#merge with the floor and die?

[chocolix76]

Special shout out to the canon Lord Eclipse AU. I loved it when it first started, but everything felt kinda flat to me as it went on. Without the canon SAMS Lord Eclipse AU, Anima Sola would not exist.

So in a way, thank you SAMS for having that AU be poorly written.

[yellowcry]

Luisa: Guys? Uh... I could really use some help.

Mirabel, confused: Luisa? Where are you?

Luisa: I merged with the floor but now I can't unmerge!

Isabela: LMAO JAJAJA

Isabela: I'M GOING TO DIE FROM LAUGHER, PFFF

[mysteriousrainsworld]

u are yunho and im mingi because i love you for writing this 😭😭🫶

i think i already passed out

antithesis

pairing: peter parker/venom! yunho x gf! reader

genre: spider man au, smut

summary: your boyfriend is going through a phase.

w.c: 3.3k (porn with a microscopic amount of plot)

warnings: dom! yunho, sub! reader, venom should have his own warning bc bro is NASTYY (so is yuyu 🤝🏻), partial mind manipulation? on yunho’s part? bc venom is in his head? idk, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, teasing, fingering, hand kink….,, SIZE KINK., manhandling, pussy eating, tongue kink, raw feral sex (doggy + missionary), bro has a monster cock, also monster fucking!! bc venom takes over <3, cum eating, breeding kink, bulge kink, dacryphilia, mind break, record breaking creampie

a/n: listen …….i LOVE venom, the things i would let venom do to me would set humanity back at least fifty years. NOW VENOM YUNHO ON THE OTHER HAND,, oh boy. boyyyy oh boy. i don’t think i have to explain myself when it comes to that combination bc this fic speaks for itself lol. are you curious now? why don’t you give it a peek then, hm? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ and then lemme know what you thought of it pretty please? <3

song rec: new woman - lisa feat. rosalía (get it bc he’s a new man - bc of venom - 😼)

fictober 2024

“And just where have you been, Jeong Yunho?” you asked your boyfriend in a more teasing manner than anything, once he snuck in past the sliding glass door of the balcony, getting up from the couch you were waiting restlessly on. When he stood there silently just looking at you through the white eye shaped sections of his mask, you pouted, nervously wrapping a lock of hair around your finger. “Just be honest with me and I won’t be mad, okay?” 

Despite the lack of sleep, you were ready for him this time. He wasn’t about to casually sneak in or out of the house another night that week without you catching him. Usually, you wouldn’t have been concerned because you were used to him being gone when there was crime taking place or a super villain that needed to be brought to justice, but recently…your boyfriend was acting strange. He was starting to become moody and secretive, opting to brush you off when you asked him about it. Yunho had even taken up using substances in his free time, finding him drunk or high off his ass in the apartment when you got home from work. The final straw was when you came home one night to find him in the kitchen with freshly dyed hair and new piercings he had given himself, a few empty boxes of black hair dye and bloody safety pins laying haphazardly on the kitchen counter. 

Yunho took off his mask and rubbed at his eyes like he was tired, leaving a bit of smeared eyeliner underneath them, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his frayed jacket, the one that was slightly zipped just enough to cover his iconic red suit. 

“She knows about us,” said the annoying parasite that had just recently made a home inside him. “We should eat her.”

“No, I’m not doing that,” Yunho grumbled, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

You walked up to him, gently putting a hand on his chest. “Yun, I just wanna know where you were at, that’s all. You know I respect your space,” you murmured, your pout growing slightly, your eyebrows upturned with concern. 

“She’s looking at us with those big round eyes again, Yunho,” Venom told his host, letting out a disgusting groan only he could hear. “It’s gonna make us hard. If we’re not going to eat her, let’s fuck her, at least.” 

“Mingi asked me to take care of some douchebags that had been causing trouble at that new club he works at. That’s all, baby,” Yunho replied softly, reaching down to press the back of his hand against your cheek, before cupping it. He noticed the teary look inside your doe eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You nuzzled into his big warm hand, before reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck to hold your boyfriend close. “I’m fine…I’ve just been worried about you, Yun. You’ve been acting a bit…different.” 

“Let’s show her just how different we’ve become, Yunho,” Venom egged him on, knowing Yunho could feel just how much he wanted to break through the barrier of his host’s mind and take control. “She’ll love it.”

How could he possibly explain to you that he was always in a never ending battle with a frightening otherworldly parasite that had found its way inside of him? You would be so scared and disgusted, you’d probably never trust him again. He couldn’t risk losing you, not when you were his only anchor to the normal life he desperately craved, and the first person he’s ever felt this strongly about. 

“I’m just going through a phase, I think,” Yunho expressed wholeheartedly, resting his hands around your waist, his thumbs slightly pressing into your hip bones through your sleep shirt, feeling just how delicate you truly were. You were so small compared to him, practically swimming in one of his band t-shirts that you regularly wore to bed; you were so tiny and cute, and…”Malleable,” Venom finished. Yunho couldn’t tell if the parasite was influencing all of his thoughts or if he was just that perverted. 

“Do you wanna talk about it, Yun?” You pressed yourself closer to Yunho, feeling his large hands enclose around your small waist, making you feel a bit dizzy. When he shook his head, you tilted yours, wondering if what you felt pushing against your middle was exactly what you thought it was. “Or, do you want to take me to bed?” 

It had felt like forever since Yunho had touched you, kissed you even. You had almost forgotten what it was like to feel him inside you, filling you up over and over again until his love spilled out. Just the thought alone made your body begin to overheat. Was it wrong of you to take his simple answer at face value rather than push the issue, instead of letting him push you back into the wall of the hallway? You weren’t sure, but you were just grateful that your boyfriend still wanted you like this. 

“Did punching those guys at the club make you this horny?” you asked playfully, a sudden shiver of pleasure shooting up your spine when Yunho’s warm hands snaked up underneath your shirt and began groping at your tits.

“So horny,” Yunho joked back, a shaky exhale escaping his bobbing throat as he swallowed. 

 “Nnngh, I didn’t know fighting crime did it for you, Yun.” 

“Knowing I’m already getting your little pussy wet just from this is what’s doing it for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, having to practically lower himself to your height just to do so, able to clearly hear the breathless moan that left your lips. Yunho was already breathing hard, his mind swimming with constant racing thoughts that all pertained to his pretty little girlfriend and what he was going to do to you, squishing your soft flesh in between his slender fingers, using his thumbs to rub your hardening nipples in teasing circles. 

It had felt like eternity since Yunho had allowed himself to feel you underneath his touch, to even simply look at you with unbridled lust. He wanted to see all of you, witness the way you completely opened yourself up to him. It was driving him insane. Was it selfish of him to give into temptation when there was something else living inside him? Something that he knew was taking even more pleasure in this than he was? He wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew it was far too late to stop now. 

“Let us see her tits, Yunho, they feel so nice inside our hands, we need to see,” Venom demanded, desperately shaking the bars of his figurative cage. 

When Yunho tugged your shirt up and over your tits, your gasp became muffled, your eyes widening as he stuffed the hem of the shirt into your mouth. You were going to close your legs to keep your arousal from spilling down your thighs, but your eager boyfriend pushed his larger one in between them. 

“You’re so pretty, angel,” Yunho cooed softly, admiring the way you began to grind your cunt against his thigh, despite the sheepish expression you offered him, a bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth from witnessing such a display of pure desperation. “Look at you go…rubbing yourself all over my thigh like a horny little slut.” 

“N-not a slut,” you whimpered softly, his insult causing a fresh wave of slick to leak out onto Yunho’s torn jeans. “Just need you, Yuyu.” 

“Her breeding hole needs to be trained to handle my size. Do it now,” Venom growled into Yunho’s mind, growing more and more demanding by the second, very aware that his host was starting to lose control of himself. 

“Yeah? How about this?” Yunho pulled your panties to the side so that he could watch as your greedy cunt swallowed up one of his long, bony fingers to the knuckle. “Is that enough, baby?” 

“I meant with your human sized cock, you insufferable prick,” Venom chided, simply not understanding the pleasurable benefits that prolonged foreplay could offer being the inhibited hothead that he was. 

Something about the way Yunho was taking his time with unraveling you, the way he was drinking in the sight of your bare body with pure lust inside his dilated eyes, all while he had one of his digits plunged inside you. It made you pulse and squeeze around it. “F-full.”  

“But I barely fit one finger inside you, sweetheart. What’ll happen if I put another?” Yunho suddenly tugged your borrowed t-shirt up and over your head, leaning in close to your face to catch the way your breath hitched as soon as he slipped another finger inside, curling them just enough to hit your sweet spot each time he finger-fucked you, earning a few whiny moans from his beloved girlfriend. “Oh, that’s right. You turn into my little sex toy, don’t you?” 

“Y-esss, Yuyu, just for you, fuck,” you cried out, hooking your arms around his neck to keep yourself from completely melting into the floor. 

“That’s a good girl,” he groaned into your ear, quickly stuffing his thick digits into you, unable to get Venom’s ungodly thoughts out of his head all the while, unable to keep himself from shoving a third finger into you, your slick walls pulsating around him. “You think you’re feeling full now…just wait till my cock’s inside you.”

Gasping, your nails dug into his back through his clothes. “Oh my god, Yunho, give it to me, please, please, please,” you whined breathlessly into his neck, trembling in his arms as overwhelming pleasure washed over you. “N-need your cock in me.” 

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re already begging to be fucked like that. I almost forgot how much of a needy little slut you are when you need cock. You like the thought of me stretching out your little pussy that much, huh?” He smiled against your heated skin when you whimpered and nodded eagerly, not allowing you to witness the brief moment his eyes turned completely black. “I just might split you open.” 

You almost didn’t recognize your boyfriend when he tossed you onto your shared bed like you weighed close to nothing, and you certainly didn’t recognize him when he manipulated your limbs until you were laying with your head down against the mattress and your ass up in the air. Usually, he wanted to do missionary, so that he could kiss and look at you when you both came undone, but now, now he had you in a position that was apparently ‘perfect for breeding’, or at least, that’s what you thought you had heard him mumbling about from behind you. 

“Now’s the time, human. We must show her how great we are,” the alien reminded Yunho, delighted that his black parasitic poison was now making its way through his host’s veins, showing up from underneath his milky skin. It was changing him in ways that would most definitely benefit all three of you. 

Yunho squeezed his large hands into the sides of your ass and spread it open, hyper focused on your dripping cunt and how it struggled to accommodate his obscene size. “Poor baby’s so tiny, my little princess can barely take me inside her pretty cunt,” he sighed, pulling out just enough to send a few strands of spit onto his own cock, lubing up the base of it and pushing back in, a shiver of pleasure shooting up his spine as soon as he heard the broken cry that left your drooling mouth. “Looks like we’re going to have to break you in.” 

You felt like you were losing your mind. Your boyfriend had just barely bottomed out inside of you and you were already about to cream yourself. And, it might’ve been the cock drunk state you were in, but you swore to god that his dick got bigger. It felt like it was kissing your cervix already and he hadn’t even moved yet. Not to mention, it felt so hot inside you, and there was so much pre-cum coating your walls, you almost thought he had came prematurely, but he would’ve been asleep and snoring away already if he did. 

Yunho violently interrupted your train of thought by slamming his hips forward, letting out a deep, long groan as though he were experiencing euphoria. He grabbed your wrists and held them behind your back, tucking them together so that he could hold them both with one large hand, and quickly got to work, yanking you back onto his cock, using you like his own personal sex doll. “That’s fucking it, isn’t it, angel? You like that? You fucking like that?” 

“Yeah, fuck me,” you moaned back, realizing this ‘phase’ of Yunho’s was one of the best things that could’ve ever happened to the both of you, previously unaware that something this rough, something this animalistic, could feel as good as it did. 

“She’s ours, she’s ours, Yunho, fuck, we’re going to cum inside her,” Venom blissfully announced into Yunho’s head, fully taking over his host in that very instant, gracing Yunho with the symbiote’s much more endowed features. 

It was then that you let out a sudden gasp, the air that quickly filled your lungs leaving as a wavering moan of pleasure instead. It was almost as if Yunho’s cock had grown twice in size. You didn’t even know how that was possible, but you were too lost in the moment to question it. “So big, it’s so fucking big, Yunho, nnnngh, it’s gonna break me,” you exhaled, quickly pulling at the sheets once he gifted you partial physical autonomy, your eyes beginning to disappear underneath your eyelashes. 

“That’s right, pretty girl, and you’re going to keep taking it all, even after I’m done impregnating you,” Yunho agreed huskily, bending over you until his overheated body pressed into your shoulders and back, his long fingers curling around the softness of your hips. Just as his never ending seed spilled into you and made its way into your womb, Yunho dragged his long tongue up in between your straining shoulder blades and along your neck, savoring your flavor. He truly wanted to eat you, unable to stop drooling, but the annoying mortal he shared this body with wouldn’t let him. Venom figured he would have to settle for the next best thing.  

You didn’t even have a chance to finish shaking, let alone take a breath, before you were being lifted up and lowered back down onto your boyfriend’s face, your cunt fitting snugly between the curves of Yunho’s lips and nose. Just as he lapped at your extremely sensitive clit and slit, you couldn’t help but jolt away, his forearms suddenly locking tightly around your middle. “O-oh…!” 

“Hold still. Need a taste of this pretty cunt,” Yunho growled under his breath, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide enough so that he could explore the entirety of your used cunt, licking and drinking up the mixed arousal that spilled out of you to his heart’s content.

“Y-yunhooo,” you whined pathetically, reaching forward to hold onto the headboard to keep yourself from passing out from the pleasure that was overloading your mind, looking down to watch how he eagerly nosed at your clit. “Fuck, i’ll cum again…” 

“Then, do it, princess.” Just as he swallowed down more of your wetness, he realized it wasn’t enough, unable to keep himself from sliding the entirety of his tongue inside you, feeling you clench around the base of it. 

“Oh my god, your tongue, it’s so–haaaah,” you reacted breathlessly, digging your nails into the wood of the headboard, the longer his serpent-like tongue slithered in and out of you so seamlessly, unable to fully understand how any of this was possible. When the thickest part of his appendage rubbed at your g-spot, you saw white around your vision, your ears ringing, unable to hear the filthy slurping sounds Yunho was making underneath you as he drank up your squirt. 

When you came to, you were back underneath Yunho, in the missionary position he loved so much, yet this time it was profoundly different. His eyes were as dark as his freshly dyed hair, one corner of his mouth split open, inviting a myriad of long, serrated fangs, all while black wispy tendrils clung onto one side of his face like a second skin. You realized too late why Yunho was acting so out of character, and that you were never actually alone with him the past few weeks. You had an uninvited guest, an alien symbiote known as Venom, to be exact — and here you were, face to face with him, his disgustingly oversized cock stretching you wide open.

“Oh god, you’re actually going to split me open, what the fuck,” you gasped sharply, clutching the sides of Yunho’s cheeks, your fingers tugging at the ends of his sweaty hair. 

“Silly human, as much as we’d enjoy seeing that, you won’t split apart. You have a prime body for breeding, didn’t you know?” he chuckled darkly in a two-toned voice, pressing his hand down into your abdomen to feel the sheer size of himself protruding through your lower belly each time his hips routinely smacked into yours. “We knew Spider-man’s pretty little girlfriend would make a perfect host for our offspring. Just look at you, you’re taking us so well.” 

You didn’t know what was going to break your mind first, the fact that you were essentially being used as a breeding tool for an alien that would take great pleasure in swallowing you whole, or the fact that your cunt was eagerly swallowing up something so absurdly large, its heavy girth and width stretching you so wide, it felt as though you would fall apart at any given time. Despite the insanity of it all, your body and mind welcomed it, creaming yourself on his alien cock. 

“Good girlll,” Yunho praised, letting his long slimy tongue slip out to lick up the side of your cheek until he tasted the salt from the tears that fell down your face. He fully sheathed himself inside you one last time, before his large hands cemented around your waist, holding you completely still as his hot load joined the other one he had previously fucked into you, his heavy breaths warming the skin of your neck. “That’s it, princess, take it all, just like that…” 

You could hardly breathe, let alone move, simply laying still in your boyfriend’s arms, taking everything he gave you, as wave after wave of cum coated the insides of your aching cunt and flooded womb, some of it spilling down the insides of your legs and dripping onto the stained sheets below. It felt so good to be filled up in such a way that you came again without direct stimulation, letting out a broken cry, before Yunho silenced you with a kiss. 

When you opened your teary eyes, your boyfriend’s previously monstrous traits were gone, instead replaced with his usual soft, flushed features that you adored so much. You watched him open and close his mouth, as if he didn’t know what to say. You pressed another kiss to his lips, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Should we go to the drugstore to get Plan B?”

Yunho gave you a goofy, though apologetic smile, leaning his face into your neck to give it a few kisses. He pulled himself back up to face you, his eyebrows upturned. “D-do you think it would work on an alien symbiote?” 

You patted his head, knowing what you signed up for when you decided to date the Spider-man, figuring one of his superhero friends would have a solution for the both of you. You gave him a soft smile, happy when he returned it. “If not, let’s get a refund.” 

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

fictober taglist: @littlefireball @crazylittlebisexual @luvbit3z @hwasbbyg @ane102 @linearities @hoe4yunho @tearfulsparks78 @sunkislove @binniesbabe @peelingpaint-heavyheart @prodsh00ky @dawn-iscozy @peachyy-jooniee @sunwoosbaby @screaming4san @cowgirlkller @markleecankickme @comicnerd557 @stay-thing-things @Alexxbear69 @kpopandthings @dekyepunn @m4m4-s4m4

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[brdcge]

taggiiesss

[sangunary]

- Hush now crybaby.

Yandere batfam x ghost Reader!

IMP: Little scenarios that happened after your death. This is a little scenario from my previous story 'Hush now crybaby' :3.

It was around midnight, Tim was still awake as he was trying to ignore his guilt by over working himself.

*Tim who was drinking coffee for the sixth time after dinner*

GhostReader: "I already told you to not substitute water for coffee!"

Tim screaming at the top of his lungs because not only did his dead siblings suddenly appeared infront of him to scold him... Their voice was.. extremely unpleasant and he was high on coffee.

After Tims award winning scream the whole family was awaken from their slumber, hurriedly went downstairs just to see Tim in a fetal position on the ground.

Dick: "Oh God! Little bird what happened?!"

Tim: "It's not my fault coffee taste better!"

Jason: "This is likely the result of being high on coffee, meth is better"

Damian inside his room, a ouija board and your favourite teddy besides him.

Damian: "Listen carefully, You will get inside this Teddy and make us happy again"

GhostReader: "Why can't you just start a conversation like a NORMAL PERSON??"

Minutes later Damian was playfully bullying Reader to go inside the Bear.

Dick who was weeping on his bathroom floor for dramatic effect holding Reader's clothes in his arm's.

Dick: "Oh God, im a terrible older brother... I don't deserve to live... My baby im so sorry it should have been me instead of you..."

GhostReader: "I can't tell if he's mourning me or using this opportunity to rehearse for his acting career...."

Dick who was still mumbling and crying really hard leaving a very visible wet stain onto the dress.

GhostReader: "Even for you this is really pathetic and hard to watch... Im getting uncomfortable I must leave"

Jason introducing the whole family to the outlaws because they kept on insisting.

Jason: "And my favourite rat... Reader"

Arthemis: "Aw, she's cute... Im so sorry for what happened. I wish I could see her"

Jason: "Oh don't worry... Cause she's right here"

Jason pointing at a random corner of the room with full confidence.

Arthemis whispering to Roy.

Arthemis: "I didn't knew mourning makes you delusional"

GhostReader: "Im actually over here Jay"

Roy: "Oh my fucking God! That is the BIGGEST rat I've ever seen in my life!"

During any celebration or event Reader love's to ruin the photo one way or another... She found it hilarious but it's really creepy.

Bruce: "Perfect... We'll hang it on the wal- We need to retake this"

Reader who ruined the picture by merging with Bruce in the picture.

Tim: "THAT was the sixth time! We're going to die if we have to keep smiling like this!"

GhostReader: "I thought I looked really good in the picture..."

[count-on-mi]

You are the SLUT of my eyes (Dahyun)

In mid 2024, the summer nights in Seoul were oppressively hot and humid. The crew of “You Are the Apple of My Eye” was filming at a high school. As night fell, the campus was dimly lit, with only the gym emitting sounds of depravity. The day’s filming had long ended, and most of the crew had left, but the gym had become a secret playground for Dahyun and the student actors, the air thick with the scent of sweat and lust.

Inside the gym, the mats had become a stage for debauchery. “Ah… ah… I can’t take it anymore… ahh…” Dahyun’s moans echoed intermittently, mixed with sobs, reverberating through the room. Her pale, naked body was sandwiched between two muscular men, one thick cock thrusting into her dripping pussy while another ravaged her tender asshole. The wet, squelching sounds of penetration mingled with the “slap, slap, slap” of flesh colliding, like the rhythm of churning mud.

Whenever her “ah…” cries turned sharp and high-pitched, as if echoing from the clouds, the “slap, slap” sounds of flesh slowed down, becoming crisp and forceful, each “slap” sounding like a whip cracking on livestock. But when the “slap, slap…” grew rapid and deep, Dahyun’s “ahhh… ahhh…” moans merged into a continuous stream, almost like a long, drawn-out “ah…”, while the “squelch, squelch…” of thrusting sounded like a steam locomotive running at full speed.

Through the crack in the door, only the three sets of hips could be seen moving rhythmically. Dahyun’s pussy and asshole were each stuffed with a thick cock, pounding relentlessly. Her lower body was a soaked mess, glistening with slick fluids mixed with white foam, as if coated in creamy frosting. As one thick cock drilled into her like a jackhammer, more white cum mixed with her juices was forced out of her pussy, dripping down her perineum to her asshole, where it was carried into the tight cavity by the other thrusting cock.

Dahyun’s plump, pale ass contrasted starkly with the two thick cocks pistoning in and out, a fierce battle of flesh unfolding. Her thick thighs quivered with each thrust, her fat ass jiggling with waves of flesh, perfectly showcasing her body’s suitability for doggy-style fucking. The two sweat-drenched, muscular men pounded her relentlessly, the “squelch, squelch…” growing stickier, like the sound of boots trudging through a muddy swamp.

“Ah… ahhh… ah…” Sandwiched between the two muscular men, Dahyun’s lewd moans rose and fell with the rhythm of their thrusts, filling the room. In the room, aside from the three entangled bodies on the mat, there were five other naked, muscular guys. Some smoked, others jerked off their dripping cocks, and a few chatted, laughing lewdly as they watched Dahyun being fucked. The floor was covered in puddles of unidentified fluids, the air reeking of piss, sweat, and smoke—a thoroughly depraved atmosphere.

“Ahh… I’m cumming… I’m cumming… ahhh… I’m going to die…” As the two sweat-soaked men continued their relentless assault, Dahyun let out cries of pain mixed with ecstasy. The surrounding guys gathered closer, their hard cocks in hand, staring at Dahyun’s lower body, stuffed with two massive cocks. Her moans grew sharper and louder, and her soaked pussy suddenly gushed a stream of clear fluid, like a small creek. The two men, as if spurred on, fucked her even harder, their cocks plunging into her as if into boiling water, splashing her juices everywhere. Finally, amidst her near-hysterical screams, a jet of clear piss shot from her urethra, splattering onto the stomach of the guy on top, trickling down to their sticky, conjoined bodies.

Her piss sprayed for over ten seconds, gradually diminishing, flowing down their joined bodies onto the mat below. The surrounding guys watched excitedly, one of them jerking off so hard that he shot streams of cum all over Dahyun’s face.

“This slut Dahyun has squirted three times today, fucking hell, she’s so depraved!”

“Yeah, every time she gets fucked, she pisses herself.”

“Heh, she looks so pure and innocent, but she’s a total whore deep down.”

“Damn, the first time I saw her, I almost came in my pants. You’d never guess she’s this slutty.”

“Fuck… we’ve been banging her for a month, and her pussy and asshole are still so tight. She’s born to be a whore.”

“She’s got the life of a bitch, haha… most prostitutes couldn’t handle this, but this bitch Dahyun comes back for more every day.”

“Worse than a bitch, fuck! I can’t take it anymore, hurry up, I need to fuck her again today.”

“Don’t rush, we’ve got plenty of time to play. I’m taking this slut’s asshole next, no one better steal it!”

As Dahyun reached her climax, the group of tall guys started chattering, shamelessly joking and laughing in front of her as she was fucked to the point of pissing herself, treating her like nothing more than a bitch with no dignity.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Time Reverse

A few months earlier, inside a casting room in Seoul, the air was thick with the faint smell of tobacco. The curtains were drawn, and dim yellow light spilled across a wooden table, illuminating the director’s wrinkled face, brimming with lust. He leaned back in his leather chair, hands crossed, his hawk-like gaze fixed on Dahyun, a member of TWICE, sitting across from him. Her innocent aura contrasted sharply with her fiery body, making her presence in the cramped room all the more enticing. Petite in stature, she possessed a breathtaking hourglass figure, with a slender waist and plump, rounded hips forming a perfect ratio. Her thick, toned thighs exuded a deadly sensuality, as if she were born for doggy-style sex.

The summer heat in Seoul was stifling, and though the air conditioning was on in the casting room, the atmosphere still felt oppressively warm. The director’s eyes roamed over Dahyun’s body, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Miss Dahyun,” his voice was low, laced with a hint of probing, “You Are the Apple of My Eye” is a major production. The female lead needs to have… a special kind of charm. What do you think you have that can impress me?”

Dahyun smiled faintly, a glint of cunning flashing in her eyes. She knew this casting was never just about acting. She stood up, slowly walking toward the director, her skirt swaying with each step, accentuating her slender waist and plump ass. “I know what you want,” her voice was soft and seductive, tinged with provocation, “and I can give you… everything.”

The director’s lips curled into a lewd grin as he placed his hands on Dahyun’s slender waist, pulling her onto his lap. “Oh? Then you’ll need to prove your sincerity.” His hands roamed shamelessly to the insides of her thick thighs, his rough fingertips grazing her smooth skin, savoring the firm flesh. Dahyun didn’t resist; instead, she leaned closer, her red lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “As long as you give me this role, I’m willing to be the crew’s… cum dumpster. Anyone can play with me however they want.”

The director’s breathing quickened instantly, his cock swelling in his pants. He yanked open Dahyun’s top, revealing her perky, pale tits, the size of small melons, with pink nipples trembling in the air. “What a slut,” he growled, his hands roughly kneading her breasts. “Then let’s see what you’re capable of!” The casting room door was locked, and the atmosphere turned depraved in an instant.

Dahyun was pinned against the table, her short skirt flipped up to her waist, her panties torn off, exposing her pink, dripping pussy, already soaked with glistening juices that trickled down her thick thighs. “Ahh… Director… be gentle… ah…” Dahyun’s moans were broken, a mix of pain and excitement, echoing through the room. The director unbuckled his belt, pulling out a thick cock, its tip already leaking precum. Without mercy, he aimed his cock at Dahyun’s pussy and thrust hard, burying himself fully into her tight, wet hole.

With a “squelch,” her juices were forced out, dripping down her perineum onto the table. “So fucking tight,” the director growled through gritted teeth, grabbing her slender waist and starting to pound her furiously. “Slap, slap, slap…” The sound of flesh colliding was rapid and sharp, accompanied by the “squelch, squelch” of penetration, like the rhythm of churning mud.

Dahyun was fucked into a moaning mess, her breasts jiggling on the table, her nipples pinched red by the director’s rough fingers. “Ahh… so deep… Director… ahh… you’re fucking me to death… ah…” Her moans rose and fell, sometimes sharp and high like they came from the clouds, other times long and drawn-out like a sigh, utterly depraved.

The director’s thrusts grew more violent, each one making Dahyun’s pussy clench and release, her juices and white foam spilling from her hole, dripping down the table’s edge to the floor. “Slut, tell me, were you born to be fucked?” he demanded while pounding her, his palm slapping her plump, rounded ass with a crisp “slap,” the fat jiggling with waves of flesh, irresistibly enticing.

“Ahh… yes… I’m a slut born to be fucked… ah… Director… give me the role… I’ll let the whole crew fuck me… ahh…” Dahyun was fucked senseless, spewing lewd words just to please the director. Her pale little feet dangled off the table’s edge, swaying with each thrust, her toes curling, as delicate as white jade.

The director, driven wild by her sluttiness, flipped her over, making her lie face down on the table, her plump ass raised high, her thick thighs taut, presenting the perfect doggy-style position, as if she were made to be fucked hard. He spat on her pink asshole, then roughly probed it with his fingers, stirring it a few times before aiming his thick cock at the tight hole and thrusting in hard.

“Ahhh… it hurts… it hurts so much… ahh…” Dahyun’s screams rang out, but they soon turned into excited moans. “Ahh… Director… fuck my asshole… ahh… it feels so good…” “Squelch, squelch…” His cock slid in and out of her asshole, making sticky sounds, accompanied by the “slap, slap, slap” of her ass being pounded, the flesh jiggling with each impact.

The room’s depravity grew thicker. Dahyun’s asshole was fucked slightly open, fluids and juices dripping down her perineum to her pussy, leaving a wet mess. Her long hair was disheveled, sticking to her sweaty face, her large breasts squashed against the table, the flesh spilling out from the sides like soft dough.

“Ahh… I’m cumming… ahhh… I’m going to die… ah…” As the director continued his brutal assault, Dahyun’s moans grew sharper. Her pussy suddenly gushed a stream of clear fluid, like a small creek flowing onto the table, followed by a jet of piss shooting from her urethra, splattering onto the director’s pants and dripping down the table’s edge to the floor.

“Slut, you got fucked so hard you pissed yourself!” the director roared with excitement, pounding her asshole even harder. The piss sprayed for over ten seconds, gradually slowing, trickling down her thick thighs onto the table, forming a puddle that reeked of her scent.

The director, unable to hold back from the sight, pulled out his cock and forced Dahyun to the floor, making her kneel beneath his crotch. “Open your mouth, slut, drink my cum!” he ordered, jerking his cock. Dahyun obediently opened her mouth, sticking out her pink tongue, her eyes filled with lustful desire.

With a low growl, the director shot thick streams of cum, splattering her face, mouth, and even dripping down her pale breasts. She swallowed the cum without hesitation, using her fingers to scoop the cum from her face into her mouth, licking it clean. “Haha… you’re a fucking natural-born whore!” The director panted, slapping her cheek.

“I see your sincerity. The role is yours. But remember what you promised—everyone in the crew can play with you however they want!” Dahyun collapsed on the floor, her body sticky with sweat, juices, and cum, glistening under the light. She panted, a mix of satisfaction and ambition in her eyes. “Thank you, Director… I’ll make everyone happy…” Her voice was soft and seductive, laced with provocation.

The depravity of the casting room was only the beginning. A few days later, filming officially started, and Dahyun appeared on set as the female lead. Her innocent appearance and fiery figure set the blood of all the student actors racing, her petite frame exuding a deadly sensuality with her slender waist and plump, rounded hips forming a perfect ratio, paired with her thick, toned thighs in the school unifrom, making it impossible not to fantasize about her body. But no one knew she had already promised a more debased deal on the director’s bed. As night fell and the filming ended, the gym became her secret playground. The student actors took turns, treating her as a tool for their lust, satisfying her body and ambition through rough gangbangs.

On the first day of filming, after it ended, the director led Dahyun to the gym, where seven muscular student actors were already waiting. Their eyes burned with desire, their cocks twitching eagerly in their pants. “Dahyun,” the director said with a wicked grin, “it’s time to fulfill what you promised.”

Dahyun didn’t hesitate; instead, she took the initiative to strip off her clothes, revealing her pale, naked body as she lay on the thick mat. Her hourglass figure was fully exposed, her slender waist and plump hips forming an enticing curve, her thick thighs slightly parted, radiating endless temptation. “Come on, oppa,” her voice dripped with seduction, “play with me however you want.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Original Timeline

“Slap, slap, slap…” “Squelch, squelch…” The two sweat-drenched guys continued their rapid thrusts, Dahyun reduced to heavy panting after her climax, her legs hanging limply in the arms of the guy on top, swaying with each thrust, her pale little feet as delicate as white jade.

“Ahhh… ahhh…” As the guy on top gave his final, powerful thrusts, Dahyun let out delirious moans. On his last deep thrust into her pussy, she let out a long, low “umm…”, her toes curling tight. The guy on top tensed his body, pressing down on her, his balls contracting and releasing, finally relaxing after a dozen pulses. The guy below continued relentlessly fucking her asshole.

Half a minute later, the guy on top pulled out his dripping cock, coated in sticky fluids, a drop of cum hanging from the tip. Her pussy remained slightly open, the lips soft and splayed, her clit exposed, and as her pussy pulsed, cum mixed with her juices flowed out. The guy on top stood up, and Dahyun’s legs fell limply to her sides. Before she could catch her breath, a short-haired muscular guy climbed onto her, lifting her legs and shoving his thick cock into her cum-dripping pussy, fucking her rapidly.

“Ahhh…” Dahyun’s moans resumed. Her breasts, like small melons coated in sticky fluids, stood firm, large yet proportionate to her body, exuding a seductive allure. Lying on her back, her large breasts obscured her face, with only her long, dark hair spilling messily around her shoulders. “Dahyun, come lick oppa’s cock clean,” said the guy who had just cum in her pussy.

Though she had been fucked by seven muscular guys all evening, Dahyun’s pink pussy still dripped with juices. “Ahh… mm… mm…” Her mouth was stuffed with a cock, her moans turning into muffled “mm, mm…” sounds in her throat. “Hehe… Dahyun, you’ve been playing all evening, you must be thirsty. Look at how your juices keep flowing—aren’t you dehydrated? Come, oppa will give you some water, open your mouth wide,” said the guy kneeling beside her, who had just cum.

Soon, the sound of liquid pouring into a bottle could be heard, rising and falling, accompanied by gulping noises as if someone were swallowing heavily, until the stream finally dwindled and stopped. Dahyun drank the guy’s piss as if it were the sweetest nectar.

“Hehe…”

“Haha…” During the piss-drinking, the guys laughed mockingly.

“Little slut, do your fans know how slutty you are?”

“If they knew how depraved she is, they’d probably die of shock!”

“Maybe not, she might just be a natural-born slut, begging her fans to gangbang her.”

“Hehe… her fans treat her like a goddess, probably thinking she’s pure and innocent.”

“Haha… they’d never imagine their precious Dahyun gets her pussy and asshole fucked and pissed on every day!”

The guys burst into laughter. “Slap, slap, slap, slap…” “Squelch, squelch…” Even as she was pissed on and mocked, Dahyun’s sticky, wet lower body was still being pounded by the two muscular guys. Piss, juices, cum, and sweat mingled at her holes, splattered by the thrusting cocks, her depraved lower body enough to make even the impotent hard.

The guy fucking her asshole couldn’t hold back any longer, thrusting hard a few more times before shooting his load into her tight hole. “Fuck, that felt so good, this slut’s asshole is so tight, even better than her pussy! Come on, next guy, I’ll rest and fuck her again later.” He pulled out his half-soft cock, cum dripping from her gaping asshole like a small black hole, trickling onto his tip and down his balls, thick like molten lava, hanging on the verge of breaking.

The guy fucking her pussy lifted her off the mat and walked toward a recliner, thrusting as he moved, the sticky cum from her asshole dripping onto the floor. He sat down on the recliner, lying back, his hands gripping Dahyun’s large breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingertips, while Dahyun moaned incessantly, “Ahh… ah…”

Now facing the door sideways, if anyone opened it, they’d see her pale, fiery body riding a muscular guy’s cock, her dripping pussy sliding up and down on it. Her petite frame exuded a deadly allure, her pale skin glistening with sweat, beads rolling down her cheeks, a few drops of cum sliding from her lips and hair. Her face was half-hidden by her disheveled hair, wet strands sticking to her cheeks, her large breasts bouncing in the guy’s hands like water-filled balloons.

Her slender waist twisted like a snake, her plump ass and thick thighs moving up and down, perfectly showcasing her suitability for riding, making anyone fantasize about her riding them to climax. Dahyun’s fat ass moved like a motor, riding the thick cock, slamming down hard each time the tip nearly slipped out, swallowing the entire length. Her asshole, recently gaped into a black hole, had closed up, though a few drops of fluid still leaked out.

“Slap, slap…” The sound of her pussy being fucked was continuous. “Ahh… fuck Dahyun… fuck me to death… ahh…” Dahyun’s wanton cries echoed through the room. Two guys nearby approached, their dripping cocks in hand, rubbing the tips on her face. Dahyun, as if seeing candy, grabbed a cock in each hand, stroking them, taking turns sucking and licking each one, not even sparing their balls.

Another guy joined, shoving his thick cock into her asshole, adjusting for a moment before grabbing her plump ass and fucking her hard, her flesh jiggling with each thrust, perfectly showing off her doggy-style allure. Every hole on Dahyun’s body was filled with cock, writhing and moaning like a depraved slut, reveling in the gangbang.

“Slap, slap, slap…” The sound of her ass being pounded, “squelch, squelch…” of cocks thrusting, Dahyun’s excited moans, the guys’ mocking laughter, and the heavy panting of those fucking her hard all blended into a symphony of lust. The sweat-soaked guys kept fucking her, switching out twice, leaving her asshole and pussy gaping, unable to close.

Each thrust forced out more juices and cum, dripping down the cocks to the floor. After Dahyun was fucked to the point of screaming and pissing again, the floor was covered in a puddle of her musky fluids. “Hehe, Dahyun, are you hungry?” asked a guy on the recliner, thrusting into her pussy with his glistening cock, grinning.

“Ah… mm… mm, so hungry… fucked so hard by oppa’s big cocks… I’m starving, ah… ahhh… I want… I want a cream hotdog, ah… ahh… oppa, be gentle, ahh…” Dahyun was fucked to the point of exhaustion, lying limply on the guy, her large breasts squashed into flat pancakes, the flesh spilling out where her body met his chest, swaying with each thrust, her breasts circling in place like deflated tires supporting her pale body.

“Haha… this little slut wants a cream hotdog, then beg us for it,” the guy fucking her asshole sneered. “Ahh… please… please, oppa, give this little slut… ah… something to eat… ah… a cream hotdog… ahh… this little slut is so hungry… ahhh… please… big cock oppa… ah…” “Slap…” The guy fucking her asshole smacked her fat ass hard, sending waves of flesh rippling.

“What a fucking slut, she’s addicted to it. Guys, let’s call it a night after feeding this whore, haha, save some energy to fuck her again tomorrow.” “Haha…” The guys laughed. The two guys thrust hard for a few more minutes, both shooting their loads into her body. When they pulled out, one guy grabbed two long slices of bread, pressing them against her pussy and asshole, rubbing them to coat the bread with the cum and juices flowing out.

Another guy took two thumb-thick sausages, shoving them into her pussy and asshole for a moment before pulling them out and sandwiching them between the bread slices. “Here, Dahyun, your hot cream hotdog is ready, come eat,” he said. “Hehe…” “Haha…” The guys laughed derisively.

Dahyun sat up, her pale skin glistening with sweat, juices, piss, and cum, shining under the light, her hair sticking to her face in strands, her breasts trembling. She took the “cream hotdog,” biting off a large piece, chewing as if it were a delicacy, and finally licking the cum from her fingers and lips into her mouth.

The guys watched her finish, laughing. “I’m so thirsty… oppa… Dahyun is so thirsty,” she said, batting her eyes at them, acting coy. The guys knew she wanted to drink their piss, and three of them immediately brought their cocks to her mouth, spraying piss before she could say more.

Dahyun swallowed eagerly, but the volume was too much, and much of it spilled from her lips, dripping down her breasts and onto her dripping lower body, finally pooling into the puddle of fluids on the floor.

“Haha, slut… a whore fucked by thousands, ridden by millions, so shameless.”

“Hehe… if she weren’t this slutty, we wouldn’t have anything to play with.”

“She calls herself a member of TWICE, just a shameless nympho.”

“Worse than a prostitute, loves eating cum and drinking piss.” “Exactly, even prostitutes wouldn’t drink piss, but this slut begs for it, so shameless.” “Look at her, so cheap, we say this to her face, and she’s dripping again.” “Haha…” “Little slut Dahyun, is your asshole itching again?”

“Even if it is, too bad. We’re exhausted tonight, come back tomorrow, hehe… we’ll rest up and fuck you again.”

“Haha… going back with a belly full of cum, it’d be a miracle if no one notices.”

“Meh, who cares, it’s not our problem. Even if she’s stuffed with cum, her fans won’t know.” “Hehe…”

[sarahsmi13s]

Fever Dream

pairing: evan buckley x nash!reader

characters: evan 'buck' buckley, nash!reader, bobby nash, athena grant

warnings: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 8.15, mentions of religion, blood, panic attack, nightmare, major character death, xreader (this is how i'm coping okay?), i'm delulu and gonna feed my fellow fandom siblings delusions, if i missed any please let me know!

word count: ~2.1k

a/n: as mentioned in the warnings, this contains spoilers for episode 15 so please if you don't want spoilers don't read. i wrote this simply because is how i'm choosing to cope until the next episode airs. i hope everyone out there is doing okay (in a general sense, i know so many of us are fucking mad). i hope this can help feed delusions or just maybe bring comfort.

summary: being separated from your team, your family, is hard enough... add in a deadly super virus and cctv cameras to give you a perfect view of them, and it's going to haunt you in ways you may never expect

Your fingers dug into Buck’s turn out. Your shaking and gasping cries merged with his screams, desperate prayers vibrating against his arm.

His throat hurt. It was raw and felt like it was bleeding, a metallic taste building up on his tongue. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

This couldn’t be it. This can’t be happening. Bobby’s not supposed to die.

No! No… Bobby was fine. He had been right behind Buck as they were leaving. He made it out. 

He was walking and talking, barking out orders like it was breathing.

Bobby was breathing.

Now…  Now he was what?

Now he was pacing around a room, alone. Professing his love to Athena and pleading with her to believe he didn’t want this. He was using every ounce of his strength to fight away any doubt in her heart. He was apologizing. Buck could still hear how he apologized to you as you were drug away from your attempts to pry the door open. 

Now he was crawling on the floor, his organs beginning to fail as he coughed up blood – red splatters decorating the ash covered floor. He was sweating, body feverish as his immune system kept trying to save him.

But nothing can save him…

Now he’s dying. Praying on his knees until blood filled his mouth like a fatal elixir, a final communion. Blood was coating his tongue and teeth, staining his lips crimson as his head fell to the table and his chest slowed to a stop.

Now he was in a body bag… and Buck-

– jolted awake, a raw cry straining his vocal cords as he gripped the duvet in his lap.

“Buck? Buck! Evan!” He knew that voice – that soft, gentle voice. “Hey, hey, baby it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Gentle and warm hands cradled his face, tilting it up as thumbs wiped the tears away. He can barely make out anything through the tears and the panic scrambling his brain.

But those eyes… He knows those eyes. They’re safe. They’re home.

They’re you.

His entire body was shaking. Sweat dripped down his back, leaving goosebumps as the AC cooled his hot skin. Tears shone on his face in the dim lamplight, more spilling over his lash line to pool on your thumbs. His chest ached, it felt like he was trying suck in air from an empty oxygen tank.

“Breathe, Ev’. Breathe for me.”

He hit his chest to communicate that he was trying. Each gulp of air wheezed into his windpipe, barely giving him enough to speak. “I-I can’t…”

You nodded, moving his arms around you and pressing his hands flat against your back. “You can. You just gotta follow me, baby.”

He tried, he really tried. But his chest felt too tight, air snagged in his throat, scraping along what felt like open wounds lining his esophagus. All before getting forced out in broken, strangled sobs.

You only smiled softly at him, the expression warm and encouraging. Your thumbs brushed his cheeks gently, being careful not to rub his cheeks raw as your exhales cooled them. His hands were desperate and hard on your back, gripping at your sleep shirt as he tried to follow your breathing.

Neither of you knew how long it took before his chest expanded fully again. A full breath of air, accented by the scent of your shampoo, filled his lungs. He swallowed, nodding against you as he began to calm down.

You tilted your head, the movement small as you pushed his curl back from his damp forehead. There was no doubt this panic attack was the result of a nightmare. They weren’t uncommon in this line of work, but only a few brought on panic attacks.

Your hand rested at the back of his head, the other gently resting on the side of his neck. “What happened, Buck? What did you see?”

The question made his throat cinch up again, fresh waves of tears falling down his cheeks. He opened his mouth and the words tumbled out in broken, sob-ridden babbles.

You gently shushed him after a few moments, soothing the ache with the tender caress of your hands carding through his hair. His tears are hot against your skin as you tilted his chin up with your thumb. “Sweetheart, I need you to slow down.”

You weren’t upset with him, or frustrated in the slightest. If anything… you were scared and just wanted to help.

Buck swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to control himself. You pressed your lips to his head and gently rocked you both. It was a little awkward in this position, but all you cared about was making sure he was okay.

You pulled back to look at him, your hand moving back to his cheek to brush away the tears.

His eyes remained downcast, staring at where your knees pressed into his thighs. He gripped your shirt again as a soft cry fell from his lips.

“The lab…”

He felt you tense at the words. Your hands paused in their movements just long enough for him to catch it before you went right back to soothing him. 

A pang of guilt hit deep in his heart. 

“We-we had just got Hen and Chimney out, and everything was fine. But as I turned to Cap… he-” Buck bit his quivering lip, his eyes remaining fixated on your point of contact, not wanting to see the heartbreak in your eyes as he told you again what had happened in the damned lab. He hated to make you relive it, relive probably the worst day of your life. He wanted to take it back, take all of it back… but he kept going, knowing you wouldn’t just let him go back to sleep.

“He locked himself in… the hose line to his tank was torn in the explosion, he had been sick the whole time and no one knew. He sacrificed himself for Chimney… he’s gone.”

His voice cracked, sobs sending his trembling frame into your lap. Apologies tumbled past his lips and rumbled against your sternum. 

Your heart broke, frame rattling with the devastating cries of your boyfriend. You planted kisses on his head and rubbed his back. “Oh Evan, honey… it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! He’s gone!” He pulled back swiftly, nearly headbutting you in the process. “Nothing is okay! How will it ever be okay?”

You held his face, fingers gently curling around his jaw to get him to look at you. “Baby, that was just a nightmare. He’s okay. He’s with Athena at their temporary apartment.”

Buck’s eyes met yours, his crystal blue eyes surrounded by red as his brow furrowed in confusion. “W-what? That-that’s impossible there was only one cure and we used that on Chimney. Bobby couldn’t have…” He trailed off, his voice giving way as he looked at you with pure desperation to understand.

Your thumbs rubbed under his eyes, tracing comforting crescents there. You couldn’t help the tears that stung your own eyes or how your lip quivered as you shook your head. “Baby, dad’s line was never compromised. His equipment was intact. He’s okay, I promise you.”

“But-”

You shushed him gently, adjusting how you were sitting to hold him. “I know… I know it felt real. Dreams like that always do. And it’s wild how, despite knowing the truth, your brain can twist reality so intricately that you wake up wondering which is which. Scared that the good life was the dream and the nightmare is your life…”

Buck sniffled, a small sound escaping his lips. His head was throbbing, pulsing alongside his heart as it crossed wires and memories. He was half-awake trying to make it all make sense.

“C’mon,” you said softly, sniffling as you kissed his damp forehead. You slipped out of the bed, grabbing Buck’s zip-up hoodie before pulling him to his feet. “Put this on and find your shoes.”

“Honey-”

“We’re going over there, right now.” 

Your words held a sense of authority, leaving no room for argument or questioning. Not that Buck needed to question you, he trusted you more than he trusted anyone.

The drive across town was a blur. Street lights and business signs merged together, nothing but bright neon streaks that went by too fast for anyone to process properly. 

Buck was fighting to stay awake, to pull himself out of his dream fog and focus. He felt stuck, constantly trying to decipher dream from reality.

A gentle squeeze to his hand felt like he was sucked back into his body. Everything around him clears, all becoming separate entities rather than a multi-colored blob. He could hear the low hum of the radio, the ambient sounds filling the space of the car in substitute of his voice.

Your lips brushed his knuckles as you reached across your body to put the car in park. “We’re here.” You could feel his hand trembling in yours just before you let go to exit the car.

He quickly got out after you, rounding the car and reaching for your hand again.

He needed it. He needed to be grounded. 

You both walked in, nodding to the doorman as you walked right past him to the elevator. 

After you got in and pressed the button you turned to Buck. He was bouncing on his toes, his unoccupied hand restless at his side.

“Baby, c’mere,” you said softly, tugging on his hand before wrapping your arms around him in a proper hug.

He immediately returned it, his arms pinning you to his chest desperately.

His voice was raspy as he spoke. “I’m so scared…” 

“I know, Ev’... I know. But I promise, he’s okay. You’ll see for yourself soon, I swear it.” 

The elevator slowed to a stop and you pulled apart as the doors opened. You took his hand again, gripping it tightly as you walked down the hall to your parents door.

Your knuckles rapped on the door in a rhythm that would signal to whoever was awake that it was you. Buck brought the concept up to Bobby back when you both began dating. It was just a silly little thing you did as a family, nothing serious.

But the sound of it made Buck’s stomach sink with anxiety.

What if Bobby would never hear that again? What if Buck would never hear Bobby knock like that again?

What if-

“Y/n? Buck?”

You smiled at Athena softly, a hint of an apology in it. “Hi, Athena…”

She wrapped her robe around her, yawning as she ushered you both inside. “It’s two in the morning, baby, what’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”

Her voice was laced with sleep and you almost felt bad for waking her up but there was a glass of water on the counter. She had been awake for a few minutes when you knocked.

Buck wiped at his eyes with his free hand as he squeezed yours.

You returned the gesture, rubbing your own eyes as you spoke.

“We umm… we need-”

“Bobby…” Buck’s frayed voice rattled through the kitchen, his shoulders dropping as if the strings keeping him so tense had been cut.

You and Athena looked up to see your dad walk out of the bedroom, stretching as he walked into the kitchen.

“Buck? Y/n? What’s going on? Everything okay?” He was slowly coming around to the idea of being awake at such an ungodly hour as he noticed the look on Buck’s face.

“Buck? What’s wrong?”

Without saying anything, Buck launched his 6’2” frame at your dad, curling into him like a child. He pressed his face into Bobby’s shoulder, crying in relief.

You noticed Athena glance at you from the corner of your eye as Bobby looked at you, hoping for an explanation.

You swallowed, arms wrapping around yourself as you leaned against the counter. “A nightmare… about the lab incident.”

Bobby gripped Buck tighter, realizing that being the only one not stuck in there must have taken a bigger toll on Buck than he thought.

Athena rubbed your arm, extending a comforting hand to you. Seeing Buck reacting so viscerally like this had to be affecting you too, she wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. 

You smiled at her appreciatively, resting your head on her shoulder as Buck pulled back from the hug.

“It-it felt so real… you died, Bobby. I-I thought we lost you.”

A deep frown pulled at your dad’s lips, his brow creasing as he gripped Buck’s shoulders.

“It was just a dream, son,” he said, pulling Buck back into a hug. “Everyone made it out. Everyone’s okay. I’m okay, and I don’t plan on changing that anytime soon.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope this could bring some comfort in, it was a huge comfort to write, and that it can hold you over until may 1...

and thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for giving this a look over for me a giving some feedback!

also, happy easter to those who celebrate! i hope you're all having a great day!

tags (you can also follow @vinnys-recordcollection and turn on notifications ;p): @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe @achilles-rage @kmc1989 (tagged a few i thought might like it - apologies for anyone i missed, i gotta sort out taglists 😅)

[piplup335]

Mafioso x bunny human reader! (platonic/romantic, up to interpretation)

*inhale* HELLO, F E L L A S at long last, I finished up this request :,) this was fun to write, and I hope you enjoy! (note: Mafioso's bunny is called Ace, and this was made with the headcanon that he also has some bunny traits :,D) *pained crying*

⋯⇋ ૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ⇌⋯

It wasn't easy being…whatever you were. Your parents worked as scientists in a government testing facility, and they volunteered little baby you as their test subject. It was only to test out the effects of rabbit cells on infants, they said. They just wanted to see how an infant's body would react to the presence of foreign cells so that they could find out more about how the human immune system developed over time. All it was meant to be was a small, harmless test. What your parents didn't expect, however, was for the bunny cells to fuse and merge with your body, altering your DNA. That resulted in you growing up with bunny-like features. More specifically, just a pair of bunny ears and a tail to match. You did a rather good job when it came to hiding your unusual traits. If anyone asked why you always wore a hat around, you'd just say it was for style and fashion. Others didn't have to know that you had bunny ears. They didn't need to know that you simply saw yourself as a freak of nature. A mistake. All that changed when you were thrown into that realm, though. A realm where you were destined to die over and over again. When you woke up in the unfamiliar environment for the first time, the first thing you did was feel the top of your head for your hat. Instead of feeling the familiar cotton surface, you felt your own hair. Panicking, your hands grasped every corner of your head, hoping to find your hat…somewhere…anywhere…as long as it was there. You felt your own two bunny ears instead. Your blood froze as the realisation set in. Your hat was gone. You frantically looked around the floor, hoping to find it. You were instead met with the sight of dead grass and nothing more. From a nearby cabin, a man stepped out. He was a middle-aged man with a wrinkled blue shirt. A burger sat atop his head, and at the sight of you, he turned back to the entrance of the cabin and called for someone, his voice echoing throughout the silent forest. "Chance! There's a new survivor!"

You learnt the ways of the realm. You learnt how to adapt. Gradually, everything was familiar to you. Second nature. As if you had been doing it all your life. But now and again, memories of your past would come back to haunt you. You remembered how a few people would notice. You had vivid recollections about how some of those few would approach you and ask you about how you got those features in public, and then there were those creeps.

"This round's killer is…Mafioso." When you got wind of the new killer that had joined the roster, your blood froze. Out of all the killers, he was the one who reminded you of your past all too well. He looked too much like those pretentious rich men who had the audacity to try to woo you over with the empty promises of gifts and wealth. You knew that they just wanted you as a commodity, after all. They wanted you because you were special. An anomaly in the grand scheme of things. That's why you stood out, after all. The reason you felt the need to cover up everything that made you unique. You were more comfortable than before, at least. Noob lent you his old hat- a sunshine yellow cotton hat with a small smiley face on it. It didn't cover your bunny ears as well as your old hat used to, but hey- it was definitely more comfortable and could do its job, provided it didn't fly off.

As you hid behind a wall, gasping for breath, you listened out for his footsteps. You were below half HP, and your arm was injured by then. You were morbidly terrified of Mafioso and wanted to stay away from him at all costs. "You're mine!" A voice called out, commanding and stern. From the shadows behind the trees, there he was- Mafioso. He lunged at you with his Linked Sword, his trenchcoat billowing out in the wind behind him. You were cornered. Mafioso was charging at you like a raging bull, and there were nothing but walls to your sides. Curse the fact that the map had to be Planet Voss… With nothing else to do, you ducked. Fortunately for you, Mafioso's sword missed your head. Unfortunately for you, his sword struck Noob's hat…and your ears. With a cry of pain, you stumbled over, stooping down as you tried to soothe the ache. His hat fell off…and your bunny ears unfurled from within the hat. Mafioso watched the entire scene, his emotionless facade cracking and giving way to concern. "Ouch…please…d-don't hurt me if you have a soul left. You can kill me, just…make it quick…" you forced out, weak from the pain to your ears. Mafioso stood before you, silent. Without a word, he dug into the pocket of his trenchcoat and handed you a snow white bunny. "…I understand your pain. Take this." The bunny jumped into your lap and snuggled up against you. "I keep Ace around just in case. Because, well…" His hand lightly grasped the rim of his fedora and tugged it off. A soft gasp escaped you at the sight before you. Whatever you were expecting, it certainly wasn't that. "You…" Mafioso had a pair of fuzzy, pitch black bunny ears atop his head. "Yes. I have the same problem as you." The air seemed to still as the two of you looked at each other, realisation setting in. For once in your life, you felt truly safe. The person before you was a killer. He was supposed to kill you. Yet…you felt a connection with him. You finally met someone who wasn't so different from you, after all. A small squeak could be heard from your lap. Mafioso's bunny stared up at you with those adorable black eyes, silently demanding attention. As you picked up the bunny and started to pat its head, the ball of fluff relaxed in your hands, its eyes slowly closing as it eventually drifted off into sleep. You sat on the grass, tenderly hugging the bunny to your chest like it was your own child. Mafioso hesitated before kneeling down onto the soft grass, watching the interaction with a smile on his face. "I guess Ace really likes you." You glanced back down at the blob of fur resting on you, a soft smile grazing your features. "…I think so too. You're…actually nice company…" The feeling of the small creature resting on you was…comfortable, to say the least. It was nice, having someone resonate with you and understand your situation. Killer or Survivor, the two of you were just bunny-human hybrids at the end of the day. The soft purr of the rabbit lulled you into the realm of dreams. "…thank you…Mafioso…" With a quiet yawn, you fell asleep on the grass, your back propped up against the wall as you held the sleeping bunny to you. Mafioso stood back up. He removed his trenchcoat and draped it over you, the fuzzy collar brushing your chin. Noob's hat lay on the floor, the small smiley face staring up into space. Mafioso picked up the hat and placed it back on your head, making sure to be gentle with your ears as he furled them under the hat, obscured and out of sight. "Sweet dreams, princess." With that, he picked up his Linked Sword and went back to his job.

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aaaaand that's all for now! take care, and I'll see you soon!

[spiderb00]

PRETTY PUPPY

Daniela Avanzini x reader 

“Your girlfriend is bossy and brat, but you love her, and she loves her puppy” 

Genre – smut (men n minors dni) Warnings – Hair pulling, degradation (just a little) 

Now playing – God is a woman, by Ariana Grande 

You were tired, after a hard day's work, all you wanted was to take a shower, get the smell of smoke out of your body and hibernate for the next two days. Unfortunately, you had to keep your life outside of work alive, and even though you didn't want to, you knew the effort was worth it. But today, you didn't want to do anything, you didn't want to go anywhere with anyone, all you wanted was to lie in your bed and hug your girlfriend.   

"Yn, get up!" Daniela shook your shoulder, waking you from your sleep haze.   

Waking up a little stunned, you looked at the Latina, not understanding why your beautiful girlfriend wanted to take you out of your rest. Dani looked beautiful, wearing a cute white blouse and a low-waisted skirt that highlighted her body. 

"What? Why? Where are you going?" You asked, running your hands over your face, trying to wake up.   

"Where are WE going! Come on baby, it's one of my friends' birthday, I told you not to forget, I told you you'd drive because I'm in the mood to drink today."  

Listening to Daniela's explanation, you felt a little annoyed, all you wanted was to rest, and here she was, asking you to drive to a party just because she wanted to get drunk.  

"Baby, I'm tired. I worked all day, can't you ask Manon to come with you?" You tried to convince the Latina to give you a day off, your muscles too tired to make any move.   

"Manon can't go, she's celebrating her one-year anniversary with her girlfriend, and you promised you'd take me!" Daniela's voice began to rise in the middle of the sentence, a clear sign that she was about to start throwing a tantrum because she wasn't getting what she wanted. "Why are you still lying down, get up, puppy! You're going to make me late!"   

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Daniela, the Latina was an only child, and you could see that she was spoiled miles away. But it was a thousand times worse than you thought. She didn't hesitate to throw a tantrum when you didn't get what she wanted, she was mad at you for not giving her what she wanted, and she even called you that stupid nickname, "puppy", you were fed up.   

"Daniela, I'm sorry. I'm too tired for this. I've worked hard all week, and on the only day I have for a rest you want me to be your chauffeur. It's not going to happen!" You said, getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Losing the shocked look on your girlfriend's face.   

"I hope you're going to the bathroom to get ready, because I swear, Yn. You said you'd take me, and now you're going to take me." Daniela followed you to the bathroom, watching you lean against the sink and sigh.   

"You know, not everyone is a spoiled brat like you! Some of us have to work hard!" You regretted the words that came out of your mouth as soon as you finished speaking.   

"Are you saying I don't work hard?" You swore you were going to die at that moment. 

Daniela's gaze was fixed on you, the Latina's head tilted to the left as she analyzed your every move. You knew that if you threw yourself out of the second-floor window of your house, it would hurt less than anything Daniela was planning to do to you right now.   

"No, I didn't say that-"  

"But you meant." The Latina approached you, making you try to go further back, almost as if she was trying to merge you with the bathroom sink.   

"No, I don't, I just-"   

"You just what? Do you think I'm a slut, Yn?"     

"No!" You shook your head quickly.   

"Do you think I don't work as hard as you do?" The Latina grabbed the back of your head, pulling your hair down, making you lean in the pain of the squeeze.   

"No! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I promise!"   

Still with her hand in your hair, the Latina leaned a little, getting in line with your vision.   

"My puppy can't keep up what she said?" Daniela asked, mocking you.   

"Don't call me that!" You said, stopping immediately when the Latina pulled your hair harder., making you get on your knees.    

"Oh, my puppy is so pathetic. You love me, don't you, Yn?" You nodded quickly, agreeing with everything the Latina said. "So you're going to do what I want, when I want. Are you listening to me?" 

You didn't even have time to reason before your girlfriend leaned in, kissing you aggressively. Her lips were soft, but in this kiss you couldn't feel their softness much. Both of your teeth chattered from the aggressiveness of the kiss, and Daniela's hand on your head made her have great control over you.   

"You were talking a lot earlier, weren't you?!" Daniela said as she pulled away from the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting the two of you for a few seconds, before it split in half. "Let's use your mouth for something more useful."   

In one swift motion, the Latina slid the panties she was wearing off her body, leaving you static. You've been in this position other times, she scolding you for not following her orders, you and Daniela had a strange way of fighting. You could work out serious things as adults, always prioritizing each other's opinions and trying to come to an agreement. But when the fight that started was over something not very big, Daniela or you almost always turned it into furious sex, and it was fucking good.   

"Oh, what? Are you shy now? Did the cat eat your tongue, puppy?" Daniela mocked you, making you look at her with furrowed brows. "No, don't look at me like that. Come on, do your job before things get worse for you” 

With that, Daniela grabbed your hair again, making you hold both of the Latina's thighs. One of Daniela's legs was on your shoulder, and now you had a little more access to the blonde's intimacy. As much as she was holding your hair, Daniela waited for you to make the first move, when you finally licked a band in her pussy, the Latina moaned loudly, her moan echoing through the bathroom walls.   

Tightening the grip she had in your hair a little more, you moaned in pain, taking a wave of vibrations to your girlfriend's clit, who moaned louder. Daniela's taste was so good, that you may have forgotten why you were in this position for a second. You couldn't deny that you loved hating Daniela's tantrums, the Latina had won your heart, you couldn't escape, you knew that that spoiled and bossy brat would be your wife one day.  

Losing patience with Daniela's insistent pulls, and with the pain in your knees, you finally decided to impose yourself. Letting go of the leg that was on your shoulders, you left the Latina confused for a few seconds, only to stop in one quick motion, grab her by the thighs and lift her on top of the sink.   

"Why do you think you can treat me the way you want, huh?" You asked, grabbing the blonde's face tightly, a pout forming on Daniela's lips, from the force with which you were squeezing her cheeks.  

"Why can I! YOU'RE MINE!" She whimpered, slapping your hands and freeing herself from your grip.    

Laughing sarcastically, you bent down again, spreading Daniela's legs and adjusting yourself in the middle of them again. The Latina was so excited by the sight that her thighs trembled, every touch of you seemed to have triple the power over her now.   

"You'll regret it later, mami."   

Dipping your tongue back into the middle of the Latina's feathers, Daniela didn't even care what you had said. The words seemed hollow when they entered her ears, and she might forget, but at some point you would remember her. All the Latina could think about was how your tongue was doing a fantastic job on her.   

"Hurry up puppy, you're still going to drive for me tonight."   

With a growl, you remembered once again why you were here, it was inevitable, you forgot everything with Daniela's sweet taste in your mouth. Penetrating two fingers inside your girlfriend, you continued your work with your tongue, gradually accelerating the back and forth movements with your hand.   

"Oh, that's right puppy, I'm so close."  

Hitting the special point in Daniela, you watched the Latina roll her eyes, you concentrated your thrusts in the same place, doing tricks with your tongue quickly. You knew your girlfriend's body like the back of your hand, and it was easy to make her reach the state of pleasure.   

"I'm cumming, baby! Please don't stop!"   

The eyes rolling, the hands squeezing your hair again, the legs shaking, all these were your girlfriend's reactions to your hard work, because as you said from the beginning of it all, you work hard!  

When the Latina finally calmed down, descending from the haze of orgasm, she pulled you up, a drunken smile on her face as she pulled you into a gentle kiss, a very big contrast to the ones you exchanged minutes ago.   

"You know I love you, right?" Daniela asked, caressing the point where she mistreated you so much.   

"Of course I know. And I love you too, even with your tantrums." Laughing, Daniela kissed you quickly once again.   

"I'm sorry to be so rude to you."   

"Oh, don't worry, this will definitely come back!" You said, giving the curly girl another kiss on the lips and walking away. "Come on, you don't want to be late, do you?!"   

Walking away, all you left behind was a Daniela with a scared expression, afraid of what would come next, maybe she should start taking it easy with her puppy. 

Did you guys think I was joking? ;)

I have nothing to say, I'm a little embarrassed… :/

Xoxo, spider.

[cloudcountry]

Could I request how would Cater, Jamil, Rook and Idia react to their (s/o)’s overblot? :0

SUMMARY: your significant other, who has been part of an overblot before, has to witness you going through the exact same thing.

COMMENTS: hi so im experimenting with yuu overblotting and so. you and grim are fusing because i said so.

yk after writing this i realize i was absolutely inspired by delicious in dungeon. if you get it you get it.

You’ll have to forgive Cater if he blurts out some stupid slang or a joke as he watches ink consume your body—as he watches you fuse with Grim. The result is a terrifying monster, blue flames shooting out of your very human face, ink pouring out of your eyes and mouth and nose as Grim's claws grow sharper and his legs grow longer.

He’s vaguely aware of Trey trying to get him out of there and Riddle throwing himself into a fight to attempt to disarm you and Grim—whatever you have become. Cater isn’t even sure if you’re separate anymore, but he hears your screams and the echoing growls of Grim, and the blue flames are searing his skin but he isn’t budging.

He shoves Trey off of him and goes running towards you, heart pounding in his chest. He has to save you. He has to help you. His signature spell is activating and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it—he just knows he has to get you back, one way or another.

Jamil knows what’s happening before anybody else. He can see the frustration at being treated the way you are, and he sees the way your hands shake. He tries to reach out but it’s not enough, and maybe it never would have been because he’s too late, and the air is hot with anger and longing for a home neither you nor Grim had.

You become one. He sees it and he can do nothing but watch as you sprout hairy arms and legs, claws tearing through your skin as blue flames shoot out from you. Ink spurts from your eyes and mouth, pouring onto the floor as you howl and wail. He can hear the echoing, pitched remnants of Grim in your voice as you charge, heading straight for the students. Jamil whips out his pen, pointing it in front of him and casting a barrier.

He needs to get everyone else out of here. He can’t be the one to fight you—he can’t do that to you. His ears are ringing and only now is he aware of Kalim rapid firing questions at him but he doesn’t have the time, he grabs Kalim and yells at him to leave, to get the Headmage, to get you help. You can’t die on him. You just can’t.

Rook thinks you’re beautiful. He always will, no matter what state you may find yourself in, no matter what form you may take. That’s part of the reason he stands there in awe, watching as you transform in front of his very eyes. Tears are rolling down his face as you scream out in pain, and his body reacts by running to you but someone is holding him back, his sobs mixing with you and Grim’s howls as you merge in a tornado of inky blackness.

People are screaming, someone is yelling that he needs to get out of there, he falls to his knees as your form—no, the form you’ve taken, writhes and screeches on the ground. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard, it sounds like nightmares, it sounds like pain and suffering and like nothing will ever be okay—

Two backs appear in his vision, a perfectly manicured hand shielding his vision from the sight. Rook looks up, eyes locking with Vil’s. Epel is beside him, pen at the ready. “Can you stand?” Vil asks, and anyone else wouldn’t be able to hear the tenderness in his voice. Rook takes his hand and stands, breathing shakily as he stares at your form, vision blurry but locked onto you—he’s going to save you, no matter what.

Idia’s hands are shaking as you scream. He needs to go to you, to make sure you’re okay but he’s petrified, feet tripping over nothing as he stumbles to your side. He reaches out for you but you shove him away, a sharp NO ripped from your throat. Idia swallows his tears as he whips out his tablet, sending an SOS message to STYX as a familiar black ink splatters to the ground at his feet.

You tried to protect him. It makes him feel so worthless but he gets through it, knowing this must have been how you felt when he overblotted. Why can’t he do anything right? He went through the same thing and he can’t do anything to help you. Isn’t this his family’s business? He should know what to do by now!

He doesn’t leave from that spot, even when people are screaming at him to evacuate, even when STYX arrives to take you away, even when Ortho explains the situation to them because Idia can’t talk. The only thing he manages to say, with eyes glued to the malformed shape you’ve taken, is that he demands to be taken back with you to his home so he can oversee your treatment. He needs you to be better. He doesn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

[barnacles34]

Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?

Part I

Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.

tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin

Ryujin x Male OC

CHAPTER I: 

You might hear the birds singing flying around,

You never see them too long on the ground,

You wanna be one of them, yeah.

Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.

Mmmm.

He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.

Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.

The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.

"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.

Hm?

"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.

What?

Whatever. It was too late anyway.

"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.

"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.

They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.

Go back…

Did he want to go back?

Hell.

Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.

"Mr. Rager!"

What? Could the paramedic hear him?

"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"

—

Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.

"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.

"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.

“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.

He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.

She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.

“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”

All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future. 

A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.

–

Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17. 

See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.

And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.

–

Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age  of 50 or so.

“Why’d you take this job?” 

She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”

“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have enough material now?”

“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.

“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”

“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”

“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.

“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.

“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.

“That’s what I owe you for?”

“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.

“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.

“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.

And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.

As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground. 

After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance. 

Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.

At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.

Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”

All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.

–

“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.

Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.

–

Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.

“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”

“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.

Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.

That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”

Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.

Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”

Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.

And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.

She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.

–

“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.

“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.” 

“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”

Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.

–

As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”

“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed. 

It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”

Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”

“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.

“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”

He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”

She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair. 

“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.

“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.

“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.

“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”

“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”

“Any examples?”

“Nah, I just made it up.”

From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.

And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty. 

“Ryujin.”

“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.

“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.

“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.

“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.

Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.

And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.

Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.

CHAPTER II: 

Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward

I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward

Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild. 

And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.

As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.

–

Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours. 

And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.

That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.

Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?

–

The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.

And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.

She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.

Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.

Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.

“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.

And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.

“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.

“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.

He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.

Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.

Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.

“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.

“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”

“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.

“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again. 

The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.

“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”

“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”

“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.

“I don’t even like oily food.”

“Me too.”

This time, a collaborative laugh.

Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.

–

“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”

“What reservation?”

“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.

This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night. 

As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep. 

Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.

Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…

Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.

He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused. 

Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.

“Min, I love you too.”

CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager

I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette

The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette

Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.

“Oh Ryujin.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.

Jesus, this woman.

He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.

And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.

“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.

“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.

“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.

He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.

She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.

As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.

And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys. 

“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.

“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.

And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.

Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy. 

He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.

Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.

And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.

Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.

Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good. 

In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it. 

In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.

“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.

“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm. 

“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”

“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”

This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”

“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.

“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.

He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.

Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.

“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth. 

“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.

And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.

They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.

“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter. 

Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew. 

And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.

“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.

“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.

“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.

“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.

“I concede.” He replied.

“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”

“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.

“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.

“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.

“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.

“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”

Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”

To be continued...

Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)

Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).

[1920sladydectective]

Mhhhhh, maybe

-Ambessa x Babett's "Worker"

Or

-A captuered War Prize 😌

But also

-A Servant of Hers

Please dont feel forced to write anything, Just saw your request and wanted to give Suggestions.🙊💕

Hello darling! Thank you for the ideas, whilst I may visit them all I have done a captured war prize for now. It was supposed to be short and sexy but then it became..this? She plays the slow game and conquers the reader in other ways.

I hope you like it, thank you for the support <3

I haven't proof read it much because I am literally exhausted lol

MDNI 18+

Warnings - Manipulation, Mind Games, Captive, Degradation, Pet names, Reader doing accidental voyeurism, Oral, hair pulling.

Her Prized Possession - 3.8K NSFW

They’d come through like a tornado, ripping apart your entire life and feasting on the rubble. People had fled, terrified of the swift and unforgiving invasion. Those who remained were rounded up and tossed into carts. The ground shook, frightened by the fury of Noxus and at the heart of it all was her. Ambessa Medarda was renowned for her cruelty, her efficiency and most of all her greed. 

You were the perfect example of that. 

You had been pulled from your apothecary’s hut, cotton dress filthy from your attempts to hide. They raided you of your life’s work, people throwing you into a pile of frightened villagers. The air shifted, the soldiers straightening as certain steps commanded their attention. Without looking up you knew it was her, and fury burned bright. This self obsessed, pompous woman had destroyed your life and for what? She lingered a step away, sword raised lazily as if taunting farm yarn animals. You only had a few seconds, and even if it was fruitless you had to try. 

As others cowered, obeying her cruel words, you slipped your fingers around the knife in your sock and shot forward. Somehow it made contact, slicing a gash into her leg, trailing down her leg. 

“Monster,” You snarled.

You were risen into the air by your hair, a pained yelp leaning you as you stared into the eyes of a hungry beast. Golden eyes gazed at you, surprised and amused. You were going to die now, and she was laughing in your face. 

“She’ll do,” She said easily, throwing your body at the ground behind her, before wandering off with no sign of injury. Confusion had eaten you until two lean Noxian soldiers had appeared, spears in hand. 

Their touch was uncomfortably gentle, ushering you like a scared dog from the village into an imposing, structured tent. Fear licked at your bones, a fate worse than death settling on you like a thick cloak. Maids with pretty eyes and practised fingers removed your dress and replaced it with a soft red silk slip. Oh. You were a prize, an object like the towering pile of goods in their camp, to be used and discarded. 

It didn’t take long for them to chain you to a small post next to a large, velvet armchair. There you sat, resting on your knees on cold marble. You felt ornamental, your humanity dripped away as you merged with the surroundings. You could only be thankful that it was warm in the tent, for the winter winds howled outside as afternoon beckoned. 

When she entered you refused to look up, muscles tensing. 

“Sulking, are we Dear?” It was honeyed, as fabric dropped to the floor, “I wouldn’t, it was a good hit, if you’d gone up slightly it might have even done something,” 

Your cheeks coloured with frustration. You hated her, hated how small she made you feel, how effortlessly she had crushed you. Worst of all you hated the beauty she wielded. Like a serpent, blinding you with glittering scales as she wound around you, squeezing you till you burst. 

“Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me now,” She pouted, summoning your eyes instinctively, “There she is, brave warrior,” 

You frowned, “I suppose it’s not enough that I’m here, you have to mock my only agency,” 

Ambessa moved forward leisurely, in only black underwear and a robe, settling into her armchair, “I never mock a bold manoeuvre, little one, no matter how fruitless,” 

She tugged you forward slightly, your head forced to rest on her thigh as she poured a cup of tea. You grunted, staring at the rug between her legs as she intertwined her fingers in your hair. Her touch was kind and repetitive, caressing your locks as she picked up a book and began to read aloud. Adrenaline was drowning you but your anticipation garnered nothing. She stayed like this for hours, muttering to you. The fire and her touch forced you into acknowledging your exhaustion. Occasionally she would offer water, fingers wielding a crystal glass for you. It took five tries for you to accept, your throat aching from dehydration. You were rewarded with a scratch under your chin as her voice continued to wash over you. In another life this would have filled you with contentment and it grated at you. 

Moments later you were being moved again, picked up as though a feather to rest on her silky thighs. The hand she reattached to your head pushed you into the crook of her shoulder, her smell potent and warm. Iron and sweat clashed with spices and sea air, leaving your flagging mind woozy. You couldn’t escape and you had no way of harming her, so sitting in her lap became your only option. 

You hadn’t noticed your fluttering eyelids and heavy breath until your stomach growled, cramping at its emptiness. Her voice stopped immediately as the book slammed shut. Those eyes, now kind, surveyed you. With a melodic ring, a bell to her side beckoned two maids. 

“What do you wish to eat?” Ambessa asked, tucking a strand behind your ear, “I shall share whatever you have,” 

“Pork stew,” You muttered, desire for food and comfort outweighing your doubts. If she’d wanted you dead, you’d be a corpse. 

“A local delicacy, I’m told,” Her words are in your ear, lips practically against them. 

The food arrived faster than you’d thought possible, steaming and hearty in little gold bowls. Your stomach interjected again, eyes wide and desperate. To your immense surprise, she undid your shackles and allowed you to feed yourself. Though you were still anchored to her lap by a strong arm, this newfound freedom caused a rush of joy. The stew was exceptional, though more decadent than you ever would have had it. The chef must have had a heavy hand with the spices, no cares as to their cost, the heat flooding you. Ambessa seemed comforted too, her portion over double yours as you watched in subtle amazement at her appetite. It could have fed a family of four from your village with ease. 

Whatever plans she had for you, it seemed she would not be enacting them tonight. Your silk slip was a nightgown and nothing more, as she moved with you through the tent into an adjoining room with a large, fur covered bed. 

“Now then,” Her hand held your chin, “Shackles for bed tonight, wouldn’t want you wandering off until you’ve proved your loyalty,” 

Loyalty? That’s what she wanted?

The metal felt warmer than before, less weighted as she clasped it shut and bundled you up. Her form slid in next to you, though she mercifully did not insist you touch her. You did not speak, unable to give her the satisfaction after having to tolerate so much, though she wished you a tender goodnight. 

Your sleep was fitful, filled with slashing blades and burning embers. You awoke alone, furs wrapped tight. A slip of parchment was to your left in a sharp hand. 

I shall be away all day, 

There are clothes and some books on my armchair for you.

Mira will see to anything you need, 

A.M.

True to her word, a slight serving girl entered the moment you moved to the main space, trays of food and drink with her. She helped you dress, braided your hair and even undid the shackles. 

“Lady Medarda said this is a show of trust,” Her words were clear, as if dictating from a note, “If you attempt anything, guards will be on you before you can lift a scrap of the tent’s fabric,”

“Lovely,” You grumbled to yourself, “Her trust gives me the ability to lift a glass unaided,”

“If you behave she will bring your medical journals and allow you to sleep without restraint,” She said, a smile on her face. Of course she had predicted you’d complain. 

The book she had read to you yesterday was in the pile and after breakfast you found yourself wanting to learn its conclusion. Warm in the wool trousers and jumper Ambessa had provided you, you sat in the chair and finished it. If Mira had any opinions about you sitting in her Mistress’s chair she did not voice them, and the small rebellion quieted some of the caged panic that rattled in your chest. Her slowness to act just gave you time to think of an escape plan and then you could get away elsewhere 

The sun set quickly, your time wasted with dozing and books as you memorised each corner of the room. Though this was technically a tent, it was secured enough to act as a house, with the only way out being forward which wasn’t a way out at all. Lady Medarda ensured that. 

When Ambessa returned dinner had long since passed, and you had begrudgingly put yourself to bed. The curtain parted and her fatigued face came into view. 

“There you are,” She sighed, “I thought you would have dug a tunnel out of here by now,” 

“Cutlery’s too dull, no doubt a coincidence,” You found yourself quipping, observing the way her mouth creased into a grin. 

“No need for a sharp knife when your meat is tender,” She purred, moving to the other side of the bed and removing her outer clothes, “Did you have a restful day?”

She seemed genuinely interested, and not for the first time you wondered where the wolf had gone. Shifting your tactics in the hopes of softening her, you gave a muffled answer. Mollified, she curled up as she had the night before and fell asleep almost immediately. 

You were gloriously shackleless and yet if you fled now she would probably crush your throat before both feet hit the floor. It was expected this first night, and probably the second, a test of your resolve and patience. The only way to go would be when she genuinely trusted your obedience. 

Ten days and a camp change later you were beginning to lose patience. She was vigilant, but considerate and it left you now windows of opportunity. You weren’t a hardened warrior as she had joked that first day, you were an apothecary with nothing to do but lounge around and be read to by a infamous warlord. You were beginning to feel mad, a life of leisure so roughly thrust upon you. The conditions only improved with the move and her tent now had its own bathroom, a humongous glistening tub calling to you. Ambessa had begun to ask you for opinions on her expansion plans, seemingly wanting to preserve the charm of your land whilst overpowering it with Noxian glamour. WIth your input she kept the old churches and allowed your people to tend to their lands if they swore allegiance to Noxus. 

In a gilded cage, miles away from your home, you weighed the advantages of staying entangled against the bliss of freedom. The guards were becoming more lax, allowing you to wander through parts of the camp and make friends with Mira and the other maids. She had not harmed you, save pulling your hair that first day and you were well provided for. She’d even managed to tug more substantial conversations from you, even when they lacked a business element. You’d told her of your journey to becoming an apothecary, and she had explained the first time wore armour, clattering to the floor mid fight. 

At night, as rain slammed down and the wind chilled your toes, you would gaze longingly at the doorway and then find yourself tugged into warm, firm arms. Much like reading time, you were held and pressed into her, scent dizzying. She smiled, you had noticed, when she cradled you in her sleep. Each time it would wipe the door from your mind as you succumbed to a more contented sleep. Most confusing of all, she was showing no signs of tiring of you as a ‘toy soldier’ as she had affectionately dubbed you. Nobody seemed to understand why you lingered in her space rather than being given your own, perhaps not even her. 

On the thirtieth day things shifted. After dinner, a heavy dress floating around your feet, you slipped back into the tent and were met with breathy, loud moans. Not Medarda’s, though she was clearly the cause. Hidden by the thick curtains, a high female voice begged and cried the warlord’s name, the creaking of your bed audible. 

Your bed. 

Her bed, you corrected grimly, embarrassment sticky in your throat. The noise ceased almost immediately after you had entered, and your feet froze to the ground. A nameless, unknown girl slipped from the bedroom, meeting your gaze with a pleasure struck face. A vapid giggle left her as she slipped past you. 

Ambessa appeared moments later, robe loose around her, with an easy expression. It darkened imperceptibly in your presence, though you felt the subtle chill. 

“I didn’t realise you were back, Warrior,” She muttered, voice heavy, “That wasn’t planned, I-I shall notify you if I intend to use our space like that,”

Our. 

Wait, did she think you’d be jealous?

“How the mighty have fallen,” You scoffed, unable to meet her gaze, “Shouldn’t I be fearing consequences from you, as the captive,” 

“You’re not the one with a new leg scar,” 

Touche. She seemed to hold you on a pedestal for that act alone and you had yet to decipher why. 

It was made clear by the flurry of people that the bedroom was stripped and remade. It calmed you, the faceless woman erased from the space though you and Ambessa lingered. You didn’t care what she did with her love life but you decided you didn’t need to know about it. 

Unfortunately, it was hard to avoid. Trysts, people trying to charm their way into your her bed as you ate at the communal table and several conquests leaving that you had to face the next day. It made your stomach ache, fingers dancing with nervous energy every time she lay next to you, her scent changing every so slightly if she had had company. Almost another month passed with you on tenterhooks, stuck between the safety of your leisure with her and the stain of sin on your sanctuary. 

The worst of all had to be tonight though. You had awoken alone for the first time, colder than ever, when you heard it. Ambessa’s blissful sigh. She was actively being pleasured in her armchair whilst you fucking slept. Through a crack in the curtain you could see tan legs kneeling just as you had that first night, between her thighs with their head on her skin. The notable difference was how they devoured her, pulling dark moans and filthy words from her gravelly voice. It was hard to ignore, her scent drenching you in the bed you shared as she used another’s body. You tried to stifle the noise, covering your ears and burrowing into the bed. This made the scent issue exponentially worse, especially when the mattress dipped and her still sex slicked body curled against your form. Her lips kissed your forehead, the burn of her skin scalding you. 

Her pleasure haunts your dreams, lurking shadows and echoing noise. Close, but just out of reach. For the first time you wake before her, skin muggy and unsettled as you dressed in a robe and wandered into the morning dew. The grass was beginning to have that telltale icy crunch, cracking under your velvet slippers as you slipped out of the camp unnoticed. Your thoughts sit like damp coffee grounds, thick and grainy as you fight the memories of the night before, choking what they make you feel. It was not jealousy, it was anger to be sure.

There was no direction to your wandering. The treeline called to you with its snowy arms reaching high, animals dancing through the dense white landscape. Not too far in the distance there stood a frozen lake and a childish part of you yearned to skate across it, your body moving you unbidden. It was larger up close, iridescent swirls of nature showing the loose water below. It reminded you of how you felt about your life now, about Ambessa. 

Fear and nostalgia sat steadfast as your ice, hardening your resolve and keeping your wit sharp, but beneath was the flow of her. In two short months she had managed to nurture your underfed body and mind, relishing in your rebellion and cherishing your input. The warlord existed so clearly to you, but you could not reconcile her with the reader who brewed you floral tea. One stirred anxiety and the other calm. Picking up shards of ice and flinging them across the lake, you attempted to untangle the Noxian web within you. Sparkles of sunlight grew higher as you stewed, beginning to blind you as you stepped closer to the edge, ice grunting under you. 

“I’m not sure you’re dressed for whatever this is,” Ambessa’s voice rang out, her body leaning against a tree. 

You had sensed her, though her movements were muffled, form tightening. 

“Something troubling you?” 

“Just fancied a walk,” 

“In a robe and slippers?” She snorted, “Some walk indeed,” 

“Did you need something?”

“You, Dear,” She muttered, at your back in an instant, “I woke up alone,” 

Your heart panged oddly, her presence fueling the rushing currents under the ice, as you lent into her warmth. “Here I am,” 

Her cloak engulfed you, dragging you under as her dulcet tones rasped in your ear, “Let’s get you home, Little one,” 

Home.

It occurred to you then as you stumbled back with her that perhaps you hadn’t been a prisoner in a while. Here you stood, free and yet wishing only to return to the warmth she had made for you. 

A bath was drawn and you crawled into it obediently. Her eyes were shut, though she cleaned your hair and muttered to you about her day to come. It was peace. It was bliss. It was your worst nightmare. Cold receded and you allowed yourself to slip into a warm lull. 

She left soon after, leaving behind new pyjamas and a sweetbread. You stayed in bed, as confused and dazed as those first weeks. 

That night you were awoken by the same wanton sounds in the living room and your nostrils flared, fingers crushing the softness of your sheets. Your emotions flopped again. You hated her. She was vile and infuriating and brutal and somehow constantly having fucking sex. 

When Ambessa slid into bed this time, sweet smells of pleasure wafting from her, you let out a growl. 

“DId I wake you?” She muttered, a smile etched on her lips. 

“You don’t touch me like that,” It slipped out, fury and turmoil.

“Pardon?” Her eyes had darkened, observing you curled and tense. 

“W-We do everything else, you treat me as an equal and give me freedom, but you use our space for cheap pleasures whilst I sleep,” 

“I was unaware it was a pro-”

“You don’t touch me like that,” It was a whine now, “Why?”

“You’ve never asked, little warrior,” Her voice was sin, soaking you and tugging you close, “I didn’t realise you were unhappy with me,”

“Please,” You croaked, gripping her forearm weakly, “I-”

Her lips were on yours, firm and rough, her tongue slipping into your mouth. Pretty girl, she thought, delicate and hers. You melted like butter, nuzzling close and stroking her grey curls. She was perfect, and you finally had all of her. Her fingers danced along your silk nightgown, cupping a breast with a firm hand. Leaning forward, she nipped at your neck as skilled hands massaged neglected flesh. You were keening instantly, eyes glossy and lips parted. 

Minutes drained away against her ministrations as your thighs rubbed together, the burn beginning to hurt as she teased your pebbled nipples in her mouth. Your nightgown was wet from her saliva, and the friction of the fabric with her tongue had you rutting against her thigh. Bruises were forming on your neck, your upper body ruined before she’d even undressed you. 

“Please,” It seemed the only word you could remember, puffy mouth slurring it at every opportunity. 

“Again,” She teased, finally ripping your clothes from you, “Louder,”

You pleaded and gasped, each word heightening your arousal, your desperation, as her fingers stroked your folds. She was kind, allowing you the pleasure you yearned for, slicked thumb rubbing circles on your clit as she stretched you slowly. 

Ambessa felt a swell of triumph. It had taken her endless hours of uncharacteristic kindness and stern patience, allowing you to cycle through defiance, anger and acceptance as often as you needed until you finally succumbed. You were drenched and mewling against her, sex drunk eyes stuck to her. It had been fulfilling, breaking you in, just as she had suspected when she caught eyes with a crazed, dirt covered woman with the audacity to wield a blade to her. 

Tugging orgasm after orgasm from you, cunt quivering and tensing as you drooled mindlessly, she relished in her victory. Her power was etched into you now. 

“Silly girl,” She cooed, voice a knife edge, “I knew I could make you mine,”

Her words cut through the tingling fog. You realised, with a dizzying stab, that you had always been her war prize, she just hadn’t conquered you till now. Each tender touch and measured interaction was to break you into her willing little toy and here you were, fucking yourself shamelessly on her thick digits. You would have been more hurt, a flare of resistance kicking in, if it weren’t for the unabashed love and satisfaction in her eyes. Well then, you guess you’d both been played. The mighty warlord may have broken you, reshaping your desires, but she had fallen in love in the process and you would relish that till your dying breath. 

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just use me months ago,” You quipped, starting a slow and methodical worship of her scarred body. 

“You wouldn’t have wanted it, warrior,” She muttered, amused by your acceptance, “I am many things, but I only fuck those who ask,” 

“I want it,” You sucked her nipple, humping her leg as her eyes slammed shut. 

“I know, doll,” Her hands pulled your hair, making you yelp happily, “You soaked my hand like a good girl to prove it,” 

For a moment, as you curled between her legs and began to eat like a woman starved, you wondered if this was the right choice. 

Ambessa let out a noise, confusing to your ears. It was nothing like the others you had heard in her time with others, it was delirious and light, happy pants slipping out as you sucked and fucked her with your tongue. She came quickly, face blank as she suffocated you with her cunt. Her touch, despite it all, was tender. She was yours and you were hers. 

There was nothing more right than that. 

[jude457]

the teaser has me so fucked up that i have to imagine the hwang brother’s reunion to cope. the image of junho and inho reuniting after the collapse of the game is burned into my skull. it’s not pretty. it’s not clean. it’s not two people running toward each other in slow motion while dramatic music swells — it’s ugly and desperate. it’s two men who have been hollowed out by grief and guilt and violence finally catching sight of the only person who ever made them feel real, and they shatter.

they don’t talk. they don’t even get the chance to breathe before they’re on each other. there’s smoke in the air, metal screaming as it tears apart, the stink of blood and fire in their lungs — and junho sees him. inho. alive. standing. and he doesn’t say his name, doesn’t shout. he just moves, because if he doesn’t grab him right now, he’s scared he’ll vanish again. like a hallucination. like a cruel joke.

and then it’s a blur. they make it to the boat — somehow. still running on adrenaline and sheer instinct. and it’s only then, when the water is the only sound and the chaos is behind them, that it hits them like a wave. they’re both trembling. junho’s face is wet — not sure if it’s sweat or tears or sea spray — and inho’s breathing like he’s just outrun death. and they collapse into each other.

and it’s not a hug. it’s not sweet or soft. it’s violent in the way grief is violent, in the way relief is overwhelming. junho is grabbing at inho’s coat, his shoulders, his hair, like he’s trying to force the truth into his hands — you’re real. you’re here. you didn’t die. inho wraps his arms around him so tight junho lets out this choked sound, half-sob, half-laugh, like his chest is being cracked open just to make space for the flood inside him.

they both fall to their knees on the floor of that boat, just a tangle of limbs and shaking hands, clutching so hard it hurts. they’re pressing their foreheads together like they think if they get close enough they can merge, can erase everything that’s happened. junho’s whispering something like “i thought i lost you” over and over, and inho just keeps pulling him closer like “i know. i know. i’m here. i’m here.”

and they’re crying. full-body, soul-wracking sobs — but they’re smiling too. or maybe it’s a grimace. maybe it’s just what it looks like when someone’s heart is breaking and healing at the same time. because they’re out. they survived. and it still doesn’t feel like enough. no amount of touching is enough. no hug is strong enough to say i love you and you’re safe now and i never stopped looking for you.

they hold each other like they’re afraid the world will end again if they let go.

and honestly? maybe it would.

[beast3end]

Hey if it's not too much to ask may I please request a part 2 of the Happy birthday, My dear Fic? Like the aftermath of what happened to the reader when the Virtues corrupted and after the corruption after all the souljam was split in two by the witches

With love, your best friend

Summary: You were with them when they were first baked. You were with them when more and more cookies followed them. You've seen their beginning, and naturally you'll see their end. Right? Characters: platonic!shadow milk & reader; platonic!burning spice & reader; platonic!mystic flour & reader; platonic!eternal sugar & reader. WC: 3k CW: gn!reader; there may be mistakes in the text because English is not my native language; Virtue calls you by an affectionate nickname ("My angel" - eternal sugar; "Dear/Sweet" - shadow milk) (mystic flour does not call you by an affectionate nickname, because she treats you respectfully and politely) (Burning Spice's only affectionate nickname is "Splinter"); a small mention of the missing limbs in the Flour part. A/N: Not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! (I made a bet with my friends that nobody wouldn't ask me for the second part. I lost, haha!)

Shadow Milk:

You're sure it's your fault.

It was so absurd. Who would have thought that Shadow Milk would be attacked? It only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity to you. The head, now severed from the body, rolled across the floor as panic and turmoil began in the room. The screams merged into a solid white noise, but you clearly heard the words of the attacker: "Liar! You are the worst liar in the world!" Fortunately, cookie does not have time to escape in the confusion, and the guards detain them.

You can only thank Witches that Virtues are immortal. It would take anyone else's life, but Shadow Milk is fine. It's difficult to control his body, you stumble and even fall, but you get to the head of the Fount of Knowledge. Crossing his legs on the floor, you take his head in his hands.

"Shadow, how are you feeling?" "I… don't know. I don't understand. Did I do something wrong? Why did they call me a liar…?" "That's okay, Shadow. I'm at a loss too. Sometimes cookies… They may misunderstand what we teach them. Or cling to the teaching that we taught them before, until there are changes and a new discovery. But such a reaction is abnormal." "So I'm not a liar?" "Shadow, you're a Virtue of Knowledge. Knowledge is not a lie, but it is not the absolute truth either. Not black and not white. Knowledge is always teetering somewhere on the edge. We should accept this situation as an unpleasant experience and be more careful. I don't think anyone else would think of attacking you, but you should be more attentive to others, okay?"

Perhaps if you had chosen other words at that moment, everything would have been different. Perhaps instead of talking about your nature and giving advice, you should have supported Shadow Milk. Hug his head while you had the chance and cheer him up. Don't leave him thinking.

These changes occurred slowly and smoothly. You didn't even notice what was happening, not really interested in the outside world and the rest of the cookies outside the learning framework. But one day something made you come out of your shell.

"What in the name of Witches did you just say?" "Is something wrong, dear?" "You lied to them. The Garden of sweet Delights is located in a completely different direction. There's… there's a swamp! They're going to die!" "Did I lie? Oh, darling, your words hurt me so much! It's just a little social experiment." "Ex-xperiment?" "Right~! Don't worry, one of my students, Black Sapphire, will be waiting for them at the border, remember that one? He will stop them from acting rashly." "If you say so…"

But time passes. You catch yourself thinking that this experiment is still spinning somewhere in the back of your mind. There was something wrong with him, but you couldn't figure out what it was. Until the news reaches both of you: cookies have been found in the swamp. Not a single survivor.

Something snaps in you. This realization is so stupid that you feel like you're cracking. And what was the essence of the experiment? You didn't ask yourself that question, trusting Shadow Milk. Emotions overwhelm you so much that it even affects Shadow Milk—the tears flowing from the heterochrome eyes were yours, not his.

From that moment on, he stopped hiding his inclinations. Manipulation, lies… one day he started a rumor in some kingdom and a civil war broke out there. Instead of exploring the world and teaching cookies to explore this very world, the one you loved most in the world caused disasters.

"Come on, Sweet!" Shadow Milk reaches out to you, but you remain silent. Only timid tears sometimes blur his view of the splendor of the carnage caused by his words. "Open your eyes to the truth: for too long we have been led by fools who did not want to listen! They're just getting what they wanted so badly!"

Truth. Lie. Knowledge that balances on the edge of these two concepts. Your precious, best Virtue has been corruption, and so have you. You can no longer bring knowledge into this world with him...

"Don't you dare!" Cornered, shaking with rage, Shadow Milk covered your body with his palm, squeezing it so hard that if you were an ordinary jewel, you would have broken long ago. "I won't let you take my soul jam!"

But there's nowhere to run. Forks block the escape routes, and the Witch of Life, your creator, stretches out her palms to you.

You feel like you're cracking. Now, not figuratively, but literally. It hurts like hell. But it's so peaceful in the hands of a Witch...

If the situation were different, you would have laughed. You should congratulate Shadow Milk: You've changed your mind! As he wanted, you will no longer remain neutral.

You're two halves of the same whole, right? You complement him, and he complements you.

And if it has become a Deceit, then you will become the Truth.

Eternal Sugar:

You were doubtless blind to many of the changes in Sugar of Happiness.

It doesn't seem so bad: instead of waiting for the new residents of the Garden of Sweet Delights to arrive, she goes to look for them herself. The lyre in her hands sounds sweet and soothing, luring tired cookies. They fall asleep right at her feet. You ring softly when her hands gently touch these poor cookie, gently and tenderly.

"The happiness for cookies is such a fragile thing," Sugar of Happiness sings thoughtfully one day, contemplating the night view of the Garden. "They so easily throw it away for the sake of some trivial things, exposing themselves to pain and suffering, right, my angel?"

You're not really sure what to say to that. Mortal cookies fascinated you: no matter what happened, no matter what pain they endured, there were always those among them who stubbornly got up and went to their goal. It didn't matter that it was a goal — it could be something great, or it could be insignificant.

But you still say, "Yes, Sugar of Happiness". Because it was she, Bringer of Happiness, who was the one who had to instill this happiness into other people's hearts by any means. Your mission is not to let the spark go out in her heart.

The inhabitants of the Garden of Sweet Delights are slowly becoming different. Sometimes you're surprised to see how the one who cared the most about flowers sleeps in the sunlight. Another who could knead dough from morning to night to bake sweets and distribute the rest of the cookies did the bare minimum to eat everything himself.

There were smiles on their faces, weak and lazy, as if woven from dreams and lyre melodies. You think they look weird, like they're drunk, but it's okay, right? Sugar of Happiness is trying so hard to persuade everyone else to the same lifestyle. Perhaps, you think, this is one of the forms of happiness.

Therefore, those who try to escape from the Garden are strange. Poor, unhappy, lost cookies, Sugar of Happiness hugs one of them as if they were just fragile porcelain. The wings enclose their wounded body in a snow-white cocoon.

It doesn't matter that they return to the Garden in such a state because of the Sugar of Happiness. All their cracks can be repaired: sweet honey will fill their chips and in the light of the bright sun these cookies will shine again like the most beautiful of treasures. It's just a little lesson that it's dangerous outside!

Isn't that right?

Sugar of Happiness will never do anything that would be truly terrible towards others. There are still fresh moments in your memory when the Virtues parted and only you remained with her. A young, inexperienced cookie who was looking for her own ways to make others happy.

…maybe you're a little biased. But you can't be blamed for that. Each of the soul jams is biased, whether they want to admit it or not.

But at some point it became simply impossible to close my eyes. The garden became… quiet. Serene. The notes stopped. The grass, which had been heavily crushed under someone else's feet in the rhythm of the dance, recovered. The loud laughter turned into a blissful giggle in the wind.

Isn't that wrong?

But you don't say anything.

"Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it, my angel?" Yes, you think it's always much easier to break than to create.

You're a lousy Happiness.

"For what?!" shouts Sugar of Happiness, clinging to the forks. Tears flow from her eyes, blurring the view of the Witch of Light, and her body trembles slightly. "I'm not like them! I didn't do anything wrong! I did everything for the mission that you assigned me!.. Why?! The cookies are happy!"

You couldn't even save her heart.

Now you realize that you have not been able to cope with your role as a guiding light. Sugar of Happiness got lost on a path that you couldn't light up for her. Instead, you hid in the curls of her hair, shimmered between her fingers, giving her the right to decide everything alone.

It's all your fault. That's why you decide to sing. For the last time. This is your little apology.

"What are you trying to do… no! Don't you dare! Don't take my angel!"

And your attempt to say goodbye.

You sing until Sugar of Happiness voice disappears into the noise; until her heart, thrashing in fear and agony, stops.

Even at the very end, you couldn't give her any comfort.

Happiness is such a fragile thing. And you're so clumsy for that. You just hope that next time… You can protect the next heart better. Perhaps not as happiness, but as passion, something that mortals have taught you. Something that the old you couldn't exist without.

It's a pity that you realized this so late.

Mystic Flour:

You couldn't tell her anything. Not after that.

You knew that time passes differently for mortals. They are born, grow up and die — it's such a fast process. One has only to distract oneself, as the youngest of the temple servants become easily crumbled old men. You knew that when Mystic Flour decided to retire into a cocoon, there probably wouldn't be a single familiar face around.

That's why you're not at all surprised by the crowd of unfamiliar cookies. What you're surprised about is this rude way of interrupting Mystic Flour's privacy. The sight of the temple servants, crumbled into crumbs, pierced with pitchforks, and some even missing body parts, makes you feel sick.

Madness. The new generation, who have never seen Mystic Flour, must have gone crazy!

"It's… not a treasure, is it?" an uncertain whisper sounds between the residents.

Your Mystic Flour is the best of treasures! Unfortunately, you're smart enough to know that's not what they mean. Maybe gold and jewelry. You know, there are things that modest and ascetic temples are famous for.

Mystic Flour is silent. You can see her slender fingers digging into the chocolate tile of the floor, scratching the surface. Her hands are shaking a little. Was your soft, kind, timid Mystic Flour… scared?

"Her looks like an ordinary cookie" "But why was her in a cocoon?" "Oh, I know, I know! Grandma told me that this temple used to be run by a cookie who could grant wishes!" "It's even better than a treasure, the harvest this season was so poor."

Absolute disrespect!

"Mystic Flour, we should… Mystic Flour?" You speak first, but then you realize you've been isolated. You do not hear the thoughts of your Virtue, nor do you catch the echoes of her feelings. You reach out to her, but you run into a barrier separating you from her.

At the same time, Mystic Flour does what you least expect it to do — it turns the inhabitants into flour. It's a fast, painful process in which cookies start coughing up flour. Panic is rising. You can clearly hear someone shouting, "She's a demon!"

This day breaks something inside the Mystic Flour.

She doesn't get in touch with you either the next day or the following days. What an irony: You, who contacted her only when necessary, could only watch in silence now.

Because Mystic Flour will never answer you again.

The White Plague is destroying one kingdom after another. Unlike that day, it's a little… more merciful. Cookies turn to flour more slowly, more painlessly… But you can see their tired, scared faces when Mystic Flour is next to them in their last seconds of life.

You think Mystic Flour is still the same kind, soft cookie it used to be. It's just hidden somewhere deep inside, crushed by debris. But there's nothing you can do. You don't decide anything here.

When the Witch of Life traps them all, you only look at the Mystic Flour. She holds you in her palms, runs her fingers over the frames. But she still won't let you get close. Is she saying goodbye to you?

"I was never able to protect you. I'm sorry."

Perhaps the volition is too high and heavy an ideal. You've already seen how cookies break trying to withstand it. And if so… You should take a step back. To become something more mundane, something more attainable. Perhaps the Resolution won't push so hard?

It's a pity that for the sake of this realization you had to watch the self-destruction of someone you loved so much.

Burning Spice:

You've been trying to fight him almost from the beginning.

When he breaks the table in anger, you don't pay much attention to it. When he irritatingly shrugs off words of gratitude and gifts cookies, which he protected once again, you don't pay attention. When he doesn't respond to your teasing, you still don't pay attention to it.

But at one point it becomes simply impossible to ignore what is happening.

It was a routine training session. Sparring sessions. Burning Spice is so strong that it is impossible to fight one-on-one with him, so more than ten Wild Spices come out against him. You always follow the process closely — through Burning Spice, you give advice to his young soldiers. But today… something was wrong today.

The once peaceful surface of Burning Spice's emotions began to distort due to the ripples. The longer he sparred, the more and more excited he became. He had never been careful with his subordinates, but this was even worse.

The moment he raises the parashu over his head, a wall of earth is erected in front of the defenseless soldier of Wild Spices. Burning Spice just doesn't have time to react and the blade of the weapon gets stuck right in the barrier.

"May the witch put you in the oven again! What were you trying to do just now?!" you shout so loudly that Burning Spice winces from a headache. He snorts: "Just trying to teach them a lesson." "You almost killed them, you idiot!" "So what?"

Such an indifferent, casual answer shocks you. If you were a cookie, you'd be gasping for air with your eyes wide open. But you're not a cookie, so your shock turns to rage in an instant. She burns in Burning Spice's chest more fiercely than the fire in the furnace of the Witch of Life. Rubbing the place where you rest, he feels interest flare up in him, unnoticed by you.

Things get even worse after that day.

He single—handedly destroys an entire kingdom- what was once a small village that sheltered Burning Spice when the Virtues scattered all over the Beast-Yeast. The kingdom that he protected and nurtured with his own hands. The kingdom near which his very first temple was built. The cookies of this kingdom are so weak and fragile, so defenseless. After all, the wall behind which they had been hiding for generation after generation began to crumble inward.

It would hardly have pleased him.… But your attempts to protect others were so funny! You can't even fight against him—you have no arms, no legs, you have nothing but the bits of strength that you both inherited from the witches. Burning Spice thinks it's a fair deal — he uses only his body and weapons, while you, deprived of them, use the powers of witches against him.

"One hundred and seven," he thinks, turning the unfortunate resident into a crumb. "How many have you protected? I think it's sixty-seven, right?" You don't answer. The chapel nearby cracks and howls, but Burning Spice easily dodges the falling arrows and cuts one of the numbers with one blow. At the edge of my consciousness, he hear your disappointed clucking.

The old temples are emptying — no wonder, you think. Who would want to follow a mad Herald of Change? But very little time passes and little by little the temple comes to life again. Madmen, you think, sometimes seeing familiar faces in the crowd.

"I think I should say thank you," Burning Spice grins, standing in the center of a once prosperous, peaceful city. "You were once the one who tried to make me stronger in order to protect me. And now you're the one who can only flutter around trying to help others. It would be unimaginably boring without you!"

These words devastate you. You're almost ready to give up.… But you still try to resist him — even if it's useless, even if all your attempts are in vain.

Regret bubbles up somewhere inside you when you see the devastated and destroyed settlements. You want to imagine how carefree children run around here, how the market buzzes and whistles from the fervent laughter of the townspeople. How cookies live peacefully, not worrying about tomorrow, thriving in a happy routine. But all you see is fire, despair, and pain. What was once a natural cycle of change has become nauseatingly disgusting to you.

…so when a fork pierces Burning Spice, pinning him to the ground, you laugh. You're laughing so loud that Burning Spice can't even hear Sugar of Happiness and Shadow Milk's screams. Your laughter, full of despair, disorients him; you vibrate and hum in his chest so much that there are even small cracks around you. You don't hear him hissing, his fingers digging into the ground. You're laughing, even when you're shuddering in pain!

Never. You've had enough. You don't want to see death and pain anymore. Perhaps when you find yourself back in someone's arms, you will be able to see a kingdom full of abundance and a carefree world. You will save this kingdom, even if you have to stop time itself for it.

Just to spite him.

[supremefloof]

some tbhx speculation post ep 10

/throwing stuff at the wall after post ep 10. spoilers obviously. also for ep 11 preview. about Trust and where our heroes get it, villains, X.

point 1:

we have to talk about lucky cyan's trust value. the people on the plane gave her trust to survive/ her luck powers. so the elephant in the room:

CAN DEAD PEOPLE STILL GIVE YOU TRUST?

it's really unclear. the main point in favor of this is that Cyan still has luck at the orphanage, and says her TV has always been high as long as she can remember which wouldn't be possible if trust vanishes when your believers die.

"but Cyan loses all her trust in episode 9!" well. actually it looks like a zero at first glance but it could actually be a really fucked up number nine. when put next to other "zeroes" in the show's sadistic special font it looks notably different. like a Nice's tower floor situation from episode one where that was somehow a 15.

The main thing AGAINST this: there were definitely more than nine people on that plane! maybe Lucky Cyan's trust vanished as the plane crash victims died, but by then they were already on the ground? but that seems jank.

anyways, what I really wanted to say: If dead people's Trust stays after they die, then...

wouldn't the best way to guarantee your power be to gain a ton of trust and then kill all of your followers?

this could be the reason for the plane crash; maybe a hero had a lot of followers on this plane and wanted to keep that trust forever.

this could be Zero's motivation. this is what I immediately thought of.

what the fuck this could even be X's motivation. idk we don't know anything about him. maybe he killed nice for this idk

point 2:

if Fear has only been discovered in year 36, that means that either the powers of villains like Magic Shadow or whoever the hell rat king is (esoul eps) come from Trust, or have unknown sources of fear that nobody discovered was fear.

The only consistent characteristics we've seen of fear is that it is black and makes you act weird and irrational.

so, L0's old boss: black goop, confirmed fear. the orphanage: zombies, black growths, confirmed fear.

Wreck...black sword slivers/beams? maybe fear? who knows? maybe only fear after he learns about Nice's death. in fact, it could be Lin Ling's fear that triggers it! the power of a nemesis might at least initially be from trust, funnily enough.

a little ghostblade what if - we've heard mentions of the "Aether laboratory" along with the idea of Fear. Ghostblade seems to have been experimented on. What if Ghostblade is an attempt to make a Hero that is immune to Fear?

point 3:

circling back to OG Nice's death: it's becoming apparent a question we need to ask is where does trust go after death and what happens to it?

Lin Ling "inherited" trust value from Nice. two ways I think of it: 1. scooped Nice's trust off his corpse, like e-soul. how does that work. 2. redirected all of nice's fans at himself, quickly replacing Nice.

E-soul's Trust merged due to there being two e-souls and one died. please note that this merge happened naturally without the consent of fans.

so where does lucky cyan's trust come from, again.

maybe the series will explore different ways of gaining trust for each hero? a bit crack but maybe even in layers of absurdity. like X is the most jank way so he's the finale (btw thank you @elowhinn for pointing out he keeps the tie clip. maybe he just hacked being X by cosplaying as X and having no name lmao), Ahu being the next jankiest way since he's a dog so he gets the second to last ep...

IF nice is alive somehow...what's up with his trust value now? it's not like people stopped believing Nice had powers. there are still Nice fans. they're just also lin ling fans now. bringing up this due to the theory that the hand in kontinuum is nice's hand. and cope.

[axolotsofluv]

❝𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩❞

a/n : hello, everyone. Sorry for the long period of inactivity. I had exams, unfortunately, so I tried finishing this whenever I had some downtime. I only briefly skimmed it for errors, so sorry if this came out bad. As they all say, no beta we die like the amphoreus characters

synopsis — you take a fall while you're asleep. Talk about falling asleep “literally”. Fortunately for you, your significant other is present to help you with the pain.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

❥ pairing: veritas ratio x reader

❥ tags: romance, fluff, mild injury, comfort, domesticity, soothing, established relationship, married, ratio x reader

❥ song inspo: lay down beside you by carl storm

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

In the dead of night, all life submerges into the plane of slumber, following the lead of the descending sun. The moon reclaims the spot of the sun, ushering in a multitude of scintillating dots into the darkening horizon to create a mesmerizing backdrop spanning across the inky canvas. Once the individual specks of glowing globules have taken their position among the empyrean stage, the moon casts its light onto the earth and beckons the crepuscular life forms to emerge from their shelter and attend as silent spectators to the refulgent symphony of celestial bodies.

A stream of light finds their way between the cracks of a curtain, sifting into the space of a bedroom and merging with the tranquility. The quietude is further punctuated by the steady rhythm of breath, unsynchronized yet in tune all the same, from the two figures laying under the bed cover. Ratio faces upright in his slumber, hands placed on top of his torso, in a position that embodies the same rigidity that seemingly always shrouds his form whenever he's awake. You, on the other hand, flaunt little to no grace with your arms sprawled above your head in a poor imitation of the iconic Superman's pose and your legs stretched out. If that isn't enough proof of your restless tendency even when your consciousness is submerged in the depths of slumber, your body rolls over to the side as though dragged by an intangible thread of an unseen puppeteer. Unsurprisingly, once your body tips precariously over the edge, gravity wastes no time doing its job and dutifully hauling you down to collide head first with the cold floor.

A solid thump resounds.

Ratio breaks his posture and regains his cognizance by a feasible amount to groan at the obtrusive noise. His head rotates towards the source of the noise.

It is only when a whimper pierces through the calmness does he eventually jolt awake.

His head peeks over the edge of the bed to assess the noise, and he finds you curled on the ground, placing a hand on your temple where the point of impact is probably felt the most to allay the dull throb. You have your head ducked down, and it doesn't require a significant degree of neuron activation to sense your distress.

"[name]?"

His softened voice is swallowed by the silence with no signs of reciprocation.

He tries again.

This time, the silence offers him a couple rounds of sniffling and a shaky exhale.

Your head finally raises from your makeshift curtain of obscurity, but your eyes are still shielded from view.

"I-I'm okay. Just... Just a minor bump." The tremor in your voice isn't lost on him. And the way you swiftly brush the length of your arm across your eyes discloses the depth of the situation that you seem hesitant to reveal.

Perceiving you in this state churns his stomach to no end. Your voice that usually echoes jubilance and liveliness, now taking on a cracked quality, rattles him more than he can admit. The rejuvenating warmth of a morning sunbeam dampened by the overcast dark clouds, shrouding the world with an unforgiving coldness. That reflects just how you appear to him at the moment. A frown that seems to not fit within the curve of your face; it does not belong there, nor should it ever be.

“Look at me.” His hand seizes your wrist in a gentle grasp. 

Your hand doesn't budge. 

“[name].” 

A whimper meets his staunch tone. 

Finally, he changes his approach, allowing his innate stern demeanor to wash away as he meets your obstinacy with a calming caress right where your pulse thrums under his thumb.

“Look at me… please.”

And at long last, the hand on your face draws away like a window curtain sliding aside to make way for the long awaited ray of warmth. 

“There you are…” His thumb resumes its steady rhythm on your wrist, his intonation subdued out of the rare magnanimity of his heart. 

Your body slouches, and the tension riddling your frame ebbs away like the flow of the ocean tides. “S-Sorry… I didn't mean to wake you up.” You cast your gaze down with a quiet sniffle.

Ratio shelves away his disbelief at your sheepish behavior towards him—your husband, mind you—and redirects his focus on the source of your trouble. Twin flames of amber hue are kept trained on the side of your head that you continue to rub and soothe all while wiping away the slowing flow of waterfall down your cheeks. Without any prodding comments, he helps you climb up the bed. 

“Don't apologize. Instead, tell me. Is it painful? Why are you crying profusely?” 

His tone exudes the usual crackle of his strident mannerism, an educator demanding answers to a quandary in a bid to dispel confusion, yet his touch conveys a different emotion. His palm hovers over the area of your head that your hand cradles, and he presses down to carefully pry it off before resting over it. He looks to the side and focuses on feeling any abnormal bumps or possible bleeding, and fortunately, comes up with nothing.

“You seem to be uninjured.” He assesses, making sure to continue providing you with gentle solace by rubbing it in the same circular motions as before. “Do you feel extreme pain? Please, don't withhold any information. This might be indicative of something severe internally–”

“No, no, no…” You grasp his wrist frantically, running your hand down his forearm with a gentleness that mirrors his, hoping his mind won't jump to the worst case scenario. “No, beloved… I'm just… I was just startled by the fall. And when I woke up, I felt pain, and… and I guess the combination of that and the shock got me to cry. It's not that painful, I promise.”

Ratio doesn't sound convinced, and honestly, you couldn't blame him. Imagine being woken up to the sound of your spouse crying on the floor. That alone is enough to paint a picture of an accident taking place while he was unconscious, and it doesn't help that he was roused abruptly from a deep sleep with nothing but grogginess and the empty space beside him where you should've been present. 

“I'm okay now, Veritas.” You reposition his palm to rest against your cheek, the pain having simmered to a dull throb. “Really.”

A flicker of tenderness crosses his countenance. That stoic veneer that most people have learned to associate him with chips away bit by bit, until he bares himself to you completely, all softened eyes and  upturned lips.

“You worried me,” he mutters as he untangles his hand from your grip, inducing a momentary burst of disappointment in you, before placing it right back on your temple where you fell. The way he glides all over the nearby area, eyes narrowed in undivided concentration as if to thoroughly check your head for any faint swelling. He refuses to accept your words as is without an examination of his own to verify your reassurance. He'll be damned if something terrible does happen to you in the aftermath of this paltry accident all because something slipped past his radar and managed to fester into something worth concerning over. 

Besides, it wouldn't be the first time you did something of this nature. You do have a track record of undermining the severity of an issue that pertains to your own well-being. 

“Veritas… I really am okay,” you whine, but there is no annoyance accompanying it. Any traces of tears left on your face are gone, and so is the tremulous frown.

He keeps his hand on your temple, not letting up in his rigorous search for bumps or unneeded substance oozing out. 

This time, a giggle emerges from the depth of your throat. “Hey…” You tilt your head to the side ever so slightly. “I'm okay, Veritas. I'm okay! You don't have to keep touching my head.”

There is a perceptible tinge of relief that floods his face, and he eventually concedes by ceasing his inspection. 

“Forgive me. I don't want to be remiss in detecting any possible issue.” He raises his other hand to comb through your tousled hair, following a pattern akin to a drifting stream. The weight in his heart dissipates when he beholds your blissful face and the way your locks cascade onto the bed, the place you belong to in this moment of peace.

“I'm okay,” you whisper, voice brimming with gratitude and a whole lot of affection. So much so, Ratio feels like his skin has been hit with a warm breeze that precedes the arrival of spring. “Thank you, Veritas. Sleep now. You have class to teach tomorrow.”

He simply responds by moving his hand from your temple to slither around your neck, pulling you closer and closer, whilst the other hand hangs over the slope of your hip. He only stops once your body is enveloped whole by his arms in a cocoon of comfort, a safety net to prevent a repetition of what happened. 

You're swaddled with a sense of warmth that's familiar and alleviating altogether. You aren't a stranger to these moments of vulnerability and furtive intimacy; when his gaze is bereft of his customary, smoldering judgment and his touches are the furthest thing from sparse or fleeting. But each and every time he bestows this gentle treatment upon you, you are always reminded of the privilege you now hold after that one fateful day of exchanged vows—the delegation of his profound devotion to you along with granting you the title of his sole eternal muse.

You deplore having your movements restricted during your sleep, let alone being caged in a manner that not even your limbs can flail around. Yet, Ratio puts that notion to rest with just a single embrace. You can't determine whether this dilemma arose due to your incapability to adhere to a principle or if that sharp-tongued genius has stellar persuasion skills on top of his already remarkable set of intelligence and talents. 

Regardless of which explanation adequately rationalizes your shift in preferred sleeping habits, you know with full certainty that you don't want to be anywhere else right now. 

“Thank you…” You duck your head and plant your forehead against his lips as lightly as possible, failing to pick up on the upward movement of his lips and the way his eyelids crack open just a tad bit. 

As your arms find purchase around his torso, the tranquil, crepuscular hour concludes its intermezzo, allowing the symphony of nature to lull you back into a restful sleep. 

And when your breath evens out, Ratio opens his eyes.

He exercises immense care when he adjusts his position, regarding your sleep as a matter of paramount importance. His head tips over to catch a good look at your face. The minuscule smile that greets him among the stillness of your content visage is enough to erase any vestigial uneasiness. 

His lips collide with your forehead with nimble force before he finally joins you in his descent into the realm of dreams; his conscience sailing along a peaceful ocean of reassurance, knowing that the stormy clouds have dispersed and the wilted petals of his flower have blossomed anew.