#con standing for conflicted

[diabolimeservavit666]

Let's just discuss this for a moment.

First of all, this is one of my favorite GIFs even if I didn't like the scene that much. I want to discuss the acting of this very specific moment.

Sometimes I forget that Misha is the man whore of the cast until he shows it. What did the director tell him, anyway? "Act like you're in pain"? Well, uh, that's kind of the wrong kind of pain there... He looks like he likes it (in an erotic manner). This just goes to show that Misha will fuck anyone willing to fuck him. Castiel, of course, was trying to hold back the pain because Heaven forbid a Demon actually have the ability to hurt an Angel. It still looks slutty as AF either way.

I don't know what to say about Jared except he looks like he's taking a rather painful shit (since I'm going for comedy here). Misha looks like he's getting up the ass and Jared just looks... Anyway-

Then you have Parise who made this scene badass. Full macho mode and A+ acting on his part. Not going to lie, I liked this bit here a little too much. Then again, I had been mad at TFW for over two Seasons sk I felt this was perfect karma. I know I'm probably going to get gunned down for saying that. But that's what they get for going nuts slaughtering a man's family. Like what did they expect? Asmodeus to be like "Oh, yeah, that's fine. I hated those bitches, anyway." No, that man is known for his rage and he's loyal to his family. Not saying that he did Gabriel right because he didn't but he had every right in the World to be angry and people should start acknowledging that.

[cuprohastes]

The humans said "We sent our very best to the stars."

Well we looked at what they sent: And thought, if that's their best, what are their worst like? They were scavengers and opportunists, fast talking con artists, barely restrained psychopaths with mayhem on their mind.

Honestly we were expecting the worst: That 'human' would be a curse word, that we'd have to root them out painfully and banish them back to their dirty heavy world.

But they cleaned up Antichor. They dredged the oceans, got the ecosystem back up, cleaned the mine lakes, remediated the sludge swamps, turned the hulks into gleaming ingots.

"We knew how. We had the experience." They said.

The humans started showing up in the weirdest places. Conflicts of all sorts... and they always had questions. "Why are you doing this? What if tehy did this. What if you did that?" And it was so odd - Within weeks of the Humans showing up, common ground would be found, or reasons to get along would appear.

"Well, we're used to it. We know how to deal with conflict." They said.

And the human liars, dressed in bedazzling clothes, singing and laughing... They spun lies! For entertainment! Of better worlds, and drama, of excitement, of adventure. Thay made such spectacles - Fire in the sky of a thousand colours - smoke and lasers, costumes and music, feats of synchronised movement the Civil Worlds had barely imagined could be performed by any being let lone these strange humans...

"We know how to have a good time!" They said.

When there was a nasty little war of expansion over on the Veran worlds, we thought we'd be barely in time to document the mass graves and the scraps of planetary genocide. Expansion wars are the worst of crimes but what can you do? The settlers who are squatting on the graves of the people who came before aren't usually the ones who ordered the invasion or carried it out. And there's always some justification that can be argued over for centuries: none of which brings the dead back.

We were horrified to find the Human fleet there. Finally proof that the Humans were the worst sort of mercenary.

But the ships had aid: Shelters and food. Medical personnel. And those that did fight did so under strange rules that allowed for surrenders and retreats in good faith.

The Verans talked of the Arnath Invasion fleet: Unstoppable, claiming thier worlds before they even landed, their leaders ranting and cursing those who lived there - But then the Humans arriving like heroes of legend, in flame clad dropships, spending their lives hard, making the Arnath throw incredible effort to get nowhere... Of the mighty Rangers, each one a hero. The Bulwark infantry who wouldn't yield a single step until the civilians had been evacuated. The Medical teams as caring as any, who'd stand and fight as hard as a soldier to protect their patients.

And even before we arrived, the Arnath were losing - Humans arriving on their world and asking "Why?". Arguing with the Archons with the skill of philosophers, litigating on behalf of the Verans with cunning arguments. The clowns and entertainers with unexpected savagery, showing the population their own "heroic" soldiers burning crops and firing on children, turning the population against thier bloody handed leaders.

The soldiers returning, not hailed as heroes, their crimes documented.

"We know these crimes. We won't stand for them." The humans said.

And we started to wonder... what else did they know?

What we know now is... you can always ask the Humans, because they always send their best.

[cherienymphe]

Haunted (Damon Salvatore x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, MURDER, compulsion, blood, stalking, abusive relationship, domestic violence

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies ​

summary: If you'd known that your ex-boyfriend was a vampire, you would've gotten a stake instead of a restraining order.

~

You patted your face dry with the small hand towel, basking in the silence that surrounded you. It was the silence of a home that belonged entirely to you, occupied with no one else but you. You weren’t concerned with who was standing over your shoulder nor whose face would greet yours in the reflection when you looked up.

When you walked out of the bathroom, there was no surprise guest waiting for you by the door…or on your bed.

You liked to think that you were always a good judge of character. You always made good and trustworthy friends, always avoided conflict with wicked people, and even picked boyfriends that treated you nothing less than decent. Every single one had been perfect, and the only thing that contributed to the downfall of your relationships was nothing more than maturity and growing apart.

Then Damon happened.

He was everything you always avoided. Devilishly handsome—the kind that drove girls to lose all common sense—, hedonistic to a fault, and mysterious in ways that grew less sexy and more concerning over time. That crooked smile of his went from mischievous to nerve-wracking. His knack for knowing where you seemed to be at all times morphed from caring to worrying.

Damon looked like the devil come to earth…and he slowly started to feel that way too.

You stared out of your window with your hands at your side, dismayed at how you of all people ended up in such a situation. Gone were the days where you always wanted to be around him and soon came the days where you were scrambling for just five minutes away from him. There was a time where you thought you’d never get that again…but here you were…back home…

…and safe.

Mystic Falls was small and quaint and quiet. Granted, you hadn’t been home in years, but upon returning, it was like nothing had changed. Your house was still the same, your cousin and great aunt were still the same, and you felt more at peace with one foot into the town than you had in almost a year. It wasn’t until you were finally away from him did you realize just how much Damon had drained you.

He took up so much of your time that you’d been driven to drop out of school with only another year left. You’d been too overwhelmed, and unable to pinpoint the exact problem at the time, you’d broken down in class and came to the conclusion that college was the problem when in actuality…the problem was the raven-haired man who shadowed your every footstep.

You looked down at your wrists, recalling the way he used to wrap his hands around them when he wanted your full attention. That was something he seemed to hate, how much he could never fully hold your attention. How your every waking thought wasn’t consumed with him.

Damon absolutely hated not being the center of your universe. He hated when you’d call your cousin or great aunt to see how they were doing. He hated when you went out with your friends after class. He hated when he’d call or come by, and you were otherwise occupied. It had seemed like he wanted you to sit around twiddling your thumbs with nothing to do but wait for him.

You’d thought it was cute at first, that he was just so enamored with you that he wanted to spend all his free time with you, but then… Then you saw it for what it was, most especially when he’d snatched your arm one day, forcing you to pause in your phone call. It happened so suddenly, and you’d been in shock, but your incredulous stare had done nothing to deter him.

“Sweetheart…I had plans to take you out.”

He’d said it in that smooth baritone of his, the kind that made your knees weak, and instead of holding your resolve, you’d actually given in. You had actually felt bad for holding him up and ruining his surprise, profusely apologizing before bidding your cousin goodbye. He hadn’t let you go once that night, and if you’d been concerned by it—something you couldn’t even recall—it had definitely been long gone by the end of the night.

Damon had a way of making you overlook every concerning detail, especially when he was kissing you and playing your body so well that it seemed like you’d been dating for years instead of less than seven months. Whenever you closed your eyes, it was easy to recall the feel of his soft lips gliding down your stomach, his nimble fingers sliding into you, his hips pressing against yours as he filled you up.

It was all a distraction, a pretty package to hide his true nature.

Even though you were hundreds of miles away, far away from your ex-boyfriend, a shudder still passed through you at the mere thought of him. You stared out into the night with your arms wrapped around yourself, teeth sinking into your lip. You flexed your wrist, still surprised at what it felt like to not hurt after all this time, and you took a step back away from the window.

Your eyes strayed to the lock, confirming that it was locked, and you slowly made your way downstairs. Despite the fact that you knew they were, you still wanted to make sure that both doors were locked too. Damon was far away, and even if he wasn’t, your restraining order made sure he would stay that way, but something in you couldn’t hold off the feeling that he was just over your shoulder.

You didn’t think Damon would ever go through such lengths, but there had also been a time where you didn’t think he’d ever show up at your door again after you’d blatantly broken up with him. You didn’t think there’d be a time where he sprained your wrist. You never imagined a day would come where you’d make your way down to the police station and have to plead your case about getting a protective order.

In truth, you still didn’t know how you’d been granted it. One minute they’d been adamantly against it because Damon hadn’t done anything to you that you could prove, and the next, you’d been staring at a piece of paper that said if he came within a certain distance of you, he’d be arrested.

You made your way up your stairs with a small sigh, chest feeling heavy no matter how many times you exhaled. You glanced over your shoulder on your way up, gaze lingering on the front door as if some entity from the other side was willing you to open it. With a shudder, you turned back around and locked yourself in your bedroom.

The cool Virginia air was almost biting as you deposited your groceries in your car. As convinced as you were that you hated the cold, you missed it infinitely when you were away. You had longed for the comforts of home a lot, but more so when deep in the toxic cycle of your relationship. You had never longed for home more than when Damon was cornering you and intimidating you with those icy blue eyes of his.

You paused at the thought, hand on your car as one incident in particular came to mind. You struggled to swallow at the memory, almost able to feel the gentle brush of his nose against yours as he leaned in and asked if you were stupid. The words alone had been insulting, tears springing to your eyes at the sound of Damon talking to you in such a way.

However, the true hurt set in when his hand had pressed into the wall next to your head, completely trapping you. He wouldn’t let you leave, and anytime you’d moved to one side, he would be there…blocking your way, blue eyes staring you down. It was one of the first moments you’d been scared of Damon, and instead of recognizing that for the true sign that it was, you only wrote it off as a once off.

A honking horn pulled you from your thoughts, and you flinched, startled by the sound.

You glanced over to see that someone had almost hit someone else in the street, one of the two clearly not paying attention to the other. You stared at the cars for a moment more before glancing up. You were just about to slide into your own vehicle when your eyes passed over something scarily familiar. Or…

Perhaps someone was a more fitting word.

You glanced up again, but your gaze landed on nothing. There was no one standing across the street in the square even though you’d been absolutely sure of what you saw. The longer you stared, it was like you were trying to will yourself to see what you swore you just saw, but no familiar fair skinned figure appeared. No man with dark hair and hypnotizing blue eyes was in sight, and you stood there for a few seconds more before finally sinking into your car.

Your fingers were tight on the wheel the whole way to your house, and you didn’t realize just how badly you’d spooked yourself until you were parked and unloading your car. Your house wasn’t out in the middle of nowhere or outskirts of town, but the dense woods faced you, and as you carried groceries back and forth from the car to the house, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being…watched.

You stood at your door with your last groceries in hand, staring out before you with a small frown. It was late in the evening, and while the sun hadn’t disappeared completely, it was threatening to. Your town was no stranger to the odd string of animal attacks here and there, and it was that thought that forced you into the house, turning the lock shut behind you.

The silence that met you was as welcoming as it always was now.

Dinner was quick to make, and your shower was even quicker to take, towel securely wrapped around you as you stepped out of the bathroom. You faced your window when you came out, and you stopped short at the sight of a crow perched on the sill. You tightened your fingers in your towel, clutching it to you as you stared at the dark bird.

Your brows slowly furrowed with a frown.

You were working hard to remember if it was normal for crows to be out at night, and despite the fact that a singular bird was of no consequence to you, you still couldn’t shake the feeling its mere presence was…off. Pulling your gaze away, you dropped your towel and threw on a t-shirt. One deep inhale told you that it was one of Damon’s old shirts, and you were tempted to rip it off, throw it in the garbage even, but the smell of a scent you hadn’t inhaled in ages gave you pause.

How was it possible to miss someone who was so horrible to you?

Refusing to linger on what that meant, you quickly made your way downstairs to eat. You replied to a few of Bonnie’s texts, telling her you might come by tomorrow or another. It had been a good week or so since you’d last seen her, and you were feeling like a bad cousin. You weren’t of the right mind to explain your odd behavior and reclusive habits as of late. You wondered if you ever would be.

You were washing and drying your dishes when something out of the ordinary made you blink.

You lifted your eyes, startled by the sight of a familiar face faintly appearing in the glass. The sight had the plate slipping from your fingers, and you only tore your eyes away when the sound of breaking glass reached your ears. You quickly glanced down, taking in the sight of your unblemished feet before glancing back up.

The only face that stared back at you was yours.

You felt paralyzed, lips parting and chest heaving as you just…stared at the window. The more you stared, the crazier you felt, and you pressed your hand to your forehead. Your heart wouldn’t stop racing no matter how hard you tried to make it so. Your lips were parted in dismay, and you slowly dropped a hand to press it to your chest.

With trembling hands and legs, you slowly knelt down.

You were so sure… You had been certain, in fact… Damon’s face had been clear as day in your kitchen window, and yet in the blink of an eye, it was gone just as quickly. You knew that you were quite literally driving yourself insane, and you struggled to clean up your glass. Once your mess was clear, you quickly closed the kitchen window curtain, blinking back tears.

You trekked back to your room in a daze, and you made sure to lock your bedroom door once you were inside.

You thought to yourself that sleep could not find you fast enough, but sleep was not the escape you thought it would be.

Your dreams—or nightmares rather—were filled with familiar pink lips and cruel blue eyes. Damon’s mouth covered your own even when you struggled for air. His hands ran over you, and his fingers kneaded into your skin. It started out as nice as it once did, but just like your relationship, it quickly morphed into something sinister. The pink of Damon’s lips were replaced with the red of blood, the color smearing all over you as he kissed you wherever he desired.

The gentle touch of his hands became painful, sharp pains flaring in your sides and arms as he held you down. The loving roll of his hips turned into something violent and assaulting, forcing screams from your lips and tears from your eyes. No matter how much you begged, it was as if your pleas fell on deaf ears, and your only escape was in the waking world.

Darkness greeted you when you sat up in bed, eyes wide and lips parted as you gasped for breath. Despite the cold weather outside and the blasting A/C inside, your skin was dewy with sweat. You quickly kicked the covers off of you, pressing your hand to your chest and wiping your face with the other. It all felt too real, and your entire body shook—enough to shake the bed too.

Your gaze traveled over your room, and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest at the shadowy outline by your door. A scream escaped your lips, and you scrambled to turn on the light, no relief filling you when no one was there. You only stared at where you could’ve sworn someone was standing, throat tightening and tears escaping.

You pulled your trembling lip between your teeth, just staring at the empty space where someone once was—had to be. You stared at the space for what felt like too long before finally pulling your gaze away, slowly bringing your knees up to your chest and wrapping one arm around them. Your other hand pressed to your forehead, eyes squeezing shut as you fought against the idea that you were going crazy, but you had to be.

Damon was far away and wouldn’t be coming for you. It was so likely that he’d moved on already, long found someone else to replace you and torment. That thought was equally terrifying and comforting, and you sniffed. Once you started, you couldn’t stop, and the tears kept coming. You didn’t want to accept it…

…but you were starting to think that Damon had truly driven you insane.

“You’ve been back home for a little over a month, and I’ve seen you twice,” Bonnie told you with a tilt of her head. “You need to visit more.”

“I know,” you sighed as she walked you to the door. “Unpacking and all that…”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her you were plagued with thoughts and dreams and visions of a dark-haired tormentor. Damon was everywhere you looked, and in your efforts to avoid him in your dreams, sleep was something you ran from these days. However, he found a home out of the corner of your eye and in window reflections instead. It was haunting, and that bird…

That damn bird.

It cawed at you in the early hours of the morning, and what you’d once written off as a curious creature quickly turned into a terrifying symbol. Something about that crow reminded you of Damon, dark and unmoving and always watching. Every time you tried to shoo it away, it never moved, never even flinched. It was completely unafraid of you…

Like someone else you knew.

You had begun to dread it’s very presence, turning your back to it once settled in bed.

“Well, if you need help taking out all your things, you know I’m happy to help,” she offered with a small frown.

“I appreciate the offer, but…I’m basically done, now,” you lied.

The other girl pouted a bit but accepted your response. When she reached out to touch you, her bare hands landing on the skin of your arms, she froze. Her eyes widened as she looked up at you, fingers pressing into your arms as she swallowed, your gaze drawn to the action. You hadn’t ever seen that look on Bonnie’s face before, expression stricken and face losing all its color.

“Are you…okay…?”

You blinked at her at that, your turn to frown, now. Bonnie suddenly shook her head as if clearing her thoughts.

“I…I’m sorry, I… Grams has been up to her normal tricks again, and she…”

The look on Bonnie’s face gave you pause. You knew how kooky your great aunt could be, and the family entertained her because it was nothing more than good natured fun, but the severity in Bonnie’s voice had you seriously holding her gaze.

“What…? What is it?”

She looked disturbed.

“You just…you just feel so cold…and not like you’re cold, but like you’re…empty of all warmth.”

Your face fell.

“Of all life.”

You slowly pulled away at that, unsure of what to say and only able to settle for laughing it off. Bonnie didn’t really join in, and you ignored her weak attempts to get you to stay, to keep you from going home.

“Bonnie, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you reassured her.

Her expression wasn’t one of agreement, but she eventually let your hand go, albeit reluctantly.

“Just…call me as soon as you get home, okay?” she urged.

You promised her that you would, trying to assure her with your eyes that everything would be fine as you made your way to your car. Her wave back lacked enthusiasm, and you tried not to linger on that as you drove back home. It was dark when you parked in your driveway, and you made sure to be brisk when you got out of your car.

Like before, the imposing presence of the dense woods made your body buzz with energy—with adrenaline. Your hands shook as you struggled to find your house key. You felt clumsier than normal, heart beginning to race beneath your chest. You swore you heard a branch or something snap, and you fought the urge to look over your shoulder, only focused on the keys in your hand.

You only just touched the right one when the entire keychain slipped from your fingers.

The sound of it hitting the concrete seemed so loud, and you felt a chill pass through you at the sight of it at your feet. With a brief pause, you bent down to get it, feeling a warmth in your back that you’d only felt in the presence of one other person. With your fingers on the key, you didn’t hesitate to rise to your feet and unlock the door. A cool breeze passed by you, and the shiver to crawl up your spine somehow felt like it was from more than that.

You practically stumbled inside of your house, tripping across the threshold, and you only spun around once you were inside, shocked at the sight before you.

Only your car, your yard, and the trees greeted you.

Your hand was on the door, the other hanging limply at your side. Your yard was completely empty of anyone, most of all who you feared the most, and you swallowed. Your gaze moved from side to side, tilting your head this way and that, completely shocked with the realization that it was all in your head. Even with this truth staring you in the face, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking.

Not even when you shut the door and pressed your back to it.

You felt too hot, blood pumping too fast in your body, and with a shuddering exhale, you forced yourself to go upstairs and shower, hoping it would solve your problems for the night.

The blaring sound of your car alarm was what forced you out of your sleep. It was hard to discern what the noise even was at first. After all, you could count the number of times on one hand someone had actually set it off. You rubbed your eyes while struggling to sit up, the annoying sound of the alarm only making you more irritated when combined with your lack of sleep.

It took nothing at all to find your keys on your nightstand and shut it off, and the night was bathed in silence once again. The silence felt so loud though, and for a moment, you almost wished your alarm would sound again. You slowly started to relax when you jumped, the sound of your car alarm filling the room once again. This time you did get up, and you stared down into the yard as you clicked the button.

Silence met you, and the yard was bathed in darkness once more. You stared down into the darkness, wondering what kind of animal could be hitting against your car with that much force. There was a sinister thought in that back of your mind that it was no animal at all, and you struggled to force it away. No. Damon would never…

Even if you wanted to be conceited for all of five minutes, logically, why would Damon follow you here? Why would he come after you? It had been a good month since you saw him before you finally came back home, relaxed in the thought that the restraining order had clued him in on how serious you really were. It made no sense for Damon to still be chasing after you, and yet…

As you stared down into your yard, casting your eyes this way and that for any sign of the man who still haunted your dreams, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was out there. No shape seemed out of place and no shadow stood out to you as unordinary, but you could not shake that feeling that he was staring right back at you…and you didn’t even know it.

Closing the curtain and backing away, you gently dropped your keys back onto the nightstand. Yu clutched your sheet just under your chin as you stared up at the ceiling, laying straight on your back and as stiff as a board. The house felt too quiet, now, and that silence that you’d grown to love only served to torment you, now.

You flinched when something hit your window hard, a familiar caw reaching your ears, and you slowly sat up. Your eyes widened a tad at the sight of that dark bird through the curtain, and you remembered finally reading something the other day that crows were not typically nocturnal. The sight of it stirred something so negative in you that you couldn’t even look at it, turning and facing the wall.

It cawed again, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Something about this just wasn’t right. You didn’t know how but all of this felt off somehow, and you squeezed your eyes tighter as the bird’s sound reached your ears again. A few tears passed through, escaping your tightly shut eyes, and you pulled your sheet over your head. Lick clockwork, that crow would caw every hour or so, and the silence in between was spent staring into the darkness instead of actually sleeping, just knowing it was there and waiting for it to sound again.

Your lack of sleep was commented on the next day.

“It’s just taking some getting used to, being back in my old house and all that,” you softly said, waving Bonnie and Caroline off.

You remembered Caroline Forbes from when you were younger, the blonde girl barely pushing the age of five then. She was just as talkative and lively as you remembered. You also remembered an additional girl to complete the trio, and Caroline excitedly hummed.

“Elena is off on a weekend trip with her boyfriend. Stefan Salvatore,” she told you, and the way she said his name told you all you needed to know about what he looked like. “I would be so jealous if I hadn’t already had the other brother. Been there, done that.”

She made a face that clued you in on how that had ended.

“It lasted all of three months before he decided he was tired of me and took off,” she scoffed. “I want no parts of that family.”

Bonnie hummed in agreement.

“Damon was way too old for you anyway, Caroline. He’s like…Y/N’s age, and that would be like her dating Jeremy.”

They both made pinched faces, disgusted with the thought, and you were inclined to agree when you suddenly frowned. You blinked, turning to look at Bonnie as the name that came out of her mouth finally registered. You felt your heart sink, and feeling your eyes on her, Bonnie turned to look at you.

“Did you say…Damon?”

“Yeah, Damon. Stefan’s brother. I don’t think you ever met him,” she added. “He came back to town a good year after you left, and he left…maybe three years ago?”

“With barely a goodbye,” Caroline mumbled, and it was easy to tell she was still rightfully bitter about the whole thing.

You told yourself that it was a coincidence, but you recalled Damon’s mysterious nature, the lack of information he ever gave up about his personal life. Although the one thing you did know was that he was from Virginia too…and you told yourself that it was nothing more than a coincidence. It had to be.

You grew quiet, Bonnie and Caroline none the wiser to your silent disposition. You took a sip of your drink, glancing around The Grill. It was a Friday night, and it was packed like any other Friday night. Adults and teenagers alike were hanging out at the one hot spot in town, and when your gaze glided over the bar, a familiar pair of blue eyes connected with yours.

You bumped Bonnie when you jumped, and you were quick to turn and apologize to her after your drink spilled some. She didn’t take offense, seemingly more concerned for you than anything else, and you assured her you were fine, heart racing as you turned back towards the bar. Your eyes passed up and down it at least a few times, but Damon was nowhere in sight, and you set your drink down.

You pressed your hand to your forehead, wondering if you had too much to drink. You knew that wasn’t true. You’d barely had two glasses of beer, and you closed your eyes. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, breathing in through your mouth and exhaling through your nose. You only opened your eyes when Bonnie touched your arm, Caroline now quiet too.

“I think I’m gonna head home,” you suddenly said, standing and grabbing your purse.

“Oh, okay.”

You hated the disappointment you heard in Bonnie’s voice as you searched your purse for some cash.

“I’m just not feeling the best. I shouldn’t have come, but I really wanted to see you guys,” you honestly told her.

Bonnie smiled at that.

“You really shouldn’t have. You can always see us. You need to be getting more rest,” she advised.

You agreed, throwing some cash on the table.

“By the way, Grams is going to make you more of those cookies she always used to send you. I told her that you ran out weeks ago, and she freaked. Demanded to know why I hadn’t told her sooner,” she chuckled.

“Ooh is that like some witchy thing?” Caroline wondered, wiggling her fingers.

You and Bonnie rolled your eyes, loathe to admit how right Caroline was.

“She swears that they protect Y/N and brought her good luck while she was away,” the brunette told her.

“I don’t have the heart to tell her she should probably find a new recipe,” you mumbled with a shake of your head.

If they knew the things you’d been through with Damon, they’d know that those cookies hadn’t done a thing to help you. You waved them both goodbye, keys in hand as you walked out the door. You learned your lesson from last time, keeping the one you needed directly between your fingers to save less time. However, smart thinking would never trump clumsiness, and you cursed when your keys hit the pavement. You were thankful that you were just at your door though, bending down to pick them up…

When another hand beat you to it.

It startled you, and a nervous thank you was just on the tip of your lips…when you lifted your eyes.

Damon was even prettier than you remembered. Skin perfect and unblemished, eyes a crystalline blue that didn’t look real, and hair as dark as the night sky behind him. You thought you were imagining things at first, as you had been for a good month, now, and you slowly forced yourself to stand. You couldn’t find any words to say, just staring at him and trying to figure out if this was another trick of your mind. The faint noise of the people standing outside The Grill just across the street faded into the background as he moved…and handed you your keys.

Your lips parted, a gasp escaping when his fingers brushed against your skin as he laid them in your palm. You stared down at them for a few seconds before lifting your gaze again, heart stuttering and skipping beats as it registered within your mind. He was real, he was really here in Mystic Falls, and you couldn’t even decide on what to feel.

Damon’s blue eyes fell to your chest, right where your heart was as if he could hear it, and you blinked.

“Damon.”

You almost whispered his name, too afraid to say it too loudly.

“You… I have a restraining order,” you finally remembered, frowning at him.

He didn’t respond at first, merely tilting his head to the side as he drank you in. You’d grown to hate that gesture, the act nothing more than an indication of the condescending thoughts running rampant in his mind. When he looked at you like he was looking at you now, it used to make you feel cute.

Now, it just made you feel stupid.

“How does it feel to be back home?”

He completely ignored you, and you clenched your keys in your hand.

“To catch up with the family and the friends,” he drawled, doing that thing with his eyes that made your heart jump. “Unpacking in that big ole house by your lonesome?”

Your frown deepened at his words.

“You know…”

He leaned over, resting his arm on the top of your car, propping his head up with his hand.

“When you broke up with me, I didn’t quite believe you,” he admitted.

“I know,” you whispered, recalling the day he’d shown up on your doorstep like nothing happened.

“…but then the restraining order, that seemed a little more serious.”

You looked around, glancing over your shoulder at The Grill, willing someone—anyone—to just glance over.

“…and the cops…they were never going to take you seriously. Why would they…?”

Making the decision not to hear another word of this, you moved to unlock your door. You opened it for all of two seconds before Damon was pressing his hand against it, shutting it. He was so close, and when you looked up, his lips were so close to yours.

“…but I was in a…let’s say…fun mood.”

You bit your lip when he slid his entire body to rest against your door, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded you.

“I decided to convince them to go ahead with it,” he told you, face even as he stared you down. “I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

You blinked at his words, taken aback with confusion. Damon had changed their minds…? Why would he do that? How did that even work? He suddenly sighed, glancing up towards the sky.

“I never imagined you’d actually leave,” he grumbled, pouting.

You reached your hand into your purse, your fingers just grazing your phone when the whole bag was snatched away. The only thing that remained were the keys in your hand, and your heart dropped to your stomach when Damon sighed, running his hand through his dark strands. You heard your purse land somewhere behind him, and the glint in his eyes told you just how angry he was.

It was not an unfamiliar sight.

“Damon…”

You took a step back, but he was faster, his hands coming up to gently cup your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying until his thumbs brushed your tears away. He gently shushed you, but there was nothing soothing about it. It was often a sound you heard just before his fingers harshly dug into your jaw.

“You need to leave…before I call the police,” you choked out.

He actually laughed.

The sound was so disheartening, and it sounded genuine, like the thought actually tickled him. Like the idea was so preposterous, the idea that they could do anything to him, at all. The sound was so convincing that you almost believed it yourself, almost believed that he really was untouchable.

“…and what are they going to do? Hmm?”

His hand tightened on your jaw, and you winced. His face wasn’t so pretty, now, faint veins appearing under his eyes just before they disappeared as quickly as they came. The sight stumped you, and you stared at him through stricken eyes.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

Relief filled you at the sound of the new voice, and Damon’s expression evened out, just as pretty as before. He huffed, and you watched him roll his eyes just before turning to face the newcomer behind him. You didn’t hesitate to unlock your car, sliding into it and locking the door just as Damon’s hand hit the window. You froze at the crack that now adorned it, looking at Damon through the glass with an expression you couldn’t even name.

The sound of your name reached your ears as he called your name, his mockingly chipper tone barely able to hide the malice beneath it. You didn’t look back as you drove away, hurrying to beat him to your house. His words were stuck in your mind, and you were certain, now that he actually had been stalking you. You weren’t sure how that related to any of the other stuff, convinced he’d still managed to drive you mad, but Damon most definitely had been to your house.

You car was barely parked and turned off good before you were hopping out, sprinting to the door. Light flooded your home when you flipped the switch, and without a cell phone, you were forced to rely on the landline. It took you a good seven seconds to realize that you’d heard no dial tone when you picked it up, and that pressing any buttons was going to do no good.

Someone had cut the phone line.

The phone clattered to the floor as the realization hit you, and no second thoughts were needed to know who did it. The room swayed a bit, and you just knew you were going to be sick any moment now. The confirmation that Damon had in fact been watching you brought you no sense of satisfaction for not actually being crazy. In fact, you wished you’d just made it all up in your head. At least then you wouldn’t have to deal with the harsh knocks on your door.

The scream you let out bounced off of the walls, and you clutched your stomach as you fought to hold in your sobs.

The faint sound of your name reached your ears in the living room.

“I really hate that it had to come to this, you know I do…”

You slowly looked up, tearful gaze resting on the front door.

“…but you should probably come and talk to me face to face…before I do something…”

There was a slight pause, and you could almost imagine that mirthful smirk adorning his lips.

“…drastic.”

His tone gave you pause, and you felt at war with yourself. Logically, you would have to leave your house at some point. You did not think you’d be able to wait him out, but something in you screamed at you to. Something in you was convinced that you could, but a part of you was telling you that if he’d come all this way, followed you all the way back to both yours and his hometown, there was no telling the lengths he’d go to. You’d watched enough Dateline, enough Investigation Discovery, and despite the fact that you didn’t ever want to think he’d be that bad, something in you wondered if you’d wake up to the smell of smoke and burning flames one night.

Slowly approaching the door, you heard Damon chuckle, like he could perfectly hear your footsteps.

“Come on, baby,” he softly said. “I don’t have all night.”

It took all of your strength to unlock and open the door, and when you did…

You almost immediately regretted it.

You didn’t recognize the woman he had in his arms, only knew that she was crying and clearly in distress. You looked between them before resting your gaze on Damon, staring at him as if he were crazy. Your lips parted in shock, and your gaze fell back to his hand, the one he had around her neck.

“Damon…what are you doing…?” you slowly asked him, lifting your hands just as slow as if trying to stall whatever he was about to do.

“I’m doing what you made me do.”

His nostrils flared as he stared you down, blaming you for his actions, and a choked gasp escaped you.

“She-.”

“She’s going to die if you don’t step outside, right now.”

He said it so suddenly, so evenly, that you felt no other option than to believe him. Your frown deepened as you searched his eyes for some remorse, a hint of a joke, some leniency there that would give way if you pushed hard enough, but you saw none of that. Damon’s eyes had never looked so cold, and you knew then that he was entirely serious.

“Damon,” you choked out.

“Now,” was his only response, tone clipped as the girl—no older than you—cried in his arms.

You felt bad. This—whatever this was—was between the two of you, and Damon had dragged an innocent woman into it. You moved, and once one of your feet was over the threshold, a tight grip on your neck completely obstructed your breathing. On instinct, you reached up to grip his arm, panicked.

His blue gaze was all you could see, and you blinked back tears as he spoke.

“You made me do this.”

He didn’t give you time to linger on that before he pulled the other girl closer, having never let her go before grabbing you with his free hand.

You were completely frozen in shock as you watched him lean in and savagely bite her neck. The screams she let out were the kind to fill your nightmares, and you couldn’t believe what you were witnessing. You felt like you were stuck in an endless nightmare, unable to pull your eyes away from the sight of his violent assault, and unable to close your ears to the sounds of her screams, her struggle, and his teeth in her neck.

In her panic, the strange woman reached out to grip your arm, and the longer he bit her—fed from her—the weaker her grip became. Tears sprung to your eyes at the feel of her hand loosening on you, and they spilled over altogether when her hand finally let you go, falling at her side. You knew then that she was dead even if Damon hadn’t carelessly dropped her as proof.

You couldn’t breathe when he turned his gaze back to you.

Like before, those veins were under his eyes, but they were more prominent now, more terrifying to look at. His lips were completely covered in blood, some even smearing across his chin, and despite the new reality you were faced with, you still couldn’t believe it. You only gave some indication that you were still coherent when his lips grazed your cheek, a shuddering gasp leaving you.

“I missed you…you know that?” he murmured against your skin.

He took a step forward…and then another and then another, forcing you back with every one. His hand was still tight on your neck, and the other slowly snaked around your waist, pulling you closer. Damon didn’t stop until you were right in front of your door, and you looked at him like less than a stranger—like a monster straight out of every horror you’d been able to get your hands on.

You couldn’t move as he leaned in, bloody lips pressing against your cheek.

“Now, that those God-awful cookies—and everything in them—are out of your system for good…”

You didn’t understand what that had to do with anything, but soon, you didn’t understand nor comprehend anything.

Damon’s pupils were all that you could focus on, even in the darkness, and as they expanded, they were all that seemed to fill your vision. You felt yourself relaxing, shoulders drooping as the calmest feeling washed over you. Damon’s hand rubbed circles into your lower back, and the hand on your neck loosened some, his thumb smearing blood along your chin.

“Invite me in.”

How insane.

Why on earth would you ever invite him into your home? That was what you thought anyway, but the words that left your mouth were entirely different. You felt your lips move, and you heard your voice as you did what he said, and it was only when the warmth of your home replaced the cold Virginia air of outside did Damon let you go.

In doing so, his gaze broke away from yours, and you stumbled back in both shock and confusion.

Why did you do that? How did he make you do that? You could only back away from him as he slowly walked about the room, gaze roaming over the inside of your house with a hum.

“Cute,” he mused, and more tears fell. “So…homely. I can just imagine you baking in the kitchen.”

He moved his hands about with a chuckle and feeling both out of control and like you finally had control for the first time in moments, you sprinted for the door. In the blink of an eye, Damon’s arms were wrapped around you, and the sight of him drinking from that girl would never compare to the feeling, you supposed.

It was hard to make a sound when his teeth sank into your skin, and you reached back, desperately trying to pull him away to no avail. Damon’s arms were so tight around you, painfully, and you gasped when he backed up, pulling you with him. You couldn’t stop crying, and as your mind still fought to process just what he was, it hit you then that maybe you hadn’t been going insane.

Maybe he had been messing with your head somehow, watching you from the trees, showing up at odd places before disappearing. Your feet kicked at the feel of him pulling from you, and you could feel yourself growing weaker by the second. As if he could feel it too, Damon suddenly let you go, and you collapsed at his feet.

You shakily reached up to touch your neck, unsurprised by what you felt, and you failed to push yourself onto your knees.

“We were so good together…no…?”

You tried to bite back a sob, but it was no use. Damon tsk’d at the sound, and soon you were turned over to face him. He looked down at you like you were a misbehaving child, head tilted and lips pursed.

“You needed some time. I get that,” he nodded. “I even gave you that…”

You watched him kneel down, feeling too weak to even attempt to move, and your heart skipped a beat as you watched him peel off his jacket. He reached out to gently drag a finger down the side of your face, lingering at your lips.

“…but you don’t leave me. You don’t runaway from, and you definitely don’t keep me out.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours before kissing you fully. You pushed at his chest, but it was a weak attempt, and you were unsurprised when Damon batted your hand away, pulling at your clothes with ease. A few tears escaped, running past your ears, and you could only arch up into his mouth when he bit your stomach.

A humming sound escaped him, and a warm feeling filled you.

You didn’t want to feel that, and with every article of clothing Damon got rid of, he marked the area with his teeth. When he kissed you again, his bare chest touched yours, and you felt powerless to stop what was happening. You’d done everything right. You’d broken up with, even went to the police when he didn’t respect your boundaries, and to real put the nail in the coffin, you moved away. You came back home and got far away from Damon.

…but what was far when the equation involved a vampire?

As Damon pushed himself into you with a low groan, you wondered how you had missed it. He obviously fed while you were together, he wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t, and considering how little human life clearly meant to him, you had to assume that Damon wasn’t of the…sympathetic variety. You tried to recall if anyone had gone missing back in the town where campus was, but it was hard to focus with Damon thrusting into you.

His face was pressed into the crook of your neck, and your hips involuntarily rose to meet his with every movement. Blood was still on his mouth when he pulled away, and when you reached up to push at his chest, Damon reached up to grab your hand. He twisted his fingers with your own before roughly pinning your hand down.

“What was the plan?” he wondered, his other hand finding a home on your neck. “Were you going to forget about me…? Move on?”

He said it like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard, and more tears spilled over. The mere thought seemed to have upset him, and Damon leaned back down to bite into your chest. You hissed at the feel clenching around him, but Damon paid you no mind. He was too lost in the taste of you.

Thinking back on the memories of your tumultuous relationship, it scared you all the more to think of just what you’d been up against, all the while none the wiser.

Damon’s hips came down against yours with vigor, cock sliding in and out of you and making you shudder. The feel of him on top of you and in you brought you back to the happy days of your relationship, but the blood on his face and the tight grip on your neck only reminded you of what it had become.

Damon wouldn’t take his eyes off of you, staring down at you with those blue eyes, and when yours met his, life before, you felt your body relax as your vision was only filled with his widening pupils. You felt completely at his mercy, and you heard Damon hum.

“I want you to kiss me…like you kissed me on our first date.”

His words sparked the memory, and you felt a smile ghost along your lips as you recalled the excitedness in your as you’d pressed your lips against his. You’d been so bold then, so much like yourself before Damon had scared you into submission.

Overcome with the desire to do just that, you craned your head up to fiercely press your lips against his. Damon moaned into the kiss, and when he let your hand go, you threw your arms around his neck just as you had that night. Damon hummed against your lips, and you gasped against his at a particularly hard thrust. Even though you wanted to, you couldn’t stop kissing him.

You felt out of control of your own body, and tears kissed your eyes.

Your back slid along the floor with every snap of his hips, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the otherwise quiet room. You felt Damon’s hand twist at the root of your hair, yanking your head back and away from him, and you only got a brief glimpse of the veins in his face before his teeth were sinking into your neck again. The feel of his teeth and cock in you were threatening to send you over the edge, too overwhelming to even focus on.

When Damon’s teeth left you, you shuddered, and he hummed. You felt his fingers smoothing along your face, and when he whispered for you to look at him, too afraid to do otherwise, you did. Tears were still skipping down your cheeks, and Damon ran his blue eyes over you, drinking you in with a sigh. He looked disappointed, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

When his eyes held your gaze again, your lips parted, and another tear escaped at the hypnotizing words that gripped you.

“Do not leave me ever again…”

You swallowed, but you didn’t blink.

“You are mine, and if you even try to, I will kill your loved ones one by one, starting with that meddling family of yours.”

Your lips trembled.

“Nod if you understand.”

You gave him a slow nod, and a cruel smile fell over his lips. He fingered your chin, just looking at you with that small smile.

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured, and hit with the overwhelming urge to do just that…

You did.

[jymwahuwu]

imagine jing yuan hypnotized assistant!darling into believing that she should always go to work without panties... that it's perfectly fine for her to lift up her skirt and show him her fat pussy lips and her cute clitoris..... her job is to stand next to him or sit on his lap, looking all pretty while he playing with her wet folds, cockwarming him.....pumping her full of his seed..... until months llate, when he sees a tiny baby bump on her belly, jing yuan knows the hypnosis is no longer needed 🤤🤤

ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable! :D

-CW: yandere, dub-con/non-con, hypnosis, forced pregnancy

🤤Hypnosis… To add to the drama, you, as the Assistant to the Seat of Divine Foresight, have the honor of working for General Jing Yuan. You never noticed someone's burning gaze on you as you sorted papers and typed, but you did notice the gentle touch of a hand on your waist.

You have rejected the general's confession more than once. Jing Yuan still maintains his tranquility, smiles calmly, crosses his arms and listens to your reasons ("Just want to work", "General, you are very nice but not suitable for me" and other reasons).

What you don't know is that the only reason Jing Yuan didn't put you on the table and penetrate you was - some fantasy about being a little assistant. Pulling down your underwear directly is, of course, fine and feasible, but… what if you pull down your underwear yourself? This conflicts with your will and reason. Jing Yuan knows. He was thinking of a way. At that time, Penacony's advertisement appeared in front of him. Penacony is a planet known throughout the universe for its reputation for vacations and festivals.

Some dormant memories were awakened. Jing Yuan remembers - there is a technology on that planet that is recognized as safe but dangerous. The danger is…the technique of hypnosis is no longer something that appears in dreams and dramas. This technique can hypnotize the other person into living a normal life, but impose certain "unusual" rules on them, confusing their perception of normality and abnormality.

What if…applied to you?

Alas, I was almost late. Luckily I remembered not wearing underwear. This is rude.

You patted your chest gently and breathed in oxygen, your legs going weak. [General Jing Yuan] smiled and ordered you, "It's time to check your clothing and appearance." "Y-yes, General."

Without any mental burden, you pulled up your plain, black work skirt for him to check. There is no covering, you are naked, and your pubic hair has even been shaved according to the "work instructions". "Um, good. Next." You used your hands to spread your slightly thick labia as usual, revealing the most private and charming view inside, which caused a rumble of laughter in someone's chest. "come over."

You complied, muttering about how today's daily check-up was completed so quickly. You usually have to show it for at least ten minutes… your butt is sitting on his lap, like an obedient and beautiful bird. And his fingertips stroked your wet flesh, rubbing and swirling the little pearl, leaving water stains on his fingertips. After [Jing Yuan] told you that your breasts were also on display, you unbuttoned your conservative shirt and took off your bra without any hesitation.

Of course, you haven't forgotten the important rules of reproduction! Don't forget to rock yourself as that cock spreads your tight, twitching vagina and spreads your thighs. Although occasionally pleasure controls your brain like an electric shock, and you can't help but be afraid of the possibility of pregnancy, you should not deliberately allow his seeds to flow. This is not only basic professional ethics, but also your commitment to [Jing Yuan].

After multiple reproductions, signs of pregnancy appear. Jing Yuan released the control of hypnosis, and you were shocked to discover the changes in your body and sobbed, but don't forget that you are his assistant and future wife 💖

[katiexpunk]

Nightmare Before Christmas | Pairing dark!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

This story is a gift fic for @xdaddysprincessxx as part of the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. You wanted dark and I hope I delivered. Merry Christmas, babe.

Summary: As an escort, you’ve found yourself in some pretty fucked up situations before. Years of experience have taught you to navigate such situations with a combination of tact and assertiveness. Most of the time the men who exude an air of sleaze shrivel back into the corner, embarrassed and limp dicked.  Most of the time.  Tonight is not one of those times.   Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~3.6K Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Tommy and Joel are not nice guys in this one. Escorting. Non-Con. Guns. Knives. Kidnapping. Spitting. Ropes. Chloroform. Alcohol. Degrading pet names. Joel calls reader kitten. Reader jumps out of moving vehicle. Blood. Rope burns. Unwanted creampie. Conflict on pleasure. Fingering. Explicit/rough penetration. Breeding kink. No major physical descriptions of reader/graphic is for visual purposes only. No specific age gap mentioned. No use of Y/N. No happy ending. Authors Note: Special thank you to @kewwrites for lending me her brain on this one. Additionally, thank you to @toxicanonymity for writing dark content that I had to binge-read to put me in the headspace to even write this lol. And thank you @sydneyinacoma for holding my hand as I wrote this one. Also submitting this as part of @romana-after-dark's Dead Dove December event. Merry Christmas? Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications Extra dark smut below the cut.

As an escort, you’ve found yourself in some pretty fucked up situations before. Years of experience have taught you to navigate such situations with a combination of tact and assertiveness. 

Most of the time the men who exude an air of sleaze shrivel back into the corner, embarrassed and limp dicked.  

Most of the time. 

Tonight is not one of those times. 

++++

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re in the bathroom of your sleek apartment on the twenty-fifth floor in the heart of Los Angeles, preparing for another evening of playing the part of whatever and whoever your client wants you to be. 

Sometimes you’re the arm candy, sometimes the new girlfriend, and sometimes you’re just something to look at. It wasn’t always easy, not at first, but the rewards are well worth the endure.

You slept with a handful of your clients early on, only because you needed the money, but now it’s your hard line. You ensure your prospective clients know your rules before you agree to go out with them, and for the most part, they don’t try to cross them. Sure, some try, but all it takes is a quick threat of I’m leaving and they’re happy to fall back in line. You think half of them are convinced that they’re charming enough to make you break the rules, just for them, but none of them ever are. 

You stand before the mirror in a chic ensemble that accentuates your curves without revealing too much. Wear something black and don’t make it trashy, his instructions said. You run your fingers through your hair and give it a final touch before fastening a pair of statement earrings that sparkle like the lights on your Christmas tree. 

The gentle chime of your phone signals a new message. You pick it up, the screen illuminating your face with a soft glow. Your client for the evening, a successful entrepreneur named Tommy, confirms the details for the evening and informs you that a car will meet you at the agreed-upon location at 8:00 pm sharp. 

You check the time and still have another 15 minutes. You meander over to your bar cart, pour yourself a nip of vodka over ice, and sip it while you kill time. You’re not usually nervous, but tonight feels different. 

Not before long, you take a deep breath and head out the door. 

++++

The night air is crisper than usual for LA this time of year, but you ride with the windows down anyway. Your destination is a trendy rooftop bar where Tommy has chosen to meet. He hasn’t told you the occasion or why he’s hired you, but your best guess is that it’s some swanky holiday party or circle jerk between a bunch of rich people. 

The car pulls up to the entrance, and the driver walks around the vehicle to open the door for you. You adjust your dress with sweaty palms as you step out and head into the building. 

The rooftop offers a panoramic view of the city. Much to your surprise, nobody is there, except for the waitstaff and a man far from the entrance. Tommy is seated at a corner table, engrossed in the cityscape. You approach with grace, and as Tommy turns to greet you, your eyes lock in silent acknowledgment. 

The night unfolds as most of them do. 

There’s nothing strange about it. He orders a bottle of Dom, and you share a meal over casual conversation. He tells you that he rented out the entire rooftop because he wanted some privacy. Which isn’t unusual, you figure he might be some high-profile figure, or maybe he’s married, but you’ve come to learn it’s best not to ask. 

There’s nothing inherently different about this client than any other.

But for whatever reason, you can’t shake the pit of lead that’s settled in your stomach, and the gnawing little voice inside your head that’s screaming danger.

He touches your bare knee under the table and gives you a dark look, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise to stand. The gnawing little voice might as well be an opera singer at this point. 

You clear your throat and take your phone out of your purse to check the time. Fuck. You test your luck and try to excuse yourself early anyway.��

“Well, this has been lovely, but I –” you start to say, but you’re cut off by his dark eyes. 

“Nuh-uh, you’re mine for another two hours, doll,” he says in a raspy low voice. 

You watch as he slips a few $100 bills on the table. As he silently rises to stand, you catch a glimpse of the handgun that’s fastened on his hip beneath his suit jacket. Your pulse quickens at the sight. 

You follow him to the elevator, and he presses the lobby. Standing next to you, you realize how much bigger than you he is. He’s broad and built, he looks like he could rip a phonebook in half with his bare hands. 

Stay cool, stay cool, stay cool. 

On the ride down, you feel him snake one hand behind you and he hikes the hem of your dress up and runs his cold fingers up the back of your thigh and over the curves of your ass. 

“Tommy, I don’t sleep with my clients. Please stop,” you ask, your voice firm. 

He turns to face you and cages you against the elevator wall. He’s so close, you feel his hot breath on your lips. Your eyes glance over at the screen above the numbers, and you still have another 15 floors to go until you’re at the lobby. Your stomach drops. 

“You’ll do whatever I ask you to tonight, doll,” Tommy rasps, his voice cold. A shiver runs down your spine as you feel a hard metal pressed up against your ribs – the gun. “Do you understand?” he asks, not questioning. 

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes, and your adrenaline courses through you like an F1 car. When you don’t respond, he presses the barrel of the gun harder into your ribs. Ow. “Better answer me now, Doll, or this isn’t gonna be fun for you,” he threatens. You manage to rasp out a shaky “I understand.” 

Just as you do, the elevator signals that you’re in the lobby and the doors open. He steps back from you and you slump down the wall for a moment, utterly terrified. He nudges his head toward the exit and walks closely behind you, the gun now positioned on your lower back. There’s a dark suburban waiting at the entrance of the building.

You slip into the vehicle, the cool black leather cold on the backs of your legs, and he follows in behind you. There are three other men in the car, two in the front, and one in the far back. They’re all dressed in dark colors, most of them covered in tattoos, and you’re willing to bet that all of them are armed. 

“Ooo, she’s a pretty one. We’re gonna have fun with her,” the one in the back says in a heavy voice. 

“Fuck you,” you yell back, spitting on him. It lands on his face, and a terrifying look crosses it.

He wipes the spit from his eye before he grabs the gun from his side and holds it firm against your temple. Your breathing catches in your throat and your heart freezes mid-beat. 

“You better behave you little cunt, or I’ll make it hurt more than I’m already going to,” he rasps and you let your eyes go glossy as you stare out the window, silent. He removes the gun from your head and sinks back into the seat. 

As they drive off, you consider your options. You could fight them, you think, but that probably wouldn’t end well for you. You consider trying to grab the handgun from Tommy, but he’s so much bigger than you, that probably wouldn’t end well for you either; plus you’re not even sure you’d know how to shoot it. You could grab your phone and try to call 9-1-1, but Tommy would notice you rummaging through your purse for it. 

As they’re driving, you notice that they failed to lock the doors. You’ve never kidnapped anyone, but even you know that’s a rookie mistake. You watch the road blur behind a road of tears, and then it dawns on you – your only option is to jump. You clear the tears from your eyes, set on your escape plan, and wait for the perfect moment. 

Once the car is at a reasonable speed, or so you guess, you don’t know how fast you’re going, and there seems to be no car directly behind you, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You swiftly pull the door handle, and do your best imitation of a duck-and-roll. 

You hit the pavement with a loud thud, and roll a few times, completely fucking up the skin on your knees and palms. Giving yourself no time to think, running on pure adrenaline, you stand up, abandon your heels, and make a run for it. 

“FUCK!” Tommy yells, “God damn it, man, turn around, we gotta go get her!” he yells to the driver.

You have no idea where you are or where you can go, but you allow your legs to propel you forward. 

Don’t stop, just run. 

You look over your shoulder and see the suburban making a U-turn, and you assess your options once again. You see a Taxi idling in the distance. You don’t think, you just pound on the glass for a quick second before opening the door and slipping into the vehicle. 

You’re panting, out of breath, and borderline hyperventilating. You scream “DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE.” The Taxi driver looks back at you, eyes wide, noticing the blood that’s dripping down your legs in thick streams. 

“Did you hear me!? Drive, please they’re going to find me,” you scream. He turns his head back to the windshield, pulls the lever into gear, and hits the gas. The back wheels of the taxi spin out in the gravel as he deftly pulls out into the road ahead.  

With your breathing still erratic, you look behind you through the rearview mirror and are pleased to find that nobody is following you. 

Holy shit. You escaped. 

You sit back normally in your seat and hold one hand on your heart, and the other on your stomach. You assess your hands and legs, noticing you’re covered in blood and gravel. You go to reach for your purse, but shit, you must have lost it when you jumped. 

“What the hell was that about?” the taxi driver says in a raspy low tone, looking at you through the rearview mirror. You don’t respond, your hearing still muffled and ringing from the adrenaline. 

He drives for a few minutes and then turns into a dark alley. 

“Wh – what are you doing?” you ask, keyed up, running on fear. Your hand instinctually finds the door handle, like you might need to jump again. He unbuckles his seat belt and whips around to face you, the leather of his seat squeaking a little as he does. 

He’s big, you can tell he has broad shoulders and thick biceps. Salt and pepper curls grace his head, and he has a scruffy beard to match. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows and a rugged handsomeness to him. 

“You haven’t told me where you want to go, and you’re not listening to me. ‘M not driving you anywhere until you tell me what the fuck that was about. And ‘sides, you’re bleeding. Can’t have you getting blood all over the back of my car,” he says. 

He turns back around and opens the driver's side door. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, voice shaky. What the hell? 

“‘M grabbing the damn first aid kit out of the trunk,” he retorts, a tinge of annoyance to his voice. You’re not sure why he’s being so rude in the first place. You hear the trunk pop open, the sound of ruffling like he’s grabbing something, and then the sound of the trunk slamming shut.

He rounds around to your passenger side door and opens it. 

“Look I’m fine, I don’t need you to –” he shuts you up with a thick rag pressed firm against your face. 

You swear you see him smirk before your vision blurs and fades to black. 

++++

The air in the dimly lit basement hangs heavy with dampness, and a faint odor of mildew lingers in the stale atmosphere. As your consciousness slowly returns, you realize you’re standing and tied up against a support beam in the middle of the room. 

Your wrists are bound with coarse ropes above your head in a tight knot, causing them to lose circulation. You try to wiggle yourself free, but your body is pinned firmly against the wood by ropes that also extend across your legs. You try to scream, but there’s no point. A thick strip of duct tape covers your lips, muffling even your loudest of efforts to cry out. 

You frantically observe the room around you. It’s illuminated by a single flickering light bulb overhead, the walls are concrete that have been stained with age. The only audible sounds are what you assume are footsteps in the house up above. You try and wiggle yourself free, but it only exhausts you. 

You float in and out of consciousness. As your eyes fall closed, you hope that when you wake up you’ll find that this was all just one big fucked up dream. A nightmare before Christmas. 

++++

You awake to the sensation of cool metal on your cheek. You groggily come to, and once your vision clears, you see the face of a man – the taxi driver. Your eyes bug out and you whimper beneath the duct tape. 

“Shh, shh, hush kitten,” he coos, running the flat blade of the knife over your soft cheek. “You’re okay, ‘m gonna take real good care of you, I promise.”

Hot tears well in the corners of your eyes, your eyes now bloodshot. You whimper something that sounds like a muffled “please,” under the tape and you see his pupils dilate. A devilish smirk crosses his face. 

“Oh my kitten has manners, does she,” he rasps, dragging the knife down the razor edge of your jaw, over your sternum, and down the valley of your breasts. “Say it again for me,” he says. You’re a full-blown factory of tears at this point, and you muffle out another masked please. You tug on the ropes and stare back at your captor. 

You flinch as he uses the knife and cuts your dress down the middle. Your perky tits spill out of the tight fabric, and he looks at them with hungry eyes. He sheaths the knife and uses his thick hands to rip the rest of the fabric off of you until you’re completely bare before him, minus the thin scrap of your underwear. 

“Well shit, baby. Look at you,” he takes a step back and admires your body, bringing his hand to palm at the growing bulge in his pants. 

You turn your head so you don’t have to look at him, trying to focus on something, anything but him. You hear the clanking of his metal belt unbuckling, and the faint sound of his zipper coming down. He drags his pants and underwear off of his body, and stands before you, fully hard, his large cock throbbing and red. He looks down at it and spits. 

Massaging his length in one hand, he stares at you and tells you, “Look at me, kitten.” 

You don’t. 

A deep growl escapes his chest, and he steps closer to you. Still massaging his cock with one hand, he uses the other and grips your jaw tightly, smushing your cheeks together, forcing you to look at him. “There she is, my pretty girl, that’s better,” he taunts. 

“See what you do to me?” He says, nodding down to his cock, his jaw slack. “This is what you’re gonna get for tempting me,” he darkly adds. He continues to work at his cock; to him, you may look like you’re watching him, but you’re doing your best to blur your vision, to think about anything else. 

His hand leaves his cock and comes to rest on your chest with his palm flat. He trails it over your breast and cups the weight of it, rolling your nipple to a stiff peak between his index finger and thumb. 

“If you promise you’ll be a good little kitten for me, I’ll make this feel good for you,” he says. All you can do is whimper and cry as he uses you. 

He drags his flat palm down your body, over your tummy, and cups your pussy over your underwear, feeling the warm heat of it. He growls and hooks his fingers under the fabric until the tips of them are nudged into your slit, near your hole. He dips the tip of his middle finger into your cunt, and you flinch. 

“Good little kitten, already wet for me,” he says, and then plunges the length of it inside of you. You gasp, and he smiles. He drags the length of his finger, now covered in your slick, up the seam of your pussy until it lands on your clit. He begins to draw tight circles there, and you can’t help but moan at the sensation of it. 

A low growl reverberates through his chest as he works at you, his dark eyes trained on your face. You try to suppress the need to come, and he can tell. “Filthy little girl, pretending you don’t want to come for me. Go on, baby. I know you want it,” he says darkly, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

He alternates between fucking his fingers into you and rubbing your clit. You don’t want to come, but you can’t stop it. Can’t fight it. As much as you hate it, you’re at his mercy. You’re scared to admit what it might mean if you were to come under circumstances like this, but you’re so tired, you just want to feel something good. “Be a good little slut for me, kitten. Come on my fingers, know you want to,” he says, and shit. Your vision goes white, and for the first time tonight, you don’t feel anything except pleasure. 

He collects the slick that’s formed as a result of your orgasm and uses it to coat his hard cock. He watches you and admires the fucked out look on your face. 

“Gonna free your legs now, kitten. Don’t go getting any ideas or I’ll find another way to use my knife other than cuttin’ these ropes, got it?” he rasps. He ducks down, pulls the knife from his back pocket, and uses it to saw the ropes until you’re free before once again tucking it away.  

He drags your now-soiled panties down and off your legs. You know he’s going to fuck you. And as fucked up as it is, and as much as you don’t want it, there’s a little tug at your low navel, a thread of arousal that tells you otherwise. 

He uses his hands to grab your hips and he tugs at them until your back is slightly arched against the beam. Your wrists hurt, the harsh rope burning your skin, but it pales in comparison to the thick stretch of him in your cunt. 

He fills you in one thrust, giving you no time to adjust to the size of him. He holds you up, your legs wrapped firmly against his core, and he fucks into you. He fucks you hard, his thick cock punching against your cervix with nearly every thrust. You whimper from the intensity of it. 

“That noise…keep making it,” he begs, his voice wrecked. You fight your hardest to stay silent after hearing that. “Need to know, kitten – are you on birth control? IUD? Anything?” he asks, and you think if you tell him the truth, maybe he won’t come inside of you. Stupid, stupid mistake. You shake your head “No,” and he groans. 

His hips slow and stutter. “Fuck, fuck – yeaaaahhhh, kitten. Fuck, you’re mine,” he pauses with himself buried to the hilt deep inside of you as he pumps his seed deep inside of you. 

“So good for me, kitten. You’re so good,” he says, caressing your cheek with his thumb, still inches deep inside of you. He rips the duct tape off your lips in one swoop, the tearing sensation causes your eyes to water. He plants a soft kiss on your lips, before biting your bottom lip hard enough to bleed. 

“Taste good, too,” he adds, licking your blood off of his lips. 

He pulls out, leaving you completely wrecked, and his cum smears all over your thighs. 

“Names Joel by the way,” he says, his voice impossibly dark, “just thought you might wanna know the name of the man who’s gonna make you a mother.” 

END 

Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

[evilminji]

:T Hello there, Thought(tm) of the day...

I? Just remembered that Constantine's "Laughing Magician"(?) title is... f*ckin HEREDITARY?

Like?? As in The Constantine Meances have been out here, harrasing divinity and demons alike for GENERATIONS on behalf of a Good Time, the Lols, and probably Humanity if they can be arsed and you make a good case.

W... What chance would there even BE of at least like? HALF those f*ckers(conflicted but affectionate) NOT becoming Realms Ghosts? With the sh*t they're exposed too? With THEIR luck??

You think DEATH can trick them? Take them away for good? Take away the local Rat B@stard, Tricks Gods Just To See If He Can, Fate Is My Second Mistress and I Cuckold Glory On Your Mother's Bed, Constantine?

They run down main street, *ss in the breeze, wearing someone else's shirt and two shoes that don't match, not a stitch else, like run away lovers. Let Death TRY and catch them. Sorry, Luv, it's not them, it's definitely you.

..........I bet they're the wooooorst~~✨️

No joke, I bet they set up a whole *ss TOWN of Constantine.

Where the odds are in THEIR favor, gods fear to tread, and reality straight out stops working right. Like Diagonal Ally for B*stards, extended to a whole floating island. Everyone's related. It's Chaos. They can barely stand each other. Would sell each other for a toothpick.

Mess with ANY off them... and you can kiss your afterlife good bye.

They have NO neighbors because both no ones dumb enough to get NEAR them AND no one can stand to be around that many Constantines at once. The physical Manifestation of Fate wants to take the whole LOT of the handsy F*CKS to court for child support and a restraining order.

Somehow... they keep getting Earth Booze.

They SHOULDN'T have access. It's been anywhere from decade to centuries since they died. Millennium for a few. Howms't The F*CK, do they keep getting cheap gin and vodka? Bourbon and beer? Even the odd fruity cocktail for funnies.

Please... PLEASE! Tell the Zone at large, that their innate birthright powers STOPPED at Death. They... they are just REALLY good at smuggling right? Excellent con men?

Tell us they can't f*ckin PREDICT AND INFLUENCE Natural Portals!!!

*smug sipping noises from a large room full of Dead @ssholes*

Okay... They Won't Tell You~ 🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺 *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip*

Now! I hear you ask? Why are John's Terrible, Terrible, God Awful Ghostly Relatives relevant? Absurdly powerful as they are... they seem to take the afterlife as an extended "Ha! GET F*CKED, DEMONS WHO WANTED MY SOUL!" Vacation/Family get together.

Minded their business and expected everyone to mind THEIRS, or ELSE.

Didn't give two solitary SH*TS that Pariah woke from his little nappy-poo to cause a tantrum. After all, in their family? When DOESN'T some "great and terrible Power That Be" get itself in a snit? Meh... it's baby Johnny's turn to clean sh*t up. Best of luck to 'im~!

But THEN!

They must've been drinking... making out with their equally terrible and bamf trainwreck significant others... sitting around playing "who can cheat best at cards"... when? Huh.

Never seen the Fate and The Odds... STRANGLE like that.

Billions of billions of What-Ifs, Maybes, Could-bes, and more... suddenly YANKED towards a single spot. The allowance of Only One Outcome. Almost like what they can do, but... not, WRONG, per say...

Just... impossible.

There's NEVER.. JUST one way this plays out. You can control the big notes. The script. But the details and set dressing will always decide themselves.

NO ONE can just... Decide What Will Happen. And yet?

...............was....... was that Little Johnny? Has to be. Right? Where's his old man? Oi! Was that your Kid??! John's closest relatives are baffled. Nope. They can still feel him laying a beat down on some demon in Norway. So then? Who?

How?

Well mark them CURIOUS(tm).

They decide to actually get up. Put their various drinks and cards down. Put pants on. Somebody's done something... INTERESTING(TM) and they want to know what's up. So? Off they trot.

It's traumatizing for everyone who sees them. The Constantines have breached f*ckin B*stard Containment and are spilling into the Zone. On this! The DAY Pariah Waged A War! THEY JUST GOT RID OF HIM!

And Danny? His everything hurts. The Eyeballs are starting to come out of the woodwork and ARGUE about him like he's not even there. He's DANGEROUS blah blah blah. Give them the crown. Right now! Etc etc.

Somethings telling him not too.

It's... it's HIS isn't it? Has been for centuries and seconds. And... and... everyone one of him is King. There is only one of him. The Zone covers all the multiverse and all of the Hims that were and aren't here and helped and... and...! His head is starting to hurt.

But the more they try to push him to hand it over, the less he feels like unhanding the dang gaudy thing. No. His now. He'll use it as a DOOR stopper if he dang well feels like it! Stop yelling.

Then all these blonde ghosts saunter in... and all he can think is "F*ck. I think they noticed."

Huh?

@stealingyourbones @cyrwrites @bjurnberg @the-witchhunter @hdgnj

[i-turned-into-the-stone]

Extra Hour - Hyeju LOOSSEMBLE

Rape, Non-con, Violence, Hair Pulling, Choking, Face Slapping, Tits Slapping, Pussy Fuck, Titty Fuck, Cum On Tits

Hyeju LOOSSEMBLE

2,187 Words

You head back to the practice room, ready to continue monitoring Hyeju's dancing for her upcoming solo performance after a quick break in the toilet. The other dancers have cleared out, leaving behind a deafening silence.

Hyeju, the idol you're in charge of, is busy packing up her things to leave. You've already reminded her that she'll need to put in some extra hours tonight, as she still hasn't quite perfected certain parts.

As usual, when it's just the two of you in this practice room, she completely disregards your presence. You're at a loss as to what you've done wrong, but she never treats you like a respected dance instructor.

Could it be because your senior, who also happened to be Hyeju's favorite dance teacher, quit and recommended you to take over? Sure, you're young and still have a lot to learn, but you're a certified dance instructor nonetheless.

"Hyeju-ssi, we've got some extra time tonight. An hour should do it. I did mention that, right?" you reprimand her, trying not to come off too harsh in case she genuinely forgot.

She doesn't stop packing until she's finished, then stands up. Normally, you wouldn't mind letting her go, but this time, the CEO specifically instructed you to give the idol some additional training. Otherwise, you'll be transferred to the trainee division instead of working with the idols.

That would be a major setback in your career, even if the CEO didn't spell it out. It's the reason you're starting to lose your composure and feel consumed by frustration and something else.

It's tough to maintain professionalism when the idol behaves like a spoiled lazy brat all the while flaunting her ample boobs in that tight purple cami top. You've been stealing glances at her impressive bust throughout the entire practice.

To be honest, it's not just today but every single time. However, you've always managed to suppress your desires and be a decent human being. That is, until now. At this point, you're on the verge of losing it.

"Son Hyeju… Can you just listen to me for once? Just today. Let's do what the CEO said and get it over with," you say with a sigh. This is your last attempt, and you don't want to prolong your time with her any more than necessary.

Finally, she turns her droopy annoyed gaze towards you. "Sir, don't make it harder than it needs to be. Let's just stick to our usual routine. I'm heading out now," she replies, turning away and making her way towards the door.

Your anger causes your teeth to grind together as you clench your jaw. Your head tilts to the side, fixating your stare on her sweaty neck while your mind churns with conflicting thoughts. You need this extra hour for your upcoming report, no matter what.

You stomp over to Hyeju. Before she can even touch the door handle, you grab a handful of her black hair and pull her backward. The idol lets out a surprised squeal, dropping her bag and being shoved to the side of the room.

You slam the lock, facing her as she lies on the ground, and pull your shirt off your body. "Enough of your attitude. We're going to put in an extra hour starting now. No more skipping class for you," you assert.

Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip as you approach her. She instinctively backs away, mirroring your step, her breathing quickening, and her heartbeat pounding in her chest. The pain from having her hair pulled serves as a clear indication that you're not playing games.

"Sir, I-I promise I'll practice more tomorrow. I'm exhausted right now, and I haven't had dinner yet, so..." she pleads, trying to reason with a string of pitiful excuses.

You interrupt her with a chuckle, swiftly moving to her side and gripping her neck. "Exhausted? From what? Dancing like a cow?" You tighten your hold, causing her to gasp for air and struggle against your grasp. "Don't even think about leaving until I'm done with you... Bitch."

Hyeju's soles scrape against the floor while she futilely strikes your arm, her face growing increasingly blue with each passing second. From her seated position, you push her back onto the floor and apply even more pressure to her neck. Now, not a single sound escaped her.

"If you want to breathe, how about you do as I say, hmm?" you taunt, fully aware that she cannot respond or even nod her head, just staring at you with bloodshot, teary eyes. "Rip that top off."

Although her ears can barely register the faint sound of your voice due to the lack of oxygen affecting her senses, she clearly understands your command. Shocked, she let out a pained groan from her throat.

You drop to your knees, leaning closer to her pale face. With a tighter grip, she squirms weakly from side to side. "Do it..."

The idol's eyes go all blurry, and she's feeling woozy, on the verge of passing out. But her body moves on its own, trembling hands reaching for the hem of her top. Slowly, she pulls the fabric up, revealing her soft tummy that she's sucking in to catch her breath.

You're getting all excited, your cock twitching inside your track pants, but Hyeju stops just below her boobs and lets out a louder groan. Her pupils roll back into her skull. Right before she fully blacks out, you let go of your grip around her neck.

She doesn't waste any time gasping for air, doing it harsh and loud, recoiling to the side and coughing like crazy. Saliva's drooling out of her mouth, but that's the least of her worries. Her chest is burning, and she feels like there's something solid stuck in her throat.

You couldn't care less about her condition, and you grab her hair, yanking on it, trying to pull her up. "Get up. Finish what you started, bitch. Get rid of--"

"Fuck! You're fucking crazy! Let me go!" She smacks your hand away and pushes you, trying to crawl away. Her face is still pale, but adrenaline kicks in, giving her a burst of strength for a short moment.

You catch her easily, wrapping your arms around her sweaty stomach and hoisting her up to her knees before slamming her body back onto the floor. The impact knocks the wind out of her as she coughs in pain and is not moving much.

Your patience finally runs out, and you quickly yank down your pants and briefs, getting fully naked. And then, you turn your attention to the idol. With a swift move, you strip off her pants, revealing those sexy legs of hers. They are thick and jiggly.

Hyeju's slightly tanned skin amps up your raging libido higher. When she catches sight of your naked form, she lets out a shriek that could wake the dead. You are not letting her get away that easily. You tackle her leg, bending her knees and making her flop onto her stomach.

You climb on top of her thighs, pinning her legs down with your own. She's still shouting her lungs out, desperate to escape. But you're not done yet as you rip her panties right down the middle, uncovering her squished pussy. You tug at the thin fabric, teasing her sensitive area.

Body stretches forward, you press your pulsing cock against her soft ass while shoving those torn panties into her mouth to keep her quiet and to assert your dominance even more, you push her face onto the floor, leaving only her hands free to flail around.

Slowly slide your cock back, giving her a taste of what's to come. You're in control, making her feel the impending despair closing in on her sweat-slick entrance. It's intense, it's raw, and it's all about having your way with her body.

You use your free hand to guide your cock towards her plump pussy lips, smearing them with precum as you let out a light laugh. "Hey, Hyeju, stop moving. Remember how close you came to biting the dust earlier?"

"Hmphhh Uggghhh!"

But the stubborn woman pays no attention to your words. She keeps pushing her head against your palm, her hands slamming against the floor. Even her legs below go wild without a break. Sweat trickles down her body, leaving a sexy sheen on her back, accentuating her back dimple.

"Damn, you're smoking hot even from behind, like a total sex whore," you comment, as you push your cockhead inside her slick pussy. Hyeju freezes, her breath hitching, and a tear rolls down her cheek. "Should've done this ages ago."

You spread one side of her ass and thrust your hips forward, hissing in pleasure as her velvety walls wrap around your cock, inch by inch.

Hyeju's fists clench as her body convulses with sobs, her muscles tensing as she feels your thick cock stretching her pussy. It's disgusting and utterly humiliating. She's completely powerless to stop it.

Your balls slap against her tightly closed thighs, and you tilt her face to the side, forcing her to look at her own reflection in the expansive mirrored wall.

"Take a good look at yourself," you taunt, burying your cock deep inside her. "Pathetic, don't you think?" You spread your knees wider, leaning forward to touch the bruise on her neck.

The idol can feel your cock twitch inside her, teasing the sensitive spot. Her mouth hangs open, revealing her saliva-coated panties, visible through the mirror. With both hands, you grip her neck from behind and press it onto the floor.

"Just lie there and contemplate why you're in this situation while I rape your fat pussy," you command, bringing out your cock, leaving only the tip, before ramming it back in with a wet splash.

"Nngh!!" Hyeju groans, shutting her eyes tightly, cursing her helplessness as she can only endure the forceful thrusts of your cock.

Using her neck for leverage, you pick up the pace, making her gasp and grunt. Her tits take a beating against the unforgiving floor, intensifying the relentless thrusts deep inside her. Each powerful plunge is fueled by raw aggression, leaving her breathless with every harsh push.

As the room echoes with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, Hyeju's cries of despair blend with occasional moans of pleasure. The unyielding pressure of your primal jabs pushes her to the brink, causing her body to tremble. Her mind is consumed by the sensation of fullness, as you keep moving in and out, never missing a beat.

Her fingers claw at the floor, aimlessly seeking something to hold onto as you continue to pound into her with unbridled power. The air becomes saturated with the scent of sweat and sex all the while you claim her body as your own.

Your breath hitches as you feel the knot in your balls, a warning sign of the impending release if you keep ravishing her pussy. Pulling your hips back, your cock escapes with a loud pop before you flip the idol onto her back and crawl on top of her soft stomach. The sheer force of your actions elicits a sharp gasp from her parted lips.

"What are you staring at? You want me to knock you up?" you say, slightly out of breath.

Hyeju tries to remove the panties from her mouth, but you quickly swat her hands away and deliver brutal slaps to her face, hitting the same spot multiple times, causing her to cry out. Her cheek reddens from the stinging pain as she sobs.

Without hesitation, you rip off her flimsy top and bra, exposing her luscious, ripe tits. Literally drooling at the size of her tits, you firmly seize both mounds, squeezing and kneading them. Hyeju's reluctant whimpers fill the room.

Using her tits as your playground, you slide your slick, hard cock between them, getting a kick out of their softness and warmth. Committed to punishing the idol, each thrust is followed by a sharp slap against her swollen tits, leaving behind burning red marks.

Hyeju's muffled cries grow louder and more desperate as you continue to dominate her breasts, the combination of intense contact and pain pushing her to the edge. Her nipples, sensitive and erect, beg for attention, and you comply, pinching and twisting them as you rush toward climax.

Thrusting a few more times between her squeezed mounds, you unleash your thick, white cum all over her chest, causing her to instinctively cover her face. Coming down from the high, you pin her hands above her head, reveling in the power you hold over her vulnerable body as you admire the artwork you've created on her glistening tits, which now droop slightly to the sides.

"It hasn't even been an hour yet, Hyeju," you remark, your hand finding its way to her neck, gradually applying pressure, choking her, while your other hand squeezes her reddened tits between your fingers.

"Keugh..." she chokes again, a familiar sensation causing her to close her eyes weakly, her hands barely resisting yours.

[taintandviolent]

Devil's Favours - James March x Reader

summary & wordcount: 4.9K! originally chosen as the party favour for James' Devil's Night celebration, reader is quickly snatched away by James March, who would rather have his own fun with her than let the others kill her.

w a r n i n g s: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! dark fic, dub-con, slight non-con, conflicted reader, sexual confusion, mild gore & blood, graphic descriptions, violence, aggression, bodily fluids, mentions of other real serial killers, smut, rough sex,overstimulation, body worship (reader with greek goddess body type), murder, reader death.

a/n: sorry for this, I'm mentally unwell. not beta read, so if it's horrid and clunky, I'm sorry!!! also, I think this is the last taglist I'll be doing, RIP. It's just such a pain in the rear end, and half the time, it doesn't even work.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

After a long day of travelling, sleep was the only thing on your mind. That said, you were in desperate need of a bath, something relaxing. This was, afterall, a vacation. You twisted the ceramic knob on the hot water, and stuck your hand under it. With a hiss, you withdrew your hand – usually, water took a minute to reach temperature. This one? Scalding hot within a few seconds. Dangerously so. You twisted the knob on the cold side, evening them out until they’d reached a less skin-melting combination, and shed your clothes. You’d only been in there for thirty minutes or so before someone began rapping their knuckles against your door. Persistently. Very persistently.

“Just a minute!” you called from the bathroom, hoping your voice travelled. You reached for one of the towels – meticulously embroidered with the hotel’s logo – and wrapped it hurriedly around your torso. “Hang on!” 

Quickly rummaging around in your suitcase and swearing under your breath that you had packed more, you searched for something to wear. Feeling pressured and running out of time, you settled on a cream coloured silk slip. Hardly modest with your plenteous figure, but the knocking continued and that seemed more important than decency. You hurried to the door, yanking it open with an air of annoyance. The vexation melted away when you were met with a man who looked more like he belonged on a silver screen than he did standing in front of you.

“Good evening.” He said, dipping his head down in a courteous display.

“…Can I help you?”

His lips stayed together, but curved into a subtle smirk. Though it was an unintentional pick; he’d chosen well; your delectable form was as if it was carved by Gods themselves. The look in your eyes told him that you were so alive, so vivacious that any bloodshed that would happen would be akin to art. His eyes were immediately lost on you, exploring your body and face with a fervid fascination. Feeling exposed, you pulled at the silken straps, bringing the neckline of the nightgown higher up on your body. Your cleavage protested, the fabric puckering across the voluminosity of your breasts. 

All this time, he’d been silent, and you arched an expectant brow, wondering just what it was that you were to help him with. This man was… peculiar. From his fancy dressage to the articulate, over-pronounced way he spoke, his idiosyncrasies both alarmed and fascinated you. 

“Indeed,” he affirmed. He’d made his decision; you were the one for the night. And he’d have you, whether you came willingly or not.

“My name is James March — I’m the owner of this impressive hotel in which you now stand.” He paused, expectantly as if that was enough for you to throw your arms up and consent to whatever he was asking. When you didn’t, he added: “I need you to come with me. Urgently.”

You squinted, scanning his motivations. A warm, gentle smile stretched across his lips, framed by his pencil thin mustache. His hand rose, fingers uncurling in front of you. There was something unnervingly come-hither about his gaze. Would he have introduced himself with malicious intentions? Surely not — that could lead to identifying him later on. But he could’ve given you a fake name, perhaps…

Unable to resist his passé seduction and against (likely) better judgement, your hand floated up into his, resting delicately against his palm. His fingers closed around yours, lingering a moment before guiding you out of your room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind you. He began leading you briskly down the hallway.

“I forgot my key, wait I –” 

“Worry not, my dear. We’ll have another made for you, should you need it.” 

Should I need it? You thought. Why wouldn’t I need it? Of course I’ll need my key, I’m walking down the hallway in nothing but a nightgown. 

You trodded barefoot down the halls, listening to the sounds as you passed them. The hotel, you noticed, creaked and breathed with a life of its own. Whether the rooms were occupied wasn’t known, but they sounded as if they were.  

As soon as you two got to a door, only a few down from your own, he reached for the handle and instantly, as soon as he did; something felt wrong. Something felt… sinister and the feeling took over like a gelatinous sludge. You tried to yank your hand away but James sternly jerked you the opposite way — back towards him. With a throaty growl, he wrapped both arms around your torso, holding you fast in a steel grip so that try as you might, you couldn’t dislodge yourself from his grasp. His strength proved too much for your feeble, sleepy muscles.

After shouldering the door open, James carried you inside. In a moment of panicked clarity, you tried to peek around and identify anything you could. The stern way that his hand was plastered on your forehead, holding it against his shoulder, you could really only see the ornate ceiling above you.

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the corners of your eyes. This was it. You’d gone this far in life without being mugged, raped, or killed… today was the day it would change. Your track record would end. Abruptly. Terrifyingly. Your chest shuddered with an uneven, hysterical breath. At least he was handsome. No, shut up. That’s not the kind of thought you want to be thinking. 

Suddenly, your body dropped forward and you were spun around harshly, his grip still tight on the fleshy meat of your arms. Then, as though he was a lover and not your soon-to-be-murderer, he eased your back against a wooden chair with one hand, delicately, suddenly concerned with hurting you, like you were some kind of easily-bruised fruit.

“Good girl, sit there.”

At his praising words, your core twinged, tightening. No, no. Stop it. Clenching your teeth, you quashed the thought before it went any further.

His right hand snatched something from a nearby table before holding it proudly, stretching it out for you to see; rope. Unconsciously, your head began shaking back and forth. As the realisation sunk in, your heart rate picked up, thudding against your ribcage.

“N-no, no… no please.”

With the rope still in hand, James got to one knee in a familiar pose. His lightless eyes floated up to yours, staring into them deeply. Now in front of you, his cock twitched within his trousers, a carnal instinct tugging like an incessant child. He brushed the pads of his fingers along the smooth curves of your knees, your calves, your ankles… 

Damn. You – obviously – were a woman with needs, so his feather-light touch awoke something deep within your core again. This time though, it didn’t take you reversing the arousal. The shiny tip of his shoe knocked your feet apart, lining them up with the legs of the chair. She clenched harder.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tensely. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He paused to answer, straightening up. “Securing you, my dear. A struggle is inevitable.”

“What!? Inevitable for what?!”

He didn’t answer. Hastily working, his large but nimble hands wrapped the rope around the smallest part of your ankles, knotting the rope against the chair. Your wrists came next, and those were tied much tighter; the fibres of the rope ground against your soft skin, already causing a burning friction.

With a sudden, powerful pull at the bindings, testing their security, James was finished. He was confident in his knotting, you wouldn’t get away. Humming to himself, he dragged the chair through an archway, into another, much larger room. You were facing a table – it was ornately set with a large contraption in the middle. You recognised it as an absinthe fountain, the bright green liquid in the container seemed to glow. You didn’t want to be a part of whatever this was, even as attractive as that man was.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, I just… I want to go back to my room. Let me go.”

“Let you go?” James echoed in a mockingly high tone. He seemed offended that you’d even desire such a thing. It was a pleasure — a privilege — to be invited to his dinners. “No…. You’re staying with me. Right here.”

He pat your thigh  before moving to the head of the table. For the first time since you’d been brought in, you took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings instead of him. Immediately, you whimpered in disbelief — met with such a visual that you almost immediately thought you were hallucinating. You blinked away the tears and sniffed, pressing your lips tightly together. 

It was truly bone-chilling to see all of the worst eyes on you. The eyes that had seen the most foul crimes and atrocities in human history were now looking at you; the bound beauty with her sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to your forehead and fear in your eyes. John Wayne Gacy, Richard Ramirez, Jeffrey Dahmer….

“She’s shakin’ like a god damn leaf!” Aileen Wuornos howled, before finishing off the rest of her beer. She slammed it on the table, the clatter made you jump. She doesn’t want me, you thought. I’m not her enemy. Still, you knew that you’d been sat at a table full of people — true monsters — who even if they didn’t want to kill you, they’d take great pleasure in watching you writhe in agony as the others stole your last breath from your lungs.

Though they were all equally terrifying, you were most horrified by Richard. He sat directly next to James, picking absently at his nails. His sunken, snake eyes followed every move you made; watching you with a hunger that made your skin crawl. Considering the circumstances, it was laughable to say that one made you feel unsafer than the others — but he did. Logically, how he preyed upon women must’ve played into your distaste for him. He held your gaze, peering into your thoughts with a vicious lack of consent, as he behaved with every woman he came in contact with. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve waited long enough, Jimmy — can we kill her?” He said, sucking something out of his rotting teeth. He made a move as though he was going to get up.

You snapped your head to James, brows knit together in pleading. The visual surprised you. He, like the rest of the dinner party, had been staring at you, but instead of the feral, blood hungry gaze you expected, his eyes had gone glassy. He sucked his cheeks in, deep in thought. Beneath the dark fabric of his dress pants, heat blanketed his groin. You captivated him; the way your precious little eyes flitted back and forth in terror like a deer, the way your pulse thrummed in your neck, beating like a drum. He wanted you for his own — and only his own. Keeping his motives hidden, James stood up, smoothing out the fabric of his suit jacket. 

“No,” he crooned. “No, we can’t. I’m afraid I’ve had a change of heart… this one… belongs to me.”

You jerked your head in confusion, while grumbles of disappointment bounced off the walls. Ramirez said something sickening and Gacy let out a horrible, guttural chuckle. You strained against the rope, somehow trying to put more distance between you and them. James sliced his hand through the air to silence them both.

“Miss Wuornos,” he abruptly purred. “Go find us a dashing young man keen to join our party!”

“Ohohoh…. Lil’ ol’ me? Find a man? I’m gonna’ be frolickin’ in the fuckin’ daisy fields with this one. Be back!”

“Pl-please.” You begged. Your lips parted, allowing desperate promises to fall from between them. You wouldn’t tell anyone, you’d never come back here, you wouldn’t remember anything, you promised, you would never speak a word of this to anyone… You looked to James, who regarded you affectionately, but patronisingly, his lower lip jutted out in a faux-pout. He’d heard all this before, and it was of no concern to him. He’d made up his mind. It was his god damned birthday and he was going to have you all to himself.

Your begging fell on seemingly deaf ears, nobody bothered to entertain you. Your teary, burning eyes flitted to Ramirez, who was smiling his ugly, decaying smile at you, leaning forward in his seat. “I dunno’, she promises, Jimmy… maybe we should let her go.”

You shivered, grinding your wrists against the rope. Anger blanketed you. “Fuck off, weirdo.”

“Who you callin’ weirdo, bitch?”

“YOU!” You barked, straining. “I can smell your rancid breath from here. Had to kill all those women just because none of them would ever come within ten fucking feet of you!”

“Now, now… manners. She’s a lively one, isn’t she?” His mouth bent in a proud smirk, James looked to Richard, who was still bristling from the comment. He really wanted to kill you. Delighted at the fact that James had seemingly given you immunity, you wiggled happily in your chair, fighting the urge to stick your tongue out. You didn’t want to test him, though, and so you remained silent, watching instead. 

Silence was broken as the door opened. With a little thrashing, almost as desperate as your own had been, Aileen shoved a man — couldn’t have been more than 30 — inside. It didn’t take her long to find someone. In fact, it was like she opened the door, spotted him meandering by and dragged him back inside.

The guy noticed you first. Second, he noticed that you were tied to the chair so tightly that red marks on your wrists and ankles had begun to develop. Thirdly, he noticed the others, his eyes drifting slowly and visibly disturbed by who sat at the table. 

“Woah… what the fuck is this?” He asked.

“A good fuckin’ time is what it is.” One of them said. You didn’t care which. Blisteringly hot tears streamed down your face, stinging your cheeks. What were the stages of grief? You felt like you were cycling through them in rapid succession.

“Fucking let me go!” You howled, thrashing your torso back and forth, which did little to relieve anything. With a distressed expression plastered upon his face, the guy looked from you to the other guests and back, before nervously putting his hands up, taking one step back towards the door. “Hey, is she okay?”

“N—!“ James was suddenly behind you, cupping his hand over your mouth, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into your cheek flesh. His lips moved quickly, whispering hotly into your ear. “Hush now, don’t spoil the surprise for him. Let him find out on his own.”

“She’s fine, the hors d’oeuvres didn’t agree with her.” Aileen barked, towing the guy towards the table. She shoved him down into the only unoccupied seat.

“Dinner… is served.” James said. 

In unison, they all stood up. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in your head. Like syncronised swimmers, they all descended upon him, armed with whatever weapon they’d chosen. You hadn’t known the guy, but he had enough sympathy for you to make you cry at what was happening to him. He’d had a life, family… feelings. None of which mattered to him anymore, or perhaps that’s exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps your entire life really did flash before your eyes before you died. 

You let out a scream that burned on its way out. It ached and tore and ripped its way up your windpipe as the shrill, bloodcurdling sound filled the room. It was louder than his, and louder than the sounds that were currently coming from the gaping, gargling hole in his throat.

Gacy moved from his side, allowing you a brief glimpse. Torn flesh hung from his shoulders and blood had almost completely covered the front of his body. You closed your eyes and turned your head away, rolling your lips inward and biting down. It was fucked up, and you weren't going to absorb any more of it.

“Sweet dreams, my little pet.” James said, in front of you. You turned your head towards the sound, but were met with blackness. 

A dull throbbing on the side of your head was what eventually pulled you awake, forcing your cinder-block weighted lids to peel apart. You looked around; an odd, minimally decorated room. Dark. Your head wobbled as you turned it left, then right, met with the same visual — your arms suspended high above your head, and rope again, at your wrists. You licked your lips and tasted metal. In your blurred vision, you noticed red flecked along your breasts. The ache on the side of your head was more than just an ache, it seemed.

Your consciousness ebbed, fading in and out. Sleep was comforting, the idea of it cradling you in its arms like a baby. You wanted so badly to sleep… just for a moment. Somewhere inside, you heard authoritative voices, advising against sleep. Concussions… sleep… sleep is bad… keep the individual conscious. And so you fought against the cool, towering shadow, turning your head away from nothing in particular. You couldn’t hear anything outside of your own laboured breathing, and the creak of the rope every time you decided to move. Nothing. Not even the muted voices of the monsters. 

Time meant nothing, you lost track of how long you’d been hanging there when you’d finally heard the creak of a heavy door. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly before wrenching them open. You weren’t sure if the crushing weight you felt was the looming weight of death as it shrouded you, or merely the physical strain of your body being suspended for hours. You knew people could eventually die from suspension. Their lungs caved in or something. The tips of your toes barely touched the floor, your big toe grazing the cold, concrete floor every time your body swayed softly.

With your head hanging between your shoulders, your muscles quivered as you lifted it, just in time to see the door in front of you shut. James, standing in front of it, reached for a black leather apron that hung on a hook. Before slipping it over his head, he flashed you a charming smile, pleased to see that you hadn’t expired yet. Reaching behind him to tie it around his waist, he approached you. The light from the wall sconces reflected against the fabric dully.

“Ah, there you are.” He crooned. 

You intended a scream, but could do nothing but whimper. You swallowed repeatedly, a feeble attempt to wet your dried out throat. James drug a single finger along your soft jawline, trailing it down your neck, and along your collarbone. You were drenched in sweat, streaks of it descending your face and neck.

The sudden ferocity in which he gripped your face made it sting, his thumb and forefinger digging into the bone of your jaw. He quirked a brow. You opened your mouth and although your throat was already raw, you finally screamed. You screamed again, angrily, and held his cold, black gaze. Your ragged shrieks filled the room over and over again as you tried, desperately, to wrench your hands free from the ropes.

Regrettable, James thought as his soulless eyes hungrily took in your form as it quivered and thrashed around. You were built like a Greek goddess, soft curves in all the right places, begging to be touched, worshipped.

“Aaaah,” He exhaled, frustratedly.  “You’re almost too pretty to kill.”

“Then — DON’T! Fucking let me GO! AaaarhhhH!” You yanked at the ropes again, thrashing around until a deep pain in your shoulder began to burn. You cried out, letting your body go slack. 

With a deep breath, you mustered up all your strength again, finding every drop of it within your tired body, and leaned forward to scream directly in his face. The result? He was wholly unphased by your screams. If anything, it seemed like he enjoyed them. Each one sounded a little more desperate than the last, and it only fuelled him further.

You decide to try a new, last-ditch tactic. Sore mouth contorting into a scowl, you gathered a mouthful of saliva and blood, hot and irony on your tongue and lunged forward, spitting it at him. The glob hit him square in the face, dripping slowly down towards his jaw.

“What, is it hard to focus?” You croaked. Your words were slurred, messy with the pain of the head wound.  “Didn’t think you’d want to fuck me as bad as you do, huh?”

James’ dark eyes narrowed, the muscles underneath twitching faintly. He had in fact picked you, and therefore had to accept all of your fiery little quips as they came – but that one… that one had caught him off guard. 

“You…” You narrowed your eyes, the fibres of the rope squeaking as you leaned towards him, your lips inches from his face. “…want to fuck me so bad, you can’t think. Look at you. You think your apron hides it?”

With brows raised, James glanced at his groin. Had he really been betrayed by his own body, so early on? Though he felt the warmth and stiffness increasing between his legs, there was no visual indication. James calmly brought his hand to his face, collecting the bloodied spit on his fingertips. With a reticent gaze, he brought them down between your legs, harshly knuckling the nightgown out of the way.

He smeared them roughly on your cunt. Your own fluids. The ones that you had just spit at him. Not only that, but he proceeded to tease your sensitive nerves with his fingers, pulling a confused gasp from your throat. Part of you had been bluffing, you weren’t entirely sure that he had wanted you —

James pulled back an inch to look at you again. Aside from your luscious body, your complexion was mottled with exhaustion, lips dry with fear, hair frazzled and bloody on one side. To him, it was a horrific sculpture of divinity. One that he had created in such little time with such little effort. The perfect, ample curves of your breasts were dotted with crimson, having dripped from the gash on your head. They jiggled delicately with each desolate shake you gave.

With his free hand, he took hold of your round, plush hips, his thumb working the softness like dough. He swung you towards him, pressing the pillowy tops of your thighs to his groin. Quickly, he identified a growing obsession with your body.

He loved it. All of it. In fact, he hadn’t seen a body as marvellously breathtaking as yours since his wife’s. Of course, it had been many years since he’d seen hers in any such manner, so the flames that licked at his desire were deprived, hungry ones. His mouth found yours, lips crushing against yours. His tongue, hot and strong, slipped in and beckoned yours to engage in an erotic dance.

He pulled your body closer, pressing it tightly against his. Though constricted by his trousers, you felt the bulging heat beneath his apron, and rubbed your thigh against it, teasing him. He groaned deeply in response, bucking his hips against you to force friction. After a few moments, James broke the kiss, panting heavily over your tender, swollen lips.

“Pl-please… don’t kill me… please…”

The back of his hand whipped across your mouth, hitting you so hard that the world sparkled when you opened your eyes again. Your face burned with the contact.

“Enough of that now! Say it again, and I’ll do just that!”

The harshness in his voice stunned you. Up until that point, he’d been using his syrupy, serenading voice — the one he had used to charm you into coming with him. Now, he bellowed, an unexpected violence. Silence hung heavy between you as he waited, baited you to beg for life once more. You didn’t speak again, but your sobs continued. 

Finally, his hand dropped between your legs again. Your clit ached, burned with the way his fingers fondled it, but he didn’t stop. Your poor, exhausted body trembled beneath his touch, doing all it could to express arousal. Salty droplets streamed from your hairline into your eyes, stinging as they absorbed.

“Would you rather die?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Wh-what? N-no… I d-don’t want to die…”

“That’s not what I meant, my little ember. I meant… would you rather die than be pleasured? I, of course, can arrange that.”  

You hesitated a moment, but finally, shook your head. 

At this thoughtful confession, James angled forward, plunging a single finger inside of you, past the knuckle. The digit wiggled inside of you briefly, before sliding back out slowly. He held it up for you both to see. “Oh,” he growled.  

His finger was generously coated in clear slick. Your body had betrayed you. 

Wordlessly, he untied the apron, tossing it carelessly to the side – it hit the floor with a heavy flop. Then, those same nimble fingers began unbuttoning and unzipping, until they gripped his rigidness, pumping it slowly for further stimulation. His chest heaved with wanton, desiring breaths as he stared at you, hanging there, with your warm, ample body for his taking. James lined his dick up with your leaking slit, and pulled you harshly onto his cock, showing no mercy for how exhausted your body was. 

Your cunt swallowed his cock whole, hungrily and desperately. His head fell back between his shoulders, a throaty groan coming from his open mouth. He began thrusting, slow at first. The ease of thrusting fascinated him; your body hung limp on the ropes and all James had to do was tug you forward, tug you in the direction he wanted you to go. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a woman like this before - suspended in the air,” he said, breathily. “Exquisite.” 

You mewled in response, snot dripping from your nose. 

Soon, the room was filled with wet, slick thrusting and the thudding sound of his torso as it met yours. You came repeatedly, coating his thick, pale cock in fluids you didn’t even know your body could make. At one point, during a particularly vicious thrusting, a warm, watery liquid splashed down over your thighs. You screamed like he was killing you, though he felt better than any man you’d ever been with, pleasuring you in ways that left you feeling breathless.

Still, your body persisted with its aches. So far, you’d been successful in appealing to his sexual nature, and decided to try again.

“….please…. Let me down… I’ll… d-do anything you wa—

Suddenly, he backed up, pulling the head from your cunt with a slick pop. You panted; fragile, pitiful breaths, barely enough energy to lift your gaze. With his rigid cock bouncing in front of him, James untied your hands, allowing your heavy, enervated body to fall into his arms. You couldn’t help but cry into his shoulder as he carried you to some sort of surface, laying you carefully down atop it. Some streak of mercy had captured him, and you mouthed words of gratitude. Your entire body buzzed with relief, your muscles aching in a funny, tingling way.

James wasted no time in fucking you again; the tip was nearly scarlet, hungry for release. His hand compressed on your soft stomach, pressing down into it to increase the pressure of his cock as it drove deeper and deeper inside of you.

“You know how this ends, my dear.” When he spoke, it sounded far away. But you did. You knew. There was never any end to this besides the one that you’d envisioned fearfully. He leaned to the side, retrieving a small, but very, very sharp blade from a nearby metal table. You watched numbly as James lifted the knife above your neck.

His hips pumped rhythmically, bringing you both closer to the fiery edge of ecstasy. Pulsing veins massaging your silklike insides, and another orgasm galloped towards you. Your body quivered, cold sweats taking over. 

James whipped the knife across your perfectly warm neck, and instinctively, your hands went to the laceration. Bright crimson gushed out from the spaces between your fingers, and you felt a gushy warmth press against your digits. The inner workings of your throat, you realized. The gore of your own body, pressing back against you in its heat. James laid one hand over yours, seemingly just to feel the blood as it spurted. With a deep, guttural moan, his cock twitched inside you just before it released, coating your insides.

She gasped, a wet gurgle. The light left her eyes, gradually, but beautifully. The pulses of blood eventually ebbed to a dull trickle. As his thrusts slowed, he expelled a long sigh – killing both excited him and depressed him. On one hand; it brought exhilaration, delight and sheer unadulterated arousal. On the other however, you only truly got to do it once. Certainly, you could kill a ghost a million times over, but the effect wasn’t the same.

For a moment, James’ expression contorted into one of regret; when you returned in your new spectral form, you’d likely not want to spend time with him. Yet another woman who loathed his presence roaming the hallways, avoiding him. But perhaps, he still wouldn’t mind having you stuck with him for all eternity, if only to gaze upon your perfect form whenever you’d let him. With matching wounds, at that. A true romantic.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur / @feefymo / @evpeters87 / @lacucarachapisser / @stveharringtn / @fear-is-truth

[fuckmyskywalker]

🕯️🧺 w anakin? plz? 🥺❤️

Prompt: 🕯️ "You weren’t supposed to hear that.” | 🧺 Stepcest. — Anakin Skywalker.

CW: 18+, smut!. stepcest, dub-con/non-con (reader is drunk and under other substances, they don't explicitly say yes but they don't say no either so). Anakin is quite violent in here, and mean, and a bitch. Dirty talk, Oral sex (m), struggling with feelings, Anakin is an idiot tbh but he is my filthy, pervert idiot. | Word count: 2.9k (...somebody kill me.)

a/n: This is so disgustingly delicious I couldn't help myself, sorry. It was supposed to be a short drabble but ended up being almost 3k of pure filth.

His feet tap the rug of the living room anxiously; Anakin knows he should stay away from all this, lock himself in his bedroom, and jack off before bed. 

But as usual, his thoughts are even more complicated than that, he is caught between a situation that he isn’t sure has a positive outcome or even one for that matter. It’s the same conflict he has been going through ever since his wonderful mother had the great idea to marry your awesome dad who treated her as she deserved and welcomed Anakin as his son. But that wasn’t the problem.

It was you.

Anakin wanted you, so bad it burned his skin and chained his heart to a cold wall of self-restraint. This is wrong, or at least that’s what he kept repeating to himself every night he heard you in the adjacent room, moaning softly under your own caresses and all he could do was rub his uncomfortable erection to at least ease some of the yearning. This is wrong, or at least that’s what he kept whispering in the shower, closing his eyes to not see his hands squeezing your bottle of shampoo and consuming his sanity in the sweet scent of strawberry shortcake, relishing in the calmness your characteristic smell brings him. This is wrong, or at least that’s what he kept saying in the solitude of the obscure living room, waiting for you to come back from whatever fucking party you decided to sneak out that night.

It was easier to mask his desires and sinful lusts for you under a coat of anger. Always snapping at you, yelling, pushing you away. Anakin found that nasty attitude as an effective coping mechanism. For a while. You suddenly stopped talking to him, searching for his friendship or a simple common ground so you two could be in the same room without screaming and throwing insults at each other until either his mother or your father had to step in.

Neither of them tried to interfere unless things got heavily verbal and one time, physical. They both concluded it was only the edge of getting used to this new dynamic. You and Anakin just need more time to grow accustomed to each other’s presence, that’s it. Plus, Shmi didn’t feel entitled to scold you, and your father was never good at dealing with “women’s emotions”.

Deep down, Anakin was feeling guilty, and he, much like your father, wasn't good at dealing with others’ emotions, less alone his. He never tried to apologize either, which perhaps was why he was doing this. Aside from that repetitive statement of “this is wrong”, he tries to swallow his guilt and add to the mix a hint of “this is how I show my worry for her”. Which, if being brutally honest, was a pretty shitty way of doing so. Glancing at the digital clock on the fireplace, his anxious tapping gets stronger, it is almost 3:30 am. He hesitates, should he call you? Would you even pick up the phone? Should he just drop this whole act off and go to bed? Anakin feels too tired to even masturbate, or too angry, it doesn’t matter. The thoughts and “what ifs” begin to drown him, and if there is something that the unstable bastard is, is an overthinker. 

As luck would have it, his head snaps up when he hears the front door click open softly, followed by a muffled giggle. He stands up slowly, careful not to make a single noise. Are you alone? He hopes you are. The idea of seeing you with someone else twists his stomach with jealousy, quickly followed by that familiar wave of guilt. He has no right over you, that is a fact, and yet he forces himself to look over it, using the poor, sick excuse of being your stepbrother to worry about you; Even if his worry is translated into being a bitch, spying your every movement, and fucking his fist to the thought of you. 

He sees you stumbling through the front door, clicking the latch with what appears to be shaky fingers. Anakin remains silent as he scoots closer to you, resting on the frame of the arch that leads from the living room to the hallway that connects with the front door and the kitchen. You fail to notice his presence, too busy struggling to keep both feet on the floor as your heels hang from your right hand and your purse on your left. The tiniest bit of relief travels through his veins, at least you are alone. You walk past Anakin, but he doesn’t let you wander more than three steps. 

“Had a fun time? He asks in a sarcastic, dry tone. Cold blue eyes scan you up and down unashamedly, taking notice of how revealing and tight your outfit looks. 

With a loud gasp you turn around in a split second, your eyes widen and your mouth contorts into an expression of shock and drunken panic, Anakin predicts your scream and sprints towards you clasping a hand over your mouth and pushing you against the nearest wall. If he was upset before now he is fuming. “Shut the fuck up” He whispers against your face, his hot breath fanning over your nose. Up close Anakin notices how your eyes are droopy, puffy, and red. “If you wake them up I won’t save your ass”

You try to push him away but to no avail, Anakin is stronger than you, and your drunken state completely eats up your stability. Your head shakes side to side trying to remove his hand from your mouth but it only makes him push it harder until your lips begin to feel numb. “Where were you?” He asks, towering right in front of you in a frightening yet… arousing way. “And what the fuck is that outfit?” 

It’s rather ironic how your stepbrother keeps interrogating you but also takes away your ability to talk— You let go of your heels that fall to the wood floor with a muted sound, trying to push him away with your palm against his chest. 

Which apparently infuriates Anakin further. “Keep your hands off me, who knows where they’ve been” He hisses and slaps your hand away and pins it to your side with frustrated force.  “Were you with someone?” Anakin hisses, so close to your face you can see how deep his eyes are. You never recall they were such a pretty shade of blue. 

You shake your head at his last question, the only verbal indication you can give. His shoulders seem to relax the tiniest bit just to return to his usual tense shape. “Don’t fucking lie to me” He warns you and spits your name in a venomous way that should hurt your feelings and bring tears to your eyes. You shake your head again this time more desperately, this is the closest he had ever been to you ever since your father married his mother and it’s borderline scary. “You smell like a damn distillery, fucking disgusting” 

Instead of pushing him again, you raise your knee to hit his hip, your goal was his crotch but you missed by a lot. Anakin grunts in pain and lets go of your mouth for a second letting you take a heavy, desperate breath. Your body feels dizzy and sweaty and it’s all because of him. The altercation only lasts a few seconds and you don’t even reach the first stair before Anakin yanks your hair and slams your body back to a wall.

“Let go of me—” You whine with little conviction. “Get the fuck off Anakin I—” Your voice isn’t a plea, it’s an irritated complaint that makes you focus on everything else besides the burning ache that is beginning to form in between your legs at the tussle between your stepsibling. You expect his hand to clasp over your mouth again and the little self-consciousness left in your mind decides to bite his palm if he does so—

But instead, his lips crash over yours messily, punching all the air from your lungs. Your body reacts faster than your mind and the first thought that swirls in your hazed head is: His tongue tastes like heaven. Anakin quietly grunts at the strong flavor of liqueur and cheap cigarettes that fills his senses, pushing his hips forward basically rubbing his half-hard cock against your hip. Using his grip on your hair he yanks your head upwards so his lips can attack your jaw and neck, rapt in your heavy panting. Anakin’s knee finds a comfortable spot between your thighs, rubbing the sharp bone over against your needy core. Your body jolts slightly and you mewl into the cold air of the staircase hallway. You want to touch him, run your hands through his hair, cup his beautiful face, embrace this sick, prohibited feeling— but the emotional grip he was on you is doing its job. You can’t seem to find the strength to move a single muscle, melting into a wordless puddle for the person who you were supposed to hate.

Anakin’s knee picks up an acceptable pace forcing you to move your hips involuntarily to relieve some of the ache. You couldn’t remember when was the last time you were this wet, and even if you wanted to— it would’ve been impossible. He leaves wet, lewd kisses over your neck before sucking and biting your skin, ravishing you as if you were his prey, and perhaps you were. Anakin’s hand which isn’t gripping at your hair so hard your scalp is burning, squeezes your hip with the same brutal, appealing force. 

“You don’t have any idea how bad I want you” Anakin breathes against your neck, his voice lingering with that dangerous edge, mixed with what appears to be compassion, but not for you, for himself.— or even emotion. “You get under my damn skin, you make me lose my damn mind” His white teeth are like a threat, sinking into every inch of skin available, marking you. 

To care? You don’t have it in you. Probably not even if you were sober. Your mind struggles to come up with a reply, the ocean you are swimming in has everything except guilt, which was burning Anakin’s soul. “I know…” You whispered weakly, pushing your hips forwards and biting your lip to choke a moan at how good it felt to be humping your stepbrother’s knee. “I heard you jacking last month— you moaned my name” It was a miracle you could even build the sentence together, your voice was slurred and broken, but Anakin understood every word.

He curses under his breath, and the surprising sight of his flushed, red cheeks seems to break your drunk trance for a moment. Anakin hides his face in your shoulder, resting his forehead on the muscle. “You weren’t supposed to hear that” He mutters, it feels humiliating, but the simple act of unintentional humiliation makes his cock twitch inside his grey sweats. 

“I did”

“Shut up”

“I liked it”

Anakin’s head snaps upwards, meeting your half-lidded eyes. He wants to believe you. The doubt flies around his head: He is not used to having what he wants— Why would you be the exception? Is this his chance to be greedy and take the only thing he has been craving for months now? Is this how Eve felt when the Devil offered her the forbidden fruit? 

Are you his forbidden fruit?

Is this the way out from Eden?

It was too much. 

Lowering his knee he glares at your discontented groan, placing both hands on your shoulders and forcing you to kneel. The intention is clear, and it doesn’t take you long to pick it up. Your shaky hands fumble with the little bow on his swears but Anakin just pushes them away, muttering something about ‘how stupidly drunk you are you can’t even do something for yourself’. What is also not a surprise, is the lack of underwear— but what it is— is his cock. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of it, completely hard right in front of your face. Swallowing, you allow him to guide the tip to your open, awaiting mouth. The first touch is like touching heaven, or hell— Your warm tongue swirls over the sensitive head tasting the salty precum, wondering what could you do to be able to savor him again. Anakin places his large hand on the back of your head fighting the urge to push you all the way in. He is trying to be nice, at least a little. Although, it seems like you have other plans; He is bigger than other guys you’ve seen, not massive but certainly above average. Perhaps big enough that you can see the outline on your lower stomach if he fucks you. Sliding a couple more inches inside your wet mouth you roll your eyes at the way Anakin’s breath hitches and how his hips push forwards the slightest bit.

The wonderful weight of his cock on your tongue is hypnotizing, and you waste no time bobbing your head back and forth, sliding a bit more of his cock after a couple of minutes. Raising your eyes, you find Anakin staring directly at you, his blue irises dilated and almost glowing in a predatory manner. 

His breathless chuckle catches you off guard. “You must be a slut if you suck cock this good.” It’s a double-edged compliment, either way, it feels good. You whine around his dick making him hiss in pleasure, biting his lower lip to keep the noises down. He can only imagine the catastrophic consequences if his mother (or your father) wakes up and finds his son’s cock buried in his stepsibling’s throat. “Fuck— I wish I could have you on your knees all day…” 

You try to nod at the idea, it sounds great— it fucking does. The struggle for air starts to hit you, and the lustful haze replaces the alcohol haze in your head and bloodstream— You are no longer drunk in cheap tequila, vodka, and whatever the fuck was in that igloo; no, you are drunk in his cock, his scent, his voice, in him. 

You decide to go big, because well, you already are home. Deepthroating him rewards you with a delightful moan, not loud enough to bounce over the walls of the first floor but enough for you to pick it up and moan as an aftereffect. Your throat contracts around his hard cock and Anakin is a dead man. The little restraint he had left breaks and the next thing you feel is your head banging against the wall to keep you in place as he fucks your face. His hips thrust on and on, your gags and chokes sobs only spurring him further. Your nails dig into his thighs and his balls graze against your chin with every frantic snap. Anakin is painting, sweating, sinning. 

If this was the forbidden fruit, could he blame Eve at all? 

Your tears, your smeared makeup, the drool that trickles down your chin is like a work of art. Anakin thinks you look beautiful, but it isn’t enough. The muted pounding of the back of your skull against the wall shouldn’t be as erotic as you register it, forcing your mouth open, letting him use you, ruin you, own you in the nastiest way possible. 

Anakin’s release comes without warning. His cock twitches inside your mouth and some thick, hot ropes of cum slide down your throat before he moved out of the warm paradise that your mouth was to paint your face with his cum. He exhales shakily, stroking the base to make sure everything is out and on you. The thick globe of cum that slides down your cheek reaches the corner of your lips and you stick your tongue to catch it, making Anakin squeeze his eyes close and wipe the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand.

The silence is everything but tense, it even feels comforting; as if all the words that you two wanted to scream were now said— in such a carnal, animalistic way. Anakin’s hands are gentle as he helps you get up, giving you the time you need to calm yourself and settle the unsteadiness of your legs. His arm wraps itself around your waist, trying so badly not to look at your cum-stained face in order to not get hard again. 

“Sorry,” He whispers as the familiar sensation of guilt makes itself present and commences to weigh his shoulders down. His nose scratches your shoulder, and every negative thought begins to swirl inside his mind. 

“Don’t be” You reply, trying to smile but you are too tired to even do it.

The clock ticks 4:12 am.

“Is it wrong if I say I love you?” Anakin’s voice is searing with regret, what has he done? The martyrdom rings inside his chest, constricting it and echoing like big, golden bells. 

“I don’t know” Your answer is sincere. You blink some tears away, wiping some of his lukewarm cum away from your face, it’s beginning to dry up. “But I love you too, so, if it’s wrong…”

He knows what you are implying. 

The clock ticks 4:16 am when he helps you undress and wipes your face with a makeup remover wipe. Anakin helps you get dressed, noticing your pajama top was an old t-shirt that belongs to him, a piece of clothing he simply imagined he lost in the washer machine. His lips are soft when he tucks you in bed. You smile at him tiredly, kissing him back.

No more words were needed.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 English isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes!

[mykoreanlove]

i need skz angst like rn??😭

hyunjin x female reader, and they maybe decide to go out to like a club or something, and some guy hits on the reader and hyunjin is like “you were flirting back!” and the reader is just very confused bc they tried to let the guy know as kindly as possible that they are taken, but hyunjin is still really mad and it results in them fighting

and then maybe hyunjin decides to go home but not like a shared apartment thing like he goes somewhere reader doesn’t know about

and then a day passes and he’s like “oh no i fucked up” and comes to readers apartment to apologize

happy ending? tysmmm🎀

I was like sure, let's writing something short and quick but somehow it turned into 6 pages lol. hope u enjoy it :)

The pros of being an insanely hot couple? A lot of sex and affection, a lot of people wanting to be like you and a lot of praise and admiration.

The cons of being an insanely hot couple? A lot of people trying to take your place, a lot of jealous envy and a lot of insecurity.

“Baby, you look incredible”, Hyunjin whispered into your ear as he hugged you from behind. You were standing in front of the mirror, admiring your look for the night. “I wanted to look good for you”, you shyly admitted as you leaned into him. “There is absolutely nothing you have to do to accomplish this, y/n. Nothing, you hear me?”

Ever since you met Hyunjin a couple of weeks ago your whole world turned around. You were used to dating a lot and having fun, but this was different. He was different. Both of you fell for the other rather quickly, a romance that revealed a hidden side within you.

“I want to kiss you so badly”, you whined.

“Why don’t you?”

Instantaneously, you pointed to your lips covered in deep ruby red.

“Ah”, he nodded understandingly. “Is it okay then if I do this?”, Hyunjin asked before kissing every inch of your collarbone, slightly sucking to mark his territory.

Hyunjin was a confident guy, knowing damn well that he was good looking and talented and still he felt conflicted at times. What if this was not enough? What if he was not enough for you? Since you were in your early dating stages, he never had vocalized his concerns, but his body did. His need to be near you, touch you and possess you was evident from the start.

“Jinnie, stop”, you giggled as you pushed him away.

Irritation grew on his face, not understanding why you were distancing yourself.

“I’m gonna be covered in marks that everyone is going to see”, you teased.

He felt his chest tighten. Did you not want others to see them? Did you want to be perceived as single? His own sparks of insecurity got ignited again, waiting to turn into a full-size fire.

The club was crowded with people of all kinds – dancers, jocks, hot models, a real feast for the eye. You were used to people turning their heads, especially when you were together with Hyunjin. It never bothered you that much since you knew how devoted he was to you.

“Can I tell you something?” You were laying on his chest, watching him breathe calmly. “Sure.” “I found your old DVDs in the basement, and I started watching them while you were at work. Binging them, really. And I saw something that really stuck with me”, he explained silently. “What was it?” “Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours”, he explained softly. You turned your head and gazed into his teary eyes. “We haven’t been together that long, I know. But this is exactly how I feel, y/n. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. Cannot. Do not want to. Impossible.” You started tearing up as well, finally feeling at home with another soul. You placed a soft kiss on his plush lips and whispered: “I’ll be your Carry, baby.”

“Come dance with me”, you shouted as you pulled him to the dance floor. It was hot and sticky, but you didn’t mind, in fact you loved it like that. The music was energetic and vibrant, filling the whole room with energy and life force. You only had eyes for Hyunjin, watching his body move gracefully to the music. When he danced, he became one with the tunes, one with the movements. He smirked as he caught you staring, knowing damn well that you were weak for his dancing. As the song changed into a slower, sexier one you found yourself in front of him, grinding on his muscular body. All the other people were forgotten as you swayed your hips on him, feeling him getting hard behind you. His hands on your body and his hot breath on your neck was all you needed to know.

Hyunjin however was more prone to your surroundings. He enjoyed having you like that, but he hated sharing you with others. He was too aware of the other pair of eyes that was set on you. Like a reflex, he pulled you closer, grabbed a bit harder and provoked your surrender, demonstrating whom you belonged to.

“Fuck, baby, if you keep this up, we have to go”, you moaned into his ear.

“Let’s do that”, his whole face lit up. “Let’s get out of here, y/nnie.”

“But we just came?”, you whined in annoyance.

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened as his gaze pierced through you. Just like that, goosebumps formed on your skin, electricity cursed through your body making you feel all hot. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I’m going to the bathroom really quick to fix this situation right here”, he said as he nodded to his crotch, “and when I come back, we leave, you hear me?”

You swallowed and nodded, already anticipating the night ahead.

“Good girl.”

He placed a kiss on your forehead and turned around, quickly looking for the bathroom.

You walked over to the exit and leaned against the cold wall, waiting for your boyfriend, already picturing him doing unspeakable things to you. You were so engulfed in your naughty daydreams that you didn’t even notice the guy from the dancefloor approaching you.

“Hey!”

“Oh, hi”, you replied politely.

“I saw you dancing earlier, damn you got moves!”, he complimented you.

“Thanks”, you replied drily.

“So uhm, would you like to have a drink with me?”

“No”, you shook your head.

“Why not?”

“Well, if you saw me dancing earlier you must have seen my boyfriend behind me, right? That’s why.”

“Shit, sorry. I kinda hoped that he was just another guy hitting on you.”

“Far from that.”

“He’s that great, huh?”

“Y/N”, Hyunjin called out angrily while glaring at the other guy.

You were taken aback by his tone, feeling anxious so you followed him without saying a word.

Fumingly, he marched to the car, while you were trying to keep up. Hyunjin placed both of his hands on the cold metal of the vehicle as he was trying to calm himself.

“Jinnie”, you called out softly.

“Don’t fucking call me that, y/n.”

“What?”

He turned around and faced you, his pupils were dilated, and his nostrils flared – he was angry as fuck.

“Don’t fucking call me that when you were flirting with some dickhead behind my back!”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Of course, I am. That bastard was eye-fucking you while we were dancing, and I left you alone for 5 minutes and you were already cozying up to him?”

“Cozying up to him? Cozying up to him? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“What? I know what I saw!”

“Enlighten me, then. What did you see?”

“I saw you all smiley and giggly, you were practically shooting heart eyes emojis at him! Is that why you hated me giving you hickeys on your collarbone? So, everybody could see you were available?!”

You felt the punch to your stomach, making it harder to breathe. Every single word of his was laced in the most painful accusation, one that you had been familiar with way too often.

“Yeah, you’re right. I was flirting back and shooting heart eyes emojis at him. It was so much fun! And I was damn grateful that my body was free of your damn hickeys!”, you retorted angrily.

Hyunjin was about to explode, not being able to differentiate between your lies and his perceived reality.

Wordless, he turned around and got into the car. You looked at him one last time, hoping that he would come to his senses – but he didn’t. The loud sound of his engine disturbed the quiet of the night and not seconds later he was gone.

What should have been a fun night out for a young couple turned into a vicious disaster. One was crying hiding in the dirty toilet of a club, while the other was crying racing down the highway. Promises of forever love turned into accusations of unfaithfulness, painting your rosy world of adoration into black loneliness.

You had no idea how you made it back home, nor did you care. The following day was torture – you were ruminating over everything, trying to understand what had happened yesterday. Deep sadness filled your whole being. Hyunjin did not call, nor text. He vanished out of your life, just like he vanished into the night air yesterday. Was that it? Was it over?

“Damn, you look like shit. Why are your eyes so puffy?”

Hyunjin pulled the covers over his head, trying to dissolve into thin air.

“Hey, come on. Talk to me”, his friend encouraged him.

“I may have made the biggest mistake of my life yesterday.”

“Oh my god, did you cheat on y/n?”

“What? No. Of course not. I would never do that”, he explained.

“What did you do then?”

“I accused her of cheating on me.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t be. This was the last time I let my demons take over”, he mumbled as he left his room.

By evening, you felt better – at least good enough to go for a walk and clear your head. Minutes after you left Hyunjin appeared at your door – holding a giant bouquet of flowers in his trembling hands. He rang your door hundreds of times, knocked on it until his knuckles were swollen and called out for you until his throat was sore. But nothing.

Defeated, he slid down to the ground and thought of what to do.

“Y/N, I made a big mistake yesterday. I am so sorry. I should have never accused you of shit like that.”

He was wiping away his tears again, the thought of loosing you made his heart break every single time.

“You see I’m not perfect. Far from it. Yet somehow you seem to think that way. And I just… I just wait for the shoe to drop. For you to finally realize that I’m nothing special.”

“Jinnie”, you called out his name while stopping in front of your apartment. His eyes widened in surprise, immediately followed by relief. “You didn’t open up because you hated me but because you weren’t home…”

“Don’t flatter yourself, hate is on the top of the list right now”, you glared angrily.

He lowered his head in defeat.

“Are those for me?”, you nodded to the bouquet of flowers.

“Yes.”

You opened the door and passed by him. “Put them in a vase, then.”

Surprised, he got up on his feet and followed you inside.

“Can we talk?”

You sat across from him, giving him the cold shoulder.

“Talk.”

“Y/N, I am sorry. Please believe me, I am so sorry. I was seeing things, I let my insecurities win and I accused you of shit you didn’t do. Please, forgive me.”

“What did you think happened there?”

“I saw you guys talking and then I saw red. Like, you were smiling from ear to ear, practically shooting heart eyes emojis at him. I just, I just saw red.”

You sighed deeply, finally understanding where he was coming from.

“You’re right. I was shooting heart eyes emojis at him.”

“What?” Hyunjin’s heart was about to explode.

“But only because I was talking about you, Jinnie. He asked me out for a drink, and I explained to him that I already found the greatest guy on earth. I was gushing over you, like a freaking fan girl.”

“He’s that great, huh?” “Oh my god, yes. He is the greatest. No really, he is great at everything. Dancing, painting, loving? The best. He is also the kindest and loveliest guy I ever met. Always caring for the ones he loves. Never a dull moment with him. He makes me laugh so much. I swear I got abs because of him. And did you see how handsome he is? Fuck me, it’s like God created him himself and brought him to earth, so we could adore him. Fucking masterpiece, that man.” “Okay, okay, I got it”, the guy gave up. “Must be one hell of a lover.” “One hell of a lover. One hell of a soul. My soul, actually.”

“I feel like the biggest idiot right now”, he admitted ashamed.

“Yeah, you should feel like that.”

“I’m sorry, y/nnie. Can you forgive me?”

Silence lingered between the two of you, only for a moment, until you got up and walked over to him. You put your arms around his lean torso and hugged him tightly, willing to put this past you.

Hyunjin’s body finally relaxed, as he hugged you back. His lips landed on the crown of your head, simply resting there, and holding you close.

“Jinnie, wait. There is something else you need to know.”

He released you from his grip and looked at you anxiously.

“What is it?”

“When I was younger, I got bullied for hickeys. My first boyfriend always left them on my neck and the others harassed me for it, calling me slut and all sorts of names. So, it’s true, I don’t like them being visible.”

Hyunjin’s heart broke once more – for one because you had to endure this harassment, but also because he bullied you himself.

“I’m sorry, y/nnie. I won’t do that ever again.”

“Wait, no. I love your hickeys. I love your lips on me, I really do. But can we, maybe, agree to leave hickeys in places only we can see?”, you asked shily.

Hyunjin chuckled and pulled you in for a kiss, promising to do just that.

“I really meant what I said. I can’t imagine my life without you. I really can’t.”

You grabbed his hands and squeezed them, agreeing you felt the same way.          “I feel like we should talk about your insecurities, but I’m drained from last night.”

“Let’s relax for now, baby.”

“What do you want to do?”

Hyunjin’s lips turned upwards, forming the loveliest yet sneakiest smile.

“Okay, fine. I get the popcorn and you switch on the TV. Sex and the city marathon it is”, you rolled your eyes at him teasingly.

[bonefall]

BB!Nightcloud

Nightcloud Woobification Army ASSEMBLE.

There's actually very little canon information on Nightcloud outside of how her ex-mate deflects blame onto her, which she is notoriously demonized for. So for Better Bones, I've cooked up a backstory from scratch! I feel this character deserves to exist outside of her romantic relationship, y'know?

Make sure to check the BB!WindClan Family Tree if you recognize any of the repurposed Missing Kits!

Clanmew Name: Oogarhai (The period of time where the sun has set + fat cloud) Official nickname: Nico (NIghtClOud), Oogi (OOGarhaI)

Alignment: WindClan

Relationships: Ex-mate - Crowfeather Child - Breezepelt Family (all deceased) - Hillrunner (Mi), Downwind (aunt, bio-mother), Tawnyfur (sister), Crowfur (grandparent) Mentor - Addersong

Nightcloud is a controversial warrior of WindClan, and also among its largest, strongest cats. She continuously finds herself tangled up in nearly every massive conflict since the day they arrived at the lake, with only some of these events being things she ever had a choice to be involved in.

Though she yearns for a more peaceful life, her violent, stressful childhood following the WindClan Massacre carved deep distrust of outsiders into her bones. It lead her to the lowest point in her life, fighting for Mudclaw during the WindClan Civil War. The following years of distrust, Crowfeather's mistreatment, and the abuse towards her son, Breezepelt, made much of Nightcloud's life lonely and stressful.

In spite of that, she absolutely adores her son and stands by his side no matter what. After the secret that Crowfeather sired kits with a ThunderClan Cleric is revealed and he is banished for a few moons for dramatic, codebreaking behavior at the reveal, a "spell" that he cast over WindClan begins to lift. In his absence, Nightcloud is able to truly begin fixing her reputation.

Though Breezepelt still has a way to fall as a new POV in BB!AVoS, where his treatment as a Dark Forest trainee drives him to join Darktail's cult, Nightcloud's life begins to turn around after her mateship with Crowfeather crumbles. After participating in a secret plan to rescue her boy and several Kin members under the command of her future leader and son-in-law, Harespring, she is solidified as one of the most powerful fighters in the entire Clan and occupies a lofty position as one of its most reliable brawlers.

She's also developing a friendship with Willowclaw about it, which is neat.

Glossary

Upbringing

WindClan Civil War

Mateship & Abuse

Breezepelt and BB!AVoS

Trivia and Misc

Upbringing

The Mothermouth Moorland War came to a cruel and bloody quietus at the claws of Brokenstar's ShadowClan, ending a three-generation long conflict with an event called the WindClan Massacre. Along with the rest of their Clan, a pair of twins was forced into exile; Downwind and Hillrunner.

They looked out for each other, and ferociously protected the tattered Clan while living in the Tangle of Thunderpaths. It was hard, but they had each other and that was enough.

After Bluestar's champion, Fireheart, fetched WindClan to bring them home, Downwind soon gave birth to her first litter. A pair of sisters; one of them practically a little copy of her mother... and the other one who looked hilariously nothing like anyone in their family. The twin girls were named Nightkit, and Tawnykit.

They'd barely settled in before Nightstar and Crookedstar turned on them, attacking to try and drive them out AGAIN. If it wasn't for Bluestar and her reinforcements, ThunderClan's charity, they might have succeeded.

But this time, Downwind refused to run. Hillrunner saw her twin, limp, red, and ragged outside the nursery. The kits were too young to remember her, or to understand the significance of their new Mi's anguished cries that night. They came so far together, only for Hillrunner to lose her other half in the place where things were supposed to get better.

NOTE: On adopting the kits, Hillrunner is then considered their "Mi," a primary parent in Clan culture. Her biological relation as the aunt is superseded.

Nightkit and Tawnykit only knew Hillrunner as their Mi. They only know that Downwind was identical to her-- except for a scar across Hiller's nose.

Hillrunner was notoriously short tempered, paranoid, and easily offended. She shouldn't have been raising kits alone, but what choice did she have?

She was CONVINCED that she'd failed Downwind that day, and that something could have been done to avoid the WindClan Massacre. So she was dedicated to making sure her own kits were better prepared.

They knew the whole territory by heart by their 6th moon, and even major abandoned tunnels below the moor

Most apprentices don't learn how to differentiate individual warriors out of scent marks until a moon or two into training. Night and Tawny knew it before they became 'paws.

Ever trying to ask a question, or tell Hillrunner that they didn't want to do something, was "backtalk;" argue too much and she would hit them with a punishment.

Punishments, "lessons," were usually strenuous physical tasks, like doing laps, moving large objects, or being made to carry a stone in the mouth for hours.

The sort of thing, in hindsight, was probably meant to be a sort of "cover"... the Clan thought the 'Lessons' were harsh but 'understandable'. No one would step in.

If Hillrunner was angry though, she would also just straightup smack them. She was less creative when she was in a mood.

As an adult, Nightcloud will tell you how messed up it used to be... but sometimes she preferred when Hillrunner was moody. If she got hit, the creative "lesson" wouldn't be applied to Tawnykit too.

Because Nightkit got in trouble more often than Tawnykit, there was a sort of sour resentment between them, mixed in with the unbreakable sense of solidarity.

Tawnykit: "You got US in trouble. But no one else in the world knows what we're going through. I love you. I'm going to take this out on you when we're alone. I can't believe you did this to me, I can't believe our Mi did this to us. Can't you try harder?? We did nothing wrong. Why am I paying for YOUR mistakes?"

Hillrunner says she, "Just wants you to be safe. ShadowClan won't hit you with their claws sheathed! This is what real life is like! If you'd just LISTEN to me you'd know this is for your own good!"

The little family was "close," in the way that mice tied together at the tail are close, even as they desperately pull at the knot and gnaw at each other's flesh.

Hillrunner convinced them the world was terrifying, that they couldn't entirely rely on their clanmates, and the most important thing in life is Gan, blood-family.

"The ONLY ones who will turn out for you, who you can rely on, who will be there until the end, is your family. The only way you'll lose us is if you're not strong enough, and I'll make you strong. I promised. You'll see!"

When she finally became Nightpaw, Hillrunner continued to try and have control over her... but the new mentor, Addersong, would not be bullied. And he would not let his apprentice get pushed around either.

He taught Nightpaw that now that she was an apprentice, she was free to make her own choices.

If she needed him around when she confronted Hillrunner, he would be there.

And if she needed to be the one to do that alone, he would support that too.

But on one condition; he would never tolerate someone speaking down to his apprentice in front of him. THAT is a matter of his pride. Capiche?

That was a term she could handle.

She had always known that she didn't want to be like Hillrunner, and that one day she'd be free of all the torment she was put through, but Addersong was the one who showed her the way out. Protected her when others didn't.

It gave her a sense of newfound confidence, and freedom. Like maybe the world WASN'T so terrible after all. And maybe... there's people out here who are kinder and more loving than she was ever allowed to believe.

And then, Hillrunner died in a TigerClan attack

And she began to wonder if it was HER fault when Tawnyfur fell to BloodClan

And suddenly Addersong's lessons felt far away. And maybe that was a good thing.

Hillrunner tried to teach her that family, KIN, was the most important thing in the world, and Nightcloud began to reject that. And now they are all dead.

She didn't appreciate them enough while they were alive. And now they are gone.

So... she pushed Addersong away. He figured she needed space to mourn.

WindClan Civil War

While Addersong was composing Tiger's In A Heap with his buddies and others were baking Tiger-shaped tunnelbuddies to welcome relations with BloodClan, Nightcloud was joining the group that was critical of the decision.

Especially when Snapper and Leo-- sorry. They call themselves Snappaw and Brushpaw. When those two joined the Clan. Ex-BloodClan traders. Not to mention Pigeonflight's... charge, also acquired from BloodClan

Nightcloud felt like she was the only one who remembered that they fought BloodClan. That Clan cats died in that battle.

Until she found others, echoing the same feelings she did, and more.

Mudclaw was the most legitimate member of the group, organizing this group of cats with "concerns."

Those "concerns" started having weight when things began to sour in the Moor. The poisoning, the Mothermouth's collapse and the death of Barkface and his apprentice, Blackfur... eventually a warrior, Runningbrook, was SHOT by a human as if she was a grouse.

Someone called the two apprentices "jinxes," pointing out the bad luck they'd brought to them, and it stuck.

But Tallstar did nothing. Didn't listen to the concerns, and insisted that Snapper and L-- Snappaw and Brushpaw, that they were part of the Clan now.

Eventually they were all forced out of their home, and sent on a journey following Crowfoot and the other Chosen cats to a new land. Tallstar just continued to look weaker and weaker.

All around Nightcloud (and the cats who would eventually become the Rebels), the Journey was uniting the Clans in a way that was never seen before. Apprentices were trying out ancient recipes that had been untouched for generations. Warriors from WindClan were helping to carry kits from ShadowClan.

It was terrifying. It felt WRONG. It filled her with a sense of deep dread and unease. No one was enforcing the boundaries that made the four groups into Clans.

When they arrived at the lake, what would HAPPEN there? Would there even BE a WindClan? Or would they just get lured into forming the new TigerClan?

Through all of this... Mudclaw seemed strong, and sure of what needed to happen next. He was certainly more of a leader than the feeble Tallstar, who had allowed the jinxes to follow along on the Great Journey.

So when Tallstar was allegedly on his deathbed, and mysteriously swapped his deputy to Onewhisker, Nightcloud was one of the very first to call foul play.

It felt like an awful betrayal, to know that Firestar, one of the FEW cats outside of WindClan that Hillrunner spoke fondly of, could be trying to pull the wool over their eyes.

But just LOOK at the other witness-- Brambleclaw. Son of Tigerstar. This was a PLOT, and Onewhisker should be ashamed of himself!

Mudclaw jumped at the opportunity Nightcloud presented.

But... the newly honored Crowfeather came forth too, to calm the tension.

"Brambleclaw is a LOT of things and untrustworthy isn't one of them," Yet, he put up a smokey-black paw when his friend's eyes lit up, "But a change in deputy? To Onewhisker, of all cats?"

Onewhisker: "no offense, right? ...right?"

"So if no one here is lying, then Tallstar's brain fell out on the way here and I'm not going on ANOTHER journey to look for it. Mudclaw is the rightful leader of WindClan."

His endorsement of Mudclaw sent the Clan reeling. His own mother, Ashfoot, came forth to argue against her son, and his aunt Morningflower pointed out that Mudclaw was his mentor.

OF COURSE the two jinxes also argued in favor of Onewhisker. Leo had even joined in the first place because he wanted to be with him.

The compromise that the Clans reached, at ThunderClan's treacherous suggestion, was that they would wait until StarClan could sort the matter out and confirm the rightful leader.

But of COURSE ThunderClan felt like they could wait for StarClan. THEY had two Clerics, Leafstripe and Cinderpelt.

In the meanwhile, the Clan started to split in two. Those who were backing the feeble Onewhisker, and those who were supporting the powerful, charismatic Mudclaw.

Nightcloud refused to allow her Clan to fall into the claws of ThunderClan's ambition. WindClan could not be allowed to be seen as WEAK. Weakness invites invasions. Invasion invites death.

Not everyone that joined Mudclaw's side of the rebellion believed that ThunderClan was lying. Crowfeather believed it was the truth. Mudclaw himself did as well, though he didn't discourage beliefs that benefited him.

Nightcloud absolutely did believe that ThunderClan lied. And that cats outside of the Clan can't be trusted.

...and then.

Mudclaw started working with non-WindClan cats, namely Hawkfrost. The rebels were joined by reinforcements, given quiet support and aid, handed the knowledge that they would have extra backup if things got violent.

At first, Nightcloud was one of the most vehemently opposed to them.

At first.

But... Hawkfrost has some good points about all of the Clans needing to be strong and independent.

And he's right, that; "ThunderClan's plotting won't stop with one Clan. Tigerstar came from ThunderClan, after all."

And, if things go wrong... they will need the extra claws. They couldn't fight against the remainers alone.

"Hold on, who says we'll be fighting anything?"

Wide, innocent blue eyes, "You can't believe that ThunderClan will just let the word of StarClan shine through, can you?"

He's... reasonable. He's right.

So, in the BLINK of an eye, she and Crowfeather were surrounded by Thistle Law supporters. OPEN ones.

And Mudclaw himself didn't seem to mind all that much.

For Nightcloud, it was too late to have doubts, especially when Hawkfrost's lie made such perfect sense. When the Moonpool was discovered by that THUNDERCLAN Cleric, Leafstripe, Honored by the new name Leafpool, that was the last push she needed to ride into battle with Mudclaw.

ThunderClan had to be stopped at ALL COSTS before they installed a fake, sniveling little mouse to do all of their bidding. If Onewhisker had to die to prevent it?

Then... so be it.

They created a plan. Onewhisker was organizing WindClan to carry out a Muirburn, a carefully controlled fire to return the territory to heathland.

They would sabotage it, and throw him into the same fire meant to cleanse their new home. It would be symbolic, practically religious in its righteousness.

But CROWFEATHER betrayed them. Bolted to his friends in ThunderClan, that daughter-of-Firestar and the Tigerkin liar.

During the battle, Nightcloud leapt on Leo and went for a ferocious bite to the back of the neck. She was ripped off by another warrior just in time, taking a chunk of his scruff with her.

It gave him a permanent, gnarly scar. A reminder to Nightcloud of how close she came to killing him, and how much she hated such a kindhearted tom.

The tide of battle turned as the ThunderClan reinforcements came behind Crowfeather. In that instant, it was as if StarClan had torn open the sky, and the heavens were bleeding rain upon the burning moor.

Nightcloud fled along with the other rebels, and bore witness to StarClan's smiting of the false idol.

With a clap of lightning, a tree from the Gathering Island toppled down, crushing Mudclaw beneath it.

She stopped running, staring in breathless awe. The rain washed away the mud and the ash that clung to her pelt, and for the first time in moons, she felt like her mind was clear.

It was like, for a brief moment, the song of fear and anger behind her eyes forgot the lyrics, leaving her with cold reality.

"What have I DONE?"

That sabotaged Muirburn was one of the most short-sighted, cruel, evil things she can imagine any cat taking part in... but at first, her regret was just in the amount of destruction it had caused, not in the ideology she'd fought to defend.

The heinous act had caused the peat below the moor to catch on fire, and WindClan was playing Whack-A-Mole with the various little blazes that kept popping up in the area; and THAT was what initially made her regret her role in the Civil War.

But... she had to work next to Snapstorm and Brushblaze, just like any other Clanmates. Pigeonflight's daughter had also come into her own, Cranberrysplash. And ThunderClan continued to send aid to help with the reckless disaster she'd been part of.

She still grappled with a strong, immediate distrust of strangers... but it was tempered by the sobering realization she had while watching Mudclaw die.

And the shame, knowing that she'd been taking out her grief of losing Tawnyfur and Hillrunner on all these innocent cats.

Onewhisker's lenience... was mercy. All along.

She tried to punish herself for ever criticizing her new leader for "weakness." WindClan needed all the paws it could get to fight the fires and continue to feed the Clan, and Onestar was the cat who understood that.

He showed unfathomable kindness and wisdom by giving her and the other rebels no punishment.

She vowed to atone for it. She would not waste her second chance.

Nightcloud had been so busy trying to make up for what she'd done, fighting fires, building dens, and carefully rotating hunts to manage the prey populations that she barely registered that she didn't see much of Crowfeather after the night of the Muirburn.

While WindClan was gossiping, she was largely left out of the loop for being distrusted at the time.

When he came back, they started spending a lot of time together.

Mateship & Abuse

She liked Crowfeather. They'd been in each other's orbit since the Civil War, and she admired his judgement at nearly every turn. Mudclaw seemed like a good choice for a lot of people, but Crowfeather had seen when his true colors started to show. He made a truly heroic choice at the end. So when he expressed interest in her, it felt like she was going to be his next good call.

Nightcloud had so, so much to prove.

In spite of his absence, Crowfeather was a hero to the Clan. The warrior blessed by StarClan to bring them to their new home, a land of a thousand more stars, he who betrayed the traitors.

And in spite of that. He had a loneliness. He requested a name to honor the cat of another Clan, a lover he had lost on his mission

He is loud, passionate, and yet there seemed to be a niche in his heart he wanted to fill.

So... she wanted to be his missing piece, in service of the great love that binds a Clan together. To help him.

To prove she could mean something to someone, and be trusted in turn by a Clan that, rightfully, looked at her with suspicion.

but she didn't LOVE him so much as she RESPECTED him.

and he never saw her as much more than an in-Clan replacement for Leafpool, especially while he was secretly reeling from her dumping him and cancelling their elopement plans.

It didn't really strike her that they were mutually using each other; Crowfeather to affirm his loyalty to the Clan, and Nightcloud to prove she could love and be loved.

And neither of them were even accomplishing that. But, there's a difference between them.

While Nightcloud was trying, GOD she was trying... Crowfeather quickly grew frustrated that she was a person, and not just the perfect image of the "true love" that Feathertail and Leafpool would have given to him

So he started FINDING things to criticize about her. Reasons that he could use to justify why it's not HIS fault he's not happy, but hers.

She's clingy. She's too cold. She's less attractive when she's carrying their child. She's too demanding when she tells him to help out with the kit.

NOTHING she did was right, and meanwhile, even when Breezekit was young, Crowfeather was an awful Ba.

Depending on his mood, he was either too rough or too distant, a dichotomy he used to describe as Nightcloud being unable to make up her mind. Does she want him to help, or does she want space??

Problem is, you can't be fair with unfair people. When Crowfeather would say ANY of this, she would try to take his words in good faith

And Breezekit's formative moons were spent watching his mother twist herself in knots, trying to avoid whatever his father was complaining about that week.

But it NEVER satisfied him. It never COULD.

and worst of all...

Whenever she DID fight back, dragged down into explosive arguments after biting her tongue again and again, Crowfeather would ALWAYS bring up Feathertail. She's dead, and so Nightcloud could never defeat this ideal, NONEXISTENT image of this nearly perfect hypothetical lover that he could have had.

Crow: "And YOU don't even care. You CUT me, Nightcloud! I am being flayed and left to DIE from infection, and you don't even care."

Night: "Of course i care, I'm here aren't i?? Feathertail loved you, but I do too! And I'M in YOUR Clan, in case you haven't NOTICED."

Crow: "Oh you love me do you? I don't think you do. There's a reason I loved Feathertail enough to be so tempted away from my Clan, but YOU'RE such an awful person that YOU happily did ARSON."

Night: "I... I wasn't-"

Crow: "Wasn't trying to betray your Clan? Wasn't trying to make me feel like some kind of animal?? What WERE you trying to do, then?"

Night: "I've ALWAYS tried to make up for what I did, I was trying to-"

Crow: "To WHAT? To hurt me? Like you always do? All I wanted was you to see that I'm-"

Night: "Can you cut it out?! I wanted-"

Crow: "STOP Interrupting me, this is exactly what I mean! Feathertail NEVER made me feel this way, she would let me finish and listen to everything I have to say before trying to jump in. WHAT have I done wrong exactly? What IS it this time?? Hm???"

Night: "I-- Crowfeather I'm trying! I didn't mean to make you feel that way, and I'm not trying to fight. I just don't know what you want from me, I'm-"

Crow: "I say it over and over and over!! Are you stupid? I should have been with a rabbit, at LEAST it would have given me faster children!"

Night: "Can you stop being a CHILD for a minute and TELL me what you want me to do? In simple terms? Or is that just too much?"

Crow: "Fine. But im not going to repeat myself again. I don't deserve this, you're lucky I'm gracious."

When Breezekit became Breezepaw, Nightcloud had lost patience with this treatment. She still tried to be gentle with Crowfeather, but he was starting to force her into making a choice; Was she going to protect her son? Or was she going to keep endlessly trying to appease her husband?

In her head... SHE might "deserve" it. She knows she's "difficult." And that a lot of the things Crowfeather says about her are "true"

And if she's lonely, she "brought it on herself" by doing awful things. That's why she tries so hard to atone for them.

But Breezepaw is her BABY, and Crowfeather makes him feel like a little brat. Yells at him, finds reasons to pick on him, gives him the cold shoulder when he's done wrong...

At first, it looked like overprotectiveness, because she was often shoving herself between Breezepaw and his father, never backing up Crowfeather when he was punishing their son, and "downplaying" her son's rude behavior.

In reality, those were the actions of someone who was trying to prevent arguments from turning into abuse.

Those were things HILLRUNNER used to do with her, though at the time, she didn't realize that Crowfeather was in the same positions that her Mi had once been in

In fact, she continued to grapple with the deep feelings of shame, that she might be like Hillrunner when she was trying so hard to be different.

But the truth remained, that she recognized the same patterns that she was forced to be hyperaware of, and was trying to stop them before they escalated.

It took MANY years, well into Breezepelt's adulthood, AND well into her divorce, before she realized that.

Protecting her son was as reflexive as a hunting crouch. It was just something she did.

Unfortunately, Crowfeather was the one with power in this situation. And his immense sway was palpable. If he vented to a Clanmate about how hard it was to have a mate who undermines him and a son who defied him, they'd believe him.

So, Breezepelt started getting written off as "a problem kid" by the adults.

What changed... was Hollyleaf's reveal at that fateful Gathering.

She had been desperately trying to "atone" for what she'd done for years, guilty and shameful that she'd been complicit in an attack that had gotten cats killed and set the peat on fire. She kept proving herself, over and over, as Crowfeather held his love for an outsider up over her head.

And then she finds out he was HIDING this from her, ALL THIS TIME. There'd been ANOTHER MOLLY from another Clan she was being compared to.

Unlike canon; Crowfeather knew. He didn't need to be told. Hollyleaf looks just like his father Deadfoot. Lionblaze has his tail tip. Jayfeather is a miserable git.

They were born 2 months after Leafpool left him, choosing her Clan and her CLERIC FRIEND over HIM. He isn't stupid.

Emotions ran high and, right in front of his wife, at a PUBLIC GATHERING, he made another love confession to Leafpool. That she never should have abided her vow because she belonged with HIM.

Leafpool was fucking mortified. On top of her life crumbling as the secret was revealed, she was undergoing the cat equivalent of being cornered in a public space as an unwanted ex begs you to acknowledge your LOVE.

Leafpool is completely and utterly out of love for Crowfeather, not a SINGLE flicker of it left in her heart, but NIGHTCLOUD felt like Leafpool's tears were because she missed Crowfeather soooo much.

And after YEARS of being compared to FEATHERTAIL, only to find out she was being contrasted to LEAFPOOL all along??

And that Crowfeather really WOULD just break the code for any OTHER lover? Even "a treacherous, vow-breaking, abominable little [cat meow censor] FROM ANOTHER CLAN?"

AND A CLERIC?????

YEARS of trying to unlearn bigotry, keeping lessons about unity kept close in spite of the growing tensions between the Clans, having an open mind towards the people she'd unfairly judged, trying to atone for following Mudclaw... What's the point??

She was humiliated, embarrassed, scandalized. For moons she'd tried to appease him, and then he goes after HER SON, and then DOES THIS.

But something was different.

Onestar had enough of Crowfeather and his shenanigans.

By making a fool of himself at that Gathering, he made a fool of the WHOLE Clan.

Not only did he sire kittens with a Cleric, in a half-clan relationship, vanishing for a week to go on a holiday as the Clan was fighting peat fires, but he didn't even have the decency to NOT TELL AN ENTIRE GATHERING THAT HE DOESN'T REGRET IT.

Onestar snapped.

CrowFEATHER is an Honor Title. CrowFOOT was in respect to his deceased father, Deadfoot.

These names are both too honorable.

And even a DISHONOR Title is too good for this sort of behavior.

If he cannot behave like a Clan cat, then he WILL NOT BE ONE.

For one moon, Crow, no suffix, just Crow, would live on his own in total exile.

It was such a scandal that Nightcloud was horrified. The whole Clan had turned to look to her, see what she would do, desperate to know how she was reacting and what she would do next.

But... their tune changed.

They weren't looking at her like Crowfeather's ungrateful mate. They were curious about her judgement.

CrowFEATHER had convinced so many people that Nightcloud had been the problem, with his immense sway and influence.

But what he did was shocking and abhorrent to WindClan. Now he is just Crow, a rogue on the border.

And Nightcloud is as reliable as she always has been.

What really causes Crowfeather to begin to change here in BB, is that when he comes back... nearly everyone has been better off without him.

After a moon, Crow came back thinking that Nightcloud would snarl at him, or they'd fight, or she'd weep, or... something negative.

But instead, she greeted him. Cordially. Casually. With the tiniest little lilt to her tone that you only hear when you're forced to welcome someone you dislike.

For the rest of BB!OotS, they were together but... distantly. If it wasn't totally over, it was visibly dying.

They had a few more fights, public spats, but now that the Clan didn't seem to have Crowfeather's back...

He started to lose his nerve, and she stopped feeling terrible for things that happened long ago.

Now WindClan was following Nightcloud's lead on Crowfeather. When she was gracious, so were they. When she was pushed to snapping, they saw him like the unreasonable one.

But, honestly? That attention made Nightcloud uncomfortable.

She disliked the sway she now seemed to have over her ex-mate's reputation. She hated him and everything he did, especially in the few times that he would STILL try to deflect blame onto her, but... wielding that kind of social sway, after being an outsider for so long, it felt heavy and toxic in her belly.

Between OotS and AVoS, she realized that she's not like him. He reveled in the spotlight and influence he had over the Clan as a result of his power, adored attention and drama and being able to command it. Crowfeather would complain that life was so unfair, but he ENJOYED how the rules were applied so loosely to him, and how well he was treated because of the pain he'd gone through.

She doesn't.

In fact, she even resents the finicky opinions of her Clanmates. That earning their respect, in the end, was something she had absolutely no control over. She'd gone through so much for so long and so very few cats had ever had her back, and to be vindicated now of all times?

It was sour. Not comforting.

If she made any mistakes during OoTS, it was enabling Breezepelt's growing xenophobia in the midst of her own pain and frustration. She didn't KNOW that he was being recruited by the Dark Forest. If she did, she would have done something to try and stop him.

Breezepelt and AVoS

The worst part of it all was that none of this newfound reputation carried over to her opinions about her son. Breezepelt continued to be hated and distrusted because of his role in the Battle of the True Eclipse (BOTTE), where the Dark Forest killed so many warriors. He'd fought until the end of the night.

Of course she was disappointed in him. Of course she knew he'd done something awful. But she had too, so many years ago.

The fact he had also been a victim of Crowfeather's slander was disregarded in the eyes of WindClan, and for his role in the fight, Onestar gave him and his complicit friends Dishonor Titles.

Breezepelt became Dodderheart-- a reference to a parasitic type of bush, native to heathland, which strangle and kill the flowers. Harespring didn't get off without one. Darkseeker had sought his biological father in the Dark Forest, Mudclaw, and then the BOTTE had killed his Mi and biological uncle, Torear.

Nightcloud tried to encourage her son to follow Darkseeker's lead in seeking atonement, but he had decided that this meant; "My own mother had taken HIS side, that damn traitor who threw me under the boar so that he could save his own reputation, distancing himself from THE REST OF US so that he can climb the ranks! WELL!"

When The Kin arrived at the lake, lead by the mysterious Darktail, Nightcloud was powerless as the pied piper called forth cats of many Clans.

He appealed to everyone who felt alienated. Every HalfClan cat still dealing with stigma, every young warrior frustrated by the dogged separation of the Clans... and, especially, to all of the Dark Forest trainees who still lived.

It was a trap, and Breezepelt was drawn to it.

As the situation got worse and worse, Nightcloud could only watch from afar as Onestar responded with furious embargoes, aggression, and fury towards any type of contact with Darktail's cats.

Along with Brushblaze and Harespring, now deputy and having shed his Dishonor Title, she plotted ways to undermine Onestar's strict orders and try to reach her son.

And.... Crowfeather, too.

To her surprise, he wanted to help.

The irony was overwhelming. Yes Breezepelt, or Dodderheart, damn Onestar's pernicious name, YES he had been making his own choices for a long time, but Crowfeather knew full well who had set him on this path.

In spite of how he'd try to deflect the blame for seasons on seasons.

Hedgehogs took flight that day, because his response was, "You think I don't know that? ...that's why I'm here."

Someone else might have wanted to shove that back in his face, drink in every drop of smugness they'd earned, tell Harespring to kick him from the help efforts for causing so much pain in the first place..

...But Nightcloud isn't like that someone else.

Breezepelt was what mattered to her. Anyone who was going to help was another alibi, another mouth to carry herbs, another set of claws to fight by their side.

...is that what working with others really means, at its core?

Maybe it's not love that truly binds us, but a sense of duty. The commitments we make to each other, and the honor to keep them.

She loves her son. And by extension, she loves Heathertail and Harespring who love him.

But her Clanmates... she doesn't love them. Or Crowfeather.

And Crowfeather wasn't here out of love for her. Maybe not even love for Breezepelt as a person. He was here for honor. Repentence. To right a wrong.

Whatever reason he was here; it still meant he was HERE. To help.

In that moment, she thinks back to the words of Hillrunner. That only blood-family would ever turn out for you, and strength was what allowed you to keep them.

Looking over to Brushblaze, thinking to her Clanmates, she finally had the wisdom to see the words for what they were

It was the scared, broken philosophy of a molly who had lost everything a hundred times over, clinging to something that made sense, trying to scare her kits into never leaving her side.

Nightcloud was truly unlike her. Surrounded by allies of all kinds, united in their goal to rescue her son and other Kin captives and victims.

She was entitled to her reasonable distrust, but not held back by it. She never would forgive Crowfeather, but they could work together. For Breezepelt.

Hillrunner wasn't completely wrong about strength. It was an asset.

But so is faith.

After they'd brought Breezepelt home along with many others, bedraggled and shaken by their experiences, Nightcloud was absolutely shocked by how graciously Onestar seemed to be towards them.

She didn't question it at the time, but when Onestar spent his final life stealing a plan Breezepelt admitted was his own, to sacrifice himself drowning Darktail, it suddenly made sense.

After Harestar took power, she had cemented herself as one of his favorite warriors. A powerful, loyal brawler, who was willing to do anything under his command. Breezepelt had accepted at this point that he was never going to have a position of power due to his past; and that was okay.

She spent a lot of time with the grandkits Breezepelt eventually had with his mates, Harestar and Heathertail. For the first time in a long time, she's finally at peace with the family she's acquired.

Trivia and Misc

I'm tempted to swap Crowfeather and Nightcloud as deputy. I feel like Nightcloud makes a very interesting one.

At the same time though, I do like the drama of Crowstar and Squirrelstar as opposing leaders, so I'm still unsure.

For some reason whenever I think of Nightcloud, I think of ABBA songs lmao. Thank You For The Music, or maybe Knowing Me Knowing You.

As you can see, I split up Crowfeather's Trial and shuffled it around. I feel like for most of OotS, Nightcloud and Crowfeather are doing nothing but arguing and the development feels incredibly rushed because it's all in an SE, so I've pushed a major event back.

They also never actually describe their verbal arguments; so I'm using them to make my take on Crowfeather more clear. He's emotionally abusive.

Something that I often feel isn't done enough is abusers who are popular, and also funny. How devastating it feels for someone you love to mock you in public, and then a bunch of people laugh because "you deserve it."

Or just see you as the aggressor by default

Knowing you can't do shit about it because they're just more loved than you. Their word vs yours.

(especially when paired with trauma that makes you forget major details so you can't even recall any examples in the moment, so you just get painted as clingy and whiny)

All that said, there's a ton of abusive cats in BB, most of them never improve or get better, but Crowfeather will.

And from Nightcloud's perspective, that's a good thing. And I want to capture that deeply bittersweet feeling.

She's happy he's not so terrible anymore... but god, it doesn't undo any of the AWFUL things he did and said to her.

Anyway, I really want to fit Nightcloud's buddy Pickle in somehow, but I'm still working it out. Pickle was such a cute character

Hillrunner and Downwind are repurposed Missing Kits! WindClan is ridiculously tiny so I had to stretch it pretty thin.

I don't see a ton of Nightcloud origin stories, so the one I figured made the most sense was picking up on the observation others have made about her "coddling" behavior

In-canon, because Crowfeather is abusive to his kid, it suddenly implies that a major reason why Nightcloud is so protective of Breezepaw in arguments is because she's trying to prevent it from escalating into abuse.

Eventually I'd like to build out some more friends, and expand on her budding friendship with Brushblaze. Not to mention Willowclaw.

Maybe I should repurpose Crowfeather's Trial into an SE about Nightcloud... Nightcloud's Thaw, maybe. Something about a change that's a long time coming, so I can show her new backstory and how she reacts to all the changes in WindClan towards her reputation.

And that's Nightcloud! I think she deserves an AU where she gets to be a more fleshed out supporting character, as a treat <3

[angelsdean]

mary having a complicated relationship to motherhood and not actually being the perfect mom and really struggling with wanting to continue hunting to ensure her family's safety VS wanting to be out of hunting and keep her family far from that world is so so interesting and important to me. like, just imagining her carving protective sigils under the welcome mat. salting the window-sills. putting little protective charms on her babies. trying her hardest to fit into the mold of "mother" all while aching for her own mother to be there and help her and teach her what to do. her sucking at cooking and feeling a little bit like a failure every time she reheated a store-bought pie. dean never knowing the difference until she tells him years and years later. her wanting so desperately to keep her family safe and yet still sneaking off to continue hunting here and there because she can't stand knowing what's out there and doing nothing. yet she vows to never ever tell her kids about any of it, even though it scares her that in their ignorance they'll get hurt by something. the war inside her as she writes out pros and cons lists in the dead of night wondering if she's doing the right thing by keeping them and john in the dark. and her becoming increasingly more and more distressed and conflicted as the decade runs out on her deal. she doesn't know what the demon will come for, though looking down at sam in her arms she's starting to suspect. so she puts up more protections. the months pass and the demon never comes. she thinks her efforts worked. she thinks maybe her family will be spared.

[uhohdad]

EXPERIMENTAL

it’s been awhile since i’ve written please mind the rust

to be continued? maybe?? let me know if you want more

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

AO3 Link: X

PART TWO: X

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, reader’s gender/sex is incomprehensible, cause I do for the girls the gays and the theys.

NSFW UNDER CUT

You never thought you’d end up working for the government, but the opportunity was too good. Where else would you find a grant to experiment if not for the generous funding of the military industrial complex? You should have known. Research is research, you told yourself, and the pay is too good to pass up on.

Most of your time was spent in the lab. For the most part, you had worked alone, spending up to 14 hours a day working on your project. It had been months, but you’re sure your developments will forever change warfare.

How many deaths will your creations be responsible for? How much blood on your hands?

No. It’s just a job.

You let out a deep sigh. Usually you have background noise - music, a show, a podcast - something to help ward off the obsessive thoughts. But today you had visitors coming.

You had requested a test subject for a beta version of your project. A soldier to help work out the bugs before the final version gets sent on the battlefield.

Battlefield.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about-

A knock interrupted your internal conflict. You looked up, your eyes meeting the visitor through the circular glass pane of the swinging door. Just his eyes, as the visitor wore a black mask that draped from underneath a helmet, flowing over his shoulders and down his chest. You couldn’t help the concerned look that crossed your face as you hesitantly waved him in.

The door creaked as it opened and the man stepped in. You shoulders eased a bit when you noticed the uniform previously obscured by the door, confirming he was a soldier from the base and not an intruder in a mask. You couldn’t help but tense again once you noticed his stature. Even from across the room you could tell he was well over 6’5. You’re sure he could reach his hand up and touch the ceiling with ease. Muscles with enough mass and definition to be seen even under the uniform.

What are they feeding these boys?

“Hi! I mean- hi. Uh,” Your introduction was shaky, but it was on par for your typical social interactions. After giving him your name, you asked for his.

“Konig,” He responded, his deep voice and coarse accent catching you off guard once again.

“Ha, yes. Nice to meet you.” You took a deep breath in hopes to conceal your fluster before continuing, “You’re here to help me test the new tech, right?”

Tech. When did you start using slang? Trying to be cool, huh?

Shut up.

Konig shifts in his spot a few paces from the door, not daring to step any closer to you. You’re wonder if you were coming off as too cold. “Uh, yes.” He clears his throat, “Just let me know what you need from me.”

Okay, straight to the point. You can do that. You’re happy to move on from the unsteady introduction. “Right,” You turn your attention from him to your laptop and the project in front of you. You hold up your device for him to see. He takes this as his invitation to move closer to get a better look, his black boots making their presence known as they stepped across the tile. The device resembled an earpiece - a small black strip attached to a coiled wire that ends with a sensible black base. “It doesn’t have a name. Yet.” You find yourself struggling to make eye contact with Konig, “Uh, here, it might be easier to just show you.” You flip the laptop around so he can see the screen. He’s standing right next to you now, and it’s hard not to notice how small you feel standing next to this giant of a man.

His bicep is the width of my head.

Stop it.

You try to smother your distracted thoughts as you put the device behind your ear and turn it on. A transparent projection in the shape of a curved rectangle covers your eyes, overlaying your view of the lab.

Konig watched silently as the screen on your laptop changed, now displaying your view through the lens. “This device is powered by AI.” You felt more confident now. You weren’t great at small talk but your work was your comfort zone.

“The possibilities are endless. Without being fed blueprints or GPS - it’s able to scan & provide a map of a building before you even set foot in it, and give you the safest path trajectories.” You make some adjustments from the laptop, and the projection overlays filters on your vision. Directional arrows appear, showing the easiest exit from the lab with coordinates and distance countdown to destination.

You continue, “Target identification.” You look at Konig from behind the transparent projection. He meets your eyes before quickly shifting his gaze back to the laptop, where he could see himself outlined in a bright red overlay.

“Scanning capabilities, even through solid objects. It can identify any object you want. Not just objects, either.” You turn your gaze toward the lab wall. Konig watches carefully as the faded outlines of workers on the base from rooms away appear, their heart rates and heat map registering from beyond the cold tile walls.

Konig stares, impossible to read.

“And uhm,” you pick up an additional device from the table, a thin square chip, “This is an attachment for your, er, weapon.” You cringe a bit at this feature, “The AI has aim assist, too. You know self driving cars? Ah, well, it hasn’t been fully tested yet, but in addition to auto aim it- uhm,” You can’t help but let out a nervous laugh, trailing off.

“It shoots for you.” Konig finishes so you don’t have to.

You wonder if the guilt is obvious.

It might as well be you out there in the field, taking lives. He’s probably disgusted with you under that hood, you think.

You purse your lips for a moment, “Yes. But we’re just scratching the surface. This technology is capable of-“

“It’s brilliant,”

Konig is skilled in the art of catching you off guard. He tilts his head, curiously eyeing in your direction. You wonder if he’s looking at your features or the projection,

“You made this yourself?”

You study him back, trying to figure out if he was mocking you, but unable to decipher his expression from under his hood. The AI continued to monitor him on your vision, and you felt as if you were violating his privacy by watching his heart rate slightly spike as he looked you over.

He must be lying.

You turned the device off and set it on the table, “Yes. It’s not perfect, but I’m hoping you can help me work out all the flaws.”

His stared quietly for a moment and you felt dread pool in your stomach, wishing you could see his expression under his hood. “I’d be honored to.”

A shaky smile formed on your face. You could no longer read his heart rate, but you found yourself wanting to believe the sincerity of his voice. “Let’s get started.”

You pick up another matching set of devices, two thin c-shaped bands, before continuing, “Obviously you can’t take a laptop out in the field. These are portable remotes.” Konig watches attentively as you place one of the bracelet shaped device on your wrist, tapping on it to summon another projection. “I tried to make it as user-friendly as possible. We can make adjustments if needed before launch.” You hold out the device toward him. “For you.”

He looks hesitantly at the device. Instead of taking it from you, he places his arm out on the table in front of you.

You’re distracted by your own remote and a moment passes before you register he hasn’t taken it from you. You glance over at his outstretched arm before meeting his eyes.

He sees your confused look and explains, “I just- I don’t want to break it.” Konig knows his own strength and he knows the worth of your project. He doesn’t want to accidentally apply too much pressure and ruin your work.

A nervous laugh escapes you, but you oblige him. You made this device for the battlefield, it’s meant to withstand more than a man. Even an extra large, muscular-

Stop it.

You’re not going to push. You carefully take his forearm in your hand, adjusting the device to his wrist. You try not think about how muscular and hard his forearms are, and try even harder not to think about how hard his biceps would be. And you definitively try not to think about how hard his-

Stop it.

“That comfortable?”

His voice is low, “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course,” leaves your mouth, a little breathier than you intended.

Your face burns and you’re sure he’s got you pinned. You wish you could ask to borrow his mask.

It’s been a long time since you’ve experienced intimacy, okay? You’ve been confined to these four walls for months now, devoid of human touch. You’d be frothing at the mouth for anything bipedal at this point, let alone the mysterious superhuman sitting across from you.

You’re at a disadvantage, to say the least.

You can’t even look at him.

Konig carefully taps on the device on his wrist, activating his remote. The projection appears and he moves his arm to get a closer look. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

If he didn’t notice your blush before he was sure to now. “Oh! I don’t-“ Another nervous laugh, “It’s nothing. Let’s get you calibrated.”

You pick up the earpiece and hand it to him, still avoiding his gaze. You’re forced to meet his eyes again when he doesn’t take it. There’s no way you could handle putting this one on for him. This time you reassure him, “It’s okay. I know it’s small, but it’s durable. I promise.”

He carefully takes it from you, and you try not to notice the electricity you feel when his fingers graze yours. He reaches under his hood, the fabric warping as he places the device behind his ear and turned it on, the same way he watched you do it. He then waited patiently for your guidance.

You put your earpiece on before making a few adjustments on your bracelets projection. “Okay! We should be synced now. Go ahead and pull up your settings.”

You take him through the customizations, telling him how to switch between visual overlays, how to use multiple at once. Display adjustments, how to use the intercom. He watches intently, never interrupting.

“I hope I’m not boring you.”

“Boring me?” Konig stares at you, eyes saturated with disbelief at your doubt. “It’s incredible.”

You feel the warmth creep up on your cheeks again. All of the doubts and moral dilemmas you’ve been mulling over the past few years seem to melt away when Konig compliments you.

“Want to take it for a drive?”

“Absolutely.”

—————————————————-

It’s been awhile since you’ve been out on the field. The passed months have been spent under the florescent lights of the lab, hunched over your laptop as you fought with code. Feeling accomplished when you made a step forward in progress, followed quickly by a sinking feeling as you tried not to think of the consequences of each development.

It was nice to feel the sun for a change.

Konig followed a few steps behind you, both sets of boots crunching on the gravel beneath you. Few words had been exchanged. There was something about unreadable people made you nervous, but you tried not to let it show.

You stopped once in front of the empty shoot house, looking up to the soldier that towered over you.

“I had weapons development make us a prototype gun to pair with the AI. It’s for testing purposes only, so it doesn’t shoot real bullets.” You pointed at the faux shotgun propped up against the outer wall of the shoot house. “The auto aim chip is already attached. It’s going to be something to get used to.”

You continue, “I’ve placed the AI on test. It will simulate the conditions of a mission in a way that adjusts to your learning speed. Obviously once you get used the system we’ll have test runs with real people, but for now I just want you to get used to the overlays. If you get stumped, just let me know. I’ll be able to hear and see what you can from out here. I’m synced in to your device, too, so if you can’t figure out the adjustments, or can’t access your device, I can take care of that for you remotely.”

“Understood.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he spoke to you like you had seniority, with the utmost respect. It made you feel important. Really it should be the other way around - a nerdy weakling in the presence of an experienced and powerful soldier. You briefly wonder what exactly a man of his stature is capable of. He looks like he could pick up a grown man and snap him in half like a toothpick. Let alone what he could do to you…

You force yourself to stay on topic, but your smile lingers, “Any questions for me?”

You still can’t decipher what’s going on under the mask, but his voice is soft, as soft as it can be under his rigid accent, “Negative.” He walks over to the prop gun and picks it up, handling it expertly. Even though it’s a replica, he still opens the chamber and curiously peaks inside. Watching his big hands run over the realistic firearm caused an intoxicating mixture of fear and arousal to wash over you, manifesting as a tightness in your lower gut. You can’t remember the last time someone made you feel this way. Dizzy and excited and nervous.

It didn’t help that you’ve spent the last few months practically isolated and without intimacy.

He’s going to be the death of me.

Stop it. We’re just excited about testing the project. It’s a long time coming.

He would make me come a long time.

Stop. It.

After you watch him disappear into the shoot house, you turn on the intercom, “Konig? Can you hear me?”

“Affirmative.”

His gravely voice flooding your intercom is not helping your dirty thoughts. You pull up his view on your projection. “Okay, I have your video feed. Are you ready for the simulation?”

He cocks the prop gun so loud you could hear it from inside the building in addition to the comm. “Affirmative.”

Oh, fuck.

The knot in your stomach doubles and you think your knees might just buckle. You shift in your spot in the dirt to steady yourself, gravel scraping under your shoe.

You hear your name over the comm. “You still there?” Your attention is brought back to his view. You can see the world from his eye level and get taken aback at how different it looks compared to yours.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, raising your arm equipped with the wrist remote, “Okay, in 3… 2… 1…” You press the button to start his test simulation.

You watch as Konig looks around. He’s got target scan activated, and the AI has overlaid fake targets onto his projection for him to hunt and eliminate.

You watch carefully, scanning the screen for any imperfections in your coding. The guide seems to be working smoothly, directing Konig through the maze-like hallways of the shoot house with ease. The placement of targets are generated randomly and you’ll have to crunch the numbers later to verify, but it seems to have accurately calculated the most efficient route, directing him accordingly. You try to ignore the sound of Konigs hitched breathing over your receiver and try even harder to ignore the way it’s making you feel. Instead you make sure the auto aim function is activated.

“Approaching first target.” He says over the comm and you can help but smile at how serious he is taking it. You remember your first time in the range, testing out the auto aim on the simulations. How silly you felt. Like a child playing with a toy gun. You think it’s sweet he’s indulging you.

His steps become quieter as he rounds the corner and his breathing slows. He pauses briefly before quickly jumping out at the target. You can tell the auto aim takes over and the shotgun pulls against his grip with the force of a strong magnet. It’s alarming at first, you remember, the gun taking control from you.

It’s not like that, of course. You designed it to be a teammate. Able to identify and terminate a threat before the user had even registered it was there. It was meant to protect the user, to defend their life.

That’s what you tried to tell yourself anyway. It was easier to swallow than thinking of it as the automatic killing robot it really was.

You kept the auto-fire function off for now. Partially because you wanted to slowly transition him into the AI features. Partially because you were ashamed.

You watch as Konig takes back control of the gun. He’ll learn how to work with it instead of against it soon, you remember the same struggle you had yourself in early testing. He fires at the target, a projection of an enemy soldier the AI had slowed for training purposes. Konig pulls the trigger and you hear the sound of gunshots. In real life, of course, nothing had fired. But the AI simulation was designed to immerse the player, imitating the feel of the battlefield. From Konig’s perspective he may as well just shot through a human heart. Other than the learning curve of your designs- it seems natural for him.

It was not natural for you when you had experienced the simulation. If anything it was just a fully immersible prediction of the consequences to your actions. Fuck Around and Find Out™️ now coming to an VR headset near you.

You watched his target drop & fade away in a dust of pixels, a design change you made after being unable to bear the look of replicated dead soldiers lying limp on the floor.

It’s just a job.

“Konig? How did that feel?” You wished you could see his face on the screen before remembering you wouldn’t have been able to see anything behind his hood anyway. You briefly consider a self-facing camera, but wonder if it would be for the improvement of the design or for self-serving reasons. You’d have to think of another good purpose to add it to the final product later.

“It’s a lot faster than I am.” He stuck with the facts, not wanting to cause a misunderstanding if it was strange for him to get used to.

“That’s the idea. Weird, right?” You offered, your smile lifting the tone of your voice.

“Very.” You could tell he was smiling too. “I want to try a few more - I’ll get used to it.”

He continues through the shoot house, approaching the next simulated targets. He’s slowing learning to work with the AI, letting it guide him as he controls the trigger. You watch as your program learns his skill, escalating the challenge first by increasing enemy speed and difficulty, then by adding multiple targets at a time.

You can tell this man is a trained killer, even just from watching a trial. It’s clear he’d easily be able to handle a real mission with ease - your advancements or no. Watching his gloved hands grip the gun, his quickened breathing, made the tightness in your lower half hard to ignore. It felt wrong how his rugged demeanor turned you on.

He continued without faltering, navigating the shoot house’s maze-like layout with the help of your guidance program. Despite your reservations, you decide it’s time to add an additional integration. “Konig, the gun you’re using is fully compatible with the weapon chip. As in, trigger capabilities. If you’d like, you can turn on auto fire.”

There’s a slight pause, and you’re worried he’s realized the full implications of such a technology. You’re relieved when he finally speaks over the intercom, “I think I turned it on.”

You verify on his feed before responding, “You got it. Let me know if you need anything.”

Holding your breath, you observe your AI work. He rounds another corner and approaches two more targets. Your code was capable of identifying each target’s imminent threat level, eliminating them in order of danger to the user. You hear Konig’s breath hitch when the gun operates with a mind of its own, mowing down the simulated targets without hesitation. Each shot effectively tearing through the most vulnerable areas of the targets.

“Meine güte…” He mutters, taking a moment to register what had just happened. You watch his feed pan down to his gun, his hands turning it over to examine it in disbelief.

You wonder what he’s thinking as you watch those strong hands work. If he thinks you’re a monster for creating such a brutal and mindless killing machine.

“Konig?” Your voice is dripping with uncertainty, but it’s your job to collect his feedback, “All good?”

You watch his thumb stroke the forend before his gaze shifts up, “I think I might be out of a job.”

You let out a laugh, words pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Well, I don’t think we’d be able to replace you.”

Ah, shit.

You’re hoping you didn’t lay all your cards on the table, but you don’t dare let the silence hang, forging on, “Human supervision is still needed when it comes to technology like this. You know, wouldn’t want it to turn evil and try to take over the population.”

You’re hoping you saved it, but the few seconds before he responds seem like a lifetime.

“Well if it was made by you, I don’t think it would be capable of turning evil.”

Your brain short circuits and your mouth parts as you ready to respond, but find that you’re unable.

What did he mean by that? If he was implying that you weren’t evil enough to negatively influence a code, then he didn’t know you. Of course he didn’t, he just met you.

Was he implying you were too smart of a programmer to let a technology go faulty? Then he REALLY didn’t know you. You think briefly to your failed prototypes. How long it took to work out the bug of the AI mistakenly registering civilian children as threats.

Ugh.

Whatever the implications, you understand that Konig just complemented you. Something you were not still not equipped to handle, demonstrated by your slack jaw and wide eyes you’re thankful he can’t see. All accompanied by a warm feeling that spreads across your chest.

He’s just being nice.

Sexual attraction, that you could handle.

Not a crush.

This is a no-crushing zone, you decide.

The warm feeling needs to stay below the belt, thank you very much.

It’s obvious you’re joking, but your voice has a different tone when you finally gather yourself. Softer, bordering on dispirited, “Well, I don’t know about that. Y’know, I once programmed a toaster to cook my toast the perfect amount every time. I wanted it to spring out at exactly the right speed & distance to land square on my plate. Like you see in cartoons, y’know? It worked for a little… but one day it starting burning all my toast to char and shooting it max speed at my ceiling. I think it got mad it’s life purpose was making my breakfast.”

You hear Konig laugh for the first time. A raspy, hearty laugh that floods your comm and fuels that warm feeling in your chest, much to your dismay. You nose scrunches as you watch the shake of his feed slow. “There are worse purposes.”

You didn’t even give yourself the space to dissect the implications on that one. The smile is apparent in your voice, “I’ll let the toaster know.”

Konig finished out the trial after getting used to a few more overlays. You confirmed you had everything you needed for the day before letting Konig know you could wrap up.

He met you at the entrance of the shoot house, handing over the gun to you. It took you a moment to get readjusted to his size. He was tall enough to block the entire sun, casting you in his shadow.

You hold the barrel of the gun with one hand, resting the butt on the dirt. With your other hand you remove your earpiece, “Thank you for your help today. Really.” You say, forced to tilt your head back to look up at him. “If you’re interested, I’d love to continue trials with you.”

“It was my pleasure. I’d be happy to help.”

He tried to take off his wrist remote before you stopped him, “You can hang on to that. I have all your data on mine. It would be good for my research if you got used to the overlays outside of here. I don’t want to assume your time, but I think it may be helpful in assisting you with your duties.”

Konig shifts in his spot, “I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

You smile at him, pleased he’s being so respectful of your work. “Don’t worry. If you manage to damage it, then it’s not good enough for launch. Even breaking it will be valuable research.”

He considers this before hesitantly dropping his arm.

You continue, “Just promise you’ll share your thoughts with me. I don’t know what the life of a soldier is like, I don’t always know what’s best for you guys. Your feedback will be important in tailoring the design to fit your needs. It’s just a prototype, so you can be honest.”

His eyes stare down at you from under his hood and you can’t help but avoid his intimidating gaze by looking at the black paint around his eyes.

“I promise,” He says definitively and it’s obvious he means it.

You have his word.

——————————————————————

Back in the lab, you take a deep breath as you set your prototypes down. You had parted ways with Konig at the shoot house and haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

You take the ear piece and remove the chip from the prototype gun in order to transfer the data to your laptop. You had a long night ahead of you reviewing footage and analyzing the AI results, but you knew your focus was going to be elsewhere.

You hoped your distracted thoughts would subside after eating an early dinner and watching an episode of your most recent show binge, but it doesn’t help.

You can’t stop thinking about the soldier with a laugh so wonderful you’d do about anything to hear it again.

You did your best to stay on task and turned your attention to your laptop, opening the software you designed to store its data.

It finally loads and what displays makes you gasp, your hand instinctively shooting up to cover your mouth.

Konig’s feed is still live.

Your eyes dart over to your ear piece, confirming it’s turned off. He couldn’t hear you on the comm. His overlay projection is turned off, but he must not have powered the unit completely down, and you neglected to end the feed.

You still don’t dare make a sound. You sit frozen, staring down at the screen with wide eyes.

He’s not wearing the headset, no. You can tell the camera is sitting on something at hip-height, maybe a table or a bed. Definitely not Konig-height. You can’t see much, your view is facing the wall of what you can tell is a modest-sized room.

It’s five-thirty now, you guess he’s clocked out and went back to his quarters for the evening.

This is so wrong.

You were violating his privacy. You should just disconnect the feed now, and forget about it.

You should.

But you don’t.

Instead you slowly lower your hands, lips pursed. It’s not long before Konig comes in to view.

The only thing he has on is a towel wrapped around his waist. His head was cropped out of view, but you can see his chest and his pecs are as chiseled as you had imaged them. Abs you hadn’t previously considered begging for your attention. The towel is dangerously low and goddamnit he’s got V lines, of course he does, and you can feel the warmth pool in your lower abdomen again.

This is so so wrong.

You should end it. End the feed, end the software, end the project. You’ve already crossed so many lines and if anyone found out about this you’d be discharged so fast it would make your head spin.

You’re seriously considering if it’s worth being outed as a pervert and forfeiting your grant just to ogle at the ultimate beefcake while Konig gets comfortable on his cot, face still out of frame. You’ve got a view of his side now, showcasing the middle of his chest down. You can see the definition on his abdominal muscles and you silently thank yourself for opting for choosing the higher resolution camera for your project.

He moves his arms out of frame once he gets the towel adjusted, you’re assuming to prop them behind his head.

He lays still for a few minutes, and you wish you could see his face. You were almost done talking yourself into closing the feed when his arm comes back in to view. Strong hands and forearms followed by massive biceps.

Your breath hitches again when you realize he’s reaching down for the towel. He unwraps it delicately, letting each end hang off the side of the bed.

He’s fully naked now, and it’s official-

You’re a pervert.

His cock sits at half attention and he wraps his hands around it, stroking it absentmindedly.

Oh, fuck.

Your mouth hangs slack and you can’t help but let out a squeak. You double check to make sure you’re still in your software and didn’t somehow accidentally open PornHub. But no, you were definitely watching Konig rut into his hand, teasing himself to arousal.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to reach full attention, leaking precum from the swollen tip. Even scaled next to his oversized hands you can tell it’s huge.

He reaches down to cup his balls briefly before returning to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and stroking gently.

You can’t stop watching now- you’re locked in, eyes glued to the screen and you don’t think you’ve so much as blinked this entire time.

You watch as he picks up the pace, biceps flexing as he fucks his hand faster.

A low moan comes through the speakers of your laptop. You scramble for the volume controls, reducing it until you were sure no one passing by in the hall could hear.

It’s addicting, his moans. Deep and gravely and you can’t help but close your eyes and imagine what it would be like for him to be moaning in your ear instead of over a screen. For him to be fucking you instead of his hand. Moaning like he’s approaching a release he hasn’t felt in decades.

When you open your eyes again he’s stroking faster, his whole body tensing, a glossy shine forming on his defined muscles. You can’t help but stare at his bicep as it flexes to jerk his cock.

Even without seeing his face, you can tell he’s getting close.

His cock is a blur as he pumps vigorously. His breath quickens before suddenly hitching, muscles fully clenched as he comes, the first few drops landing on his stomach and thighs.

His whole body constricts as the waves of the pleasure wash over him. You can tell it’s intense.

His pumping slows and his seed spills over his knuckles and down his shaft as he squeezes out the last of it, quivering at the sensitivity.

His muscles relax and he sinks back into his cot, wiping his hand on the towel. He lays still for a few moments, the sound of him catching his breath and his rising and falling chest takes stage. Until he removes the towel from underneath him, wiping away his mess.

You’re staring, eyes wider than when you started. Your knuckles lighten as you grip the stool beneath you. It wasn’t the finish that shocked you, no.

Not the size of the load that spilled from his huge cock.

Not the way he had bucked his hips, desperate for the touch.

Not the way his muscles had rippled through the phases of orgasm.

You were shocked because as he finished;

Konig had moaned your name.

Part two

[handweavers]

Can you recommend any podcasts about anything history related, maybe even specifically about imperialism and war? I’m always wary to start podcasts about those topics when I’m not sure of where the hosts stand

i use pocket casts as my podcast 'hub' so ill link to them all thru there but you can also find them through whichever app you prefer

ancient history & prehistory - tides of history is consistently excellent, interviews archaeologists and historians currently working in the field and makes an effort to highlight issues in the field, address misconceptions about various ancient peoples and jumps around the globe a lot so it's not eurocentric, the host emphasizes social history/the lives of every day people, and i know that he is a fellow traveller

current events regarding war and imperialism - rania khalek dispatches, she's a lebanese-american journalist based in beirut and interviews a lot of left wing anti-imperialist journalists and scholars and activists, her reporting is consistently excellent and explicitly marxist & materialist, i love her. she works for breakthrough news which is also a good news site for similar reasons

war and imperial history and current events - radio war nerd is a classic. lots of interviews with left wing anti imperialist scholars and activists, series where they cover histories of various conflicts and empires, ongoing coverage of wars and genocides. they did a series on the us civil war that was great. they do talk about the weapons of war, tactics and strategy, etc more than the others on this list do which could be a pro or a con depending on who you are, but it's always interesting.

history of american imperialism - blowback, genuinely the best 'primer' to american empire in the podcast space. each season is a different war - they've covered the iraq war, the cuban revolution, the korean war, and most recently the history of american empire in afghanistan. if you can't/don't want to pay for premium there are bootleg feeds out there (i can send you one if you dm me lol)

irish revolutionary history - revolutionary ireland, not as much to say about this one but it's excellent and his accent is lovely lol

[aemondsdoll]

Compensation | Aemond Targaryen

masterlist

Summary: Your husbands brother takes over.

Warnings: Smut, dub-con??, reader doesnt know its Aemond, cheating, fingering, oral f!receiving, valyrian (translated), fun times!

Pairings: Aemond x f!reader, Aegon x f!reader (not rlly lol)

AN: sorry for disappearing, thought I'd give you guys a little sumn to rectify it.

You do not know how you got here. You felt as if the marriage between you and Aegon had gone stale. He had returned to his ways of whoring- you were certain of it. But you didn’t have the heart to confront him, how could you? His sweet and dutiful wife, he would surely strike you where you stand.

Yet as the morning air circulated through the chambers you and Aegon shared, there was a warm tongue lapping at your aching core. In your drowsy state, your hand gripped the cold sheets beside you, unable to process that if Aegon were there, the sheets would’ve been warm.

Too lost in the throes of pleasure to realise the hair in between your nimble fingers was not curly. Head falling back against the pillow, a thick and throaty moan spilled from your lips. Oh, it had been so long since your body had felt pleasure. You were beginning to forget how it felt.

His tongue trailed from your aching hole up to your clit, which twitches as the feeling of release builds up within your belly. God, had it been so long that you were going to peak as fast? Or is Aegon just more skilful nowadays? You did not get the chance to think any further, his tongue stiffening to attack your clitoris with a newfound pressure, slowly licking it, as if to prohibit your release.

Your teeth bite at the skin of your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut as a desperate moan escape once your teeth relent. Tears begin forming, the pleasure hurling to you at an intensity you swear was ungodly.

“Oh, fuck!” Your voice comes out ragged, immediately following it a slow whine, with that whine, the stress of the last month left with it. The peak sent electricity up your spine, washing over you extraordinarily, your head feeling fuzzy and euphoric as your husbands’ tongue continues its assault on your clit, until he knows you are well and truly finished.

“Did your husband not teach you its unladylike to swear?” A voice came, and your heartbeat impossibly fast as your body pulled away, sitting up against your headboard, away from the warm body.

“Aemond?” A hum elicited from his mouth, the same mouth that had just engorged your pussy as if it was his last meal. “Aegon told me that he wasn’t going to bother pleasing you anymore,” Aemond spoke sternly, now moving up so you could see his face, the barely still lit candle illuminating the detailing on his eyepatch, and the scar that peaked from above it.

“So, I didn’t think he would mind if I did the job for him,” he added, and you could not deny how your pussy pulsed once more, a new wetness gathering in between your thighs. “A-Aemond.” You began, but he cut you off once more. “And by the sounds of it, I did the job better than he did.”

“You don’t know that.” You sputtered, and he gave you an incredulous look.

“Oh, ñuha doru-borto riña. ao gīmigon bona nyke kostilus ao sȳrkta than ziry mirre gōntan.” Aemonds rough voice that was somehow so smooth at the same time cut through the air like ice. Yet it was not in your mother tongue, you understood it all the same. ‘Stupid girl... you know that I please you better than he ever did.’

Your mouth dried out. “Aemond.” Your voice a warning, to both him and to yourself, why did him speaking Valyrian have to make your cunt flutter so?

“Tepagon isse, byka mēre.” Give in, little one. Aemond leant over your body, which was pressed against the headboard, his eyes dart down to your lips, which a red, on the border of bleeding from earlier. His tongue darts out to wet his own lips, and the sight makes your body weaken, alongside your resolve. “Tepagon isse,” give in.

Your wide, conflicted eyes bore into his one remaining lilac eye, which seemed to know your thoughts, your very being. You let yourself be distracted by his face- even for just a second. Yet that lead to your lips being pressed harshly against his, hand wrapping into the silver gold hair that you admired so much even before tonight. His hand moved and groped at your tits, while your free one moved to his trousers, unlacing them with little to no struggle.

Aemond sat up on his knees, letting you work on the laces, meanwhile he stripped himself of the leather cloak on his shoulders and the shirt gone with it.

“Please, take me before I change my mind.” You mutter, ridding him of the trousers as he pulled them from his legs. “Ask politely, in Valyrian.” His voice was nothing short of a demand, and you decided to swallow your pride, just this once.

“Gūrogon nyke, kostilus.” Take me, please. Your stumbly voice came out, unsure of your pronunciation still, but its good enough for him. His long and slender finger made its way to trace your slit, pushing its way into your pussy, ensuring its wet enough for him.

Once he decided it was, he began stroking his cock leisurely. It was long, unlike Aegon’s. Aemonds tip was a pink that contrasted the pale skin of his shaft, which looked strained, veins visible. Your mouth watered at the sight, your hand replacing his as you jerked him, leading him towards your entrance as you did so, pushing the tip of him in.

You slowly slid so he got further inside, your head falling back on the pillow, the pleasure laced pain was almost too much for you already. Aemonds hair fell by the sides of his face, as he waits for the nod you give him, and he begins thrusting. His one visible eye is hooded with pleasure as he snaps his hips tentatively. With each movement, he hit the spot inside of you that made your moans become slowly more shameless, the sight of him in pleasure gave you an immeasurable amount back.

“Qogralbar nyke alike iā live.” Fuck me alike a whore. The words are all the confirmation Aemond needs to lose control, his thrusts growing quicker and more forceful, his large hand moving to grab your throat, kissing you as he pounded you. Your moans emptied into his mouth, one of your hands going downwards to circle your clit, determined to reach your release.

He pulls back, putting both his hands on the headboard, the abrupt movements of his hips getting faster, his cheeks flushed and mouth ajar he groans softly. Your moans become more wanton as you get closer to your peak, and he is approaching his too.

“Māzigon lēda nyke.” Come with me. He didn’t have to say it twice as you tumbled over into your release, your nails scraping up his back with a long, drawn-out moan followed by whimpered swears. He came with you, his weight coming down on you but not fully as his thrusts slowed, his warm spend nestling itself within your womb.

As the minutes after your orgasm continued, you wandered what to do next, the only thoughts plaguing your mind were your good brother, and how he was infinitely a better lay than your husband.

[lunarw0rks]

A/N: This is pure filth bc I need this man biblically. It would solve my problems :))

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), language, knives, DUB-CON!!, oral sex (fem. receiving), edging, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it please omg), size kink if you squint, creampie, overstimulation, c0ckwarming, no aftercare

Word Count: 2.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ PART ONE // requests | ao3 ver.

Sparring | Part Two

The base had gone quiet, with most already asleep or working quietly at their desks. It was not the time of day you expected to work on your sparring, but he was your superior nonetheless. He didn’t have to give you reasons.

As you wandered down the dimly lit halls, wearing your training clothes, you finally reached the training room. You weren’t sure what to expect, given the tension bubbling between you and Ghost the day before.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it multiple times throughout the day, straddling his lap with his own knife pressed against his throat. What an image, given his status and the intimidating exterior he upheld around everyone else.

When you opened the door, the room was lit only by a little, leaving the shadows in pitch black. You were greeted by his large hands holding you against the wall. You could feel the cold cement wall through your clothed stomach.

“You let yourself get pinned again, Sergeant. Always expect the unexpected.” He grumbled, freeing you so you could turn around and see him in full. Still the same training getup as the day before—a tight black tee, and gray cargo pants. Instead of his skull mask or balaclava, it was the back surgical mask he sometimes wore when you posed as citizens. The bridge of his nose was more visible now, as well as the structure of his cheekbones and jawline—something you rarely got to enjoy seeing.

“What environment is this supposed to be?” You motioned toward the darkness of the training room, where you could barely see past the outstretch of your arm.

He scoffed as if you were supposed to already know the answer. “If you want any chance of staying alive out there, you need to be prepared for anything.” Something about the way he said the last word sent a chill down your spine, more so than his deep authoritative tone already did.

No more questions. Lesson learned.

“Let me pose a scenario.” He crosses his arm over his chest, continuing to stand over you. “You’re being hunted. The lights are out, and you don’t have your gear. Hm?” He says, attempting to maintain a professional tone, but he’s practically quivering in anticipation.

The whites of his eyes glowing in the void practically burned into you, waiting for a response.

“Well…” You began, pressing your back against the wall in uncertainty. “I suppose I would use my stealth. Try to avoid conflict.” It was hard to give a proper response, with the knitted brows he harbored.

The exchange of stares lasted a little longer than you expected, which made your posture tighten in suspense of the next move.

He stepped away from you, turning to face the opposing wall. “You have one minute, and the entire gym at your disposal. Use it wisely, Sergeant.”

No countdown, no release. The time had already begun, forcing you to get moving.

For the first part of the minute, you allowed yourself to sprint to create distance. But then, you needed to quiet your stomps, so sound alone didn’t give you away.

Once you’re about halfway through the gym, you’ve reached the area with little to no light left. Once you pass this point, it would be lucky if you didn’t stumble and hurt yourself, or the heaviness of your breathing echoing through the room as a giveaway.

You feel around, finding one of the spare foam mats, which you know is always stored in the corner, by the office. If you can loop through there, and find a hiding spot in the locker room, there might be a chance. However, the clock was ticking, and he’d be retracing your steps any second.

You slowly twist the handle to the door, cringing at any creak of the metal hinges. Your footsteps are much too loud now that you’re back on concrete, so you decide to rid them of your shoes. Perhaps if you leave them here, it’ll throw him off your trail.

Gazing down at your watch, you estimate you have about ten seconds remaining. You hurriedly place your boots by one of the file cabinets. Then, use the desks and bookshelves as your tunnel system. Of course, the office has large windows overlooking the training room, so you need to stay low.

You go from desk to desk, ducking beneath the nearest one when you hear the door to the office open. He’s close, and surely not that easy to outsmart. You’ve seen him on the field, quick, deadly, and near silent at all times.

He’s inching closer but hasn’t spotted you yet. That is unless he wants you to think he hasn’t. You suck in a breath and keep as still as possible. By now, he’s right next to the desk you’re hiding under, just waiting for you to make a mistake.

With a sigh, he turns around and leaves the way he came. You peeked up a small amount, seeing his shadow retreat down the hall. It’s only a matter of time before he knows you’re not in the gym, so you need to move.

You remove yourself from the confined space, continuing to crawl across the floor. Finally, you reach one of the entrances to the locker room—the only place he hasn’t looked at yet. You rise to your feet once you reach it, poking your head around the aisles of lockers and benches.

Your heart rattles as you find each area clear, unable to pick up on any of his movements. He’s too damn fast, and too quiet for your liking. You’ve convinced yourself, if he knew where you were he’d have found you already.

You reach the shelves that are filled with piles of clean sweat towels, which is more of a maze with limited lighting.

You stop in your tracks when the door on the opposite side opens, the one you enter through when you’re in the gym. Of course, you should’ve suspected he’d close in soon. Cat and mouse can only last so long, even in the dark.

This time, he makes no attempt to stifle the click of his boots against the tile, letting you know approximately how close he was at all times. You press your back against one of the shelves, hoping he’ll somehow turn around and go the opposite way. But he was too close—too close for comfort now.

You search for any way out, or another temporary hiding spot. Sneaking past him to get to the gym again won’t work, so the showers are your best bet, however, they lead to a dead end. Showers, it is.

You curse under your breath and whip around the corner, entering the showers. Here, having your boots would’ve been helpful. The tile is still slick from those who used the showers before lights out, so not ideal. Surely, getting caught was bad enough, but slipping and cracking your head open would only prove his point. You needed to stay light on your feet and use your head.

You snuck around the ledge of the half wall, the one that separated the showers from the changing area.

His fingers brushed over the collar of your shirt, barely slipping past him. “Cheeky little bastard.” He growled in frustration, his footsteps pounding close behind you.

Just when you made it to the first shower stall, your socks slid against the tile, making your movements halt. His fist was wrapped tightly around your ankle as you fell to the ground, accepting your defeat. He released your ankle but quickly mirrored the position you two were in the previous day. Pinning your thighs with his knees, with one hand pressing both wrists to your chest, and the other holding his blade to your throat.

“Decent attempt, you think?” He tilted his head down at you, maintaining his grip. When you don’t respond, he answers his own question. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Or killed.” His tone was different than before, more of a groan.

You panted against his grip because now the fatigue of running from him caught up with you all at once. And now, whatever consequence he has in mind is bound to come.

That look you were giving him was going to drive him mad. Obedience, mixed with unease. He knows he has you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Looks don’t lie, either, and the way you stared at him the previous day filled him with need.

He let go of your wrists, but the blade remained, pulling down his mask below the chin. “Are you going to keep your mouth shut, Sergeant?” You nodded your head quickly, allowing your eyes to examine his true appearance.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth when he saw your eagerness to comply. He eased the pressure he had on your legs and stood up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Then leaned in close, so close that the tip of his nose was making contact with yours. You could smell the cologne he always wore paired with the faint stench of whiskey on his breath.

You met his eyes, which resembled two black holes filled with an appetite for you. To say you haven’t thought about this before would be foolish. Thought, daydreamed, actually dreamed about it. He’s built and authoritative, but not obnoxious about it. It’s all the way he carries himself on the field.

He presses his lips to yours, going at an agonizingly slow pace at first. It was not what you were expecting out of him. When you reach out to hold the sides of his face, he doesn’t break the kiss, but grips both of them, using just one of his hands to restrain you.

His other hand slides down your stomach, teasing his fingertips at the edge of your belt, giving it a small tug. When he’s satisfied with the teasing, he pulls down your bottoms enough to reveal your underpants. He jams his large hands in between your thighs, inching toward your core—which is aching by this point.

Your wrists are still restricted as he squats down on one knee, tonguing along your thigh until he reaches your clothed clit. His pupils flick upwards when you gasp slightly, only encouraging him to go further. He pulls your panties to the side, keeping eye contact as he swipes his tongue along your folds, going back and forth.

He releases your wrists so that he can hold onto your hips tightly, making sure they don’t buck too far from the wall he’s pressed you to. Your breath shutters as he continues licking away, quickening his pace at each reaction you give him.

He hums to himself, sending a vibration against your sensitive pussy. You could practically feel a smug grimace on his face when he realized how good he was making you feel. There was no time to question the morality of this, the only thing on your mind was the pleasure you were feeling. You dig your fingernails into the tile, not daring to touch him and risk him stopping. You were too close to climax for his teasing games.

He loves glancing up at you, how each thrust of his tongue sends your mouth agape. How your eyes rolled back ever so slightly—something he’s been daring to witness since you joined the Task Force. He remembers how his cock twitched in his pants the first time he saw you a sweaty panting mess in the training room, or when he scolded you for making a mistake and you gave him those submissive eyes for the first time.

He waits until your gasps become closer together, and your hips jerk a bit more aggressively, then pulls away, having successfully edged you. His lips are saturated in your own slick when he kisses you hungrily, guiding you towards the half-wall in the middle of the shower room.

The curve of your spine thuds into it. He slides your pants the rest of the way down, tossing them aside somewhere in the room.

You’re nearly whining in anticipation, because of how cruelly he denied your climax. “You keep complaining like that, and I’ll leave you here.” He growls straight into your ear, flipping you around so you’re bent over the ledge of the wall.

He unbuckles his belt hastily, and pulls down his briefs, pressing his hips against your bottom. You can feel his length pressing against you, making your core ache from the emptiness it’s feeling. He’s too eager to leave you like this, too needy. He’d never show that, but his self-control is diminishing the longer he ogles you bent over in front of him.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your lower lips at first, feeling the wetness he caused to form. A smug expression was written on his face as he pulled your panties to the side, pushing into you slowly so you could adjust to the stretch.

He groans, expelling all the tension he’d felt towards you once you were wrapped around him. When you’re about to let out a moan, he clamps his hand over your mouth. The room is already echoing every little sound, he doesn’t need this moment to be interrupted by a nosy recruit.

Once he’s confident in your ability to take him in full, he pushes into you, filling you with every inch of his length.

A strangled coo is blocked by his palm when he begins thrusting at a moderate pace. Your knees buckle slightly at the sudden exertion, and how much of him is pumping into you at once. You moan against his hand with every buck of his hips.

His other arm is occupied by digging his fingertips into the plush skin on your hips, so firmly that there would be imprints the next day.

“Knew it would feel this good.” He says cockily, picking up the pace of his thrusts little by little. The feelings of pleasure you were missing are beginning to return, and even more, know that he’s gotten rougher. You loved the way his large hand silenced you, and how the other delved into your skin.

If he continues, he’ll be nearing his climax within moments of yours. He prided himself on being able to give and take your pleasure whenever he pleased, having you completely at his mercy to do with you what he pleased.

The arousal coating your entrance made it so easy for him to glide in and out of you, slamming into you without any clemency now. Your stomach dug into the ledge of the wall with each thrust of his cock, but the pain was overshadowed by the orgasm overtaking you.

The hand on your mouth instead turned into his index and middle shoved inside of it, forcing you to gag and slobber against them because of how drunk you felt. You trembled around his digits, feeling your saliva coat them endlessly as your legs began to shake.

Shockwaves rippled through your core, all the way up your spine as you finally reached your peak. He could tell by the way you pulsed around him, nearly delaying his pace from how tight you were. His eyes rolled slightly when he knew he had finally given you an orgasm, and it pushed him closer to his own.

He uses the hand in your mouth to turn your head, forcing you to crane your neck and look at him, at least as well as you could with the tide of your body as his hips slammed against you.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes from how sensitive you were—Simon still pounding inside of you moments after your high. Your sensitive clit was getting all the friction, as well as your aching walls, which still remained tight around his cock.

If he had all the time and privacy in the world, he would overstimulate you with multiple climaxes until you ushered him to stop. He’ll take what he can get when he can, even if that meant fucking you senseless at the base.

His thrusts turned sloppy as his cum began to spurt out, filling inside you with so much that it began to seep out, soaking your panties and running down the curve of your inner thighs. He went tense during the last spurt, using you to cockwarm him for a few seconds after.

You mewled as he pulled out of you, feeling the soak he left behind that was coating your lower half. His fingers removed themselves from your mouth, allowing you to huff freely now. You loosened the tight grip you had on the ledge, finally allowing you to stand on bobbling legs.

By the time you turned around, he’d already readjusted his mask to cover the lower region of his face, and his cargo pants were pulled up. Somehow, he looked as if he wasn’t just screwing your brains out. More disheveled than usual, but looking at you as if it was any other day.

He leaned close to your ear, placing his hands behind his back in an administrative manner.

“I’ll see you bright and early for training tomorrow, Sergeant.” He scoffs at his own words, giving you a small wink as he walks out of the room, leaving you to clean yourself up—and process what the hell just happened.