#i am still learning how to plot but whatever

[autisticlancemcclain]

previous chapter

———

Coran’s final word rings through the ancient room. For a moment everyone stays frozen, relaying Coran’s haunting story in their heads, reeling from the severity of all they’ve learned.

Then that moment turns into another.

And another.

“Okay,” Hunk says, when it’s clear that Coran is not giving any further instructions. “How do we go about this…search?” He looks pointedly at the various floating balls of light around the giant room, impossibly high shelves, and incorporeal artefacts and literature. “Is there some sort of ancient Altean database search?”

There’s a poorly faked cough from beside Keith, Lance rapidly looking away to hide his grin at Hunk’s dry comment. Coran looks at the two of them judgementally, eyebrows raised, before answering.

“Of course not,” he chides, as if its obvious. “The Lions were the first piece of technology to successfully work alongside concentrated quintessence. This place has been around long before that.”

“Right,” Hunk says, throwing his hands up in exaggeration. “Of course. How stupid of me to ask.”

The sarcasm flies right over Coran’s head, who looks pleased at Hunk’s concession. Despite his situation, and the time limit he’s sure he’s on, Keith has to fight down laughter.

“I think what Hunk is looking for is instructions,” Shiro says diplomatically when Coran once again lapses into silence. “The specific kind, if you don’t mind. Reminder that when the castle first started construction there was only single-celled life on Earth, so we’re a little behind.”

Coran snorts. “No need to exaggerate, Number One, I’m happy to explain.”

The humans make brief eye contact with each other, visibly and wordlessly communicating, before simultaneously deciding to drop it.

“Everything here, as you can observe, is related to quintessence,” Coran begins to explain. Finally. (Keith loves the man, seriously, but he’s not known as one to get to the point.) “As, of course,” he nods at Keith, “is your problem. To solve a problem relating to quintessence, you need to use it.”

“So it’s a fight fire with fire situation,” Lance surmises.

Coran nods. “More or less. Now, join hands and close your eyes.”

Pidge grabs Keith’s left hand and squeezes, smiling, which along with making him feel especially supported and loved — Pidge is most definitely very affectionate, but rarely is her affection so unmasked, it means a great deal to Keith that she knows he needs it and she’s being so brazen with it now — reminds him quite ardently that Lance’s hand is still tangled with his. He smiles wider.

“Pay attention, now,” Coran says, snapping Keith out of his thoughts. “All of you must sink into each other the same way you do when you’re forming Voltron. When you do so, your quintessence will be entwined as one, and your desires will no longer be of one individual person but instead of many presences, as one.”

“That makes no sense,” Hunk mutters.

“Your face makes no sense,” Lance shoots back.

“Shut up, goober.”

Allura laughs. Shiro shushes the lot of them, but Keith knows he’s holding back a smile himself.

Adept at dealing with the lot of them — they are, objectively, annoying — Coran continues right on. “All that raw energy in one place is attractive to all other energy in the area. If you were all to hone your energy on one specific desire, one specific type of quintessence, it would be easier to attract. So after I finish speaking, all of you are going to focus as intently as you can, on yourselves and each other, as you are used to doing, and then together you are going to search for what will become clear.”

As usual with anything to do with quintessence, the instructions are vague, contradictory. But more pressing than any frustrations at unclarity is Keith’s fear — that this will fail, that his quintessence will remain warped, that he will lose Lance again and again and again, that there will be nothing he can do to stop it. The fear eats at him; angry almost at being held at bay for as long as he’s held onto Lance, bubbling right under his skin. His breathing picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly, and his gloves become slick with sweat. Memories of Lance flash through his mind, rapidly, never lasting even one full second; Lance, face down on the floor of an Empire warship, hole through his head, Lance, covered in spatters of blood in the training room, skin torn and ripped, Lance, incinerated into nothing. Bile rises in his throat as images of Lance, dead and injured and dying, are all he can see; copper floods his mouth as he remembers the scent of iron in the air, blaster fire rings in his ears, his heart rate skyrockets —

You are your own worst enemy, a voice chides, and then something cool and crackly and something else Keith can’t put a name too envelops his mind, cutting off the string of memory, filling his senses with the smell of lavender and sunshine and the sound of constant humming.

Lance.

Lance is barely established as a chiding presence in Keith’s mind before five more surges of energy come rushing in: the most familiar to him, strong and steady and goofy , a smaller, sparky surge of energy, a buzzing energy that gives the impression of an old, impossibly huge Redwood, an energy that feels like the first bite of a warm cookie, and one that Keith can only describe as hot pink.

Shiro. Pidge. Coran. Hunk. Allura.

His family.

The six of them encircle him, crowding his mindscape, forcing out the strangling memories of his deepest fears. They entangle themselves with him, strung up like a wired earbuds left in a pocket; their quintessence, entwined as one, no longer one individual person but many presences, as one.

It feels like strength. It feels like hope. It feels like family.

It feels like Voltron.

There’s not so much a verbal or mental command so much as there’s a universal desire for one thing. Outside of their mortal bodies, outside of a physical realm, they’re capable of more than is possible, and suddenly sifting through all the quintessence in the massive, ancient room is no longer an impossibility but simply a reality. In a way that Keith can’t quite process but is aware that he is doing, they surge their energy forward, in some way, comparing it instantly which every other ball of potential in the area, searching for what they’re looking for.

The Answer is at the near ceiling of the cave; dark, heavy, not much a presence so much as a lack of one. It’s foreboding, not as bright as everything else nor as dark as maligned energy feels. Something separate, something they have never felt before.

Instantly they wrap around it, pulling it back down, to where they stand. They pull back away from each other, gently untangling and sinking back into themselves. It’s extremely disorienting, like walking up tangled in bedsheets and trying to pull yourself free while only half awake. Keith’s vision is blurry when he’s finally home in his own body again, and it takes him several blinks too clear it.

Floating in between them, still and unmoving, is the fix to his clusterfuck.

———

next chapter

[cannimumsable]

The pattern is that people straight up do not read™. or they read a 3-5 tweet summary of what happened and treat it as if they did. or because shonen expectations based on "the classics" is bullshit and significantly rotted people's brains when deciding wether an ending is good or not.

Which could be nothing right

yeahhh. i will forever regret reading the last chapter through leaks because it was a dreadful experience, and watching everyone ever shit on it for like a week after genuinely made me want to just get off the internet forever or something because i felt like an idiot for liking the ending (all this is my fault for getting too invested in both tumblr and mha etc etc).

All the "it's rushed" and pacing complaints barely matter to me at this point because you just cannot feel the pacing of something correctly when you're reading it exclusively through leaks. you can't absorb info like that. And don't get me started on the number of complaints and criticisms I've seen of the last chapter that are just provably bullshit (I saw someone say Izuku didn't get a statue lmao. yes he did, you just read the fucking leaks and watched twitter drama unfold instead of reading the actual chapter i fear).

[tizeline]

TSAU Season 1 Finale - Part 1

It's about damn time I go over the TSAU's version of the remaining season 1 finale, as well as episode 1 of season 2, so HERE WE ARE! I am too lazy to adapt the entire thing into a proper comic, especially considering several plot points remain rather unchanged from canon, so we're doing whatever this format is instead.

(You should read Cell Talk and Gearing Up before this if you haven't already)

But a quick recap, the Gearing Up comic ended with Draxum in the Dark Armour going up to the surface with Mikey to start with the whole conquering humanity thing. Raph and Leo have offically joined Team Good Guys and they, alongside Donnie, Splinter, April, Shelldon and Mayhem went after Draxum to stop his evil plans.

When they make surface, Draxum and Mikey have already started their rampage and are just kinda wrecking the baseball stadium. The Foot are also at the stadium, clearly still expecting The Shredder to show up or something. Team Good Guys (yes that's their name now) figure it's probably good to try to get whatever info about the Dark Armour they can so April and Mayhem teleport to where The Foot are to try to gather some intel that might help them in the fight against Draxum.

Meanwhile, the others start fighting Draxum and Mikey. Draxum is low-key kinda baffled that Raph just straight up switched teams lmao. Leo is one thing, but Raph has always been so loyal and responsible so it's real suprising that he's completely disobeying orders. None of the Draxum family members are really enthusiastic about fighting each other (except maybe Mikey he's kinda pissed at this point) but they engage in battle anyway. Donnie, Shelldon and Splinter are less hesitant about kicking Draxum's ass and don't really hold their punches lmao. Despite that they're kinda struggling considering both Drax and Mikey are so strong, but that's when April and Mayhem teleport back with that useful intel!

What April learned from her intel-gathering is that The Foot think there is some kind of flaw with the armour, like in canon, you know the deal. What differs from canon is exactly how that flaw occured. Turns out that Donnie when he was younger got a little bit carried away with giving Shelldon cool powerful weapons and Shelldon enced up accidentally shooting up the teapot to smithereens, oopsie! Donnie managed to reassembe it before Splinter saw, but with one of the pieces having gone missing he had to sacrifice his Atomic Lass figurine to plug up the final hole (he's still upset about that to this day btw). BUT POINT IS, like in canon this means that the armour has a obvious weakpoint and if they hit that it might be enough to knock Draxum out of the armour!

You know what happens next, they resume the fighting with this new strategy in mind and eventually they manage to get a lucky hit in and as predicted knocking out the Atomic Lass toy causes Draxum to get knocked out as well. Except YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS and you know it's not quite that easy. Lo and behold, the Atomic Lass figurine was the last thing keeping The Shredder from being resurrected, so now that it's gone? Yeah, the Dark Armour is finally completed, it slurps Draxum's life-force or whatever and then spits him out.

The Shredder is back.

... Except not entirely of course, like in canon he's acting like a wild animal attacking anything that moves, but regardless it's still a new threat they have to deal with. With Draxum being so hurt, Leo makes the decision to portal him back home, and to also send Mikey with him. Both because Draxum probably needs someone to look after him and also Leo doesn't really wanna deal with Mikey's attitude at the moment with everything else going on lmao.

From here on out the battle against Shredder begins. This too goes mostly the same way as in canon, Shredder kinda kicks all of their asses before suddenly teleporting away, and then that song and dance repeats a couple of times before Team Good Guys figure they need a better strategy. Splinter brings up how Big Mama would probably have a way to subdue Shredder, only problem is that it's BIG MAMA and he does NOT wanna go anywhere close to her. In canon Leo brought Splinter with him to BM anyway, but in the AU he kinda respects Splinter, or rather Lou Jitsu, too much to force him to come along. Instead Leo decides he and Raph will go to BM for help, while the others keep Shredder from completely wrecking New York.

The rest of the finale continues in Part 2!

[ssa-dado]

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, smut (implied) Summary: Aaron, ever the strategist, decides that a little wine might help soften the blow of figuring out with you how to tell the team you’re dating. A solid plan - except for one tiny flaw: wine makes him a whore. Warnings: +18, MINORS DNI Hotch is a touch starved whore, a few cuss words here and there, wine gets a bit into both of your heads. Word Count: 5k Dado's Corner: Did I hallucinate this while working on one of the many requests still on my to-do list, only to realize halfway through that it was completely derailing from the main plot - but too cute to abandon? Yes. Is this fun? You tell me (pretty please).

masterlist(s)

One of the many rules you and Aaron had in your relationship was that if you cooked for date night, he was the one doing the dishes.

His idea.

You had been opposed to it at first - not because you minded, of course. You were actually a huge fan of grown men handling household chores without whining like toddlers about how it might somehow demasculate their poor, fragile egos.

No, you were opposed because you didn’t want him doing it out of some sense of obligation.

It took you a while to accept that Aaron wasn’t doing this because he owed you - he was doing it because he wanted to.

Because that was just… Aaron.

Ever the caregiver, always looking for ways to make life easier for the people he loved. He could give you the world and still come to you like a wounded dog, begging for forgiveness because he thought he wasn’t enough.

It was infuriating - for all the deep psychological reasons you could analyze for hours, but also for a much pettier one: when it was his turn to cook, instead of letting you do the dishes like the so-called rule dictated, he just… did them anyway.

And thus, the noble Mr. Clean - brave warrior of dish duty, his arms submerged in treacherous, frothy depths - found himself utterly helpless against the sudden, most dreadful buzzing of his phone.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed!

Stranded, defenseless, bound by duty to his porcelain captors, he could do nothing but stand there, a tragic figure of great importance, cruelly denied his right to immediately bestow his undivided attention upon whatever poor soul dared summon him.

Oh, the agony! The injustice! How swiftly the mighty are humbled… by a sink full of bubbles.

That was because, logically, if even a single drop of water touched his phone, he would instantly lose all of the very important, highly classified FBI secrets stored inside. Of course, phones couldn't possibly be waterproof.

Ha, imagine?! What a concept.

“Who is it?” Aaron asked, still scrubbing at your wine glass like he was trying to erase its entire existence.

Which – by the way - was completely pointless, considering that in less than five minutes, he planned on refilling it with some more. A different wine, yes. But for God’s sake, you weren’t going to die if the last few drops of white mixed with the red.

…What a fussy man.

“Penelope,” you replied, admiring the view.

What a view, really. That man was all legs and no ass, and you were finally learning to appreciate it. 

“Ignore it,” he said, not even turning around.

Unfortunately for him - and for the HR department still blissfully unaware that their most serious, by-the-book boss was fraternizing with a subordinate - you were a profiler.

The U.S. government literally paid your bills every single month because you were exceptionally good at reading people.

And the way he answered? Yeah, that wasn’t the tone of a man casually dismissing an unimportant text. No, that was the tone of a man caught red-handed, scrambling for plausible deniability.

Embarrassed. Secretive. Suspicious. Frankly, if you didn’t already know what he was hiding, you’d be halfway to slapping cuffs on him. Wouldn’t even be the first time.

And so you read it – out loud.

Penelope Garcia, 7:56 PM:

hotch sir hotch bossman sir, i am DYING please tell me if you found out who her mystery boyfriend is i am suffering!!!!!!!! i know you know. i know it in my heart. if you can’t say it just give me a hint. a tiny one. a cryptic riddle. a blink. i will take anything.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

By her, of course, she meant you - because despite a few months of keeping your relationship under wraps, you still hadn’t gotten around to telling the team. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your unwanted, overly nosy adopted children.

That their elusive "mystery boyfriend" was, in fact, your mutual boss.

You were going to tell them. Eventually.

Didn’t know when. But you would.

Then again, it wasn’t like you were surrounded by some of the best profilers in the country, trained to pick up on the slightest behavioral shift.

It’s not like the second two incredibly touch-starved people like you and Aaron started walking around with even a fraction of happiness, that wouldn’t immediately raise suspicions.

…Except, apparently, it hadn’t.

Because somehow, the team had only managed to land on half the conclusion: you were seeing someone.

But Aaron? Not even a blip on their radar.

It was almost impressive, really. The answer was so obvious that they had discarded it entirely, still wandering around in the dark, trying to piece together a puzzle that was sitting right in front of their faces.

Just like Penelope was doing now, so desperate for some reason that she was straight-up asking him outright - when not that long ago, she still thought twice before even making a dirty joke in his presence.

And so, you got up, walked over to Aaron, and held the phone directly under his nose. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at the screen, then at you. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. She always sends me that - I don’t understand what exactly equals the sign of integration”.

…What?

You were suddenly just as confused as he was.

He blinked at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in that utterly sincere, slightly bewildered way of his. “That sign before it,” he said, completely lost. “It looks Chinese. Thought you knew Chinese, sweetheart.”

…What?

Oh, for the love of God.

If this man hadn’t already seen the absolute worst horrors the world had to offer, you would fight for his innocence with your nails, your teeth, and - if absolutely necessary - one of the worst shooting records ever logged in the Bureau.

You looked at the screen again.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

Oh.

Oh, that’s what had confused him.

“Aaron,” you said gently, doing your absolute best not to kiss him right then and there, “that is a cat.”

You sighed, then pointed at the message again. “By the way, the ‘sign’ in the middle is in Korean, not Chinese.”

He looked at the screen again - then back at you. “…Cat equals sign of integration?”

“No, honey,” you said, barely suppressing your smile, tapping the little text emoji. “It’s just a cat.”

He studied it for another second. “Oh.”

There. That did it. You gave in. Leaned in and pressed a loud smooch to his cheek.

At least your dignity was still intact - he had no idea why you’d done it, just assumed it was one of those spontaneous bursts of affection that came with being hopelessly in love.

Honeymoon phase truly did work wonders.

“Do you think I can have the cat too?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of red and a corkscrew.

That was a trap.

Because Aaron Hotchner still signed every single text he sent.

And while it wasn’t an issue when he was sending something standard -

Lawyer, 6:17 PM:

They found a new body, we’re gathering at the precinct in 30.

A.H.

- it became a lot more unsettling when he sent the filthiest, most depraved things you’d ever read, only to end them with that stiff little A.H. like he was dictating official Bureau correspondence.

Lawyer, 11:51 PM:

Sweetheart, if only these stupid walls weren’t so thin, I’d have you right here with me, bent over, face pressed against this mattress, making you come so many times you’d forget your own name. At least three. Maybe four, if I’m feeling generous.

A.H.

So now, standing in his kitchen, watching him pour wine like he hadn’t just permanently scarred you with his painfully bureaucratic approach to sexting, you knew that if you admitted he could simply copy-paste that ‘cat equals integration sign,’ it would only be a matter of time before you were subjected to something truly traumatizing, like -

Lawyer, very-late-office-hour PM:

It’s your fault I’m getting distracted with the paperwork, because I’m still thinking about how good you tasted last night while sitting on my face. God, I can still feel your thighs shaking, you were so sweet for me, honey, so fucking perfect.

P.S. How many reports do you still have left? Because I’ve been thinking about having you on my tongue again before the night is over. I think I’ve got about an hour or so left but then I’m all yours.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

That man could not be trusted with the cat.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades as your fingers brushed over his back. “I don’t think you can get it. She must have programmed it herself into her phone.”

You truly hoped you were as convincing as he was clueless about text etiquette.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, both of your wine glasses in hand as he made his way to the couch. “I would have loved to send you the cat.”

…Of course he would. Smug ass.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted in him - just barely. A pause that didn’t usually belong there... weird.

Still, you followed, watching as he settled in, patting the cushion beside him with a half-smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”

A misleading gesture, considering his legs were very much spread - a much clearer invitation. At least, that’s how you chose to interpret it.

Because you could swear - those legs spoke to you. Called to you. So you slid right into your rightful seat - his lap.

…Would have been rude not to answer.

“Back to Garcia,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh as he handed you your painstakingly polished wine glass - so clean, so immaculately spotless, that the red wine inside looked redder than red. A real masterpiece, Mr. Clean. “She doesn’t seem to be letting up about finding out who you’re dating… This is the fourth message this week.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your wine. “Well, she’s second only to you when it comes to being nosy about gossip.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head, that same small half-smile back on his lips.

That particular smile.

The one he used when he was trying to convince someone he was fine when, in reality, he was not - when he was trying to reassure everyone else while simultaneously refusing to admit, even to himself, that something was eating him alive.

Oh, now you knew what this was about.

He had definitely practiced this conversation in his head - refined it down to the perfect phrasing. Measured. Logical. Reassuring.

A version so well-rehearsed, so carefully constructed, that he’d convinced himself first before trying to convince you - that this didn’t scare him.

That this was just another rational step forward.

That it was fine.

Because if he could make it sound easy, maybe it would be.

Maybe it would give you something solid to lean on, because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were standing on shaky ground with someone just as fractured as he was.

But in the end, even the best-laid words couldn’t withstand the weight of his emotions - whether he liked it or not, even rocks are meant to erode.

“I think it’s time we come clean to the team,” he admitted, completely veering off-script - though, of course, he still made sure to soften the blow with a kiss to your temple.

Not that it made much difference. You both knew this moment was inevitable, but somehow, you’d managed to delude yourselves into thinking that if you just kept putting it off, the perfect time would miraculously appear.

At first, you’d delayed it until things were official.

Then, because you needed to be sure this could work in the long run.

Then, because you wanted time to just enjoy each other.

Truthfully? If it were entirely up to the two of you, you’d probably keep postponing it indefinitely - at least until the day you were both retired, far away from any fraternization rules or painfully awkward team dynamics.

Unless, of course, your eyes had been deceiving you all along, or life decided to be cruel and rip this happiness away from you before you ever even got the chance. All you could do was hope not.

Aaron sighed, watching you carefully. “So, how do you want to do this?”

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his very specific plan of having wine while discussing this was still intact - especially since the very large sip you took the second he asked hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He huffed a laugh.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

“Are we sure we have to?” You groaned, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. It’s the only way to keep them from getting the satisfaction of figuring it out first and do this our way…”

It was his turn to take a long sip now… he surely wasn’t thrilled about the lack of an actual game plan.

“…Still need to figure out what exactly we mean by ‘our way,’” he admitted. “But, you know… that’s what these are for.”

He tapped a finger against his temple, then against yours, clearly implying that your very skilled, highly trained profiler brains would surely work this out.

You, however, were placing your bets on your problem-solving skills drastically improving after a few more glasses of wine, because right now?

“We are so fucked,” you commented.

Aaron clinked his glass against yours, deadpan. “Completely.”

You both took long, slow sips of wine like it might somehow provide divine intervention.

It didn’t. You were indeed left pretty much alone in this.

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Well, you definitely have the face of someone who already has a plan...” You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “...a very handsome face.”

Cheesy. But deserved.

Aaron chuckled. “I believe…” He kissed you on the cheek – twice - before setting his own glass down too. “…We should tell them directly. Get ahead of it. Lay it out as matter-of-factly as possible.”

“Matter-of-factly?”

He nodded, all serious, like he hadn’t just suggested the worst possible approach.

“Sweetheart…” You pinched his cheek, making him scrunch his nose, hoping – more like praying - that it would snap him out of whatever fantasy land of logic, reason, and good intentions he was apparently living in.

“If we tell them directly, Penelope will throw an actual partypersonally design matching t-shirts, and have the entire team wear them.” You paused, leveling him with a look. “And you know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know.”

“Emily and Derek will immediately start making jokes like two middle schoolers who just learned what sex is and will not let us breathe.”

“I know.”

“JJ will be quiet but then ask all of a sudden, ‘So when’s the wedding?’ which will restart the chaos all over again.”

“I know.”

You turned to face him, deadly serious. “Spencer-”

“-Will hit us with a full statistical analysis of workplace relationships,” Aaron finished, exhaling sharply, already bracing himself.

Because there was only one team member left to account for - the worst of them all.

“And… oh God… Dave…”

And with that horrifying realization, he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do - he face-planted directly into your chest with a dramatic, muffled groan of pure defeat.

You blinked down at him, amused. “Honey…”

Why was he even so touch starved like that?

“All I ask,” came his muffled voice, still very much nestled between your breasts, “is five minutes of peace.”

You snorted. “You do realize this isn’t exactly discouraging me from making fun of you, right?”

He sighed again. “You do realize that if you keep laughing, you’re just shoving them further into my face?”

…Damn him and his irritating ability to state the obvious.

You sighed, fingers absentmindedly combing through his short spikes of hair. “…So we’re back to square one.”

Aaron exhaled, still very much face-first in his chosen safe haven. “Unfortunately.”

You hummed, “Okay, hypothetically, if we just… never tell them, how long do you think we could get away with it?”

That was so absurd that it actually made him lift his head. He blinked at you, utterly offended by the suggestion.

“I am not spending the next decade pretending I don’t stare at your ass every time you walk away.”

…Alright. That was definitely the wine talking.

In vino veritas, as the Romans said. Wine makes people say dumb shit: the truth.

“Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Hotchner.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t pretend you’re above it, because I catch you every time you drift off during briefings just to stare right at-”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could fully call you out... he was not happy about it. “We’re both shameless…"

You needed an exit strategy. Fast.

You reached for his wine glass over the coffee table. “Well, at least the bright side of telling them is that we won’t have to schedule our coffee breaks in advance anymore and pretend to look surprised when we see each other.”

And all of that was just for one single moment.

The fleeting brush of fingertips as you handed him the cup you always poured for him.

The way his hand was always warmer than yours, despite the fact that you were the one holding the scalding mug, as if basic thermodynamics simply did not apply to Aaron Hotchner.

And if it was one of those days, sometimes, there’d be a little extra something.

A longer touch.

Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

A slow sip from his cup while still holding your gaze, and suddenly, it felt indecent - like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing in broad daylight, let alone in a federal building.

And now - here, in the comfort of his apartment, with nothing and no one to stop you - he reached for the wine glass you were offering, except… he wasn’t actually reaching for the glass.

He was just holding your hand.

Aaron chuckled, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. “I think we’re holding onto this touch just a little too long,” he murmured, nuzzling into you, his breath warm against your ear. “Might start looking suspicious.”

Didn’t he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, also some-” you started, or at least tried to, because as if everything else wasn’t enough, now he was kissing just behind your ear, his lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, warm, and slow, and wet and… God…

Okay. Okay.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind of a little bit obsessed with him.

Either way, the result was the same: you really, really wanted him right now.

You sighed, tilting your head to grant him a little more access - but not too much, or you might actually end up using the full length of his three-seater couch instead of stubbornly remaining curled up in the same cramped two-foot space you’d unofficially claimed as your own. Ergo - going horizontal with him instead of just being seated on his lap.

“I thought we were having a serious discussion,” you murmured, though the breathy edge to your voice wasn’t exactly helping your case.

Aaron hummed in response, slowly dragging his lips from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw, pressing a kiss at the hinge. “We are.” Another kiss. “What were you starting to say, sweetheart?”

And another one.

You tried to think. Really, you did.

But it was getting increasingly difficult with his mouth still very much on your skin, moving towards places that were making it exponentially harder to form coherent thoughts.

You would’ve made a mental note to never wear anything that resembled a tank top around him again, if only you had the actual brain capacity to form any notes right now.

“Aaron-”

Aaron smirked against your skin. “You were saying?”

…Blank. Absolutely blank.

Your brain stalled for a solid three seconds before mercifully rebooting.

“I-” You licked your lips, cleared your throat. “Penelope.”

That, thankfully, was enough of a keyword to get him to back off - though, the second he did, you already desperately missed the warmth of his mouth on your skin.

He tilted his head, “Penelope?”

You swallowed. “She’s… gonna be beaming.”

Aaron blinked at you. “Beaming.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, because God, he was too cute when he was confused like this. “Her and Kevin have been desperate for another couple to go out with. Ever since JJ and Will stopped leaving the house because they’re too busy baby-proofing every square inch of their lives.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed slightly. “And by ‘go out with,’ you mean double dates.”

You hummed, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. Double dates.”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

His face was resolute. “I’m not doing double dates.”

You squinted at him. “Okay, but why?”

And that’s how you learned that if there was one thing your boyfriend hated - more than messy paperwork, more than delayed flights, more than the Bureau’s budgeting meetings - it was double dates.

Not specifically with Penelope and Kevin. God, no. He was practically the puppet master of their relationship in the first place. Just… double dates in general.

“They’re impractical,” he said.

You snorted. “What do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. “They are a waste of time. You sit there, and for the first fifteen minutes, it’s fine. The usual small talk, polite conversation…”

You nodded, barely biting back a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Honestly, this just sounded like some classic Aaron Hotchner being the most adorable introvert to ever exist.

He shot you a look, deadly serious. “It’s a trap.” You nearly cooed. Adorable. “Because at some point, you end up talking one-on-one with someone from the other couple. And right when the conversation is actually getting interesting-”

He suddenly paused.

His hand started at your shoulder, innocent enough - until it wasn’t, until it drifted lower, fingertips skimming down until they found your thigh, before sliding inward, squeezing your soft flesh there.

“See?” Aaron murmured, voice deceptively casual. “It starts off innocently. A hand on the shoulder…”He angled his fingers just a notch further up your upper thigh. “…Then the thigh. Then-”

He leaned in, kissing you just at the corner of your mouth.

"A little kiss here," he murmured, lips barely brushing your skin.

Then another - softer, lingering just at the very edge of your lips.

"A little peck there."

Okay.

Ahem.

For a man who hated double dates, he was making a very strong case for them.

This was clearly foreplay.

Had to be foreplay.

You chose to interpret it as foreplay.

So, naturally, just as you were about to pull him in properly - to finally taste the wine on his lips – he pulled back.

Mixed signals whore.

“And then,” he continued, and you swore his voice had gotten even lower - sluttier, if you were being honest - "it escalates.”

...Wine-induced yapper. "Because one couple decides a little peck isn’t enough, so they turn and start devouring each other’s faces… in public.”

The wine that was in your system, instead, suggested you should have him biblically, right here, right now, on his couch.

“Care to demonstrate this part too?” You licked your lips, tilting your head.

Aaron sighed “Honey.” You knew you were in trouble the moment he smirked. “You’re demonstrating my point…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…You want more.” Aaron tutted, shaking his head, feigning disappointment. “Of course you want more. A chaste kiss isn’t enough. How could it be, sweetheart?”

Hell yes you wanted more.

Badly.

You might have even nodded without meaning to.

“But imagine if this was happening in public. In front of two other people. What about them?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dropping into something dark, silky, dangerous. “In front of two other people.”

You swallowed, very much not thinking about them right now.

“Because at that point, they only have two choices: they either sit there - third-wheeling, watching - or…” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide over your bare waist, gripping, pulling you that much closer. "… they start doing it too."

Your breath hitched. “Aaron-”

"With just a kiss, it creates an environment," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear, "where both couples get competitive. Where they start copying each other - but making it more…"

He dragged his nose along the curve of your jaw, the ghost of his lips tracing just behind it. "Passionate."

A teeth-grazing kiss against your pulse.

A slow drag of his lips down the column of your throat, before he made his way back up, tilting your chin up with his fingers just so, forcing you to look at him.

And God, that look.

"More tongue," he continued, letting you see it first - his own darting out, wetting his lips just before he brushed them over yours.

Not kissing.

Not yet.

“More biting.” Aaron caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just enough to confirm what you already knew -

He tasted like red wine.

Rich. Dark. Addictive.

And so did you.

“More touching.” His hand drifted, fingertips just skimming over your ribs, teasing along the underside of your breast - so close, so close, before he let it trail lower again, just as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"More sounds."

You barely bit back the breathy, desperate little moan clawing its way up your throat because -

Aaron shoved you off his lap.

In one fluid motion, he shifted, pressing you back into the couch, caging you in beneath him, his arms bracketing either side of your head.

His knee slotted between your thighs, pressing up just slightly - just enough to make you gasp, make your hips twitch without thinking.

You were pretty sure now that this was, in fact, foreplay.

“At that point,” he murmured, lowering himself, pressing his body against yours, pinning you down with nothing but his weight, “if you’re already getting ideas…”

Aaron rolled his hips against you, his knee shifting just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. “…it’s better off just staying home. Because at least then,” he whispered, “we can do this.”

And then he kissed you. Properly.

Deep and hungry, pressing you down into the cushions until you moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer as one of his hands slipped under your shirt.

“You-” you swallowed, trying to find words, but he stole them from you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You expect me to believe this is why you hate double dates?”

“I expect you to understand,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your neck, “that if I ever go on one…” he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “…I’ll be thinking about this the entire time.”

Then - click.

The sound of the button of your pants being undone, followed shortly by the hiss of your zipper. You felt the warmth of his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, resting over your hip bone.

Well, fuck.

“You’ll be sitting across from me,” he continued, voice so unfairly composed, so infuriatingly smooth, “pretending to listen to whatever they’re taking about.”

He tilted his head, kissing along your collarbone, then much lower. You made a mental note to always wear anything resembling a tank top in his presence from now on.

“And the entire time…” his fingers dipped just slightly beneath the elastic of your underwear.

You shuddered. “Aaron.”

He hummed, pleased - so deeply pleased - before finally sliding lower, his fingers finally brushing right where you needed him most.

You whimpered.

“I’ll be remembering,” he murmured, “exactly how you sound right now.”

Your back arched into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as his fingers moved.

“And how you look,” he added, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, “when you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched-

And then.

Then-

He stopped.

Just - stopped.

His hands left you completely as he leaned back, settling onto his knees above you, looking far too pleased with himself.

You gaped at him, betrayed. “Are you kidding me?”

Aaron just smirked, gaze flicking over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uneven breathing, the way your body was still desperately aching for him.

“See?” he shrugged, voice so damn smug. “This is why I hate double dates.”

How funny would it be if these ended up being his last words?

You huffed, adjusting yourself on the couch, crossing your arms like you weren’t still ridiculously turned on and very annoyed about it. “Alright, you know what? Fine. No need to suffer through a double date if we just… conveniently wait to tell the team about us until after JJ and Will start going back out with Penelope and Kevin.”

Aaron smirked.

At least you’d both come to an agreement - the exact same procrastination tactic you’d been using, just with a new and improved excuse attached.

“…Smart girl.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathing heavily, still so deeply unsatisfied, as Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, then stood, stretching his arms.

“I’ll clean the wine glasses,” he mused, already heading toward the kitchen. “And then I’ll be back to you.”

You stared at him.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder, smirking.

You huffed, sarcastic, “glad we could work this out.”

You were not glad. Not at all. Especially because not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a text.

From him.

From Mr. Clean himself, who was currently just a couple rooms away from you.

Lawyer, 8:43 PM:

Sweetheart, I hope you're ready, because I’m going to spread you out on that couch and fuck you so deep, you’ll still feel me when you sit at your desk tomorrow.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

"Garcia just told me how to get the cat," came his voice from the kitchen - so damn smug you could hear the smirk in it, followed the sound of his footsteps getting closer.

Before you could turn, before you could say anything, he was there - leaning in from behind the couch, arms sliding around you, caging you in, whispering into your ear -

"It was just a simple copy-paste."

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe2

[samsmissingshoee]

ANGEL — SAM WINCHESTER.

SUMMARY — sam starts to grow fond of an angel. they have grown more comfortable around each other, and tensions run high when dean leaves for a bar.

WARNINGS — no plot all porn... 18+, softdom!sam, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, f!receiving, unexperienced!reader, angel!reader, LOTS of praise, biting, creampie, mentions of religion, sam's a sweetheart. he's also a freak.

WC — 4.3k. i got carried away.

A/N — i feel like i'm going to hell just from the warnings alone. i erm. i don't even know. shout out the two people who asked to get tagged in this 🙏 first ever smut fic, if you hate i'll probably delete my account. i am not editing 4.3k words btw. i'm lazy.

angels weren't supposed to enjoy the feeling of a human. that much was well known.

and when you came from heaven to assist castiel in whatever the hell it was that he was doing, that was repeated to you over and over again. these 'humans', they weren't important. your only job was to make sure sam winchester didn't get hurt. that was all this was supposed to be. a casual round of protecting the winchesters.

you didn't understand human norms, and at first, sam didn't like you. you didn't take personally, of course, because, well, sam hated any angel at first. castiel quickly explained to you about the brother's and how you'd be spending more time with them while he awaited directions. honestly, you couldn't care less about either of the brothers, too. they were hunters, and you were an angel. you weren't supposed to mix anyway.

sam winchester was more interesting than his older and shorter brother, though. sam was thoughtful and a lot more curious about you than he let on at first. as you spent more time 'watching' over him, you realized he enjoyed asking you questions about heaven, and the angels, and about castiel. and you tried to answer them to the best of your ability.

sam was more open to learning about you than dean, and he was more considerate when it came to teaching you knew things. slowly, he started defending you against dean's antics, and he learned about how curious you were, too.

he spent many late nights awake with you, struggling with his insomnia. you made it much more enjoyable. on the off chance that he did get some sleep, he'd wake up to you in the bunker, lounging and reading one of his books. as soon as you saw him awake, you'd pounce on him, eager to talk all about it.

sam found you endearing in the same way you found him intriguing. you both taught each other different things. he taught you about different emotions and how to communicate them to him. he showed you his favorite movies. he told you about his time in standford and about how he was studying law. you taught him about the bible, about praying and how you'd always come if he prayed for you. you taught him about heaven and hell, and angels and everything in between.

eventually, you two become friends, as much as younger sam would have hated to admit that. he showed you what friendship was and what it was like to worry about someone more than yourself. he explained to you what love was and about heartbreak. sam watched as you turned from this unemotional, blunt angel into a person, crafted by the things you loved.

you two kissed about six months after hunting with him. you were unexerienced, and painfully so, and your first kiss was nothing but giggles and awkward stares. the second, third, and fourth ones weren't any better. sam was ridiculously dotting and patient, and even though you were an angel and didn't understand what a relationship was, you still tried for him, and he loved you for it.

after a week of sneaky kisses and rushing into each other's rooms once dean fell asleep, you seemed to have gotten the hang of it. you and sam hadn't done anything remotely sexual other than a few hands-under-the-bra's and one /bad/ attempt at a handjob. sam was enthralled in watching you become more confident and learning how to touch him the way that he liked and how to kiss him properly. so he didn't mind taking things slow.

you two agreed to not have sex yet, partially because to you, it was a sin, and partially because you didn't know what you were doing. sam had no issue waiting. that was, until tonight.

you don't even remember how this happened, honestly — the lingering touches became more frequent, more needy, and at some point, sam had slipped you out of your shirt and bra. you'd barely even made it to his room /thank god for dean being out at a bar tonight/, before he was kissing you, his lips hiding something more intense tonight.

you wouldn't have protested anyways, but as soon as your shirt was gone, sam was all over you.

"i know it feels dirty, honey. but it's not. i wouldn't lie to you." sam hums against your throat, kissing the soft skin. when he talks like that, all low and soothing, you might just believe anything he says. he pulls back to look at your concerned expression, and his smile softens.

his movement stills, and you frown, almost wishing sam would convince you to do more. that feeling in your stomach, the one that felt close to nausea, started to feel nice. and you craved more of it. you craved more of sam.

although his desire outweighed his guilt for ruining the purity of an angel like this, sam still sat up for a moment, his hazel eyes practically begging you. he was nothing, if not a gentleman. "do you want this?" sam asks, hushed and spoken like a prayer, and you think you might get sent to hell just from how he's looking at you.

sam's hair is a ruffled mess, and his long sleeve black shirt was rolled up to his elbows. his carhartt jacket had long been discarded by you, tossed somewhere into the dark abyss that was the dingy, horribly lit motel room. he looks beautiful.

"i do, sammy, but—" you breathe out shakily. before you can finish answering, his hands are on your hips, tugging you closer to him. you're both standing up, his large hands moving up your skirt to trail up your sides. sam can feel your back arch against his hands slightly, and it's taking everything in him to not lose his resolve.

san, who previously said he was okay with waiting, felt like a selfish man tonight. he could honestly care less about your innocence right now. what he did care about was you, though. sam knew that if you wanted him to continue, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"but what?" sam mumbled, his fingertips digging against your hips. his erection was pressed dangerously against your thigh. he shifted you until you were pressed against him — he knew what he was doing and the effect it was having on you. you didn't answer and could only grumble a complaint out.

"just needa taste you, honey. we don't have to go all the way if you don't want to." sam's words are a contradiction to how he was staring at you. "although, i have thought about doing more." he hums, and he has a slight shit eating grin on his face. it's sort of surprising that this is your sweet sammy.

you're conflicted— this is wrong. sinful. but there was a bubbling heat in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to make sam feel good. maybe a part of being human was indulging in your sins. you pout at him slightly, and sam has to stop himself from moving his hips up against you. he doesn't just want this, he needs this. he needs to corrupt you, to ruin your innocence until all you can think about is him.

"fine. be gentle, though, sam. i mean it." you relent, although you didn't need much convincing. honestly, if he tried to pull off of you, you'd be the one begging him to touch you and not the other way around.

"oh, fuck—" sam groans, and he almost instantly falls to his knees. his hands are tugging off your jeans faster than you can process. "you don't know how long i've wanted this." his tone makes you feel dirty, and you can't help when your brows crumple into a slight glare. you didn't know what he was doing, but you wanted him to hurry it up.

you help him kick your jeans off around your ankles and step out of them. you're left in your cotton panties, and for some reason, it turns sam on more to know you weren't planning for this. honestly, neither was he.

"leave these on." two fingers slip underneath the elastic by your thigh, tugging them and letting them go, the fabric snapping against your skin. the action makes you suck in a breath. sam's lips make their way to your upper thighs, sucking and kissing at the sensitive skin. it's not enough, and he knows that. he's driving you crazy on purpose to see you squirm for him.

"sam—" you chastise, like a scold, your hand running through his hair and tugging on it gently, trying to bring your hips closer to him. sam fucking moans. he moans at getting his hair pulled, and it makes your brows crease in bewilderment. /you would definitely be keeping that in mind./

sam looks up at you with those same puppydog eyes, and you swear you're going to burst into literal flames and have your wings removed instantly. "needa taste my girl's pussy. y'gonna let me?" sam says softly, his voice muffled by your thigh, gently biting on a spot. when you whimper, he pulls back to kiss at the forming bruise, his hands massaging at the fat of your ass.

truth be told, you'd probably let him fold into a pretzel at this point, but you didn't want to stroke his massive ego.

the noise you make is answer enough, and sam deftly pulls your panties to the side. his hand brings yours to hold them. he needs *both* hands for devouring you. sam's two middle fingers move to collect your slick from your folds, and you shiver. his brows raise, and he smiles again. "you're soaked, baby. you really want me that bad?" he asks, and you're nodding quickly.

sam can't hold back when you look this pretty above him. you can feel his breath against you. even just looking at you bare in front of him is enough to make him want to cum in his fucking jeans.

he flattens his tongue against you, and your hips stutter against his mouth. you've never felt anything like this before. you can feel sam's grin against your cunt, his hands cupping into your ass and pulling your hips further into his mouth.

seeing such a large man, especially one like sam, at his knees, lapping at your pussy like a fucking starved man— it makes your head fuzzy.

without warning, his middle finger slips into you. your hands move to his hair to steady yourself, massaging at the brown strands, pushing some from off his sticky forehead. the concentration on his face is almost cute, but it soon becomes too hard to keep your eyes open.

another finger slips past your folds, and you're mouthing his name like a prayer. his fingers are rocking into you at a slow speed, but his mouth— it was fucking dirty, the way he'd suck on your clit, only pulling away to breathe. everytime he pulled away, a string of saliva followed, connected between you two. his chin was slick with your arousal, his chest panting with heavy breaths. and then he was right back to devouring you.

maybe sam winchester was the devil.

your hands tug on his hair slightly, and sam groans against you. the heat in your stomach was building and sam was near drunk on your pussy. when he looked up at you with those hazel eyes, you moaned, your thighs tremoring.

"sam— sam, it feels too good... please—" you breathed out, panting too now, and sam didn't relent, no matter how hard you were tugging at his hair. his hand was holding your hip hard not daring to let you squirm away from him. indents of his fingertips would ruin your pretty skin by the morning. you had to shy away from his intense gaze.

sam pulled away, still fucking his fingers into you. "eyes on me, baby." he mumbled, before sinking flush against your clit again. you listened, although your face was an embarrassing hue of pink. sam was just as loud and needy, if not worse than you. everytime your thighs clenched around him, or you tugged on his hair, profanities and groans slipped from his lips. he needed you.

sam kept his tongue latched onto you, his eyes showing that he was as desperate as you were to make you cum. the noises he was making were filth, soft grunts and groans, all muffled by your puffy pussy. when your eyes flickered down, you noticed that one of his hands were palming himself through his jeans.

with every shake and spasm, it was like sam knew you were close. he was using his hands to rock your hips more onto his tongue, your weight practically suffocating him. sam would gladly die a happy man in between your folds, if it meant getting to look up at your beautiful face contorting in pleasure. his chest swells at the fact that he is the one who gets to touch you like this.

that feeling returned as quickly as it left, and soon you were cumming on his face, your legs shaking as he kept his fingers curled into your folds. that was probably the best thing you'd felt since coming to earth. sam pressed a kiss to your overstimulated clit, before kissing up your stomach, your breasts, collarbone, and finally standing to his full height over you.

"how was that?" sam asks, licking the wetness off his fingers. as much as he wanted to ruin you, he also wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

heavy pants still wracked both of your bodies, your thighs aching and barely able to hold your own weight. he had the audacity to ask that after making you feel things you hadn't felt in your centuries alive? in between deep breaths, you shot him a slight glare.

"what do you think?" you tutted, puffing his lips out in that gorgeous pout that made sam was to kiss you stupid, holding onto his biceps so you didn't lose balance.

sam grins in response, his hands moving to your bare hips, pressing you into him. his cock was fucking painfully hard and he had to refrain from rutting against you. "i need to fuck you, honey." fuck sam and his beautiful eyes, pleading at you. his hand leads your to palm him from over his jeans, and he moans softly, so prettily.

you were conflicted. you knew his cock would feel so much better than his fingers, but this was wrong. "sammy—" you say in the same chastising voice that drives him insane.

"please, let me fuck you. need to feel you around my dick. fuck, doesn't even have to be all the way." sam pleads, and you have a hard time saying no to that. he was practically begging you. you sigh at how weak you were for this man. "please fuck me, sam."

sam eyes widen slightly, and he can't help his grin as he pushes you back against the bed. his eyes stay on you as he pulls his shirt off, discarding it across the motel floor along with all of yours. you can't help but stare at him. all tanned, scarred, and bruised, despite being young. it was so different compared to your imperfect skin, free of any blemishes or let alone scars.

sam's tantalizingly slow as he takes off his belt, followed by his jeans. he's fucking huge. that much you can tell by his bulge alone. your eyes widen slightly when he strips his boxers off.

he wanted to take his time with you, to treat you like the goddamn angel you were, to wrack every noise he can from your lips. but, sam was impatient as hell. and he was really, really hard.

"you're beautiful." sam coos, caging you in between his much larger frame. there is a shine in his gaze, so soft and loving, that it almost makes you feel queasy. he's not doing this because he's bored or because he wants to get off. sam's doing this because you're his world.

"you're alright." you respond, not able to hold back the giggle that escaped your lips afterward, especially when you felt sam's annoyed sigh against the crook of your neck. you can feel his irritated grin. sam fell in love with that devilish laugh of yours, and he found it endearing that even during this, he could make you sound like that.

it was such a sharp contrast from how emotionless and... awkward— you first were when you met the winchester brothers. sam has loved watching you adapt this sassy personality, loved eyeing you while you admire new things, hearing the way your voice heightened whenever you laughed, the way you took over parts of his and dean's own quirks and personalities.

"just alright? you wound me, angel."

this time, you rolled your eyes. you turn your head to the side to press your lips against the mole below his right eye. "you're beautiful too, sammy. you already know that." you huff out, your tone unmistakably soft. sam scoffed, nipping at her neck slightly. it was nice to hear that from you, regardless of what he thought about himself.

unfortunately for you, the compliment rushes to sam's head. he sits up slightly, his cock pressed against your lower stomach, a hand brushing over your cheek, moving your fanned hair out of your face. "are you sure you're okay with this? we can stop— i'll put on a movie, and we can forget—"

you interrupt sam's worries by pressing a kiss to his palm. "yes sam, i'm sure. please." and that small act of intimacy followed by your voice pleading for him was enough reassurance for sam. no need to tell him twice.

sam pumps himself a few times, his eyes not once leaving yours. "scoot your hips up for me, honey." you oblige, and you can feel his cock pressed against your clothed entrance. the sight leaves nothing for the imagination and sam sighs as his fingers pulls your panties down to your ankles.

sam looks like he's in fucking heaven, his lips parted and staring at you bare in front of him. his thumb habitually moves to your clit, rubbing soft circles against it just to watch you squirm under him.

"sam, quit being a damn tease." you frown and wiggle your hips into his more. his gaze is making you shy, something you didn't know was even possible as an angel.

"innocent angel, my ass." sam mumbles under his breath, but he obliges, lining up his cock to you. he collects your slick with his tip, dragging the wetness over your already overstimulated clit. sam rubs it against your folds a few times, before pressing only about halfway in. the moan that leaves your lips is heavenly, so much so that sam's head has to fall to your shoulder and bites it softly so he doesn't cum too fast like a damn high schooler.

"you're so fucking tight, shit—" sam groans and it's so dirty coming from him. he's usually so sweet to you, so hearing this is different. and arousing. but different. you'd expect this talk out of dean, not sam.

sam really wished he would've slept around a little more in college now because it was taking far too much concentration to not finish already.

"need to fuck you, baby. please." sam all but whimpers out. all of your beliefs, your nightly prayers, all of it was gone the second you felt him inside of you. you can only nod in response, your hands tugging at his waist to come closer to you.

sam stills, looking at you for a moment like he can't believe you want this. and slowly, he pushes in all the way, and you both share a pornographic moan.

sam is quiet as he lets you adjust to his size. he wasn't one to toot his own horn, but he was pretty big. and even though your vessel wasn't a virgin, mentally, you still were. sam had a mantra of things going through his head — the main ones being: please don't cum, please don't cum, please don't cum. don't say i love you. don't move too fast yet. let her adjust.

sam leans down to kiss your forehead. "good?" he hums.

you nod again. "hurts a little." and sam is nothing but patient, kissing each of your temples before brushing your hair away.

"i promise you're doing so good. it's gonna hurt for a moment. it'll feel better soon. just relax." sam murmured against your shoulder, his lips sighing down towards your collarbone. "gonna move now, sweet girl." calloused palms are pressing your thighs to your chest. he leans down enough so you can hold on to his shoulders if you need.

with one hand still on the back of your leg, and the other one cupping one of your breasts, he pulls out almost all the way before rocking in slowly. your eyes screwing shut from pleasure is enough to test the waters with a more heavy thrust. "that's it, baby. look at you—" sam groans, his fingertips digging into your skin. his eyes were glued to where his cock was entering you rhythmically, and god, he could get addicted to that sight. sam could fucking see where the tip of his cock was pressing into your belly. his palm moved over it, adding slight pressure to your lower pelvis. the feeling made him groan out your name softly. he was just as loud as you were. "so beautiful."

part of you wanted sam to shut up so you could focus on the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock, but the other half of you enjoyed the flithy words leaving his flushed lips.

"oh, fuck. sammy, 's too much—" you whimpered out, your hand squeezing his biceps. your legs wrapped around his waist to bring him closer, the balls of your heels digging against his ass. sam think he likes that you're not very vocal. it makes every beg, every moan that much more special to him. he was the only one who got to see his angel falling apart like this.

everything about sam is fucking massive, from his height, to his sheer size difference over you. it shouldn't have been shocking that his dick was huge too, but you felt it now. you felt every single inch, stretching you out, your arousal slipping down his shaft. sam's thrusts grew more feverish, his shaggy brown bangs falling into his face as his head fell forward slightly. "i know you can handle it baby." he grunted in response to your plea, hazel eyes fucked out with lust.

that feeling in your lower belly returned, and now, at least, you know what it meant. it was overwhelming, but not enough for you. your hand reached for sam's hand, guiding it to you clit. sam thought that was the hottest thing he'd ever fucking seen, and shuddered slightly. "you wanna cum around my cock? is that it, sweetheart?" sam asks, a small, contemplating smile on his lips.

you're writhing under his cock, your back arching off the bed, his thumb rubbing soft circles around your nub. you tap his bicep in warning of your approaching orgasm, but he doesn't stop. he doesn't slow down either. in fact, he ruts his hips faster. the feeling of you clenching around his dick is enough to send him over the edge, too. he's biting down hard on his cheek to stop himself from cumming before you. he wants, needs to see you cum first, before he can.

your face contorts into pleasure, and you cum hard, sam still fucking you through your orgasm. he groans and his eyes close when he watches you making a mess all over him. "thaaat's it. that's my girl." he encourages, the feeling of your walls clenching around him tipping him over the edge. "fuck. gonna fill you up." he grunts against your shoulder, his hips stuttering slightly and you moan as you feel his cock twitch inside you, before you feel cum spurt into your cunt.

sam pulls out a moment after, his eyes blown out when he watches his spend leak from your pulsating hole. he uses two fingers to spread it around over your folds. once he's satisfied with his handiwork, he slumps down into the bed next to you.

you're still a panting, sighing mess. you feel your legs twitch occasionally, and you're finally coming to your senses. you were just fucked stupid by your best friend. a human.

"jesus, sam. is this really what humans are doing?" you ask, out of genuine curiosity, and sam pinches your side with a slight laugh. he looks spent, almost as bad as you. his head falls to your shoulder, pressing his lips to the soft skin present.

"the lucky ones, yeah." sam huffs in amusement. "you're okay, right? i didn't hurt you, or pressure you or anything?" his voice is a little persistent, worried, already overthinking like he wasn't just inside of you.

"'course not. that was amazing. i think i'd go to hell if it meant having sex everyday— i see why castiel was encouraging me into trying this." you tilt your head to the side, and sam raises an eyebrow. he didn't even dare ask what odd things castiel told you about. nor did he want to know. he couldn't see castiel doing anyone without scaring them away with his bluntness first.

sam chooses to ignore that, leaning over to pepper kisses onto your cheeks, nose, and forehead. anywhere you'll let him at this point. "you did amazing. absolutely drained me. y'sure you haven't done that before?" he teases, and you roll your eyes at him. your eyes watched him with concern when sam stood.

"alright, crazy girl. let's get you cleaned up."

[ruinix]

Can you please write a smut story of Quinn Hughes and Y/n in a pool?

Hello, my lovely. I took so long again. My bad. Do you remember Quinn’s photo in the hot tub (one of those he posted)? Yes? No? (I attached a photo at the end of this drabble) Safe to say, i wanted to join him when he put it out. He is just so cute. It's nearly 3AM...so no proofread. sorry. Also I wrote this with midseason in my head and I forgot that it could be winter (or fall?)…let’s ignore that plot hole. I beg. Please. Let's just think is a heated pool. (I keep forgetting about seasons and I am so used to private hot spring pools, my bad. sorry).

Fairylights and Wildflowers

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, (mention of) Exploration of Hobbies (shopping, crocheting, puzzles), lots of Kisses, Semi-Public sex / Pool sex (it's a private pool in a rented airbnb...but it's outside so...🫣), Unprotected sex (use protection, lovelies)

Count: 3737 words | Masterlist

You’re taking long. Quinn learned not to bother you when you’re preparing—or whatever it is you’re doing now when you insist on surprising him—a long time ago. Who is he to deny what you want? If you want him to wait in the damn pool by himself until he’s a prune, he’ll do it.

Although, maybe, he thinks that you’re going to surprise him with a bikini. He wonders what bikini you’ll wear. He tries to keep up with your online purchases. It’s easy to track over because you ramble about them over dinner, over calls, over texts, over anything. You like your “retail therapy”—that’s what you called it. Not just bikinis. You buy a lot of things you come across. Honestly, it’s so cute.

One time, you decided to learn how to crochet, so you bought several balls of yarns and crocheting needles. Your first fruit of labor is a misshapen bear. The ears are lopsided. One arm is more stuffed than the other. The eyes are currently mismatched, because one of its eyes fell and got lost, so you replaced it with a different button. Still, it’s a bear. A unique looking one. You love it so much and so do Quinn. When you jokingly said it is now your and Quinn’s first child, he was quick to buy it a small Canucks jersey and hat that is definitely too big, so now it rests on your bookshelf, sitting inside the upside-down hat, right next to your favorite books.

Quinn always finds himself staring at it while he dusts your books. It has grown on him. A clumsy start of a hobby, for sure, but an amazing memory. Since then, you’ve made a couple more stuffed animals then you transitioned to blankets, scarves, and sweaters. While you insist you are still a beginner with the hobby, Quinn views you as an expert, especially when you kept giving him cozy items. They are all so perfect in his eyes.

You’ve inspired him to try to make his own, but his hands cramp up. He always ends up sulking in his armchair, gripping his yarn and needle so tightly, watching you do your own project or read your books. After minutes, you’ll notice him then you’ll be on him, holding his cheeks after you take away his basket of yarns and needle, kissing him to distract him further. What a distraction. It works every single time. So, whenever you pick up your basket of yarns, he will too, patiently waiting—sulking or not—for kisses and more.

Another time, you went all out with puzzles. Some of your game nights with Quinn turned into completing said puzzles. Quinn ends up dozing off after he takes a brief break, for the sake of his aching back, on the couch. He will wake up with you in his arms, blankets over both of you. Every time he just watches you sleep, cursing whenever he can’t reach his phone to kill his alarm, trying his best to close his hands over your ears, but you’ll also wake up, rubbing your face into his chest.

Every time, you’ll greet him, not hiding your greedy inhales of his scent, your hand running down between you two, down over his aching cock.

That’s how you get him.

Fuck morning skates. Fuck meetings. Fuck anything else.

He’ll spend his morning buried deep inside you until you demand breakfast.

Beyond those tiny hobbies, you’ve also been rampant at buying clothes. From pajamas to everyday dresses to evening gowns. You’ve braved several sites. Your experiences are either a hit or a miss. Quinn knows what it’ll be. If you like it, you’ll show it to him. If you don’t, you’ll be huffing as you process a refund. He’ll try to be understanding and mature, but the way you huff and puff makes him laugh.

“Stop laughing!” You are on him, lecturing him about not laughing at you. “Quinn!”

Your whines only push him to laugh harder, teasing you that he wants to see the dress, poking his finger on your tickle points, grinning widely when you squeal and run away. He’ll be hot on your heels, needing to get your mind off your failed purchase, because he rather has you irritated with him than sulking over things. Just for those times, he won’t be talking about how any piece of clothing you put on will take his breath away, because he knows it won’t help with the dilemma.

Now, after he reminisces your online purchases, he settles on the submerged sitting area.

He runs his hand over his face, shaking his head slightly, splashing water everywhere. No one will care about the splatter. It’s a pool. You will care though. You won’t police him into not doing so, no. You will be delighted. You will be amused. You will shake your own head, laughing in your silent amusement, then you will splash him with an expert swipe over the water. It’s fucking amazing.

You’re amazing.

Of course, you are. You planned this little getaway so quickly after you heard that his maintenance day follows a weekend where he doesn’t have any scheduled game or plans. It will be just the two of you. That thought excited him. He didn’t even think of inviting anyone for this getaway. In fact, he never even thought of anyone else joining the two of you. Except for now. What if you invited someone? Well, shit. If you do, then…whatever. There’s lots of room in this place anyway. He’ll make it work.

He looks up to see a glimpse of you from a window. You’re wearing a white fluffy robe. From what he can see, you are skipping. You must be having so much fun. You can be so animatic, so adorable, so excited. He still remembers how your eyes shone when you told him about your successful booking over videocall, smiling so widely as you typed in the address he should drive to, jumping when you greeted him as he arrived. He likes that. He likes seeing you having a ton of fun with your own spending. He loves being spoiled right back.

Although, he wishes that you’ll finally come down.

He’s getting bored.

A little bit.

No.

He’s extremely bored.

He’s already done several laps. He wants to see you now. He misses you when you’re just there. Sighing, he stretches his arms over the edge, half-slouching further on the sitting edge, half-floating. He takes his time, embracing the silence of the night,

He hopes that you didn’t invite anyone else. It’s already getting late. If you had guests, they would’ve been over by now. However, he also knows your friends. Some of them are always so down to last minute hangouts. Tonight, he hopes they’re not. 

Or whomever you invited.

Can’t he just have you to himself?

He’s not really up for socializing this weekend. Can he just be alone with—

“Hi, Quinn,” you greet, suddenly there, leaning over so your face will be in his line of sight. “Having a good time?”

For someone who has gotten impatient, Quinn finds himself unable to speak as he looks up at you, absently nodding and watching your smile widen. He really can’t speak. He almost forgets to breathe. Because the fairy lights are casting a soft glow around your head, perfectly illuminating the strands of your hair that you’ve styled, shining on the pretty skin on your shoulders, your waist, your hips, your legs, and everywhere else. Like every bit of your being is touched by the heavens.

Like you’re a star that’s gazing and twinkling just for him.

You take his breath away.

How can someone be so beautiful? So majestic?  

“Did it hurt?” He asks before he can stop himself.

“Hurt?” you echo, frowning before lowering yourself to sit next to him, dipping your legs into the pool.

Quinn follows every movement of your legs, how the water parts and waves over them. The light and shadow patterns look wonderful on your skin as waves move, refracting every light that hits its surface. It looks wondrous. He glances at his own, not liking how the patterns look on him. He likes it better on you.

Before he gets trap in his head, his cheeks burning white-hot, he finishes, “When you fell from the sky.”

Your grin widens, your eyes crinkling at the sides. A giggle escapes you. “Is that a pickup line, Quinny?”

He looks away. He brushes his hand over his face then up through his hair to push away the wet strands away from his burning face. He nearly chokes as he says, “Yeah. Kinda.”

“I like it.” Your voice sounds closer, so he turns and immediately receives a kiss, making his heart tumble all over the place. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Don’t be embarrassed.”

He nods, reaching to touch your leg, his thumb softly making circles on your calf, adding pressure to massage your muscles. You let him do it, fully facing him, offering him your other leg too. He takes it with his other hand. He’s focused on nothing but the task on hand. That is, until you raise your feet up, your toes wiggle, so he notices your painted toenails.

“You like ‘em?” you ask, biting your lip. “I got them to match my nails.”

Quinn slowly tracks his eyes up your legs, over your thighs, over your tummy, your shoulders, your neck, your face. He inhales and catches the soft powdery and flowery scent of your lotion and body oil. You smell divine. Then he looks at your delicate hands, at your nails that are painted a shade of pink, that compliments your skin tone, with white tips. While your toenails only have those, you have small flowers on your nails and dainty gemstones for their centers.

His heart beats harder as his need to kiss you arises. So, he does. He kisses every decorated nail, his hands holding yours tenderly like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away even when he knows you won’t. He can’t help it when you look like a fairy that may vanish in the blink of his eyes. He can’t afford to lose you. Never. With every kiss on your every nail, on every knuckle, on each of the backs of your hands, he breathes his desperation to keep you.

Can you feel it?

He overturns your hands, kissing your palms. One by one. Even softer yet firmer, his lips pressing down. Despite wanting to taste your skin, he doesn’t. It can wait. He needs you to feel his love. His affection towards you.

He gazes up, meeting your eyes. He holds your hands, his thumbs soothingly rubbing over your palm. He realizes that you are wearing the swimsuit he bought you months ago. It’s simple. A white triangle bikini top and its matching bottom. The white strings in bows look beautiful on your nape and your hips. You’re finally wearing it. It looks so fucking good on you.

If this is your surprise bikini, he’s delighted. Very much so.

“I love everything,” he gulps the lump in his throat, gazing up your eyes like you hung the moon and stars and everything else above, because he bets that you did. Maybe you are a goddess who became human or is pretending to be human. Maybe that’s the reason why you look ethereal. “I love you.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, leaning back as if you need distance from him. “You’re doing it again.” You almost take your hands away from him, but he holds them firmly.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmurs, coming closer. “What exactly am I doing?” He wraps his arm around your waist. Instead of pulling you which would hurt because of the pebble details, he moves—crossing the little distance between you two—until your lips are mere inches away from his. “My Love,” he urges, repeating, “What am I doing?”

“Looking at me with those eyes, like,” you pause, gulping as you look into his eyes, “like…like you want to consume me.”

Because he does.

He wants everything that you’ll give him.

Everything that is you.

You are everything.

He has never loved someone as deeply as he loves you. You’re it. His forever.

“Do you want me to stop?” His other hand finds your neck, his fingers running through the softness of your hair near your nape, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw.

“No,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips. You inhale, licking your lips as anticipation buzzes the air.  “Never.” Your hands graze over his chest, tracing over his collarbone. “I love you too, Quinn.”

He kisses you like his life depended on it, because it is. Ever since he met you. His love only grows and grows, blossoming like wildflowers of mixed variety. They litter the grass as they dance with the wind, flourishing with every drop of rain, every ray of the sun, every nutrient drawn from the soil. Resilient and thriving. He truly loves you. Every piece of him is devoted to you.

He kisses you harder, letting you feel how deep his love has rooted in his soul. His tongue glides with yours. He can taste the mint of your toothpaste and the sweetness of the fruits you were munching on while you’re getting ready. Berries. Apples. So much apples. He deepens the kiss to taste more of it, savoring how wonderful it mixes with you.

“Oh, Quinn,” you murmur into his lips, mounting his lap, the water sloshing against your bodies.

He also whispers your name. It spilled out of him like a prayer. He kisses you deeper, hungrier, thirstier. He holds you tighter, his fingers firmly pressing into your skin, keeping you to him. He fears if he lets go, you will go away even when your hands slide through his hair, tugging and angling his head. Quinn follows, not stopping the kiss, focusing on how your lips feel against his, your tongue against his, your pussy against his dick despite the existence of your bikini and his trunks.

“Tell me something.” He draws his kisses to your jaw, smelling the scent of your perfume you sprayed behind your ear. “Are we expecting guests?”

“Just us,” you pant, grinding against him. Your actions still, your eyebrows meeting. “Do you want guests?”

“No. Just want you all to myself right now, my Love.” He grips your hips, urging you to move again, groaning when you do. “I was just thinking how I’ll steal you away.” He smirks when you giggle, the sudden worry that you felt falls away. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you say, your tone light, your fingers scratching over his beard. He can see the mischief shining from your eyes. “I love it when we sneak, but I made sure it’s just us.”

“Thank you,” he gasps as you grind down on him. “Oh, my Love. We should go—”

“No,” you cut him off, tilting his chin up, your lips grazing over, making him chase you. “We can do it here.”

Whatever you want.

Your lips are once again touching. Now, he swallows the moan you let out while you swallow his—each of you spurring each other on with the noises that escape you two—as pleasure seeps down his bones, right from his cock. His skin rises with goosebumps, shivers running down while also up his fucking spine. He’s utterly gone and he’s not even inside of you yet. This is what you do to him.

And he loves that.

His hand snakes over your lower back, pressing down to glue your midsection to him. Then while you nip his lower lip, he curves his hand over your ass, squeezing your flesh, making you bite down on his lip harder that he swears your broke skin. You are so close. He sees how your pupils swallow your irises. How your eyelashes fan down with your blinks. How your brows curve upwards and furrowing together. His eyes are getting drawn to the beaty marks you have on your face. All while his fingers slip into your bottoms, sliding between your ass, down to your pussy, feeling your arousal.

“Quinn,” you whine. You bury your face on his neck.

“Someone’s getting needy,” he teases. His finger sinks into your quivering pussy. He adds another. He licks his lip, not tasting any copper which means you didn’t break skin. It disappoints him a little, but that’s not important, because your pussy squeezes around his fingers. It feels fucking amazing. “Is it here, my Love?” He prods the spongy spot that has you squirming.

“Yes,” you sob. You keep grinding down against his cock, up and down, putting pressure against your sensitive clit. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Have I ever stopped?” He asks, fucking you with his fingers. You shake your head, desperately meeting his every thrust. “Look at me.” You did, panting with your cheeks bright red. His other hand comes up, undoing the ribbon of your top. Your tits spill out. Your nipples are hard and begging to be touched, so he does, softly feeling and pinching the pebbled peak. “How are you so pretty?”

You don’t answer him. Instead, your hand slides down between your bodies, pushing down his trunks. Your teeth clench down on your lip.

Quinn pulls your bottoms to the side, just in time for you to lift your hips. His cock hits your pussy so perfectly. He helps you move down his length. Inch by inch. Both of you moan and are getting so overwhelmed by the feel of each other. Your hands hold his shoulders, sinking those pretty nails into his skin, while his hands hold your hips so tightly that he might leave fingerprint bruises later.

He wants that. He wants to leave his marks on your body, but he craves yours on his. He loves when you leave scratches down his back or just on his shoulder, which you are now fucking doing. Those pretty fucking claws. He curses from the sting, from the excessive need for more, more, and more.

“Harder,” he grits. His hand finds your hair, tugging to crane your neck, so he can kiss and suck your skin, leaving his own bruising marks. “Mark me up, my Love.”

“Oh, fuck, Quinn.” You whine your hips as you sink down cock. Again and again. You whine, whispering his name like it’s a plea, “Quinn. Quinn. Quinn.”

Quinn starts to meet your thrusts, feeling himself touch deeper inside your pussy. The slight tremble of your walls tells him you are close. So close. He is too. His cock aches, needing to release right fucking now, but he holds himself back because he needs to feel you come first. He needs it.

He continues teasing over your nipples, his thumb running on the line of the underside of your tits. Desperately, he nips on your earlobes, sloppily licking his way down to your collarbone to mark everything he can reach. Your movements turn sloppier, your back arching, your moans turning into eager whimpers.

“Let go, my Love. I got you.” Quinn kisses your lips, just enough, pulling away to hear your sounds then kissing you back again. He’s almost playing, teasing, taunting you, making you make more sounds that had his cock twitching in your pussy. “Just let go.”

You do. A breathy scream pours out of your lips, your pussy squeezing so tightly that he can’t hold back. He doesn’t want to hold back. Why would he want to? Your pussy is way too perfect not to fill with his hot cum. He holds your hips down as he spills deep, deep inside you. Panting, he kisses you fully, needing to taste you on his lips, needing to feel more connected with you.

Fuck, you feel so good. Your arms wrap around his torso. Your legs come around him, clinging onto him. You fit around him so perfectly. Like pieces of wood carved specifically to join without nails or screws. Just carved to perfection for a seamless joinery.

“Wow,” you sigh, resting your forehead against his. “This is so nice.”

Quinn hums, savoring your feel. His head is slightly spinning. He blinks slowly as he’s in a daze, marveling how you glow after sex, the fairly lights glinting on your skin. You can’t be real. You’re just so pretty. Incredibly so.

He moves after you when you part from him, mindlessly following you out of the pool, watching you fix your bikini, so he tugs his trunks on to fix it, inhaling sharply as it grazes his sensitive cock, gritting his teeth when it twitches at the mere sight of your ass. He should fucking stop or else he might die because he’s a horny fuck.

He quickly swipes his towel from the bench, helping you dry off, kneeling on one knee so he can dab water from your shins. He looks up, his heart booming against his ribs. He realizes how gorgeous you look from below. He already knows this, but the position is making him think about the future, about him holding a velvet box with a ring that he will have custom-made, about him asking for your hand. To be your forever. Your partner. A possibility for so much more.

The way you’re looking down at him tells him that he might not be the only one thinking about it.

Yet, he stands.

No matter how perfect the moment is. He won’t take this away from you. You’ve made this getaway happen. Your surprises still wait to be discovered even when the surprise of you wearing his chosen bikini for you is already more than enough. He knows you’ve done more. You’ve made this all happen for him. For him.

When he asks to be your husband, the day will be for you. Not him.

He will plan everything out. As perfect as he can. All for you. This can all wait.

For now, he’ll take everything you’ve prepared.

Besides, there is way too much room in this place. He needs to claim you on each surface, after he receives the gifts that have your eyes sparkling with mischief as you grab his hand and pull him towards the house, after he makes you dinner and more.

Here it is (from his post)

Silly boy in the hot tub, we must join him. Jk. (...unless???)

[speed-world]

Hey, I got this idea from watching some Dark Souls lore videos, so can I request a HC of beast cookies being beaten by a chosen Undead reader.

Plot: when the Beast cookies went on a rampage The Witches knew they had to stop them but the cookie were too powerful to do so so they decided to work together to bake a new cookie, a cookie that can weaken them to a point that they can be in prison, a cookie that can come back from the dead as much as possible until the deed is done, they call them the Chosen Undead Cookie

Sworn Purpose

The Five Beasts. The primordial Cookies created by the Witches as emissaries of the Godly Creators; that fell from grace due to their Absolute power corrupting them completely. The Witches couldn’t bear to see their creations promised as saviors turned apostles of evil, and so they punished the Beasts by sealing them away in Beast-Yeast. At least…that was what should have happened.

The Beasts rebelled, refusing to go quiet into the night. They broke free from their shackles and dominated the lands of Beast-Yeast without challenge. The Witches refused to give up however, and would go deeply into a period of heavy trials and error in baking something …greater. They combined their magic to create a Cookie that could complete the task they failed too. A Cookie that would never rest until they sealed these Beasts, even if the Cookie was crumbled. A Cookie that will rise and rise again, as if freshly baked out of the oven, to complete their assigned life purpose. As the Witches spent numerous days and nights creating this Cookie, they’d mix so many flavors into to them that the Cookie was ultimately nameless to the Witches. When finally completed, passerby Cookies knew them only by a couple of names: Y/N Cookie, or their more known, and more appropriate moniker…Chosen Undead Cookie.

It was never easy completing your task, but you never once questioned it or the Witches. They told you all the features and names of the Beasts, that you must do whatever it takes to seal them away, and you followed as such.

During your first attempt, you could barely make a move against a jester before being crumbled in a mess of crumbs and jam. The last thing you heard was the jester laughing before you reawakened in a different location.

One of the many blessings you had received from the Witches was that you could communicate with and hear them. You could hear some the Witches applaud you for your efforts, and others express their apologies for what you must suffer through. It didn’t faze you though, you had a God-given purpose, and you’d curse at yourself if you never finished it. Maybe one day…you could live a fairly normal life, but it won’t happen until your job is done.

“Oh~? Pfffttt AHAHAHAHAHA~~!! Oh this is priceless, you’re still kicking huh? I mean, what attempt is this, number….59? 100? Isn’t this tiring to you buddy~?”

“Silence, jester. I am not tired, not one bit. I have been assigned this duty by the Witches, and I refuse to stop until you Beasts are sealed away…”

You stared at him with the same neutral yet angry expression that you almost always have. He upsets you, just as the other Beasts. And, like him, they will be sealed by your hand sooner or later.

“Really now…? How many times have you said that? And yet the result is still the same! I’ll give you credit though, you’re getting closer each time!! But all that means is that I’m improving myself to make sure you continue to be the failure you are!!”

“Am I the failure, Shadow Milk Cookie? You were meant to be a savior, a hero to all Cookiekind until the end of days, but you failed at your duty. Don’t tell me, are you jealous that I’m favored and know how to follow simple instruction? Does it upset you that I’m succeeding in the role you failed to fulfill?”

“Tch…didja learn to talk all smart while you were in between the states of dying and living? Those Witches can BURN IN THE OVEN, AND YOU’LL JOIN THEM YOU MISERABLE PUPPET!!!”

“….I’m assuming you’re done wasting your breath away now? I’m glad you’ll be the first I seal, your voice annoys me…”

You readied yourself again for the umpteenth time, and stared holes into Shadow Milk Cookie. “You are the miserable one here, jester…” You muttered to yourself, before clashing with the jester once more.

————————————————————————

The cold steps of the Ivory Pagoda are all too familiar for you now. The aroma of the incense, the reflective gold of the tiles, all of it was practically burned in your memory as you approached the Master of the Ivory Pagoda yet again. Of course, you couldn’t meet the Master without seeing the guardian of Ivory Pagoda as well.

“Oh, Master, look who’s back again~! You must really enjoy witnessing the truth that my Master has to show the world! At this point, you’re the most frequent visitor here to the pagoda, maybe you’d want to stay here for the rest of your life~? It’s not like your immortality is doing you any favors being the Witches’s pawn~…”

You ignored the mocking comments of Cloud Haetae Cookie. They’re not what you’re here for anyways, so they can berate you all they want, it won’t take your attention away from your mission. You walked past the haetae and stared up at the Beast, who didn’t even open her eyes to you.

“One day, you will come to see how pointless your mission truly is. Again and again, you challenge my truth and power, and again and again, you fail to understand that you’ll never succeed…”

“That is where your arrogance has mislead you, Mystic Flour Cookie. You insist on yourself so much that you fail to grasp the reality around you. More and more, I grow resistant to your power, and I keep parts of my flavor in spite of being turned to flour. One day, you will come to realize that the madness you speak of will never be heard as you’ll spend your days sealed away as you deserve.”

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn’t bother responding to you. She only waves her hand, uttering the phrase you’ve heard numerous times now: “Return to Flour…”. Your words were true: you were still maintaining your flavor and everything else about you, and only small crumbs were being taken away, albeit incredibly slowly. Then you lounged at her, slashing at her with your blade….and you cut her. Jam leaked out of her thigh from the gash you made. Although your magic and control over the chains and Witch’s fork specialized for sealing the Beasts weren’t strong enough yet, you were making fast progress.

Cloud Haetae Cookie was shocked, but Mystic Flour appeared unfazed as usual. But one thing was abundantly clear, you were improving. Even if you didn’t seal her during this time, you would overcome her powers and seal her away, even if you were crumbled to flour in the process. Mystic Flour will be sealed, just like the other Beasts, and you’ll rise and rise again until your deed is done and all of the Beasts are sealed away.

————————————————————————

Hellish blazing embers and the ruins of forests are the most recognizable sight you know. Whenever you hear the fires crackling, you know that you’re close to Burning Spice Cookie. Burning Spice stares daggers into you just as you stare a hole back.

“You again, eh? How many times are we going to do the same song and dance until you’ve crumbled for good? Those damned Witches must have spent days, perhaps weeks trying to perfect a herald to defeat us, and your failure of an existence is all they have to show for their efforts. It would be funny, if it weren’t so sad and true…”

“I’ll keep coming back as many times as needed until you—“

“Yeah yeah, until us Beasts are sealed away. You’re a broken record at this point, and it’s really beginning to annoy the Hell out of me…. Then again, you do have your uses for being a toy, free for me to play with and break whenever I feel like it. So c’mon, let’s not waste words and entertain me, Chosen fool~…”

You smirked at Burning Spice; at least you two could agree on something, that being words are useless at this point. You steeled yourself and gripped your sword tightly, and Burning Spice did the same with that giant axe in hand. All you need to do is seal away Burning Spice, and even if you crumbled in the process, it will be done.

————————————————————————

The skies were an incredibly dark shade of pink, and you’ve slowly grown to hate it when the skies were like this. Mainly because you knew who it was that was around, and Witches did Eternal Sugar Cookie, wielding the power of Sloth, utterly piss you off.

All Eternal Sugar did was yawn on top of the cloud she rested on, and looked at you haphazardly with her hand resting on her cheek*

*Yaaaaaaawwwwnn* “Ahh, who’re you again? You always come here for ah…some mission from the Witch’s I think? Can’t you bother anyone else with your nonsense, I have a lot of better things to do than waste my precious energy on you agaaaaiinn…”

The tone in Eternal Sugar’s voice and manner is what really bothered you the most. Although it was fitting of the Sloth power she held, she just couldn’t care less about you or whatever inhumane actions she did to others. Granted, you weren’t much for words yourself, the most you talk is when dealing with the annoyance is Shadow Milk Cookie, so at least with Eternal Sugar you can get right to the point without any hesitation.

“At least you know what I’m here for, Beast…I’ll gladly make sure you’ve suffered in the last moments of your recreation…”

“Mhmmm, sure thing. Just hurry up and crumble already so you can bother someone else when you resurrect, please~….

Without waiting anymore, you charged at the lackadaisical Beast. Thankfully, the more you do this the more stronger and better you’re getting. Because the sooner you seal away Eternal Sugar, the better. Not just for the Witch’s and Cookiekind, but for the sake of your own mind.

————————————————————————

The eerie silence of the area you stepped into would be enough to scare any being beyond belief. It was dark, quiet, perfectly becoming the scene any scared children would have when fearing the dark. Only this was no dream, is was the brutal reality of a vicious Beast that you could never seem to get an upper hand against.

Silent Salt Cookie was just standing there, sword in hand as always. Out of all the Beasts, Silent Salt doesn’t do anything else now except wait for you. Silent Salt knows of your ability to keep coming back to life after dying and knew sooner or later you’d be back.

The quietness from you and Silent Salt was loud and easy to understand. You weren’t much for words yourself, no need to start now with a quiet Cookie. You both knew each other well enough, understanding the other’s goal in mind as you both nodded and readied your swords yet again. The area soon became loud with the sounds of clashing swords in a struggle of life and death.

Until your mission is fulfilled, until the Beasts are sealed away and no longer a threat to Cookiekind, then you will be raised from the dead. Retaining your mixture of flavors, knowledge and power, and using all of them against the foul Beasts that defiled their roles as promised saviors. Until the deed is done…

[heliosunny]

Hi hi! I really like your fanfiction style and plots!!

Can you write fanfic with a magician!reader and a crown prince!Phainon? Like, in their world, wizards are feared because they wield great power because of magic and can become a serious threat, and therefore they are wanted.

Phainon and his guards get into trouble and the prince is seriously injured. Reader finds them and, despite all the risks, brings them to their shelter and treats them. They intrigued Phainon, because he expected the reader to leave them to die. He was not going to leave, but he had to, because his guards did not want to be near the reader for more time.

After a while, when his wound has completely healed, he returns to the reader's house, but discovers that reader has left it. However, this did not prevent him from finding a reader and bringing him to the palace as his partner, to the horror of his parents and the nobles.

And no pressure! Take as much time as you need!

Yandere!Crown Prince Phainon x Wizard!Reader

The night was thick with mist, curling between the skeletal trees like ghostly fingers. The moon hung high, its silver light barely piercing through the dense canopy. You had learned to tread these woods without a sound, a necessity, really, for a wizard like you.

Magic was danger. Magic was hunted.

You kept to yourself, a mere phantom in a world that would sooner see you burned than thanked. Yet tonight, fate had different plans.

A low groan shattered the silence. The sound was close, just beyond the brambles lining your hidden path. Carefully, you stepped forward, parting the branches to reveal a scene of carnage.

A group of armored men lay scattered like fallen statues, their gleaming armor dulled with dirt and blood. Some still breathed, but your attention snapped to him, the figure at the center of it all.

The crown prince beloved by his people.

Even wounded, he was an imposing sight. A gash split across his side, the crimson staining his once-pristine attire. His grip on his sword was weak, yet his expression promised death to any who dared approach.

His men were conscious enough to move, barely, but none had the strength to rise. A group of assassins, perhaps? Or a botched ambush? Whatever had happened, Phainon had fought like a beast to keep them alive.

And now, he was dying.

You should leave.

But you hesitated.

Perhaps it was the sheer absurdity of it all. The prince, the future ruler of this land, bleeding out in the dirt like a wounded animal.

With a whispered incantation, the shadows thickened around you, concealing your presence from prying eyes. You stepped closer.

One of his guards stirred, his gaze sluggishly finding you through the haze of pain.

“W-Who…” he rasped, struggling to raise his weapon.

You lifted a hand and muttered a single word. His eyes rolled back, body sagging as unconsciousness took him. A simple sleep spell—one that drained you more than it should, given how careful you had to be. The others were too far gone to notice.

That left only him.

Phainon’s head snapped up at your approach. Even on the brink of death, his presence was suffocating. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace.

“You…” His voice was hoarse, but sharp. “You are not one of mine.”

“No” you murmured. “I am not.”

His fingers twitched around his blade, but you had no intention of giving him the chance to use it. With a swift motion, you knelt beside him, already pressing your palm against his wound. His body tensed like a bowstring, every muscle coiled.

“What—”

Warm light pulsed beneath your touch, the air thrumming with unseen power.

Realization dawned in his blue eyes.

Magic.

The fear did not come, not like it did with most. No, Phainon did not fear you.

He was intrigued.

“Why?” he demanded, voice laced with something between suspicion and fascination. “You could let me die.”

“Because I choose not to.”

The warmth of your magic pulsed beneath your fingers, light seeping into the torn flesh at Phainon’s side. Golden runes flickered to life, weaving over his wound like threads of starlight, sealing torn skin and knitting muscle together.

“You wield powerful magic”

You ignored him, focusing instead on the lingering damage. It was deep, and healing him entirely would drain you too much. This would have to do.

The final rune faded, leaving behind only smooth, unbroken skin. You pulled back sharply, wiping your blood-slicked fingers against your cloak.

“You’ll live” you muttered. “Unfortunately.”

Phainon exhaled, shifting experimentally. The pain was gone.

Time to go. You stood, already murmuring the incantation beneath your breath. The ground trembled softly as a gust of wind whipped around you. Shadows curled, lifting you gently off your feet as your broom shot into your waiting grip.

His men stirred, one of them blinking awake with a strangled gasp. “P-Prince—”

But Phainon wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at you.

You didn’t give him the chance to speak.

With a sharp kick, you soared into the night sky, the forest shrinking beneath you as the wind carried you higher. The chill bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight that lifted from your chest.

You should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

You didn’t have to look back to know.

He was following.

You cursed under your breath. What was he thinking? His men were below, weak and vulnerable, calling out for him. He had a kingdom to return to. A duty to fulfill. And yet—he pursued you.

You spun midair, broom jerking to a halt. Your voice rang out.

“Go back.”

Phainon didn’t falter. His silver hair glowed under the moonlight, his eyes burning like ice set aflame.

“Why?”

“Because your men need you. Because your people do. Because I do not want to be followed.”

Below, his guards called for him again, their voices frantic.

A flicker of something crossed his expression—annoyance, reluctant acknowledgment.

For a moment, you feared he would refuse.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhaled and shifted away.

“Very well” he said. “For now.”

The last two words unsettled you.

But you didn’t wait to decipher them.

With a final, sharp glare, you turned and vanished into the night.

The temporary spell had done its work. Phainon had survived, but his wound still required proper treatment once he returned to the kingdom. His men had been too relieved to question how their prince had been saved, too eager to leave the forest and return to safety.

But Phainon had not forgotten.

Even as he lay in his gilded chambers, the finest physicians tending to him, his thoughts drifted back to you. To the warmth of your magic. The sharpness in your voice. The way you had looked at him—not with fear, not with awe, but with annoyance.

Once his wounds had fully healed, Phainon wasted no time. He demanded his parents search for you. The king and queen only exchanged weary glances before shaking their heads.

“You ask us to reward a wizard?” his father scoffed. “You should be grateful we do not send hunters after them.”

“Grateful?” He leaned forward, fingers tapping idly against the gilded armrest of his chair. “You would prefer I let the one who saved your heir vanish without a trace?”

“They did not save you out of loyalty” his mother interjected, her tone gentler, but no less firm. “They helped you and left. Be grateful for that.”

He heard the unspoken words beneath her breath.

Be grateful they did not finish you off.

But Phainon had never been one to accept things so easily.

The moment he was able, he searched for your hidden home.

Only to find it abandoned.

No trace of you remained. No remnants of the magic that had once lingered in the air. It was as if you had never been there at all.

That should have been the end of it.

But for Phainon, it was only the beginning.

He would find you.

---

Life in the shadows suited you.

After leaving your old home, you settled in a new place—far from the reach of the kingdom, hidden among the wild forests where few dared to tread. Your days were spent in quiet solitude, gathering herbs, tending to your spells, and ensuring your presence remained unnoticed. You moved often, never staying too long in one place. It was safer that way.

You had no interest in the affairs of royals. But even in the most remote corners of the land, rumors had a way of finding you.

Whispers of the crown prince’s survival had spread like wildfire. People spoke of it with reverence, how their beloved prince had returned from the brink of death, stronger than ever. How even the finest physicians had been baffled by his miraculous recovery.

Some said it was divine intervention. Others claimed it was his sheer will to live.

But one rumor, in particular, made your blood run cold.

The prince was searching for someone.

At first, the stories were vague. He had taken an interest in an unknown savior. A healer, perhaps, or a skilled mage who had vanished without a trace.

Then, the details sharpened.

He sought someone who wielded forbidden magic. Someone who had left him when he was too weak to follow. Someone who had defied him.

You stiffened when you first heard it, your fingers tightening around the basket of herbs you had been gathering. You had always known the risk of saving him, but you had thought that once he returned to his kingdom, he would forget you.

Clearly, you had been wrong.

----

The gathering was always held in secret, deep within the wilderness where only those attuned to magic could find it. It was a rare chance for wizards to convene without fear—a fleeting moment of safety in a world that sought to burn them.

You had never attended before. Too many eyes, too much risk. But this time, you had a reason.

You needed ingredients for a new spell.

The air buzzed with magic as you moved through the market stalls draped in enchanted fabrics and glowing sigils. Wizards of all kinds were here—some veiled, some bold enough to show their faces, all of them powerful in their own way. Incense and dried herbs filled the air with an earthy scent as you carefully examined a bundle of moonshade petals, their silver glow faint under your touch.

You didn’t notice the presence behind you.

Not at first.

A sharp inhale.

A breath against your hair.

Your muscles locked. No one got this close. Your first instinct was to lash out, to summon the wind and shove the intruder away. But before you could react, a voice brushed against your ear.

“I’ve finally found you.”

Stiffly, you turned your head.

The man standing behind you was different from the one you had last seen bleeding in the dirt. The pristine prince, dressed in silver and royal blue, was gone. This version of Phainon was something else entirely.

His white-silver hair had grown longer, strands falling over his forehead. His usual noble attire was replaced with something more discreet; a dark cloak, simple leather armor, a sword at his hip. But no disguise could ever hide him.

And as he leaned in ever so slightly, drinking in your scent once more, his lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh.

“Did you think you could run from me?”

The moment Phainon reached for you, whether to grab your wrist or simply to keep you from fleeing, you moved. A sharp pulse of magic burst from your body, the force of it sending Phainon staggering back. The nearest stalls rattled violently, enchanted trinkets shattering upon impact. Gasps rippled through the gathering as wizards turned to watch, their whispers sharp with unease.

The scent of scorched air filled your lungs as you raised your hands, power thrumming at your fingertips. You should run. But something in you rebelled at the thought of simply letting him take you.

Phainon chuckled, his stance shifting as he caught himself. His blue eyes gleamed with something unnervingly fond.

“You’re still as breathtaking as I remember” he murmured, brushing off his cloak as if you hadn’t just blasted him. “But surely you knew this was pointless.”

“Stay away from me.”

He tilted his head, considering you. Then—he lunged.

You barely had time to react. You shot your hand forward, magic crackling in the air as a gust of wind slammed into his side, knocking him off course. He grunted, boots skidding across the dirt. The ground trembled beneath you as you pulled more power into your grasp, ready to strike again—

But he was fast.

The moment you blinked, he was upon you again, forcing you to jerk back just in time to avoid his outstretched hand. But he wasn’t trying to strike. No—his fingers curled, reaching for your waist.

You twisted away, fury igniting in your veins. Fine. If he wanted a fight, he’d get one.

The air around you shimmered as you sent another pulse of energy directly at him. This time, he wasn’t fast enough.

The spell struck him square in the chest, sending him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, coughing as dust billowed around him. A thin trail of blood dripped from the corner of his lips.

The gathered wizards scattered. Whatever curiosity they had harbored was now outweighed by the risk. A prince—a royal—fighting a wizard was dangerous. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

Within moments, the ceremonial grounds were nearly empty. Only you and Phainon remained.

“You hurt me” he murmured. Not with anger. Not with resentment.

With delight.

Your fingers twitched, and the air around you shifted. With a whispered incantation, your broom shot into your grip, magic thrumming beneath your palms. You were ready to leave.

But so was he.

Phainon moved just as you did, his speed forcing you to take an extra step back, your heartbeat spiking. He was injured, yet still too fast.

You scowled, gripping your broom tightly. “What do you even want from this?”

His eyes never left yours. “You.”

“You should be grateful” you snapped. “I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? Ruining my work?” You gestured to the ruined ingredients scattered across the dirt. The delicate petals, the crushed herbs—all useless now.

“I’ll find more for you.”

You gritted your teeth. “I don’t want you to.”

You were done with this.

Without another word, you gripped your broom and prepared to take off again, but—

A glint of light. A flicker of magic.

Phainon lifted a stone between his fingers.

The sight of it made you pause.

Dark veins of power ran through its surface, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. A rare artifact, used only for temporary enchantments—but at what cost?

“Where did you get that?”

“Does it matter?”

It did. He must have taken it from someone—or worse.

But Phainon only watched you, waiting.

The moment the stone’s power wrapped around you, you knew something was wrong.

It was subtle at first—a numbness in your fingertips, a sudden silence where your magic should have been. Then, the realization hit.

Your magic was gone.

Temporarily, maybe, but it didn’t matter. That was all he needed.

Phainon wasted no time. He moved swiftly, catching you in his grip before you could even attempt to fight back. Without your magic, your broom was useless. Your strength alone was nothing against him.

The next thing you knew, you were here. Locked in the prince’s chambers, high above the kingdom you had spent your whole life avoiding.

You had tested the door the moment he left—locked, of course. The windows, too, were secured with enchanted glass. Even if you could break them, the fall would be too great. You were trapped.

And Phainon?

He was preparing.

You could hear the water running from the adjoining room, the faint splash of movement as he bathed. You didn’t have to see him to know what he was doing—cutting his hair, washing away the dirt of travel, shedding the rugged disguise he had worn just to find you.

You had to try.

Even if your magic wasn’t back yet. Even if the fall could kill you.

You pressed against the window, fingers searching for a weak point in the enchanted glass. It wouldn’t budge.

But he had underestimated desperation.

With a sharp inhale, you struck. A hard blow against the glass, then another, until finally—a crack. A surge of hope rushed through you. You struck again, harder this time. The glass shattered.

The wind howled against your skin as you gripped the windowsill. This was it. You would have to jump before Phainon—

A hand clamped onto your wrist.

Pain. A sharp gasp. A warm drop of something splattered against your skin.

Blood.

Phainon’s grip was ironclad, but his other hand—the one he had used to catch you—was cut deep, a jagged shard of glass slicing into his palm.

He didn’t seem to care.

With one fierce yank, he pulled you back into the room, his breath hot with frustration as he slammed you against his chest.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

You barely registered his words—because suddenly, you felt it.

A spark. Like a fire reigniting after being smothered for too long.

Your magic was back.

Instinct took over before you could think. Your hands, still trembling from the shock, moved over his bleeding one. A soft glow pulsed from your fingertips as the wound began to mend, closing rapidly as though it had never been there.

It was then that you noticed—the damp heat of his skin, the lingering scent of soap.

And the fact that he was only wearing a towel.

The sound of your struggle hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Footsteps—several of them. Voices murmuring outside the door, uncertain but growing louder.

“Your Highness?” a man called. “Is everything—”

The door cracked open, and you caught a glimpse of not one, but three men peering inside. Soldiers, perhaps attendants, all of them pausing in shock at the sight before them.

Phainon—barely covered.

You—flushed and breathless.

It took them less than a second to misunderstand.

For a long, agonizing moment, no one spoke.

Then, unable to help yourself, you raised an eyebrow. “Are you holding a bath model contest or what?”

One of the men choked.

Deciding you had more than enough of this, you snapped your fingers, letting your magic slam the door shut in their faces. A flick of your wrist and a rush of energy later, Phainon was fully clothed, his usual regal attire appearing in place of the towel.

Your work here was done.

“Right” you muttered, dusting off your hands. “This has been an experience. But now that my magic’s back, I think I’ll take my leave—”

A hand caught your wrist.

Again.

But this time, Phainon didn’t try to pull you closer. He just… held on.

“Don’t go.”

“…Why?”

He swallowed. “I need you to cure my sister.”

You hadn’t even known he had a sister. You crossed your arms, giving Phainon a skeptical look. “I’m not a healer.”

He didn’t hesitate. “It’s not an illness. She was cursed.”

That made you pause. Curses were a different matter entirely. If that was true, then perhaps—

“…Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll take a look.”

Phainon exhaled, as if relieved, and led you through the palace halls. He stayed close, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the task ahead.

Soon, you arrived at a dimly lit chamber. A woman lay motionless on the grand bed, her breathing faint, her complexion pale. Even from the entrance, you could feel it—lingering magic.

A real curse.

You stepped forward, examining her carefully. The energy clinging to her skin was thick, unnatural—a spell cast with intent, not by accident.

Phainon hovered behind you, silent, watching.

Minutes passed as you traced the curse’s signature, considering your options. Then, with a sigh, you straightened. “I can break it” you said simply. “But I’ll need time to prepare the spell.”

Phainon gave a slow nod, as if he had already expected that answer.

You left, mind already racing with the components you’d need.

Meanwhile, in the chamber you had just departed—

Phainon remained. Alone, save for the girl.

His expression shifted. The moment you were gone, the warmth vanished from his gaze, replaced by something else—something cold.

He stepped closer to the bed, his voice a low murmur.

“Make sure to play your role well.”

The girl flinched, unable to move much under the weight of the curse. Fear flickered in her wide eyes.

Because she wasn’t his sister.

She wasn’t anyone.

Just an unfortunate soul he had plucked from the streets. Just another piece in his carefully laid plan.

And you, his true goal, still had no idea.

The days that followed were suffocating.

Despite being assigned a maid, Anna, and a knight, Brant, to check on you and provide whatever you needed, Phainon was always there.

Even now, as you prepared the spell to lift the curse, he sat beside you, idly crushing the herbs you had handed him. His presence was oppressive, his knee brushing yours far too often to be accidental.

“…Why are you still sitting here?” you asked, side-eyeing him.

Phainon didn’t even look up. “I just love the warmth of people.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Is that so?” you muttered.

Fine. You’d test that.

You glanced toward Anna, who was tidying up nearby. “Anna, come here. Stand next to the prince for a bit.”

Anna blinked in surprise but obeyed, stepping closer. You moved away.

Phainon frowned. His hands, previously steady, hesitated over the herbs.

But just to be sure—

“Brant,” you called, turning to the knight. “Your turn. Stand beside the prince.”

Brant, ever dutiful, wordlessly approached. You took another step back.

Phainon’s entire expression darkened.

He barely glanced at Brant before abandoning the herbs altogether and standing—immediately closing the distance between you.

You exhaled, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You sure you like the warmth of people?”

“I do.” His gaze locked onto yours, unwavering. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

At this point, you were convinced that Phainon would literally do anything you said.

No hesitation. No complaints.

So, naturally, you decided to push it.

You plucked a random leaf from your ingredients and shoved it into his mouth.

"Chew" you ordered.

Phainon, without a second thought, did. His jaw moved, grinding the leaf to pulp, his blue eyes fixed only on you.

You narrowed your eyes. "That could be poison, you know."

He kept chewing. Unbothered.

It wasn’t poison, but he didn’t know that. And yet, there he was, completely unfazed, still obediently chewing like it was some kind of sacred duty.

"Spit it out" you snapped, reaching forward.

Phainon tilted his head slightly, waiting until your fingers were inside his mouth—

Then he shut his lips around them.

What.

You glared at him. "Let go."

He just stared at you, mouth stubbornly shut.

You tried pulling your fingers free. No luck.

You pressed his jaw. Nothing.

He wasn’t biting down, but he wasn’t letting go either.

Oh, for the love of—

Fine. Desperate times.

You took a deep breath, reached forward—and tickled his sides.

Eventually, pinching his side finally did the trick.

Phainon flinched, jaw loosening just enough for you to yank your fingers free. You scowled, wiping them on your sleeve before storming off to wash your hands.

“Handle the rest yourself” you muttered over your shoulder.

He just sat there, utterly unbothered, still chewing the remnants of the leaf like some devoted fool.

You exhaled, tired beyond belief. “I’m going to sleep.”

Phainon perked up.

“I want to stay here and sleep too” he said easily, like it was a completely normal request.

You turned to him slowly. “No way in hell.”

You had changed your mind. Without another word, you grabbed your broom, fully intending to take off and leave him behind.

Phainon, undeterred, followed. “Let me on too.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “It won’t hold us both.”

But before he could start another argument, you sighed and flicked your fingers, casting a spell to summon a second broom.

“There. Now go away.”

Phainon examined the broom for a moment, then climbed on.

Watching him struggle to stay balanced was the most satisfying thing you’d seen all day.

The two of you eventually landed on a tall tree, its thick branches sturdy enough to sit on. From here, the kingdom stretched out beneath you, its golden rooftops glimmering under the moonlight.

Phainon sat beside you, his usual cloying presence somehow softer in the night air.

“The kingdom has always feared wizards” he murmured, gaze fixed on the city below. “Power that can’t be controlled terrifies them.”

You stayed silent, listening.

“But now that you’re here,” he continued, turning to look at you, “I want to change that.”

You snorted. “Good luck with that.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “You don’t believe it’s possible?”

“I don’t care.” You leaned back against the trunk, stretching your legs. “I’m only here for one thing. When I’m done, I’m out.”

Phainon’s hands curled into fists, but he said nothing.

Satisfied, you pushed off the branch, summoning your broom with a flick of your wrist.

Without another glance at him, you flew back to your room.

Morning came too soon.

You were still half-asleep when Phainon dragged you out of bed.

Dazed and irritated, you barely managed to register your surroundings before you found yourself standing in an ornate hall—filled with too many people.

It didn’t take long to piece it together.

Phainon stood beside you, grinning. His parents—the king and queen—sat before you, their expressions frozen in shock. Nobles lined the room, their whispers filling the space.

He was presenting you.

To his parents.

To the nobles.

As his partner.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. You should have just stayed asleep.

The king was the first to recover. His sharp gaze narrowed on Phainon.

“Phainon,” he said, voice cold with disbelief, “what is the meaning of this?”

Phainon didn’t hesitate. “I’m introducing my partner.”

The room erupted into murmurs. Some nobles looked scandalized. Others glanced at you like you were a wild beast about to attack.

You? You barely cared.

The queen’s lips parted slightly, her grip on the armrest tightening. “This is sudden. You never mentioned—”

“I didn’t need to,” Phainon interrupted smoothly. “It was only a matter of time before we stood here.”

A noblewoman to the side scoffed. “A wizard? You cannot be serious.”

Your gaze flickered toward her—briefly. She flinched, looking away.

The king exhaled sharply. “This is absurd. You expect us to simply accept this?”

“I expect you to respect it.”

The tension was thick. The nobles muttered amongst themselves, their expressions ranging from outrage to uneasy calculation.

You, meanwhile, were just waiting for this nonsense to end.

A nobleman sneered, crossing his arms. “A wizard in the royal family. How ridiculous. Who’s to say they won’t curse us all in our sleep?”

Your patience was already thin.

You turned to him, “Watch your mouth.”

He tensed.

“You should feel lucky,” you continued, smirking. “I’m not a grumpy wizard, or you’d already be a pile of ashes.”

The room fell silent. Some nobles stiffened, others shifted uncomfortably.

Not wanting to waste another second in this mess, you turned on your heel and strode toward the exit.

If only Phainon had found someone else to obsess over instead.

That thought lingered.

Fine. If he wouldn’t let go, you’d make him.

You’d craft a love potion and set him up with someone else.

Back in your room, you wasted no time.

You gathered your ingredients—rose petals, moonlit water,.... Carefully, you mixed them in your cauldron, stirring with precise intent. The potion had to be subtle. Strong enough to shift his affections, but not suspicious.

The thought of finally being free from his overbearing presence fueled your work.

A few hours later, the potion was ready.

A single vial of shimmering, rosy liquid.

Now, all you needed was a target.

Phainon was constantly surrounded by nobles, maids, attendants—surely, one of them could do. Someone beautiful, someone obedient enough to make him lose interest in you.

After some observation, you set your sights on a noblewoman—Lady Elnora. Sweet, well-mannered, and conveniently harboring a quiet admiration for Phainon.

The plan was simple: slip the potion into his drink, then let nature take its course.

You prepared everything, waiting for the perfect moment.

But as you would soon learn—nothing ever went as planned when it came to Phainon.

Slipping the potion into his drink was the easy part.

A gathering had been arranged that evening—a small banquet among the nobles. Phainon, of course, had dragged you along, refusing to let you out of his sight.

You’d use it to your advantage.

While he was distracted speaking to his father, you subtly poured the shimmering liquid into his goblet. It dissolved instantly, leaving no trace.

Now, all you had to do was steer him toward Lady Elnora.

As planned, you struck up a conversation with her, making sure Phainon was close enough to notice.

She was warm, polite, charming. Exactly the type he should fall for.

And then—he turned toward her. His blue eyes softened.

It was working.

You let out a slow breath, feeling something close to relief. Finally, freedom.

But just as quickly, that relief vanished.

Because instead of stepping closer to Elnora—he turned back to you.

With the same, unwavering obsession in his gaze.

He reached out, his fingers grazing yours with sickening devotion.

"You look beautiful tonight" he murmured, voice softer than it had ever been.

The potion had worked.

But not on Elnora.

It had made him fall even harder for you.

Panic shot through you like lightning.

Without thinking, you shoved Phainon away.

His eyes widened slightly, but he barely stumbled. Before he could react further, you turned on your heel and ran.

You needed space. Distance. Sanity.

Your feet carried you through the halls, past startled nobles and confused servants. You didn't stop until you reached the room of the cursed girl.

The air inside was thick with lingering magic, but her condition was nearly resolved. The spell you had been working on was almost done.

Good. The sooner you finished, the sooner you could leave.

You didn’t dare return to your room.

Not when Phainon was undoubtedly searching for you.

So, for the next few days, you did your best to avoid him entirely.

You switched locations frequently, using whatever magic you could to mask your presence. The palace was vast, but not vast enough when the crown prince himself was actively hunting you down.

Every time you turned a corner, you half-expected him to be there—waiting.

The potion would wear off eventually. It had to.

Until then, you just had to stay hidden.

When the effects of the potion finally faded, you cautiously emerged from hiding.

You expected Phainon to come storming after you the moment his mind cleared. Maybe demand an explanation, maybe double down on his obsession.

But what you didn’t expect—

Was to find him collapsed in the bath.

His silver-white hair floated in the water, his breathing uneven. His usually sharp, possessive gaze was absent, unfocused.

With a sigh, you pulled him out of the bath, his body unnervingly cold.

Dragging him to a nearby chair, you grabbed a towel and started drying his hair with little patience. "You really don’t make things easy, do you?"

Phainon didn’t respond right away.

Once you were sure he wasn’t about to collapse again, you leaned back. "The curse is nearly lifted. A few finishing touches, and I’m done."

His blue eyes, now clearer, met yours.

"And once that’s over, I’m leaving."

Phainon blinked slowly, as if his mind was still catching up.

Then, he exhaled sharply. “...Leaving?”

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a firm look. “Yes. That was always the plan.”

His grip on the towel tightened. “And if I say I won’t allow it?”

You scoffed. “Then I’d say that’s not your choice to make.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t engage further.

Instead, you turned to leave.

You had work to finish. And if he wanted to fight you on this?

Let him try.

----

You didn’t expect the cursed girl to bolt the moment she was free.

But the second the last traces of magic dissolved, she barely spared you a glance before sprinting out the door, fear in her eyes.

Weird. But not your problem anymore.

What was your problem, however, was what happened later.

You had been watching from a distance, blending into the crowd as Phainon stood before the entire kingdom.

Then, he spoke. Loudly. Boldly.

"I declare myself the right-hand man of the wizard!" His voice echoed through the square. "And with their power beside me, I shall take over the kingdom!"

You went full mode: WHAT.

The crowd erupted into chaos. Nobles paled. The king and queen looked moments away from passing out.

And Phainon? Phainon looked entirely too pleased.

Without thinking, you stormed forward, pushing through the gasping spectators.

You reached him just as he lifted his sword—probably seconds away from actually beheading someone.

“NOPE.”

You grabbed him, yanking him back before he could do something irreversible.

Because clearly—this man had lost his mind.

The teleportation spell worked—kind of.

Instead of your current home, you landed in your old one.

Dust floated in the air, untouched furniture sitting exactly as you had left it. Clearly, something had gone wrong with the spell, but that didn’t matter right now.

What did matter was the crazy man in front of you.

Phainon stumbled slightly from the sudden shift, but instead of looking confused or angry—

He grinned.

“Running away with me?” he mused, tilting his head. “How romantic.”

“You absolute lunatic.”

The fight had been explosive.

"You have no idea what you just did!" you had shouted.

Phainon, still ridiculously pleased with himself, had only smirked. "On the contrary, I knew exactly—"

You had silenced him with a spell, shoved a leaf in his mouth, tied him up, and gagged him with another cloth for good measure. Then, with a deep breath, you transformed into him.

The plan? Fix this mess.

You returned to the kingdom, adopting his mannerisms, his voice, his smirk. Before the stunned court, you apologized, claiming you had been forced under a spell.

It was going smoothly.

Until it wasn’t.

His parents, their expressions unreadable, finally spoke. "We have no such son."

Oh.

Then came the swords. The arrows.

Instinct kicked in—you cast a defensive spell without thinking.

The room gasped.

And just like that, Phainon had magic in their eyes.

Now the kingdom believed their once-beloved prince was a wizard.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

So, you did the only logical thing.

You ran.

Back to where you had left the real Phainon.

You yanked the cloth away and retrieved the leaf from his mouth.

Before you could step back, he bit your ring finger.

You hissed, but before you could retaliate, he simply smirked.

“That’s like a wedding ring” he mused, tone infuriatingly casual. “For you.”

You nearly punched him.

Instead, you shook your hand free. "No. Absolutely not. And you are not coming with me, either."

He tilted his head. "Unless—" he dragged out the word, voice full of mock innocence.

"Unless you want me to return to the palace," he continued smoothly. "Start a little wizard hunt. Maybe collect a few as slaves."

Your jaw tightened.

"They’ll blame you, not me," he added, watching you. "You did impersonate me, after all."

He was baiting you. And worse—he wasn’t bluffing.

You barely had time to react when the door slammed open.

A ragged figure stumbled inside, looking around like a starving beggar.

You froze. “Princess?”

She barked a laugh. “Hell no.”

Your stomach dropped as she grinned, eyes glinting with something wild.

“Ahh, Prince Phainon” she drawled, turning to him. “Lemme tell you a secret. I ain’t no princess.”

Then she spilled everything.

Phainon. The curse. His plan.

You turned to him, “Is that true?”

Before he could answer, the girl suddenly lunged, a dagger flashing in her hand.

Snap

Her body slumped to the floor.

Phainon flexed his fingers, watching her lifeless form. Then, he turned to you with an easy, unbothered smile.

“Oops,” he said. “Sorry to let you witness that.”

You shoved Phainon aside, heart pounding as you crouched beside the girl.

No pulse. Dead.

Phainon stretched, completely unfazed. “Well,” he mused, “you can kill me, if you’d like. As long as it’s you, I don’t mind.”

You barely processed his words before—footsteps.

People. Coming closer.

You forced yourself to stand, hands trembling as you muttered the teleportation spell. The air around you twisted—

Then, darkness.

You woke up days later.

The scent of food. Soft sheets. A familiar ceiling.

Your house.

And Phainon, sitting comfortably nearby—completely at home.

You blinked blearily as Phainon extended a plate of food toward you. “You should eat,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “You were out for days.”

You took the plate, but your gaze narrowed. “You’re still here.”

He smiled, completely unashamed. “Of course. You’re here.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up. “I should just use you as a specimen” you muttered. “A homeless like you would be perfect for wizard experiments.”

His eyes lit up. “Gladly.”

Fine. You’d call his bluff.

With a flick of your fingers, a dagger flew from a nearby table into your grasp. You grabbed his hand. “Alright,” you said coolly. “I’ll cut your finger off for a potion. Deal?”

Phainon’s grin widened.

“That would be amazing,” he murmured, leaning his finger in closer. “As long as I can stay by your side.”

Without hesitation, you brought the dagger down.

A sharp slice.

His ring finger hit the floor.

Phainon barely flinched. His breathing hitched—eyes widening in thrill rather than pain—but he didn't pull away. Instead, he let out a breathy chuckle.

"Ah…" He stared at his bleeding hand, then at you, voice soft with awe. "You really did it."

You ignored him. Carefully, you picked up the severed finger.

But instead of using it for a potion, you placed it in a jar, sealing it tight.

"You're keeping it?"

"If you ever turn your back on me" you murmured, "I’ll make you suffer in the worst way possible."

He exhaled, almost giddy. "That just makes me want to stay by your side even more."

You sighed, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it against his bleeding hand.

Phainon didn’t flinch.

“You really are kind”

You scoffed, tying the cloth tighter just to make him wince. “Don’t mistake this for kindness.”

He only laughed.

The room fell into silence as you finished dressing his wound. When you finally let go of his hand, he didn’t move away.

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling.

“You can stay.”

His eyes brightened.

Whatever this scenario was—whatever twisted bond had formed between you and Phainon—you knew one thing.

It wouldn’t end anytime soon.

[mindless-existence1]

Sonic and reader becomes friends!

would shadow get jealous? Like his lover just became friends with his enemy lol

the shock on Sonic’s face learning g shadow has a lover lol

also I don’t know if it went through but I asked you to marry me

Authors note: Put a ring on it @luc1dw0rld

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sonic’s room was its usual chaos: posters plastered on the walls, random gadgets scattered on every surface, and a distinct smell of chili dogs lingering in the air. You were sprawled on his bed, flipping through a comic book while he sat cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in his own.

“Okay, but tell me this,” Sonic said, pointing to a panel in his comic. “How does this dude survive getting thrown into a volcano? Like, plot armor is one thing, but come on.”

You snorted, not even looking up from your page. “He’s the main character, Sonic. Logic doesn’t apply to him.”

“Still dumb,” he muttered, flicking the page with unnecessary force. You glanced at your watch, and your eyes widened. “Oh, shit! I have to leave and get ready for my date.”

Sonic looked up from his comic, raising an eyebrow. “Still can’t believe you’re dating Shadow.” You rolled your eyes with a grin, heading for the door. “You’ve said that every time I’ve mentioned him. I don't see what's so unbelievable."

“I dunno,” Sonic said, shrugging. “He’s just so... serious. And, like, broody and grumpy and you're....not. It’s weird.” You smirked. “Opposites attract, Sonic.”

He rolled his eyes but grinned. “Whatever. Tell him I said hi. And tell him not to glare at me next time we’re in the same room.”

“Will do, see ya later,” you called over your shoulder as you grabbed your things and headed out the door.

-----

By the time you got back to your place, the evening sky was painted in hues of orange and pink. Unlocking the door, you stepped inside, expecting to find Shadow waiting as he usually did. Sure enough, there he was—sitting on your couch with his arms crossed and an unmistakable pout on his face.

“Hey,” you greeted warmly, setting your bag down. “You’re early.” Shadow’s crimson eyes flicked toward you briefly before he looked away. “Hmph.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What’s with the attitude? Something happen?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied curtly, though the slight furrow of his brow said otherwise. You sighed, sitting down next to him. “Shadow, no offense but you'rea terrible lair. So spill.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the coffee table. Finally, he muttered, “You were with Sonic earlier.” You blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah? We were just hanging out and reading comics. Why?”

Shadow shifted uncomfortably, his arms tightening over his chest. “…You spend a lot of time with him.” Realization dawned on you, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Wait. Are you jealous?”

Shadow’s eyes snapped to yours, his expression a mix of indignation and embarrassment. “I am not jealous.”

“You totally are,” you teased, leaning closer. “You’re sulking because I was with Sonic. Admit it.”

“I don’t sulk,” he grumbled, but the faint blush dusting his cheeks betrayed him. You laughed softly, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm.

“Shadow, you have nothing to worry about. Sonic’s my best friend, yeah, but you’re the one I’m dating. You’re the one I want to be with because I love you.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly. You don't miss the way his shoulders loose their tension, what you don't know is how his heart rate spikes every time you say that “…It’s irrational,” he admitted quietly.

“Very,” you agreed, grinning. The tension in his posture easing as he leaned back against the couch. “I just don’t understand how someone like him can take up so much of your attention.”

“Well, he’s my friend,” you said simply, “but you’re the one I am lucky enough to be dating.” He didn’t respond immediately, but the small hum he gave you was enough to know he understood.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, a warm silence settling between you. After a moment, you added playfull, "It’s kind of cute seeing you like this.”

Shadow rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smirk from appearing on his face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” you teased, earning a quiet chuckle from him as the sun dipped below the horizon.

After a moment of comfortable silence you hear Shadow mumble something under his breath that makes your heart swell, "I love you to."

[gothwineaunts]

I don’t mean to assume or make anyone alarmed but I’ve heard you and flynn are skipping the focus on Annabel and Lenore bc of a group of Montresor fans (as Lenore and Annabel aren’t popular with them).

Is that true??

I’m not asking because of what’s happening in fastpass, I heard about this information around when season 2 came out.

Wow, that's honestly absurd. Sorry hon, I dunno where you heard that but it's made-up nonsense. A rumor, and not even a particularly good one. I think most anyone would be able to see through it, but I'll go through it with you anyway because I've seen some angst on the tag about this. 1. Lenore and Annabel are the main characters of the story, and that has not changed and will not change. If we intended to toss them aside in season 2, why on earth would we have set so much up in season 1? Also all of the promo art is still of them, and we spent a lot of time on it. So I think it's a safe bet to assume they're still the main characters. 2. Nevermore is, and has always been, a sapphic gothic romance. Montresor is a man. Where is the sense in changing the intent of a story, and likely losing readers in the process, just to appeal to a niche group? 3. As for this niche group of Montresor fans, where? Who are they? And what power do they supposedly have over us to force us to completely change the story to their shadowy whims? Idk if you noticed this but people kind of hate Montresor. He's easily the least liked character in the series. And making him the main character would be maybe the most unpopular decision we could possibly make, so how would that be selling out or making fanservice, if everyone... would hate it? Wouldn't that make it the opposite of fanservice? What is the logic there? 4. As far as I am concerned, Annabel and Lenore are popular with most everybody in the fandom (including people who happen to also like Montresor) on account of them being, once again, the main characters of the story. 5. Annabel got the first flashback, and then Ada, then Prospero, then Eulalie, and Will. I feel like there are enough data points there for most people to be able to see the trajectory of the arc. If you can't, I'm not going to explain it. 6. Related to the above point, do you suppose we've passed over Lenore by accident? Or we just forgot about her? Or is it more likely that we're doing a thing? 7. Y'know, it's always Montresor people make up these moralistic rumors about. I'm sick to death of people being weird about Montresor. Some of you out there really need to learn what a villain is, it's frankly wild how much confusion there seems to be around this concept. 8. This rumor smacks of "you don't actually care about the sapphics" but I regret to inform you that Flynn and I are both sapphics. And worse, we're sapphic together. Kinda shoots that idea out of the water. 9. Is this because everyone is mad they haven't kissed yet? Because this is still the same slowburn you read last season. I don't know why anyone thought there'd be a kiss like ten panels into the new season. 10. If I seem edgy, it's because it's pretty insulting to imply that we just do whatever readers tell us to do when it comes to creating the story. We really put our hearts into this series, and our plans for the plot will not change, no matter what y'all say or do. We do not crowdsource our art. And if we did, it would make an absolute mess of things. Thanks for your question, I hope I cleared things up. <3

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Catch Me — Xu Minghao

✧ Let's bring out the beast, shall we? ✧

Plot: Picture this… you join an exclusive sex club and meet a mysterious man who helps you embrace your darker tastes.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x mystery man!Xu Minghao 🎥 Genre: dark romance; suggestive [+18], light angst 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, primal kink (I explain it a bit but feel free to look it up if you’re unsure), light knife play (no blood) 🎥 Notes: alright, so this is a little different from my usual writing but I recently read the Legacy of Gods series by Rina Kent and let me tell you I AM OBSSESSED!! so ofc I had to incorporate it into a fic hehe. hope you will like it 🤭 🎥 Shout out: thanks again to bestie @nothoughtsjustfic for reading over this as always 💜

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

Crazy. 

That was the only word you could think of to describe the situation you’d gotten yourself into on this dark and gloomy Friday evening. 

If anyone were to see you right now, running frantically through the forest in the middle of nowhere, they’d think you were in immediate danger.

But that was just the thing. Your life wasn’t in jeopardy… not really. In fact, you had very much agreed to partake in this sick and twisted game. 

It all started with Rose Haven, an exclusive sex club you’d signed up for in an attempt to find something that was more your taste, so to say. 

Although you were by no means a virgin, you’d never really found sex enjoyable, unlike your friends, who swore it was the best thing on earth. Of the few guys you’d been with, none had managed to make you cum, nor had they bothered with anything more than missionary or doggy to get themselves off before taking their leave. 

You’d then turned to porn, hoping that it would be better without a useless, self-centered guy getting in between you and your orgasm. But that didn’t do it for you either. It was all so anticlimactic and fake, you felt like you needed something more, even though you weren’t sure what that something was supposed to be. 

It had gotten to the point where you were starting to believe that maybe you were the problem — abnormal, defect, whatever you wanted to call it. 

But then you’d come across Rose Haven, and you learned about a whole list of sex kinks you didn’t even know existed. That’s how you eventually discovered the world of primal play, aka a type of predator–prey dynamic in which both parties let their primal instincts come out during sex. 

You‘d been intrigued from the start, wondering how something so raw and animalistic could be considered elating and pleasurable. However, the more you read through the club’s primal play forum, the more you began to realize that perhaps this was exactly what you needed. Maybe giving into your instincts for once would finally give you what you were looking for. 

And what better way than to do it with a random stranger, someone who didn’t know you at all, someone who wouldn’t judge you for indulging in something like that, someone who — just like you — was trying out new kinks because regular, boring vanilla sex was not cutting it for them either? 

Yes, you knew it sounded totally crazy and you were pretty sure that none of your friends would understand, but you still signed up that same evening, filling out all the required information and your preferences and submitting the form before you had a chance to back out. 

And now here you were, being chased through a dark forest by a hot guy whom you’d been matched with less than a week after sending in your application. 

You didn’t even know his name. All you knew about the guy was that he’d engaged in primal play before, and his member ID, which was mentioned in the attendance invitation you’d received earlier this evening — it also stated the safeword and the off-site location you were currently at. 

When you arrived at the eerie-looking cabin, you’d been alone. And when he still hadn’t shown up ten minutes after the original meetup time, you started to second-guess your choice to come.

But then he was suddenly there, scaring the living daylights out of you when you felt his warm breath hit the back of your neck. It was only when you turned around and he showed you the card displaying a member ID that matched the one you received, you felt yourself start to relax. 

Next thing you knew he told you to run as his lips curled into a devilish smirk, one that was enough to get you moving.  

Where, you didn’t know. You could barely see anything in the dark, the trees all looking similar and your vision slightly blurring the longer you ran. So you stopped behind a big tree for a moment to catch your breath, keeping your ears open for any sign of the guy. 

A twig snapping on your right caught your attention and your heartbeat sped up instantly as you waited, your body shaking with adrenaline. 

“Oh, thank god.” You breathed a sigh of relief when you realized it was just an innocent bunny. You slowly pushed yourself away from the tree and turned around before taking a step, only to freeze when a piece of metal was suddenly pressed against your throat. 

“Gotcha, little rabbit. You really have to work on your technique,” he mumbled against your ear.

You swallowed nervously, too afraid to move but at the same time curious to see what would happen if you did. 

“Don’t even think about moving. I won’t be so nice next time.” His voice was harsh this time, sending tingles down your spine and to your pussy as he increased the pressure on your throat. 

Fuck, how was he having this effect on you already? You don’t think you’d ever gotten that wet this fast. But here this stranger was, doing just that while manhandling you like a freaking psycho. 

Within the blink of an eye, he removed the knife and forcefully pushed your back against the large tree, leaving you with nowhere to go as he trapped you with his larger form.

Then the knife was back on your skin, right below your throat, sliding down slowly and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

A loud ripping sound echoed through the empty woods, and you watched with big eyes as your dress fell to the ground in tatters.

A terrifying smile overtook the man's features as his hungry gaze moved over your trembling form.

“Now, little rabbit, where do we start?” 

**BONUS CONTENT**

Dear Ms. L/N,

Due to unforeseen circumstances that we cannot disclose, member 234448 is unfortunately unable to attend today's appointment that was supposed to take place at 10pm.

If you wish to reschedule the appointment, please fill out the attached form as soon as possible and we will do our best to arrange something.

Thank you for your understanding and as always, stay safe.

🌹 Rose Haven  

Your breath caught in your throat as you read over the club message you'd received over two hours ago.

“Something wrong, little rabbit?”

Your gaze shot up instantly, locking with mystery man's dark orbs as you tried to keep your cool.

If your supposed ‘date’ had canceled on you, then who the hell was the man that had just ravaged you in the best possible way in the forest?

To be continued…

🎥 Join the Set The Scene taglist: @wonuilu @choco-scoups @whoisbaek15 @vixensss @babycaratdeul

@whoa-jo @ateez-atiny380 @codeinebelle @imawkwardandshy @tokitosun

@sanaxo-o @livelaughloveseventeen @perfectiondazesworld @kyeomiis @svtiddiess

If you wish to be added to the Set The Scene taglist, please fill out this form. We will only add those with age indicators in their bios to the taglist due to potential NSFW material within certain scenes.

[biisexualemma]

heal me pt.2. frank castle

word count: 3.3k

requested: i think so?

warnings: injury, bruising, scars

plot: you're home from the hospital to be met with an unexpected visitor

a/n: sorry this took me literally 3 years to write and post, am pretty good at leaving you hanging i'm sorry! hope you enjoy it anyway! didn't proof this so sorry if there are mistakes or if it's kinda shit oops

part 1 / masterlist

"how you feelin' today?" you were met by foggy's friendly face poking around the door, a helium balloon popping up around the door frame with the phrase 'get well soon' printed on it. you couldn't help but crack a smile as he let himself into your room clumsily trying to control the balloon as it kept getting caught around things.

"better," you mumbled groggily, you hadn't long been awake and it was still pretty early. he was dressed in a suit, you figured he was heading to the office after visiting times were over. "how many of these balloons am i gonna' get off you?"

he shrugged, placing the balloon on your bedside table, removing the old one that had been sitting there, sad and deflated that he had brought by a few days earlier to replace the one he had brought in before that. and so on. it was sweet. "you'll keep getting 'em until you get out of this place," he was referring to the hospital room you'd been parked in for over a week now. "which i hear is soon?"

your smile drooped a little, relaxing as he positioned himself on the edge of your bed, careful not to crowd you. "doctor is gonna' check up on me later today and let me know," you pulled the covers further up feeling a slight chill to the room, repositioning yourself with care and caution. you scrunched up your nose, discomfort washing over you as you moved ever so slightly. "i think i should at least be able to go home in the next couple days."

he nodded, his smile faltering as he watched you struggle. he learned pretty quickly though to leave you to it, you didn't like being babied. you'd slapped his hand away when he tried to help you sit up when he first came to visit, so he didn't offer again. "fingers crossed," he mumbled with a less convincing smile.

you held his stare for a moment, opening your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "i just saw karen," he updated, carefully avoiding the questions he knew you were desperate to ask him. "she's hoping to get discharged later today, she's gonna swing by if she does," he added. you nodded with a small smile, because you were genuinely happy that your friend was ok. but your mind was elsewhere. 

"that's good-- i'm glad," you nodded again, eyes averting from foggy's soft blue eyes. your hands fidgeted in your lap. you both sat quietly in each others company for a few minutes until you were unable to stop yourself from asking. "fog—"

"y/n," his head hung, his hand coming up to his face where he rubbed at his closed eyelids. "please don't."

you pursed your lips, a small frown forming on them as the corners of your lips turned down. you reached out your hand, just touching his forearm. foggy let out a heavy sigh when he felt your fingertips pull at his suit, removing his hand from his face and moving it to sit in your palm. 

"i just wanna' know what's going on," you mumbled, your voice came out weak and tired. you'd been in the dark for too long, no one would tell you what was happening on the outside. you had occasional tv privileges which allowed you to catch glimpses of the news, but that didn't paint you the full picture, nor did it ease your mind. "if i could just speak to him— if you could try and get in touch—"

"no," he shook his head dismissively. his eyebrows knitted together, sympathy lining his features as he looked over at you. "look at where you are," he reminded you, not that you needed to be. "the last thing you need is to be wrapped up in whatever mess he's gotten himself into."

"foggy i'm going crazy here," you pleaded, ignoring his attempt to dissuade you. you squeezed his hand, desperate for your friend to hear you out. "all i can do is sit here and think, and overthink. and i can't keep this up, it's exhausting. just knowing that he's safe, hearing his voice even for a minute would just-- it would help— so please."

his eyes never left your face, watching you work yourself up into a frenzy of stress and tire. he wanted to reach out and squeeze you as tight as he could, but he knew better. he settled for a gentle squeeze of your hand before letting it drop.

"i've gotta' get to work," he muttered, gulping as his soft blue eyes trailed away from you. "i'll speak to the nurse about upping your pain meds."

"foggy," you whimpered but he'd already removed himself from your bed and was heading back to the doorway. 

"i'll drop by later, ok?" he stepped backwards as he exited the room, eyes never leaving your sad ones. "and stop watching the news, it doesn't help anyone."

—

you'd been at home for over a week now, you'd been managing things mostly by yourself but you were often visited by matt and foggy and karen. they would come bearing groceries, film rentals and company. you weren't allowed to go back to work yet which made your life all the more unbearable. you couldn't move around or do much outside of your apartment, you'd taken all of the pain killers that had been prescribed to you and now you just had to sit and recover until the pain subsided and the scars and bruises healed.

you'd been keeping up with the news for the past few weeks, they figured out lewis was behind the bombings, not frank, but it was too late for them to do anything about it before the kid killed himself. you hadn't heard too much about anything since then. the news got quiet, people were still freaked about the punisher being alive but nothing new was being reported. nobody knew anything about anything.

you had tried to get in touch with him since you had gotten home, the burner phone would ring out every time, the flowers sitting on your windowsill had wilted in the sun, and you had frequent headaches from all the nights you stayed up waiting for him to appear.

matt knew nothing about it, but foggy urged you to move on and just let go of whatever you had with frank. karen knew better, she had seen first hand the things you would do for each other. she would visit you with sad but persistently hopeful eyes, and a weak smile every time you opened your apartment door. she would mumble to you anything? to which you would shake your head again and you'd both let out a soft sigh and move on with the topic of conversation. 

you carefully lifted your arm as high as you could manage, running your fingers through your freshly washed and dried hair, sitting in front of the mirror as you began to brush through it. you sat still in your towel, eyes vacant as you watched a hollowed out version of yourself try to take care of the person staring back at you. without work to take your mind off of things, you were stuck remembering the events of that day, your brain was stuck on franks face hovering over yours, eyes wide and paralysed with fear. you blinked, bringing yourself back to the mirror in front of you. most of your bumps and bruises were healing pretty well. you had a purple-turning-yellow-ish bruise covering the right side of your face, along your jawline and up towards your temple. it was pretty stubborn, taking longer to heal than the rest. besides that, you had a few scabs lining the little cuts that littered your chest and healing collarbone (you kept taking off the sling despite karen and foggys protests to listen to the doctors instructions), and the cast still covering your leg, of course, keeping you a prisoner in your apartment. 

you jolted  at the sound of a knock of your door, wincing slightly from the abrupt movement. it could only be one of three people, likely karen as she'd left her coat at your apartment earlier. you huffed, throwing the brush down and grabbing the pile of clothes sitting next to you, carefully putting them on as quickly as you could manage. she knocked once more as you tangled yourself in your t-shirt, forgetting the sling, you grabbed one of the crutches and tucked it under your good arm before shuffling over to the front door.

"hang on," you grumbled loud enough for karen to hear through the door because she didn't knock again. you were ready to get a mouthful from her for not wearing your sling, or maybe for not using both crutches, or maybe for your choice in clothing when answering the door.

you unlocked the door and swung it open without checking through the peephole. "forget something?" you rolled your eyes at her forgetfulness, she was just as absentminded as you these days, but as you looked across at who stood behind the door, it wasn't karen.

before you could process his face, beaten and bruised, he swung himself inside your apartment, quickly shutting the door behind himself. he stood close, you hadn't moved an inch. "sorry, didn't want to risk getting caught." you could feel his breath fanning your face. his voice was as gruff and gravely as you remembered. you had missed the sound

the sharp pain in your collarbone had disappeared all of a sudden as every part of your body tried to help your brain figure out how frank castle was standing in your doorway.

his soft brown eyes watched you cautiously, taking you in as the sight before him, his eyebrows knitted tightly when you reached out, his hand meeting your grip immediately and helping keep you upright without your crutch.

with tightly knitted eyebrows, you examined his face with precision, bruised and beaten pretty badly. you wondered what he had gotten himself involved in while he'd been away. something awful, that much was obvious. you gulped, your lips turning into a small pout and your eyes moved back up to his. "do you have any idea how out of my mind worried i've been?"

he knew it was coming, the scalding. he didn't like to keep you out of the loop, but on this occasion he didn't have much of a choice, and you were in no condition to be helping him. it was safer to keep you in the dark until everything had been sorted. which it was. "i've had an idea," he hummed quietly. that much was true. he had to trust that you were in safe hands that weren't his own. he'd barely gotten any sleep for weeks, and when he did he saw your sad eyes and blood-stained toothy smile.

"actually, i don't want to know," you let out a soft huff, eyes glossing over the longer you held his hazy brown eyes. you'd missed him looking at you like this, you'd missed his rough features and his buzzcut, his heavy touch and the way he had an answer back for everything. you'd missed him. "i don't want to know anything--" your lip quivered uncontrollably, so instead of letting him see you cry, you grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, ignoring the aches and pains as you squeezed him as tight as you could. you tucked your head against his chest and breathed a sigh of relief when his arms wrapped around your shoulders. his head rested on yours, his fingers running up the base of your neck and into the roots of your hair. he breathed in the comforting scent he had missed so much in the last few weeks. his pressed his lips to the top of your head, holding you still.

you let out  a heavy, shaky huff, followed by a quiet sniff. "hey, hey, now," he mumbled tenderly, his hands gliding over the skin of your arms till he reached your shoulders and gave them a gentle push and pulling you back away from him. he gulped watching your face contort, his eyes trailing downwards where he briefly saw cuts, bruises and eventually a cast. his eyes shot back up to yours, he scrunched up his nose for a second, his jaw clenched as his mind flashed again with images of you from that day.

"i missed you," his voice came out low and rough, his hands moved to carefully land on either side of your face, fingertips touching the back of your neck, his thumb grazing the bruise lining the right side of your face. "really fucking missed you, you have no idea, baby," his words were comforting, your arms still stuck to his torso, fingers gripping his shirt, urging him to stay in place just for now.

"i've had an idea," your voice was quiet, repeating his words back to him. he leaned down to kiss your forehead before nudging you backwards, his arm moving to wrap around your waist.

"c'mon, lets get you off that leg," he urged, he could feel how tightly you were gripping onto him, to keep yourself upright. he let you put your weight onto him as he helped you over to the couch. he helped you so you were sat upright, before lifting each of your legs carefully and seating himself beside you, your legs laid atop his and your bandaged foot propped up on a pillow. his hand rested on your inner thigh, tracing circles with his fingertips contently.

you felt safer and more at ease than you had done for a really long time, you released a content sigh, you wished it could be like this all the time. your head slumped forward so you could be closer to him, he leaned forward, nudging his forehead against yours. "how you feelin'?" he asked quietly.

in truth, you were still in a lot of pain, more than you had admitted to anyone, but if you thought about it too much you were sure you wouldn't be able to move past it. you knew frank would understand, he'd been through enough to know the kind of pain you were in.

"better now," your voice matched the level of his, a small tired smile reaching your lips for a second before it was gone again. his eyes never left your face, his hand reaching up to your cheek, nudging your face to the side so he could get a good look at the yellow-ish lesions covering it. "looks worse than it is," you reassured his working mind.

he hummed, in disbelief he gave a soft shake of his head. "i know you," he muttered, almost under his breath, he was close enough to you that he didn't need to speak too loud. his thumb and forefinger gripped your chin. "you're a bad liar."

your eyes flickered between his unwavering brown eyes, watching you with care and devotion that you'd never received in abundance like this before. you reached up placing your palm over where his hand was touching your face, turning your head slightly to press a soft kiss to his palm. eyes never leaving each other, you could drown in them and be grateful to him still.

"let me see," he mumbled, his head softly butting against your forehead, his eyes never leaving your face. lost in his stare, it took you a minute to react to his words, pulling back slightly in hesitation. his hand slipped from your face to the side of your neck, giving it gentle squeeze.

"why don't you tell me about this first--" you reached over, fingertips grazing over the purple bruise lining his cheekbone, meeting at his eyelid. he was beaten pretty bad, not that you hadn't seen him like this before, but it still didn't make it any easier.

"you don't need to worry about that--"

"you know i do--"

"'rather focus on you right now, baby," his voice was low and horse. you gulped, eyes hooded with a mixture of exhaustion and adoration for the soft but rugged man in front of you.

almost holding your breath, you let out deep breath through your nostrils before reaching to the hem of your shirt and starting to lift it up before frank halted you and took over. his fingers touched yours, a gentle head nod in your direction, silently urging you to lay back. you followed his instruction, goosebumps lining your stomach where his fingers brushed against the skin upon lifting your shirt, gently tugging it over your head with care. you lay beneath him, top half in only your underwear, every bruise, cut and scar lining your chest and torso, down to your stomach and hips, exposed to him. he paused, his hands tucking naturally into the curve of your waist as his eyes moved back and forth slowly, from the pinkish scar lining your collarbone, all the way down to the the purple-ish blue bruise that sat on your left hip, working itself all the way up to the base of your ribs, and wrapping round your back. his breath caught in his throat for a second, he'd never seen you with so much as a scraped knee, he'd never wanted the two worlds of his to collide like this, never with you caught in the middle.

you watched his expression carefully as it switched from mild discomfort, to slight furrowed brows in anger and then watching those brows raise up in regret. your hands moved to either side of his face, tugging him, physically pulling his attention away from the scars and up back to your eyes. you could read him pretty well, you were pretty sure you knew the kinds of thoughts that were knocking around in that brain of his.

"stop," you muttered, your hands moving to his jaw, his neck, pulling him forwards so his face sat in front of yours again. his eyes watering, he sniffed before putting on a hard front. "stop that, i'm fine. this is not on you. this is on him, this is on lewis."

he went to open his mouth but you stopped him. "i mean it frank castle, i will not let you carry this round with you. alright?" his jaw tightened, eyes struggling to keep their hold on your own. it went against everything in his nature but something about the way your eyes were pleading with him made him listen to you. "i love you, hm?" you nodded, encouraging him to listen carefully. "and i know you love me, and i'm lying right here." 

his eyes drooped, mimicking you with a gentle nod. you gave him a soft, yeah? in need of confirmation which he responded with a gruff yeah. he leaned down, his forehead nudging against yours, a heavy breath he'd been holding released, fanning against your skin. your hand moved away from his face, slipping to his neck, fingertips gripping at the stands of his short hair. you went to pull him closer but he had already leaned down, his lips catching yours. careful but desperate all the same, he had missed this, he'd missed you.

he pulled away after a minute or so, his lips moving to your cheek, pressing gentle kisses along your bruised skin until he reached your ear, placing a lingering kiss just behind before moving down your neck. he hovered over the scar sitting where your collarbone had fractured, he pressed a careful kiss to the skin above it, slowly making his way down, careful not to miss any part of discolouration or scarring that littered your body. he lingered when he landed finally at the curve of your hip bone, one last sweet kiss before resting his head on your stomach, one hand tucked on the inside of your thigh. he lips hovered over your skin as he settled himself against you, careful not to let his weight carry onto you too much, while your hands nestled into his short strands of hair you were still adjusting to.

"love you baby," he muttered against your stomach. "tell me about your day."

[renren-006]

Over The Years- Daryl x Fem Reader

plot: being in love with daryl through the years but he’s clueless

word count: 2639

a/n: hey! i love that you guys have been eating up my Daryl Fics soooo heres another one. this took me sooo long to write so oi hope you enjoy!!

This has been posted on AO3- Over The Years

taglist: @rosecentury

Atlanta - 1:

"you've been staring at him all day, y/n," Lori said, coming to your side. You were standing by the van, 'helping Dale,' watching Daryl do whatever he was doing in his little area. You offered to help, but the man shooed you off.

"I'm not," you told her; she gave you the mom look she gave Carl, making you cave. "okay, so what if I am?"

"Just be careful, hunny," she told you, "he's not the type to realize his or your feelings."

"I know," you told Lori. This wasn't the first of these conversations, but it was the last time someone told you to be careful.

Atlanta - 2:

"If yer trying to fish here, yer in the wrong spot," Daryl said as he came up behind you on a rock, trying to catch fish or just waste the day away.

"I figured," you told him, hitting the empty bucket you had. "I'm just…"

"Tryna' not to be bored?" He asked you. You nodded.

"You want to know how ta' catch fish?" he asked; you smiled and nodded, reeling the cast in and handing him the pol, following him to a different spot and spending the rest of the afternoon taking tips from him on fishing. If someone asked you what you learned, you could only tell them that Daryl's eyes looked almost green in the sunlight.

Farm - 1:

you saw him take his stuff and walk off; he hiked over weeds to his area a yelling distance away. Carol watched you watch the man walking away from the group's solidarity.

"he's stubborn," she commented; you nodded. You faced her, to see she was already watching you. "he's stubborn with his feelings too."

"I know. I know both those things," you told Carol; she nodded. She walked off after patting your back, knowing you knew the unsaid things in the air. You continued working around the group, keeping watch, cooking dinner, and helping with the Greene family. Maggie became a close friend of yours through the days on the farm.

Farm - 2:

"Hey," you said as you stood in the doorway. Daryl glanced up from bed, his shirt half on over his bandages.

"Hey," he said, not responding more to you entering his room.

"Just wanted to check on you."

"Dont need ya to," Daryl said, trying to hide from you more and more. You stood in the doorway still, knowing entering wouldn't go well.

"I didn't ask if you did," you told him. "I'm in the kitchen; shout if you want anything."

Part of you wanted to give more care to him, show him you cared, but you knew him well enough to know he didn't need that from you. He nodded his head at you, and you closed the door again. Then, he walked down back to the kitchen to help Maggie with lunch.

Farm - 3:

"Ya need help," Daryl asked. You were trying to get a sheet of wood up on the window to nail it shit, but you only had two hands. He came up and grabbed the wood from you, holding it up for you

"Thank you," you told him, and he grunted back at you. You finished up nailing in the panels with his help.

"You need any help?"

"Nah, I got it," he said, leaving after helping you. Things were still the same between the two of you, you thought. Daryl, however, couldn't see how he was growing to care for you.

On the road:

You never planned on getting hurt, but it just happened. You, Daryl, Glenn, and Maggie were off in a group scouting a building you had seen. Rick had made the five of you go to keep an eye on each other and get as much stuff as possible. You walked in first, knife in hand, Glenn close behind with a flashlight. Maggie and Daryl took the rear, much to Daryl's dismay.

Once you were all inside the building, you realized this used to be a Military compound, a small one, but it still had some things left inside. There was an airfield outside, probably a small compound not used for much. Once you split off from everyone, you wandered around the shelving units, finding some rations. When you didn't see the ceiling being held up by one of the shelving units and when you accidentally bumped into it, part of the roof came falling down. You yelled as part of it fell on top of you, crushing your ankle. Daryl was the first person over to you, rushing to see what was wrong.

"The roof! I didn't see," you said, grinding your teeth. Daryl stood there, eyes wide at seeing you on the floor with half the ceiling on your leg. "Daryl!" you practically yelled at him. The shock of you yelling shocked him out of his daze, and he rushed to lift the wood off your leg. Glen and Maggie rushed over soon after seeing the aftermath of the roof collapse and Daryl lifting it off you.

"What happened?" Maggie asked as she picked me up. I hobbled a bit, yelping when I put my left leg down. "Shit"

"The roof...I didn't see that it was falling, and the shelves were holding it up," you said, "I think I fucked up my ankle."

"How could ya not look?" Darly said angrily, "Now ya hurt and.."

"Hey, it's fine, Daryl. She didn't know. This could have happened to any of us," Glenn defended. "Let's look for crutches; they have to have some here. After you look around, you find some crammed in the back of a closet and leave the building. Daryl hung back with you while you were trying to walk.

"I shouldenta' yelled," Daryl said, breaking your silence. You nodded, knowing he was only trying to look after you.

"It's okay."

"Nah, it's not," he told you, stopping you from walking any further "Sorry"

"It's okay, Daryl, really. I was stupid anyway."

"Nah, coulda' happened to anyone," he said. During the rest of the walk, you had a small smile, and Daryl had a hand on your back guiding you. He didn't want you to fall again, let alone on his watch.

Prison:

The prison setting took everyone a while to settle into it; Daryl, however, took to it really fast, moving into one of the guard towers. You desperately wanted to be near him again, not only because you knew how you felt but also because he was the only person you felt truly safe around. You watched him go back to that guard station every night after dinner just outside the cell block. You turned back into your bunk at the end of the hall, far from everyone and enough privacy that you felt calm. Carol already knew about your affection for the archer and tried many times to get the two of you to sit next to each other. You moved, always, leaving the spot open for Glenn to take and talk Daryl's ear off about whatever he had found on a run that day. You took your spot next to Maggie, who silently let you watch the archer with no complaints.

That was months ago.

"Why don't you join us on the run tomorrow?" Maggie asked you, "We need to find stuff for Judith."

"Yes, I'll come."

"No, ya won't," Daryl said, walking up behind the two of you outside.

"Daryl, I'm fine. I'm going."

"Then I'm coming'" He said, glaring daggers at the two of you and going to get his bike ready.

"Ass," you muttered to him as he walked away; he didn't seem to hear you.

"He cares," Maggie said as you grabbed the bags by the upper gate. You signed, you knew that but for some reason, he had distanced himself, or maybe you had

"Whatever," you said and made your way down the path. The pickup truck was made for two, and Daryl knew that.

"Hop on," he said, riding up to you. You looked at him, and it seemed like he knew you wanted him there. You climbed on behind him and headed out with the others. The ride was quiet, but it spoke enough about the two of you that no words needed to be spoken.

Daryl and you scouted a house; all was quiet between you two. You found an unopened can of peanut butter and showed it to him, he smiled over at you.

"Who knew we'd find it," he told you, taking it from your hands.

"Guess you're my good luck charm," you told him, grabbing the can back and putting it in your bag. When you glanced back, he was looking at you. "Daryl?"

"Nah, it's nothin'," he said, snapping out of his daze. "I'm looking upstairs," he said, moving away from you and up to the tip floor. You continued rummaging through the downstairs before heading out to the porch and waiting for Daryl.

Prison:

Daryl didn't get jealous. You had never seen him that way. It was early in the morning, everyone was outside, and you were helping Carol with the food prep. One of the guys from the town you saved had a very obvious thing for you. He was younger than you, but it didn't bother him. He made a move that morning in Daryl's direct eyesight. He had come over, taking your ear off, and then he got close, trying to grab or touch you. You had stepped away, trying to tell him that you didn't see him like that and that he needed to give you space. He didn't listen. Daryl barged over and tugged the guy back from you.

"Didn't ya hear? She said to back off," Daryl said, putting himself between him and you.

"Oh, shit! Hi Daryl!" the guy said, unaware that Daryl could rip this guy to shreds. You put your hand on his bicep, feeling it flex under your touch.

"I'm fine," you told him calmly. He looked back at you, seeing that you were relieved he stopped in but worried he would rip the guy to shreds.

"Good," he said, pushing the guy back, "don't ya go near her again," the guy nodded, running off, getting the message.

On the run:

You were with Daryl and Beth, wandering around the unfamiliar world. It was a miracle that you found Beth during the invasion and even more so that Daryl made a B-line for you. When the three of you started on your journey, it was slow. Daryl watched for the two of you Until Beth was taken in the night.

"Beth!" you yelled, "Beth!"

"C'mon," Daryl said, tugging you back from the road and away from the walker's grouping. "Well, find her."

You walked after that car for miles until your feet couldn't take it, and you collapsed. Daryl wanted to drop beside you, but he couldn't.

That was when the real test of being back out in the world came. These men that Daryl didn't want to join but did anyway made your skin crawl. The way they looked at you, the way they wanted you, it made you sick. Daryl quickly understood the rules, realizing I got no say in anything in this group and was merely seen as an item for the taking.

"She's mine," He said, causing the boys upfront to look back at the two of you. You were behind Daryl, per his request. "Aint no one touching her."

"Boss! He can't do that," one yelled.

"Rules are rules," the boss said, "She's his."

Still didn't stop looking or not sleeping. Daryl noticed it; of course, he did.

There was one man both of you knew who didn't care about the rules. One night in particular proved this to Daryl and the rest of the men. He had left you no longer than a few minutes in a different direction than you out in the woods when the man sprung on you. You tried to grab your knife, but he was already prepared to stop you. You were helpless as he tried to get his way with you.

"Don't scream now," he said, with his hand over your mouth, suppressing any screams you tried to get out. You started hitting him, making him yell back in pain from it. "Crazy bitch” he said, slapping you.

"Daryl!" you yelled, scrambling to get up. The man behind you grabbed your leg, making you fall to the ground. "Daryl!" you screamed again, knowing that was your last attempt at calling for the archer. Your breath was completely knocked out of you. You heard fast-moving, crunching footsteps as the man tried to turn you over, and then, nothing. You turned, seeing an arrow between his eyes and the man falling back. You scrambled away, trying to catch your breath as Daryl jumped to hold you.

"I'm sorry," he said into your hair as you held onto him, too shoved to say a word. The world became quiet in his arms.

On the run:

The road to salvation was long. The group had been walking for days; hope was dwindling. You lagged, not having much energy for things anymore. Daryl is always stuck by your side, never leaving the comfort of your space. He had been quiet for a while, keeping his thoughts locked away. You stopped walking, alerting Daryl but not the others.

"Hey?" he asked, looking back at you and watching him.

"somethings wrong with you, and you won't tell me," you told him, matter a fact. "I know there is."

'aint nothin'"

"Nothing? Really? You haven't left my side since the…¦," you said, drifting off, not wanting to mention the near attack you had. "Since you know when I feel like I can't breathe without you worrying."

"I.."

"What is wrong?" you pressed; Maggie had seen that you had stopped and told the others to slow the pace a bit. You knew she probably understood that what was happening with the two of you needed to be talked about away from the group, so she kept them moving slowly. "I can't stand to see ya hurt anymore," he told me, knowing somethin' was on his mind. "I can't stand thinkin' somethin' happen if i leave ya"

"Daryl, that's not your responsibility," you said.

"maybe it should be," Daryl said.

"What?"

"I care about you a lot" he said, looking down, "I love ya"

The world stopped when he said those words, something he had never even said to Carol or Rick, ever or often. You took his hands in yours, making him look at you.

"I have loved you since we were on that mountain in Atlanta," you told him, "I have always loved you."

"ya have?"

"How could I not, Daryl?" you said; he smiled a bit, something you had not seen in a very long time.

"You my woman now," he told you, "you've been mine since I told those men you were."

"I'll always be yours; you never have to worry about that."

Extra:

Alexandria: (years later)

"How long have I been an idiot?" Daryl asked Carol. They were both lounging on the porch in Alexandria, watching you chase after a little brown-haired girl. She was only two, but she had spirit. You were smiling so big that Daryl felt like his heart was melting.

"You've been an idiot for as long as she's been in love with you

ain't helping" Daryl said, shoving Carol a bit.

"I think you started falling for her when we were in Prison"

"yea…your right"

"You were stubborn to let yourself feel until you almost lost her," Carol said. Daryl nodded, not wanting to admit that it took a life-or-death situation for him to truly know he couldn't ever lose you.

[skyshipper]

The Handmaid’s Tale: Spoilers & Long Rant

Full disclosure, I didn’t watch the series finale of The Handmaid’s Tale or the majority of the past several seasons. I have, however, read the recaps and saw the comments from the writers and Elisabeth Moss on the final episode. I was once a major fan of this show. It brought me into fandom life and to Tumblr, eventually learning how to make proper gifs and for that I am thankful. It’s been a wonderful creative outlet for me and a fun distraction from the stress of every day life. After all these years, I didn’t think this show could still enrage me but it has. I’ve seen the reaction from fans who stuck with this show over the years and you’re not crazy - the show is badly written.

The interviews from the writing team and Elisabeth Moss post-finale are full of condescension. Their final message has been to reduce the audience to “silly girls” for appreciating the romance in this story. A romance they continuously fueled by promoting “Team Nick/Team Luke” nonsense via marketing (which was ridiculous and insulting by the way). I keep thinking about how they feel like Aunt Lydia trying to shame and dismiss anyone in the audience who cared about Nick’s character and the romance themes in this story as foolish girls. It’s insulting and gross.

I haven’t watched this show since early season three because I thought the writing was terrible and off the rails once they went off book. But I always kept up with Nick’s scenes because I thought Max gave a beautiful and nuanced portrayal of that character. More than anything I’m disturbed by how they’ve treated Max Minghella. I’ve seen the comments from some of the cast and the writers. They constantly bring up his looks as a driving motivator for the reason people cared about his character. To reduce his brilliant performance to nothing more than the audience thinking "he's hot" is unprofessional to the extreme. It’s rude and mean to both the actor and the fans.  I keep thinking of the comment I saw where Max said he wondered if he was playing his character wrong this entire time when he read his character arc for the final season. When the narrative doesn’t make sense to the actor who portrayed him and put time and effort into the performance, there is no other explanation than that it was completely contrived. And no surprise, that is how it came off to the audience.

A major problem with this show (god there are so many I could write a fucking novel) has always been that the initial terror of living inside the regime of Gilead was real and horrifying in season one. It was impossible to get out or have the slightest bit of autonomy so the act of love was the ultimate form of resistance. They ruined all the horror felt in the first season by making it very easy for people to come and go from Gilead to the point of absurdity. They gave characters the most insane plot armor and wrote to “scenes” instead of storylines that made actual sense. June had the ultimate and most insane plot armor of them all, but there are many, many others.  Look at someone like Janine. I love Madeline Brewer (as an aside, she really deserved an award for her brilliant performance in season one), but her plot armor was ridiculous. She was a Handmaid, sent to the colonies, a Jezebel, a Handmaid again…..I think!? I don’t even know what they all did with her but the fact she wasn’t dead at some point was laughable. And I don't mean that I wanted her dead, I wanted them to write a storyline that made sense for an insanely talented actress. The writers often treated these characters like dolls in a toy box inserting them in whatever way the felt like at the moment instead of telling a believable story.

Throughout the years the writing failed the majority, if not all, of the main cast members. They spent way too much time on guest character arcs that went nowhere instead of writing a believable  progression for the full-time brilliant cast members they had. For example, I’m no Luke fan, but his character and even Moira had nothing to do once they made it to Canada. I genuinely felt bad for the actors who are very talented and were left for years with nothing of substance to do. They should have mapped out the main cast storylines in believable ways from the beginning instead of adding all these guest stars whose storylines often filled no purpose. The cast and source material have always been top notch it's a shame the writing failed them so spectacularly.

Other major issues throughout the series include not addressing race in the rise of Gilead (not to mention how may black women died because of June's stupidity), how they relished in torture porn (how many times did they show women being abused for the sake of shock value) and pushing a narrative of feminism that basically can be reduced to women are good no matter what atrocities the commit (I’m looking at you Serena) and all men are bad by virtue of being male. The fact that they had June become friends with and forgive Serena is disgusting and implausible. The first time this show really angered me was when they had Serena hold down June and rape her so that she could get her baby faster (a disgusting episode written by Yahlin Chang who was a co-showrunner this season). In the end these two women are suddenly fine and friendly because “women rock,” I guess.

The failures are many and the successes few. This show really did have a brilliant first season but they majorly lost the story as soon as they ran out of source material from Margaret Atwood. Long term fans deserved better. Margret Atwood’s source material deserved better. Max Minghella and Nick deserved better. So long Handmaid’s Tale. You were an epic disappointment and often insulting.

P.S. If you want to go watch a brilliant show about fascism please go watch Andor. I’ve said it before but even if you’ve never watched a Star Wars show or movie in your life, it’s incredible. It is brilliantly written, had an incredible cast and is perfectly executed. The story is wonderfully told, the characters feel realistic, their outcomes are often not predictable yet their ultimate conclusions feel true and deeply satisfying.  If only The Handmaid’s Tale could have been written the same way.

[queenendless]

ÆŁŁ ƏŸƏ§ ØŊ MƏ

A/n: This was gonna be for another series. But this idea popped up for this one instead.

Pairing: Seto Kaiba x Yami Yugi x F!Reader.

Self aware AU. Inspired by Cross Duel and Duel Links; especially plot wise. Other YGO sequel series mentioned. But mostly DM. Mainly on these two.

CW: Depression, dysphoria and dysmorphia implied, chronic ailments; based off my own issues. Brief swearing, blood, violence. But also fluff, hurt/comfort, and romance/dark romance.

You spend many a day into the late nights, wasting the hours away by watching whatever and every other thing to dash away the emptiness you have inside. Whether on the TV, your laptop, to even your phone, you get lost into the vibrant, upbeat, tear-jerking moments of your favorite media. Shows, movies, games and beyond.

Like an iconic anime on a trading card game.

Having gotten late to the party, you quickly fell for the series, the plot, and its cast. Most of all, the reincarnated Pharaoh and his fated rival for his life.

The appeal of a brand new game peaked your interest. More so a fan game. The mechanics of Duel Links paired with the 2D CG moving models of Cross Duel. An immersive app combining all the series.

While you weren't the best at such competitive games, you still found yourself enjoying the experience. With every series up to the present day. So many characters to unlock and many decks to make. You weren't good at memorizing names, though. But your top two would be your #1 priority.

Anything to help you get through the days. Your job less, disabled days. Cooped up in your room, blocking out the yelling and slamming doors and intrusive thoughts.

Focusing on their handsome faces and familiar voices kept you calm and elated as you always switched between the two throughout your playthrough.

"You're a long way from become a true duelist ... but I can see you have the interest and potential for it. Stick with me and I'll make it worth your while."

"Not to fret. Each battle helps you learn and improve. So long as I am at your side, you'll be amazed at how far you'll go. I'm looking forward to it."

Hearing their voices, seeing those beautiful faces, gave you such serotonin as you stay cooped up in your own little safe haven, escaping from the suffocating cracked home life into the YGO verse.

You spent the next few days grinding in this immersive game, your free time spent leveling up, collecting your favorite cards, and raising the trust level of your other liked favorites. Especially to see the interactions, crossovers, and more as you picked up their voices.

The surprising sight of tapping all over your screen to see their hair and attire rustle paired with such flushed alarmed expressions poking their faces.

"You've got a lot of nerve to mess with the President of Kaiba Corp ..." The sight of him flicking you followed by the immediate firm tap on your forehead made you yelp loudly, nearing dropping the phone. Seeing Seto's laughing face on screen made your strewn expression lighten. "Well deserved."

Yami's raised brow look made you look away in shame. "Pardon me, but I'm right here. There was no need for that." The firm poke to your cheek made you jump in alarm and drop your phone on your bed, gaping at Yami's chuckling face. "Now that was well called for."

It had been a week when that happened. The real world influence from the digital world held in your hand. Startled, alarmed, concerned you had to close the app and take a while to process your racing, anxious self. The app flickered from blue to red. Your phone screen glitches.

Escaping to your laptop proved fruitless. For seeing your lockscreen darken and distort yourself, only to show the cast walking and chatting along the metropolis setting of the game you just checked out of in alarm. A certain white trench coat wearing giant walked along the screen, only to stop and turn to face you. Frozen in place, you watched as he walked head on in, getting closer when he started speaking in his usual snide, sarcastic tone.

"(Username) huh? To tell the truth, Y/n sounds better to say. How do I know your name, you ask? From your account profile, obviously." The roll of those piercing blue eyes was in character. The low soft words that came after were not. "I didn't mean to scare you off earlier. I was actually starting to enjoy myself around you. You're tolerable, at best."

The tri colored star shaped head of his rival peaked out from the side, guilt laced in his features, when he came in fully. "He won't bite you, if that's your concern. But, I too apologize for alarming you. We mean you no harm, Y/n. Honest."

The uncertainty of this meta phenomenon taking place before you was mellowed out at the sight of THE rival pair acknowledging you. Pinching yourself hard to smacking your cheeks to make sure you weren't in lala land now.

Dopamine and endorphins came hand in hand as their eyes widened in astonishment at the way your entire expression lite up, covering your now squealing mouth, not wanting to draw unwanted attention from your folks, your lips curving peaking out beneath your hands. It's all real.

You spent the remainder of that night asking them anything and everything you ever wanted to tell them, curled up in bed, smiling dazedly, lost in the nostalgic fuzzy experience that is these self aware anime baes, bouncing off each other in prideful, sparky conversation. The corner of their eyes caught sight of you sound asleep, Yami smiling tenderly at the sight and Seto's eyes giving off the same aura.

The following week since that night, you felt more energized and motivated than you have in a long time. You were curious if any other fellow players experienced such a phenomenon. Being able to interact with them, actually talk to them outside the contrivances, even offline was a relief. Even your old dead TV was brought to life by the sights of the vibrant series setting; Domino City. Numbers, Dueltaining, Links, and beyond. The world of dueling was seemingly endless.

"Artificial intelligence is more real now than ever. Not to mention virtual reality. So it was only a matter of time. This game is experimental proof of that self awarness. Not all of us are that bright, though."

Joey's pinched face cameo over that comment didn't go unnoticed by as evidence by Seto's snide face. Mai dragging Joey off screen to see kisses literally flying off in the background had the CEO turn pink at the PDA.

"I'd rather glimpse into the real world to broaden my knowledge. Every single being that's connected to us gives us insight. Getting to know you Y/n has been the best experience in all of it."

Waving to Yugi, Jaden and Yusei driving recklessly on the latter's duel runner in the off distance made you crack out a laugh. The charmin smile Yami gave at the sight of your expression caught your eye, turning you a bashful pink, to which he deeply chuckled in kind.

But even you need a break every now and then. You have bad days. And by bad, it gets BAD. Constant styes or eye irritations. Circulation issues in the feet. Swollen ankles. Depression, stress and many intrusive thoughts becoming hyperactive in that tired scarred mind.

Demented suffocating folks. Dysfunctional argumentative drama. And you? Walled up in their corner, feeling years older than their actual age, self pity and self hate over this defective body. The thoughts of self made wounds made on every defective part of you brought on tears every time.

So, fights like the one you just experienced today brought tears, swelling, and the truth to light. Your own fault for believing your own flesh and blood would provide genuine professional help, for the body and mind. But all they can afford is gaslighting, dogpiling criticism. Slamming doors, holing up in your room and blasting tunes through your ear buds was your only affordable escapism.

Black, blue and red glitches overtake your phone. It all happened in such a blur. Layers of warmth swallowed you whole, brushing away those tears, as you felt your face pressed gently against such support, protectivness enveloping you.

"Now that's just bullshit. Everyone’s flawed. If you count me and my many attempts at dethroning my one and only rival myself as one, go right ahead. Point being, screw them. You're genuine. Flaws and all ... you're perfect."

"You should never feel ashamed of yourself or your appearance. You should feel comfortable in your own skin. Regardless of what others choose to believe, your own feelings matter the most. When I look at you, I see nothing but a goddess in my eyes."

Digital character gaining form in reality before you changed things. Just as soon as they were there, they were gone, leaving you fuzzy or better ... and for worse?

The rare times when you had to go out on trips or even taking walks by yourself around your area meant you waving your phone around, being their window into more of your life. Even giving a room tour meant them blushing at spotting chibi plushies of them on your nightstand; their egos rising at further proof of you being smitten with them.

Only when everyone else in your household went to bed would you go hogging up the living room couch and be on your laptop and phone to get lost in watching your movies, shows or whatever to lift your spirits. Yet these late night binges bring with them chronic headaches that would kick in during your all night bends, leaving you closing your eyes and falling sound asleep to drive off the pain on top of your flared up feet covered in cold compresses.

Your laptop flickered and buffered in distortions as whatever you were watching is halted as entities literally come out of your screen. Warmth brushed your flushed cheeks, rubbed your scalp to soothe your aches, rewarded by your hums of content, as murmurs of their names parted your lips, causing the seed of possessiveness to grow at such a rate.

"They don't deserve your tears. They don't even deserve you. None of them are worth it. Unlike them, you've always been deserving of greater and better things. And I'll make sure of it."

"Please dream sweet dears, my dear. It hurts me to see you like this. Things will get better ... they will be better ... you will not suffer alone anymore."

But all good things come to an end. And this was no exception. For there came that time when you were in so much agony, suffering to the point where you wanted the rest of your ignorant home to suffer with you. Eyes too Strained to open. Feet too swollen to walk. Even your neck and scalp were stiff in pain. Your own body fell apart and all you could do was cry in silence, stuck in bed, as you just wanted to be free of it all.

A cold storm raged outside, tipping things over the edge. Your phone vibrating and dinging with notifications were left unchecked. The various reports of disapperances over your fellow real life players and the like. The strong voices of your kings calling out to you were left unanswered as you were too still and quiet.

So they animated right out of your phone screen. The eye of Udjat glowing as the Pharaoh dealt the fatal blows. Thrown furniture exploding. Glass shattering. Ear shattering screams cut off midway. Gurgling cries of agony follow right after. Thumps hitting the floor. The tall shadow of his megalomaniac partner covered your frail weak body as he carefully took you in his arms. It was now or never.

"Seto, are you sure about this? Bringing an actual human over to our side is too risky. Her body will not survive it."

"Please. My next gen solid vision system is visionary. Finding you across dimensions, for example. Connecting others across time and space through dueling has broken boundaries. Linking the cerebrum of those that have accessed my side project app has allowed us to view everyones memories and knowledge of our counterparts in this world has expanded our reach. Sharing our energy with her shall give the strength she needs to cross over. And besides, you practically begged me to take her with us from the start."

"Don't tell me THE Seto Kaiba is jealous about sharing me with another now. As if dragging me out of the afterlife wasn't enough for you. Part of me is still wrapping around your experiment on cross dimensional expansion. Regardless if we're just avatar copies based on fiction, we're still alive. We're past the point of no return. I just hope Y/n will understand."

"Take me ... take me away from here ... please."

Your consent was the trigger. Crimson met solid hologram as their combined hold made you feel at peace at last, blue and golden energy seeping into you, falling fast asleep. The next time you woke up, all the pain left your body, replaced with such looseness. Such levity. Basking in the endless streams of code and ethereal light. The faces of many familiar characters standing about among those like you that now obtained their virtual anime counterparts.

Smothered in between such defined sturdy bodies to remind you of your situation, your heart hammered on in the blue eyed and violet eyed gazes of your two Kings gazing down at you with such fervor, pristine looking with no signs of crimson staining their attire, right before they both layered gentle kisses all over your face. Their sculpted veiny hands held each of yours, tracing your very real skin, squeezing them to assure you that this is all happening. Tears of joy filled your healthy e/c eyes and giggles filled their ears as the sight of you brimming with happiness made their own hearts tremble at the hold you have on them. And vice versa.

Reshaping the future of dueling outsides the confines of an app game takes so much work, you know. Gaining sentience and all that. And it means everything to them to have you there with them for their journey across the Yu-Gi-Oh! multiverse. Hand in hand in hand. For life. These two Kings have finally found their Queen.

"Welcome home."

[claimedcrossbows]

Season 2 is Delivering us MORE Weyler & more Heartache!

So this is actually a surprise..I didn't expect sneak peak at all today, but here we are.

Alright the first thing I wanna say is what I've seen a lot of people point out, and I agree.

Hunter Doohan being the only person non Addams family related interviewed is VERY interesting.

And I believe that is only done when someone is a MAIN character/plot point within a series. This means a lot of this season more than likely is going to be centered around him, maybe even a 50/50 split with Wednesday is he really does appear in every episode this season as some rumors have said.

I think this is a really good sign that for one, Tyler won't be offed at the end of this season, and two we are guaranteed to get more Weyler even beyond season 2.

Now let me talk about something else a few people have noticed and pointed out and let me expand on it and give your my perspective as a film minor graduate and a Journalism graduate.

From what I've learned over time and in classes a big reason in editing to splice together scenes in a trailer/teaser/sneak peak etc..is to either misdirect completely, to avoid any spoilers, OR to foreshadow and hint at the correlations between these characters in scenes.

Now I'm not saying that's 100% what the film directors are doing in this video..but it is a MAJOR possibility.

To explain what I'm talking about is there is a edited clip of Gomez and Morticia dancing together and not only does this kind of mirror Wednesday dancing with Tyler and the Rave N as a couple..But this also reflects their relationship.

Tyler and Wednesday's relationship is much like a tango..calculated,sexy, a little chaotic..but absolutely beautiful.

So the fact they have this scene interlaced with the scene of Wednesday visiting Tyler at Willowhill..that could allude to Tyler having a further connection to the Addams family in the future.

But also proving that Wednesday and Tyler are still to some degree dance partners, only this time they're going to be partners in teaming up to stop whatever it is going on.

Now before this scene even happened.

We find out some more interesting things like..

Wednesday goes to the Galpin residence.

And it has been completely vandalized because the whole town now knows that Tyler was the Hyde.

And Oh boy..

This scene scares me for a lot of reasons because for one..

Is Donovan still living here?

And if he is..Donovan must be in an absolute horrid state of mind because every day he walks out of his home he is immediately met with a that huge sign in red, "EVIL LIVES HERE" as just a reminder at how he failed his son..

But I would lie to add maybe a brighter point of view to this scene that I also have learned over time and as a lover of film and literature. And that is a little thing called red herrings.

And actually I would say this scene might be a good sign for Tyler's character because I would say more than half the time a main characters goes somewhere where someone is accused of being horrible, and graffiti is all around their home.. 9/10 times the character in question actually turns out to be a good guy or simply misunderstood...so in this case..Tyler is just being misunderstood like most of us has said for years.

Now I'm going to back pedal a bit and talk about more that scares me about Wednesday visiting the Galpin house hold.

Now I'm not saying I'm a film expert/writer...but this would 100% be the scene where if I was a writer and wanted to off a character it would be when the main character goes to their house and finds them deceased..

I have said many times I think Donovan might die and I thought Wednesday would be the one to find him..well that could very well be that scene.

While she's there, she also might have a vision of Francoise Galpin...

We also find out that it looks like the Addams are moving into the Gates mansion and I actually am mad at myself for not seeing this coming..but this is perfect for a lot of reasons..but the main one i'm gonna focus on is that someone said Wednesday might have visions of what happened to Tyler at that mansion..

What if she sees the bathtub scream?

And realizes that he truly didn't want to go through with what Laurel was doing. Maybe that's why she eventually decides to go see Tyler because she believes there's still something worth saving within Tyler.

Anyway I'm gonna wrap it up, but this is getting very interesting.