distinct crack of a bone snapping. The sound is immediately accompanied by an animalistic shriek so loud that he can’t believe it’s from your mouth. He lets go of your body, and you drop to the ground on your knees. You wail in pain, eyes saucer-wide with terror as you clutch on your wrist with a wildly trembling hand. His eyes fixate on the purple splotch that’s now forming under your skin.

Your howls of pain don’t stop, even as your breathing becomes so laboured that you can barely get a coherent sound out. Your gaze flicks from your wrist to him, to the door, at his face, back at your wrist, back at him, all the while you rock your shaking body back and forth in your delirium. Fat tears spill down your cheeks, and a line of snot streams over your upper lip as you screech out unintelligible sounds. You’re gasping for air like you’re drowning, you’re wheezing hysterically, the colour is draining from your face.

It hurts so bad. You’re not sure which bone it is, maybe it’s one of the long ones on your forearm, maybe it’s one the hand’s side, but all you know is that it feels like your wrist has been lit on fire. You didn’t think he could do this to you, you didn’t believe he would ever go this far. And neither did he, truthfully.

Mydei has no idea what to do. He vaguely understands that he has crossed the line, he comprehends what has happened, but the red-hot rage is still fogging his judgment and blinding his vision. His gaze flickers from your quivering hand to your terror-struck expression, to his own hand still half-extended, back at your form, back at his hand.

He takes a step towards you. You let out a scream that could surely be heard by the titankin outside if he hadn’t just eradicated a good half of them. He gets closer, and you wildly kick your legs, completely uncoordinated, to either try to create distance in between you and him or pathetically attempt to defend yourself from him.

Either way, all his fury-clouded mind can think of doing is crouching down to your level, grabbing your head and covering your mouth and nose. Naturally, you only wail and flail harder in response, but he keeps his palm slotted against your airways. You can’t breathe. He repeatedly yells at you to calm down, but his tone of voice is doing nothing to further the cause. It’s only when you’re sure that you’re going to pass out that he lets go of your face. After you go right back to hyperventilating, he slaps his hand back down. It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s terrifying, it’s violent. The cycle repeats until you lie limp in his arms, eyes unfocused, legs twitching, drool staining the side of your mouth. You don’t remember much after that point.

The aftermath is just as rough. It’s only after a few hours that you’ve calmed down enough to be able to assess your own situation. Mydei has left you alone in your room, one leg chained to the bed, to go ”calm down” but judging from the noise from outside, he’s doing anything but that. At this point, you’re much too tired to even try to grasp the reality aside from the apparent bruise swelling around your entire wrist, or to even entertain the thought of another escape plan.

You don’t talk about it afterwards. He doesn’t seem to care, obviously he doesn’t apologize, he never really does. He makes an attempt to nurse the appendage, wrap something around it, put a splint on it. If it’s really bad, he may even bring you to Hyacine (and stare a hole through the back of her head the entire time she works) and let her heal you. After that, the circumstances return back to what he would call normal, but you swear you can sometimes see him flinch when your shoulder or knee pops.

˗ˏˋ ★ 6. Emotions I: How do they show love? How do they attempt to make the darling love them?

Mydei is a… difficult person in this sense. His only ever verbal show of emotion seems to be that of annoyance. It’s the huffs, the way he clicks his tongue, the aggressive stance, and then the words. You can’t recall many times you’ve seen him smile. Still, despite his harsh tongue and tough shell, deep in his heart, he still wants his darling to love him. So, he does his best to show love through actions rather than words.

During the first few days of your captivity, he doesn’t really touch you aside from when he has to move you or carry you. However, further in, you find his hands wandering on you more and more often. It starts with little touches on the shoulders and arms, more to grab your attention than anything, but then it evolves to touching your hair, your hands, your lower back, your sides. He never gives you a warning before he subtly closes the distance between the two of you, he doesn’t speak a word when the palms of his hands caress down your arms, making their way to your hands, back up your shoulders, over to your hair where he picks out a strand and twirls it between his fingers. Moments like these are extremely vulnerable to him, so if you decide to open your mouth during them, be prepared for a prickly response.

As he feels you under his fingertips, he’s hit with the realization of how frail you truly are. He becomes aware of how easy it would be for him to snap your femur clean in half with a single hand, how tiny your hands are compared to his, how little force he would have to use to shatter your skull. The thought terrifies him, only gives more fuel to the instinct to keep you locked away from the world.

He ends up making his way behind you and has you pause whatever it is that you’re busy with. You perk up as you feel the metal on the back of his gauntlets slowly trail down your back, making out the curve of your spine under your clothing, feeling your warmth. It’s the only way he can rid himself of these thoughts.

He also loves to do mundane things like cook for you. He surprisingly takes pride in his culinary skills, so preparing food for you is one of the most intimate things he will do. Furthermore, if you show a positive response when he brings you a plate of a home-cooked version of whatever food you had once mentioned that you liked, he will remain in exceptionally good spirits for the rest of the day. Beware that if you refuse the gesture, he might not do it again for a considerable amount of time.

Mydei occasionally brings you little trinkets and such from whenever he visits Okhema. They’re little things like flowers or jewellery, maybe even more stuff to entertain yourself with like literature or painting supplies. If you ask him about the habit, his response is always a defensive huff and something along the lines of ”I’ll take them back if you don’t want them”, but when you hastily shake your head and tell him that you like them, his shoulders visibly relax. If you’re feeling daring, you could ask him for a specific item, and if he’s in a pleasant mood, the request may even be fulfilled. Given that you’ve been good, that is.

Though he enjoys all the aforementioned things, if there’s one thing he really, truly loves, it’s bathing with you. Even though it’s basically a daily thing, it’s something that makes his heart swell up with contentment.

It’s only really late into the evening, only when everybody else has left the Hero’s Bath, when he brings you out into some small, remote corner of the bathhouse and plants your butt in the pleasantly warm water. He never speaks a word when he does so, only strips himself of his clothes (save for a towel around his hips) and sits right beside you, arms folded and thighs spread. It’s surprisingly serene in his company in these moments: he rests still in the bath, head tilted backwards, eyes closed. You can’t say you’re exactly relaxed yourself, the bathing suit you insisted on him giving you is a bit too loose around certain areas to your taste, but the hot, steaming air does manage to calm your nerves, even if only a little.

And then he opens his eyes, lets out a huff like he’s displeased, and turns to you. His ungloved fingers wrap around your upper arm, and he mutters out a ”come here” before dragging your body over to his lap. You don’t even have time to protest before the rough pads of his fingers slide your shoulder straps down, baring your upper body to him. If you start complaining, he might snarl at your struggling, saying that ”he can only see your back anyway” before telling you to stay still. And you do.

He reaches for a basket by the edge of the bath and grabs a bottle of some ointment, maybe soap, you’re not really sure. He pops the container open, and soon you feel his hand smearing the substance all over your shoulders and back. He isn’t particularly soft with the motions, no, but it’s gentle for his standards. His palms glide along your skin, sometimes pressing a bit firmer, effectively lulling you into a state of at least moderate tranquillity. Then he rinses your skin before picking out another bottle, and the actions repeat. It’s best if you stay silent; He might just dip your face in the water if you don’t keep your comments to yourself.

Oh, and if you’re in your manipulation era and you’re up for gaining some leniency from him, he will absolutely melt if you offer to do the same for him. He may even refuse the first couple of times, not believing that you’d actually want to do that, but keep insisting, and he will cave in. And, not that he would tell you, but it’s one of the most euphoric experiences in his long lifetime.

˗ˏˋ ★ 7. Emotions II: How do they deal with the darling’s emotions? How are outbursts handled? How do they attempt to comfort the darling?

Much like with how he shows love, dealing with the darling’s own feelings is less about words and more about actions. His words might even make the situation worse, he has noticed. You tend to flinch at his voice, no matter what it is that comes out of his mouth. It’s especially when you’re in a sorry state, either angry or depressed, that you seem unable to be comforted verbally.

If you lash out at him, his go-to is just throwing you back in your room for a cooldown. There’s nothing much to break there, you can throw your blanket around at most, you can bang on the door, you can scream. It’ll tire you out, too, and you have a habit of falling asleep after the flame has burned out, he has noticed.

Or, if you’re being an active risk to yourself (and him, though you could never actually do more than graze his skin), he might resort to holding you down or against him until you calm down. This method is less of a punishment and more of a necessary effort, despite you being sore after as his grip is quite tight. The most words you’ll get out of him during these moments is him telling you to cut it out and calm down in his gruff tone.

When it comes to a teary and sorrowful darling, he tends to take a softer approach. In such moments, you don’t really pose a physical threat anyway, so restricting you would be of no use. You don’t really come to him when you’re sad, believing that having him around would only bring you down further, but he himself is inclined to seek you out. It’s a protective instinct, he reassures himself, because your form appears even weaker than usual then. Not because he’s worried about you or anything.

Mydei has a hard time accepting the fact, and he would never say it out loud, but deep inside, he’s a gentle soul. That’s why seeing you in both physical and (especially) mental pain brings him great anguish.

Still, in spite of that, if he were to find you balled up in your room, quietly sobbing with your face buried against your knees, his first impulse is not trying to soothe you. For a good while, he can only stand a short distance away from you, gazing down at you with an unreadable expression. He observes the situation silently, and if it looks like you have no intention of trying to bash his skull in, he will come closer. He will take you up into his arms before sitting down on the bed with you in his lap. Usually, you’re in no state to refuse his affections at this point, so you just rest your face against his broad chest and sniffle. If he senses that you’re particularly receptive, he might stroke his hand up and down your head and back.

He only stops when you fall asleep in his hold (and it’s the only way to get him to stop, so if you want him gone, you can pretend to sleep). He will set you on the mattress with uncharacteristic tenderness, tuck you in and leave for a little while. If you ask him about his conduct later, his reaction is defensive, he’s obviously a bit flustered about it, but he will repeat the same pattern nonetheless if the situation demands it.

One of the few good things that can come out of you being miserable for days on end is that he might come home one day with a special gift to you. He mutters something along the lines of ”I’ll take it back if you don’t take care of it”, and sets a decently sized, fabric-clad box in your lap. You look at him with your fatigued eyes, then at the item, then back at him… until the thing moves. Mydei doesn’t make an effort to exit the room, only looking down at you, expressionless, so you decide to go ahead and see what the package contains.

The cover slides off what you come to see is a small cage. Your mouth falls ajar as you see what he has got you: Inside the bars rests a small, orange chimera. The animal looks up at you with its huge, round eyes, tilting its disproportionately large head to the side, wagging its little tail.

Mydei swears that, for the first time in what feels like forever, he sees a tinge of curiosity in your dull gaze as you observe the creature in your lap. With trembling hands, you bring your fingers to the latch and open it. The chimera immediately flees the containment, leaping down from your thighs and proceeding to run circles around the room while panting excitedly. Mydei watches as your gaze follows the thing, your expression conveying nothing short of awe. He wants to burn this image to his retinas, to savour the look of wonder on your face. Even if it’s only for now.

˗ˏˋ ★ 8. Thing to exploit: What are the darling’s best chances at escaping? Are there things the darling can use to their advantage? How can the darling make things easier for themselves?

Your best bet at fleeing is Tribbie. It’s not Phainon, it’s not Castorice, it’s not Aglaea, it’s Tribbie.

On your own, you won’t make it further than a few hundred meters away from your room before Mydei catches up to you and brings you back flailing. The ruins are much too difficult to traverse, and besides, he knows the layout like the back of his hand, and he’s almost never gone long enough for you to attempt an actual escape that way. So, your only bet is to get yourself a helping hand.

Castorice will turn a blind eye to your suffering. She knows that Mydei is hiding someone in the ruins, and maybe she would like to help, but she ultimately decides that maybe it’s for the best not to intervene. She values peace over it. Aglaea will not care. It may even be beneficial for the Kremnoan warrior to have something to take his aggression out on, she thinks.

You think that Phainon is the most likely to help you — you might even meet him a couple of times when he finds his way to Castrum Kremnos — but he’s actually the worst of the bunch. He may very well have his own darling back at Okhema at this point, too.

You get the chance to talk to Phainon alone for a minute when Mydei goes to fetch something. Even knowing that your time frame is very limited, you don’t hesitate to immediately drop to your knees in front of him and start begging for him to help you escape. However, he only gives you a sympathetic smile in response. For a moment, you think that he’s actually going to aid you, but then he places his hand on the crown of your head and ruffles your hair. ”He can be rough sometimes, I know”, he laughs softly. Your heart sinks.

But Tribbie will, no doubt, take enough pity on you to consider helping you. The only issue is that you and her may never come into contact with each other. Tribbie has little to no business in the ruined city, and it may very well be that she doesn’t even really know about your situation. However, if you somehow manage to catch her attention and tell her about your circumstances, she may offer to send you away. Maybe it’s unlocking the route for you, maybe she even uses the Century Gate to get you out, but after that, you’re on your own. And, it doesn’t need to be mentioned that the crown prince will hunt you down to the ends of the planet if need be. You should know that he won’t fail that mission, either.

So, if you want to truly regain your freedom, you need to leave Amphoreus altogether. In this regard, your best chance is the Astral Express. Find them, drop to their feet, pray for them to help, and maybe they’ll extend their aid to you. If the Express is not around —well, good luck.

Escaping aside, there is one simple thing to exploit if you want your life to be easier. That is to just be nice and loving to him. Mydei would like to call himself a perceptive person, he wants to say that he sees through your little tricks, but if you show him the slightest bit of affection, he will melt. Touch his bare arm, say a nice thing or two, search out his company, and his fierce exterior will turn to mush. It has to be consistent, though: the first few times he might even brush you off, thinking that you’re just trying to manipulate him (which is exactly what you’re trying to do), but keep it coming, and he will cave in. This will bring you more privileges like time outside, more things to entertain yourself with, and he might even let you meet the other Heirs on a more regular basis if you’ve been compliant enough.

On the top of the list of stuff you should not do is talking about his parents. He will start tweaking, and the consequences of that are never pleasant. You find out quickly that his past is something that’s usually risky to bring up in any context. Very few things can wound his pride, but you are special in that sense because just about anything you say might be a blow to his ego in one way or another. It’s a 50/50 whether that brings you closer to your objective or if it makes him chain your ankle to the bed again.

˗ˏˋ ★ 9. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes? What unique qualities do they possess?

”There’s no word for ’flee’ in the Kremnoan language”, ”there’s no word for ’fear’ in the Kremnoan language”, ”there’s no word for ’betrayal’ in the Kremnoan language”, yada-yada-yada. Are there any fucking words in this fuckass language, you start to wonder.

Well, the words the language does seem to have are all battle, all insult, all challenge. He is a warrior at heart, of course, and that does bleed into your life with him. Especially if you’re a particularly feisty type of a darling, be prepared to fight for your privileges, literally.

It may start as something simple like you asking for help picking up a book, one that you can’t reach, it’s too high up on the shelf. He says that ”okay, sure, he’ll get it for you”, but then as he picks it out for you, he holds it over your head, just out of your reach. He dangles it right there, and you can see the way the corners of his mouth are tugging up in amusement. So, you jump and try to grab the item. He pulls it higher. You try to jump again, he dodges. If there’s one thing he’s really talented at, it’s riling you up in the worst of ways.

He won’t give you the damn book, not until you have basically climbed up his body and grabbed the stupid thing with your legs wrapped around his torso. And during your attempt, he spews out snarky comments like ”you think you’re so strong, then prove it” and ”you can’t even touch it. Pathetic”, and it makes you so livid that eventually there are red marks on his skin from you trying to claw at his bare bicep. Insufferable fuck. He even drops the ”HKS”-bomb on you. Irreparable damage.

On a completely different note, on the gentler side of things, you come to find that Mydei is completely unable to initiate any physical affection through words. There’s no come here, no hey, let me, and most certainly no may I. If he’s craving your touch, his method of going on about it is just… taking it. You may be doing something completely unrelated, maybe reading your book, maybe stretching, maybe eating, and he just comes behind you and grabs you by the waist. He just pulls you away from your activity, your back against his chest, hoists you up into the air. He walks to the bed or couch or even the floor with you in his arms before settling down in a comfortable position. He buries his nose in your hair and closes his eyes. Beware that you’ll be staying in that position for a while, so get cosy.

He strokes up and down your arms, he might play with your hair, trace the lines on your hand, rub your feet, all the while he remains completely silent. If you take a look at his face, you’ll come to find that he doesn’t look like he’s really enjoying himself, even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s another one of the times where you really should not open your mouth if you value your peace.

It’s much too embarrassing, much too vulnerable to verbally ask for your touch, he seems to think. He can’t let you know that his clarity of mind depends on these instances, even though it’s so painfully obvious that you want to tear chunks of his beautiful, blond hair off. However, on the brighter side, you should know that he’s going to be in a good mood after these sessions, so if there’s something you’re planning to request from him, cuddling him is a good start.

Out of all of his quirks, perhaps the most intriguing one is that Mydei has a very strange way of viewing you in general. You, as in your existence and being. On one hand, he sees you as frail, fragile, completely on the mercy of others and incapable of defending yourself. Then, on the other, he knows you’re a strong personality, you don’t give up easily, and that makes him want to test your limits in both mind and body. It gives him a kind of a thrill to hold that power over you.

The latter manifests in the bickering and insults, the physical strain he makes you go through to get what you want, what you need from him. He may even go as far as taking you outside, pointing at a random (very tall) boulder and going ”if you can climb on top of that, I’m going to take you to Okhema tomorrow”. You take the bait both out of spite and just, well, desperation. And you obviously don’t make it higher than a meter or two. He laughs at your unsuccessful attempts to scramble up the uneven surface, he lets you try for as long as you’d like, and unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take that long for you to tire yourself out. After you’re left sprawled on the ground, all sweaty and chest heaving, he will simply pick you up with a mocking chuckle before taking you back inside. All the while he walks about how weak you are. Fuck his ass.

An unexpected consequence of these ”trials” is that you notice improvements in your physical abilities. You don’t tire out nearly as quickly as before, you’re stronger, you can run farther. It’s a plus, sure, but you still haven’t managed to complete any of the challenges he has presented you with, and you doubt you ever will because the difficulty has only gone up.

In contrast, the times he will treat you like you could crumble into dust in his hands are when you’re in actual pain, either physical or mental. More often than not, both are a result of his own actions (which he doesn’t know how to feel about). He would like to state the opposite, but it seems that he’s really not in control of his own strength or words when he loses his cool, and it’s especially obvious when you’ve been ”acting up”.

In the aftermath of the times he has crossed the line, he tends to go quiet, gathering your trembling form in his arms and moving you over to a better spot. It’s in these moments that he expresses regret in his actions (non-verbally, obviously), stroking your hair with his hand, pressing your ear against his chest to listen to his elevated heartbeat. It almost makes you feel like a pet, in a way, it’s kind of dehumanizing how quickly he can go from angry and brutish to caring and serene. And, he tends to be a little more soft with you in the following couple of days.

One more thing, Mydei would absolutely love to braid your hair for you. He has the situation completely envisioned in his mind: You’re sitting between his thighs, back facing his chest, and he’s tenderly holding locks of your hair in between fingers. His hands brush through the strands, meticulous and careful, weaving the portions together into several plaits, making you look like a noble Kremnoan maiden. He hasn’t yet had the courage to suggest it.

Oh, and he would probably ascend right then and there if he got you to wear the same hairstyle as him, the singular braid that rests on one of his shoulders. The two of you could match, but even the thought of that is so intimate to him that he has to actually shake his head to rid himself of the image before the blush reveals his thoughts to you.

NS-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 10. General look: How does their sexuality manifest? What does sex mean to them? How horny are they?

Mydei’s entire form is all aggression, all muscle, all testosterone, very little chill (except for the arguably cotton-soft core). It’s not a surprise that it all carries to the sexual aspects as well. He would never admit it out loud, but for the lack of a better term, he’s an extremely horny individual. He’s all hot, all go-go-go, and on some days, his drive is through the roof.

In the first few weeks of having you around, he doesn’t even entertain the idea of touching you beyond what is strictly necessary to keep you in check and to prevent himself from going insane. However, after a while, his eyes start to wander. He’s always been aware of it, but damn, you have a very nice figure. It’s a shame that you prefer to wear loose, flowing fabrics. The dip of your waist, the curve of your chest, your thighs… He finds himself thinking of how easy exactly it would be to just pick you up, throw you to the bed and have his way with you. From your point of view, the guy is standing a few meters away from you, hands folded, back straight, and his pants straining at his crotch. You don’t know whether to laugh, scrunch your face up in disdain, or be utterly terrified at the insinuation.

He turns to the help of his own hand a lot during this period. He can’t get the image of you out of his head, and Aeons forbid, when he gets to see your bare back in the baths. He beats it to that, almost being able to recall how your skin felt under his fingers, how warm it was, how warm other areas of you would be. He sees it in his mind, how you look under him, how your face is contorts in pleasure, how your-, aaand he shoots his load in his hand.

Your presence only manages to make him twice as horny as usual. He won’t talk about it, of course he won’t, but you do see him subtly adjust his trousers every once in a while. He doesn’t have any mental restrictions about sex in normal circumstances, he occasionally even participates in raunchy talk with people like Phainon, but it has proved to be a bit more arduous to control his urges when the reason for them is sitting at a touching distance away from him.

˗ˏˋ ★ 11. Limit: How long does it take for them to have the darling? What is the first time like? Do they care about the darling’s willingness?

You have a generous grace period of around three weeks. In that time frame, he won’t touch you sexually or force you to do anything beyond hugging him, but after that, his patience begins to run thin. Why do you have to be so alluring, why are you swinging your hips like that when you walk, why do you reveal your neck to him when you adjust your hair, why must you exist? Your mere presence is driving him wild. And eventually, he knows he needs to have you beyond some surface-level touches.

It would be easier, admittedly, if you’d agree to it out of your own volition. He attempts to gain access to you in his usual ways, just taking you to the bed, maybe climbing on top of you and hovering his face just above yours. He wishes from the deepest pits of his heart that you wouldn’t refuse his advances. Nevertheless, your stance regarding the matter becomes apparent when both of your hands land on his forehead and shove him away. You’re not pleased with the situation he has put you in, clearly, and that frustrates him.

He would really like to think that he’s above taking you against your will, that he has other methods available to him, that he’ll make you like him enough, soon enough, to not have to resort to that. However, as more days go by, he realizes that you might be even more reluctant than he originally thought.

So, eventually, it’s inevitable that he reaches his limit one day. He throws your body over his shoulder with very little effort and makes his way towards the bed before dropping you down on the mattress. By this point, you’re already anticipating that something dreadful is about to happen, and you do your best to squirm away, flailing your limbs until one of his hands snatches both of your wrists in a tight grip. He restricts your movement with ease, holding your body down with strength so immense that you give up on the physical resistance almost immediately. Instead, you begin screaming, shaking your head, spitting curses at him all the while he looks down at you with blown pupils and rapid breaths.

This is the point of no return, he thinks, and this once, he can forgive himself for indulging. You’ll be better off like this, anyway. It’s only the first time that you’ll be as terrified as you are. After it’s off the list, you’ll be much more receptive — or that’s what he hopes for, at least, because right now, you’re being less than agreeable.

After his free hand yanks the top of your dress down, you realize the true weight of the situation. In response, to his dismay, you start crying. By this point, the profanities have turned into begging for him to stop whatever he’s about to do, but your frantic voice does very little to sway his will. It does manage to elicit some sympathy, actually, but it’s not in the form you would like it to be. He only pauses his actions for a moment to bring his hand to your cheek, moving your hair away from your face. And then he tells you to calm down and just stay still. And then he goes right back to what he was doing.

The fabric that shields your breasts from his view falls to the side, and he can finally lay his eyes on what he has had to imagine for the last couple of months. Your nipples are perked up from the chill, your chest is heaving up and down in the rhythm of your panicked breaths. You’re irresistible, he thinks. His fingers glide in between the two mounds, trailing down your stomach, reaching your lower abdomen where his hand rests for a moment.

The bottom of your clothing is yanked down along with your underwear. With very little warning, you have been completely bared under his ravenous stare. You air a few more pleas for him to stop, but the volume of your voice has died down to a mere whisper. You’re terrified out of your mind, but even then, he doesn’t slow down. Instead, he rids himself of his gauntlets, tossing them somewhere on the floor, and then his fingers dip in between your legs.

You don’t understand what you did wrong. You thought, when he came over to you and whisked you away to the bed, that it was just going to be one of the cuddling sessions again, but that clearly isn’t his intention this time around. To the best of your ability, amidst all of what’s going on, you try to rack your brain, to pinpoint anything specific that might have angered him. No matter how hard you ponder, you can’t think of a single thing, and with his hands invading your most sensitive parts, the ability for rational thought slips away from your grasp.

He feels around for a little. The rough tips of his fingers find your clit, they stroke around it a few times, and then they glide down to where your entrance is hidden. He spreads your folds with haste, and then, oh Aeons, his hand goes to his belt. You can only watch with a petrified expression as he pulls out a rod that’s just about the same size as your entire forearm.

His cock is massive. Massive. The sentence would be at least a little bit funny in any other context, but you don’t find the thought even the slightest bit humorous as you realize that he’s going to try to plunge that thing in you with basically zero preparation. You’re nowhere near wet enough, not aroused, you can’t even comprehend the idea of his cock fitting into your cunt.

Your breath is catching in your throat in sheer terror, all the while Mydei gives your bits a few more rubs. He wraps his fingers around his girth and positions the tip against your hole. You weep out frantic apologies, pleading for him to stop, to at least give you a bit of time to prepare, you promise that he can have you, just please, if he could just pause for a second-!

You feel him pushing into you. It’s at this moment that reality catches up to you, and you start thrashing violently, doing your absolute best to shove your knees into his chest, sink your nails into the back of his hand, and close your thighs. Shrieks erupt from your throat, sounds that you didn’t even know a human being was capable of producing. Your words blur together, and what is left of your pleading is a string of unintelligible, horrified wails. It stings, it burns, it hurts down there.

Mydei’s breaths are ragged. He’s holding his cock in one hand, trying to nudge it further inside you past the few centimetres he has successfully managed to get in, but no matter how hard he tries, the walls of your cunt are refusing to budge. That, and when he looks up at you, he comes to find that your face is distorted in genuine pain. Beads of sweat cover your forehead, your eyes are those of a wild animal’s, he can’t make sense of the words that rush out of your mouth. You look like you’re about to faint.

He pulls his cock out. You’re far too out of it to even notice: Your legs are still twitching, gaze darting aimlessly around the room, and tears are spilling past your waterline. Your bare chest heaves up and down in irregular patterns, and your hands are clammy from the cold sweat. Tiny pearls of blood have risen on his skin where your claws have torn into it. He didn’t even feel it. The image he had of you lying below him, face flushed, fingers laced with his, shatters right then and there.

He doesn’t bother pulling your clothes back on. Instead, he reaches for the discarded blanket on the side of the bed and pulls it over your quivering body. Slowly, he releases your burning wrists from his hold. You’re so delirious that you don’t even realize he has done so: Your hands remain splayed over your head as if you were still being held down.

Time sort of slows down for him. He realizes that his dick is still out. You don’t look like you’re aware of what’s happening around you anymore. For a hot second, he thinks that he might have broken you, that this is how much your poor mind could take before succumbing.

In a flash, he goes from unfiltered, unrestrained carnal impulse to silently, tenderly lying down next to you and pulling you against his broad chest. His skin still feels searing hot against your face, and only by this point do you realize that his intentions have changed. You’re having trouble making any sense of what’s going on, your throat still feels like it’s closing in on itself, your entire body is trembling like a leaf. The hysteria doesn’t entirely wear off until several hours later, and by then, he has already been asleep for a few.

It’s fair to say that your first time with him splits into two parts, so to speak. Technically, the train-won’t-fit-in-tunnel is your first dip into the water, but the real deal will come soon enough.

He comes to ponder that perhaps it’s better if he gradually warms your body up to the idea. As in, his plan is that he’s going to start fingering you consistently to stretch you out. You don’t have to take his dick and he gets to satisfy at least a part of his urges, what a deal.

He starts slow, settling you on the sheets on your back with your hands in his. Then, unlike the last time, he doesn’t tear your clothes off like a brute, and instead just either slides his fingers down your bottom or moves your underwear aside. You’re just as shaky as the previous attempt, clearly expecting for him to rip you apart for real this time, and he takes note of that.

You do end up simmering down a little after a while, though, due to how feather-soft he’s being with his caresses along your folds. He’s making an effort to actually get you going (it’s up to you whether that works or not). If anybody were to ask him, he would never confess to ever being this delicate with you since that would be admitting how much power you hold over him. Still, it’s visible how he’s marvelling at the tiny blush spreading on your features.

So, from this point forward, these instances become regular — almost daily, you could say. His cock won’t make an appearance until he has worked his way up to fitting three fingers inside your cunt at once. (Using the red crystal things as toys to reach even deeper into you? He just might).

It might very well be that you’re not particularly thrilled about his antics even now, but he does manage to make you a little more pliant with promises of more freedom. An entire day in the bathhouse (only the private sections, though obviously), how does that sound? How about he takes you on a visit to the Garden of Life? You like chimeras, don’t you? Whatever your answer is, he’ll go through with it after he has made you cream around his fingers. And no complaining no matter how long it takes for him to do so; You come to see quite early, he’s very adept at listening to your body.

Eventually, it all will build up to him getting his cock inside of you. It will start like any of the previous times (minus the first incident), but then after you come on his hand, he’s going to take his junk out. You thrash all the same as usually when you’re frightened, no surprises there. He has to use his weight to pin you down again, but he knows that it will be much smoother this time around, so tone it down, will you? And, oh, the way your face contorts when he finally pushes all the way in, the way he can see the shape of him in your lower abdomen, he could nearly bust right then and there.

It’s likely still feels a bit unpleasant to you, he imagines. He has never been skilled in the art of comforting through words, but it’s nothing that his thumb pressing circles against your clit can’t fix.

˗ˏˋ ★ 12. Preferences: What is sex with them like? What sort of stuff are they into? What kind of kinks do they have?

It’s rough, it’s heated, it’s aggressive at least 95% of the time. That’s about it, really. Or, very rarely, especially if you’ve been looking particularly frail to him that day, he might get a bit more gentle. In normal circumstances, however, it’s best to be prepared to be sore the next morning.

Period sex

The son of Gorgo will be crowned in (period) blood.

Mydei is a warrior through and through. The fascination with grotesque things comes with that, you think. Of course he knows that you have periods, you’re a woman, he’s not stupid or uneducated, but when the time of the month comes rolling around, he realizes that huh, maybe there might be another aspect to it.

It’s not ideal if you’re in pain, more irritable, nauseous, all that stuff, but he can’t help but be drawn to you for no other reason than the fact that he knows there’s blood dripping down there. It awakens some dark instinct inside of him. Blood, to him, is a reminder of battle, of war, and that translates quite well to his behaviour. He goes feral, pretty much, it’s like his heat or something. It makes you reconsider the meaning of the word ”bloodlust”.

He sits you in his lap and props his legs over your thighs, preventing you from closing them. You’re complaining that ”no, what the hell, I won’t be having sex with you while I’m on my period”, but that does little to waver his will. He might huff a word or two in your ear, telling you to stay still, whatever. He knows you might be having cramps and all that. Won’t an orgasm or two make the muscles down there relax, too? You’re just resisting for the sake of it again. Shut it already, will you?

He sinks his fingers inside you. He doesn’t even need to worry about the friction this time because the blood is making your insides slick. It’s easy to prod them around, slide them in and out, spread the red around your bits. Your face is just about the same colour as your downstairs at this point, and he has to wrap an arm around your upper body to prevent you from trying to claw at his hand. You’re doing your best to struggle again, but when he doubles his efforts at thrusting his fingers right into your sweet spot, you need to reconsider your priorities.

Mydei gets immense pleasure from watching you come undone in a matter of minutes. Your cunt constricts wildly around him, and he lets you ride down the high as blood gushes out of your hole. However, when his fingers finally pull out, he brings them to his face and simply observes, marveling at the way your essence coats them all the way down to his palm. You feel his dick twitch against your lower back.

He will absolutely fuck you in this state, too. The blood works as lube, and he doesn’t mind getting dirty — he enjoys it vastly, actually. It’s a bit more painful these times since your regions are aching more than usual, but he knows how to make it good for you. He makes sure to stroke your breasts, your nipples, trail his hands (or hand, one has to keep you from escaping) down your sides, and press where you’re the most sensitive. It does, to your dismay, dull the cramps to some extent.

Eating you out is on the table, too. He would very much enjoy it, even initiates it a few times, but for some reason, you’re exceptionally reluctant towards the idea. He will refrain from doing it for now if it’s that big of a deal to you, but it won’t hold him back forever, just so you know.

Predator/prey

You know what really gets him going? Physical exercise, running, fighting, the thrill of battle and chase. All of those have his blood rushing in the most exhilarating of ways, which he quite enjoys, putting it very lightly. Naturally, his desire for that kind of excitement heavily intertwines with his sexual cravings.

So, it’s not even that far into your imprisonment when he takes you outside one time. You think it’s gonna be one of his ”trials”, that he’s going to make you do some parkour again or something since he leads you to the middle point of the castle, the Kremnos Arena. But then, he tells you that you have exactly ten minutes to run and find yourself a hiding place. You’re, of course, incredibly confused at the declaration, but it all comes clear to you when your gaze wanders a little further down from his eyes. Yep, there it is — the tent.

You did wonder why the noise from outside was so excessive this evening. There don’t seem to be too many monsters roaming around tonight, and you quickly put two and two together that he must have been planning this all day. You’re about to let him know your opinion on the matter, but as soon as your eyes return to his, you come to find just how excited he is about this. He’s staring you down just like a predator would a prey.

And so, you take off running. As fast as your legs allow you to, you sprint in the only direction viable: the bridge that leads away from the arena and deep into the city ruins. You’re not exactly sure where you’re going, you’re not familiar with the layout of the place since nobody in their right mind would take foot in the decayed castle.

You’re scared out of your mind, but if there’s one positive thing to be found in the situation, it’s the fact that, unlike usual, there’s not a single titankin in sight. He has got rid of them all, all for this. Following that train of thought, your skin crawls at the idea that soon enough, there will be something much scarier than Nikador’s shadows hunting you down.

Ten minutes is either a very short or a very long time, depending on the circumstances. You come to find that, in this moment, it’s both. The time given to you was barely enough to find yourself a suitable crack to hide in. It’s in between some rubble, just small enough for you to fit into, but at the same time, you grow agitated at how slow each second passes. You can hear your own, rapid heartbeat in your ears, your hands are trembling from the adrenaline, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you feel like you’re not getting enough oxygen in your burning lungs.

And then you start hearing the noise.

He’s throwing stuff around. Most likely boulders at least ten times as heavy as you. And with every passing moment, the sound grows closer. You wonder if it would be easier for you to stand in the middle of the floor and give yourself up to him, and maybe he would have mercy on your poor body.

But you don’t get much time to ponder that thought. The piece of wreckage that shielded you a split second ago is thrown into the opposing wall with so much force that you’re sure the whole place is going to collapse. You let out a screech, cover your ears and make yourself as small as possible as more debris starts flying around you. You’re only granted half a minute at most to prepare yourself as Mydei wrecks the pile of rubble to his heart’s content. After that, as the dust settles down, you’re pulled out from what’s left of your spot.

You can beg and plead as much as you want to, nothing is going to extinguish the sheer fervour he has gathered. He yanks you to him by your ankle, caring very little of how your head nearly lands on the marble, only releasing his hold in order to climb over your form. Wild would be the only correct word to describe how he looks: His eyes are wide, nostrils flared, and there’s a wicked grin on his chiselled face.

It’s only downhill from there. You’re not nearly wet enough, he finds, but even that does very little to slow him down. He barely remembers to rid himself of the sharp gauntlets before plunging his fingers inside of you. You’re sure, with how fast he’s going, that you will be bleeding by the end of this — and that would only make him go harder, you realize. It’s a terrible fate.

Ultimately, though, his goal is to make you come, even in all of his ardour. It’s not on his hands, no, but he makes sure to snake his arm underneath you and rub at your pearl when he hammers into you from behind. Your knees ache from grinding against the rough ground, same with your elbows, but it is, admittedly, difficult to think of anything else but the way his cock is rubbing all the spots inside of you, even those you didn’t know were there. All the while Mydei basically drools on top of you, chest against your back, hissing like an animal.

Oh, and if you want a really easy way out of the predicament — the only thing you need to do, when he tells you to run, is to plop down on the ground and look as pathetic as humanly possible. Bonus points if you start sobbing. It makes the caring side of him take over again; there’s no point in trying to make you escape if you’re already in this sorry of a state. It usually makes him reconsider at least, and at best, he might give up the game entirely. He’ll just huff in annoyance, disappointment maybe, gather you in his arms and go back inside. Easy as pie.

Size and strength kink

Mydei is a man of the size of a boulder, and he knows that. He can pick you up with one hand, throw you over his shoulder, carry you around like you were made of feathers. If he wanted to, he could hurl you right into the wall and leave nothing but a red splatter on the concrete in his wake. And he sort of… likes that idea. Not painting the rooms with you but the fact that he is strong enough to (hypothetically) do so. He likes how small and fragile you are compared to him.

This manifests in the sex, of course it does. He manhandles you, pushing you in all kinds of positions, against the wall, up in the air, under him with all your limbs pinned down so you can barely move… The possibilities are endless. No matter how you struggle, you can never outdo him in this aspect. And it turns him the fuck on. It has him grinning like a maniac when you use all of your strength to try and pry his fingers off of your wrists, but even with both of your hands, you can’t make him so much as budge.

If need be, he also knows how to intimidate you with his size. Maybe you’re being uncooperative, throwing insults at him, cursing him out, but it has you going quiet really fast when he takes a few steps closer to you, making you painfully aware of his size as he looks down at you. Going just by his expression, you can practically hear him go ”what was that?”, and you back down. It’s so pathetically easy that it almost amuses him. It won’t be long after that when he flings you to the bed and gives you a proper reason to yell.

And finally, his dick. His pussy destroyer 2000. It’s no joke. He knows it’s big — he’s moderately proud of it, too — but you don’t think he understands just how big it is. It’s always a stretch, no matter how many times he has breached the walls of your cunt. On the best days it’s uncomfortable, on the worst it’s, well, unbearable. Mydei has learned over time that prepping you is really important if his intention isn’t teaching you a lesson.

Even then, he never gets his dick inside all the way. A part of it is always left outside as your insides can only take so much. You feel him in your stomach, you’re sure. And, judging from the way he presses his hand against your lower abdomen with a hungry expression, you think he just might actually be.

Bath sex

The most predictable one of the things he fancies, perhaps. He likes soaking in the bath, and he likes you, so what’s stopping him from combining the two?

It’s more like sex by the bath most of the time, though. He tried it in the water once, trying to sink you down on his cock, but whatever lubrication he could coax out of you was washed away. Ramming inside you is nearly impossible that way, of course, so his usual go-to would be just fingering you instead. You respond better to that, anyway. Still, when he has the chance, he might lift you on the edge of the pool and give you a thorough fucking. You’ve tried to tell him to reconsider, that there may be people around, but he couldn’t give two shits about getting caught, really. Any normal person would be too scared to do anything about the Mydeimos having sex in a public area, anyway.

A new bottle appears among the ointments and lotions he usually has with him while washing, you notice. You won’t have to wonder about it for too long, though, because when he pours a generous amount of the clear substance onto his palm, his hand goes straight to your cunt under the surface. You yelp, your voice bouncing off the tiled walls, but he simply adjusts his hold on you and dips his fingers in. The next thing you know is that his dick is nudging at your entrance.

There is a softer aspect to the bathing, too, as mentioned earlier. It just kind of includes taking care of you in this manner, too. He washes your hair with care, lathers your skin in nice-smelling products, and he might even massage your back if you’re not in a hurry, but it’s almost always at the cost of an orgasm or few.

˗ˏˋ ★ 13. Punishment: What do their sexual punishments look like? What methods do they prefer?

Mydei doesn’t use sex as a means to punish, necessarily, but damn, it does feel like that sometimes. It’s not methodical in any way, it’s not calculated, there’s no coherent cause-and-effect line of thought there. It’s very in-the-moment and unpredictable, and that’s what makes it the worst.

If you push his buttons long enough, if you irk him (especially on purpose), if you try to do rash things, he will fuck you stupid. You can tell it from his face when you’re about to face a multiple hour long session of marathon sex from him. When you get the look from him, a string of apologies is already spilling from your mouth, and you’re slowly backing away from him, but there’s no getting out of it. And soon you’re in the searing hot embrace of the sheets again.

If you value your peace, it would be best to avoid these situations. They typically leave you sore and sometimes even bleeding; he doesn’t prep you properly in all of his irritation and anger, maybe strokes you down there for a bit at most before ramming his cock in. Unlike in all other circumstances, his priority isn’t to make you come. The point is to send a message, and his method is very effective in that sense.

He will bite you, he will dig his nails into your skin, he might even spank you. He will grab your jaw with so much force that you fear he’s going to break it if he uses any more strength, he will slide his tongue down your throat until you’re sure you’ll pass out, and when he does pull away, he’ll hiss and growl mean words directly into your ear. You are going to end up crying or he didn't do his job properly.

You’re really acquiescent afterwards, he comes to see. You lie nice and still in his arms, you fall asleep quickly. There are bruises forming on your wrists, your hips, your thighs. Your neck, shoulders and back are full of bite marks and hickeys, some having drawn blood, some surface-level. Dried streaks of tears adorn your flushed cheeks. It must have been quite intense for you, he wonders, but all in all, the result justifies the means.

Rarely, he might make you choke on his dick instead of fucking you. It’s the less strenuous of the two options, and he only allows it if whatever you did is on the fence of truly having ticked him off. The act is like dismantling a bomb, if you will. He sits down on the edge of the bed, the couch, his throne, even, and you get down on your knees and start sucking. He doesn’t actually fuck your face, partially because his cock doesn’t fit too far in (you start gagging) and partially because it wouldn’t really be you showing him remorse like that, you know? He makes you work for his forgiveness, stroking your hair while gazing down at you with your mouth full off his dick. You always find it to be terribly humiliating, your cheeks are warm, your eyes convey nothing but exasperation, but the only way to get yourself out of it is to get him to finish. And Mydei has been blessed with a generous amount of stamina, you come to find.

He also uses sex as a sort of an emotional release, not only for him but also for you. If you’re being mad, spouting slander and complaints at him, trying to throw hands, his solution is fucking you into the mattress. It’s relieving for him, and it seems to be that way to you as well. All of your pent-up anger and malice mysteriously disappears after coming a few times, and you end up being far too tired to do anything afterwards. You hate how effective it is, really.

˗ˏˋ ★ 14. Aftermath: What does their aftercare look like? Is there any?

It comes with his gentle side; he’s very particular about taking care of you afterwards. He knows that he tends to take you to your limits, even past them, so giving you adequate aftercare doesn’t only show you his love but makes sure that you’ll be ready for more in the few hours that it takes for him to charge back up.

His usual pattern is coming down from the high, just being still for a minute or two, letting his heart rate settle, and then he starts taking care of you. He’ll cradle you against his sweaty body for a moment (if you allow it, otherwise he goes straight to holding you until you inevitably fall asleep), feeling the way you pant against his chest in your afterglow. After that, he’ll sit up and check you for any actual injuries he might have caused you. Depending on what your mental state is at this point, he will either try to comfort you with his usual methods or go fetch a wet rag.

Mydei will lowkey be genuinely offended if you refuse his aftercare or show distaste towards him during it, which you often do, at least in the earlier days of your captivity. What more do you want, he made you come a good few times, he wasn’t even that rough this time around, and now he’s trying to cuddle you. What is there not to like?

He will take you in his arms, though, nonetheless. Roll you up into a blanket burrito (you’re going to boil alive) and squeeze you against his chest, his chin on the crown of your head.

˗ˏˋ ★ 15. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes sex-wise? Are there any unique aspects to them?

Mydei will actually, genuinely lose his shit if he ever catches you jacking off. What do you mean, what the hell are you doing, you have a whole-ass him right there, and you thought that ”hmm, I think I’ll use my own hand instead”. That’s what it looks like to him, anyway. It’s somewhat of a blow to his ego, too. Are you trying to tell him that he doesn’t satisfy you? Is that what this is about?

Good luck if he ever catches you with your fingers between your legs. You know just by looking at his face that he’s not particularly pleased with the situation he has found you in.

You’re in the middle of opening your mouth, but he’s on top of you quicker than you can get a single word out. His brows are knitted together, he clicks his tongue in something akin to distaste, you’re not really sure. Then, without a warning, he grabs the backs of your thighs and folds you clean in half. A strained sound slips out of your throat as your knees hit your shoulders, but there’s not much you can do when he inhales a big gulp of air before diving right into your cunt.

You can tug on his hair all you want, you can tear out entire strands for all he cares, but his mouth is not going to come off your pussy until you’re a trembling, flushed mess. And only he will decide when that point is. Be prepared for a whole lot of overstimulation.

On a different note, a strange thing about his whims is that he only seems to kiss you in his most tender and most brutal moments, no in between. In the former, he’s being very gentle, very careful, very mindful of how it feels to you. In the latter, you’ll barely be able to get a breath in. It’s teeth clacking together, it’s biting your lower lip, it’s shoving his tongue so deep down your throat that it feels like he’s trying to swallow you alive.

That, and one more thing. He would really like to stick it in your ass. But he can’t.

The only thing that keeps him from doing it is the fundamental issue that comes with his size. Don’t get him wrong, he isn’t opposed to causing you some pain, he even enjoys it to some degree, but trying to shove it in your butt would cause actual damage. And he would rather avoid the situation of having to bring you to Hyacine and tell her what has occurred. He has entertained the idea, thought about stretching you out like he did with your cunt, building up to the size of his cock, and then, maybe, it could work. He hasn’t yet tried.

He sometimes sticks a finger up there during sex. It makes you whine quite loudly, and you’re obviously not a very big fan of when he does it. However, he can tell that you come a little bit faster that way. It makes him think.

[illusioninfnty]

I'll Take You to Heaven

જ⁀➴ Childhood Best Friends : Day 7

feat. Josh Washington ᯓ★ A game of seven minutes in heaven has you and your best friend revealing your feelings for each other...and then some.

warnings! : NSFW 18+, takes place during prologue, dual virgins, dry humping, fingering, handjob, getting caught (kind of)

ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“Ugh, c’mon, it’ll be fun!” Jess tugs at your arm, annoyed at your resistance to her suggestion—a game of seven minutes in heaven.

“There is no way in hell I’m agreeing to that,” you say. Tensions were already high in your friend group, and you didn’t want any fights happening while all of you were stuck in the Washington’s cabin for a weekend, stuck in the middle of the snowy mountains. Emily was pissed because Hannah had feelings for Mike, Chris and Ashley had feelings for each other and refused to tell the other, and you didn’t want to even think about what Jess was doing with getting close to Mike. You didn’t want to be around to witness the inevitable chaos this game would bring.

But really, you couldn’t be one to talk. You, Chris, and Josh had been inseparable since you were kids, and throughout your time of being friends with Josh you had slowly developed a crush on him. You knew you could never tell him, for fear of ruining your friendship. You valued him too much to risk that.

“You’re so booooring.” Jess rolls her eyes at you, before whispering into your ear.

“Shut up!” You yank your arm out of her grasp, heat rising to your face. “What the fuck do you know about that? That’s not why!”

Her eyes light up. “So it is true!” A smirk rises to her face, but before she can say anything else, a hand falls against your shoulder.

“Ooh, what’re we whispering about over here? Keeping secrets from dear old Joshie, are ya?”

Mortified that Josh almost heard you guys, you almost want to hug Jess for speaking first as you can’t find anything to say.

“Hey Josh. You’ll play, right?”

He grins. “You know I’m down for anything.”

“Well,” Jess turns back to you, “you need to convince her to join us. Such a party pooper.”

Josh turns to you and throws his arm around your shoulders, forcing you to lean into his side. “Aw, c’mon honey, you can’t leave me alone with these idiots.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes, knowing you didn’t have it in you to deny Josh. “Let’s play this stupid game.”

Jess squeals as she grabs your arm, leading you (and Josh, who’s hand hasn’t left you) into the living room, where everyone is seated on the large carpet.

“Look who I’ve found!” Jess says in a sing-songy voice. Cheers ring out and the group opens up some space on the floor for the three of you to sit. You and Jess take a seat between Ashley and Matt, while Josh sits next to Chris, almost directly across from you.

“You’re first.” Emily says, shoving the empty glass bottle in your direction. “Since you were the last one to show.”

You didn’t have the strength in you to protest, hoping that this game will be over quickly and hopefully no fights break out. You just wanted one quiet night without any of your friends arguing with each other.

As you spin the bottle, you just pray it lands on someone who you knew you could actually deal with being alone for seven minutes, like Beth or Sam.

But as long as it didn’t land on Josh, you were okay with it.

The bottle slowly comes to a stop, and you see the neck of it facing opposite of you.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes slowly move up to see the person the bottle points towards, and you’re met with Josh’s green eyes staring right into you.

Just your fucking luck.

Jess giggles from beside you as she drags you to stand up. Josh slowly gets up across from you, strangely quiet as Chris seems to nudge him slightly.

As Josh steps his way around the group, Jess grabs you both and pulls you away. “Have fun in there, lovebirds!”

“Yeah, don’t forget to wear protection, man!” Mike calls out from behind you. You stick up your middle finger behind you and you and Josh enter the designated space for this game, a fairly spacious storage closet with only the moon providing you two with any sort of light.

As the door locks you plop down onto the floor, your head falling into your hands. You hear Josh take a seat next to you, a hand coming onto your shoulder as he rubs circles into it with his thumb.

“What’s got you down, honey? Thought we were supposed to have fun tonight.”

“It’s nothing.” You sigh, turning to your friend. “Really, I’m okay.” You wince with how fake it sounds as it leaves your lips. You hated lying to Josh, but how the hell were you supposed to tell him you’ve been in love with him for years.

“Really?” Josh raises an eyebrow. “’Cause you’ve barely spoken to me all day.”

You throw your head back, your actions of trying to make sure Josh doesn’t find out about your crush on him finally catching up to you.

“What is it then?”

His voice is firm, and you know by that tone there’s no way you can avoid the topic now.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you mutter.

“Oh yeah? Try me. We’ve known each other for years, I’m sure I’ve heard it all.”

“You haven’t heard that I’ve been in love with you since the sixth grade.”

He lets out a laugh, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Sixth grade? That’s when I had pimples and shit!”

You can’t help but laugh along with him, giving him a punch in his shoulder. “Shut up. I didn’t say I had good taste, did I?”

“Even if you didn't, it sure as hell works out for me, considering I’ve liked you even longer than that.”

You grow silent at his words, taking in what he said. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” He narrows his eyes. “Unless you’re fucking with me?”

“Why would I be fucking with you?” Josh stays silent and you roll your eyes. “Don’t piss me off, dude.” You go to push against him to get more space but Josh grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers with his own. Your heart starts beating rapidly in your chest feeling his warm palm against your own.

“Please don’t call me dude before I’m about to kiss you.”

You gasp as Josh leans in and captures your lips, closing your eyes and indulging in the sensation. The kiss feels clumsy, his lips clashing against your own in a way that exposes the lack of experience, but it's made up for with passion. Josh leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you allow yourself to fall into his embrace. Your hands come up to either side of his head, one moving to run itself through his hair as he groans into your mouth.

He pulls away just as you do to get some air. You both pant heavily, staring at each other, and a bead of saliva that connects you two breaks.

A grin breaks out across Josh’s face, and a shy smile finds its way onto yours. He rests his forehead against your own, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that for,” he murmurs.

“Trust me,” you say, “I know.”

“Four minutes!” You hear Jess from outside faintly, and you jump slightly in Josh’s hold. “There better be some action going on in there!”

“Guess we better give the people what they want.”

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

Your lips find his again in an instant, and this time this kiss is more desperate—more passionate. Josh’s hands run up and down your body and you moan into him, your back arching as your breasts squish themselves against his chest. You’re sitting in his lap now from how close you two are, and you start to move your hips against Josh. Josh groans into your mouth, and you take that as an opportunity to shove your tongue in there. Your tongues clash as you sloppily make out, drool escaping your lips as you clumsily figure out the best way to do it.

Josh ruts his hips up into you, keeping you still with his hands around your waist. His cock hardens against you, and the friction of his jeans rubbing into your clothed slit has you moaning into the kiss. His hands tug at your hair, and you already know that it’s going to be hard explaining the mess of it when your time is up.

You break away from the kiss as a particular loud moan leaves your lips, inside choosing to bite into Josh’s shoulder as a way to conceal your noises.

“Wait,” you say, before you and Josh go any farther. He looks up at you expectantly. “I haven’t done anything like this before,” you admit, nervous about your lack of experience.

Josh smiles, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Me neither. We can figure it out together.”

Pride washes over you at being Josh’s first, even though you know it’s not something you really have to be too happy about. But you’ve grown up with the guy, pretty much experiencing all of life together with him. It only made sense that you had each other’s firsts in this way, too.

You let yourself fall back into Josh’s embrace as one of his hands leaves your waist to reach into your sweatpants. It takes him a bit of fumbling but he eventually finds your pussy, teasing it through your soaked underwear. The squelching sounds of your wetness cause you to bury your face into the crook of his neck, embarrassed by how obvious your arousal was.

Josh chuckles at your reaction, his fingers continuing to pet you and you buck your hips into them.

“S-shut up,” you argue weakly, not wanting to see his face as he teases you.

“Didn’t say anything,” he whispers into your ear.

You figure that the only way to get Josh to stop teasing you was to beat him at his own game. Your hands reach down to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, and you hear a halt in breath as his fingers falter slightly in their rhythm as you stick your hand down his pants, palming at his bulge.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “feels good.”

You hum, moving your hand across his bulge as he ruts his hips against you. He leaves kisses up and down your neck, causing you to gasp and squeeze him harder, a groan tumbling from him.

“Fuck yeah, hon, keep doing that.”

You finally move your hand into his underwear, wrapping it around the full girth of his cock as you stroke him at that same pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

“Josh,” you whine, pressing your body to him as close as you can. “Gonna cum.” One of your hands digs into his backside trying to find some stability as the other continues to stroke him.

His pace quickens and broken moans escape you as you buck into him frantically, a loud moan falling from you orgasm onto his fingers.

Josh isn’t too far behind as you hear a groan from him and a warm stickiness envelopes your fingers. 

You reach around and thankfully find a roll of paper towels in the storage closet to wipe your hands with.

Josh leans up and kisses you, and you sigh into it, bartering with yourself that it’ll be the last one before you’ll begin cleaning yourself up.

“I am approaching the door.”

Chris’s voice rings out as you and Josh jump back, eyes wide as you stare at each other.

“I am about to put my hand on the doorknob.”

“Fuck,” you groan, hastily trying to fix your appearance so that you don’t look like you were two seconds away from fucking.

The door opens and Chris stands in front of you two, an unamused look across his face.

“You’re lucky I was able to convince Jess to let me do this,” Chris sighs, turning his head away for a brief moment so that you and Josh can try to make yourselves look a little bit more presentable. “Although I think I’m the unlucky one now.”

Josh turns to you, snickering. “Aww, honey. Cochise cares about us!”

“Ooh, you loooove us.” You imitate exaggerated kisses in Chris’s direction, and then give Josh a kiss on his cheek.

“Man, I’m really gonna have to be the third wheel now,” you hear him mutter to himself, although loud enough that you and Josh can still hear.

“Ashley’s still waiting for you,” you tell him, teasingly.

“Fuck you, guys,” he retorts, spinning back around and walking back towards the living room. “I’m gonna need a drink after this.”

Josh pouts mockingly as he holds your hand. “Aw man, without us? Don’t worry, we’re all gonna get drunk off our asses tonight.”

Chris shrugs. “Go crazy, I guess. I really hope you two aren’t some of those horny drunks.”

You wink at him as the three of you cross into the living room, the sounds of your friends’ voices growing louder. “Can’t promise you anything, bud.”