#imagine all the ways he threatened her to keep her under his control

[cregansdingdong]

So…

Cregan on a day going on a frenzy out of nowhere and full on fucking the brains out of his wife THE WHOLE DAYYYY, neglecting his duties while the other Lords call for him and he straight up threatens to kill anyone who dares interrupt him…on my knees rn🧎🏻‍♀️

Go off, your majesty👑🙇🏻‍♀️

NEGLECTING HIS DUTIES---CONGRATS CAUSE UR DEFO A MOTHER AFTER THAT WOOOOOOOOO ALRIGHT.

so. my brain is doing a think. a nice, slutty think.

Let me just start by clarifying that Cregan, above all else, respects his position just as the majority of his ancestors have done before him. He's very serious about being the Warden of the North and he really does his best to...behave himself. Sometimes though, he doesn't.

alright thats enough thinking its time to fuk. i sincerely apologize for what im about to unleash. may the odds be ever in your favor i guess lol

ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ.

NSFW stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty. no SRSLY this one needs like twenty more nsfw warnings

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"You can take it.” He murmurs into the quiet of their chambers, eyes trained down where he’d connected to his wife for the third—no, maybe fourth time since they’d risen that day. He’d lost count, much like she had. It felt pointless to keep track anyway. All that mattered was that it felt good. Filling her deep, slow, teeth dug into her calf over his shoulder just to ground himself and remember where he was. The Lord of Winterfell was cunt-drunk beyond belief. 

Cregan woke that morning without the thought of his tasks for the day. No. None at all. His wife was sitting up in their marital bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, reaching over for her soft robe—Gods, he lost absolute control of himself, of his restraint. He saw the supple planes of her back, and that was all it took, really. He’d taken her on her stomach first, a satisfying, lazy fuck that he couldn’t hold himself from coming early. That didn’t mean he was done, by any means, just momentarily winded. His mouth worked just fine to bring her to peak.

Seeing his own seed dribble out of her pretty cunt was enough to make him hard all over again. He feasted on her for breakfast, smearing his come over her pearl and cleaning it off nice and clean. He loved the way she tasted when she released against his mouth—loved the way his own release tasted when mixed with her slick. Delving his tongue deep, hands gripping her fleshy backside as he was torn between lapping up his own seed from her or pushing it further in. Gods, it was obscene. That made him all the more feral to go again. Everything was so warm when he slipped himself back inside. Whatever possessed him that day was unknown to either of them.

It was frantic, breathy—short strokes that were brief but hard enough to make her eyes roll back. Cregan held himself up via the backboard, thankful more and more every day that he’d chosen the sturdiest design imaginable as he snapped his hips against her ass. His wife was a thorough mess, mewling inconsolably as the sensitivity from her last release was front and center. She came again as his cockhead hit that spot like a bullseye.

They took a respite, thankfully. Cregan had never felt himself so drained of seed before. But, back to where we were: "You can take it.” He murmurs into the quiet of their chambers, eyes trained down where he’d connected to his wife for the third—no, maybe fourth time since they’d risen that day. He’d lost count, much like she had. It felt pointless to keep track anyway. All that mattered was that it felt good. Filling her deep, slow, teeth dug into her calf over his shoulder just to ground himself and remember where he was. The Lord of Winterfell was cunt-drunk beyond belief.

This time, his thrusts were deliberate, keen, and languid. He was fucking her. Making love. Making heirs. Pushing his come as deep as it could go and satiating his urge to breed her until she was round with the litter of her Lord Wolf. She was on her back, by the edge of the bed, eyes locked on Cregan’s light eyes, her pupils equally as dilated as she watched him take his time with her. “You—have a meeting today.” Huh. He did.

“Don’t care.” He grunts, thumbs pushing into the back of her thighs. His brows were furrowed in concentration, only seeing the sweat gathering on her clavicle, the flush of her cheeks, the way her nails were digging into the sheets—the tunnel vision was going to make him bust. “You’re forgetting.” She moans, head tilting back. “Forgetting—mmmh! Forgetting your responsibility to your bannermen.” Cregan bit her calf harder at the mention of them. “I don’t care. I’ll slit the throat of any man who dares remove me from your perfect cunt, wife.” He rasps, now briefly recalling that he was supposed to attend first thing in the morning. Ah, well, too late now.

“You’d better fill me then, my Lord husband.” She giggles, delighted at the prospect of having him all to herself for the day. “If we’re going to spend the afternoon making pups, we’d better not disappoint them.” His eyes flick up at her face as he pauses his deep thrust, squeezing her thighs in his large hands. A rumble of a sultry laugh emits from his chest. “Your womb will take all that I give it, woman. I’ll make sure of that.”

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[jukashi]

If we take a break for a moment from the funny meme or self-aware kink indulgence understanding of the 'bimbo', and instead examine it as a sort of sexist fantasy - that is, literally a fantasy of ideal womanhood as imagined by a sexist - then we can come to understand that the 'himbo' is not the masculine counterpart. There is discourse to mine out of the idea that the himbo represents a sexist fantasy of ideal manhood, but I think that the himbo actually represents a sort of halfway step between the bimbo and her true counterpart.

The bimbo embodies sexist 'ideals' of womanhood, taken to an extreme and bent to the desires of the sexist (presumed straight, male) imagination. She is:

1) physically attractive in sexual terms, to an extreme - both a pleasure to possess and a status symbol to display to others

2) always horny (thus, always sexually available)

3) unintelligent in the traditional sense - not good at organization, STEM fields, academic learning, etc. this keeps her...

4) nonthreatening - she won't outshine a man in any domain of (the sexist ideas of) male competence, and

5) dependent - in need of a big strong smart man to provide for her, reassuring said man's sense of self-worth

All of these line up with traditional sexist ideas of womanhood - where the bimbo has flaws, they're not feminine flaws, and she still possesses feminine strengths (according to the sexist mindset).

So, the male counterpart of the bimbo should embody sexist ideals of manhood, taken to an extreme and bent to the desires of the sexist imagination. If we compare to the bimbo's features listed above, then:

1) physical attractiveness is desirable for men but not a key feature - a man can be manly while being ugly in a way a woman cannot be womanly if she is ugly.

2) horniness is not seen as desirable for men - it is expected and excused by sexists, but it's considered threatening to those who are its targets and a lot of sexism towards men is based in this assumed threat.

3) traditional intelligence is considered manly, but emotional intelligence isn't - in fact, it's seen as unmanly.

4) being threatening is harder to extract from manliness, as is...

5) being dependent, but it is possible, even required - men are just expected to be non-threatening and dependent in a different way.

Remembering that we're looking for a sexist ideal rather than a sexual ideal, we need to identify how sexism towards men works. Men are not sexually objectified under traditional sexism, but they are still objectified. This objectification is based on utility - an objectified man is reduced to a tool. He is wanted for what he can do and how well he does it, not in himself. His personhood is reduced to what makes him useful and controllable, and when he is not being of use he is unseen. He does not feel pain, he does not feel emotions that make him less of a perfect undemanding worker or soldier, he is permitted to suffer or rage or weep only for the things he serves and never for himself.

The male counterpart of a bimbo would be:

1) physically obviously useful - big and strong and tough, to an extreme, convenient for whoever he serves and an implicit threat to their enemies

2) seldom horny (thus never sexually threatening)

3) emotionally unintelligent - lacking the ability to understand or express the feelings of others or even his own (if he even has them) - in order to help make him:

4) unthreatening, in the sense of being easily controllable and socially inferior, and

5) dependent - in need of an inspiring leader, abstract ideals or a sole source of comfort to fulfill his emotional needs, further securing his loyalty and obedience.

I put it to you, then:

Space Marines are the male counterpart of bimbos, and becoming one is bimbofication.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Here's a continuation of my "Arthur becomes Emrys's familiar" au since that's what won the poll!

You can find part one of this au here!

A quick recap if you didn't see my previous post: the basics of this au are that Arthur performed a ritual with the help of the druids to lift a curse that was placed on Camelot by Morgana, but in doing so, he bound himself to Emrys, the god of magic, as his familiar and servant. Because of this, Arthur can now physically see Merlin's magic as strands of golden dust and can hear messages telepathically given to him by Merlin. Merlin, meanwhile, tried to stop Arthur from performing the ritual and is now just desperately trying to keep his magic a secret from Arthur, who misinterprets the magic he sees swirling around Merlin as a threat from Emrys to keep him complacent.

Alright, now that I've finished the recap, onto the new stuff!

After Arthur spent a few months in Camelot under Emrys's control and seeing the threat of magic everywhere around him, he felt like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Emrys still hadn't even told him what his plans for Arthur were, which led Arthur to believe that the god no doubt had some heinous plan that would be torturous for Arthur. After all, what other plan could the god of magic have for the king of the land that had eradicated his worshippers for decades besides pain and death?

The longer Arthur waited for Emrys to reveal anything about his plans or to give Arthur some terrible order that would set in motion Camelot's downfall, the more nervous and paranoid Arthur became. Because did it seem like the buzzing in his head was getting louder each day, or was that his imagination? Was Emrys slowly taking control of his mind without Arthur even knowing?!

All Arthur knew for certain was that Emrys wanted him alive to do his bidding. Now that Arthur could see Emrys's magic, he could see how the golden dust strengthened his armor, enhanced his weapons, and attacked his enemies. On certain occasions, it even protected Arthur's loved ones.

(Arthur swore that he was never as close to a heart attack as he was when he saw those golden strands of light bind themselves around Guinevere and roughly pull her from her chair. Arthur had thought for a terrible moment that Emrys had found some fault to punish Arthur for, and the horrible god was taking it out on his wife. However, Arthur was relieved beyond words when he saw an arrow hit the back of Guinevere's chair, where she had been sitting only a second before. Emrys wasn't punishing him through Guinevere, he was saving Arthur's wife. Why would he do that though? Did the god also need Guinevere alive for his plans?)

Merlin had also been acting strangely after the ritual. Arthur could see that Emrys's magic curled itself tightly around Merlin, like a large snake poised to strangle its prey. Arthur knew that this was a ever-present threat from Emrys, that if Arthur took one step out of line or disobeyed in any way, Merlin would be the one suffering for it.

Since the ritual, Merlin had been even more fidgety than usual, if that was even possible. It was like something was causing him an unusual amount of anxiety. Arthur just knew that Merlin's constant state of discomfort was because of the magic surrounding him, perhaps Merlin could sense the danger that was always around, even if the other man couldn't see it? Still, Arthur didn't want to tell Merlin about the magic constantly surrounding him, it would give poor Merlin a heart attack! His loyal manservant always looked scared, just for a split second, when magic was even mentioned, and Arthur didn't want to give Merlin the fright of his life by telling him that he was now being targeted by the god of magic because of Arthur's actions.

Emrys truly was a wily and devious god! Of course the nefarious god of magic wouldn't put Arthur's burden on Arthur's shoulders alone. No, it was the way of magic that it targeted the innocent, threatening people that had nothing to do with the ritual in the first place! This curse was Arthur's to bear alone, but of course Emrys would not abide by that!

Arthur tried to keep his cursing out of the god in his own thoughts to a minimum, just in case Emrys could hear his thoughts, which was entirely plausible given their mental connection. Eventually, it all becomes too much for Arthur. He fears that he'll be ultimately used as a tool to aid Emrys in the destruction of Camelot, so he makes plans to secretly give the crown to Gwen and resign all of his power. He still has to physically stay in Camelot, who knows what evil Emrys would rain down upon the kingdom if he realized that his pawn had left, but at the very least Emrys couldn't manipulate Arthur into ruining Camelot of Arthur wasn't in charge of Camelot.

Merlin, having spent ten years convincing Arthur that he's a great king and will lead Camelot into the golden age as its king, hearing that Arthur is planning on abdicating the throne in order to foil Emrys's plans: YOU FUCKING WHAT?!

Merlin, during all of this, has been using his connection with Arthur as sparingly as possible. He knows how much of a toll this who "familiar" thing has been for Arthur, and he wants to make it as small of a burden as possible, only giving Arthur life-saving and non-invasive commands.

But Merlin absolutely will NOT allow Arthur to give up his throne, to throw away their destiny, over a threat that isn't even really a threat! So, with a heavy heart, Merlin decides to use his "Emrys voice" to give Arthur a stern talking-to.

Merlin was hoping for his mental lecture to come off as a parent gently guiding a child away from making a terrible mistake, but on Arthur's end, he has a pissed off and sleep deprived deity shouting at full blast inside his mind about "abandoning his destiny" and "not trusting in fate".

For Arthur, it's the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced, and he can see the golden threads around Merlin flashing brightly around him when his manservant comes to wake him the next morning. Arthur gets the message: he has displeased Emrys, and Emrys is only going to give him one warning before Merlin bears the punishment for Arthur's disobedience. And however much Arthur wants to ensure that Camelot is protected from Emrys's plots, he cannot lose Merlin. So, Arthur calls off his plans to abdicate, in accordance with Emrys's commands.

(Arthur hates it like nothing else in the world. Not even following Uther's orders made rage and frustration flare up in his chest as it did now. Emrys knew exactly where to apply pressure to make Arthur break, and the villainous god had done exactly that.)

However, Arthur's attempt at abdication and Emrys's subsequent rage still did not answer Arthur's question: what plans did Emrys have for him? For what purpose did the evil god need Arthur alive and on the throne for?

Arthur wouldn't get any answers until the next battle against Morgana. Arthur's army was poised to battle against Morgana's Saxon hoarde in the morning, but Arthur couldn't get any sleep. Arthur knew that it was imperative for him to lead from the front lines as a strong and noble king, fighting alongside his loyal knights. However, Arthur couldn't shake the doubts rising in his mind. He was the familiar to the god of magic now, how did he know that he would not be forced by Emrys to betray Camelot in the heat of battle? Surely Emrys would be favoring Morgana in this battle?

So, in the privacy of his tent, Arthur knelt down and prayed for the first time since the ritual. Arthur had tried every other possible way of communicating with Emrys, but their mental connection either seemed to be one-sided or Emrys was ignoring all of mental messages for him. However, Arthur knew that Emrys couldn't possibly resist hearing what made a Pendragon so desperate that he would humiliate himself in such a way to the god of magic.

That night before the battle, Arthur prayed for Emrys to please help him protect his home and his knights. Arthur told Emrys that regardless of Emrys's feelings toward Arthur, his knights were good men who deserved to live to see another sunrise. Arthur begged for Camelot's innocent citizens to be spared from Morgana's wrath.

To Arthur's shock, he heard Emrys respond through their bond. His voice was softer than Arthur had ever heard it. In fact, the voice was so soft and gentle, Arthur swore that it sounded like Merlin's voice for a split second: I will be with you.

Arthur felt only slightly comforted by that. It could have been a sly trick from Emrys to get Arthur to lower his guard before the battle, but for some reason, Arthur didn't think that it was.

During the battle itself, Arthur is surrounded by complete chaos. At one point, he surrounded by at least eight enemies, having been cut off from his knights. He readies himself to either cut down his opponents or go down fighting when, all of a sudden, the strings of golden dust that had been knocking enemy soldiers off their feet rushed towards Arthur. Arthur braced himself, but when the light touched Arthur, it simple diffused itself into his skin, like it did at the end of the ritual that landed Arthur in this whole mess.

However, this time, the golden light that clung onto Arthur's skin didn't simply fade. Instead, it grew brighter and brighter, nearly forcing Arthur to close his eyes against the luminosity of it! After the light had grown to a blinding glow, it flew off of Arthur's skin with a blast, violently knocking away any Saxons that it hit. When Arthur's sight cleared and he looked around, he could see that all of Morgana's front lines, encompassing at least a thousand fully-armed Saxons, had been decimated by the blast.

Arthur stood alone, still separated from his men, and looked all around him with awe and horror in equal amounts. He could still feel the golden light on his skin, a slight tingling sensation that made the hair on his arms raise. Did... did Arthur just perform magic?! Had he blasted away all of those soldiers?!

Oh god, this was Emrys's plan all along, wasn't it! To turn Arthur into some power-hungry sorcerer corrupted by magic!

As Arthur's panic worked its way deeper into his chest and up his throat, Emrys spoke to him once more: That was my doing, Arthur, not yours.

With hysteria still gripping his chest, Arthur tilted his head to the heavens and shouted: "Give me more of an explanation than that for once you bastard! I need answers!"

And, shockingly, Emrys responded to him: I merely used you as a conduit for my magic. I was channeling my power through you. Be at ease, young king, for you are no sorcerer.

(Merlin, hidden nearby, mentally gives himself a pat on the back for both sounding sufficiently god-like and successfully channeling his magic through Arthur to make it drastically more powerful for the first time, since he was saving that particular ability for a real emergency, like that Arthur getting surrounded by angry Saxons. He'd wanted to avoid freaking Arthur out with that ability, but he'd take a panicked Arthur over a dead Arthur any day.)

After they return to Camelot victorious, Arthur is morose once more. How can his loves ones even be safe when they're in the room with him if Emrys could turn him into a living magical weapon at a moment's notice?!

(And one time skip and a dramatic magic reveal later, followed by a tense and emotional confrontation between Merlin and Arthur, Arthur would be pissed beyond words that he'd been made into a servant FOR HIS OWN DAMNED SERVANT!

Once Arthur works through his anger towards Merlin, he realizes that the whole ridiculous situation does make for some fun banter though.

And if Merlin's able to save Arthur from a fatal wound after Camlann thanks to their magical connection, then the prophecy would just say that they were truly two sides of the same coin: each a king and a servant to the other.)

Phew! That was a long post! Well, I hope that everyone enjoyed this au idea! I'll see you all again soon!

And, as always, thank you so much for reading through my ramblings! :D

[notsosweetchan]

˚ʚ♡ɞ Private Session ˚ʚ♡ɞ

Warning: Smut

Paring: | Jisung x Reader |

Y/N his neck as her hand stroked his cock through his pants. Jisung let out a gasp of both pleasure and frustration . He knew they were in a public place, but the heat between them was unbearable .

“Y/n...,” he whined out her name, "we can’t do this here."Y/n chuckled and lightly bit Jisung's earlobe, her hand working up his shaft teasingly. "But I want you so bad, Sungie," she purred, using her pet name for him. She knew he hated it in public, but she couldn't help herself when she was this turned on .

Jisung clenched his fists, trying to regain control. "I want you too, baby but, were in the studio they could come back at anytime" he growled lowly

"Mmm, they probably won't." Y/N purred and bit down on his earlobe softly, her teeth grazing against his skin as she skillfully stroked him through his pants. "Besides," she continued, breathing heavily, "we could always lock the door."

She couldn't help but tease him, wanting him just as badly as he did. Her other hand slipped under his shirt to caress his stomach, tracing patterns on his skin that sent shivers down his spine.

She leaned in closer to him, their bodies pressed together, and brushed her lips against his neck before nibbling on his earlobe. "Just imagine how good it would feel when I take your cock deep into my throat," she whispered seductively.

The scent of her perfume filled Jisung's nose and made him lightheaded. His heart raced as he tried to keep himself under control but failed miserably every time she touched him like this.

He groaned out loud, unable to hide his desire any longer. He grabbed onto her waist tightly and pulled her even closer, grinding his hips forward slightly to seek more contact with her hand.

They stood in the quiet studio surrounded by nothing but soft music notes floating through the air - yet all he could hear was the sound of their breathing and his own need for release.

It had been too long since they'd shared intimate moments like these; their relationship had been purely professional lately due to their busy schedules.

Finally, overwhelmed by desire, he nudged her head downwards until she was in front of his crotch level-wise. "Fine," he growled out between labored breaths, "But make it quick."

Y/n giggled against his skin before unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease. She freed his erection from its confinement and stroked him leisurely, her gaze locked onto his face the entire time.

Jisung's eyes were hooded with lust as she leaned in and took him into her warm mouth. He bit down on his bottom lip to muffle a moan that threatened to escape him. He tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her mouth closer as she bobbed up and down on him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, arching his hips upwards into her warmth. "You're so good at this."

Y/N didn't respond but instead let her actions speak for themselves, sucking him deeper into her mouth and massaging his balls simultaneously.

Jisung couldn't believe they were doing this here, in the studio of all places, but he didn't care; all he could think about was her lips around his cock and the way she looked up at him with her big doe eyes as she took him inch by inch.

The pleasure built up inside him, threatening to explode out of his body any second now. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to have more of her. He pulled away from her mouth prematurely and pushing her on the couch in the studio .

"I need you, Y/N," he panted, unbuttoning her pants and slipping his hand inside to feel how wet she was for him.

Y/N moaned as he rubbed circles around her entrance with his fingers, her back arching off the couch. "God, jisung...yes," she breathed out. He positioned himself at her entrance, using his other hand to guide his hard cock to her slick entrance. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he slowly pushed inside her slick heat.

"Fuck," they both moaned in unison as he bottomed out inside of her. Jisung's hips moved in a slow,pumping motion, filling the room with the sound of flesh slapping together and moans of pleasure.

The contrast between soft music notes floating through the air and their raw, primal sounds filled the studio, an aphrodisiac in itself. Y/N's eyes were closed tightly as her head tilted back in ecstasy, her mouth open in a silent scream."That's it, baby," he whispered into her ear, nipping at it gently. "Feel good?"

"Mmmhmm," she moaned out, her hips moving in sync with his. He could feel how wet she was around him, her walls squeezing him tightly with each thrust. Jisung leaned down and captured her lips in a deep kiss as they moved together rhythmically on the couch.

Their tongues danced together as their bodies became one unit of pleasure seeking release from each other. Her nails dug into his skin gently as he picked up speed until she was crying out his name and bucking her hips up to meet every stroke of his cock inside her.

"Y/N...I'm close," he warned between heavy breaths against her lips. She nodded and bit down on her bottom lip as she felt herself clenching around him.

With a few more thrusts, Jisung grunted out her name and came deep inside her, his hot seed filling her up. Their breathing came in pants as they clung to each other, trying to catch their breaths. Slowly, Jisung pulled out of her and collapsed on the couch next to her panting heavily.

"That... that was... intense," he managed to say between breaths. Y/N giggled, a blush creeping up her neck ."We're lucky no one walked in on us." Jisung chuckled wearily, "I wouldn't mind if they did at this point."He winked at her, and she playfully hit him on the chest before they both dissolved into fits of laughter .

[science-lings]

Something that I think about a lot is how Phoenix's reputation evolves, because he starts out as the kid with no friends who would stand up to him, to the puppylike college student who got acquitted of the murder of another student and immediately changed the course of his life to become a lawyer, to the guy who interns under one of the greatest defense attorneys since Gregory Edgeworth, to the guy who took over her practice and defeated the demon prosecutor in one fell swoop, the guy who took down the powerful CEO guy who literally blackmailed a bunch of people to suicide and killed a woman with his own hands to keep the truth from getting out and Phoenix went after him in his first case that he took by himself.

The guy who confronted the mafia (twice?) and was the one defense attorney to take the case of said demon prosecutor to go against another unbeatable unethical prosecutor and he did it with a parrot and a single piece of evidence. He defended the chief prosecutor and took down the corrupt chief of police and that's just the first game.

Imagine the press following this guy. You know when you attend a trial where Phoenix is the defense there's going to be some Crazy Shit going on. He will leave his current trial to interrupt another trial and he gets popular enough that someone impersonates him and to the point where an assassin blackmails him into taking a case and this motherfucker still tricks them into incriminating themselves. He exorcises a ghost who has a personal vendetta against him in court and by the end of the trilogy is really well known for the most mindblowing crazy shit and then it all comes crumbling down like two months later.

The most sensational defense attorney is dethroned and adopts his disappearing defendant's daughter and I like to think that when he gets involved with underground poker and starts toeing the line between the criminal world and the one he knows he discovers that he has a reputation there already too. You cannot tell me guy who kind of made friends with Viola Cadaverini is not on the mafia's radar at least somewhat. He got Dee Vasquez arrested and was the one guy not afraid to poke at people associated with Cadaverini, who the entire police force won't dare touch.

it just wouldn't be surprising to me if he unknowingly garnered some street cred, especially if he's seen around Kristoph and Edgeworth, a guy who calmly makes sure he never loses his cases and someone who literally has a reputation as a demon. I just think it would be so funny if people were a little afraid of beanix, just because of what he's heard about him. He's never been violent or anything, but he's dangerous in much less tangible ways. He builds a vibe around him that makes him seem kinda threatening even if there's no proof that he's ever retaliated against anyone.

He stays calm even when he's being put on trial for a murder and in the courtroom there's a feeling that everything is being played like a game to him. He should be in the most vulnerable position but he's entirely in control. He's been an undefeated poker player for seven years and no one but his daughter can even guess about what he's thinking.

Just... the outward mysterious act and infamous reputation that grows beyond Phoenix's control that makes it when he gets back into law kind of hilarious when you think about it. The guy everyone was a little nervous around in the basement of a russian bar/restaurant is now a lawyer again and the first thing he does is defend an orca. The publicity around this guy has to be insane in combination with the whispers in the shadows. It is simply funny to me.

[larluce]

Have you ever thought of the episode A Servant of Two Masters with a scene like Ella Enchanted when she breaks her curse? If you don't know the scene or the movie, that's okay because I have ✨a vision✨

Like that:

Merlin inside is dying because he's trying to kill Arthur and that's his worst nightmare, but Arthur decided that needs to be open and honest to Merlin and just tries to confess. I don't know how they got there, but just imagine that Arthur is talking sweetly to Merlin, holding his face with love and going to kiss him, but Merlin is crying because he's with a knife in his hand and trying to stab Arthur in the back. He breaks the curse, but Arthur saw the knife and assumes the worst.

I did watch that film! "A Servant of Two Masters" had the pontential to be very angsty indeed. But of course they decided to make it comedy. Not that I didn't like it anyways, but a more serious take like the one you are proposing would have been GOLD.

I recently saw a post similar to this, not quite, but kind of captures the same idea: LINK

But you inspired me. So I'll add this to your vision:

Just as the movie, Agravaine orders for Merlin to be arrested before he can explain anything, proclaiming he's in alliance with Morgana. However, Arthur, though still very hurt and confused, starts to analyse the situation. Why would Merlin try to kill him now? Is not like he didn't have better chances before. Has he done something to make Merlin change his mind about him? What did Morgana offer him? And why a knife? Merlin literally serves him his food, he could have poisoned him, find a more discret way to do it, he's a physician apprentice for gods sake! Was his servant this dumb? Then he remembers, Merlin was crying through all of it, and he seemed like he was trying to tell him something but couldn't. He thought it was due his emotional confession that his servant had tears in his eyes, but now... could it be that Merlin was forced to do it? Maybe Morgana threatened someone dear to him? Like his mother or Gaius. Or maybe he just can't bare the thought of yet other person betraying him, specially if is Merlin, that now he's making excuses for him? Doesn't matter, he can't execute Merlin, even when his uncle keeps insisting on it. So he just keeps him in the dungeons ad pospones his death sentence as much as he can.

Just as Arthur gathers the caurage to go visit Merlin to ask for answers, against his uncle's wishes of course, Gaius aproaches Arthur and tells him Merlin was under the fomorroh's control giving him the burned cut head of the snake as a prove. He explains he went to visit Merlin and Merlin gave him that and told him Morgana put it in his neck to control him when he was captured, but somehow he managed to break the spell. His uncle intervenes, telling him is all lies, that Gaius just wants to save the boy because he's dear to him and accuses him right then and there of being the traitor they were looking for. For Arthur, however, there was never a doubt, his Merlin is innocent, he never wanted to betray him. He almost cries of relief and, ignoring his uncle and his physician's dicussion, he runs to see Merlin.

His smile fades once he gets there though, cause Merlin, his Merlin, is hanging from a rope. Horrified and in full panic mode, he puts him down as quickly and as carefully as he can. He yells desperately for the guards to fetch Gaius and starts making CPR, but even when Gaius later appears to help it's too late. Merlin's dead and Arthur's whole world is put upside down.

There's a note Gaius finds hidden in Merlin's clothes, it says: "I'm sorry, Gaius. I couldn't fight it much longer, I could feel it, growing back again, trying to control me and I couldn't let it, not again. I would rather cut my own arms and legs and being burn in the pyre a thousen times than hurt Arthur, much less kill him. I won't go through that nightmare again. Please tell him I love him too, that i never mean to do it. I love him more than I love myself. But if he doesn't believe you, if he hates me forever, it's alright. I don't blame him, so don't blame him either. Keep protecting him, please. Specially from Agravaine. Loves you, Merlin".

Gaius shares this letter with Arthur and of course he breaks all over again, but then he asks, "Why did Merlin told you to protect me from my uncle, Gaius?". Gaius doesn't want to answer at first, but Arthur commands him and Gaius answers carefully "he believed he was the traitor, sire". Arthur responds after a pause "And you believe that too?". There's a silence before the physician says "I gave him the pergamine and the ink, he said he wanted to write a message for you that later I would deliver. I was a fool, I should have known..." he sighs. "But I wonder... where did he get the rope?". And that's when when all clicks to Arthur. Agravaine was the one insisting on killing Merlin inmediatly amd Merlin didn't have access to any rope. He confirms it when the guards tell him Agravaine visited Merlin once, they couldn't hear what the man was telling to the boy, but it sounded like he was threatening him.

Agravaine was the traitor, Agravaine gave Merlin the rope. Agravaine is the reason his Merlin now is gone.

Arthur goes to his uncle a sword in hand and demands answer with the blade on his throat. First he dinies it, but then he laughs. "You killed my sister. You and your father" he admits. Arthur's expression remains as a stone "What did you tell him?" Arthur demands. "I just offer him a less painful way to die". Arthur kills him, but finds no satisfaction. He's dead inside. His Merlin died thinking he hated him and he let him believe that. He didn't visit him for days after all, he didn't confront him inmediatly for answers, he let his uncle cloud his mind. This was his fault.

Arthur looks at his sword and puts the point of the blade on his heart. He's about to push the blade when suddenly the doors open and the sword flies from his hand. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" a familiar panic voice shouts at him and Arthur turns. A Merlin with golden eyes is running to him and then hugs him tightly. "Are you mad?!" Merlin's still scolding him, but Arthur's just watches him in shock. "Merlin" he's only capable to mumble.

It turn's out Merlin's magic saved him somehow. It just put his body on the verge of death enough to make the fomorroh believe that the body was uninhabitable so it left his body completely. His mortal body was now too weak though, so his only vital energy left is his magic. That's why his eyes are constanly gold now. It takes a while for Arthur to understand it. Specially the magic part, but honestly, he's far too happy and relief to have Merlin back that he can't be mad about Merlin lying about his magic. In fact, if anything, he's thankful for it, since it saved Merlin's life.

"But you didn't plan that, did you? You did actually try to kill yourself" he accusses however, still heartbroken at the fact.

"It was the only way I could think of-"

"Never, Merlin" he commands him very serious. "Never do that again"

"I can't promise you that"

"Then any harm you do to yourself, I'll do it to me"

"You can't do that!" the warlock shouts horrified. "You are the king! You have a kingdom-"

"Our kingdom, Merlin! We built it together and it's nothing without you either"

"I'm just a servant, an illegal warlock now. My life doesn't matter."

"Don't ever say that again!" Arthur holds Merlin fiercely. "Didn't I tell you're the most valuable person to me? The only person I could trust with my life" tears run down his eyes.

"But.. I lied to you. I even tried to kill you"

"Lie to me then, kill me. You have my permission"

"Arthur-"

"No, I just got I glimse of what a life without you would be and I won't live it again. Not for a second. I can't lose you again".

"I can't lose you either". Merlin cries too. "My magic, everything I am, is yours. It has always been yours". Arthur caresses his cheek.

"Then let me take care of what it's mine"

Between tears, they kiss. Is not really tender or passionate, but pure necessity for the other.

"I'm sorry" Merlin snifs separating the kiss "Gods! My eyes won't stop shining" he says embarrasssed and tries to cover them.

"Don't" Arthur says while he uncovers his eyes gently. "They're beautiful" Merlin smiles but then sighs, sadly.

"The rest won't think the same"

"You don't have to worry about that"

Arthur gives Merlin a royal pardon so he's the 'only legal sorcerer' unless until he can make magic legal again completely. Gwen and the knights accept him inmediatly. The rest are wary at first but eventually they accept him too, when they realise he's the same clumsy servant they always knew. As Merlin recovers from his near death experience, his eyes glow less, but Arthur loves to see Merlin's eyes turn gold everytime.

Aaaand that's all I got. My imagination can't do much.

[feyhunter78]

Among the Sun Ch 3

Description: Miguel is roused from his slumber by Lyla and returns to find you content within a memory.

Ch 4

Miguel runs a hand down his face as he surveys the map in front of him. He doesn’t want to be here; he wants to be in bed with you. Wrapped in thick furs, your nightshift bunching up, exposing the flesh of your thighs as you toss and turn.

He wishes to bite into the flesh, mark it, drink from it, pull you lower until his lips meet your core, and he is able to feast.

“Our armies have successfully invaded Abbasher, the mines will soon be under our control, and we will start funneling resources to the struggling territories.” Lyla tells him, a pure white pelt wrapped around her shoulders. She hates the North, as do you, but it’s necessary to travel through to return home.

“You roused me from sleep to inform me of that?” Miguel asks, already feeling his impatience threatening to overthrow his self-control.

“Correct, I thought y/n could use a break from the constant fornication.” She says, smiling impishly, before she takes her leave.

Miguel laughs humorlessly, slamming his fist down on the table, a branching crack forming in the sturdy wood. He’ll have someone fix that tomorrow.

He makes his way back through the snow, ducking under the tent flap as he opens it, the familiar sight of your sleeping form washing away his anger.

You don’t stir when he reenters the bed, too heavily under his spell for that. He caresses your cheek, memorizing your every feature. You’re more beautiful than he imagined, so soft and perfect.

“My apologies for leaving you, cariño, Lyla wished to test my patience because she hates the route we have taken.” He explains, brushing his lips over your forehead, then down the bridge of your nose, avoiding your lips and instead pressing a kiss to the center of your throat.

Miguel hates that he must compel you to sleep, to remain calm among his men, but he doesn’t have the time to ease you into this new life, not now, but soon. Soon you will arrive in Nueva York and all will be well, he will show you all he’s collected for you. The rooms he has designated for you, the gifts, and offerings he will lay at the altar of your feet once you have completed the bond.

His fangs ache to sink into our neck and claim you, to prove to you that his words are true, but he will not. He knows you well enough to know that will only drive you further away.

You sigh in your sleep, shifting closer to him, unconsciously seeking the warmth his infernal blood provides.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Mi Vida, how I missed you.”

You say nothing in return, fast asleep, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can glimpse your sleeping thoughts.

There has been no constant fornication, not when either you or he is entirely awake. It’s only when you both surrender to sleep that he finds himself entangled in your embrace, your sweet voice begging him for more. Within your dreams, you shed your fear of him, the heavy cloak of it giving way to a desperate need he finds distractingly enticing.

Miguel’s ashamed to admit he often sinks into a half-conscious state. In which he finds himself indulging your every desire within your dreams as he ruts against the mattress or your thigh. A strained moan of your name as he comes, fighting the urge to rub that perfect pearl between your legs until you awake in ecstasy. But he will not touch you, not in that way, not while you are still so far from your rightful home. He would not take you on this cold, desolate road. You, his fated mate, his horizon, are too precious to let such animalistic urges taint. He would not take advantage of you in such a way, not here, not now. Not unless you begged him too, then he would no longer be able to keep himself restrained.

But your dreams are not lurid tonight, they are a memory. You are young again, shifting through portraits of potential suitors with two other young noblewomen.

“Have you heard? About the emperor’s bastard?” One asks, Delia, your mind supplies, easily recognizing a familiar face.

“Which emperor?” You ask, skimming your fingers over the portrait of a pale, brown-haired man, thoroughly bored.

“Of Alchemax, rumor is he fathered a bastard with a demon woman, and the boy showed up at the palace demanding a place in the games.”

“I thought all the demons had been purged from the world?” You ask, setting aside the portraits and giving Delia your full attention.

“Delia, y/n, we should not speak of such things, it is in bad taste.” Rielle chastises, picking the portraits up once more. “Though…I did hear that his mother was not born a demon but was cursed by the empress when she learned his majesty’s mistress was with child.”

“I have heard that the empress conducts strange rituals at all hours of the night.” You add, a conspiring smile tugging at your lips.

“If that is so, then I feel for the poor woman, to be cursed in such a way…I cannot imagine.” Delia frowns, hugging the portrait in her hands to her chest.

You nod in sympathy, a pang in your heart as you imagine the poor woman’s suffering.

“So, he wishes to compete in the games? Does he aspire after the throne?” You ask, fiddling with the pendant around your neck.

It’s shaped like the sun, rays of delicate gold streaming out from a jeweled center. He hasn’t seen that pendant upon you or within your things, perhaps he’ll check them again, for you seem quite fond of it.

“The imperial heir, Kron? I believe his name is, will no doubt protest the matter, but the games are an Alchemax tradition, and the emperor is known for being fond of tradition.” Rielle says, flipping through the portraits with an air of ease.

You giggle at that. “Seems he is not fond of the tradition of staying loyal to one’s wife.”

Delia laughs as well, and Rielle bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “No, it seems he is not.”

“They are so far-flung though, we do not need to worry ourselves over their affairs, they did not even send a portrait of either boy.” You pout, giving up on looking through the portraits and staring out the window. “This whole affair is pointless anyways.”

“Oh, Rielle it seems I owe you a strawberry tart, she has given up in favor of the boy from her dreams.”

“I have not.” You snap, sitting up and grabbing the portraits once more. “I am simply unimpressed by the current selection of candidates.”

Delia raises an eyebrow. “If that is what you wish us to believe.”

“Truly, I have not seen him in months. I have given up on the notion and have purged his face from my mind.” You tell her, a hint of sorrow to your tone before you brush it away with a teasing smile. “Do you not have your own clandestine paramour? I recall a boy from the stables…”

Delia’s face burned red, and she shook her head. “I have not the faintest idea of what you speak of.”

Rielle snorts, and you burst into laughter, the matter dissolved like spun sugar in water.

Miguel remembers this, when his mother informed him of his true parentage with her dying breath, his grief spurring him on to challenge his half-brother to the throne. He didn’t dream during that time, and once the games were over, and he had emerged victorious, covered in the blood of his father’s line, and demon ichor he rarely did. A revolution had begun with him leading the charge. He’d been so young, a mere seventeen years of age, newly crowned, skin still stinging with the aftereffects of his stepmother’s curses.

You knew of him once, vaguely, heard the gossip, turned it over in your mind, then let it pass on without a second thought. He isn’t angry, it explains your hesitancy, your unfamiliarity with him, you don’t know him as he knows you. This much was clear from your initial reaction, but he hoped that with time…

You breathe out his name, dream shifting to a sunlight balcony. You are both there, seven and eight years of age, and you are teaching him the steps to a simple dance. He’s stumbling over his feet, embarrassed and frustrated, but you are kind and patient. Repeating the steps with him over and over until he can successfully spin you around. You giggle and praise his ability to pick things up so fluently. You were the only one besides his mother who praised him—for anything, others scorned him for his demonic appearance.

Miguel contents himself with watching the scene and drifts fully off to sleep.

Tag list: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @maxi-ride, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch, @ihateuguys, @yuuotosaka3

Shout out to my anon Red who gave me the idea for the little dance scene💗

[whyareyouhere66]

Maybe some hurt/comfort platonic Professor Remus Lupin x gn student reader where reader also has lycanthropy (is a werewolf) but with anger issues. Remus can kind of guess, but after reader almost gets outed as a ‘monster’ Remus makes it his duty to teach reader how to control their anger. Father figure Remus 🫶 you can make it as angsty as you want <3

Here it is! This took way too long but it’s finished now, and I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting 🫶

!Father figure! Remus Lupin x GN !werewolf! Reader

CW: implied absence of father, accidental(kinda) self harm, slightly graphic descriptions, reader has anger issues, possible ooc Remus I’m not really sure

x

I should’ve stayed in.

I should’ve known better, really. But it seems I didn’t. 

Malfoy always has a way of getting under everyone’s skin- and it seems that the older he gets, the less afraid he is of doing so in front of teachers. You should’ve been more cautious getting into arguments with him in the middle of a class.

“Malfoy, L/n, you two separate yourselves right now.” Professor McGonagall scolds, glaring at where Malfoy stood in front of my seat. He had that same devilish grin on his face, even as I’m glaring up at him from my chair.

“Sit down, Malfoy.” I say flatly, but he doesn’t budge.

“And what are you gonna do, hm? I have no reason to be threatened by someone like,” he takes the time to look my up and down, not hiding the grimace to follow, “you.”

“Then why don’t you go sit down?,” I quip, “no one’s asking you to stay, the only reason I see is you’re enjoying it.” I see quickly how his grin drops, and he’s glaring right back at me now. 

“Is that your best comeback? As if I’d ever enjoy being near you,” he seethes, and I stand up with my hands running down my face. 

“You are so exhausting-“ I groan, only to feel a sudden shove against my shoulder. I snap my head towards him again. What is he trying to do?

“You filthy little-“

“Don’t touch me,”

“Draco! L/n! Back to your seats at once!” McGonagall shouts, the click of her boots taking a few quick steps closer before stopping. I don’t look at her, because Draco is already shoving me back again. His face is scrunched into a look of disgust, and anger, and I can only imagine mine looks somewhat similar.

I’m shoving him back before I can think, my mind ticking, yelling at me to not let him walk away proudly. 

Bursts of different voices, small gasps, are around me as Draco is lunging forward pathetically. His brain is racing the same way mine is- but i only get a second to try and block his hands before he’s backing me up towards the wall.

I grab his shoulders, trying to pry him off me, but my back collides with a shelf and my head gets thrown back against something, 

The pain sends a jolt through my body, something all too familiar, but it’s too late. 

My eyes surge, and I feel the bones in my shoulders cracking against each other while I fall. Draco is somewhere in front of me, stumbling to the ground, and Ms. McGonagall shouts again from across the room.

“Shit.”

My heart is pounding, my hands are sweaty, but all I can feel from my racing mind is anger.

Before he can come at me again, I stumble to my feet again and run out of the room as quickly as possible. Professor McGonagall yells at me, but I can’t hear her anymore. My ears throb as they grow, stretching and pointing at the ends. 

My back arches into its new form, hairs poking my skin as they grow rapidly. Bones give a sickening crack as they move inside of me, my legs unable to hold me up. And I can’t stop it- because my mind is hollering and it’s too late to pull myself back now.

A snarl echoes from the throat, fangs poking my gums. It hurts, it always does- but this time it got too close.

My classmates could’ve seen me- they nearly did. 

Long claws make an ugly noise as they scratch the floor beneath me, I probably look psychotic stumbling across the floor trying to regain control of myself again. 

I want to hit him- I want to keep that ugly smirk off his face. 

My hands curl into a fist, and I feel the stinging pain of claws scraping the palms of my hands. The painful red that follows feels warm on my skin, I keep my hand still until the pain begins to keep the rest of me still.

My hitched breathing is loud, but slowly I feel my nails dulling, pulling out of my skin. I let out a gasp, face beginning to shift back to its original shape. 

My jaw throbs, and my fingers become sore as I desperately try to pull my self back into place. Bones are snapping, returning to normal while I struggle to hold myself up any longer. 

Heavy breathes fall, but I barely recognize them. My ears dull until they’re no longer long and pointed, my eyes fade from the sharp yellow back to e/c. 

“No, no no no,” I plead. 

“….y/n?”

I snap my eyes up to the new voice, and freeze when I see Professor Lupin staring at me wide-eyed.

He analyzes my shaking figure, and he looks at me differently… almost understandingly. 

I scramble to my feet again, stumbling away from him. 

“Wait!” He calls out, but I sprint away before he can follow.

It’s all ruined.

***

The next day, I refuse to leave the dorms. 

I slept in my closet last night, too afraid that one of my dorm mates would walk in and look at me the same way everyone else did before. 

About halfway through the morning hour, there’s a tapping at my window- and I recognize F/n’s owl, Ares, staring at me through the glass. F/n sent a note. 

I don’t want to read it. But I do- all it asks is where I am. 

I slide down the wall slowly, letting the note fall to the floor beside me. I feel so tired. 

Gosh- I was doing such a good job before. Whenever my anger would get the best of me, I’d find solace in an old closet or something, curl my hand into a fist so tightly it would unravel with red staining the palm. It would keep me stable- I had it under control.

But now?

.

.

A knock sounds from the door.

I don’t want to answer it.

I stare at it for a while, maybe I should. Maybe it’s F/n.

Eventually, I do open it.

Standing on the other side, is Professor Lupin, and I immediately freeze. What is he doing here? 

The look he gave me yesterday flashes in my mind, the understanding, the empathy. He speaks before I do, much to my relief.

“May I come in?” He asks, and I hesitantly step to the side. He enters carefully, finding a spot towards the center of the room, and I sit down on the foot of my bed awkwardly. 

“Look, professor-“ I try, only to be interrupted.

“It’s ok, I know.”

“…what do you think you know..?”

He sighs, looking round the room, as if searching for the right words. I watch cautiously.

“…I was about 4 years old, when I was turned.” He says- my eyes widen. Turned? Does that mean-?

“What..?”

“Well, that’s what you are, right,” he looks at me pointedly, “a werewolf?”

My heart stops when he says the word. Werewolf. 

He knows- he not only knows, but he is one, and I almost can’t believe my ears.

“You’re…you’re one too?”

Lupin nods, doesn’t even hesitate. Another sigh, before he continues.

“When I was bit, it was in means of revenge. I was used to get back at my father, and it’s affected my life ever since.”

Lupin paces the room when he talks, taking slow steps across the carpet. I feel a bit bad, knowing the burden of this curse. Professor Lupin looks at me again.

“It took me years to learn how to control it-  and if you’ll let me,” I can tell where this is going, “I want to help you learn as well.”

I pause, trying to think. I can learn to control it, to live with it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. 

“…you’ll help me?” I ask quietly, looking up at him. His face softens slightly, and he nods.

“Of course.”

I don’t know what to say. He asks how old I was when I got bit, I tell him. 8 years old, on a camping trip with my mother and step dad. My mom didn’t know what to do, my step dad (at the time) hadn’t even warmed up to me much yet. I was left to face it alone. 

Professor Lupin’s eyebrows furrow slightly, and he nods. 

“So you had no parents to help you?” He asks, and I nod shyly. I almost don’t want to look at him, avoiding his gaze head on.

“It was kind of hard to, uh, connect with my step dad after that…”

He nods in understanding. I look away. 

“Well, how about this,” he doesn’t step much closer to me, and I look at him curiously, “do you know what triggers it.”

I nod once more, bending my fingers around each other on my lap.

“Yeah, uh, my anger is…” I clear my throat, “yeah.”

“Great, then we’ll start there.” He says, as if it was an obvious fact. “Meet me after classes tomorrow, preferably by my classroom. That’s when we’ll start.” He begins to walk towards the door again, and I watch him. It’s so new, I’ve never even told people about such a burden before, yet here I am. Before he can leave, I stand up from my bed.

“Wait, professor.”

He turns to me curiously.

“…thank you.”

***

The first “lesson” was a bit of a messy one. 

He asks me how I currently handle my anger, and I hesitantly look at the scars littering my palm and the heel of my hand.

“Ah, I see…” he trails off. I nod.

“Yeah…”

By the second lesson, he’s telling me what happens in my brain when I’m angry- and how to keep calm.

“It’ll sound like a cliche, but controlling your breathing.”

“Definitely sounds like a cliche.”

“Yeah, well, it works, sit down”. 

By the 5th lesson I’m already sensing a difference in how I’m feeling- it’s like my body is more relaxed, my brain isn’t as high wired as it used to be.

But I’m weren’t sure- until I got tested.

It wasn’t Draco Malfoy this time, though they were close in obnoxiousness. A Ravenclaw, by the name of Riley, continuously pestering me after getting paired up for a project together. She followed me down the halls after class, ignoring all my attempts to brush her off.

Can’t she take a hint? 

I turn another corner down the corridor, and she tells me once again how lazy I am. I feel myself getting more frustrated, heart beating faster, and I stop walking in the middle of the hallway. When I turn ti look at her she has the face of someone who just got fired from work- and I want to tell her that no one riles her up as much as she does to herself. 

The first throb in my gums, I freeze, and turn away quickly. Her voice stops, thank god, and I feel her curious gaze burning holes into my back. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell myself, “it’s all cool.”

I close my eyes, blocking the memory of her voice, and let my breathing slow until it’s balanced enough for me to no longer feel the ache in my jaw. 

My eyes open again, I’m normal.

I’m normal- holy shit. A grin spreads across my face and I check my hands just in case- nothing. My body didn’t change at all. 

I whip around, not looking at Riley even as she throws another comment my way.

“Uh huh, yeah.” Is all i manage before I’m pushing past her and starting to jog down the hall.

“I did it,” I say to myself, “I did it!”

I’m basically running by the time I’ve made it to Professor Lupin’s classroom, knocking on the large wooden door a few times before he answers.

“Y/n?”

I grin at him. “I did it!” I exclaim, “I did it- I controlled it!”

His face begins to light up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“What?” 

I step into his room, but still spin around to face him. My cheeks are beginning to hurt from my smile but I don’t falter.

“I controlled myself, Lupin, i didn’t even change at all!”

His smile grows and he looks at me. “That’s wonderful, I’m so-“

Before he finishes, I step forward and hug him.

I didn’t even expect to, I just feel myself wrapping my arms around his torso and grinning like a mad man against his coat. His arms lay against my back in return in a  fatherly embrace, so simple yet I could never miss it. 

“Thank you” I say, and he smiles above me.

“Of course, Y/n.”

[badathumanemotions]

Blood Lust

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Category: Angst, Bit of Fluff, Mostly Smut CW: Vampires, Biting, Angst, Blood Drinking, Sort of Sub Spencer Reid, Dominate Reader, Oral (M rec.), Riding, Leaving Marks, Aftercare. WC: 7,981 Reader is turned into a vampire, she tries to get by on animal until it no longer sates her. She feels drawn to Spencer wanting his blood. She distances herself from him in fear of hurting him. Spencer is insistent on finding out and fixing what's wrong. I couldn't figure out a way to differentiate the bite that turns Reader and the regular feeding bite so just ignore that inconsistency. (Not Proof Read) Master List

Y/N hurried through the quiet streets, the chilly night air piercing through her thin jacket as she clutched the grocery bag tightly to her chest. The neon lights of the convenience store she'd just left cast a faint glow, but the shadows grew longer with each step she took away from its comforting embrace.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the alley ahead, moving with an unnatural grace that sent a shiver down her spine. He was tall, dressed in black, and his eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger that was all too familiar from the cases she'd worked on at the BAU. Before she could react, he was upon her, his hand clamping over her mouth to muffle her scream.

The world went dark as he dragged her into the shadowy alley, his strength overpowering her resistance. She felt the sharp pain of fangs sinking into her neck, the warmth of his breath against her skin, and the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth. Panic flooded her, but it was quickly replaced by a strange, euphoric feeling that washed over her like a wave. Her body went limp, and she felt the world around her start to fade away.

When she came to, she was lying on the cold, hard ground, her neck throbbing with pain. The figure was gone, leaving only the echo of his sinister laughter in the deserted alley. She gingerly touched the bite marks, feeling the tender, swollen skin.

Her heart raced as she stumbled back to her apartment, fear and confusion swirling in her mind. The night had gone from ordinary to bizarre in the blink of an eye. Inside, she collapsed onto her couch, the groceries scattered around her. The TV flickered, casting eerie shadows across the room, but she couldn't focus on anything other than the burning thirst that had taken hold of her.

Days passed in a blur of feigned normalcy. Y/N went through the motions at work, hiding the dark circles under her eyes with copious amounts of concealer and her newfound strength with careful control.

At night, she found herself drawn to the quiet parks and deserted alleys, the urban jungle teeming with unsuspecting prey. She'd started with small animals, their blood a meager substitute for what her body truly craved.

But it wasn't enough. The thirst grew stronger with each passing day, and Spencer's scent—his warm, tantalizing humanity—was becoming an obsession she couldn't shake. She tried to keep her distance, afraid of what she might do to her best friend if she lost control. Yet, every time she saw him, the urge to sink her teeth into his neck was almost overwhelming.

During briefings, she'd stare at the steady pulse in Spencer's neck, her eyes unconsciously tracing the blue veins that lay just beneath the surface. She'd sit in her chair, her heart racing, her fangs threatening to extend as he spoke, his words a dull buzz in her ears. She'd imagine the taste of his blood, rich and potent, and the way his body would arch beneath her. The other agents didn't notice her distraction, too engrossed in their own thoughts and the grisly details of their latest case.

One evening, as they were wrapping up a particularly harrowing profile, she caught Spencer glancing at her, his gaze lingering on her neck. She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't even noticed her hand had been absently tracing the scar from her own transformation. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she quickly turned away, hoping he hadn't caught on to her secret obsession. She was seriously starting to think she was forming a kink for his long, graceful neck. It was all she could think about—how it would feel to have her teeth sink into the soft flesh, to hear the gasp of surprise followed by the sweet sound of his pulse beneath her fangs.

But she knew she couldn't let that happen. Her resolve grew stronger with every passing moment. It was becoming too much, and she had to put distance between herself and Spencer. If she didn't, she was afraid she'd give in to the hunger that gnawed at her insides. So, she started making excuses to leave early, avoiding being paired up, and taking her breaks at times when she knew he wouldn't be around.

Spencer noticed the change in her behaviour almost immediately, his eyes searching hers for answers she couldn't give. His hurt was palpable, a silent accusation that she felt in the pit of her stomach. He'd always been there for her, through thick and thin, and now she was pushing him away. But she had to protect him. If he knew what she was, he'd be in danger.

One evening, as the rest of the team packed up to leave the office, Spencer approached her desk with a hopeful smile. "Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if you'd like to come over tonight. We could order pizza, maybe watch a movie?"

Her heart clenched at the genuine warmth in his eyes, and she felt a pang of guilt for the way she'd been acting. But she knew she couldn't risk it. The hunger was too strong, especially when she was around him. "I'm sorry, Spencer," she said, her voice tight. "I can't. I've got a lot on my plate tonight."

Spencer's smile faltered, and she saw the flicker of hurt in his gaze. "Is everything okay?" he pressed, his concern unmistakable. "You've been acting weird lately."

Y/N's jaw tightened, and she forced a smile that felt brittle on her lips. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a lot going on." She packed up her things, avoiding his eyes. "But thanks for the offer. Maybe another time."

Spencer watched her leave with a frown, his concern deepening. He'd noticed that she'd been paler than usual, and she'd lost weight. The dark circles under her eyes were a contrast to her normally vibrant features, and she'd been more irritable and distant. It was as if she was hiding something, and it was eating away at him.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong, that he'd unknowingly hurt her. His mind raced with possible scenarios, trying to piece together what could have changed so drastically in such a short time. He knew he couldn't just let it go, not when it came to Y/N. They'd been through too much together, and he refused to let her slip away without a fight.

So, Spencer started doing little things for her, hoping to bridge the gap that had opened between them. He'd slip a steaming cup of her favourite coffee onto her desk first thing in the morning, the rich aroma wafting up to greet her. He'd bring her books he thought she'd enjoy, leaving them on her chair with a sticky note that read, "Thought you might like this." He even picked up a small, intricate trinket from a local antique shop that reminded him of a case they'd solved together—a tiny, gleaming star with a hidden compartment. It was a subtle reminder of their shared history, a silent plea for her to open up to him.

Y/N's heart ached every time she saw his thoughtful gestures. The kindness in his eyes was almost too much to bear. She knew she was hurting him, and she hated it, but she also knew that the truth would only make things worse. So, she accepted his gifts with forced smiles, her hand shaking slightly as she took the warm mug of coffee, feeling the heat seep into her cold skin.

Her nightly hunts grew more desperate. The animal blood no longer sated the ravenous hunger that gnawed at her insides. She'd wake up in cold sweats, dreaming of Spencer's neck, his pulse beating like a siren's call. Each day, it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to just give in, to take what she needed from him. She tried to focus on her work, throwing herself into the cases, hoping that the adrenaline rush would dull the pain, but it was a futile effort.

The smell of Spencer's blood was everywhere—lingering in the air around him. It was a constant torment, a reminder of what she was now. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to tell him. The fear of losing her job, of being studied and locked away, was too great. So, she suffered in silence, her strength waning as the days went on. Her body craved the rich, potent taste of human blood, and specifically, Spencer's.

One night, as she prowled the streets, her senses heightened to an unbearable degree, she stumbled upon a bar fight. The scent of blood was thick in the air, and the sound of breaking glass and grunts of pain was music to her ears. She approached cautiously, her eyes scanning the chaos for an opportunity to satisfy her hunger without killing..

Her eyes fell on a man stumbling away from the main scuffle, his arm gushing with blood from a deep gash. He was perfect—alone, inebriated, and unlikely to remember the encounter. She moved swiftly, slipping into the shadows as she approached him, her fangs elongating with anticipation. But as she was about to make her move, she saw Spencer's face superimposed over the man's, and she froze.

The clarity hit her like a sledgehammer. If she didn't get away from here, she'd end up attacking someone, and it could so easily be Spencer. She couldn't risk it. Her humanity was slipping away, and with it, any hope of maintaining the friendship she cherished most.

Y/N stumbled her way home, the thirst gnawing at her with feral intensity. She clung to the hope that somehow, she'd find the strength to resist. But the moment she reached her apartment complex, she knew she was in trouble.

Spencer was waiting outside her door, his eyes full of worry and a hint of suspicion. He'd probably noticed the way she'd been avoiding him and had come to check on her. Her heart sank. He was the last person she wanted to see in her current state, especially when the scent of his blood was driving her mad with desire.

"Y/N," he called out softly, "are you okay?"

Her eyes snapped to his, the hunger warring with the guilt and fear in her gaze. She tried to shake her head, to tell him to leave, but her mouth was dry, her voice a mere whisper. Spencer's eyes searched hers, and she knew he saw the turmoil within.

With a sigh, he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to her. "Please, let me in. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

Y/N's hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob, her eyes never leaving his. The hunger was a monster inside her, demanding to be fed, and she knew if she let him in, she might not be able to resist. But she was so tired of lying, of hiding. The weight of her secret was crushing her, and she craved his understanding more than anything.

With a defeated sigh, she opened the door and tried to shut it in his face, but she was too weak. Her body was screaming for sustenance, and she could feel the warmth of his blood from where she stood. Spencer's eyes narrowed, and he gently pushed the door open, stepping into her apartment. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

Her knees buckled, and she stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor. Spencer rushed to her side, his hand on her shoulder, his pulse beating a rhythm she desperately wanted to sync with. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of desperation and fear. "I can't tell you," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "You wouldn't understand."

Spencer's gaze searched hers, and she could see the wheels turning in his brilliant mind. "You're not making any sense," he said, his voice filled with concern. "What's happening to you?"

Y/N's eyes fell to his neck, and she swallowed hard, trying to push down the hunger that was building within her. "It's…complicated," she managed, her voice thick with need.

Spencer's eyes followed her gaze, and understanding dawned on his face. "You're not okay, are you?" He leaned in, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "You're not well, and you're hiding it from me."

Her eyes searched his, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I don't want to be this," she murmured. "I don't want to be a monster."

Spencer's grip on her cheek tightened slightly, his thumb wiping away the tear. "You're not a monster," he said firmly. "You're my friend, and I trust you. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together."

The sincerity in his voice almost broke her. She wanted to believe him, wanted to confide in him. But the fear of his rejection was too great. "You don't know what you're saying," she protested weakly. "You don't know what I've become."

Spencer's eyes searched hers, and she saw the determination in them. "Tell me," he urged. "I've seen a lot of things, Y/N. Nothing you say will change how I feel about you."

With trembling hands, she reached up and pushed him away gently. "You don't understand," she whispered, her eyes pleading. "I'm dangerous."

Spencer leaned back, his eyes searching hers. "Dangerous how?"

Her breath hitched in her chest, and she forced the words out. "I'm a vampire, Spencer."

The silence that followed was deafening. Spencer's hand fell away from her face, and his eyes widened in shock. "A… a what?" he stuttered, the color draining from his cheeks.

Y/N nodded, her gaze never leaving his. "A vampire," she confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. "I was attacked a weeks ago, and now… now I crave human blood."

Spencer stared at her, his mind racing with a thousand questions. But instead of the horror or revulsion she'd feared, she saw something else in his eyes—curiosity. "Is that why you've been so distant?" he asked, his voice still calm.

Y/N nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. She'd expected disbelief, fear, maybe even disgust. But Spencer just looked… intrigued. "I didn't want to scare you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or for you to think I'm some kind of freak."

Spencer's eyes searched hers, and she could see the cogs turning in his mind. He was piecing things together, considering the evidence. "You're not a freak," he said, his voice firm. "You're still you."

Y/N couldn't believe his calmness. It was as if he was analyzing a case, not the fact that his best friend had just confessed to being a creature of the night. "How can you be okay with this?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "Because I've seen worse, Y/N," he said gently. "I've seen people do unspeakable things in the name of sanity. If this is what happened to you, if this is what you are now, I'm not going to abandon you."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. No one had ever accepted her unconditionally like this, not even when she'd confessed her darkest secrets. "But I could hurt you," she whispered. "I could—"

Spencer cut her off with a firm shake of his head. "You won't," he said, his voice filled with unwavering belief. "You're stronger than you think, and we'll find a way to manage this together."

Y/N stared at him, her eyes wide with shock and a hint of disbelief. Why wasn't he running? Why wasn't he screaming for her to stay away? The ease with which he accepted her new reality was unnerving, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was just trying to placate her, if he was just biding his time until he could report her to the proper authorities. But the sincerity in his gaze was too much to dismiss, and she felt the first glimmer of hope in what felt like an eternity.

"Thank you," she murmured, the words thick with emotion. "But it's not that simple. I can't just tell everyone. They'll think I'm crazy, or worse, they'll lock me up and study me."

Spencer nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand," he said. "But you can't keep going like this, Y/N. You need to feed, and I don't want you to hurt anyone else."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of fear or revulsion. But all she saw was compassion and concern. "I don't want to," she admitted, her voice cracking. "But the hunger is so intense, and I've been trying to hold out, to not give in to the urge."

Spencer's hand slid from her cheek to her neck, his thumb ghosting over the pulse that beat steadily beneath his fingertips. "You're starving yourself," he murmured. "That's not the answer."

Y/N's eyes filled with unshed tears. "What choice do I have?" she asked, her voice raw with pain. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Spencer. I've seen what they do to people like me in the cases we've worked on. I can't let that happen."

Spencer took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what he was about to say was risky, but he couldn't stand by and watch her suffer. "Feed on me," he offered, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. "Let me help you."

Y/N's eyes widened in shock, her fangs elongating slightly at the thought. "What? No, Spencer, I can't," she protested, her voice shaking. "I can't risk hurting you."

But Spencer's resolve was unwavering. "You won't," he insisted, his eyes filled with a gentle conviction. "You're in control, and I trust you. You need this, and I want to help."

With trembling hands, Y/N reached up to cup Spencer's cheeks, her thumbs brushing against the stubble that lined his jaw. His eyes searched hers, and she knew he meant it. He was offering himself to her, willingly, without fear. It was a gift she hadn't dared to hope for, and she couldn't refuse it.

Slowly, she leaned in, her breath hot against his skin. She could feel the pulse of his blood, the life force that called to her in a way nothing else ever had. Spencer's eyes closed, his breath hitching slightly as he tilted his head to the side, exposing the long line of his neck. The scent was intoxicating, and she knew she was lost.

With a gentle nudge, he guided her head to the spot just above his collarbone, the vein pulsing beneath his skin like a siren's song. Her fangs ached to pierce his flesh, to finally taste the sweet elixir she'd been denying herself for so long. With trembling hands, she held onto his shoulders, her breaths coming in short gasps as she tried to maintain some semblance of control.

Spencer felt the tip of her fangs graze his skin, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He knew this was a moment that would change everything between them, but his concern for her overrode his fear. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Do it."

With a gentle sigh, Y/N sank her teeth into the soft flesh of Spencer's neck. The instant her fangs pierced his skin, a wave of euphoria washed over her, a sensation so intense it bordered on sexual. Spencer's blood was a symphony of flavors—sweet and warm, with a hint of something rich and metallic. She'd never tasted anything so potent, so alive. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips as she took her first real drink.

Spencer's body went rigid with shock, but then he relaxed, his breathing deepening. The pleasure that flooded through him was unexpected, a warmth that spread from the bite site and pooled in his groin. His eyes rolled back in his head, and a soft sound of contentment slipped from his lips. The sensation was so overwhelming, it was almost as if he could feel her hunger, her need, and it filled him with a strange, heady power.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she drank from him, the warmth of his blood suffusing her cold body. It was everything she'd been craving, and she felt her strength returning with every swallow. The taste was heavenly, the rush of his life force more intoxicating than any drug she'd ever encountered. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, and she felt his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips.

But then she felt something else—a pressure against her thigh. Spencer's body was responding to the intimate act in a way she hadn't anticipated. He was getting hard. The realization sent a thrill through her, mingling with the hunger and the pleasure of the feeding. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his for any sign of discomfort or fear. But all she saw was the same gentle concern, the same unwavering trust.

Y/N swallowed hard, her own body responding to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She couldn't ignore the heat that had started to build between them, the way her own breath had quickened. Her grip on his shoulders tightened as she straddled his lap, her legs trembling with the effort of restraining herself from biting deeper.

The air around them was electric, every touch a spark that set their nerves alight. Spencer's hands slid up her back, his thumbs tracing the outline of her spine, sending shivers down her body. She moaned against his neck, the sound muffled by the mouthful of blood that she was trying to swallow.

Her eyes flew open, and she saw the dark hunger in his gaze. He wasn't just okay with this; he was enjoying it. The realization sent a jolt of arousal through her.

Slowly, she licked the puncture wounds on his neck, her tongue swiping over the crimson beads of blood that lingered there. His skin was warm and salty under her tongue, and she felt his pulse steady as the wounds closed under her ministrations.

It was so erotic to Spencer, the way she tended to him with such care, the intimacy of her mouth on his skin. His body responded to the sensation, his arousal growing with every passing second. He had never felt so alive, so connected to someone.

Y/N felt the shift in Spencer's demeanour, the way his hands slid down to her hips, urging her closer. The pressure between her legs grew more insistent, and she couldn't help but lean into it. She pulled away from his neck, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, she was lost in the depths of his gaze. And then, without a word, she claimed his mouth with hers.

The kiss was fiery, fueled by the potent cocktail of blood and desire. Spencer's arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest as their tongues danced together. Her hips began to rock against his, the friction of their clothes providing a delicious form of torment.

Breaking the kiss, Y/N panted heavily, her eyes half-lidded with passion. She felt the desperate need to feel his skin against hers, to erase the barriers that still remained.

Spencer seemed to understand, his hands moving to the hem of her shirt. His eyes searched hers for permission, and she nodded eagerly, her cheeks flushed with arousal. He lifted the fabric over her head, revealing the black bra that barely contained her breasts. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before his gaze returned to her eyes.

Y/N felt a pang of insecurity. What if this was all just a side effect of the bite? What if Spencer didn't actually feel the same way she did? She'd harboured a secret crush on him for so long, and now that they were crossing this line, she didn't know if it was real or just the influence of her vampiric nature.

"Spencer," she whispered, her voice still thick with the aftertaste of his blood. "Do you… do you really want this?"

He searched her eyes, the intensity of his gaze piercing through the fog of desire. "More than anything," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "But only if it's what you want, too."

Y/N's heart swelled with emotion. It was real. Spencer truly desired her, not just because of the vampiric allure. She reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the stubble. "I want this," she assured him, her voice a breathy whisper. "But I'm afraid…afraid of what the bite does to people."

Spencer's eyes searched hers, understanding dawning. "You think it's just the blood lust?"

Y/N nodded, her heart racing. "I don't want to manipulate you," she whispered, her voice tight with anxiety. "I don't want you to feel something you don't truly feel."

Spencer's hand stilled on her hip, his gaze never leaving hers. "I'm not a puppet, Y/N," he assured her, his voice firm. "My feelings are my own, and right now, all I can think about is how much I want you."

The sincerity in his words washed over her, easing the fear that had taken root in her chest. She nodded, her eyes never leaving his as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra. It fell away, and Spencer's gaze dropped to her breasts, his pupils dilating with desire.

With trembling hands, he traced the contours of her rib cage before cupping her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples. Y/N arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sensation was exquisite, a stark contrast to the painful thirst that had been consuming her.

Spencer's eyes never left hers as he leaned in, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. She gasped, her back arching further, as he sucked and teased the sensitive peak. His other hand slid up her spine, tangling in her hair as he held her to him.

The feeling of his warm, wet mouth on her was intoxicating, and she couldn't help but moan as he switched to the other side, giving it the same attention. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

With newfound strength, Y/N's hands slid down to the button of Spencer's shirt, her nails scraping against the fabric as she yanked it open. Buttons flew in every direction, and she didn't care. She needed to feel his bare skin against hers, to claim him as surely as he'd allowed her to claim his blood.

Her eyes raked over his chest, taking in the sight of his muscles, the smattering of freckles she'd never noticed before. Her hunger shifted, morphing from the need for blood to a desperate craving for his touch. She leaned in, her teeth grazing the soft skin of his neck, and Spencer's grip on her hips tightened.

Suddenly, she pushed him back with surprising strength, pinning his wrists on either side of his head. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his pupils dilating with a mix of arousal and curiosity.

"You're mine," she murmured, her eyes flashing with a predator's possession. "Mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to…consume."

Spencer's eyes darkened with desire, his body responding to the primal claim in her voice. He didn't resist, his wrists flexing against the floor as she held him in place. The power exchange was as intoxicating as the blood they'd shared.

Y/N leaned down, her mouth hovering just above his. "And you're mine," she whispered, before claiming his lips in a kiss that was both demanding and gentle. Spencer's body responded eagerly, his hips bucking up to meet hers.

Her hands moved with surprising speed and strength, ripping his belt from its loops with a sound that echoed through the silent apartment. The leather strap slapped against the floor, forgotten as she tugged at his pants, desperation driving her to get him naked as quickly as possible. She needed to feel all of him, to possess him in every way she could.

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, but his body responded eagerly to her urgency. He lifted his hips to help her, his mind racing to keep up with the sudden turn of events. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but the thrill of it only added to the intense arousal coursing through him.

Her tongue was like liquid fire, tracing the length of his erection with a slow, deliberate stroking motion that had him groaning into her mouth. She took her time, savouring every inch of him before finally drawing the tip into her mouth, sucking gently. Spencer's hips jerked upwards, and he couldn't hold back the low moan that escaped his throat.

Looking down, he saw her fangs poking out slightly, and a dangerous thrill shot through him. He'd never felt so alive, so connected to another being. The sight was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

Her mouth was warm and wet, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock as she took him in deeper. She sucked hard, and Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head. Her grip on his hips was like steel, holding him down, keeping him from thrusting into her mouth. He could feel the power in her, the strength of her newfound nature, and it was intoxicating.

Spencer's hands tangled in her hair, his hips straining against her grip. He didn't know if he wanted to push her away or pull her closer. The feeling was overwhelming, his body responding to her touch in ways he'd never experienced before.

With a low growl of warning, she removed one hand from his hips and taking a hold of his wrists. "No," she murmured against his skin. "You're mine to pleasure, not to touch."

Spencer couldn't help but whimper at the loss of contact, his body straining for more. The hunger in her eyes was matched only by the need in his own, and the sight of her fangs elongating slightly was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He'd never felt so alive, so vulnerable, and it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The scrape of her fangs against his inner thigh was a delicious warning, a reminder of the power she held over him. And with every touch, every suckle, every flick of her tongue, the barrier between them crumbled a little more.

The room was thick with the scent of their desire, the warmth of their bodies mingling with the faint metallic tang of his blood that still lingered in the air. Y/N's eyes never left his as she took him deeper, her mouth moving in a rhythm that had him panting and begging for more. His hips bucked, trying to match her pace, but she kept him pinned, her grip unyielding.

And then, she began to hum, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure zipping up Spencer's spine. He arched off the floor, a strangled cry escaping his lips as the sensation grew more intense. It was as if she'd found a button that no one had ever touched before, a spot that sent his body spiralling out of control.

Her mouth grew wetter, sloppier, as she sucked him with an insatiable hunger that mirrored the thirst she'd felt earlier. Spencer could feel the tension coiling in his belly, his body tightening with every stroke of her tongue. He was so close, so very close, and he didn't know if he could hold on much longer.

Y/N's eyes never left his, the dark pupils blown wide with desire as she felt him get closer to the edge. She held her head down on him, her cheeks hollowing with every suck. The sound of her mouth on his skin was obscene, wet and sloppy, and it only served to drive him further into a frenzy.

Spencer could feel his orgasm building, his body tightening as the pleasure grew too intense to bear. He tried to warn her, his breaths coming in harsh pants, but she only took him deeper, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock. And then, with a final, desperate thrust of his hips, he came.

The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before—his body arching off the floor, his back bowing as he spilled into her mouth. Y/N swallowed greedily, her eyes never leaving his, the intensity of the moment searing through any remaining inhibitions.

The sudden shift in their dynamic was palpable as she sat back on her haunches, her eyes blazing with a feral hunger that was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying. Spencer's eyes fell to her chest, the sight of her bare breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath she took, the points of her fangs still peeking over her bottom lip.

Without another word, Y/N reached down and shimmied out of her pants and underwear in one fluid motion. Spencer watched, his own arousal growing with every inch of bare skin revealed. And then she was over him, straddling his hips, her own wetness coating her thighs.

Her eyes never left his as she lowered herself onto him, his cock sliding into her with a wet heat that made him groan. Spencer's eyes went wide with shock and pleasure, his body jerking with the sudden intrusion. It was a moment of pure, unbridled passion, and he could feel every inch of her as she engulfed him completely.

He watched, transfixed, as she leaned down and pinned his wrists to the floor once again, her strength surprising him even as his body responded eagerly to her dominance.

Her hips began to move, rocking against his with a ferocity that seemed to belie her earlier weakness. Spencer felt his heart race, his body straining to keep up with the pace she set. Her eyes held his, a fiery determination burning in their depths.

The pressure built inside him, the friction of their bodies driving him closer and closer to the edge again. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her own orgasm just out of reach. And then she leaned down, her teeth grazing his neck once more. The threat was there, the promise of another bite, and it was all he could do not to beg for it.

Spencer's hips jerked upwards, meeting her thrusts with a desperation that surprised him. The pain-pleasure of her fangs against his skin was a heady mix, one that had him panting and straining against her.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse with need. "Please…"

Her fangs grazed his neck once more, the pressure almost unbearable. Spencer's body was on fire, his blood racing through his veins with the anticipation of the bite. He'd never felt so alive, so utterly consumed by desire. He arched his neck, silently begging for the release he knew her bite would bring.

Y/N's eyes danced with mischief as she leaned in, her full lips brushing against his pulse point. She kissed the spot tenderly, her tongue flicking out to taste the salty-sweetness of his skin. Her teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive flesh, and Spencer's hips bucked, his body desperate for the painful ecstasy of her fangs.

He felt her smile against his neck, the pressure increasing just enough to make him whine. "Please," he begged, his voice a raw rasp.

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "Patience, Spencer," she murmured, her voice a low purr that sent shivers down his spine. She kissed her way down his neck, nibbling at the soft skin, her fangs scraping against his collarbone.

The wet sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to echo off the walls. Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, his hips bucking up to meet her with every downward thrust. He could feel her tightening around him, her walls pulsing with the need for release.

Y/N's movements grew more erratic, her breasts bouncing with the force of their lovemaking. Spencer's gaze was drawn to the sight, the way her nipples had hardened into tight points, begging for his touch.

He tried to tug his wrists free, desperate to run his hands over her body, to feel her soft skin against his own. But her grip was like iron, unyielding and unbreakable. It was a stark reminder of the power she now wielded, and it only served to make him want her more.

Spencer lay back, his body stretched taut with need, as Y/N continued her relentless rhythm. Her movements grew more frenzied, her hips grinding against his in a delicious dance of dominance. His eyes fell shut, his head lolling back as the pleasure built within him.

The sound of her moans grew louder, filling his ears and fueling his own desire. He could feel the tension coiling in his belly, his body straining towards the precipice of release. He arched his neck, baring his throat to her, the silent plea clear.

And then, with a snarl of pleasure she bit down. Spencer's eyes shot open, the sensation of her fangs piercing his skin unlike anything else he'd ever felt. The pain was a white-hot brand, searing through him, but it was quickly swamped by the rush of pleasure that followed. His orgasm hit him like a freight train, his body convulsing as he came harder than he ever had before.

He felt his vision swim, the edges of his consciousness going dark. But even as the world around him blurred, he could feel the warmth of her mouth on his neck, the way she licked greedily at the blood that flowed from the wound she'd made. His hips jerked, his body responding to the pleasure that flooded him with every pulse of his heart.

The sound of her moan was like music to his ears, a symphony of desire that matched the tempo of his own racing heart. Spencer could feel her body tighten around him, the walls of her sex pulsing as she took her own release.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she threw her head back, a keening cry tearing from her throat. The sensation of her climax was like nothing he'd ever felt before—it was as if she was squeezing him from the inside out, her body milking every last drop of pleasure from him.

And then she collapsed against his chest, her breaths coming in heavy pants that matched his own. Spencer felt the sticky warmth of their combined releases on his stomach, a tangible reminder of the intimacy they'd just shared.

Her head rested on his shoulder, and Spencer wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. The beat of his heart was like a drum in his ears, a steady rhythm that matched the pulse of the blood that still flowed through her veins.

Y/N felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The world had gone quiet, save for their ragged breaths and the distant sounds of the city outside. It was a peace she hadn't felt in a week, not since the night she'd been turned.

Looking up, she stared into Spencer's eyes, searching for any sign of regret, any hint that he was feeling coerced. But what she found instead was admiration. His gaze was filled with a newfound respect, awe even, at her strength and control. It was a heady feeling, one that filled her with a warmth.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, her voice filled with genuine concern. "Do you need anything?"

Spencer's eyes searched hers, his chest still heaving from the exertion. He felt…sated. More than that, he felt alive in a way he hadn't since he'd learned about her condition. "I'm…good," he managed, his voice still a bit shaky. "Just…wow."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at his response. She pulled back to look at the bite marks on his neck, already starting to heal.

And then she saw them. The bruises. They were faint, but they were there—a smattering of dark purple and blue blossoms scattered across his neck, chest, and wrists. The evidence of her hunger, of the power she hadn't been able to fully control.

Y/N's eyes widened in horror, her smile fading as she took in the marks she'd left on Spencer's body. She'd been so lost in the haze of passion, the desperate need to satisfy her thirst, that she hadn't noticed the damage she'd done. Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she scrambled off of him, her eyes darting to the various points of impact.

"Oh my god," she breathed, her voice shaking. "Look what I've done to you."

Spencer's eyes searched hers, his expression gentle as he reached up to cup her face. "I'm fine, Y/N," he assured her, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped her eye. "I'm more than fine."

But she couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that had settled in her gut. She'd taken so much from him—his blood, his trust, his body. And now she'd left him marked, marred by her hunger. "I didn't mean to," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Spencer sat up, reaching for her. "You didn't," he said firmly, his eyes searching hers. "It's fine, I promise."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes wide with fear and regret. "But the bruises," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to leave them. I'm so sorry."

Spencer's gaze fell to the faint marks on his hips, the fingerprints standing out like dark little badges of their shared passion. He reached down and gently traced one with his thumb, his eyes meeting hers. "I like them," he murmured, his voice low and serious. "They're a reminder of what we shared."

The tension in the room shifted, and Y/N felt a swell of relief wash over her. "You liked it?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Spencer nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I did," he admitted shyly, his cheeks flushing a soft pink. "It was…different. But in a good way."

Y/N searched his eyes, looking for any hint of deceit or discomfort, but all she saw was truth. The revelation took her by surprise, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. She hadn't expected him to be okay with her dominance, let alone enjoy it.

Spencer's voice grew softer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I liked feeling…claimed," he confessed, his cheeks flushing deeper. "It was like nothing I've ever experienced before."

The admission hung in the air, thick with emotion. Y/N felt a strange mix of relief and excitement, her eyes roaming over the bruises she'd left on his body. They were a map of their desire, a testament to the intensity of their encounter.

With a gentle touch, she helped Spencer to his feet, her vampiric strength supporting his wobbly legs. "You need to sit down," she said firmly, guiding him towards her bedroom. "I'll grab my first aid kit." She could see the marks on his wrists and hips, stark against his pale skin, and she felt a pang of regret. But she knew she had to make sure he was okay, that she hadn't hurt him too badly.

Once he was seated on the edge of her bed, she disappeared into the bathroom, her movements quick and efficient. The sound of her rummaging through cabinets was the only noise in the apartment, save for their heavy breaths. Spencer leaned back, his eyes never leaving the doorway, watching her silhouette as she moved in the light from the hallway.

When she returned, she was holding a small first aid kit, her eyes filled with a gentle concern that made his heart ache. She knelt before him, her knees pressing into the plush carpet, and took his hand in hers. Her touch was cool and soothing, the perfect balm to the heat that still lingered in his veins.

Gently, she unfurled his fingers and began to rub the soothing cream into the bruises on his wrists. The pressure was just right, firm enough to work out the tension but gentle enough to be comforting. Spencer watched her, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face, the concentration in her gaze as she worked.

Her touch was tender, the pads of her thumbs moving in slow, soothing circles against his skin. He couldn't help but lean into her touch, his eyes slipping shut as she worked. The cream smelled faintly of lavender, a scent that seemed to fill the room and ease the last of the tension from his body.

When she was done with his wrists, she moved down to the bruises on his hips. Spencer's breath hitched as her cool fingers traced the marks she'd left there, the pressure slightly firmer as she worked. He could feel the heat of his own arousal stirring again, despite the recent release.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning. "Y/N, you don't have to… I can do that," he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment. His cock had begun to harden again, the sight of her kneeling before him, her eyes filled with such tender concern, sending a fresh wave of desire crashing through him.

But she just shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. "Let me," she murmured, her voice a soft command. And Spencer found that he couldn't deny her, couldn't bring himself to pull away from the gentle ministrations of her hands.

He watched as she squeezed a dollop of the cream onto her fingertips, the cool gel glistening in the soft light. The sight of her touching him so intimately, caring for him in such a primal way, had his erection thickening even more. He felt a flush creep up his neck, his face growing hot.

"Y/N," he started, his voice cracking slightly. "You don't have to—"

But she didn't let him finish, her eyes flicking up to meet his before returning to the bruises she was tending to. "Spencer," she said firmly, her voice a low purr that sent a shiver down his spine. "Let me take care of you."

He swallowed hard, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "I'm fine," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Really."

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of pain or discomfort. Finding none, she nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "Alright," she said, her voice soft. She leaned back, her hands dropping to her sides. "But if you need anything, I'm here."

Spencer reached out and took her hand, pulling her closer. He just wanted to hold her, to bask in the afterglow of what they'd just shared. It was a feeling he hadn't expected, a gentle peace that seemed to wrap around him like a warm blanket. He could feel the steady throb of her pulse beneath his fingertips, the reassuring beat that reminded him she was alive, that she was with him.

Her body melded against his, and he felt her sigh contentedly, the tension in her muscles easing as she relaxed into his embrace. Spencer's heart swelled in his chest, the warmth of her skin seeping into his own. He didn't know what the future held for them, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the here and now, the way she felt in his arms.

[izvmimi]

Tsukasa has never allowed absentee parents to be an excuse for bad manners, but at the current moment, he is too irritated to knock before he enters Hyoga’s home. After all, this is the third place he’s searched for him, first at the training arena, then at her now empty home, and by now, he is certain that if Hyoga isn’t in this final spot, he might tear up the place commensurately to the way Hyoga did the medical hut, and leave the conversation at that.

“Hyoga, come out,” he calls out, gliding in, doing his best to control his own anger. Regardless of how complex and painful the situation might be for him, threatening members of the community is not a way to behave. Hyoga doesn’t respond, and Tsukasa huffs through his nose, prepared to move on in his absence, but before he turns, a mass shifts in the corner of the dimly lit small domicile.

Tsukasa is so surprised to see Hyoga, the fiercest warrior in his regiment unfurl himself from a bundle of furs and look up at him with eyes wet with tears, that his prepared speech clears from his head. He blinks, practically squinting at the young man in a heap, and furrows his eyebrows.

“Hyoga?” he asks again, as if the husk of a man is going to respond with some other name, and Hyoga looks away, pulling his knees to his chest.

“I fucking heard you the first time.”

Tsukasa’s lips press into a thin line. The whine in Hyoga’s voice is uncharacteristic, but it’s more startling than annoying, enough that Tsukasa’s initial anger mellows to exasperation.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks directly.

Hyoga doesn’t answer, and he appears to be staring off into space. Tsukasa feels annoyance course through his veins again but rather than start the fight he came here to start, he squats, leaning forward observe his comrade.

“Are you crying?” Tsukasa asks.

Hyoga’s right hand twitches, as if he were planning to grab his always-close-by weapon and strike but Tsukasa doesn’t flinch. His dark blue eyes are tearing wet and wiping them off his face looks even less manly, so he mutters under his breath instead.

“What do you need me for?” he spits. 

Tsukasa grimaces.

“Your tantrum earlier. I came to address it, but I see you’re out of sorts, anyway.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Hyoga replies, but he hiccups, then bites down hard on his lower lip as though punishing himself. 

Tsukasa keeps his eyes steady on Hyoga who has trouble meeting his gaze in a combination of embarrassment and resentment.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Tsukasa widens his stance and attempts to look threatening, but quickly realizes it’s not worth it. Hyoga as he is right now has lost as much bite as possible. His shoulders relax and he sighs. 

“Hyoga, I know you care about her but she’s not dead, she simply left.”

Hyoga doesn’t respond immediately, but a few moments pass in silence before he spits.

“Is that not worse? I would have preferred she be swallowed by beasts.”

If Tsukasa were the type of man to roll his eyes, he would have, but instead he remains composed.

“You don’t mean that,” he replies, evenly. To that, Hyoga gives him a look so poisonous a lesser man would have recoiled. 

“I’d imagine you don’t know what it’s like to feel the pang of rejection, Tsukasa.”

To this, Tsukasa smiles.

“A bold assumption to make.” 

Hyoga sneers, then looks away.

“Either way, I may look a mess as of now, but I won’t be like this forever,” he insists. Tsukasa raises an eyebrow while Hyoga lets his head tilt back, as though reabsorbing tears, then blinks a couple times. When Hyoga looks at him again, Tsukasa watches him again for flickers of weakness, of which there is none, but there is hurt obvious in his features. 

Hyoga is a proud man, and dwelling again on the circumstances will not help any longer.

“I’ll give you as much time as you need to get your feelings in order,” Tsukasa offers. He rises to his feet and attempts to be merciful, but Hyoga rises just seconds later, no longer shrouded in furs.

“I’m fine,” Hyoga answers. “Temporary lapse in judgment, that’s all.”

Tsukasa readjusts his cape and nods, thinking about broken clay pots, lips pulled down in disappointment, and scraped knees.

“That’s correct,” he adds. If not for the fact that the man was already in tears, he would have spoken to him harshly if not more, but Hyoga appears to be suffering enough.

“I’d like you to apologize for your actions as soon as you get the chance.” Tsukasa reminds him anyway. Hyoga gives him a look, but quickly understands. 

“Alright.”

Tsukasa bows again and turns to take his leave, but not before Hyoga offers one bit of unsolicited advice.

“She can hurt you too, you know.”

Tsukasa doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, offering a firmer bid adieu instead, but the thought haunts him all night.

[mumms-the-word]

Duke Belynne Stelmane and the Emperor

currently reading lore stuff about mind flayers for an upcoming deep dive and anyway here's some depressing content about how the Emperor turned Belynne Stelmane into his thrall (probably)

This is not Hot New Lore or a Brand New Theory by any stretch of the imagination, but hear me out

Remember when Wyll talks about meeting Stelmane? How he only saw her twice, but the second time she was very different? They attribute her changes to a stroke.

Wyll: I met her twice. The first time, I was a boy of seven or eight, at a banquet in the Flaming Fist's honour. One look and I was smitten. Chesnut hair that flowed behind her like willow fronds. She floated from one room to the next as if carried by clouds. The second time, Stelmane was...different. Even with the aid of a cane, each step she took was a struggle. Every word she spoke took great physical effort. 'A stroke victim?' I asked my father later. 'No,' he said. 'A stroke survivor.' Not a mere stroke, as it turns out - but the scars of her possession. Gods, what I wouldn't give to drive a dagger through the Emperor's building head. We can never let it do to us what it did to Stelmane.

The last part, the part where Wyll realizes that it was more than a stroke, is conditional upon you calling the Emperor out for possessing or messing with Stelmane, which is when the Emperor literally shows you him possessing her.

Note the glowy purple eyes and then later the mechanical movements, the fixed stares, the way Stelmane toasts the Emperor as if moved by puppet strings. Her gestures are stiff, as if she's being controlled.

Wyll and his father attribute Stelmane's movements to being part of a stroke. Slurred speech and difficulty moving parts of your body are stroke symptoms, so it's a convenient explanation for her change in behavior and her difficulty with movement and speech. But possession?

No, dear readers, I don't think the Emperor was possessing Stelmane. I think he genuinely made her a literal thrall.

(please excuse the horrible quality lol)

From Volo's Guide to Monsters on Mind Flayers:

A thrall-to-be is first rendered docile through psionic means. Using a low-power version of its Mind Blast ability, the mind flayer bombards the victim with energy that washes through its synapses like acid, clearing away its former personality and leaving it a partially empty shell. This step takes 24 hours. Over the next 48 hours, the illithids rebuild the victim's memories and personality, and the victim gains the skills and talents it needs to perform its intended function.

A Mind Blast that "washes through synapses like acid" sounds a lot like a stroke-adjacent experience to me. Strokes attack the brain, causing parts of the brain to literally die (usually due to a lack of blood flow or oxygen). It could explain Stelmane's stiff movements.

The "clearing away" of her personality and the suggestion of "rebuilding" her memories would also be extremely useful to the Emperor. Rather than exerting the mental energy to possess her all the time, constantly keeping her under concentrated surveillance, all he had to do was literally break her and then rebuild her. She becomes a Stelmane that is only partly herself, and empty shell that he can mold as he pleases.

This is veering into headcanon territory, but I imagine if it was just basic possession, she would move a little more fluidly and naturally than she does in the Emperor's memory. She wouldn't be exhibiting movements and speech that mimic stroke symptoms. That, and there is always the potential she could break free of possession.

But if she's a full-on mind flayer thrall, broken and rebuilt? An empty husk that has had her memories and personality pumped back into her, still under the control of the Emperor? That makes a ton of sense to me. There's no snapping out of that. As the Emperor says when he threatens you...she becomes a puppet.

And the fact that he keeps the threat of doing the same to you in his metaphorical back pocket at all times is honestly quite terrifying.

[randomfoggytiger]

Scully and Matters of the Heart: S1-4

Scully's thoughts on love and relationships.

Fire

So, she shows up knowing the power she has over you and then she makes you walk through fire, is that it? ...Mulder, are you sure you don't need me to help you out on this one?

Gender Bender

Hard to imagine in this day and age someone having sex with a perfect stranger.

Lazarus

We dated for almost a year.... But it was always hard for Jack to relax, it was impossible for him, really. He was always so intense, so relentlessly determined.

Tooms

Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone else but you.

One Breath

Mulder? I had the strength of your beliefs.

Firewalker

["He stopped taking his pills. Yeah, he said that they were polluting his brain. And, he said I was polluting his body.... I just want to go home, now."]

Where's home?

["Anywhere but here."]

Aubrey

Things must be difficult for you now. I've had... feelings for people I've worked with. Inner-office relationships can be complicated-- especially when he's married.

Fearful Symmetry

["Whatever... connection he and I had was over long ago."]

But you asked him, anyway. To help you.

D.P.O.

Well, you don't have to be afraid anymore. You and your husband are safe as long as we can count on your testimony.

The List

Woman gets lonely. Sometimes she can't wait around for a man to get reincarnated.

2Shy

You're more than a monster: you didn't just feed on their bodies, you fed on their minds.

War of the Coprophages

Her name is Bambi? ...Her name is Bambi?

Syzygy

["Must be Detective White."]

If that's the reason we're sticking around, that's your business.

Jose Chung's From Outer Space

["...For, although Diana Leski is noble of spirit and pure at heart, she remains, nevertheless, a federal employee."]

Avatar

["He lives under this misguided notion that silence is strength. He's built a wall to keep everyone out."]

Including you?

["Especially me."]

Is that why you were separated?

Home

["I can tell you don't have no children. Maybe one day you'll learn the pride... the love."]

Unruhe

Why did your sister kill herself, Gerry? What did your father do to her?

The Field Where I Died

["Dana, if um... early in the four years we've been working together, an event occurred that suggested or if somebody told you that we'd been friends together... in other lifetimes, always... would it have changed the ways we looked at one another?"]

Even if I knew for certain, I wouldn't change a day.

Paper Hearts

["You do this full-time-- telling people this kind of news?"]

No, sir, not full-time.

El Mundo Gira

He didn't kill her, Mulder.... Mulder, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think the aliens in this story are not the villains but the victims.

Never Again

This circle: it usually starts when an authoritative or controlling figure comes into my life; and part of me likes it-- needs it, wants the approval-- but then at a certain point along the way I just... y'know.

Memento Mori

For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat: the seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning. The numinous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth but only in its passage. I feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden as I have come to trust no other. That you should know my heart-- look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you-- is a comfort to me now as I feel the tethers loose....

Kaddish

And through all this he hid the ring?

["Even after the war, he hid it. Even from my mother."]

Why?

["Because to him it was a dead relic from a forgotten place. Until the day I told him I was getting married; and for the first time in fifty years, he took out this ring. He said he felt his village was being born again. He knew how much I loved Isaac."]

Unrequited

Mulder, what she has is a simple... hemorrhage brought on by her emotional state.

Max

["Can I buy you a drink?"]

No, it's okay-- I'm with somebody.

Synchrony

Lisa, if you're leaving anything out-- if you're hedging the truth, you could be held accountable if Jason committed a crime.

Small Potatoes

No, I'm seeing a whole new side of you, Mulder.

["Is that a good thing?"]

I like it.

Elegy

I mean, maybe in some drug-addled way she was trying to kill happiness-- Harold's happiness. His love for those women. Trying to destroy something she never thought she'd have again.

Demons

["Why shoot herself and her husband?"]

I can't say definitively; but judging from an almost identical suicide... I believe that the victims were suffering....

Gethsemane

Hey, look, just because I haven't bared my soul to you or to Father McCue or to God doesn't mean I'm not responsible to what's important to me.

["To what? To who? This guy Mulder?"]

Thank you for reading~ Enjoy!

[lunar-years]

roy and jamie and keeley are so hot together and i wonder what you think the public perception of them is like? jamie and keeley were into pda (at the gala, in the locker room, jamie’s pics of keeley lmao) but keeley implied that jamie would hate the tabloids invading their privacy. do we know how long jamiekeeley were even together for?? and then there’s roy who’s super protective about keeley, hates talking to the media, and threatens the paparazzi taking pics of them in s1. idk where i’m going with this but I’m just thinking about that throwaway line in s3, where jack assumes keeley’s talking about jamie when she refers to her “famous footballer ex”. in my head i think keeley likes the grand gestures in the public eye with jamie, but she also loves the private sacred moments no one else gets to see. it’s just really interesting to imagine what they’d be like when they all get together!

Ugh they really ARE so hot together aren’t they!!

Anyway this is such a fun thing to discuss. First off, I don’t think we know for sure how long Jamie and Keeley were together :( But the entire locker room seems pretty familiar with her in episode one, and as a couple, the two of them seem fairly established to me. Not as in like, a serious way necessarily, but in a way where it’s clear they’ve got a lot of trust between them and do know one another. Also, it’s been both long enough for Jamie to have fallen in love with her and for Keeley to have had the deep impact on him that sets into motion all the growth we see in him from that point on. So in my mind, I think they were together for like, a year and a bit. Pretty much as long as Keeley and Roy were together, honestly.

I think the two of them definitely enjoy being public-facing enough to like, have online fan clubs and a big Twitter Stan presence LOL and also they’d be totally pumped to make it onto like, top power couples and best dressed lists. And they both really care about ~their brand~, reputation and image in a way Roy just doesn’t. So I do think they like attending events together and showing out on red carpets and posting pics together on their socials!!

I LOVED that line in season one about Jamie hating the tabloids getting in their business. I think it shows that he respects Keeley, that in his own way, that relationship was special and sacred to him even when it was happening, and that he does have a line between his public and personal life. And then I think we see throughout the series that Jamie is (maybe surprisingly?) actually a fairly private person. Yeah he’s got this whole very loud online presence, but that’s very different than like, him.

So yeah, I think he and Keeley enjoy being public, but only when they can curate what they’re putting out there and have it be under their control. And Jamie would’ve fully supported and endorsed Roy’s smashing that pap’s camera on his first date with Keeley, lol. All three of them I think cherish the moments the world isn’t privy to the most :)

My headcanon is that they don’t go public as a throuple until after Jamie retires, and I think they wouldn’t couple off (as in, publicize that just roykeeley or jamiekeeley are together) when it means leaving someone out, even if that person is Roy who hates the publicity anyway. It would just rub them all the wrong and they all agree they don’t need to kiss one another in public that bad. So I think they keep the romantic/relationship side of things pretty private amongst their families and close friends, BUT I also think they wouldn’t hide being close to one another. The fans definitely know how close they all are, and they don’t try to totally avoid being seen publicly hanging out, in pairs and all three. Also the online rpf shipping community is definitely rampant lmao.

And I think there’s also an element of like, they want to be available to publicly support one another. Being totally private isn’t worth it if they can’t show up for one another when it matters. Obviously, Keeley wants to be there for all their games, and Jamie and Roy want to be at her work functions and events that matter to her just as much, and at a certain point, if people are gonna talk they’re gonna talk! I think Jamie kind of helps Roy come around to this way of thinking as well. Enough to where they can be a little more open with caring about one another, and hug on the pitch maybe a bit longer than they hug anyone else, and even joke about one another in interviews (okay, that one’s mostly Jamie), and not give a shit. So everyone is aware on some level they’ve got a deep bond, but they just don’t know the exact nature of that bond and rjk aren’t forthcoming lol.

[littlesparklight]

Hi, I have a Question about Odysseus and Circe:

Does Odysseus really need the Moly herb? Why does Odysseus need to drink Circe's potion? Is Odysseus not allowed to simply walk up to Circe, refuse any drink and threaten her at sword point to turn his men back from being pigs? Or is there something I'm not getting...

Without the moly he's susceptible to magic!

Unless I'm wrong from how I'm reading the text, neither the men nor Odysseus need to drink/consume anything Kirke has drugged to be affected by her magic. The drugs and the magic are two different things; the drugged drink she serves the men makes them forget their homes/past, whatever the point is to that, but seems to have no further connection to her touching them with her wand to transform them.

And I mean... allowed and allowed. Sure he could, literally nothing is stopping him, but it'd be a bad idea.

Kirke isn't mortal. Isn't a mortal woman to whom a sword is that dangerous. Isn't your regular nymph. She's a goddess-nymph at the least, or a minor goddess - her magic isn't the only power she has.

Now, yes, Hermes says "she will be frightened" after Odysseus proves impervious to her magic, and the narrative repeats that when Odysseus confronts her.

However.

"She will then be frightened and will desire you to go to bed with her; on this you must not point blank refuse her, for you want her to set your companions free, and to take good care also of yourself, but you make her swear solemnly by all the blessed that she will plot no further mischief against you, or else when she has got you naked she will unman you and make you fit for nothing.’" (Samuel Butler's translation)

Whether we're taking Odysseus at his word - twice - that he's retelling this bit exactly as it happened/the emotions of Kirke sincerely represented or not, Hermes makes it very clear. Kirke is not harmless or really under Odysseus' power even if she's "frightened" by him holding her at swordpoint after he's proven impervious to her magic.

Note the oath as well. Even if Odysseus is honestly a credible threat to her while he's holding the sword at her and in possession of the moly herb, he cannot do so indefinitely. Kirke and her power(s) aren't so easily neutralized.

I can imagine her retaliation after being threatened this way, even if it's not a true threat to her, would be quite spectacular if she hadn't been maneuvered into the oath. Gods aren't very forgiving when they've been humiliated, after all. Kirke seems to have gotten fond of him, however, so it's probably that more than his ability to keep her under control (which he can't) that keeps him (and his men, after) safe.

(Now, I've seen posts here and there noting that Odysseus tells the most fantastic parts of the Odyssey himself and he's a noted liar. And sure, you can contemplate if he's being truthful, and how much he is so, exactly because of this. If I was going to take a stab at it myself, I'd say everything basically happened exactly as he said it did, but he might have done some authorial editing - Kirke being afraid could be one of those little touches of change.)

[mmkin]

Shark Bait Part 2 (Arlong x Reader)

Part 2 of my Shark Bait story is now up for those following it. It is available to read on my AO3 here but the chapter is also available under the cut here in this post.

Warnings - this chapter (and story overall) are absolutely NSFW/18+ and contains dubcon and noncon, you have been warned thusly.

Shark Bait part 2

Your father never knew of your existence and has been dead for years. You grew up among humans and had every reason to believe your life might continue on this way out on a quiet little island in the East Blue. Yet you are haunted by the past of the fishman who sired you, and it is this past that sends your future veering far from any course you'd ever imagined for it.

You’d given the islanders little reason to worry about you or dislike you beyond circumstances you couldn’t control. You’d gotten in a bit of mischief as a child but after a couple of stern talking-tos, you’d kept to yourself, either by reading whatever books were there in the village or going diving if you weren’t doing chores. But with Arlong’s arrival, there is a divide between you and the people you grew up around, and it’s a barrier that you seem unable to overcome as you see fear in the villagers’ eyes as Arlong and his men spread out.

You’ve been told to keep quiet while the fishmen do their work, but you are unable to restrain yourself as one of your neighbors is thrown to the ground. A couple of fishmen pull you back roughly and shush your cries of protest. Arlong chortles at your distress, and in front of the villagers, including your mother, he reminds you that you are now part of his crew, so what concern do you have over a tribute?

And that divide between you and people you've known your whole life simply grows, through no choice or action of your own. You watch that chasm widen bit by bit, feeling tears burn behind your eyes as you witness people scrape together what they have of their savings, handing over their precious little nest eggs to Arlong and his crew. His crew, that’s what you tell yourself. Not your crew.

You keep that to yourself as Arlong turns to your mother for tribute. You don’t think she has it, because of the medicine she’d needed. Your fears are confirmed as she looks at you for a moment before lowering her head, and you throw yourself at Arlong’s feet, pleading for your mother. You’ll pay for her, you beg as you look up into the cool blue eyes of the fishman who claims you as his own. He reaches out, and his hand goes to the collar of your shirt, gathering some fabric into his fist as he drags you to your feet, and you shudder as you look at that wicked, horrible maw.

“For my father,” you whisper, seeing the opportunity to use his name as currency after it’s been used against you. “My mother helped him to escape. Doesn’t she deserve something for that? Wasn’t my father a good crewmate?”

A thoughtful scowl crosses his face before he drops you to the grass. “If you can pay her tribute, so be it,” he says dismissively. The fishmen continue their work, and you look over your shoulder at your mother. You wonder what would have happened if your father was still alive. You hope he’s not the kind of person who would have let Arlong treat his former lover and mother of his child the way he did.

What will be asked of you, as part of Arlong's crew? If he's the type of person to terrorize innocent humans like this and threaten their lives over money… look at all these fishmen, doing his bidding, shaking down people considerably weaker than them and laughing about it…

Even with the bit of money you’ve saved for yourself, you don’t have the tribute money. You hear a frightened scream from several houses down, punctuated by a sudden silence before someone starts wailing. Your hands shake as you count the money again. There is less than half of the required amount. Is the Saw going to murder your mother in front of you, just like he did to your unfortunate neighbor and their family?

You flinch as Arlong slams the door open, his massive frame filling the portal. He sees the money in your hand and grins. Your frown answers his unspoken question.

“So, you once knew (your father's name)," Arlong speaks. It takes a moment for you to realize he's speaking to your mother. She can only nod, hovering next to you protectively, the two of you huddled in the corner near the small iron stove, staring warily at this man who has come to terrorize your village and now stands in your house like he owns it.

“Seems like he got on well enough with you,” Arlong sneers. She does not blink.

“He was a man far more worthy of respect than the people who captured, sold, or owned us," she retorts. He raises his eyebrow in… surprise? Curiosity? As long as he's not fixing to kill your mother, at least. You've had enough trauma for a day.

“Shame he never knew he had a child. But what’s done is done.” His gaze moves from her to you. You brace yourself for his judgment.

“You don't want to be on my crew, do you?" he asks with a chuckle, looking weirdly handsome smiling like that. It's not so much a question as it is an observation, and you stare back at him with a deadpan expression. You might remind him that he fished you out of the sea and told you what he was going to do with you like he owned you. But then, the safety of the villagers and your mother hangs in the balance. No, you don't want to be on any pirate crew, but it appears that's the career you're going to embark upon as you enter adulthood.

Fuck, really?

“We can do this the easy or the hard way, then,” Arlong says. He looks to your mother. “One of the duties of a parent is to send off their child into the world when they’re old enough.” His attention returns to you, and you know he’s remembering the sight of you in your underwear earlier that day. That asshole. He smirks as if reading your thoughts, and looks back at your mother. “So, send your daughter off. Wish her luck, kiss her cheek, tell her to be a good girl for me, and all that. That can be your tribute… as long as your daughter listens to you and is a good girl, hmm?”

Your mother looks at you, and you can see the fierce internal battle in her eyes. She did not like going into the details of her past, but you know there had been plenty of unhappiness, and she’d told you just enough to make you appreciate how nice a quiet island life was. Now someone was here to take away her only child, and she was being asked to practically hand you over.

“The hard way… well…” he regards your mother with a predatory grin. There is no mistaking what this man is capable of.

Even though it pains you both, your mother does as he instructs, and you almost feel like fainting… again. How many attacks are you going to have today?

“Are you going to be a good girl like your mother?" you hear Arlong ask. You lean against the table, trying to not collapse. Your mother recognizes this and is at your side as you try to not cry. You know the correct answer, and that you must say it, but oh gods, you don't want to. You want to kick Arlong, to spit in his face, to tell him to get off your island and never come back ever again!!!

All you can do is swallow and nod.

You make your way through the village behind Arlong, stone-faced. You know your mother is standing in the doorway, watching you leave. You feel the eyes of other villagers on you, peering from behind curtains or cracked-open doors. Your mouth is dry and your stare is blank, using the sight of Arlong's back and dorsal fin as a guide while you shuffle up the ramp onto his ship. Fishmen file around you as you stand there on the deck, staring back at the island, clutching a canvas bag that has your clothes and a few worldly possessions in it.

Bon voyage, Y/n! Your future is in Arlong’s hands.

His tribute from the island in firm possession, Arlong turns his attention to you. You've flirted with a few boys and your mother had a serious discussion about the birds and bees with you, but as far as experience goes, you're untried. Arlong tells you that's a good thing because a human male could never compare to a fishman.

His gaze is hungry as he strips you of your clothing, tearing some of it in the process and ignoring your protests. He marks you with a couple of bites sharp enough to draw blood, ensuring that you will not forget this night. He holds you down with one hand as he teases and probes you with his thick fingers, stretching out both of your holes as you gasp and squirm under his touch, feeling your body grow hot under its own volition as you try to shut him out while he hisses lewd obscenities at you including comments about how hot and wet you are, or how he can’t wait to have you, or how tasty you look wiggling around.

When he pulls down his shorts, you have to admit that you’re grateful he used his fingers to prepare you, because not only is he thick, he has two of them.

Two. How is that even fucking possible? He grins devilishly at your surprise. You do not have much time to process that though, because he quickly shoves himself inside of you, filling you up in a way you did not think possible.

Was there pain? Of course, how could there not be, with your tight, virgin holes so brutally invaded by thick, hard, hot flesh? But as he poured his lust into you, the pain started to give away, and the friction caused by him slamming into you soon enough had moans escaping your throat. In your brief time with Arlong, you'd heard him prattle on about the physical superiority of fishmen, and his fierceness makes you grateful for your fishman's blood because you're almost certain he might rip you in half if you were entirely human. At least that's what it feels like at times, when he picks up his rhythm, his eyes glazed with lust, baring his teeth at you animalistically as your poor body takes the abuse that his cocks and hands heap upon your frame.

One – or two – orgasms are not enough for him, and you find him taking you multiple times through the night so that by morning you're a sore, bruised, leaking mess. You collapse on the floor when you climb out of bed, and he chortles at that.

“Is my little clownfish sore?" he says as he stands over you. He's already tall enough, but when you're on your knees, you may as well be looking up at a giant.

“My name is Y/n,” you say coldly, your soreness and trembling limbs doing nothing to sweeten your mood.

He clicks his tongue and pulls you onto the bed, roughly pulling your knees apart. You let out a pained whine, your thighs sore from how often – and how long – they’d been forced apart through the night.

“You’ll get used to it,” he assures you. “But you were a good girl, so you may rest for the morning.” However, he does not quite let off. He applies pressure to your knees, stretching you a bit further. You can not free your legs from the inexorable grip of his large hands. You manage a pleading whimper, shaking your head. He gives you a devilish smile before letting go, and with a low moan, you press your knees together, curling up into a ball as he dresses and leaves the room.

Just the morning before, you were a carefree young woman going out for a dive after having done chores, enjoying the fair weather of the sky as she went about her work, thinking about the delicious supper her mother would have waiting for her. The sea welcomed you like an old friend, and you were drifting along happily… until that bastard showed up. You’ve been bitten, poked at by his sawnose, grabbed and manhandled, and fucked a good handful of times, leaving a mess of semen tinged with blood leaking out of you.

You lay there for a few minutes, orienting yourself before dragging yourself to the water closet. You have to lean against the wall as you make your way across the room, and it takes a herculean amount of effort to attend to yourself before you drag yourself back to Arlong’s bed, plopping down and pulling the blanket over your head, hoping that you’ll wake up in your own bed and this whole shitshow was just some crazy nightmare.

You stir awake to see an octopus fishman with spiky hair hovering over you and let out a small yelp of fright. He jumps back and apologizes, gesturing to the tray of food and water he had brought up for you, now on a stool next to the bed. You remember seeing him the day before, as part of the crowd that surrounded you and then again in the village. You'd been given a bunch of names and still have a hard time connecting them with the new faces. Except for Arlong, of course. You will never forget that name or that face. Or anything else about him, for that matter.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to be sure you were okay. You seemed pretty out of it,” he explains. “Arlong wants you to eat. Says you need to keep up your strength.”

You stare at him for a moment, absorbing his words. "Fine," you mumble. He leaves. The food is pretty decent, and you're glad for the water. You're still sore as fuck, and wonder if you can ask Hatchan for some drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. Arlong said you'd get used to it, but between how sore you are and how fierce he was, you're not sure if that's possible.

After you get your rest, you’re fed lunch before being taken on a tour of the ship by Hatchan. He seems nice enough and you figure that if you’re going to be stuck in a pirate crew, you might as well be nice to whoever gives you a helping hand and maybe, just maybe, make a friend or two.

You observe and learn what you can, knowing it’s no use to pout or act like a whiny brat or throw a fit – though it’s sorely tempting to do one or all three. Walking around does help a bit with the soreness that pervades much of your body, but Arlong is hungry for you again that night.

A good captain provides for his crew, Arlong says, and you can’t say he doesn’t do the same for you. You are fed the same as your fellow crewmates, kept warm in Arlong’s bed, and the work you do around the ship – some cooking, some cleaning, a bit of maintenance – is no worse than what you had done back home There’s time for leisure, which include drinking, swimming, or gambling among other things. This routine is followed for a bit, and Arlong was right, you did get used to it.

He started mixing things up. He introduced you to the fine art of fellatio, which is not easy when your captain has two well-endowed cocks that can spurt out quite a bit of cum if he’s in an especially pent-up state. He enjoys teasing you, fingering you – sometimes it’s just one hole, other times it’s both – and having you squirm around. If he’s not in the mood for double penetration, that means your pussy gets twice the pounding, or you end up with a fair amount of cum splattered on your body because he still has two cocks regardless of how many holes of yours he decides to use. He marks up your body in visible places with his teeth and nose, leaving you blushing under the knowing and amused glances of your crew mates.

He does not limit his lust to the nighttime. Sometimes he will pull you away in the middle of the day so he can fuck you, regardless of whether you have a chore or not. And if you do have a chore, the crew member it gets shoved onto has no room to complain about it because who's going to object to the mighty Arlong himself?

[sorryseraphim]

For a moment, her mind was miles away, imagining piles of bodies, hundreds of them around her. A few, she thought, will be made as an altar for her father, where her final resting place will be, as she offers her life as the final sacrifice—the grandest offering of them all.

“Helene, are you still with us?" 

In an instant, she was pulled back from reality. Looking at where the voice came from, her face soured, and her mood shifted from dreamy to disdain—Enver, looking at her, a smirk on his face as he waited for her reply. “I am. I'm just trying to envision the plan, that's all. Forgive me if I look disinterested in your discussion.”

"Perhaps you want to take the lead? I will be truly honored to have your ideas laid on this table.” 

Her ears rang from anger as she listened to him speak; he was clearly mocking her in front of everyone at the table. She clenched her jaw, swallowing harsh words she had been dying to spit into his face.

“I would love to, if only Banites knew how to appreciate a Bhaalist works. It's a shame, really, that they cannot comprehend how much glory and satisfaction one achieves after each offering.” 

She could have said what's really on her mind, but the tension across the table is already evident, a few of their nearest officers nervously glancing from one another. The look in Envers’ eyes only darkened as her words landed on him. Her lips curled into a composed smile, tilting her head a little. 

“Then please do enlighten us. I'm open to suggestions and other prepositions.”

"And let you lose face and composure in front of everyone at this table? I will let you be the center of this scheme, Gortash.”

She noticed how his jaw clenched briefly. It was an easy, instinctive nature for her to drive people mad through words; it's easier to target them when they're consumed by anger and make irrational decisions. She met his gaze with a smug, still smiling slyly, daring him to hit back.

“Well, if you insist. This most generous gift requires the best return gesture. Let's continue for now, but know, I'm already thinking of one.” He replied as he broke their meeting gaze. 

And they did carry on—reports of their respective cults' rising numbers laid out in front of them. Helene couldn't help but notice a few stolen glances Gortash threw at her. 

Her brows furrowed every time she caught his gaze. Focusing hard on the discussion, but now and then, her gaze would also fall on Enver. As her thoughts start getting impatient and threaten to spill, she quietly tries to detect his thoughts. 

Doing so is always a bad idea, but if she lets her irritation get the best of her, it'll be a mess that will derail this whole plan. With a quick flick of her fingers under the desk, she suddenly saw what was on Enver’s mind: Them on this very table, her bent down by the edge, her clothes ripped, Enver aggressively fucking her as he pulled her hair, her back bent, she can see him from behind. She felt her cheeks burn at the sight of his vivid imagination.

Enver continued to watch her. His expression was amused, intrigued even, as he let his mind show her his thoughts. He knew he had gotten under her icy facade, but he hadn't realized to what extent he had made her crack. His body seemed to radiate energy as he saw how her breath hitched at the idea of him on top of her. She was trying to keep control of her thoughts, but it was apparent she was starting to lose the battle. 

“I need to take a moment. Do carry on and fill me in once I'm back.” Composing herself, Helene left the room with long strides, almost tempted to shut the door as loud as she could. Enver felt a little smug about her sudden exit, and he let himself believe she was feeling exactly the way he'd intended her to. This is him settling the score as she tried to humiliate him earlier. 

She paced back and forth down the hallway, feeling a sudden urge to release the anger building up inside her. No, she thought, this feeling washing over her is entirely different. It's the strange feeling of desire.

She started laughing at the thought. Her, letting him fuck her that way? It's absurd! Degrading according to her standards. But what if the roles are reversed, her mind fought back. What if she was on top, grinding her waist, teasing him as she moved up and down his length, letting him feel the walls of her cunt, making him want more but leaving him unsatisfied to make him irritated. Mad. Just want she needs to kill Gortash without him expecting it. 

But what if it's true? The pleasure of sex is just as much pleasure as committing murder. She slapped herself as soon as the thoughts flooded her again. This is not how she plays this game of his. At once, she gathered her thoughts and braced herself as she returned to the room. 

As soon as she stepped in, he glanced at her and kept the same pleasant smirk on his face. He could see the flush to her cheeks and the subtle way she breathed faster from her little... break. 

Their eyes met, and he laughed, the sound coming out in a slightly mocking manner. "You seem a little out of breath," he said, his smile widening.

“I am fine, Gortash. I took a walk down the hall and back.”

Enver only gave her a knowing grin before he replied. "My my, so stoic and self-controlled! Surely there is nothing I have done to stir up your emotions?” 

“Are you done? Or do I need to cut your tongue from your mouth, and I can finish this plan of yours on my own?” He smiled softly at her response. This was a test of her self-control, and Gortash was very satisfied—for now.

"Yes, of course." He raised his voice to address the rest of the gathering. "We're planning," he said, nodding toward their allies and returning to his commanding tone. She kept a straight face the entire time, not meeting his gaze. She was tempted to drive her dagger down his eyes and feast on his flesh. 

If she could only do it, it’d be worth every instance he mocked her ever since the beginning of this partnership. 

Later that night, Helene found herself restless as she performed her duties at the temple. Despite trying to distract her mind from the strategic discussion earlier, it somehow finds its way back to her, making her more irritated than ever. 

After finishing up the rites for the dead and offering for the father, she went straight to her chambers, where she found a note delivered to her. She didn't know when it was delivered, but she immediately knew who it was from as soon as she picked it up. 

The cursive writing, smooth and neatly written on parchment, was from Gortash. 

“Lady Helene, we'd highly appreciate your continuous verbal participation during our strategic talks. It's also highly encouraged and would be considered polite to just ask if you need to know what one's mind is thinking. 

You'll never know what you find if you continue to poke inside someone's brain.

With high regards,

Enver Gortash”

All the anger she felt earlier reached its peak. In a fit of rage, she slammed her fist on the desk, empty vials bouncing and rolling down the floor. The audacity to continue to mock her was something she would not tolerate. And yet, that same feeling was starting to stir again, making her slap her face hard to shake her core. 

The image she captured from his head continued to torment her, how he locked her arms on her back, pushing his cock to her tenderness from behind, both visibly panting hard as their bodies became one. How she could see herself engulfed by pleasure made her shudder in disgust, but her body said otherwise; she could feel herself aroused by the thought, longing to feel it in reality. 

She picked up the letter and tore it to shreds, the pieces scattered on the floor. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself as she fixed her hair. He can't win, she thought. No way, she needed to plot her revenge. Once the plan was put to motion and the alliance was being solidified, she'd made Gortash believe it couldn't be bent, and when he least expected it, she would strike, and it'd be worth it and so sweet. 

—

“Where are you taking me? You know too many secluded places for a beautiful girl like you.” 

“We’re almost there. I know you are very excited.”

Leading a stranger inside the temple was already hard. It is harder to keep the illusion that they are walking in an unknown part of the city. One wrong move and the concentration breaks, this man will know the location of Bhaal’s temple. She hates to kill him before she even gets what she wants.

“Where are we even? Do you live here?”

“You ask too many questions.” 

It took everything in her to push her lips towards the man. Pushing her tongue in, she allowed him to slowly pull the strings of her dress she purposely chosen for tonight when she went out. This is not her usual self. Normally feared and respected by her subordinates for her reserved and strict nature, she peeled off such an attitude to satisfy this hunger she couldn’t discern. Just this once, she thought. 

Earlier that night and before all this, she went to the Elfsong Tavern to get a drink, sitting mindlessly, barely touching the ale she had ordered. She was deep in thought, formulating ways to get back at Gortash and his stupid letter. Several ideas are already populating her mind, eager to become a reality, when suddenly, a voice springs from her side. 

“You’re too pretty to be hanging around this lot.” 

She looked where the voice came from and almost jumped. For a second, she thought she was seeing Gortash. Blinking for a few moments, she felt relief. No, it’s not him, she thought. Although this man has the same build as him, the face is entirely different. And yet, the audacity felt so familiar that it boiled her blood with anger, reminding her again of his mockery earlier that day. 

And yet a smile curled into her face. This one will do, she thought. This one is perfect for my little trial and error. 

Thinking about how she had easily manipulated this man earlier made her feel victorious. Gortash is just a man, after all. Human, weak-minded, and easily deceived,  unlike her, made from divinity and Bhaal’s blood. Feeling his tongue inside her mouth disgusted her, especially as his hands started wandering up her thighs, lifting her dress all the way up until she was naked.

Not a hint of shame was visible on her face as the man laid her down on the cobblestone, hastily removing his trousers burying his lips into her neck. Why would she be afraid? She got him where she wanted him for her little experiment. In his eyes, they’re in someone’s backyard, lying on the grass as Helene would let him indulge in his carnal needs, but in reality, they are in front of her Father’s altar. He’d be the one she’d feast on later.

“You are so beautiful.” She heard him say, his eyes greedy and lustful. He’s already fucking me with his eyes, she thought. Dragging the act further, she bit her lip and crossed her legs, acting shy. Seemingly innocent from what he’s about to do. “Don’t be scared, I’ll be gentle. I’ll make it feel so good.” The man slowly inched towards her, parting her legs. She could see him almost salivating at the thought that she was a maiden and he’d be the first to take her. 

And as the man moved on top of her, he buried his cock deep inside her cunt immediately, greedily thrusting in and out of her. She bit her lip as a burning sensation filled her walls. She did not expect his length, although slender, to make her whimper for a bit. The man continued to prove relentless as he thrust within her, moaning. Sloppily kissing her neck, his hands wandered from her breasts down to her hips. 

“Heavens, you feel good.” It took everything inside her not to roll her eyes. Backhanded flattery, men would shower women with such words to make them feel good, she thought. Wondering how other people find this enjoyable, she pondered for a while how women would lay underneath men, letting them quench their thirst for some good fucking. Softly, she whispered, “Do you want me on top?” 

The man grinned at her. Quickly pulling out, he lay down and guided her on top of him. Holding her hips, she lined herself above his manhood and slowly sank herself. This is much better, she thought. Closing her eyes, slowly grinding, she felt her insides start to flutter. The man started moaning in return, his hands reaching out for her breasts, squeezing them with such intensity that it made her moan a little. 

Slowly, her vision blurred, imagining the man was Gortash. It does feel good. She was enjoying how much pleasure she received as she succumbed to the feeling. Looking down at him, she moved quicker, using her hands for support as she propped it above his chest. 

Helene stared at him for a while, her voice hitching at the thought of fucking Gortash filling her head. The idea of getting to know his body excites her unexpectedly; images of the vision he made visible earlier crept back to her head. How good can it be? His strong arms around her, pinning her down, forcing her to submission. Would he fight back as she tried to resist him and his charms? The thought drowned her, causing her to wet herself even further, soaking the man’s length as she moved up and down.

And yet, the thought of Gortash and his mockery washed over whatever desire was built in her head. The belittling, the constant reminder that she is just like him, Chosen by their God, made to work as equals.

I’m not like him; I’m more than him, she thought. 

Her hand began to inch towards the man’s neck, holding it gently. As she felt her walls start to clench, close to climax, so did her grip on his throat. She could hear him start to whimper, his hands grabbing her waist tightly. “Hey, it’s getting hard to breathe.” The man uttered as one of his hands started holding the one she used to hold his neck. 

Still, Helene didn’t stop moving as the man started trashing, his hands clawing desperately at her as her grip tightened. Finally, the illusion broke, the man's eyes widening as the entirety of the temple’s interior revealed itself. Looking back at Helene, he saw a wicked smile start to form. She leaned forward, brushing her lips to the man’s ears, whispering with malice and cruelty.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll be gentle.”

With a snap, the man lay lifeless underneath her. Sceleritas appeared next to her as if on cue, presenting her dagger with his bony hands. Without even bothering to dress herself up, Helene took the blade from his palms and started slashing, the man’s blood gushing from the numerous cuts she made, decorating the floor. The warmth of crimson against her skin made her grin, imagining the lifeless corpse was Gortash. 

With another graceful swing, she let her dagger slowly travel the man's chest, opening him up and exposing his insides, transforming her grin to a peal of sinister laughter. Ripping the man's heart out, she licked the dripping blood off her wrists, smiling afterward as she drowned from its taste, swirling inside her mouth.

“My lady, you may indulge yourself later, but the offering to your father must come first.” Sceleritas reminded her, the creature inching towards Helene as she devoured the man's heart out of her hands. She ignored him and crushed the organ with her teeth, crimson spilling all over her body as she pleased herself with its taste.

Yet a different feeling stirred inside her: Disappointment. The thought of him dead underneath her only had a short high, and then, it was gone, disappeared as soon as she finished eating the man's heart. It didn't even linger enough for her to revel in this successful trial; dismay seeped in immediately. In anger, she turned her attention towards the mangled body, ripping innards and scattering blood all over the floor.

In haste, Helene gathered everything she had harvested and dropped it inside the fire blazer. Frustration and rage-fueled the entire process of her offering. She uttered words of praise for her Father, which she knew by heart, and yet, her mind lingered on the thought of Gortash, who was lifeless and unmoving. 

There was something about his imminent death at her hands that bothered her. She can't immediately discern what it is, further driving her frustration. After her prayer, she marched down the altar, Sceleritas bowing for her as she grumbled and picked up her dress, drenched in blood, gore sticking at its hem. Eyeing the damage, she tossed it aside and proceeded to walk out of the offering circle.

“My lady, the perfect daughter of Bhaal, your offerings cannot be compared to anyone.” The goblin praised her as she walked past him.

“Don't pander, Sceleritas. I'm not in the mood to kill you again.” 

The creature bowed down even further, raising his hand where her dagger was. She took it from his palm and studied the blade. Surely, there’ll be a time when she could finally let him meet his end, but it would not be at the present. She needs him to further her own plans, but the torment from his arrogance and smugness, how would she deal with it without itching to end his life?

Slapping herself from the thought, she proceeds to walk back to her quarters, itching to wash her hair as blood stained its paleness. Glancing at the shredded letter, still lying on the floor. 

A mere mortal can’t best her. She can never be his equal. Helene would make sure he knew it and would never forget.