#feeling his own need to be punished in his psyche

[unfriendlyamazon]

watching silent hill vids, trying to make a ygo joke in my head, remembers that we see glimpses of seto kaiba's personal silent hill in the series, is about to take a dumb au way too seriously

[hannieehaee]

SERENDIPITY

18+ / mdi

summary: jungkook, god of love and son of venus is given the task by his mother herself to rid the world of you, known as psyche, as your beauty begins to rival her own. unfortunately for all parties involved, jungkook becomes enamored by you upon accidentally pinching himself with his own arrow.

content: cupid!jungkook, psyche!reader, an extremely simplified and smutty version of the og story, afab reader, everyone here is a god/goddess of some sort, side character deaths, the dialogue is very much modern and not fitting of the times, angst(?), fluff, smut, they have sex where she doesnt know who he is multiple times but its consensual, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 8.6k

a/n: for immersion purposes, psyche will be a reader insert and wont be referred to as psyche throughout the story (but jk will be referred interchangeably as cupid). anyways i read this last week during one of the lit courses i decided to take to improve my writing and really enjoyed it!! i hope u guys enjoy it too<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

"Why did you call for me, again?"

"Jungkook, pay attention!", hissed his mother, holding her fingers to her temples in stress as one of her many servants walked in with the fruit she'd requested, "I need you to use your arrows on someone."

"What? Why? I thought you didn't like me meddling with people's love lives."

"This is different. This one needs a little help," Venus frowned in sheer annoyance, "She is known as Psyche by many, Y/N by her loved ones. She has become quite a figure among the Roman population. Some have begun to worship her beauty. They pray to her, they bring her offerings, they kiss at her feet, completely disregarding the true Goddess of Beauty."

"And where does this concern me?", Jungkook was beyond bored by his mother's ramblings. On a usual day, he would be out and entertaining himself with the many mortal maidens found around Rome, always guaranteeing himself a partner for the day.

Venus shot Cupid a look as her servants fed her by mouth, making him straighten his back and begin paying better attention. Even as the Goddess of Beauty, Venus was known as one of the most menacing Goddesses to exist, holding far too much power among all Gods and Goddesses. Jungkook couldn't help but feel intimidated by her, even as carefree as he was known to be.

"She has far too many admirers. Even Gods are beginning to show interest in her, yet she is lacking in suitors thus far. I need you to shoot your arrow and tie her off to the most hideous creature you can muster. She may seize from being a disturbance this way."

"Okay, so you want me to doom her to an eternity with a monster?", Jungkook tilted his head in curiosity.

Despite being considered the most beautiful entity, Jungkook knew Venus to be one of the least amicable creatures in all of the land. Mortals were blissfully unaware of her cruelty, thinking her to be the most perfect among all Goddesses. However, Cupid, as her son, knew of the misery that awaited anyone who crossed the Goddess of Beauty.

Venus halted her movements in frustration, scaring the servants nearby before turning to Jungkook in annoyance, "Cupid, my son, you will obey my order without question. I gave you those wings, I gave you that bow, and I gave you that arrow. I don't care how cruel you may think me to be, this is an order. You shall not utilize your powers for your own endeavors until you finish your task," she demanded, "Now, go rid me of that wench before I find someone else to do the job."

With a sigh, Jungkook nodded in defeat, fully aware of the type of punishments his mother could deliver should he disobey her orders. Walking over to the window through which he had originally entered, he pulled his bow and arrow from his back, beginning to fly off with his wings as he embarked on a journey to seek out the mighty Psyche that had his mother so worried.

"Y/N, there's another letter from one of your admirers," announced Psyche's mother, placing the letter on the huge pile of gifts provided by the many civilians who came visit their castle with the hope of getting a glimpse of the beautiful girl.

"Mother, what shall I do with all these? There's so many letters yet not a single suitor," you sighed, frustrated at the lack of prospects you'd had so far, "My sisters have both married, yet I am left alone with no one to seek my heart."

"Child, you should be grateful," said your mother, "You are admired through all the land, vied for as if you were a true Goddess. Someone will come for you one day, rest assured," affirmed your mother, petting your hair as she landed a soft kiss on your forehead and took her leave once more.

It was easy for your parents to grow used to the love and admiration you received. Endless people would come and dedicate themselves to their servitude if it meant as much as receiving your blessing – which was absolutely worthless as a mere princess in a land filled with mystical deities.

Your elder sisters had both been married off months back, finding old yet respectable husbands to take them away and care for them as any and all husbands should. You, however, remained alone with your parents, always hoping that a man would be brave enough to court you.

It was unfortunate, really; the way in which your beauty prevented you from receiving any suitors. You had not chosen to be blessed by Venus herself, nor did you ever hope to become her contender in the title of the most beautiful entity in all of creation. Unlike you, she had found a God to sweep her off her feet, gifting her with the fruit of love himself – her son Cupid. Oh, how you wished he'd shoot his arrow and allow you some rest from this endless search for a husband.

~

As weeks passed by, your parents became more and more worried with your state. You were unconsolable, finding misery in every letter your sisters would send in regard to their new lives with their new families. One of your sisters was already awaiting an heir. Despite your endless happiness for your loving sister, your misery at your own situation prevented you from feeling genuine excitement for a new heir in your family. You wanted your own. You needed your own.

Your constant distress caused your parents to seek out a esteemed Oracle in your city, hoping that she would be able to give some insight about your predicament. She would be able to answer the question as though who and when you would find a suitor.

Visiting her was easy enough, feeling intense excitement at the prospect of an insight into who your beloved would be. Your parents seemed indifferent, but simply hoped to ease your endless concerns.

The Oracle took the form of an old woman, one who was known to assert people's future entirely correctly. Thus far, she was yet to be erroneous in her readings. Such magic was impressive to you, leaving you worried for any bad outcome she could possibly see in your future. If she were to find something unfortunate, there would likely be no way to remedy it. However, your parents assured you that the preventive knowledge would allow you to act accordingly and fix your destiny should you need to.

"The great Psyche," smiled the old woman sitting across from you, "I have heard lots about you."

Bowing your head in respect, you introduced yourself despite her knowing you by the popular name of Psyche, "I have heard of you too. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Oracle. I hope to find a favorable end with you."

"I hope for the same."

Taking your hands, the Oracle felt them, closing her eyes in concentration as she went through every crease and contour of your hands, furrowing her eyebrows every so often. Her emotions translated onto you somehow, making your heartbeat speed up and your own eyebrows furrow in worry.

Suddenly her eyes opened, a clear distress showing through them.

"Your destiny is muddled," she began, "I cannot see too well, but your future is grand and ... it will lead to misfortune to those around you."

Your mother stepped in at such words, inquiring for more information, "What do you mean by this? What is it that you saw?"

"Your child may wed a powerful being. One among the strongest to ever be seen. She shall marry a being stronger than a God, one capable of immeasurable destruction should he choose to engage in such acts."

"A God?", asked your father.

"It is uncertain as per what I see," she responded, "All I can see is his aura radiating stronger than the sun. He shall take her and make her his own, not allowing anything to stand in his way," she reaffirmed.

"I-", you began, unable to finish your sentence as your parents quickly stood up and dragged you onto your feet.

"We shall take our leave," your mother said frantically, "We thank you for your service."

No more questions were asked as your parents dragged you by your hand, leading you out of the cursed place.

The Oracle's words had never been wrong, which meant that your future was sealed. You were to wed something that was not a man. Was he a God? There was just no way of knowing. It could've been a demon or monster seeking the most beautiful woman in the land. It could've been a God seeking a mortal to keep in his chambers as he wed a Goddess. Whatever it may have been, you were terrified.

~

"You shall leave," were your mother's first words upon arriving back to the castle.

"W-what?"

"We cannot keep you here. If a being is to come and rip you away, we cannot allow it to destroy our kingdom. Your fate is sealed, but ours remains," said your mother, your father nodding in agreement beside her.

"Where am I to go?" you whispered in disbelief.

"We will take you to the mountains. Maybe the monster shall not find you there."

"Monster? How can you be so certain?"

"Gods mustn't marry mortals, you foolish child. A God would never have to drag you away, as you would go willingly. It must be an evil creature attempting to attain your beauty."

"But-"

"No 'but's, child. It has been decided," your father gave the final verdict, thus sealing your fate even further.

To have hoped for protection from your parents had been foolish. These were the same royalty who had given away their two eldest daughters to the highest bidders, not caring for proper marriages as long as they meant protection for their kingdom. You were equally worthless to them. Should you pose any danger to their kingdom and you would simply be thrown aside, just as now.

The following days proved as a goodbye as your parents prepared your departure. They assured themselves they shall never see you again, so they made arrangements with that idea in mind. Without a care for your wellbeing, they assured themselves this was the best course of action. Your fate was sealed, after all. There was nothing they could do to protect you any longer.

It was only a few days after your visit to the Oracle that your parents made the long and extraneous walk to the lone mountains neighboring the kingdom. Climbing the highest and most lonesome peak, they bid their goodbyes to you, with your mother letting out a few worthless tears as she looked at you one last time.

Your first few days on the mountain had been miserable. You only had enough food to realistically survive a few days, but your parents had reassured you that your husband would come for you soon, likely aware that you were there for his taking. The constant fear of the most odious taking you away made you feel terror you had never experienced. Jumping into the peaks below you crossed your mind a few times, but you knew you'd survive the fall. Your fate did not predict a tragic death, which meant that any fall would not result in demise. Your metaphorical demise would only come in the form of your husband.

All you could do now was wait for him to come, hoping against all hope that he would not be as monstrous as you dared imagine.

Jungkook was beyond annoyed at his current task.

Despite being a God, he did not hold the same almighty powers many other Gods did. His skill was the intertwining of souls, shooting his arrow any time he knew two people were meant to be tied for life.

In all honesty, he did not care for such a task. The thought of tying Psyche's fate to that of a monstrous being did not bother him in the slightest. He felt quite indifferent about it, not knowing nor caring who Psyche was. He doubted Psyche's beauty could possibly be as menacing as his mother had described, but he still felt some sort of intrigue about her appearance.

Fortunately, his curiosity was soon satiated.

After days of looking for Psyche, he finally encountered her, watching from afar as he spotted a lone woman standing on the cliff of a mountain, completely bare as her clothes laid ripped on the small surface of the mountain. It appeared that she had been there for days, likely having ripped off her own clothes in frustration.

Had you been left here for his taking? Destiny worked in mysterious ways, after all.

As of now, Cupid had only been able to see your backside, as you were facing opposite of him. Even from afar, Jungkook could not deny the beauty of your body. Every curve and contour of it had been sculpted to perfection, making the God salivate at the sight. But Jungkook had come here with a task. He needed to take care of his mother's request. There was no time to thirst after the heavenly body before him.

Reaching behind him, Jungkook grabbed onto his bow and arrow, bringing both to the front as he began to aim at you, prepared to shoot when he got the angle just right. After shooting you, he would aim his arrow at the first creature he encountered, let it be a deer or an actual monster. It did not matter much at the moment.

But as Jungkook had said, destiny worked in mysterious ways.

Jungkook had been entirely unprepared for the moment you turned around, facing him yet not seeing him from his hiding spot in the distance.

Your beauty took his breath away instantly, making him falter in his movements as his focus shifted from his arrow and onto you. Your body was the image of perfection itself, shaped perfectly for his hands to drag themselves across every inch of skin. Your curves were begging to be marked by his lips, being just the perfect size for any God to lose himself in them. And your face? Gods, it was the prettiest sight in all of Rome.

Jungkook understood now why his mother had felt threatened by your mere existence. He understood why you had so many admirers, yet no suitors brave enough to make you theirs.

Without realizing, Jungkook's hand had slipped during his daydreaming, making him misplace his hand and causing his arrow to grace him across the chest, creating a gash right by his accelerated heart.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

You ...

Gods, you beautiful thing. You gorgeous, beautiful thing.

The effects of the arrow were quick in turning Jungkook into a mess of himself. His breathing accelerated, his eyes became hooded, his skin rose in goosebumps, his cock stood tall and proud. His entire body betrayed him as he rapidly fell in love with you.

His mission had failed, but he could not care for such things in this moment. Not when he felt such strong emotions of love towards you.

This was rare. His arrows caused people to fall in love, but never had they produced such a strong effect. Never had he seen a man become so immensely enamored so quickly after a shot of his arrow. Perhaps your beauty had bewitched him before his arrow struck? The details didn't really matter much to him. At least not as much as his sheer need to have you did.

But it could not be done so easily.

Gods were not meant to fall in love with humans. Should his mother ever find out and you would both meet your ruin. No, he needed to think this through. He needed to get to you, but not allow you to know of him. If you were ever to see him, you'd fall in love with him instantly.

He did not want to force such a situation onto you, so despite the sheer effort it took, Jungkook took his leave, opting to plan for an appropriate way to rescue you and make you his.

It took a few days for your misery to come to an end.

After endless hours of agony stranded and alone on the peak of that mountain as you awaited your inevitable demise, you finally came to find some peace.

It was a voice, an unknown one, calling to you. It had been during one of the many instances in which you had found yourself wailing at your misery, completely defeated at your situation.

Suddenly a voice called out to you, reassuring words in their tongue.

"Do not fear, Psyche, nor be sorrowful beyond measure... I have come to aid you, for it is impossible that Love should go unrewarded."

Despite the words, there was no heavenly body attached to them. They had simply come from the wind.

"Who are you?", you asked.

"I am Zephyrus, the West Wind. You may never see me, but I am here to rescue you."

"Rescue me? Where shall you take me?"

"I shall take you to my master's castle. He shall care for you there."

"Your master?", was this meant to be the monster who would wed you?

"Yes. His immeasurable love for you shall be proved as he cares for you."

"Is he ... Is he a monster?"

"On the contrary. He is a heavenly body; the most heavenly of them all," reassured the West Wind.

A heavenly body? Could it really be a God?

You needed no time to consider it. You decided to you must go and meet the man who would save you from your misery.

"Take me, Zephyrus. Please."

"With pleasure."

~

You were unsure how you had arrived here, but that was the last of your concerns upon seeing your surroundings.

Currently, you found yourself in the most beautiful of palaces. Everything was made of expensive marble and tailored just to your tastes. As you explored the gorgeous abode, Zephyrus explained your current situation to you.

"You shall be cared for here, by the most competent of servants," the West Wind began, "They will rid you of all the misery you suffered on that mountain. Every bit of suffering your family brought to you shall be undone within this palace.

"Oh, thank you, Zephyrus! You don't understand how grateful I am."

"You shall not thank me. This is all your beloved's doing."

"When shall I meet him?"

"You will meet him tonight, as you lay to sleep," he began, "However, you shall not see him."

That confused you.

"What do you mean?"

"He wishes not to be seen. He will come to you in your barest of forms to reveal his undying affections, but you shall respect his wishes of not being seen. He will show up in the dark as your back faces him. This is his one and only condition," revealed Zephyrus.

"Oh."

It was disheartening, to say the least. But you owed your eternal gratitude to your future husband, so if he requested not to be seen, you would obey such order.

"I understand. Anything for my savior."

~

The next few hours were spent in luxury you had yet to familiarize yourself with.

You were bathed and fed, healed from all trace of injury during your time stranded. You were treated as a Goddess, served by invisible, voiceless servants as the wind aided you in all your needs.

It proved quite lonely, but you were still content at the knowledge that your beloved would come to you tonight.

They dressed you up as beautiful as you could imagine. Your beauty shone through the care you were given, making you appear entirely irresistible to any man who should come your way.

Oh, you were beyond excited to see your future husband. Would he allow passion to take over him when he saw you?

You had not met him yet, but you were already in love. All things Zephyrus had told you about him only made you more excited.

He detailed his feelings for you, telling you the mountains he'd move just for a single glance at you. He told you of the creation of this palace, rushed to be made to your liking just so he could care for you away from all harm.

Oh, your husband just sounded so lovely. Yet you wanted to cause his ruin upon meeting him.

You laid in bed, your natural beauty shining through the care your invisible servants had given you. Your sleeping gown allowed any to see the perfect contour of your curves as you laid in bed awaiting your beloved's arrival, back facing the window as Zephyrus had instructed.

You were not to face towards the window, allowing the dark atmosphere of the room to hide your beloved's identity. However, according to Zephyrus, your beloved would be able to see you through his magic, allowing him to get his fill of your beauty.

It only took a few hours for a voice to emerge through the window.

"Oh, my beloved," sighed the voice, approaching.

"Husband?", you asked, still lying on your side, facing away from him.

"Yes, it's me. I have not wed you yet, but you are correct. You are my wife from now on, beautiful," his steps got closer, stopping at the edge of the bed opposite your own.

"Oh, husband, how long I've waited for you!", you wailed.

He took a shaky breath, climbing the bed as his hands laid softly on your hip. Your hip had been sticking out due to your sideways position, ready for him to grab at it however he desired.

"My beautiful Psyche ... You cannot understand how badly I want you ..." he breathed, hands hesitant as they caressed the curves presented to him, "I've had to hold back from ravaging you for days. Your touch is the only cure to this madness I feel."

Never in your life had you felt such an immediate fire within you. Oh, how badly you wanted to see him and express the same sentiment.

"You shall touch me however you wish, my dear husband. Please touch me ... I am yours," you pleaded.

"Yes? You are mine? Even if you shall never see me, you wish to be mine?"

You winced at such words, sad at the implications behind never facing your husband. But his voice and touch were enough to render you powerless against him, wanting him more than you thought possible.

You whimpered when his hands went to lift up your gown, revealing your nude bottom as he continued to caress at you.

"Yes! I am yours in every way. Please ... please take me. I need your touch more than anything," you pleaded.

With a groan, he positioned you so he could kneel behind you, placing you on all fours for him. It truly did not matter if you faced him or not, as the room was far too dark for you to ever make out his mere silhouette.

His hands were greedy as he felt you up, throwing off the useless gown so he could have his fill of your body. With endless groans and puffs of breath, he touched every inch, kissing his favorite parts as he explored your body.

"You beautiful thing ... No one shall ever have this body ever again. It is mine forever. Do you understand?"

You sighed in pleasure due to his mere touch, "Yes, husband. My body is for you only."

"I am going to officially wed you as I find my rightful place inside you. This will serve as our wedding night. Okay, gorgeous?"

You nodded wordlessly, pushing up against him to encourage his touch further.

It seemed as if he was already nude, as you felt his hardness behind you when he pushed up against you in retaliation.

Oh, it was so big and warm. He would surely be your ruin.

With a groan, he entered you, making your back arch deliciously at such stretch.

"Oh ... My angel ... My beautiful Psyche. You are everything a man could want, fuck. Feel so perfect around me," the God groaned upon entering you, hands digging into your hips as he began canting his hips against yours.

He caressed you like a man in love, whimpering any time you'd get just a little too tight for him. For the first time in your life, you felt like a true Goddess, experiencing worship from a God himself.

"It's so warm and perfect ...", he sighed, "Made for me, yeah? Just for me ... My Psyche, my ruin, my perfect ruin," he murmured as he pressed kisses against your back, a new confession of love behind each one.

Meanwhile, you were rendered wordless. Nothing made sense when you felt such otherworldly pleasure. Were mere mortals meant to experience such bliss? How could you ever outlive such an experience when your beloved was giving you everything and more than you ever hoped from a husband?

Your whines filled up the room, making your husband speed up out of sheer desire for more. He encouraged your sounds, dipping a hand between your legs to play with you with his skilled fingers, drawing cry after cry out of you as his hips refused to slow down.

"You are so beautiful, fuck ..." he groaned, "Men should worship the ground you walk on. I will worship you ... Every day for the rest of our lives I will worship this beautiful body."

Nothing but love flowed between you. Your new husband's obsession with you was more than clear. The God worshiped your body with low cries of your name, hips becoming less and less coordinated by the minute. His godly stamina was no match for the feelings flowing through his body, rendering him weaker than a human man at the sight of his beloved losing herself under his touch.

Your high triggered his own, making him slump against your back as his hips attempted to hump against you throughout the entirety of his orgasm. He whimpered pathetically at the tightening of your walls, crying expletives far too explicit for a God to recite.

You did not fare any better. From the moment your husband laid his hands on you, you became a shell of your former self, your body now a vessel dedicated to pleasure. You had yet to even ask his name, too immersed in the love between you to even remember.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered as he recovered his breath, kissing along the length your back, "I will protect you for the rest of eternity," his lips went down your back, reaching your ass, "going to take care of you in any and every way," his lips eventually reached your cunt, still swollen and leaking out his own essence. He remained quiet for a few moments, likely hypnotized by the sight.

"Oh ...," he groaned upon a tentative lick against your sensitive cunt, "Need you again ... Need this cunt again," he cried, losing himself between your folds.

Losing his train of thought entirely, he held you up on your hands and knees, feasting on your cunt shamelessly. He kissed and licked at you, groaning any time your ass would push back against him, silently begging for more.

"F-feels so good ... Need y-you. Please ...", you whimpered, begging for nothing in particular. Such pleasure had you lacking any critical thought. You were likely the most mindless creature in all of the land as your husband took away all your ability to reason.

"Gonna get you there, gorgeous. Gonna make you cum and make you mine over and over again," he growled against your cunt.

With just a few more moments, you came undone once more, this time falling against the bed in sheer exhaustion. You wished to turn around and seek solace in your husband, but you knew better and opted to allow him to initiate the next contact.

Once more, he spent a few moments worshiping your limp body, kissing and sucking at every corner he enjoyed. Every so often he would mutter low praises to your person, claiming worship towards you. Unfortunately, this ended far too soon, quickly leaving you cold and alone on the bed as be suddenly got up.

"I apologize if that was too much," he chuckled, now from a small distance. You wanted to turn to confirm, but you did not dare disobey his prior order, "I, uh, I must take my leave now, my love."

That was when you truly wished to break his rule and turn to him, pleading at him to stay with you through the night. One night and you were already infatuated with him.

"You're leaving?"

The disappointment must've been clear in your voice, as he instructed you to close your eyes before he turned you around to face him, caressing your cheeks in a loving manner before landing a soft peck on your lips.

"I cannot stay the night with you, beautiful. If you wake up and find out my identity ... I don't know how I shall protect you from that."

"But-"

"It's okay, angel. I will be back night after night, giving you all the love a God can muster. Now I bid you goodnight, my love. I love you," he kissed the back of your palm, quickly disappearing from your vicinity before you could say goodbye.

When you opened your eyes he was gone, window still open and marking his sudden exit. As deflated as you felt at his departure, you also felt immense excitement for the next morning in which you'd see him, promising yourself to be prepared for him every single night to deliver your love to him.

After weeks of becoming your husband's wife, you continued to live a life of pure bliss every night as he made love to you. It was still incomprehensible to you how he would deliver his sentiments in such a carnal way, but you were yet to have any complaints. The two of you would create the embodiment of love together every night, and you looked forward to it day after day.

But it was only the nighttime that brought you such happiness. You'd spend your days waiting for your husband to arrive, hoping for the moment in which he'd be with you and love you. He'd make conversation with you every night after making love to you, making you feel less lonely in those moments. However, you'd remain completely alone the rest of your days.

It wasn't after many pleas that your husband finally agreed to allow you some company in your new palace. Being accessible only through the flowing of Zephyrus' wind, you were completely alone at all times. It had taken vast begging from your part, but your husband eventually agreed to command Zephyrus to fly your sisters out to you, somehow managing to get into contact with them.

The last time you had seen them had been before finding out about your wretched fate through that Oracle. They remained unaware that you had been left stranded at the mountain, likely entering a panic when the news were delivered to them.

Before allowing your sisters access to his palace, your husband had warned you to stray away from their persuasion. Confused, you asked him to elaborate. He then informed you of the way in which they'd likely envy your newfound fortune and somehow wish to cause a rift between you and your husband. As one last warning, he told you to not listen to them should they tell you to unmask his identity. He loved you far too much to be ripped away from you in such a way, he had said.

You did not believe your sisters capable of attempting to sabotage the immense love you had found in the arms of your husband, but you had unfortunately been wrong.

Upon their arrival, they had showed little concern for your sudden disappearance, simply making quips about how much less their husbands provided for them, claiming they deserved more than yourself. They, of course, did not say such things to your face but rather to each other. But the winds of Zephyrus informed you of it all upon their departure. Even during their stay, they demanded you unmask your husband, claiming he must be a hideous creature if he was so insistent in hiding himself from his beloved wife.

You, unfortunately, fell for their trap. The seed of doubt had been instilled within you, making your curiosity for your husband grow more rapidly than ever. As soon as they left, you began pondering on ways to see your husband in a way that would not reveal your betrayal.

The outcome did not matter in the end. Regardless of your husband's appearance, you would fall for him time and time again just from his mere presence. Should he be the most wretched of monsters and you would still love him. His love and tenderness for you had rendered you a woman in love, and nothing would take that away.

But you needed to know. You needed to see him. You had gone far too long without seeing your soul's other half.

~

It occurred just a few nights later. The fated night in which you would finally see your husband.

By an act of the Gods above, your husband had fallen asleep right after a night of rigorous love making, holding you in his arms with the most love a man could hold for his woman.

In the sheer darkness, you managed to make your way out of your husband's hold, sneaking your way to the other side of the room with difficulty due to the complete lack of illumination in the room. After some struggle in the dark, you found a lamp, which you managed to light up with some oil.

Due to the small size of the lamp, you had to come close to your husband in order to properly see him. With hesitation, you walked over to him, holding the lamp right above his sleeping form to get the perfect view of him.

He was ...

He was the embodiment of love itself.

Before you laid Cupid, the most beautiful of all Gods.

Jungkook, as some knew him, slept under the light of your lamp, beautiful wings nowhere to be seen as he retracted them in his sleep.

You became instantly hypnotized by the sight of your beautiful husband. Your heart sped up and your eyes became heavy. His nude form was nothing short of art, and his gorgeous features were some that could never be replicated by neither man nor God.

If you hadn't already been insanely head over heels over your husband, you would've fallen for Jungkook upon a single sight. It had been the most beautiful God who had been making love to you night after night, praying to you as if you had been the deity.

Unconsciously, you grew too distracted by the sight of your beloved, not realizing you had tilted your lamp enough for some of the scorching oil to slip and trickle onto Jungkook's chest, immediately rendering him awake.

With shock in his eyes, he got up in a frantic hurry, clearly not having realized he had fallen asleep next time you. His hands went straight to soothing the burnt skin right by his chest. It didn't take long for betrayal to appear in his eyes, realizing that you had deliberately sought out a way in which to see him while he was fully unaware of your intentions.

"Psyche ...", he muttered, eyebrows furrowed as he avoided your eyes in disdain. You caught sight of tears growing in his eyes, causing pain to gnaw at your chest.

"Jungkook, I-"

He chuckled bitterly at the situation, "I warned you against this time and time again, but you became poisoned by the words of mere mortals who do not hold the love for you I so highly esteem," he took a breath, "I foolishly wounded myself with my own arrow and took the role of your lover. I feared that you'd want to cut off the head that carries these eyes that love you, so I remained a mystery to you. Yet your own love for me did not respect me enough to halt this betrayal. I- I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Y/N," he said before retracting his wings and making his way out through the window once more, hands rubbing at the growing wound on his chest due to the oil that had burnt him.

You stood there wordless, tears in your eyes as you watched your husband fly away.

Your cursed endlessly throughout the rest of your sleepless night, hoping that maybe he would come back tomorrow so you could make amends.

Tomorrow never came, and neither did the next day. From your perspective, time stood still as Jungkook continued not to show up day after day for a week. On the seventh day, your heart grew too sore to continue waiting for him without taking action.

Although you blamed your own greed for him for your betrayal to him, you also blamed the instigators – your sisters.

But they were your sisters no more. They were simply obstacles to overcome in the journey to gain Jungkook's trust back. And nothing would stop you.

A new sense of vengeance took over you astonishingly fast. Without a second thought, you managed to contact each of your sisters individually, making claims of your husband, Cupid himself, becoming unforgiving of your betrayal and demanding your departure, announcing that he would wed your sister instead. Each of your greedy sisters fell for the lie and one by one fell to their death as they attempted to make their way to Cupid's castle.

As for you, you managed to convince the West Wind to fly you off the mountains so you could begin your journey to your beloved. Hurt and disheartened, you spent weeks in search of him, not mindful at all of how battered you became with the passing of time. Any pain would be worth Jungkook's forgiveness.

However, your state of mind and exhaustion led you to multiple attempts at ending your own life, attempting to drown yourself or jump off cliffs, always surviving almost unscathed by some cruel act of the Gods. Without Jungkook's forgiveness life was simply not worth living.

In the meantime, Jungkook found himself in his mother's chambers, healing from the wound you had caused as his mother let out her fury at the discovery of her son's new lover.

"So you decided to wed your mother's nemesis? You decided that you shall bring this wench upon me and tie her to me for eternity?", she seethed as Jungkook disregarded her, too exhausted to respond.

"I shall find that hideous wench and rid the world of her myself," she decided, calling over a few servants to direct them to deliver you to them, "And you," she turned to Cupid once more, "You useless child. I shall birth another one just to spite you for your disrespect."

Those were her last words as she exit the chambers, leaving Jungkook to his rest once more. He wanted to worry for you, but his wound of the heart needed more healing before he could allow himself to go find you for himself. Within him, he thought of you fondly, hoping you'd survive his mother's wrath.

~

It did not take long for Venus to find you and bring you to your knees before her, expressing every foul thought she had of you with no shame.

"You believe to be worthy of Cupid, the prettiest God to lay foot on this world? Fine. Should you complete my tasks and I shall stay out of your way. Should you fail, I will do with you as I please."

Having spent weeks alone in the wilderness, injured in every way imaginable, you could not see a better outcome to such a situation. You agreed without thinking twice, knowing that no fate was worse than your current one.

You were assigned impossible tasks, one by one, as Venus sat back and awaited for your inevitable demise.

Much to her surprise, the divine forces had helped you in the completion of each one.

The first task had been to sort an immense amount of grains before morning. The grains amounted to an innumerable quantity, which proved the task to be impossible. Upon your defeat, you fell asleep halfway through the task, somehow waking up to find ants assisting you in its completion. By the time Venus arrived, she had a frown on her face at the sight of the achievement.

Her anger did not last, as she assigned you the next impossible task with ease.

Upon being ordered to gather golden fleece from magic sheep, you knew that this time you'd truly meet your demise. The sheep were extremely aggressive and known to kill a man in mere seconds. However, by another act of the Gods above, the reeds by the riverbank suddenly advised you to await til morning in order to freely gather the fleece that the sheep had shed.

The completion of this task also brought anger to Venus' demeanor, causing her to provide you with yet another impossible task. The completion of the final task finally led to the hardest of them all; one that would finally render you no longer.

Your final task had been to travel to the underworld and bring Venus a box of beauty. There were far too many intricate steps to be followed, but your love for Jungkook was enough to lead your journey.

Finally, upon your arrival, you held the box of beauty in your hands, ready to deliver it to Venus and finally receive her blessing in wedding her son. But once more, your curiosity grew too big.

Before arriving to the mighty Goddess, your hands took a mind of their own, forcing you to take a peak at the box. If you were to officially wed your beloved Cupid, a little extra beauty would surely be helpful.

Your naïveté finally led you to your final moments, causing you to enter eternal sleep upon a small peek of the box's contents. Still slightly conscious, you laid in your lonesome, unable to move nor think.

In your final moments, all you could think of was your beautiful Cupid and how badly you had hoped to live for him. To live to love him once more.

It took Jungkook a few days after his mother's final warning to him to fully recover from his injury.

Being aware of his mother's anger towards you, his immediate thought upon gaining his energy back was to seek you out and rescue you from whatever threat his mother must've been holding over you. He was unsure if she had managed to find you, but he could not take the risk of waiting to find out, knowing your life was likely in danger.

It took interrogating a few servants in order to track you down, now making it his mission to save you from his mother's disdain.

When he had been informed of the endless grueling tasks you had taken on just for a chance to see him again, Jungkook's heart melted. His love for you had never gone away, but his hurt had blinded him as his wound debilitated him. Now fully recovered, he was able to realize that his endless adoration for you was mutual. Your stubborn desire to see him had not been born out of malice, but out of love for him. He understood now. Had he been denied of your beauty for a single day, he would've lost all sense of sanity.

You were currently on your final task, Jungkook had been informed. Worried about your safety, he set out to take the same journey, traveling to retrieve the box himself in case you had somehow not made it on your own. He grew impressed when he reached the end of the journey and found that you had already retrieved it and were currently on your way back.

Jungkook continued to travel in search of you, growing more worried by the second as he did not find you. The moment he finally encountered you, his wings gave out in him, causing him to fall due to the sudden worry the sight caused him.

You were lying on the ground, vulnerable and alone as you held the box against your chest. You must've opened it, he assumed, knowing your curiosity could easily get the best of you.

Running to you, he held you to his arms, throwing the box aside as he caressed your limp body in his arms.

"Oh, Psyche ... My beautiful, curious girl," he tsk'd, "Your curiosity became your undoing once more," he scolded lightheartedly, tears in his eyes at being able to hold you again.

Leaning down, he pressed a lone kiss to your lips, whispering against them as he did so, "Come back to me, my love. Let me make you mine again."

Within seconds your body regained its consciousness, leaving you disoriented for a few moments. Upon realizing Jungkook was holding you, a look of awe in his eyes, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as humanly possible to you as you cried into his chest.

"Oh, my beautiful girl," he wrapped himself around you, retracting his wings so they'd shield you both from the outside world, "Don't cry for me, my love. I'm here. I adore you more than I can possibly describe."

You wailed apologies into his chest, weaved with many confessions of your love for him. He took them all in with a smile on his face, refusing to let go of you as he memorized the shape of your body against his own.

"Love you so much, my sweet ruin. No one can ever harm you again," he assured, leaving endless kissed against your hair. He finally pulled away, wiping your tears with his thumbs as he looked into your eyes, "Let me take you home, my love."

~

"My beautiful girl ... How I missed you, fuck," groaned the pretty angel as he laid kisses down your neck.

He pushed you up against the wall the moment he flew you back to his recluse palace, rendering you speechless with just a few kisses. Jungkook wasted no time in showing you his love through words and touches, finally able to face you while he loved on you.

Sighing as he kissed down your neck, you molded yourself to his liking, willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you. You were far too enamored by the God, feeling nothing but inhuman addiction to his touch.

"I adore you more than you could ever understand," he breathed out as his hand ripped apart your worn out gown, wanting to finally see you bare face to face. With a shuddering breath, he got his fill of your body, caressing at every inch his eyes went over, feeling the carnal need to memorize every curve.

Turning you around, he pressed you up to his front, grinding against you as he felt you up, groaning breathily into your ear.

"I have wanted your body since I first laid eyes on you," he whispered, hips slow and sensual in their grinding, "I can finally have you however I want. Oh, my angel, I'm going to render you useless by the time I'm done with you."

Your Cupid then grabbed you and led you to the bed, where you positioned yourself on your hands as knees as you usually did. Shaking his head, Jungkook stops you before you settle on the bed, instructing you to turn around and lay face up for him.

"No, beautiful. Turn to me. Want to see you. Want to make love to you while you look at me with those pretty eyes," Jungkook moaned against your lips.

There was not much warning before Jungkook slipped inside you. But it did not matter. Your body welcomed him with no struggle, having become far too thirsty for his touch in the weeks of your separation.

Out of all the times you'd made love, this was by far the most intimate. Jungkook love and caressed you with an inhuman infatuation in his eye, groaning any time you'd so much as look into his eyes as he pounded into you.

"Oh, my Psyche ... Love you so much ... Always loved you. Always needed y-you, oh fuck ..." his eyes closed in pleasure, pressing his face into your neck to breathe you in. His hips were incorrigible, with Jungkook being far too drunk with lust to have any finesse in his movements.

"My Jungkook ... My Cupid ... You pretty angel, I missed you so much, so- oh, so much!", you cried, your eyes becoming clouded with tears all while your nails dug into his back. You could feel the scars from which his wings would retract, caressing them softly.

"Oh ... Oh, angel, d-don't do that- My wings are too sensitive, my Psyche, d-don't ..."

This only encouraged you to do it more, caressing his erogenous zone softly and sensually, causing him to cry against your ear, whimpering in an ungodly way that had your eyes rolling back at just the sound.

Your pretty angel babbled against you, letting out nonsensical rambles about how much he loved you and how he could never let you go again. How he would breed you and give you an heir and bring you both to the land of the Gods with him.

Practically sobbing against each other, still grinding like mindless animals, the two of you found your highs together, continuing to stimulate each other throughout the entirety of your orgasms. Your mutual whimpers filled up the room, making the experience all the more erotic.

Finally, you two laid against each other, breathing heavily as you refused to let go of one another.

You were still beat and battered from your weeks in search of your Cupid, but that was the last thing on your mind. All you cared about was holding onto Jungkook and never letting go.

Holding you even closer against him, Jungkook wrapped himself around you, pulling out with a groan as he spooned you in his arms, breathing in your hair and humming against you. He reassured you about any worry you may have had in regards to your future together, assuring you that your injury to him had fully head and that he could never hold any type of negative feeling towards you for long.

You no longer would have to worry about his mother's schemes, Jungkook assured, as he would go to Zeus himself to grant you immunity amongst all Gods. He'd convert you into a Goddess yourself, he promised, so that he could give you a heavenly heir and grow old with you until eternity. Nothing in this world could ever separate Cupid from his beloved Psyche. Jungkook would never let anything keep him away from his one and only beloved.

"I adore you, my Psyche, my beautiful ruin. I will always protect you," he sighed one last time, eyes growing heavy as you turned around in his arms and cuddled against his warm chest.

"I love you my Cupid," you kissed at the small burn mark the oil of your lamp had left, humming against his chest.

You fell asleep calmly in each other's arms, knowing you'd wake up to an eternity of love between one another.

a/n: im sorry if the pacing seems all over the place but i promise this is how the original story goes 😭

to read short 3.3k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my jk monthly tier on kofi or patreon!

content: afab reader, continuation and conclusion of the cupid and psyche lore/story (this is kinda like a pt. 2 honestly oops), impregnation, mentions of oral, jungkook is obsessed with reader its insane, pregnancy sex implied (but not really bc its after one day of the insemination lol), jungkook is a god so yk endless sex, smut, penetrative sex (like three times lol), etc.

wc: 639 (teaser); 3313 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"Hmm, my beautiful Psyche," hummed Jungkook against you, stretching his body before cuddling further into you, absolute bliss in his voice.

After a night of extraneous love-making, Jungkook finally awoke in your arms, a smile instantly making its way onto his face at the remembrance of the previous night.

After having brought you back to the palace he built for you, he made love to you, finally able to look into your eyes as you both lost yourselves to the pleasure found in each other's touch. The thought of your gorgeous whines for him still made him shudder, having to will his boner away at the memory.

Then he thought about everything else that had happened since your separation.

He recalled all the trials you had gone through this past week, all to gain access to his heart, a heart that had belonged to you from the moment he laid eyes on you. It was hard not to feel immense guilt at knowing how badly you had struggled from the moment he left you alone in that palace, too hurt and stubborn to realize that your love for him would have you risking your life just for one more chance. In hindsight, he should've understood, specially considering that his own heart burned for you harshly enough for him to want to give up his Godly powers for you if he so had to.

Then he remembered the worst part of it all.

His mother was still seething with vengeance for you, not having found satisfaction in your death while completing her useless tasks. Jungkook knew that she never meant to even consider giving her blessing for the two of you to be together. It had all been a ruse to make you find your demise under the false pretense that you would somehow earn Jungkook's forgiveness by the end of it all.

What you didn't know was that Jungkook didn't need to forgive you. His love for you overpowered every other fleeting thought in his brain. One look from your remorseful eyes and he would be on his knees, begging you for forgiveness.

He pondered as he watched you sleep in his arms, blissful yet still wounded by your weeks of pain.

How shall he make up for all the suffering you endured while he recovered from his wound? How could he make amends for making you think for even one second that he'd dare try and live without you by his side?

His experience as a carnal lover had not prepared him for such feelings. There had been no training or preparation for him to understand the way you made his heart rush, the way you altered every aspect of his being.

All he could think about was how you were his beautiful Psyche and how ... how badly he wanted to put an heir in you.

The thought had seemed been sudden, but he had actually thought of it from the moment he found you waiting for him in bed that first night. You, full for him, manifesting the greatest form of love as you grew his seed inside you.

An heir would be the solution to all problems.

An heir would bring you an instant pass to the land of the Gods, forcing Zeus to turn you into a Goddess in order for you to birth a Godly child. It would also make his mother accept the gift he'd bring upon her, unable to deny a child created by the God of love himself. Lastly, this heir would also be his own gift to you – a showcase of his endless love for you and the future he was to create with you.

But most of all, it would quench the thirst Jungkook was currently feeling at the mere thought of marking you as his as humanly possible.

...

find the 18+ continuation on kofi or patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

[anantaru]

thoughts jealous genshin boys?

including. scaramouche, lyney

cw. jealous syx, fem! reader

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱

it's evident in his eyes, indigo mist manifesting to the shade of need and anger— and so of course, you instantly catch it, regardless of scaramouche desperate attempts to keep his bothersome jealousy hidden from you, even though it secretly turned you on.

because it showed that he cared, in a way, and a perception of lust takes a hold of your trembling frame, his chest being pressed so close against your own that you can vividly feel just how fast the beat of his heart was racing for you.

truly it aggravated him, when he sees how someone was able to make you laugh just like that, when in reality it should only be him you're gifting your sweet attention to, no other person in this broken world should even blink near you, breathe near you or stand near you if it was for scaramouche personally— who now was working his hips in between your legs, a harsh gasp rattling through his clenched jaw as he keeps on telling you to fucking keep your thighs spread apart for him, okay? so he angrily spit on your cunt.

even like this, while you're brimming full of the racing pressure on your wet cunt being repeatedly stuffed by his shaft, the smacks of his hips loud and echoing, his pace almost too rough for its own good as you simply cannot help yourself but admire your boyfriend's outstanding beauty and soft features, which were radiantly glowing even stronger whenever he was a little angry at you, or jealous for that particular matter.

it's cute, really, you have to admit— seeing him like that while being out of breath with a sheen layer of sweat holding together the bangs on his forehead, his psyche all concentrated on pleasing you as good as he could, almost as if he was scared of losing you— and it's because he thrusts so deep that your tits bounce back and forth, his hot breath sticking on your glossy lips when he roughly fucks his cock in and out your warm hole spreading so nicely for him, reaching all those places that only scaramouche was able to reach.

— ꒰ LYNEY ꒱

it's almost disgusting and surreal how fast lyney could switch his mind into something else when it came to his love for you— and of course, he loves you, a sickly sweet love that would forevermore run through his bloodstream and soothe his mind, in fact, just looking at you could make the man bend to your every will.

well, only when you're behaving that is, when you aren't looking for ways to practically piss him off until he has you draped against a desk with his head tightly shut between your rattling thighs, noticing how you're instantly arching your back into his mouth and reveling at each and every new stroke of his arousal-drenched tongue littering across your velvet walls.

if only you were nice tonight, lyney would definitely had made you cum at least twice, in fact, he would always put your pleasure first because he was a good boyfriend, a perfect one if being honest for a second— so for you to just make him jealous like that, you meanie! giggling enthusiastically at a person you barely know while holding their gaze through your dazzling eyes.

no, don't even go there, don't just assume lyney is making stuff up in his mind— he would never let this happen, but punishing you with his tongue and rutting it across your drenched hole was always a delicious meal on its own, a sticky one at that until his rosy cheeks and chin were aglow of arousal and messed up of your gooey slick.

your thighs were now, shaking viciously as you're forced to take it all with your hips twitching when you grind your cunt against his mouth, taking the rough and precise brushes of warm tongue like a good girl as it easily dug past the flesh of your folds until lyney hits your sensitive clit with the tip of his wet muscle, circling over the bundle of nerves— his focused brain catching on to every single detail of your lewd whimpers, electric twitches and sensitive turns, or the way your precious thighs would clamp up around his head even more, while most importantly, how your glazed eyes would suddenly collect warm crystallines on your lashes.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[moonstruckme]

Hello!! Starting this off with the mushy gushy stuff like how much I adore your writing and talent and how I hope you know how appreciated you are, all that jazz 👐 Anywhosies, onto the nitty gritty, the other day in my psych lecture I learned more in depth about operant conditioning, which is a theory by B.F Skinner about how a behavior is either reinforced or encouraged through a series of punishments and/or reinforcements, and i thought of our resident brainiac, Spencer Reid! He seems the type to be interested in theories like that and there application in day-to-day life, and so what else is he supposed to do other than condition fem!reader! (Consensually and safely of course) obviously he wouldn’t have malicious intent, but say reader wasn’t super confident in the bedroom, he would steadily over time ‘condition’ her into being more open about her wants and needs through rewards when she’s vocal! If you are in any way uncomfortable writing this please feel free to disregard! <33333

This was fun!! Thank you for requesting babe :)

cw: smut mdni, fingering, edging

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 912 words

You gasp, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. Spencer looks up at you interestedly. 

“That’s progress,” he says, but frowns when he sees your lip. He lets go of your leg to encourage it free. “Don’t do that, please.” 

“Sorry,” you manage, breathless. You feel shaky. 

Spencer offers you a smile, brown eyes so kind it hurts. “That’s okay. We’re learning, right? I don’t expect you to pick it up all at once.” 

You’re not sure how to respond to that and in the end you don’t have to, Spencer’s fingers sliding over your folds and stealing your breath again. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says, his own breathing affected by your reaction. He’s bolder in bed than you expected him to be, more direct, but really you should have seen it coming. Spence is relentless when he’s working a case. “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

He doesn’t go where you expect him to, his mouth finding the tender bit of skin below your ear. 

“Is this nice?” he asks, kissing slowly downward. You trail your hands up his back and rock into his fingers, only just starting to get into it when he moves down to your breast. “How about this?” 

You suppress a horrifically needy sound, and for a minute it seems like Spencer takes the hint. He mouths up the side of your breast, teeth scraping lightly as he gets closer to the pert bud of your nipple. 

“Yeah?” 

He strokes a lithe hand up your side, thumb soothing over the opposite side of your tit. His fingers part your folds, moving towards your clit, and you’re burning up, incinerating from the inside out. You wind your fingers in Spencer’s hair just before the hand at your breast leaves. It takes both of your hands by the wrists, guiding them above your head. 

Spencer smooths his thumb over your pulse, not pinning you (he’d never deny you anything you want, not really), not so much a restraint as a reminder. You have an agreement. 

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “Yeah, there is good.” 

“Thank you,” he says, and if you couldn’t tell he means it by his tone, Spencer gives you extra encouragement by pushing two gentle fingers into your hole. Your lips part in a soundless gasp as he covers them with his.

“You know, when you like something, your body responds.” He brings his other hand back to your breast, cupping experimentally. His index finger grazes your nipple so lightly you could have mistaken it for a breeze. “But it would make things even easier if you told me yourself. You can do that, can’t you?” 

“I can.” Your brain goes all staticy as Spencer’s thumb finds your clit, searching for purchase in the wetness he’s been tormenting out of you for god knows how long now. “I can, please, I can.” 

“You don’t need to say please, it’s okay. You can just tell me what you want.” 

The problem is, you have no notes, truly. Spencer’s fingers are working in and out of you at the perfect pace, deliciously long and brain-fuzzingly dextrous. His thumb skates crude figure-eights over the bead of your clit until you’re trembling, your hands balled up tight in the bedsheets. 

Middle and marriage sponge over something sweet inside you, and you clench around him, swallowing a moan. 

Spencer makes a quiet, satisfied sound. “Here?” 

His fingers press into the spot again, and you gasp, arching off the bed. They go still. 

“Yesyesyes,” you say, words all jumbling together in your desperation. “There. There.” 

“Here,” he checks, just to be sure, as his fingers move over the spot again. 

“Yes.” Tears sting your eyes. “Yes, there. Spence—” 

Spencer waits a few beats. When you don’t seem likely to continue, he prompts gently, “Are you going to cum? You should say so, if you are.” 

He’s doubtless seen the quivering that’s taken your thighs, but you nod anyway, panting out another fraught, “Yes.” 

“Okay.” He kisses the corner of your lips sweetly as he picks up his pace. “Thank you for telling me.” 

You moan without quieting yourself when his grip tightens on your breast. Spencer rewards you for it, kissing dedicatedly at your bottom lip while he kneads the fat, sending pleasure like waves of deep bass buzzing through you. His other thumb increases its pressure on your clit, the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you hardly audible over both of your breathing as he finds that spot again, and again, until you think you probably scream. 

Spencer assures you later that you didn’t. That, actually, the sound you made seemed half choked back, and that’s another thing he’d like to work on next time. But for now, he’s happy enough to treat you to a myriad of kisses, soft, sweet presses of his mouth without want for anything more. He encourages you up to use the bathroom, and when you come back, lets you lay on top of him on a clean part of the bed, your cheek pressed to his chest. 

“Okay,” you sigh, eyes closing as Spencer’s hand coasts down the bare skin of your back. “You wanna know what I want, for next time?” 

“Of course I do,” he says genuinely. 

“I want you to use your handcuffs.” 

Spencer’s hand stills. You lift your head, and he looks curious. “I think we have time for that tonight, don’t you?” 

[seaslugfanclub]

Hi I'm a big fan of yours and I really enjoy the villains and y/n interactions. Btw I want to ask what made frollo develop feelings for y/n.

Do Judges dream of park attendants?

(Frollo x Reader)

TW: description of Panic attacks

————————————————————————

Out of all the Disney villains brought to life by Disney, Frollo is having the hardest time. All of his beliefs, everything he had sacrificed in his life have been destroyed in an instant the moment he opened his eyes in this Infernal theme park

Frollo doesn’t actually believe he’s alive anymore, that the Disney parks is his divine punishment

Though deserved, everywhere he goes he’s ostracized and humiliated. His fellow villains love to single him out to needle him, especially Hades.

He’s so tight that if you shoved a piece of coal up his ass, two weeks later you’d get a diamond

It’s obvious in the film that his mental psyche is as fragile as communion wafers, and this has been amplified to 100 now that he’s in a completely unrecognizable reality.

He hasn’t slept in months, barley eaten (he excuses this as religious fasting) and rarely talks to others

The only person who tried to regularly interact with Frollo is that scrappy park attendant, (Y/N)…

Usually it’s quick conversations, greetings and goodbyes, “how are ya?”s, and sometimes brief smiles. Something that both disgusts and confuses Frollo, a strange prickling feeling in his cheeks whenever he makes eye contact with (Y/N)

Panic attacks have become a regular occurrence for Frollo, usually when the sensory nightmare of Disney parks get to much for him, although he usually isolates himself to avoid being so vulnerable

Most of the time Frollo’s able to keep his emotions in check until he’s alone, so most of his panic attacks come out at night

One night his episodes were really, really bad, everything Frollo had tried to hold in finally boiled over, leaving the ex-judge crumbled to the ground, frozen in terror.

He didn’t need a fireplace to feel the licks of flames on his skin, and no matter how hard he clenched his hands over his ears, Frollo couldn’t stop the chanting echoing in his head.

It felt like a lead weight was on his chest, and dark spots were crawling into his vision, threatening to pass out

Frollo was too lost in his own head, mumbling prayers to himself as the crackling of fire and chanting drowned out all sounds, even the light creaking of his bedroom door opening…

“Pr- preces meæ non sunt.. dignæ Sed- sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremer igne…. Pie Iesu Domine,Dona ipse requiem…. Preces meæ non—”

“Frollo?”

The feeling of a hand resting on his head broke Frollo out of his mumbling. Through blurry vision the ex-judge made out a figure crouching above him, their hand slowly petting his hair. The sensation of soft fingers on his hair felt grounding, with each stroke the flames began to lull…. Has an angel finally come to end his misery?

“Frollo? Are you alright?

The black spots around his vision began to subside, as his teary eyes cleared enough to see the worried face of (Y/N), the young park attendant. At any other point in time, Frollo would’ve flinched away from their touch, cursing them out for having the gall to lay their filthy hands on a holy man, but all of his senses had failed him, and their touch had quelled the flames and disembodied chanting around him.

Starving for any source of familiarity, Frollos trembling hands reached to clutch onto (Y/N)’s pants,

“Je ne peux plus faire ça— Je—”

“Frollo, please- I can’t understand you…” (Y/N) pleaded, at a loss at what to do with the pathetic man before them.

(Y/N) was finishing their shift for the evening, their final task was to check on each villain to make sure they were set for night. They were walking down the hall to check on Sher Khan when they heard a thump behind Claude Frollos door, wall muffling the sound of weeping. Knocking on the door brought to response, and worried that the old man might’ve actually fallen and couldn’t get up, (Y/N) slowly cracked open the door.

Instead of being immediately kicked out by the ex-judge, French curses thrown at them— they found Frollo slumped against his bed, mumbling latin to himself, his eyes a thousand miles away.

(Y/N) was at a loss, they had never seen Frollo this desperate, this deep into despair. Even when they watched the “Hunchback of Notre Dame” and his song “Hellfire” was he this vunerable. This was unfamiliar territory.

But panic attacks were familiar, especially with how to deal with them.

“Frollo? You’re alright… Your minds just working against you right now.” (Y/N) hummed, continuing to pet Frollos silver hair,

“Here, I’ll be right back,” gently removing Frollos hands, (Y/N) grabbed a spare glass from his nightstand before rushing into the bathroom. Turning on the sink faucet, they filled the glass with cold water then crouched below the sink to open the drawers. They grabbed neatly folded a face towel, a Mickey Mouse insignia embroidered in the corner— (Y/N) wet the towel, making sure that it was thoroughly soaked then grabbed the glass, walking back into Frollos room, the man still on the floor, pale face just watching (Y/N).

“Try to drink something, I know you might feel nauseous, but I promise this helps,” They offered the glass to Frollo, who continued to just stare at (Y/N). After a few seconds between them, He hesitantly reached out and took the water with shaking hands.

As he began to take small sips, the cold water cooled his throat, and he could feel the water cool his insides as he swallowed. The flames were dowsed.

“It’s already 11, you must be exhausted… I think it’s best to try and sleep. Don’t even worry about changing, just get comfortable. I always feel better when I lie down.”

Helping him up, they watched patiently as Frollo collapsed into his bed, not even bothering to pull up the sheets. As he lay on his back, he finally closed his eyes, only for them to open again when (Y/N) lifted his bangs to place the cold wash-cloth on his forehead. His pale cheeks prickling again at the feather light touch of (Y/N) fingers and the cooling sensation of the cloth on his skin.

“Uh— whenever I get an attack, anything cold helps me bring myself back to reality.. and uh, and a wet washrag stays cool for a while, I like to wash my face with it to feel refreshed.” (Y/N) offered quietly, having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with Frollo.

Frollo was at a loss, never— never has he been the subject of such care from another human before, not as a boy, not from the church, not even from his lord. How could he even react to this? It was all to much.

He was tired, mentally and physically, darkness beginning to overtake his vision again, but this time from pure exhaustion.

Risking it a final time, (Y/N) gave Frollos hair one last pet, “I’ll find a way to take you off schedule for the rest of the week, I wish I could get you months off… I’m sorry. But for now, get some rest ok?”

With a final smile, they turned to resume their rounds, already late to check up on the others, but before they could step away from the bed, a hand grasped their arm, stopping them.

Turning back around, they looked down at Frollos pleading face, an almost manic look in his eyes.

“Stay… please… at least until I’ve fallen asleep..”

With wide eyes, (Y/N) looked down at him shocked, before sighing.

“Of course.. try to rest now.” They relented, taking a seat at the foot of Frollos bed. The others could wait.

Silence fell over the two, (Y/N) waiting patiently as a good 15 passed. Just when they thought he had fallen asleep a whisper escaped him,

“mon ange..”

And with that, sleep overtook Claude, no longer able to fight off his exhaustion. Warmth enveloping him as he dreamt of feather light touches and scrappy park attendants.

————————————————————————

Sorry if this feels forced or too OOC 😅, I just love Frollo so much, and taking care of others is my love language. When I tell you I need this man whimpering—

Translations:

“Pr- preces meæ non sunt.. dignæ Sed- sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremer igne…. Pie Iesu Domine,Dona ipse requiem…. Preces meæ non”:

My prayers are worthless, Yet, good Lord, graciously grant that I be not burned up by the everlasting fire. Lord, all-pitying, Jesus blest, Grant myself Thine eternal rest.

“Je ne peux plus faire ça— Je—“:

I can’t do this anymore—I can’t—

“mon ange..”:

My angel..

[clericofgale]

I was planning on writing something serious about Gale...but this came out instead. I have no idea why I'm posting something so unhinged. It's only Gale that make me this way. I sincerely believe Gale is a switch at heart, but since I've seen many wonderful treatises on bottom Gale I think I'll do the other side.

In this post I shall prove why Gale would make a great Dom/top and what I think he'd enjoy. NSFW.

This man is compassionate, open-minded, empathetic, and interested in your pleasure. He is a consent god. All traits of a S-tier dom. He'd be the supportive yet firm type. It's not only Halsin that exudes that energy, I think Gale does too! In my experience types like Gale are usually very good at it. Being a good top requires a good base of knowledge of the human psyche and anatomy. You're basically a sex nerd hacking brain chemicals while doing elaborate roleplay, and Gale is no stranger to research, and taking notes. You need good empathy to gain insight on your partner and feel what they might be feeling. It's very important for knowing when to stop. Being interested in your pleasure means he won't be purely taking. Good play to me is all about swapping and blending each other's energy and being a two-way street.

You always liked the idea of being worshipped. Adored. Obeyed...

This is a line from origin Gale that the player can choose. This man wants to be a god. He wants to be worshipped, and if he can't get that in the form of godhood I don't see why that can't be indulged elsewhere...

Speaking of indulging, when you tell Gale you prefer him naked at the party, he'll reply "I'll be sure to indulge you when you get home." with a smirk. And the teasing kiss where you are denied until Gale reciprocates is prime control material. He would enjoy teasing and denial.

He's a giver because he wants you to come undone and into a puddle of mess. He wishes to find your limits, what makes you tick and what doesn't. He will study every reaction, every weakness...and use it against you. He is an artist and your sounds of pleasure his notes in his newest piece. Gale would enjoy using his oratory talents to overstimulate you to tears, hands gripping your legs tight so you can't escape. You'll be teetering on the edge of wanting him to stop, but he never crests over the limit.

Look at the astral scene! He didn't lose concentration the whole time. Gale would love long elaborate scenes involving illusions. He enjoys showing you the wonders and limits of magic, things you've never seen before. The reassuring way he tells you to not be afraid because he's here with you during the boat scene is the exact tone he'd use while blowing your mind. Imagine the tools he will have at his disposal. Evrad's black tentacles? Mage hand? Simalcrum?

He's a teacher at heart, and have you heard the way he says "very good" during the weave teaching scene?? This man will be using praise and encouragements when you're most vulnerable. Gale enjoys positive reinforcement to get you to submit. Why use harsh words and punishments to get things done, when he can make you kneel all on your own? His buffing lines includes things like "Go on, excel" and "make me proud", and you do so very want to make him proud.

You just know he's great at aftercare. He's the only one to even think of bedding while bedding you, after all. He will always have reassuring words, or a fun joke to break the tension, and plenty of fluffy blankets on a warm bed.

In conclusion, Gale (especially postgame mortal Gale) would be great as a dom and thank you for coming to my unhinged Ted talk. *Bows*

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Let's Eat!

(That is, let's live, want, connect... oh, you know what I mean by now)

I like how Yaad and the other living villagers can casually talk with the ghosts, because for all intents and purposes they were also ghosts... In fact, those who stayed and spent centuries going through the patterns of life even though all true meaning had been lost long ago were MORE "ghosts" than those who lost their corporeal forms because they wanted to escape so badly that they went wandering... That's so fuckin' good. I wanna eat this writing.

.

Kabru just randomly walking out of the bushes the second Laios starts considering politics...love him. He was summoned. His PR spidey senses were going off.

.

look at my boy, establishing his own authority.

.

Lol this was me when we moved house last month, and my job was to just stand in the new living room and tell people where to put which box or piece of furniture. It's an important job in a task with a lot of people!

.

FUCK YEAH, THAT'S MY MAN! HE LOOKS GREAT!

.

fucking love the trope of "one savvy friend in the crowd who deliberately gets a supportive chant going." Of course it's Kabru.

Though it's important to note that the first thing someone called was, "The demon-eater's here!", and there was muttering while no one was entirely sure if that was a good thing or not... Kabru didn't start the rumble of the crowd; the rumble of the crowd is unavoidable, and you have to be aware of that. Laios has always been aware of that, he's just never known what to do about it, and so tried to avoid it. But he's not avoiding it anymore - so Kabru started the hype of the crowd.

.

They're both right! In order to eat, you need to kill! A memento of a meal IS a spoil of war!

.

They're unhappy bros... /laughing

.

Shown: man desperately reassuring himself, and psyching himself up to eat this stupid dragon meat

.

DADCHUCK. Istg my father has said the same thing to me.

p.s. oh thank god he's fully dressed again. it was indecent.

.

Marcille is so resigned to this, and so...determined to see it as her own choice. "We all agreed", "I've got to go" - and I'm sure she does see it as her own choice, in a way, because this is how the world has always worked and she knows that. She knew that going in. Those who do ancient magic are arrested by the Elves of the West, that's just the "natural" consequence. She might've gotten away with it if she'd gone undiscovered, or if she'd stayed in the dungeon forever, but she didn't - she chose to pursue her craft, to save Falin, and to do everything after that, too, and so she implicitly chose the consequence with it. If it's unfair, well, thinking that changes nothing, so it's better not to think it.

Until Laios is like, "Actually, I might have political power now? And I'm SO goddamn tired of myself and people I love being punished just for being different, and interested in unconventional things. Let's try something."

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WELL-FUCKING-PLAYED! GET THEIR ASSES, LAIOS! It's especially great because I'm pretty sure he knows the answers to all of this by now? Power move!

.

Is she sitting there completely nude except for jewelry and a short robe. Icons only, honestly. Though "we have the luxury of time" feels like so much of a threat from an elf.

.

Hey, you did objectively defeat him! Okay arguably the Lion did but Laios did it first, he just also then talked to him, and got grabbed by friendly vine-tentacles. You didn't kill him, but that's not what Delgal asked for anyway!

.

thinking about that post that observed that Thistle's driving madness was specifically getting Delgal home for dinner, to eat all together as a family again, and he wakes up to the sound of the people of the Golden Kingdom eagerly inviting the (new) king to eat, and him responding...crying... What is lost is lost, but life will go on.

.

The moment when a character decides to lie to another character for their own good is always so compelling. The little moral quandary microcosm.

.

So Yaad did know something of what passed between Delgal and Thistle, that drove Thistle down the path to dark magic. He know what it was his grandfather blamed himself for.

This is SUCH A GOOD AND QUIET-SAD DEATH SCENE, but as a consummate fan of 'actually, living is much much harder than dying, and much more interesting too', I do like to think Thistle lives and has to...figure out what to do with his life. And that 'what to do with his life' ends up including ancient magic mad science with Marcille.

...But honestly, even though that'd be fun for me, it seems almost cruel to Thistle. He's been alive for so long. Those he loved most are gone. He held the demon back from the surface, trapped in those books, for so long, even if it was in no way whatsoever with the good of the world in mind. If anyone deserves this peaceful death in (what he thinks are) his brother's forgiving arms, it's him.

.

Unfortunately, my love, as has been ceaselessly proven in this story: that's life.

.

Marcille has caught onto one of the major themes! However, this story still isn't in favor of afternoon special Moral of the Story - not of letting the characters wrap things up with a bow, at least. You just go on living and wanting and learning about and connecting with and killing new things, forever! That's how it goes! You never know everything and you're always a little bit starving!

.

I really love this grumpy old man, and I want him to stick around and be one of Laios's advisors. He's an old gnome, he'll die as soon as an average tallman would anyway.

.

This is a) very touching coming from Mithrun, who is only just regaining his own will to live, and b) almost tautalogical in this story EXCEPT that it is also clear that merely "wanting" doesn't mean you get to continue to live, it only means that you're alive in this moment - you also need to want to live MORE than whatever's trying to kill you wants to live.

.

GREAT VISUALS!

.

And then it's so small, so small that she could leave it behind entirely but Falin is still so kind that she picks it up anyway! Falin who looks at everyone and everything - ghosts and brothers and mad mages and dead dragons, the latter of whom were both violently oppressing her soul - and thinkgs "I gotta help." She's so good!

I'm really going to need to write a like 2k post-canon character study about how Falin has part of the spirit of a dragon in her chest which unfurls while she travels abroad and curls up again and hides when she's home with Marcille and especially with Laios, and how it's a metaphor for her own independence but also literally there is the spirit of a dragon. At the end of it she figures out how to nurture and commune with the dragon enough to have her own flight-capable wings.

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THIS IS SO FUCKING COOL-LOOKING. AUTOPHAGIC SELF-CREATION FOR THE FUCKING WIN!!

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YYEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

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fuck it, have a collage, because this bitch-ass website is about to cut off my photos-per-post. It can't HANDLE the sheet joy of Falin resurrection reunion hugs!!

.

so many people love her, or at least are really emotionally invested in this now!! /sobs

.

Lmaoooo

Laios: wracked with food poisoning because he ate raw walking mushroom Falin: great distress! Marcille: trying very hard to help, also thinking sooo hard that He Is An Idiot. [btw I love how it looks like she takes up holding her hair back with a band] Kabru: having his weekly moment, as he has for the past many years and will continue to have until he dies, of wondering if he shouldn't really have just killed this guy rather than let him become king

Kabru definitely wrote this whole ending narration btw. This is his press release from like 40 years in the future. And those kids! An orc kid and a kobold kid, and zooming out to show kids of other races, all playing together and going to lunch together!!

And then they all lived, and hungered and ate and killed and wanted and sought understanding and connected with one another and were part of the great circle of life, as happily ever after as one can get.

This story truly was delicious...in dungeon!

[silverzoomies]

Summer Wind

tate langdon x reader smut

warnings: existential crisis, death, afterlife, implied/referenced character death, murder, angst, aged-up tate langdon, fingering, fingerfucking, kissing, canon divergence

word count: 4,690

a/n: another drabble. y'know that thing people do sometimes? where they "age-up" a character, but don't really age them up? i initially wrote this in response to that. but it somehow turned into a means of venting my existential terror instead. i was gonna include more smut. but tbh i didn't feel right about it. this one's gonna stay unfinished. sorry about the abrupt ending !!

inspired by the song summer wind by frank sinatra

You were dead for an indiscernible span of time.

You couldn't be sure how long. But you suspected a few years, at least. Through one of the top floor windows of your eternal purgatory; you watched the trees. Nature alternated between skeletal displays of branches, to vibrant arrays of color. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming again. Rinse and repeat.

Once you accepted your fate, things started clicking into place. Trapped in a vintage hotbox of murder, you put together the pieces of a long lost puzzle. And though some parts were still absent, you pushed yourself to move on. You might never figure out how you died, or who you were before. But to worry so much would be senseless at this point.

Through acceptance, you began to feel again. If only in small bursts. Abrupt, but worth cherishing.

One memory remained ever present. You had the sense you were a school guidance counselor in life. And in death, you took up the mantle again. Offering your services to the other souls lost in the house. One of the ghostly residents shared a similar occupation. Way back in his breathing years. He didn’t do it so much anymore. Instead, he spent time with his family, working towards redemption for his past actions.

You steered clear of most residents, fearful of their unpredictable episodes of bloodlust. They allowed the evil within the house to lure them further into madness. On the days they came to you for your services, you spoke to them in hopes they’d find absolution. Change in the afterlife was extremely difficult to achieve. Your 'clients' rarely ever scratched the surface of their tainted psyches. And any progress they made, they always resorted to their old habits in the end.

Only one of them ever found true change. Of course, he had to be the most wretched of them all.

You once felt sympathy for Tate, making excuses on his behalf. In the years when his heart still pumped blood through his veins; he was young. Misguided. Perhaps the pressures of his upbringing took too much of a toll on him. And in the afterlife, he suffered under the influence of the house itself. The evil buried deep within channeled through his broken soul.

But if such an evil did exist, it never took hold of you. Nor did it sink its venomous teeth into Violet, or her innocent mother, or that pure of heart baby, or even Ben Harmon himself - sinful a man as he was. They resisted, and so did you.

Tate was pure evil. Carnage incarnate. Maybe that made him susceptible to the influence of dark forces. But after talking with him for a few years, you accepted him for what he was. Foul from birth, deplorable in death. No matter how often you tried guiding him to goodness, he remained forever loathsome. The evil in him burned eternally, needing no kindling.

His own acceptance of that fact allowed him to change. In a more physical way, much like Moira. Tate embraced his fate, convinced the house was where he belonged. A punishment until the end of all things. Simultaneously, a safe haven from whatever lay in waiting after purgatory. Tate’s progress was very much real. Albeit, not the kind you aimed for.

You could see his growth in his features, rather than his morals. Sitting across from you during another weekly session, Tate fidgeted with a frayed hole in his jeans. With his blond brows creased, he stared down at the denim. As you watched him like this, you picked apart his finer details. Where his skin once beamed with the pale, ghostly image of youth; creases were now etched in. Faint, but noticeable lines curved under his eyes.

An aura of maturity emanated from him like a light much too dim. Tate carried the same mannerisms from his heyday - if one could even call it that. But he had long since graduated from his mentality of that era. Tate spoke of his past actions as if he regretted them, though you suspected he felt no real remorse. He used to cry all the time. He used to throw childish tantrums. But you couldn’t remember the last time you saw his soulless, black eyes water. Now…

He carried nothing but cold desolation. Common amongst those trapped in perpetual limbo.

“I saw her again today.” He admitted, his lidded eyes flitting up to meet yours, “She hasn’t changed any. Not like me. Not like…” Tate made a gesture at his face, his thumb grazing the angular shape of his jaw. Tiredly, he blinked, “Not like this. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I always thought we were fated to be together forever, but…”

On the sofa across from him, you kept your cheek perched in a hand. As you scribbled in your notebook, you took note of the way Tate’s features bled misery. All at the mention of her. It must have been painful for him, watching her stay the same. While he finally outgrew himself. Those changes only further separated the two of them. Obliterating any chance he had to make amends. If there ever was.

There especially wouldn’t be now. Even Tate was on the tailend of coming to terms with it.

“How’d it make you feel this time around?” You pressed in a soft tone, shifting on the couch. His dark hues zeroed in on your thighs, bare in a simple dress. The lining appeared cheap, glittering with sequins reminiscent of childhood nostalgia, “When you saw her?”

“Fuckin’...I dunno…” Tate put his face in his vascular hands, fingers curling into his hair, “She’s like a kid to me anymore. What am I supposed to think?”

“Maybe she’s content like that. In the same way you’re content the way you are now.” You shrugged, tenderly laughing, “Maybe teenage angst suits her that much.”

He shook his head, shifting from a criss cross position on the loveseat across from you. Bouncing a leg, Tate gave you a pointed look. His brows turned downward.

“We thought it fit me too, didn’t we? But look at me now."

You were. You were looking at him a lot. And he wasn't wrong. Teenage angst once paired well with Tate's immature nature. Back when he thought like a kid, and acted on impulse. These days, he'd become more lethargic. When he wasn’t consumed with blood lust. Rugged virility was his partner now. Coupled with the melancholy existentialism of a man pushing thirty.

“You wanted to move on.” You clarified, your teeth clicking the edge of a pen at your lips.

“Did I?” Tate bitterly laughed, the empty vacuums of his eyes caught your tongue in motion, “Doesn't seem like anyone else here wants to. ‘Cept Moira.”

“Well, they only think they can’t. They believe they’re tethered here, frozen in time at their moment of death. I used to think growth was impossible too. Until you…”

You took in his masculine features again. The scruff around his chin. So fair, and not too noticeable. Catching yourself in the midst of ogling him, you redirected your gaze to Tate’s eyes. Imposing. Starless. Easy to get lost in. He wasn’t ignorant to your attraction. A hint of grin pulled into his laugh lines and dimples.

“Does it scare you?” He asked, “What’s your excuse then?” Tate threw a condescending nod of his head, “If you’re so enlightened. If you know better than all of us - with your morals ‘n bullshit like that. Why haven’t you changed any since you died?"

Shrugging, you looked bashfully down at your notes.

“Why would I want to? If I can stay young for eternity. If I can keep these curves, and what’s left of my youth. What’s the point in growing older?” You admitted in truth.

“That’s a little superficial though, isn’t it?” Tate leaned back into the loveseat cushions, “Shit like that doesn’t matter here. Who are you tryna impress? And what’s anybody living gonna think? When they meet you, and find out you’re nothin’ but food for maggots now.” He teased, legs spread, one knee bouncing, “There’s gotta be another reason you haven’t moved on. You’re not like us. I dunno why you and the Harmons don’t just…y’know…go.” He trailed off, his gaze falling to his lap.

You saw his bitterness return in full force. Another miserable wave of longing washed over him. Yearning for something that didn’t exist anymore, and never would again.

“I…” You paused, doodling hasty flowers in your notebook. You avoided Tate’s eyes, “I wanna know how I died first. I wanna know who I was. Before I even consider moving on.”

Sinister acidity flashed through his vision, “Seriously? That’s what’s stopping you?” Tate huffed a harsh laugh, admitting without missing a beat, “You wanna know how you died? I’ll tell you. I stuck a knife in your back and stabbed you to death.” He confessed, monotone, “You know it too. You’ve known since we met. You’ve just been in denial this whole time.”

You sat up in an abrupt movement, scooting forward and tossing your notebook away.

“What?! What are you even talking ab-…I’ve been trying to figure this out for years, Tate! Years!” You threw out your hands, “You…you can’t be serious! Why would I be in denial about something like that??”

Tears of betrayal stung the corners of your eyes. Tate shrugged, seemingly unbothered. He crossed his arms, his eyes dark under the ridges of his brows.

“‘Cuz you feel bad for me. Or…uhm…you wanna feel bad for me.” He shrugged again, “Fuck if I know why. I’m the last guy you should have sympathy for.” Tate said, his black hues narrowing in thought.

“You didn’t…did you really stab me? Really? You’re not lying about that?” You almost shouted, clawing your fingers through your hair, “Please. Please tell me you’re lying!”

Tate appeared unfazed, ignoring you, “Do you love me or something? Is that why you’re so broken up about this?” He asked, desperate in his infinite search for validation.

“Why the fuck would you stab me?!” You shouted, full of wrathful turmoil.

You stood off the couch, surging toward him with your fists balled at your sides. Tate didn’t flinch. He pursed his lips, thoughtful again. With an insufferable aura of nonchalance, he shrugged once more.

“Wanted to.”

The blank emptiness in his expression told you everything you already knew. Tears streamed down your face, painting your cheeks and chin in damp threads.

“Where? Where did you stab me??”

Tate gestured with a nod of his head, towards the only window in the room. A summer breeze fluttered, catching the curtains in its dance. You wanted to find the radiant light of nature beautiful again. But it only served as a haunting reminder - the environment remained symbiotic with time. And you were forever left behind.

“Over there. By that window.” He said, watching you pad over to said window, the skirt of your dress fluttering.

The window. In the one room you always felt so drawn to, for reasons unknown. Now, you knew. Bracing your hands on the windowsill, you peered your head outside. Ghosting your skin, the air breathed an essence of life. Something you were no longer a part of. You used to be content with that fact. But now? Knowing your life was unfairly ripped from you, how could you ever move on? Your death wasn’t an accident. Nor had an irreversible illness seized your physical form. Just Tate.

His low voice droned from behind you and in your ear. A faint vibration followed, along with a presence at your back. You felt the soft texture of his sweater, but no body heat with it. One of his icy hands met your shoulder. He reached his other arm out. Tate pointed to a spot near the entrance gates.

“I didn’t wanna tell you. Because I didn’t wanna lose you too. But…” He paused for a beat, “It was on Halloween. Ten years or so years ago, I guess. I was gonna leave. Make my rounds. Y’know…like I used to. The house was-uh...up for grabs back then. You came up to the door. One of the kids here opened it for you. And you kinda...walked in. Tried lookin' for 'em. Wrong place, wrong time.” Tate lowered both his hands to yours, after sliding his fingers down the sides of your arms, “You were holdin’ hands with some kid the whole time. He had to be, like…seven? Eight? I don’t even remember what his costume was.” His lips curved in a grin, “But I still remember yours.”

Your fingers curled into the sill, scraping wood, indenting the paint.

Ten years.

“So, you stabbed me in front of a child?”

Another breeze blew by. The steady air picked up your dress with it, flitting delicate fabric. Glitter along the seams of it fell away, sparkling like microscopic crystallites in the wind. Tate’s long fingers drew patterns over the cold surface of your skin. Tracing infinity symbols onto your hands.

“Rapunzel.” He whispered, “That dress was kinda pretty on you. Sucks about all the blood.”

You remembered then. When death imbued you with unexpected consciousness, you wandered around the house in a blood-stained dress. And ever since, your afterlife wardrobe alternated only between dresses of similar styles. Always cheap fabrics. Decorated in craft materials. You assumed you must’ve loved playing dress up in life. The thought of perishing in a store bought Halloween costume never crossed your mind.

“Who was he?”

You sniffled, breath hitching without any need for oxygen. Tate brought a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. He loomed behind you. A cold-blooded apparition of your nightmares. His casual talk of violent depravity made your blood boil.

“Who, the kid?” He asked.

He lowered his hands to the sill. Looking out the window over your shoulder, Tate squinted in the sunlight.

“Yes! I don’t-” You burst into tears without warning, sobbing into your hands, “I-I don’t remember anything! Nothing! I had no idea…who was he??”

“Dunno…” he dropped his head, pressing his cheek to your hair, “I didn’t really stop to ask. He ran away. Right after I pushed you out of this window.”

“You pushed m-what?! You’re a fucking monster.” You whimpered. Wishing you could leap out and disappear with the oscillation of the wind, “You know you’re never getting out of here, don’t you? You’re never going to change, Tate. You’ll always be a monster.”

“Probably.” He droned, wrapping his arms around your middle. Pulling you closer, he added, “You’ll be stuck here too. If you don’t let go of that anger. If you let your rage consume you. All that bitterness and hatred. This house feeds off of it.” Another pause. He nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, “Uhm…I know this won’t fix anything. But…I really am sorry I took your life from you.”

You huffed, staring teary eyed out the window. Taking in the vast, effervescent world you’d never be a part of - through the border that brought your demise.

“But I’m really stoked you’re here….’cuz it’s not as lonely with you around.” He admitted.

“I could always tell you to fuck off.” You choked, venomous in your revulsion.

“Yeah. You could. But you won’t.” He grabbed your arms with gentle hands, wheeling you around to face him. He took your tiny fingers in his palms. You refused to meet his eyes, “If you made me disappear, you wouldn’t have anybody.”

You decided to hit him where it hurt, strangling through tears, “I could always talk to Violet. She has such a good heart. Not like the rest of you. You’re all just…awful. So horrible and cruel!”

Tate clenched his jaw, dropping his forehead into yours.

“You’re right. She’s not.” He woefully mumbled, “How come I still miss her, huh? Been missin’ what we had for, like…forever. Now I’m pushin’ you away too. And you’re all I have left.”

“Maybe stop killing people, Tate?” You snuffed, tears catching your eyelashes. He wiped them away all the same, “Who knew death could be so miserable. I…I finally found out the one thing I’ve wanted to know after all these years. I thought a little closure might help me, but…” You cried, “I feel even more messed up.”

“Why? Do you love me?” He pressed with so little confidence, you felt he only said it to convince himself.

“I…” You hesitated, brows furrowed, “I cared about you. Even though you’re a lunatic. I wanted to give you a chance. But now…now I just want to shove you out this window like you did to me. I want to scream at you, Tate! I want to make you suffer! I want to-”

He shifted closer. Within this vicinity, his maturation became all the more clear. Your weeping hues glazed over the creases under his eyes. The blond bangs of his hair had thinned by a smidgen, losing its youthful shagginess. He was all fine lines and outward exhaustion. Had you met him like this in life, you’d think him a mere decade away from a mid-life crisis.

“Go ahead. If it helps. I don’t mind.” He reached down again, grabbing your hands and guiding them up to his chest, “Just let all that rage go…you can take it out on me.”

This was just another tactic of his. An attempt to appease you, in desperate hopes you’d forgive him. Still, you didn’t think twice. Whatever wrathful anguish you kept buried inside finally erupted. The soul crushing weight of loss tumbled down over you, sending you into a frenzy. You thrashed your arms, throwing your fists in shallow, but sharp strikes. Battering against Tate’s chest, you landed every blow - inspired by betrayal. He remained still, watching you with a hollow look.

Hits turned to scratches as your grief took hold of you. You clawed into Tate’s sweater, wailing, powerless to the pain of his disloyalty. Taken aback by your overwhelming emotions, you wondered how the afterlife could bring so much suffering. Tate wrapped his arms around you again, and you buried your nose in his sweater. Your sorrowful tears stained the stitching.

“I hate you. So much. So fucking much.” You whimpered.

“You said you cared about me.”

“I hate that I care about you.” You cried, sobbing into his sweater, “I-I want to hate you. I need to hate you. But you’re right. You’re fucking vile, and you’re right. If you were gone, I wouldn’t have anybody else.”

Shifting again, he tilted your head up with a cold hand under your chin. Tate stared down at you, weary with lonesome desolation. The endless monotony of purgatory brought forth nothing but turmoil. And that turmoil linked you both in all-consuming angst. When he dove in to kiss your lips, you allowed it. If only to feel something far less painful.

Tate hadn’t kissed anyone in over a decade. But he flowed naturally with you, wary of applying too much pressure. The last of your tears fell, and again, he wiped them away. Separation came slow, as he parted from your lips. He blinked, leering like he couldn’t believe you reciprocated. Another beat, and he dove in all over again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Kissing in your ghostly state felt bleak as the dull air of winter. In the throes of lonesome yearning, death nuzzled death so intimately. You opened yourself up for him, moving back until you hit the windowsill. In your negligence, you sat on it. A calm, easy breeze enveloped your back, tickling your neck. His desirous kisses swallowed you in, his hands claiming your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his words weaving through every kiss.

Fate had yet to deliver you closeness of this kind. You couldn’t fathom how intimate connectedness might work in death. As Tate’s cold lips fell to your neck, the atmosphere between the two of you shifted. Something akin to the radiance of life saturated the air. Like the summer’s glow shining from outside. A few seconds more, and coldness turned to heat. Sensual heat.

“What does it feel like?” You asked, breathless without the need for air. You tipped your head back. Tate took this as an invitation to ravish more of you, “To make love after dying?”

The glossy warmth of his tongue painted gradual lines across your neck. He caressed you with a thumb, gliding the digit over your cheek. Under the newfound heat of his palm, you felt burning intensity. No one else brought you physical touch like this. Not since a time before you perished, so long ago.

All because of him.

“Feels kinda the same?” Tate muttered in a hushed voice. Capturing your lips again, he kissed you with cautious tenderness, “It’s a lot like being alive…from what I remember. Some of us get addicted to it. Like a drug. They suffer without it. Drives ‘em crazy.”

His forehead fell to yours once more, and Tate’s eyes fluttered shut. He continued stroking your cheek, cradling your face. As if you’d disappear once he let go. You noticed the way his chest heaved. Slowly, like his lungs were still infused with the essence of life. But when he moved in for another kiss, you felt no breath on your lips.

“Does it drive you crazy?” You whispered between kisses, “Do you suffer without it?”

“Not really.” He said, dragging his thumb over your lip, “Missed this, though. I miss it all the time.”

“What? Kissing?”

Tate nodded, blond brows creasing as his smile faded. For a beat or two more, he fell silent. Staring down into your eyes with all the liveliness of a barren void. You gazed into a cave-like abyss, lost with no light to guide you. Beckoned by the promise of something unseen.

“This feels…different…with you.” He whispered.

“Different how?” You shivered as his soft touches moved elsewhere, "Are you feeling guilty? Does it hurt? I hope it fucking hurts."

Dragging the tips of his fingers up and down your arms, he drew invisible lines with his nails. So careful. Like you’d shatter if he treated you too roughly. His palms settled over your hips, and again, he kissed you. Tate just couldn’t seem to stop doing so, even as you spoke to him with poison on your tongue.

“No. It’s warmer.” He squeezed your hips a little tighter, “Why…why’s it so warm with you?”

The initial kisses between you both were so frigid and lifeless. But now, somehow, so heated and real. You locked your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles. Inviting him forward, you loomed in the sill of the window. Your body tilted. In the arms of the summer’s air, you almost fell backwards. You had every reason to believe Tate would let you plummet.

But he didn’t. Not this time.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you from slipping. Under your dress, his free hand sought the heat between your legs. His palm cradled warmth over thin cloth. Discreetly, he pressed the pads of his fingers to your sex over your panties. And the contact amplified a scorching fire within you. A vigor exceeding the bitterness of death.

You wondered if Tate had less experience than he claimed in therapy. It took him a few tries before he found your clit. His sizable fingers circled your little nub in easy motions. Drawing long, needy noises out of you. Silence lingered between you both in calm, but tense quiet. Until the rasp of his voice caught your attention.

“Do you feel this? Do you feel, like…anything?”

You whimpered in response - timid like a churchmouse - as wetness stained Tate’s fingers through fabric. Cotton once so pure and untouched became damp. He chuckled, the sinister rumble in his throat making your blood run cold. Until the warmth of desire lured you in before you could second guess yourself. Savoring the hot friction on your pussy, you allowed sin to taint your clarity.

"For you? No. Never. You're sick. You're twisted. You're-" You cut yourself off with another whimper, once Tate caressed you with more pressure.

“Oh, shit…” He hastily tugged your panties down your thighs. Cupping your bare cunt, he pressed firmly into your clit. Thick digits teased the blazing heat of your folds, “You do, don’t you?”

Tate’s fingers dipped into your slick valley, his digits predominantly larger than your own. You rolled your hips just a smidgen, careful not to lose your balance - lest you fall out the window. Again. Though, maybe a rough tumble onto the lawn would knock some sense back into your muddled head. His other arm stayed iron locked around your body, keeping you safe. He eased inside you with all the hesitance of a man out of practice.

"F-Fuck! Fuck this. Fuck you." You mumbled, hushed under airy moans.

Following the squeeze of pleasure in your core, came something you lost in the afterlife. You almost felt the pumping of your dead heart again. A ghostly sensation of life blossomed under your ribs. Warmth flowed through your veins in syrupy bliss. Cozy wind billowed from outside, tickling your skin. If you closed your eyes for long enough, basking in the ecstasy of true feeling - you might’ve believed you were somehow revived.

Flitting your lashes, your eyes gradually opened. The sunny glow of afternoon light painted Tate’s aged features, showering him in golden rays. An image far too heavenly for a cold-blooded monster birthed from sin. You looked lazily into his hues. A whirlpool of guilt intermingling with lifeless cruelty; all within his dusky eyes.

“Feels like…” He mumbled, clumsily nuzzling your clit with the pad of his thumb. Biting his lip, Tate stifled a groan. He buried his fingers to the knuckle in your cunt, “...like I can feel your blood pumping.” Adding a third digit, he stretched you open. Your walls made effortless room just for him. You whined, making him smirk, “Fuck, this is hot. You love it, huh?”

"No. No. No, I'd never! Not with you. I'm just-" You swallowed, feeling your cheeks burn, "It really does feel like-"

Post-mortem coldness became lost on you now. Left behind, alongside your broken hearted resentment. Instead, you were overcome with the lively spirit of beingness. The afterlife had been so unkind to you. For a decade now. It abandoned you to stew in the longevity of solitude. With no one but Tate to provide you true company. Bringing your hands up to his cheeks, you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers threaded through his blond locks. Winding your tongue sloppily with his, you whined.

"Make me cum." You asserted, your legs sealing tighter around him, "Make me cum, and I might forgive you."

A flash of vulnerable sweetness overtook Tate's face, his puppydog eyes lighting up. An almighty flood of euphoria built up to a radiant crescendo, as his digits fucked you into oblivion. You clamped around his fingers, squirming with such intensity - he almost lost his hold on you. Tranquility found you at the peak of your climax. A divine miracle. As you cried little pleas into Tate’s lips, you felt as though you grew angel’s wings. As if some ethereal being descended from the heavens themselves, stole you away, and led you to the golden gates.

As you shuddered, your paradisal tremors eventually subsided. Blissful nirvana faded, and the hollow nothingness of death’s touch came again. Outside, the world continued on in slow-moving seconds. And in the distant horizon, the sun began its steady fall into night. Tate’s nose brushed yours. Looming in so close, he withdrew his drenched digits from your pussy. Leaving even more forsaken emptiness behind.

“I could…do that kinda thing for you every day…if you wanted me to.” He whispered, peppering your forehead in kisses, “It feels really good, doesn’t it? Just…please don’t make me go away? Please…”

[normal-thoughts-official]

Another interesting parallel between Wyll and Gale is that they have both lived quite some time without any fucking privacy.

I don't need to elaborate on Wyll because, you know, Mizora. But also, at the Stormshore Tabernacle, Gale says that Mystra is omniscient. This implies that throughout their entire relationship, she always knew what Gale was thinking - what he thought and felt about her, every time he lied to her, whenever he was upset with her, every less-than-amenable-to-her-wishes thought he ever had. It's enough to drive someone mad, when you think about it. How much did Gale fruitlessly police himself when it came to how he thought of Mystra, afraid that he would disappoint or anger her? How much did he beat himself up over his own thoughts and feelings, knowing he couldn't hide it from her? Did he ever fear that she would use any of his thoughts to hurt him, the way Mizora obviously does with Wyll? Do they bond over that?

And in turn, how would this affect their relationship? Wyll has never been in one before and has been quite starved for any intimacy for the longest time; all he had was Mizora fucking with him 24/7. This means that, functionally, he hasn't had any lasting ties to anyone who wasn't capable of reading his thoughts and knowing where he was at all times in the last 7 years. And god knows how long Gale's been with Mystra, as well

Do they subconsciously expect the other to know what they're thinking? If the other ever asks, do they automatically tense up, assuming it's some sort of test or that a punishment (for Wyll) or disappointment (for Gale) is coming? If the other says what they're feeling, do they register that as an order? Is it hard for them to remember to tell each other certain things, because they cannot in fact read minds, at least not after they lose the tadpoles? (That's another thing too, they HAVE been able to read each other's minds from the moment they first met).

I've always felt like communication issues would be the #1 problem in their relationship, because, as much as they're both quite direct and open about their feelings, they also feel the need to constantly put up a front and prove themself to their lover. But this adds a new layer to it - unintentionally keeping each other in the dark about certain things, really basic things, because they're unused to having to say them out loud. And potentially being upset that they have to say difficult things out loud, as if it's some exercise in humiliation, which it likely was with Mizora/Mystra. Potentially assuming the other did something they weren't okay with knowingly, because that was always the case before. Almost guaranteed to being so out of practice having to voice their feelings to be understood that they don't know where to begin, or what to say, and feel stupid over it.

Of course, it helps that the other is going through the exact same thing. I'm sure they can figure that one out, as soon as they can express everything I mentioned above.

But it does make for an interesting dynamic in their early days, and one of the many facets of their communication issues. Also one of the many ways in which they can heal together from their respective traumas, so different in nature yet so similar in effects over their psyches.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

May I request Ace with Y , X , S , N , M and A please?

The limit is 5, but since I already answered A and N in another post, I'll let it go lol

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Answered here.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes, Ace's darling absolutely gets special treatment in terms of how he behaves around them. Other people will definitely be able to see that he loves and adores you, but to them Ace just looks like a normal boyfriend. In general, he comes off like a pretty friendly and reasonable guy. No one would ever suspect his yandere side or how messy his emotions can get.

When he's alone with you, everything is more intense and raw. His confidence is largely gone and you see how uncertain he truly is in life. You are the only person that he'll fully confide in, so you'll know him much more intimately than anyone else could ever hope to. He isn't even this open and honest with Luffy.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Answered here.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

His childhood and the issues that he's carried with him ever since those days are the reason he's like this. Even with his brothers around, he always had this gnawing loneliness from feeling like he was a uniquely evil individual because of who his father is. When your own grandfather can't even look you in the eye and tell you that you deserve to be alive, that is going to ruin your psyche. If you aren't worthy of life, obviously you aren't worthy of love.

But then he finds someone that loves him. Despite everything, his darling can love someone as monstrous as him? It doesn't matter if you haven't said it. Actions speak louder than words, so you being generally kind and loving when you two first meet is enough to have him feeling like he's found his soulmate. He's sure that he'll never get this lucky again, so of course he'll never let you go.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

This man worships the ground you walk on and cherishes the air you breathe. You're everything to him. You're a perfect angel that gives him the sweet comfort of someone to have and to hold, heart and soul. Someone that gives him something so precious only deserves the best treatment possible.

Before he takes you, he's pulling out all the stops to get you to come with him willingly. He'll be giving you gifts and bringing you on dates while only displaying his best qualities. Ace can be extremely endearing and charming, so there is a very high chance that you will initially be compliant with him. His darling being cooperative in the beginning is kind of crucial to him becoming yandere for you. If you reject him or get too harsh before he's completely fallen for you, it'll make his heart clam up and he won't form that intense connection.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It is not a long process. Two weeks tops. Ace falls hard and fast if his darling gives him what he craves. Their warm comfort makes his own flames feel cold by comparison, and he gets addicted quick. As soon as he feels like you've "accepted" him, your fate is sealed. You are coming with him whether you like it or not. Putting up a fight won't be enough to deter him once he's fallen for you. At that point, he feels like he needs you too much to back out now. He's hopeful that you'll come around and go back to your old self sooner or later.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Who would you think would most likely to baby trap their barling in Obey me? Take your top four pick and why?

The tactic of baby-trapping is a hefty one. One that pales in comparison to these devils' powers and connection to you with their pacts. In the devil dom, they already have an advantage over you anyway so this is more of a psychological thing. Whether it's to satisfy his psyche or to control yours these are my top picks…

Mammon

He is the avatar of greed 

who better than he to own you in a way that actually manifests a child

“Better off sticking with me! You’ll need my help to raise the coolest little copy of me!” 

Its honestly probably an accident 

But as long as he gets to keep you by his side so be it

At first, he’s just not fully aware of the responsibilities that come with having a baby

And boy is he winded

He can’t run out because you and Lucifer are willing to chain him down to help

So he’ll suffer the long nights and the wailing as you both just get used to raising an infant

But once he gets past the dread he’s elated

Not only does the love of his life stay by his side forever but he has a cute kid to prove it

He won’t tell you that though

“Hah?! Love ‘em? I tolerate the little booger at best! Hey! Don’t hold him like that, you’ve got to be gentle!”

A doting father to the max 

and even being more attentive if not more obsessive with you

“I bet you thought the great Mammon would leave you to rot! Fear not I only left to get takeout…and diapers.”

“Mammon!”

“...and the heads of those demons that were talkin’ bad about ya…”

“Mammon!”

“What?! It was on the way!”

Asmodeus

Oddly enough he does it because of self-esteem 

Whether it's yours or his it's up to you

If it's yours he’s just tired of you looking down on yourself

And using it as an excuse not to be with him

Well if you're so certain you're not the most gorgeous human in existence then why are you pregnant with the child of the most beautiful devil in devil dom

If it's not your self esteem it's his 

Your divine.

He knows it you know it

And so does everyone else 

He’s not afraid of you beating him

He’s afraid of the crowd that follows

“Wow (Y/n)-chan your so popular…they seem to like you an awful lot...”

He’s never felt so insecure about himself before

How will the world know your his 

…better than with a product of your bond

“Wow! Aren’t they the cutest?! They’ve got my looks!” 

Youtuber kid all the way

Your child is more likely to be on more magazine covers than their father himself

Which makes it harder to escape if that was ever an option in the first place

But that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t feel the need to pick off your most avid fans

Especially the fans and theorists that notice your worried gaze and the possessive hold on your hip

“Oya you really captured their emotions that way! Too bad we can’t have you ruining their Winter debutant. Don’t be too sad! You are having the most beautiful demon be the one to end your worthless ugly life.”

Barbatos

Even with your summoner status, he’s a tough demon to beat

The power of time and teleportation are on his side

Which can make for a maddening punishment if you try to escape him

“Oh, so you insist on running, then? Fine but I’m not privy to keep doing this with you.”

Its also just easier to keep your mind on him this way

Since you're so insistent on trying to run he might as well make it impossible for you to do so 

Emotionally at first

This doubles as his claim to ownership and a way to halt you from running ever again

As a butler to the king, everything he has is to serve his master

Even you are allowed to be in his possession its because his master lets him or doesn’t know

But a child

His and your child 

That's something he can fully own

It works with your mind as well

Leaving you to either make the heartless decision to abandon your child 

or to stay and have no choice but to grapple with this constant piece of him 

That is if he lets it get that bad

Again with time as a tool, he can make it so everything he says and does makes perfect sense

“Let’s have a baby, my love. It’d be death all over again if you won’t indulge me.” 

“Oh Barbs, I was thinking just the same!”

Diavolo

Has to be given the idea

It's not going to be his first thought

“Won’t that be cool! Then we could be together all the time! Just the three of us!”

Whether its Barbatos or you scoffing at his behavior something gives him the bright idea

Like most things, he’ll be upfront

He doesn’t really need to stake his claim 

He’s the prince of devil dom 

The very clothes on your back say you belong irrevocably to him

it's more like he believes it’ll make your relationship better

You’ll be more willing to have fun not run if your child demands it

Right?

“Wow! Good job you managed to get them all in perfect order!” 

“Good job!? They killed half the staff for a demented dominoes game!”

“...”

“That's a bad thing!”

“R-right! That's a bad thing just like your mother says!”

[hannieehaee]

SERENDIPITY (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: jungkook, god of love and son of venus is given the task by his mother herself to rid the world of you, known as psyche, as your beauty begins to rival her own. unfortunately for all parties involved, jungkook becomes enamored by you upon accidentally pinching himself with his own arrow.

content: cupid!jungkook, psyche!reader, an extremely simplified and smutty version of the og story, afab reader, side character deaths, mentions of attempted suicide, the dialogue is not super fitting of the times, angst(?), fluff, smut, they have sex where she doesnt know who he is multiple times but its consensual, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 841 (teaser); 8.6k (full fic)

release date: may 3rd

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: i decided to do my first jungkook full fic in celebration for hitting 4k followers!! i hope u guys enjoy<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

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"Why did you call for me, again?"

"Jungkook, pay attention!", hissed his mother, holding her fingers to her temples in stress as one of her many servants walked in with the fruit she'd requested, "I need you to use your arrows on someone."

"What? Why? I thought you didn't like me meddling with people's love lives."

"This is different. This one needs a little help," Venus frowned in sheer annoyance, "She is known as Psyche by many, Y/N by her loved ones. She has become quite a figure among the Roman population. Some have begun to worship her beauty. They pray to her, they bring her offerings, they kiss at her feet, completely disregarding the true Goddess of Beauty."

"And where does this concern me?", Jungkook was beyond bored by his mother's ramblings. On a usual day, he would be out and entertaining himself with the many mortal maidens found around Rome, always guaranteeing himself a partner for the day.

Venus shot Cupid a look as her servants fed her by mouth, making him straighten his back and begin paying better attention. Even as the Goddess of Beauty, Venus was known as one of the most menacing Goddesses to exist, holding far too much power among all Gods and Goddesses. Jungkook couldn't help but feel intimidated by her, even as carefree as he was known to be.

"She has far too many admirers. Even Gods are beginning to show interest in her, yet she is lacking in suitors thus far. I need you to shoot your arrow and tie her off to the most hideous creature you can muster. She may seize from being a disturbance this way."

"Okay, so you want me to doom her to an eternity with a monster?", Jungkook tilted his head in curiosity.

Despite being considered the most beautiful entity, Jungkook knew Venus to be one of the least amicable creatures in all of the land. Mortals were blissfully unaware of her cruelty, thinking her to be the most perfect among all Goddesses. However, Cupid, as her son, knew of the misery that awaited anyone who crossed the Goddess of Beauty.

Venus halted her movements in frustration, scaring the servants nearby before turning to Jungkook in annoyance, "Cupid, my son, you will obey my order without question. I gave you those wings, I gave you that bow., and I gave you that arrow. I don't care how cruel you may think me to be, this is an order. You shall not utilize your powers for your own endeavors until you finish your task," she demanded, "Now, go rid me of that wench before I find someone else to do the job."

With a sigh, Jungkook nodded in defeat, fully aware of the type of punishments his mother could deliver should he disobey her orders. Walking over to the window through which he had originally entered, he pulled his bow and arrow from his back, beginning to fly off with his wings as he embarked on a journey to seek out the mighty Psyche that had his mother so worried.

"Y/N, there's another letter from one of your admirers," announced Psyche's mother, placing the letter on the huge pile of gifts provided by the many civilians who came visit their castle with the hope of getting a glimpse of the beautiful girl.

"Mother, what shall I do with all these? There's so many letters yet not a single suitor," you sighed, frustrated at the lack of prospects you'd had so far, "My sisters have both married, yet I am left alone with no one to seek my heart."

"Child, you should be grateful," said your mother, "You are admired through all the land, vied for as if you were a true Goddess. Someone will come for you one day, rest assured," affirmed your mother, petting your hair as she landed a soft kiss on your forehead and took her leave once more.

It was easy for your parents to grow used to the love and admiration you received. Endless people would come and dedicate themselves to their servitude if it meant as much as receiving your blessing – which was absolutely worthless as a mere princess in a land filled with mystical deities.

Your elder sisters had both been married off months back, finding old yet respectable husbands to take them away and care for them as any and all husbands should. You, however, remained alone with your parents, always hoping that a man would be brave enough to court you.

It was unfortunate, really; the way in which your beauty prevented you from receiving any suitors. You had not chosen to be blessed by Venus herself, nor did you ever hope to become her contender in the title of the most beautiful entity in all of creation. Unlike you, she had found a God to sweep her off her feet, gifting her with the fruit of love himself – her son Cupid. Oh, how you wished he'd shoot his arrow and allow you some rest from this endless search for a husband.

...

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[r--kt]

Good boy Tobi. Why is he acting this way?

"oh yeah, it was just Zetsu" a-ha, not even close. here I'll talk specifically why Obito resorts to roleplay, and why he is comfortable with the images of Madara and Tobi. (obviously because it's not being himself but let's dig deeper)

contents | responsibility · regrets · a sense of control · conclusions

Vol. 31 CH. 280. Tobi's first appearance.

sure this looks like another defense mechanism that allows Obito to avoid reality, especially when interacting with people. full coverage, imitation of someone else's voice, name change, personality change etc. his clothes literally look like armor, and I'd like to think that hiding and protecting himself "just because it feels right" is exactly the point (no need in armor, he's intangible, so that's a psyche). the very way he completely depersonalizes himself shows that on a subconscious level he is not comfortable being in the conditions he finds himself. this alone may indicate that he is not very happy with his position of a faceless world saviour. and this is his first damn appearance.

Tobi is another manifestation of Obito's escapism, which is the central theme of his story. I have identified three advantages of using Tobi's image for Obito, and all of them will be described below. maybe you'll find some more, feel free to reblog and add your thoughts!

Responsibility

escapism is just stress-relieving. for him, the roleplay was a way to relieve tension from the responsibility that he had imposed on himself. "no one in the whole world can do it except me" must be really exhausting. so what if I just don't be myself for a while? what if I be the one who can make a mistake? it's important to be frivolous and let things go sometimes, otherwise the psyche will be disturbed even more. so, that's the first advantage, that allowed Obito not to go completely crazy.

Regrets

CH. 652

as I said, Obito is not very happy with his position. even though he believes that tsukuyomi plan is correct, this doesn't negate that he is unhappy to fulfill it and suffer the hardships because of it.

during the war, we can see that Obito really regrets that he hadn't live his life the way he could, with his friends and dear ones. he began to ask questions: "could I have a better life?" "who have I become?" "who does my friend see me as?" these feelings burst out only at the culmination, before that they were deeply suppressed, with the help of detachment from reality, which Obito achieved mostly thanks to the image of Tobi. a ridiculous stupid guy who talks nonsense and does not pretend to be any role other than a comic relief. another personality allows Obito to distract himself from the real problems, which he can't reconcile.

CH. 281 idk what an idiot. love him.

in order to avoid all these dangerous thoughts for as long as possible, he came to this escapist behavior. it is not only a convenient tool for manipulation (I'm not really touching on that in this post, though it's important too), but it also distracted him from all his regrets. though, it's funny that he still chose orange and purple colors that probably reminded him of the past.

A Sense of Control

it seems to me that this is the most important reason to pretend to be either an inept, complaisant fool or a legend of the Shinobi world. why these two extremes?

many events in Obito's life showed him that no matter how he acts, he will still be punished, which means he personally has no control over anything. during the exposition, he is late helping the old ladies, but Kakashi condemns him no matter what. during the first turning points, he commits morally correct actions in order to end up first being mutilated and isolated, and then lose the most precious (and only) thing he really had: friendship with Rin and Kakashi. in the end, he does not even have control over his own body until he learns to control the mokuton and gets used to the constantly breaking off or deforming limbs. Madara and Tobi appear as other personalities who are able to achieve control under certain conditions and give Obito the necessary mental stability.

CH. 460

Madara is the epitome of control. the ghost of the Uchiha clan, the fear of which is alive many years after his death. by taking on a character who has more control than Obito did in real life he might feel quite cathartic and empowering, and it offered him a sense of emotional security (the mask helps with it physically, the personality and famous name — mentally).

while Tobi, besides an attempt to make up for lost childhood, is a demonstration of "the lowest standards" so that for once in his life, he did feel that he always met expectations, that more was not required of him. he's incompetent, he messes up, he's irritating, and therefore others don't expect anything else from him. yes, Tobi is judged and punished, but Tobi is not trying to be praised, so his own expectations are not broken.

CH. 359

Madara's personality is convenient because it's dominant, it controls others, inspires them with a certain fear and submission. Tobi's personality is convenient because with its help Obito choose to show fear and submission himself whenever he wants, that is, it does not become an unexpected blow for him. I would add that similar mental mechanisms work in many types of traumatic experience (not talking about his sexual deviations like moderate sadomasochism yet, the man is clearly traumatized).

does it all work? obviously, yes. there's no point in explaining that this whole Madara thing worked perfectly. Tobi, although condemned by Deidara, is at the same time accepted and encouraged by him a bit, simply because it is pointless to expect anything from him. however, this works as long as the fictional personalities do not overlap, as long as others believe in the reality of both.

CH. 396

another interesting topic is that Obito himself began to mix these personalities and demonstrate the falsity of one, which deprived him of the very opportunity to avoid reality (Madara clearly reminds him more of the responsibility on his shoulders than Tobi) and relieve the constantly increasing stress. therefore, starting from the moment when "Madara" shows that "Tobi" was just a cover, Obito loses the advantages of Tobi's image, suppressed regrets gradually surface, stress accumulates, the sense of control disappears for lack of any new personality other than his own (which has problems with control). and all these consequences falls on him during the war.

Conclusions

the reasons for this defense strategy appeared in Obito due to his low self-esteem, which was facilitated by the following. the early death of Obito's parents was most likely at the age when he was too young, and therefore psychologically this loss was fixed as "I was left because something was wrong with me. I can't be loved naturally, I need to deserve it first". because of that there was a constant attempt to be better, to reach the level of a genius opponent, who not only shows with all his appearance that you are not enough, but also constantly pokes you in your own shit like a puppy. and that's not the only situation where you're not that good. there's a lot, actually.

such an environment forms an attitude "to get recognition, I need to try harder than anyone else, because something is wrong with me". subsequently, this attitude is transformed into a new one: "I cannot get recognition in any case, which means I will achieve recognition, respect, attention through pretending and forming other personalities". and that's how Tobi appeared.

I don't even know what to add at the end. it's just great that you can see the depth in Obito, even when he's acting like a moron. here's some admiration for this silly guy

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Shame (2)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: doubts related to sex work, panic attack, remorse and depression, fluff, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Walking to the lecture they talked about everything and nothing; for the most part, she was the one speaking, telling stories or asking questions, guiding her bike beside her by the handlebars, while he just added his thought or simply remained silent, listening to her.

They arrived at the Community Centre true to her word very quickly and indeed he immediately saw posters announcing that there would be free lectures by philosophers in the fields of contemporary ethics.

Robert's sister padlocked her bike in the designated area and they both went inside, following the signs. They entered a large, neo-classical hall with beautiful pillars and rich ornamentation on the ceiling, reminding him of a theatre or opera house.

They sat side by side on seats in one of the first rows − she explained to him that the presenter would be asking questions and, among others, her professor would be answering.

Indeed, the discussion was remarkably interesting and he caught himself drawn in; the men were talking among themselves about capital punishment, attitudes to the treatment of other humans and animals, warfare and human-wide conflicts.

However, he felt a cold sweat on his back and a tightness in his throat, his heart starting to pound like mad when the presenter asked the next question.

"As we know, a lot of young people start, as they say in modern times, sexworking − whether they show up on webcams or have sex for money. How do you, Professor, view this, do you think it's good for the psyche of such people? Is it morally right?"

The professor grunted and corrected his glasses with a slight hand gesture; he was a grey-haired, elderly man with a kindly, calm face.

"It depends on a number of factors. Firstly − what that young person's goal is. When we choose our job, we usually want more than just to earn money, most people's dream is to do things that fascinate them, that they are fulfilled in. Of course, people are also fulfilled in the sexual sphere with their partners, however, what happens when sexuality becomes a profession?

Well, in a way, two things are then combined that can be very destructive to the psyche − materliness and one's own body. At the same time, we make the decision ourselves, so it is not morally wrong if it involves two adults who agree to it, but there is an internal objectification, a selling of some part of our intimacy.

Of course, one can feel good about it. One may even like it. One should not tell such people that they are denying something, or say that they are selling themselves, that they are pricing their value. You see, it is not for us to judge. Everyone can do what they want with their body, it is their unquestionable right.

However, the danger arises when, underneath this materialistic approach, there is a desire for self-destruction, a desire to simultaneously dominate, to be in charge − I decide what happens to my body − and, at the same time, I desire to humiliate myself in my own eyes − I sell myself and I'm nothing, I don't want affection because I don't deserve it.

This issue is very complex and delicate, judging too quickly, especially by outsiders, will be even more hurtful to such people, a confirmation that they will never be loved and accepted, so they will be afraid to make sexuality emotional, which will lead to the opposite effect that we would all like."

The presenter nodded with understanding.

"If the professor were to state what it should look like in an ideal world, what would the professor say?"

The man laughed good-naturedly, stroking his white beard.

"I don't have an answer to that. I think that in an ideal world, the person who is made for us would be highlighted to us in green and those who hurt us in red. But we don't have that option. I think the fundamental mistake of every human being is to make judgements prematurely, instead of being willing to understand, to offer conversation, to support.

Calling someone a whore or a slut has never helped anyone, what's more, it only makes such people even more likely to have suicidal thoughts and be afraid to seek help when they feel they need it, because they are scared of revealing themselves to their parents or loved ones."

The presenter moved on to the next topic, but he heard nothing more, staring blankly at the floor, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees − he felt himself trembling all over, his eyes burning from the moisture that had gathered under his eyelids, his throat all clenched.

He felt her hand on his back and he shuddered, glancing over his shoulder at her with wide eyes − she was leaning over him worriedly, he could smell her pleasant scent again.

"Are you all right? Do you want to go out for some fresh air?" She asked frightened, clearly seeing how pale he was, and he nodded in embarrassment.

By the time they got outside it was completely dark; he reached with his shaking hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, taking out a cigarette and a lighter, firing it quickly and putting it into his mouth.

He felt her looking at him − they were standing in the square in front of the main entrance where there was no one but them, all around them was the loud hum of moving cars.

For some reason he felt desperate and miserable, weak, small; he clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head, trying to pull himself together. He sat down on the cold stone steps and she immediately sat down next to him, far too close.

He sighed when he felt her hand on his shoulder, stroking him gently, her warm breath on his cheek cool from the crisp evening air. He let out a loud puff of smoke with his lips, thinking only of how he had never let any woman touch him.

He placed his hand on hers, wanting to feel her for once, her skin soft as silk, exactly as he had imagined; he looked at her in pain, her eyebrows arched in worry, in incomprehension of what had actually happened.

"I'm selling myself." He said finally, desperate, and she blinked as if she didn't understand what she had just heard.

He took a drag again, not taking his eyes off her, and let the smoke out through his nose.

"I do all sorts of fucked up things to women for money and get satisfaction out of it, you know?" He asked in a low, trembling voice, feeling devastated how tears of shame one by one began to run down his face.

He felt himself shaking all over and thought he was an idiot, wondering how he could have said that to her. For some reason, he felt something inside him break.

He wanted her to know, to tell him she was disgusted with him, to look at him with that look full of reserve, to tell him it was nothing and just go away simply to let him finally stop thinking about her.

He saw her tighten her lips, her eyes turning red, her eyebrows arching in sorrow as if she was in pain as he was. He felt a pleasant shudder when her hand stroked gently through his hair as if he were a small child, and then she hugged her face to his cheek and simply remained silent.

She didn't say anything.

She stayed.

She wanted to comfort him.

Delighted at this revelation, he burst out into a quiet, mournful sob, leaned over and snuggled his face into her neck, wanting to hide from his own shame and remorse, from what she might think of him, from what he feared and could not forgive himself for.

Why did he have to be like this?

Why exactly did this give him fulfilment?

He sighed quietly as she put her arms around him and hugged him, her soft hand stroking his cheek with gentle, slow movements, her face nestled against his hair and placing a gentle kiss on it.

"You didn't do anything wrong." She whispered finally; he swallowed hard, rubbing the tip of his nose against her neck, brushing his lips gently against her bare skin, again, and then again.

He felt her tremble and tighten her hands on his leather jacket, his manhood in his trousers completely hard.

He had no idea what had just happened between them, but he didn't want to stop.

After a moment, as his emotions left him he realised what he had done.

That he had told a complete stranger about who he was, revealed to her his darkest secret.

This thought made him panic − he got up abruptly and mumbled through his tears that he would go home already, that he apologised to her for everything, not listening to her pleas to wait for her, running quickly down the stone stairs, walking ahead.

He looked over his shoulder as he turned into the corner of the next street and noticed with some kind of disappointment that she was not following him.

He burst out into uncontrollable sobs for the second time once he had locked himself in his car having complete chaos in his head, feeling that he was going through some kind of panic attack.

He thought that until he'd met her he hadn't felt this way, that the idea that he couldn't date her because of what he'd done made him start to regret it all.

What was he supposed to do now?

He reached for his phone hearing it vibrate and unlocked it quickly seeing as many as three new messages from her.

He clenched his eyelids, dropping his phone on the other seat, hiding his face in his hands.

He needed to calm down.

He sat like that for a few minutes in silence, not thinking about anything, just breathing, and then he drove home as if nothing had happened.

He entered his flat, took a shower, ate something and then turned on the TV, all mechanical, completely empty; he shuddered when he got a new message, reaching uncertainly for his phone and felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach when he saw it was one of his clients.

She wanted to meet the next day.

No, he thought.

I don't want to.

He wrote her back that he was taking a break from it all for a while.

He was infuriated when she started texting him to tell him not to do it, that she needed him, that meeting him made her want to go on living.

He slammed his phone furiously into the wall.

What about what he fucking needed?

When he picked it up after several minutes he found that it worked despite the cracked screen.

He accessed the last messages he'd received from Robert's sister and began typing quickly to her on his phone's keypad.

He pressed his lips together when he saw that she immediately displayed his message, a bubble popped up in his app window indicating that she had just written back to him.

He swallowed loudly, writing her back without thinking, without controlling himself, allowing himself to shamelessly write her exactly what was in his head.

He stared at the screen with a pounding heart, wondering whether to do it or not, walking restlessly around his living room with his phone in his hands − he typed out the answer slowly, feeling that he was hot.

She didn't reply for a long time even though he could see that she had displayed his message.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, laughing despairingly under his breath, not believing how desperate he was.

He'd known it from the moment he'd seen her, when she'd gotten off that fucking bike and looked at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers.

He stood looking at her message as if stupefied, reading it again and again, unable to believe it, feeling like he was about to die from the arousal and heat he felt in his chest, his fingers trembling as he tapped out his reply to her.

And so she did.

He didn't dare propose to meet her alone, knowing how that would have gone down on his part.

He didn't want to scare her off.

However, they wrote with each other for days, even during his classes; Criston and Robert laughed at him for having a girlfriend and not even wanting to introduce her to them.

He didn't care.

She was the first person he told about how it all started, what he felt when he did it, what aroused him and what repulsed him about it all.

She listened to him and answered him with sincere concern and worry, without judging him, without pretending it was a simple and obvious subject, giving him a sense of comfort and understanding.

He made it clear to her that he had refrained from any contact with strange women for the time being.

He licked his lower lip as he lay back in his bed, writing her off quickly.

He swallowed hard when she wrote him back after a moment.

He felt a squeeze in his heart at her words, some kind of pain that she thought of herself that way, that she saw herself as just another person he wanted to take out on.

He chuckled involuntarily, typing back a quick response to her question.

He blinked, looking at his screen with a pounding heart, not believing what he read.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[sehtoast]

Live and Let Love (Homelander x OC)

18+ | 1.1k, p*rn without plot, p*rn with feelings, biting, bruising, marking, mirrorlander, aggressive sex, degradation, homie and mirrorlander internal dialogue, spidersona oc, loose followup | Fic Directory

Nails bite into the flesh of the web-head's hips, pulling him back hard and fast for every punishing thrust into his warm, wet heat. 

This had been promised to Benjamin back then. Back when he'd stumbled upon Homelander pressing his used underwear to his nose, breathing deep and fucking his fist to completion– moaning the bug's name so very beautifully. 

After the shame of being caught settled in and John retreated into his own psyche, his other self emerged. Coerced Ben into a position he was actually all too happy to fall into, and damn near was the one who fucked him that day. Except, he managed to get his darling Johnny to reemerge just in time to share that special moment. 

Now, his other half is out to play. 

A hand moves to grip Ben's hair and force his gaze into the mirror. “Pathetic,” Homelander grits. “Fuckin’ drool goin' down your face and everything. My cock that good, bug boy?” 

Ben answers with a weak moan and useless nod of his head. He's lost track of time, of how many times he's come, of how many spanks to his ass and bites to every inch Homelander could reach have marked him for at least the next week. 

But this is what the bug deserved. Too much teasing, too much and not fucking enough for his star-spangled lover. Didn't he know what he did to Homelander? A super suit of spandex, an ass that fucking nice, the sound of his heart hammering and the scent of his pussy drooling after every little in-between-work flirt, every little makeout in the corridors. 

It was like his mere fucking existence was enticing. And the way he was so goddamn sweet… Even the thinly contained violence within the man made god couldn't control himself. Each gentle touch amounted to a lifetime of tenderness that called to him, beckoned him out to partake in that for which he's always yearned. 

Johnny got it all. Wasn't it time for him to have a taste? 

Don't break him! 

Relax, champ. Homelander coos. Benny-boy and I are just having our fun. I won't break your toy. 

He snarls as he drives hard and deep into the bug, reveling at each clench of that delicious cunt around his thick cock. 

“Look at yourself,” he commands, stilling just long enough to pull Benjamin up, back flush to his chest. He grips the boy's jaw, grinning wolfishly at their reflection. His little spider has endured him for hours now, but it will never be enough. No nebula of bruises will suffice, no handprint will last long enough, and no blood-dribbled bite mark will be as permanent as he needs. 

Not even the sight of come drenching his thighs was enough to placate how fucking badly he needs to claim Benjamin. That's what he gets for dangling all that fucking love and kindness in front of him. It’s what he deserves. 

Homelander snakes a hand down to rub Benjamin's abused clit, making the boy keen, nice and pathetically. 

“Embarrassing, isn't it? How easy you are to take apart.” He suckles at a bloody bite mark on the boy's neck, letting off with a wet pop that doesn't quite deafen the pitiful little whimper cried for him. “I can see it inside of you, you know.” Another bite, each word accentuated with sharp snaps of his hips. “You're so full of my come. Still not enough for you, is it? You're a greedy little thing, but I'm worse.”

Homelander shoves Ben face first into the bed and lets loose, hips pistoning, hand spanking his cheeks raw while the other bites crescents that he hopes will never fade. 

Fuck– be gentle! 

“Mine to break, mine to fuck– mine, mine, mine! All fucking mine!”

He finishes with a roar, jerking Benjamin back onto his cock one last time to ram good and deep. Homelander loses just a shred of that composure, falling forward to press his fuzzy chest to Benjamin's back, grinding in slow circles. “Feel so fuckin’ good, bug boy. You–” 

Whatever snarky words he had cooking are cut short by a trembling hand reaching back to scritch at his scalp. He grabs Ben's forearm tight, ready to reprimand him, but… 

Isn't he sweet? 

His lip curls for but a moment, rage searing in his gut at being patronized, but then–

“Love you…” 

Love? Love!? 

Imagine that… 

It's vile, it's pathetic, it's… 

His grip slackens just the slightest bit as he stares contemplatively. The bug loves him. Fully aware and not at all confused about which facet of his lover had come out to play. Violence and cruelty, volatility and rage– all those marks and injuries that will surely leave him pained for days before that pesky healing factor fades the evidence of their coupling, and he fucking loves him. 

The first to ever say it to him, let alone mean it.

Every neuron in his mind screams to sink his teeth in and never let go, but he does something else. 

Something… wrong. 

He slips free and turns the bug, grips his chin, and takes him in a kiss so very unlike himself. Instead of biting and forcing his tongue inside, Homelander pecks slowly, body nestled slack against Benjamin's as he indulges in such a foreign act of tenderness. 

To make it even worse, the bug reciprocates perfectly. Strokes his face, legs hugging him at the waist. 

He doesn't know what to do. 

Accept it. Let him love us. Let him love you. 

What if he leaves us? 

Well… you haven't scared him off yet. Odds are lookin’ pretty good.

Mm, he made it past your one-pump-chump performance the first time around, too. 

Won him over, didn't it? 

When they part, Homelander can't deny the way Benjamin's gaze tugs at his heart. He's sleepy and worn out, sure, but that tenderness is still there. Still full of love. 

No fear. No disgust. No regret. 

“You can stay, too, y'know…”

And that throws him so completely off guard. Homelander figured Ben would be asking for ‘his Johnny’ by now. Coaxing his sweetheart back to the surface with kisses and calming words to the man he is now. 

“I–” he tries, suddenly stumbling over his own tongue. 

“S'okay, you know? You're allowed.” Ben murmurs, slowly nudging Homelander to rest his head upon his chest. 

It's so strange, he could scream. He's heard this heartbeat a million times over, but this time is so much better than ever before. It's for him. 

This time is for him. 

“Want you to…”

We're torching the planet if anything ever happens to him. 

Glad we're in agreement… 

[agent-8449]

The Negatives: Masterpost

"Howdy there, to the audience beyond the screen! I'm your host Eris, and this is Late Nights With Disharmonia..."

The Negatives AU was borne, long long ago, by me fucking around with the ancient joke of Soul 2. Mind 2, Heart 2, Whole 2, etcetera. It evolved into something more sophisticated if light-hearted, and now it's psychological horror. Oops!

Firstly; Eris, this Whole, is American. That's the first part of the joke. The second is that he's supposedly everything a normal golden Whole isn't-- loud, confident, in control. The third part is that he's exactly like a normal Whole in those respects anyway. He might have willed away the loop amnesia, but this cold war he's started with himself might be worse.

Total and godlike control of his own Psyche means nothing if he can't stop himself from splitting anyway. His Thirds know what he does, and they're horrible like him too.

Phobos, the Green Heart, is the distillation of what Eris thinks makes him different to other people; acting and ingenuity, sure, but also a casual disregard for their wellbeings and a violent streak. His impulsive, or intrusive, thoughts.

Deimos, an Orange Mind, is what Eris believes the world wants him to be; a pencil-pushing pushover, dull and boring and content with mundanity. Deimos might be calculative, but that's in the literal sense. He's a calculator, with about as much personality.

Nemesis is where it gets interesting. This Teal Soul isn't needed to pretend to be him at all, not really. He's less so Identity, and more... self-hate. Sure, Eris intended for him to be an embodiment of social pressure/"cringe culture", yet all that's done is make his Soul even more viscerally self-aware of the futility of this all. Nemesis was built to hate. To hate what Eris wants to be-- to be critical, never-pleased, and cynical. By god does Nemesis fulfill these criteria. Because-- well-- what is he supposed to do? Not hate this? This insufferable, useless war? These two tumours Linked to his thoughts? The fact that him hating at all is decreed by Eris, and he's playing his role perfectly? So he hates, quietly. The other two overpower him, and Eris uses him again and again and again for the things he himself doesn't want to do.

What a cheery quartet!!!

The delicate balance of Whole and Thirds was disrupted by their additions to the chat. Entirely sick of <making his Thirds> running Youtube content farms, Eris seeks a way to monetize this supernatural happening. Mixed with his total control of his Psyche <due to being his Psyche>, it's a recipe for something finally interesting. Eris is more of a filmmaker than a songwriter, and to create The Perfect Story is his goal. If only it was that easy. Pretending to be nice and helpful in chat, in order to lure somebody over, did not go very well at all. Neither did exploiting the phenomenon of his self-duplication; the fact that sending constructs from his Psyche is literally sending chunks of his Psyche, i.e., him. If they're in the right shape to walk and talk and think like him, well, they do! Eris clones 3 and 4 both met separate grisly demises.

Why? Long story short, they're filled with assumption goop, and if Reality questions that too hard, it becomes real goop. They melt. This is what happened to 3. 4..... got beheaded. By Nemesis. OOPS! Turns out the breaking of the pattern gave the Whole-adoring Heart and Mind enough grievances for Nemesis to convince them to murder him. And thus ended a doomed attempt at coexistence. The following month unsupervised screwed up Eris' life, too, on his return. Punishment only made them hate him more, and now it's all collapsing...

Now, desperation makes men do terrible things.

This is all a very quick summary of the Negatives, of course. Feel free to ask for clarifications! I might even respond in-character... Toodles for now!