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cordeliawhohung · 3 days

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a fox cries; never howls (1/3)

an alternate universe to In Limbo | simon riley x fem!reader | masterlist | AO3

you're a stranger across the counter. you want so desperately to crawl back over, but it will never be the same anymore.

cw: mafia!au, can be read without prior In Limbo knowledge but it does help, non-con/rape, pedophilic undertones, forced prostitution, abusive relationships, abduction, forced medical practices/treatments, self harm, suicide attempt, mention of abortion, mention of pregnancy, reader is described as having long hair for plot reasons (can be natural, braided, etc), Simon is not the abuser in any of the tags previously listed, whump with an eventual happy ending but it's going to hurt until then.

Each time it happens, you tell yourself it’ll be different, but it never is.

Broken promises lay in glistening shards around the heels strapped to your feet as you grit your teeth through the pain. No matter how much you beg and plead, it’s always the same. That visceral ache shooting through the core of your being still brings tears to your eyes the same it did the first time. It will continue to plague you. Haunting your cheeks in messy streaks as it drips onto the counter your hands so desperately palm at. Each tear that splatters by your fingers shimmer with black flakes. Running mascara. It stains everything it touches — especially you.

You’re prettier that way. Ruined. At least, that’s what you’ve been told.

Always pretty on your knees; bent over; looking up; crying; pleading; beg; beg for it; and keep crying; yeah, just like that.

Your skin is scarred, marked in the shape of greedy lips, and it stings like the wound is fresh. Words seep into the soft tissue where it continues to fester. Burrows its spindly roots until it can bear fruit. You could pull at the stem all you like, but you can’t escape the fact that it’s now a fundamental part of you. The only thing keeping your bones from crumbling. This mantra. This throe.

“Not tryna hide, are you?”

Avaricious fingers dig into the firm cartilage of your throat as you’re yanked back and forced to look at yourself in the mirror. The ripples of your defilement echo throughout your body — and you’re forced to watch it. The bounce of your breasts and the smudged makeup dripping along your cheeks. In some odd way, you are a masterpiece. You’re sculpted of nothing but obloquy yet carved just like if you were made of stone. You would close your eyes if you thought you could get away with it.

But Marco likes when you watch. Savors the tremble of your lips as your eyes find him in the mirror. Pristine teeth glint in the pallid light. Perfectly white and straight. He always takes care of himself — of his appearance. It shows in the carefully carved muscles that flex in his abdomen as he pistons into you; in the well groomed locks of his dark hair. This is the sweetest liquor he could ever indulge in — enjoying not only destroying you, but of making a show of it.

He must always be the performer and the audience; having his cake and eating it too.

A fury of grunted whispers slice straight through your ear drums. It’s a hardly comprehensible slurring of English and Russian, and though your fuzzy brain can’t make sense of it, you know what it means. Marco teeters close to the edge, hands dragging your body back against him as he holds himself flush against the crux of your ass. Hot warmth spills into you, and despite the hand around your throat, you’re finally able to breathe. This impiety does not offer you comfort in your tainted skin, but it offers you the one commodity you rarely seem to come by: rest.

That incessant ache lurks deep in the pit of your stomach, even as Marco pulls out, but it’s quiet. Doesn’t demand your attention. You feel the dull throb that harasses the raw tissue of your cunt, and you try not to wince as you feel his seed spill out. Chuckling, he releases your throat in favor of wrapping his fingers around your hair, bunching as much as he can into the palm of his hand. It’s overgrown. Messy and dead. But he refuses to allow you to cut it.

Nothing about you gets to change without his permission — not even your appearance.

“Look at you, my sweet little girl,” he coos. Sharp teeth nip at the side of your jaw and you wince. You’re surprised his mouth doesn’t unhinge; that he doesn’t shove you into his maw and swallow you whole. “So goddamn perfect. Can’t get enough of this pussy. Christ.”

When Marco backs away, you swear your knees will give out. Without his puppeteering hands to hold you up and bend you to his desires, you’re nothing but mush. A disgusting mess of smeared eyeliner and dripping cum. You can hardly stomach the sight of your body in the mirror. Neck littered with faint teeth marks, body bare and on display — used and abused to his content. You’re abhorrent. A pathetic creature you can’t stand to behold.

Marco’s belt clinks just as a knock rattles the door. Your heart thuds loud enough in your ears that it nearly drowns out the sound of his heavy footsteps crossing the glorified dressing room. You attempt to steady yourself as you back away from the mirror, but the straps of your heels dig into your toes. They’re the only article of clothing you’re allowed. Marco says he likes the way they make your legs look longer. Likes the angle it gives him when he bends you over to fuck you.

When you turn to face him, he’s already sitting on the loveseat shoved into the corner of the room. A fresh bottle of mead sits on the tray next to him, and he pours himself a generous amount before knocking it back for a sip. The soft amber liquid overflows and dribbles past his lips, soaking his bare chest. His verdant eyes find you as he collets the drink on the tips of his fingers, then sucks them clean one by one.

“Didn’t you hear that knock? You have a guest,” he says, tilting his jaw toward the door.

With each step you take, you feel Marco’s seed dribble down your legs. It makes a sticky mess between your thighs, and you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. This is how he marks you. How he makes sure everyone knows who you belong to before he lets them take a piece of you home.

A stranger with a thick neck stands at the door when you open it. His eyes are an odd shade of grey that sends a shiver down your spine as he looks you over, greedily drinking in the sight of your bare body. The chill of his gaze gets worse as the door closes behind him. He begins to crowd you and the sharp stench of vodka fills your nose. There’s something familiar about him. Every man in this club is familiar to you, in some way. Always hazy. Too fuzzy to place a name to. You think it’s your brain’s way of protecting itself. Of purging the bad things done to you as best as it can, lest you crumble in the palm of Marco’s hands.

The sharp point of your heel catches on the plush rug that sprawls out in front of Marco’s feet, and you squeak as you nearly lose your footing. Both Marco and the stranger chuckle. The cacophonous tone grates against your eardrums, but you hide your discomfort as you stare at the ground. You wait. For the exchange. For the banter. They speak in Russian with one another through laughter as cash is passed to Marco. The air is still cold, and your thighs are still soiled, but the stranger looks at you like he would never dream of having any other meal than you.

“Well, go on then,” Marco prompts. You look up at him with dull eyes. He swirls the mead in his cup as he tilts his head. “On your knees, babe. Wants to use your mouth tonight. Be a good girl, now.”

Comply. Listen. It’s all you can do. So you sink to your knees like the well behaved girl you always are. Resting on your haunches, you look up at the man with a tight throat. He smiles, and your stomach drops. Roils and screams as he begins to unbuckle his belt. As he fishes himself from his trousers, you remind yourself all things are temporary. Especially pain.

Nothing lasts forever — though, it often feels like it will.

When it’s all said and done — when you’re thoroughly used — Marco walks you to the door like a gentleman. Hastily adorned clothes hang from your body as you pull your jumper tight around your core. Your cervix still aches from the virulent abuse it had taken earlier, but you attempt to ignore it as he opens the exit. Your only reprieve from this nightmare is that he didn’t parade you throughout the club like this; looking like a whore for hire. Tonight, he allows you to take the back exit far away from prying eyes.

Cool night air cuts through your scanty clothes, and you stare out at the vast space of the car park before you. Weekdays bring little business and customers to Makarov’s club. Most of the strippers who work for him end up lazing around in back rooms and closets, getting drunk or high enough that they can forget all about their shitty night.

You wish you had that luxury.

“Hey,” Marco hums, grabbing your wrist. You turn to face him. Dim shadows from the flickering hallway lights cast his face in darkness, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. “See you tomorrow, babe.”

He sends you off with a kiss. Sloppy and wet — he likes messes. Savors making one out of you. Sweet mead and mint seeps into your mouth as you kiss him back with a tight jaw. When his hands caress your cheeks, pulling you closer, you wonder if he can taste the brine and bitter cum that lurks in the back of your throat. If he relishes in feeling every single way in which you’re destroyed.

“See you tomorrow,” you murmur.

Breathing only comes easy the moment you’re locked in your car. The movement is fluid — that gentle expanding of your chest — but it’s still agonizing. Diaphragm seizing with the sobs you fight back, it’s another reminder that you’re alive. As long as you draw breath, you don’t belong to yourself.

Hot tears sear down your cheeks as you turn the key in the ignition. A gentle rumble follows as the engine hums to life. It’s a smooth, quiet purr. A car that’s much more expensive than you deserve. A lovely gift from Marco. It’s not at all uncommon for him to give you things. Expensive things. A car; an apartment; clothes — you’ll pay it back eventually. The numbers just add up to the big debt that’s hung over your head since you were sixteen. It ebbs and flows but not enough to save you. Not enough for you to belong to yourself again.

As you bring the heels of your hands up to wipe your eyes, a gentle glow catches your attention. It moves. Dances and swirls in the numbra of the car park. Blinking, you focus on it. Golden yellow embers flicker and fade as life is breathed into them. It’s faint, but it reminds you of the well adored fireflies in America. Squinting, you can make out the outline of a car. It sits patiently and silent, but the windows are cracked. Faint smoke swirls through the openings where it climbs into the dull night sky and dissipates.

Someone sits inside of the car, puffing away, but when your eyes lock onto the fingers pinching a cigarette, they freeze. Glowing embers quickly smother and die somewhere inside of the vehicle, and you’re left with nothing. You stare into the darkness, and it stares back. You feel its gaze tingling along your spine. Sniffing, you look away from that void. Be it man, or be it monster, you know nothing ever happens to you without Marco’s permission.

That sentiment is equally as terrifying as it is comforting.

When you arrive home — to the apartment paid for with your own body — you shower. No amount of water and soap is enough. You can lather yourself in all of Marco’s favorite scents, but the mint on his tongue still follows you everywhere. As you exit the bathroom, you leave feeling just as disgusting as when you entered. Nothing but some sordid creature that hardly knows how to take care of herself.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you feel sick. Golden glitter still stains your eyelids, and the teeth marks on the side of your throat have only grown more noticeable. Still, nothing is worse than the mark on the back of your neck. Though you can’t see it, you feel it. It makes your skin itch and crawl, and you find your fingernails tearing at it. As if you could rip it off like a bandaid. But it stays. Festers and embeds itself deep inside of you.

Swallowing, you try to forget it as you continue to dry off. This is your brief moment of comfort, where you’re too far out of reach and well out of sight. Your only reprieve before you spend another night rotting as a trophy of glitter and bone.

Weekends are better, but only marginally so. Wide eyed men fill Makarov’s club to the brim with wads of cash and twitchy fingers. Lingering gazes and hands brush against the crux of your ass and the back of your neck as Marco parades you through the crowd by your wrist. With your strappy golden heels and matching exiguous outfit, you’re flashy merchandise. Something soft and sweet he flaunts in an attempt to make a quick quid or two as a way to fund his means of pleasure and keeping control of you. While you’d normally spend most nights on your hands and knees, on busy nights, Marco allows you to earn your living in an honorable way —

— dancing.

Sharp heels tap on soft mahogany as your hips and arms sway, practiced and repetitive, atop a round table. Dull music thrums and shakes the dust off your bones as the men on the crescent sofa surrounding you chat and laugh the night away. Marco’s in the mix of them all, cold glass resting on his knee as his foot taps against the floor. A hazy film covers the spring green of his irises as the liquor settles deep into his marrow. Each time you rotate his way, you watch his pupils dilate. A vast forest covered by the smokey darkness of that void, he licks at the alcohol on his lips as he stares at your clothed cunt.

His fantasy fills your mind before his own can even make sense of it. Every spare glass and bottle that litters the table around your feet would be thrown on the floor in an instant just to put you on your back. To open your vulnerable stomach. To tear off the little clothing protecting your feeble dignity and truly put you to work. He’d spread your limbs and pin them like a specimen to a board, and he would cut and slice until you have nothing left to hide. Until there is nothing left of you at all.

“Babe!”

Marco’s voice cuts through the discordance of the crowd, and pulls you out of a nightmare and back into the present. Your terrifying reality. Slowly, you turn to face him, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face and a card stuck between his fingers. That sly haze still obscures his vision as he offers you his hand. Numb to the feeling of his skin against your own, you take it and allow him to help you down from the table. He wastes no time in dipping his fingers into the strap of your lingerie where he secures the card beneath the band.

“Looks like you’ve got work to do,” he teases.

Warm hands settle on the curve of your hips as he guides you to turn around, faced away from him. Then, they wander up. Greedy fingers brush along the line of your spine before they find purchase in your hair, grabbing it as if he were trying to help you put it up. You hate how long it’s gotten. That he won’t let you cut it. He doesn’t care if it’s straight, curly, braided — anything. Marco wants it long. Uses it like a leash in which he keeps you bound to him with.

“I know you’re a good girl, so I’m sure you won’t forget, but a little reminder never hurts,” he coos into your ear. Intoxicated breath fans across the side of your face as he leans closer to breathe you in. A shiver prickles across your skin as he kisses the back of your neck, and your throat involuntarily contracts at the sensation. It’s as if he’s marking you again. Branding you. “If this… patron wants more, I get to watch.”

Swallowing, you nod as best as you can with his fist gripping your hair. “I know.”

Chuckling, he relinquishes his grip on you before stepping back. “Of course you do, smart thing you are. I’ll be waiting here for you.”

You wait until you’re well away from Marco and his friends before you fish out the card he stuck beneath the strap along your hip. A pitched ringing plagues your ears as you enter the VIP section of the club. Things are quieter. Less crowded and the speakers don’t blare as loud. But the silence allows something malevolent to burrow inside of you. It festers as incessant tinnitus and broiling nervosity in your stomach. A wordless, desperate prayer breathes past your lips as you approach the room in which your patron awaits you.

You pray he is kind. You pray that he wants nothing more than to hold you and vent his problems, like others have.

When you open the door and step into the threshold that always makes your palms sweat, you think for a single fleeting moment that you are lucky. The room is abandoned. Dim lights illuminate the dull leather of the couch in front of you and yet there is no man sitting there for you to serve. Gentle music drones over the wireless speakers, giving the impression that there should be someone here with you. The attendants even set out the ice and whiskey for his drink. It now thaws on the tray, water nearly overspilling in its decay.

Brows furrowing together, you look down at the card to ensure you haven’t misread it in your haze. The attendant’s handwriting is chicken scratch. He always manages to make a nine look like a zero, but you’re certain this is a six. The door clicks shut behind you as you sigh, too defeated and confused to make sense of this confusion. A pit forms in your stomach at the thought of slinking back to Marco with some saturnine cloud hanging over your head.

If you can’t find work tonight, he’ll make some for you.

That pit quickly becomes a gaping hole the moment a fat palmed hand clasps over your mouth. Cardstock flutters out of your fingers like dainty butterfly wings, and hits the ground just as your back collides with an immovable chest. You don’t scream, but your heart nearly stops when you feel the cold press of metal against your throat. You are stuck in a vicious cycle. One of fear and sharp blades you’ll never wield yourself.

“Not a fuckin’ word.” The voice that growls in your ear rattles your spine as the words erupt in his chest. Faint tobacco stains his fingers. Its earthy aroma seeps into your nose as your hands tremble against his tattooed forearm. “Don’t wanna hurt ya, so make this easy and listen to me, yeah?”

Marco has taught you plenty well enough that the word no should be expunged from your vocabulary, so you nod.

“Good.”

You’re as stiff as a board when this stranger releases you. No amount of curiosity can get you to turn around and face the violent truth, not even as a thick jacket is tossed over your shoulders. The fabric is warm. Freshly removed off of the man behind you and placed on you as if it were a blanket. He presses his hand on your lower back and despite his caution, you still jump.

“We’re going for a quick drive. Easy now. You’ll be home before sun up. C’mon,” he mutters.

There is no such thing as saying no. There is no such thing as fighting.

The knife vanishes from your sight but it’s all you can think about as this stranger leads you through the haze of the club. Everything blurs around you as you’re escorted to the nearest exit through quiet hallways that reek of cheap perfume. The only thing you can focus on is your feet. The glittery heels that match perfectly with your pedicure. You want to trip. To fall forward and hit the ground. Cry out and demand attention. The hand on the small of your back is all too grounding for you to make any mistakes.

You approach and exit through an emergency fire door and the alarm doesn’t trip. Night air hits your skin like razor blades as you’re escorted across the car park. He shoves you into the back of a black car, and you only squeal a little when he slams the door behind you. When he situates himself in the driver's seat, the car hums to life and quiet lights flicker on just enough to scarcely illuminate his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark. The darkest you’ve ever seen.

“There’s a blindfold in the seat next to you. Put it on,” he orders. Stuck on autopilot, you do as he says. It’s a thick scrap of cloth, something you hastily tie around your eyes and knot at the back of your head with trembling fingers. It only touches your skin for a fleeting moment before it’s soaked in briney tears. “Don’t even think ‘bout takin’ it off.”

Not even your morbid curiosity can convince you to peek from between the threads. The word no is not in your vocabulary. Neither is disobeyment.

Each turn the man takes as he brings you to some unknown destination has you swaying in your seat. Every pule that leaves your lips is smothered behind the palm of your hand as you wipe snot along the ridges of your knuckles. You do well to keep the aftermath of your fear to yourself. Even though this man has abducted you — something that was all too easy for him to do as you fawned. You’ll surely pay for this when Marco finds you again — you do not want to ruin the coat around your shoulders with spit.

Of course you think of escape. You always do. It’s a self soothing daydream that florescences in the neurons of your brain. Unlock the door. Open the handle. Jump out. It’ll hurt. It always does. And it’ll hurt when you’re caught, but it always does.

You don’t move. Freedom is just a dream.

Despite the knife he greeted you with, this man is surprisingly gentle. His touch is soft when he eventually parks the car, and his fingers do not dig too terribly into your skin as he helps free you from the back seat of his car. You do not trust his softness as he leads you into a room that smells like alcohol and cigarettes. Nicotine burns your nose as you’re settled into a plush seat, and for a fleeting moment you think you were only driven around the block before being thrown right back into Marco’s maw.

That theory is proven terribly wrong when your blindfold is ripped from your eyes.

A man with impressive tepidity sits across an antique wooden desk. Rich red walls close in on you. Crushing. Looming. Smoke blurs the space between the two of you as he puffs away at a thick cigar, blue eyes scanning a single piece of paper. He’s dressed nicer than you anticipated. A dark button up shirt, neatly combed hair and groomed beard — he hums to himself as his eyes scan the page in front of him before they land on you. You look away as if his gaze has burnt you. Instead, you focus on your nails and the manicure Marco made you get last week. Baby pink gel; his favorite color on you.

“It’ll take more than crocodile tears to tug on my heartstrings, love,” he hums.

The climate in your mouth suddenly becomes sere. All the snot and saliva that had built up before seems to vanish at his words. He’s nonchalant; terrifyingly so.

“I don’t… uhm,” you attempt.

“No need to explain yourself,” he interjects. “I understand. We all need to make a living.” Pausing, his eyes flicker back to the paper in his hands. “You’re Marco’s girl, aren’t you?”

Thick obloquy heats the pit of your stomach as your fingers twitch. That term — that title. It fills you with more shame than you can name. You attempt to swallow down the cotton-like dryness in your mouth as your hand paws at the back of your neck. Expertly manicured nails scratch at the skin, and you wish nothing more than to peel back the layers of your epidermis and toss them aside to rot.

Stiff, you nod.

“John Price,” he introduces.

He drops the name like it bears weight. As if it should crush you with each heavy letter that it carries, yet it doesn’t add on to the anxiety raging in your stomach. Your hand falls back into your lap as you dare to look at him once more. His eyes are sharp, as if he’s using his gaze alone to cut back your layers, but there is nothing to show for it. No secret except for a sour ignominy that you’ve carried for so long it imprints in your very skin.

“Has Marco not told you about me?” he asks. He’s not upset; or if he is, he hides it well behind curious eyes.

“No,” you answer truthfully.

John chuckles. “Thought the man would’ve at least told his benefactor about me.”

You blink. “...Benefactor?”

“No need to play dumb. Like I said, it takes a lot more than faux tears to get me to feel sorry for you.”

Your fear and confusion grips you so relentlessly that you don’t even feel it anymore. It’s wound so tightly around you, restricting blood flow to your body, that everything tingles if it is not numb. This man — John Price — gives you no chance to rest or fix your muddled thoughts. He tosses the paper in his hands across the wooden top of the desk, and your eyes nearly cross at the numbers printed on the pristine sheet and the amount of commas between them. There’s math. Addition and subtraction. Transactions of a bank account with a name at the top:

Marco Anatolijus Smirnova

Funny. You’ve never seen his full name before. He’s only ever been Marco.

You’ve only ever been his girl.

While you stare at the numbers, John throws question after question at you, none of which you know how to answer. He asks about transactions. He asks about what they’re for. Each and every time he’s met with the same answer. You are just as clueless as him. Marco does not concern you with his real work. The work that gets him enough money to have a bank account as padded as the one you’re looking at currently.

His finances make the sparse contents of your stomach curdle. The amount of money you owe him for your unfortunate existence is trivial compared to what he already has. So minuscule it would hardly budge his savings. Marco has been making you work half your life away for something akin to a mere couple quid to him, and it stings just as bad as it always does. Seeing it at face value just how trapped you are — how Marco owns you and always will.

“Don’t get coy with me.” John’s getting frustrated. Each question he presents you with is met with the same carking response of I don’t know. It’s nothing but the truth, but he seems to be informed otherwise. You’re significantly less important than he believes you to be, but the man looming behind you doesn’t help in settling your nerves enough to explain your situation properly. “Word on the street is Marco’s girl supplies him with his spending money. You’re tellin’ me I heard wrong? Or are you too daft to ask him what he’s using his finances on?”

You swallow. What a polite way to put it — the things Marco does to you.

“He… He makes money off of me but I… I don’t know how much or what he uses it for,” you choke out. “Well, I… I know a little bit but it’s not, it’s not like, whatever you’re asking, it’s just… it’s stupid things, it’s like, my housing or… it’s not… important.”

There’s a quiet beat that settles between you and John, and you feel whatever vexation he harbored for you previously quickly evaporate in the air. He’s silent for so long that you force yourself to look up at him. You’re expecting curiosity, even the most morbid of iterations. John Price is not curious. You can tell by the way his jaw unclenches and eyes soften that he finally understands what you’ve been too inept to say.

“How long have you been workin’ for him?” he questions, softer this time.

“Since… I was sixteen,” you reply.

“Sixteen?” He’s appalled. Repeats the word like it’s the worst taste he’s ever had on his tongue. “What’s he making you do for work? Dance?”

Shame sears the back of your neck, leaving nothing but wounded, marked skin in its wake. You palm at the burn. Try to will it away with desperate fingers, and the movement causes the coat resting limply around your body to slip off your shoulder. This is the first time you’ve considered lying to John. Omitting the truth just to save the small shred of dignity you still have left, no matter how imaginary it might be.

“Yeah. I… dance on stage but he… has me do private sessions too but he… sometimes he-”

A hand brushes against the side of your arm and you flinch so hard your teeth nearly pierce through your tongue. Weathered wood squeaks beneath your weight as you freeze after nearly jumping out of your skin. This well meaning hand that startled you so terribly is well meaning. It pauses in its endeavor to cover your body once again with this stranger's coat, and instead lets it fall. You had almost forgotten all about him — the strange man who stole away Marco’s favorite toy from right under his nose.

John and the stranger share a look as you retreat back into yourself. Hands folded over your bare lap, you didn’t feel naked until they finally understood who you are — what you are. Pristine nails dig into your palms as you swallow back the bilious vomit that threatens to spew free.

“If we take you home, will you be safe there?” His eyes land back on you, but you can’t bring yourself to give him the same courtesy.

You shake your head. “He’s going to be so mad. He… he pays for my apartment. I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have a phone. I… There’s nothing. I have nothing. Marco’s provided everything for me and I never… he never gave me the chance to…”

“I understand,” John interjects, carefully quelling your rambling. He waits for a moment before leaning back in his chair, retracting every bit of malice he exuded while interrogating you. “I’m sorry, love. Should’ve done our research better.”

“It’s okay… Marco didn’t leave much of me to find.”

John’s eyes darken in a way that would leave most men with their tail tucked between their legs. You’re too busy making yourself small to notice. “We’ll fix that.”

In the next few hours, your life changes drastically. It’s sudden and feels just as violent as everything always does, yet it is intimidatingly soft. The gazes that are cast your way scream pity instead of lust, and you are handled with so much care you’re convinced you’ve become nothing more than a tchotchke. At least these men treat you with fragility rather than flippancy.

You learn the man who took you from Makarov’s club is named Riley. You’re able to get a better look at him without the blindfold and terror willing your vision elsewhere. He’s intimidating. Arms drenched in ink, it’s almost enough to smother the scars that map the story around his body. It can’t shroud the ones on his face. The thin line that dissects his eyebrow, or the one on his nose which only makes the curve of the bridge more dramatic. His eyes are darker than anything you’ve ever seen before — so empty and yet full at the same time; nothing but a contradiction as he watches you pull his coat tighter around your shoulders.

It is decided that — for your safety — you are to live with Riley until it is determined you are out of Marco’s reach.

Despite your apprehension, you can’t say no.

Riley’s house feels like a den. Well guarded but comfortable, the plush cushions that cradle you on the couch feel false. Fake. Everything does, but it’s mostly you. Your hair. Your clothes. Your skin. Nothing about you is tangible, not even to yourself.

You’re still swaddled in Riley’s coat by the time he tells you that your room is ready. Really, it’s his room. You want to tell him you’d rather sleep on the couch than in some stranger’s bed, but you can hardly bring yourself to speak a single word to him. He scares you, but not in the way people usually do. It’s not the fear of pain that he riles within you, but rather something light. Something that flickers and sputters, waiting to grow. You smother it as he hands you proper clothes to change into. You don’t know where he got them from or why they fit so well, and you don’t care to ask.

His room is… what you expected of a man like him. Plain walls, sturdy wardrobe and bed. A wristwatch ticks on the nightstand. It laments quietly, so much so that you only notice it when you sink into the mattress. He’s changed the sheets and pillowcases for you, but it’s not enough to snuff out the faint scent of tobacco. You like it, you decide. Or rather, you don’t mind it. Grounding earthy notes are much better than the synthetic chemicals Marco soaks himself in.

Sleep comes about as easy as you expect it to. A TV drones on quietly in the living room as you toss and turn among unfamiliar sheets. Dull anxiety claws within the cage of your chest, but it holds itself at bay better than you anticipated. Or rather, you are just too numb to fully appreciate the pain. You should be afraid. You know it, and it’s lurking there even if you can’t fully feel it yet.

It manifests suddenly as you feel the ghost of Marco’s hands on you. His teeth digging into your skin, demanding flesh. He wets his maw with your blood just as he wets his cock with your cunt. It sears. Rips through you in the brutal way it always does. Raw. Sinew on bone. And you don’t cry because it’s what he wants. He wants that brine and that sapor and he’ll claim it with claws and a smile.

His mantra pants. It sweats and drips. It’s wet on your ear.

There’s no escaping him.

You wake just after the sun does, and it is only then that you cry.

Grief is the quintessence of escape. You’ve crossed the threshold — you were dragged beyond it — and now there’s no way back to the way things were. Your life wasn’t good, and it was far from comfortable, but it was familiar. You only know how to navigate things when bound. Chained to an unforgiving master. How are you supposed to live with free hands?

What happens when Marco yanks your leash and finds no tension?

What becomes of his favorite toy — Marco’s girl — then?

By the time you finally gather the courage to leave the room, you find Riley in the kitchen. It’s what drew you out of your hiding spot originally; that scent of freshly cooked food. Sizzling meat and steaming eggs. He works at the stove with his back turned to you, arms dancing above the heat as he fries up a breakfast that should make your mouth water, yet it fails to do so.

“Morning.” He hears you before he sees you, but he pauses with a spatula in hand to look at you from over his shoulder. He gestures to the island in front of you — something you suspect was only built to compensate for the lack of counter space on either side of the stove — then hums to himself as he turns his attention back to his work. “Breakfast’ll be finished soon, if ya wanna grab a seat.”

There’s a stiffness that plagues your limbs as you sit on the high top chair Riley pointed to. It rolls off you in waves. Taints the air; souring it with your presence. You are not comfortable in this place — with this man. His palm haunts the chapped skin of your lips the same way his chest haunts your back and you can’t help but wonder what he and John would have done to you had they deemed you guilty. If they had looked at Marco’s girl and saw an opportunity rather than a pitiful creature, would you be sitting here now?

Breakfast is a quiet affair of scraping plates and muffled chewing. Riley doesn’t sit next to you. Rather, he stands on the other side of the counter with a bowed head as he shovels egg and bacon into his mouth as if he’ll starve if not. He tries to rest his elbows on the counter, but it’s too low. It curves his spine uncomfortably, and he shifts as if standing on hot coals.

Hunger does not pull at your stomach. Nervosity fills you to the brim — too full to consume something other than the ache.

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night.” Riley’s nearly finished with his food by the time he speaks, prompting you to look up at him for the first time since you sat down. All you’ve managed to do for the last few minutes is drag the tip of your fork around your scrambled eggs. “Boys really thought you were dangerous. That you were workin’ with Makarov and Marco. Shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Dull teeth dig into the wet flesh inside your cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Riley argues adamantly. “But I am sorry.”

It’s difficult to discern the purpose of his apology. Is it to make himself feel better for what he did? For dragging you out of that club and into John Price’s office? To interrogate you until your innocence was proven? Does he say sorry to comfort himself, or you? To prove he’s not as monstrous as he looks with dark eyes and tight lips. He is, after all, awfully kind for a monster. You have yet to meet a beast that knows how to apologize without digging their teeth into you afterwards.

Perhaps his apology is truly for you. To settle fried nerves. To make you feel safe.

You know better than that.

You were safer in the clutches of Marco’s jaw than you are now.

“Riley, can… can I ask something?”

A cheeky remark bubbles along his tongue. You just did. He takes one look at you and decides to bite it back. “Course.”

A noisome lurch pulls at your stomach, embittering the sparse bites of food you were able to force down your throat. Thunder roars in your chest as your heart attempts to break free — leave your body behind to rot while it escapes.

“Would I… Could I get the pill?” you ask.

“The pill?” he repeats.

“Yeah, like… the… the morning after pill?”

His silence doesn’t surprise you, but it stretches long enough to be concerning. Looking up from your cold food, you’re met with soft eyes. They’re the softest ones that have looked at you for what feels like ages. Gentle. They don’t greedily rake over your body to soak in every twitch of your skin — rather, he reads you. Between the lines and and in the margins, he devours every word.

For the first time in your life he makes you feel more like a victim than a toy, and you’re not sure if that feels any better.

“Will you be alright by yourself if I go buy it for you?” he asks. There’s no judgment; only pity.

You nod.

Riley mulls it over as his tongue swipes along the back of his teeth. When he straightens, he brings his plate with him as he steps back and hums. Your attention is quickly brought back to your hands as he sets the dish in the sink to be cleaned later.

“Alright.” You try not to choke as he motions to your plate. “Should eat. I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Once again, you nod. “Okay.”

Not a single morsel has been consumed off of your plate by the time Riley returns home, and you are not in your seat. Disappointment buzzes at the base of his skull, but he’s not surprised. He knows what it’s like to be too full to eat — to be plagued with something not even hunger can triumph. He sets aside the pill box to clean up after you. Food in the bin. Plate in the sink to be washed later.

It’s quiet. It’s never this quiet. Not even when he’s home by himself, which he usually is. Riley stands in the kitchen with furrowed brows as he looks around the room like he’s misplaced something. His keys. His lighter.

God, he could use a smoke.

Heavy feet cause old wood to creak as he pokes his head into the bedroom. An imprint of your body still dips into the mattress from this morning, but it’s gone cold. He was going to stay politely stationed in the doorway until the thought flickers across his mind that you’ve left. Got too scared of the brute whose home you’re trapped in and ran off. Away. Hiding from the world — from Marco.

There’s little reprieve to be found when he notices the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door, but it’s smothered the moment he hears you crying. They’re pathetic, stifled pules. Ones you attempt to desperately hide, yet they bleed out of you anyway. He wants to leave you alone, to let your emotions wash over you, but he can’t.

Even with your crying, the house is too quiet.

“Everythin’ alright?”

Both his voice and knock startle you, and your sobbing swells. Breathing out of control, he can hear you choke on the snot flowing through your sinuses. You’re panicked, and he realizes that this is more than grief. More than anxiety. More than fear.

You’re terrified.

You’re standing in the bathtub like a scared cat when Riley opens the door. Tears stream down your face. Relentless. They nearly glisten as bright as the kitchen knife in your hand.

You told yourself it would be easier for him to clean up the mess of your corpse if you killed yourself in the bathtub. Blood festers and rots in the smallest of crevices, but there’s none of that to be found in the ceramic that surrounds you. However, you’re having trouble getting any blood to flow at all. You’re not sure if it’s you or the knife, but you’re hardly able to break the skin on your wrists. The crimson blood that flows through your minor cuts feels trivial. There needs to be more.

It’s not enough. You’re scared that you might have to stab yourself. Spill your guts in the tub. Witness your offals for yourself before you fade away. Something. You want to die, but you don’t want it to hurt.

You don’t want it to hurt, but you need to leave.

“Hey. Hey, easy now.” Riley feels as if he’s talking to an animal. Some feral cat poised to bite and scratch if he’s not cautious. He approaches you with his palms faced out in surrender, and the walls around you seem to close in. “You don’t wanna do this sweetheart. Give me the knife.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t do this. You-You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Marco he... It’s- I- fuck, I can’t. I can’t do this, please just let me do this.”

Each word is muffled. So far from your ears that it hardly reaches you. Still, they spew along with your cries. It doesn’t deter Riley from closing in on you. Swallowing the spit building on your tongue, you hold the knife with both hands. A simple kitchen blade, now brandished like a weapon. It’s nearly laughable. You couldn’t even kill yourself. How can you expect to hurt him?

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it okay, but I can’t do that if you’re not here.” His words feel stupid in his mouth, but he knows he has to try something. “Please. Give me the knife. I don’t wanna hurt you. Hey, give- fuck.”

There’s a lunge. Grabbing. Blade on skin. Blood on tile.

Riley meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt you, but you still cry out as he yanks you out of the tub. Once again, your back is against his chest. You are enveloped by him as the two of you sink onto the bathroom floor, held down by his weight, and it is then that you truly can no longer hold yourself together. Vision darkening, chest ceasing; you panic. It rips through you with shaking hands and writhing legs, causing your feet to kick at the dull kitchen knife at your feet.

For a moment, you are lost. Consumed by overwhelming grief and fear, and still Riley holds you through it all. You feel his heart beating against your spine, feel the exhale of his lungs dance on the top of your head. It’s a flicker in the darkness. In the primal fear of knowing you are still somehow chained to the man who has abused you for countless years.

Dread transcends physical space. Marco planted it inside of you the first time his lips found the quiver in your throat.

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.”

Riley’s voice fades in like radio static. Disconnected and muffled, yet growing evermore clear. Then, it hits all at once. The slight sting of your wrists and the ache in your leg. Did you trip? You feel the growing bruise pulse and throb on your shin, and another one in your hip. It’s hardly bearable, but neither of them are as uncomfortable as the warm, sticky mess seeping into your shirt.

It takes several seconds for you to realize it’s blood.

“There, good. It’s alright,” Riley whispers. His voice is thick — heavy enough to make your stomach sink.

“Am- Am I bleeding?” you stutter.

“No, you’re alright. Don’t worry ‘bout the blood.”

But you do. You worry about it because you don’t want it to hurt, you don’t even think you want to die anymore — you just want it gone. For it to dissolve around you, or for you to waste away into dust. Your chin rests against your chest as you look for the source, scouring your own body for the wound. Your wrists, your arms your legs —

— the wound is on Riley.

Blood gushes through a gash on the top of his forearm, obscuring your view of the damage. It’s just as steady as every stream you ever used to jump over as a child. It slices through the meticulously crafted ink that graces his skin, and you feel as if you’ve cut through the canvas of a painting. Ruined something good. Something more useful than yourself. More than that, you hurt him.

“Oh my god, your arm,” you gasp.

“It’s nothing,” Riley attempts to assure.

“There’s so much blood, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s nothing,” he reiterates. “Just a cat scratch, sweetheart.”

His cat scratch takes twenty minutes to patch up. You count the time on the ticking of his wristwatch as you lay in his bed. Body too weak and afflicted with malaise to make something of yourself, you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him hiss and grunt. It’s the blood, you’re sure. Despite the flow, he manages to smother it to nothing more than a scab beneath pristine dressings.

It takes him another ten minutes to clean you up. He assesses the wounds you left on yourself — shallow horizontal cuts along the delicate skin of your wrists. You stare at them as he cleans and bandages them, and you tell yourself the sting from the antiseptic is what makes your eyes water.

You’ve created a mess for nothing, and Riley is the one paying for it.

“There.” He secures the last piece of tape on the gauze. It feels unnecessary. Band-aids would have sufficed, and you tried to tell him as much only for him to mutter something about infections. “Not too tight?”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

Content, he hums as he steps away from the bed, gathering up items off of the nightstand. You watch as his fingers swallow rolls of tape, forearm flexing beneath his own dressings. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, your heart lurches, as the guilt pierces through you like a blade. You’re not sure why it lurks. Is it because you hurt him? Because you tried to leave a corpse for him to come home to?

“I’ll get you some water. Ought to take that pill sooner rather than later,” Riley says, turning to leave the room.

He only makes it a few steps before you stop him. “I lied.”

Pausing, his eyes find you with more confusion than you expected. “Yeah?”

“I lied about… needing the pill. I just said it so you would leave,” you admit. You push yourself up from the bed, legs swinging over the side of the mattress to sit and properly look at him. “When… I first… Marco used to make me take birth control. Like, the actual pills. I got pregnant anyway. Made me get the IUD after that. It’s more effective, so I don’t think I’ll really need it. I mean, I’ve never needed it before, so…”

Listening, Riley nods as you bare the raw parts of yourself. It’s impossible to share without that warble in your tone — that pain that always leaks into your voice — but in some strange way, it feels good. Refreshing. You’re airing out an old, festering wound that hasn’t ever seen the light of day.

“You got a kid to take care of? If they’re with Marco-”

“No,” you interrupt. Riley’s words die on his tongue. “No, he… he made me get an abortion, too. It’s for the best, really. Kids shouldn’t be around that monster anyway.”

Again, he nods. The house feels loud. Every inch of the four walls around you seems to buzz with an energy you’re not privy to.

“Well, some water wouldn’t hurt. Food wouldn’t either, since you never finished breakfast,” he continues as he turns. “Want anything specific?”

He’s so… casual. Nonchalant despite the trauma you subjected him to. He should be angry with you. Furious at having made a mess; at having hurt him. His entire life was turned upside down the very same moment yours was — he should hate you for it, but he doesn’t.

“Whatever’s easiest.” The floorboards are loose by the door. They squeak as he crosses the threshold, and you feel your stomach lurch. “Riley?”

Pausing, he turns on his heel as his head pokes back into the room. “Yeah?”

So calm. So patient.

“Thank you. For everything. I just… Thank you, Riley,” you choke.

For the first time since he caught you in that club, he smiles; small and kind.

“Just Simon to you, yeah?”

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#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #in limbo #a fox cries; never howls #f!reader

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surftrips · 8 months

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SHAPESHIFT | CLARISSE LA RUE

pairing: clarisse la rue x female!reader

summary: clarisse wonders if you know just how much she likes you.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: this is the first part of a two part series i'm writing based on jenna doe's songs: shapeshift + pink slips. this is from clarisse's pov and the second one is from readers' :) lmk if you want to be tagged in part 2 <3

i. i think you have a type, and it's not me

Clarisse has been watching you from the second you arrived at camp. Since you spent every day doing more or less the same thing, she was able to pick up on your routine pretty fast. Two sugars in your coffee every morning. A walk around the lake in the afternoon. Archery practice before the sunset.

She felt weird going to practices at the same time as you, but she couldn’t help herself. Whenever she got a chance to sneak away from her siblings in the Ares cabin, she always found herself back in your presence. However, the thought to approach you like a normal person had never crossed her mind. Clarisse is the kind of person that needs to be in control, and talking to you one-on-one would mean letting her inhibitions take over, so she always made sure to keep her distance.

Once or twice, Clarisse had seen you on dates with another camper. At first, she thought you were just having a picnic with the girl from Aphrodite, until the two of you began holding hands. The next day, Clarisse saw you in the other girl’s sweater, which made her so sick she avoided you for an entire week.

The Aphrodite girl (her name, Clarisse later found out, was Stacy) began showing up with you more often. Stacy wore bows in her hair and pearl necklaces, whereas Clarisse’s mascara was always smudged and accessories that didn’t double as weapons felt wrong on her. For the first time, Clarisse wondered why she couldn’t just be like all the other girls. Or at least, a girl you would pay attention to.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Clarisse tried to make her penchant for you as obvious as possible, while actively hiding it from the rest of camp. This proved to be difficult because at the same time, she also didn’t want to get too close to you because, well— what would she even say to you?

Her flirting consisted of winking at you during Capture the Flag or from across the dining hall. She had an ongoing list of nicknames of what to call you when no one else was around, but those moments were few and far between. Once, she even went as far as brushing away a stray piece of hair that had fallen on your face. There seemed to be nothing left for her to do except put bows in her hair or maybe paint her nails, and the thought of doing either of those things made her almost as sick as seeing you and Stacy together.

Between her and the Aphrodite girl, she knew which girl you would choose. Had chosen.

ii. mold me how you want me to be

Still, that was not going to stop Clarisse. She had never backed down from a fight before, and this was no different. Even if Stacy didn’t know it, she had become Clarisse’s number one enemy, even more so than that Percy Jackson kid that had recently shown up at camp. It just wasn’t fair that she had been watching you for so long and here comes Aphrodite’s daughter out of nowhere to sweep you off your feet.

Since Clarisse knew your routine by heart, she devised a plan to get you alone. She decided that she would finally make a move, and then you could pick for yourself who you wanted to be with. Easy enough, right?

At night, Clarisse lay awake in bed thinking about you, Stacy, then you and Stacy together. Though she didn’t want to go there, her brain wondered what the two of you were doing at that very moment. Her thoughts ranged from tame, to slightly more unhinged. Like, were you lying underneath the stars on your picnic blanket? Or was Stacy doing your makeup as she straddled your lap?

Clarisse didn’t pray often, but ever since she met you, she had taken to silently wishing you would acknowledge her. Each time she saw you with your arms wrapped around Stacy, she yearned to know what that would feel like. Not that she thought you would come near her with a ten-foot pole. Stacy is sweet, like bubblegum or strawberries from the fields, and Clarisse is the opposite. If you tasted her, she might make your gums bleed.

Before you, she was never the kind of girl to care about her appearance. Gods, she was the daughter of Ares, they weren’t known for their beauty but their strength and power and when it came to those categories, Clarisse knew that she had Stacy beat.

And yet, Clarisse would change just about anything about herself if it would make you like her more. In your hands, she would turn into putty, moldable clay to take the shape of your ideal lover. Hell, she would change her name if she thought you didn’t like the sound of it.

iii. kill anyone if you ask me to

A few weeks later, the Ares cabin and yours happened to be on the same team for Capture the Flag. It was the closest Clarisse had been to you ever since you began dating Stacy. The proximity to you was killing her, but she had to stay focused—on winning the game and your heart.

Putting aside her wandering thoughts, Clarisse barked out instructions to the campers. When she got to your cabin, she assigned you and your half-siblings to be the second line of defense for the flag. Clarisse figured this way, she could keep you out of harm’s way. Also, this was her one chance to talk to you without Stacy hanging off your body and she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.

After the first conch blew, Clarisse went on high-alert mode. Her team had lost the last game to Luke and Annabeth’s team, but she was not going to accept defeat this time. Her eyes darted back and forth between blind spots in the forest and you and the flag.

As she absent-mindedly waved her new spear around, Clarisse heard soft footsteps behind her. She whipped her head around with her weapon aimed in the air, preparing to fight whoever had approached her.

“Shit, Y/N, you scared me.” It was just you. Wait– it was you.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to,” you responded, your hands in front of you.

Clarisse almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Did someone poison her earlier and she was hallucinating right now? Okay, keep it cool.

“Is something wrong?” Clarisse managed to ask after composing herself, realizing that you had moved away from your post.

“Uh, no. I- um… heard about what happened to your spear last week, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” you smiled nervously.

“Why?”

“Why…. am I sorry?”

Clarisse wanted to slap her hand across her forehead. Why did she say that? She meant to ask why are you talking to me right now? What did I do to deserve this? But she didn’t know how to word that in a way that wouldn't make you think she was crazy.

When she didn’t respond, you began backing away. “Look, I’m sorry if this is a sensitive topic. I just felt bad, is all.”

“No!” Clarisse began panicking. “I didn’t mean it like that- just, why are you talking to me now? We’ve never had a real conversation before.”

“Does it matter?” She expected you to be confused, but the look at your face seemed more amused than anything.

“No, I guess not,” Clarisse couldn’t help but smile. Gods, why was she so awkward? Anyone else, she would’ve been perfectly fine, but in the last few minutes, her mouth had gone dry and her legs felt as though they would give out at any second.

“Great,” you beamed in return. Clarisse’s eyes catch yours and the two of you stare at each other in content for a minute. Or at least, you are. Clarisse is convinced an Aphrodite kid has changed her pupils to hearts. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” you broke the silence.

“What do you mean? I’m always around,” Clarisse stammered for an excuse.

“Well, sure. It’s a small camp.” You seemed to be enjoying seeing Clarisse fumble for words. “But I used to see you all the time. At breakfast and archery.”

Clarisse ignored the implications of your comment. “Oh, I guess we just started going at different times then. You know you’re always with Stacy now—”

At the mention of your girlfriend’s name, your face contorted into something strange and unfamiliar to Clarisse. But before she could figure it out, a noise behind you caused the two of you to turn around abruptly.

“Y/N, watch out!” Clarisse shouted at you, but it was too late. Someone had dragged you backwards, knocking your weapon out of your hand. You struggled to free yourself, but whoever was holding you had revealed a dagger and you didn’t want to risk accidentally cutting yourself.

“If you know what’s best for yourself, let her go.” Clarisse breathed furiously, pausing between the last three words in her sentence. You couldn’t see who was restraining you, but you could feel their heart rate quicken at the sight of Clarisse’s spear getting dangerously close.

“And what if I don’t?” they responded. You knew that they were just putting on a front, you could feel their chest heaving up and down on your back. Clarisse seemed to know this too, she’s always been able to sense fear in people— mostly because she is the one that invokes it.

“I don’t think you want to find out,” she grinned, a wicked smile on her face. The next second, her spear had jabbed into the camper’s side, causing them to let go of their hold on you. You dropped to the ground.

“Shit!” the camper swore, rubbing their ribcage. “You’re not supposed to actually hurt me!” You could see their face now, one of Hermes' kids you’ve seen hanging around Luke.

“Now, what’s the fun in that?” Clarisse laughed. “Besides, the spearhead is blunt. You’ll be fine, drama queen.”

The kid scrambled away, leaving behind the dagger they had previously threatened you with. Clarisse ran over, instinctively putting her hands on your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You began to stand up, but Clarisse pushed you back down.

“Clar, come on, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Let me just get a look at you,” she insisted, ignoring the way your nickname for her made something in her stomach flip over. You relented, knowing it was useless to argue with her. You allow her to scan your body for any signs of harm. Clarisse took her time, unsure of when the next time she would be this close to you again. Most of your body was covered by your armor or clothes, so her eyes drifted toward your exposed arms and the area where the kid had touched you.

Hesitantly, she reached for the side of your stomach. “Are you sore? Did they leave a mark?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, lifting up the hem of your shirt to see. You heard Clarisse’s breath hitch. “What? What’s wrong?” You were fully sat up now.

“N-nothing!” Color rushed into Clarisse’s cheeks, causing her to turn her head away suddenly.

You giggled, her reaction not going unnoticed. “Thanks for saving me, tough girl.”

“Of course.” Clarisse pulled you up on your feet. “Anything for you, pretty girl.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could register it. The two of you stared at each other again, it seemed as though eye contact was your main form of communication at the moment. And right now, Clarisse’s eyes were sparkling with something familiar, almost like how Stacy looks at you—

“Oh my god, babe! Are you okay?” Speaking of the devil, Clarisse rolled her eyes at the sight of your girlfriend running up.

“Stacy! How’d you know something was wrong?” You were pulled into a stifling hug, the air thick with floral perfume.

“Silly girl, I am the daughter of Aphrodite. I have a heightened sense for these things,” Stacy pulled her arms away and gave you a once-over, presumably to check for injuries, before smothering you with kisses.

Clarisse coughed, once, and then again a little louder. “Oh!” Stacy turned toward her. “Clarisse, I didn’t see you there.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for her,” you said, sensing Clarisse’s uneasiness.

Now, Stacy’s face contorted into something strange. Shamelessly, Clarisse took pride in being the cause of it.

“Well, thank you,” she responded tersely. “Come on, let’s get one of the Apollo kids to look at you.” Stacy pushed you away before you could protest. You offered Clarisse a weak smile before turning around.

Clarisse sighed, maybe if she had been a daughter of Aphrodite, she could shapeshift into someone you walked away with— not from.

That night, she prayed to Ares for the first time in months.

#WHERE ARE ALL MY SAPPHICS #WOMEN LOVERS #WARNING: YEARNING #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #percy jackson series #percy jackson #pjo #dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue imagine #pjo x you #clarisse la rue x you

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corkinavoid · 2 months

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A list of things I've done that pissed my mother off, but as Batfam + Team Phantom edition

Bruce: got into a verbal fight and held a year-long grudge at my teacher for not giving me a fair grade at an annual competition, and proceeded to go out of my way to win said competition next year

Alfred: refused to eat her food, got told to cook for myself and did so, ending up with both my dad and sister saying my banana bread was the best thing they've eaten

Dick: swung on the bungee rope over the dry riverbed turned into junk yard, fell, miraculously did not die, went to that same bungee rope the next day

Babs: organized a stake out, found out which neighbor had been messing with trash bins when everyone blamed raccoons, called said neighbor a raccoon for the next three weeks

Jason: kept reading books at night with a flashlight, when said flashlight was taken away, lit a candle and accidentally almost set the house on fire

Tim: fled to a different country across the globe without telling anyone except my sister, who's been 7 at the time, and did not respond to any calls or messages for three months

Steph: picked a dress with glitter for a dinner with her relatives after specifically being told not to, was forced to change, but took my revenge by exploding a glitter bomb in the car when we have already arrived at the relatives' house

Cass: responded with 'sorry I didn't quite catch that could you repeat' to her very long rant, over text

Damian: successfully clawed and gnawed at a classmate's face after they destroyed my painting

Duke: was the leader of school rebellion over the 'no wigs allowed in school' rule in sixth grade, managed to convince two teachers to join, ended up with the rule taken down

Danny: accidentally shocked myself with a tazer I stole from her handbag, cried, when she came to ask what happened, showed her by repeating the accidental electrocution

Dan: pushed my maternal aunt into the pool and watched her flounder, knowing very well she is a bad swimmer, when confronted about it later argued it was the kiddie part of the pool and she could not have drowned

Jazz: told her I was in love with a girl she disliked, when she voiced her opinion on it, made a whole argument about how I'm supposed to learn from my own mistakes and not from her experiences

Dani: zoned out while she was yelling at me, came back to her saying 'you're no better than a pig', impulsively told her 'it's because of genetics' and started oinking

Sam: painted my nails and toes on my left hand and left foot black, dyed my hair purple, but only on the left side, as well as got a piercing on the left eyebrow, while the whole right side was left 'natural'

Tucker: learned to change the wi-fi password and held power over the internet every time she took my electronics away by asking a friend that lived nearby to come by my house and using their phone to change the password

Bonus:

Selina: repeatedly stolen antique jewelry from grandma because she, in turn, stole it from my other grandma

Valerie: turned rogue, teamed up with the opponent team in lasertag and helped them win over my own teammates

Talia: threatened a person I will carve their eyeballs out with a spoon if they ever as much as look at my sister funny again, a month later gave them a decorated silver teaspoon as a birthday gift

Jack Fenton: failed my driving license test seven times, three of which were on purpose

Maddie: ruined her plans of my picture-perfect marriage by friendzoning a son of her friend, claiming I'm saving my love only for the important things like mozzarella

Vlad: scared my sister shitless by telling her a scary story about ghosts under her bed and then hiding under her bed and making 'boo' noizes

Clockwork: purposefully made her experience deja vu by wearing the exact same clothes and greeting her the exact same way in the exact same place for three days in a row

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ibrithir-was-here · 1 year

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How the heck is there not more talk about Tanith Lee??

Like my gosh, the woman wrote, according to her wiki, 90 books, over 300 short stories, two World Fantasy Awards, and was the first woman to win the British Fantasy Award/Augus Derleth Award and wrote for tv shows.

Like, it's not like she just wrote a heck ton but wasn't very good! She was clearly very good she won awards, and i've read a swath of her stuff across different genres and really enjoyed most of it. I mean that even if not each one has been my cup of tea I can at least appreciate the skill and quite a lot I have truly enjoyed. She's got great prose and style and imagination. Not everything obviously was a banger, but they've all been at least well written, which is harder to come by in writing than you might think.

But nobody ever seems to talk about her?? And I feel like the fantasy crowd on here would really enjoy her stuff. The woman has done stuff in pretty much every genre from what I can see, but I never see her listed on fantasy authors like Clive Barker or Diana Wynne Jones or Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett or Diane Duane even though she was writing at the same time and has a similar sort of '80s Doing Cool Stuff with Fantasy vibe' I feel like people who like those authors would enjoy though she's very much her own style of author.

Anyway this was really just me putting out a rant that such a prolific and talented author seems to have fallen by the wayside and I think it's really a shame

Heck she even did a witch-queen fighting againt vampire Snow White a whole decade before Neil Gaiman did his phenomenal Snow Glass Apples and it's also excellent, give a look here:

youtube

#tanith lee #fantasy authors #fantasy books #70s fantasy #80s fantasy #90s fantasy #british fantasy #British writers #i dunno how to tag i just want this woman to be remembered darn it #Youtube #i hope its ok to tag the authors mentioned #not trying to spam but like also want the fan crossover to get people interested in her again?#i dont know why i'm taking this so personally xD #neil gaiman #diane duane #terry pratchett #clive barker #diana wynne jones #vampire snow white

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littlealienproducts · 3 months

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AI and PDF Crochet Patterns

AI generated images can be great for inspiring projects, but most of the time it's used online to generate revenue for scammers and the like.

Just scrolling through Etsy rn looking for crochet patterns, I've come across several listings (some with false 5 star reviews to boost engagement/trust) where the patterns and images are clearly AI generated and people, unfortunately, have fallen for the listings.

Some of the images might look totally obvious to you, but to the untrained eye they can be convincing.

SOOO, how do you spot AI crochet patterns?

Look at the stitches. Are there pieces that don't seem to stitch into one another? Are the lengths and sizes inconsistent? Some are more obvious than others, but AI fails to replicate consistent textures.

Lighting and saturation. AI images often are vibrant and cartoon-ish. Especially the eyes of projects - usually this is a pretty good giveaway. Additionally, is the image smooth? What's in the background? Does it make sense?

Limited photos on listing. Most legitimate shops are going to have multiple photos of the finished project on the listing - AI is fairly advanced, but not the best at recreating exact images. Does the listing only have one photo? Does it have multiple but with variants between projects (that are meant to be the same)? Are there any videos?

Is it even possible? This can be tricky if you are new to crochet, but as above, take a moment to look at the stitches and the overall shape of the project. Does it look plausable? Especially if they projects say 'no sew'. Additionally, if you have already purchased the pattern - does it tell you how much material you need, and does it make sense? Does it tell you crochet hook size?

Legit photo but AI generated pattern. Sometimes the images are real - but they've been stolen from another creators account and the scam shop has simply asked AI (such as ChatGPT) to write up a crochet pattern. These are less obvious at a glance, but most reputable shops will have social media, consistent themes of crochet projects and reviews with pictures of finished products uploaded by customers.

6. Ok, but what if they use AI but the reviews seem legit? Crochet Baby Duck - this is an AI generated picture and pattern, and while the shop has posted several pictures of the finished project it is clear that it does not match up with the AI generated duck pictured in the listing. The hat, feet, and bill are all different sizes and this is even noted in some of the customer reviews. While this isn't as scammy as straight up using AI generated images/patterns without showing how the finished project looks - it is still taking away from legitimate pattern makers. Being able to design and execute good patterns is a skill, and the prices of legitimate patterns often reflect this. Why does the shop even use AI pictures if they post the real life projects anyway? Cus it drives traffic, and lets be real - the real life plush dolls look no where near as good as the AI images.

This is the same as the walrus - AI generated image and pattern, this is even endoresed by Etsy so you cannot rely on 'Etsy picks' being legitimate as they choose profits over morals.

These patterns are not just limited to Etsy, they are often on Pinterest or websites for 'free' to generate traffic and collect data (asking for your e-mail for the free pattern). Such as this Peacock Crochet IRL figure by u/Echo-o_0 on Reddit.

This is not just limited to crochet, I've seen it in sewing, knitting, and any other PDF downloads that you can purchase or get for free. Unfortunately, it is a simple way for people to make a quick but and face little to no consequences as their store *might* get deleted and even then, they can just start a new one up.

#ai pdf #ai generated #ai generated patterns #scam alert #spotting scams online

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moonlight-prose · 4 months

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THE WAY YOU SAY GOODBYE

a/n: i have been watching way too much hart of dixie lately and well wade is basically just hangman in a different font. don't try to argue cause you know i'm absolutely right. so i spawned this drabble out of my head as if i were summoning a demon. enjoy my hangman girlies.

summary: if there's a way to say goodbye that has been noted in the history books, hangman will find a way to master it.

word count: 1k+

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

warnings: semi-explicit, kissing that borders on tongue fucking, he's nasty with it, cocky hangman, spit, again i say he's nasty with it.

Looking up the definition of the word goodbye would come with an endless amount of definitions and explanations. All in varying languages, with meanings so deep they grew like the roots of a tree. Embedding themselves in the earth with life of its own.

The way Hangman said goodbye wasn’t one of those.

He was assured, cocky, and genuinely believed he was God’s gift to this earth. You could see it with how he leaned against the pool table, his legs spread, lips pulled into a you know you want to fuck me smile. And the thing was…you couldn’t deny it. You did in fact want that. You had that. Four hours ago at the crack of dawn when he found his way back into your bed after a run and a shower.

Of course the others around would voice their displeasure and intense disgust if either of you brought it up. So you stayed silent. Sipping a coffee as he argued with Rooster over who had the bigger dick. Or something of that manner. You weren’t entirely focused on the conversation, your eyes fixated on the way his uniform pulled taut across his shoulders.

You were pretty sure that if you peeled the layers of fabric away, you’d find the imprint of your teeth in the muscle of his right shoulder.

Part of you was tempted to search for it. The other part had yet to notice he had stopped talking altogether, his attention on the only thing that mattered. You and your dreamy haze of love.

If he had the time he’d drag you to the bathroom, but everyone was already starting to pack it in for the morning. It would be a long day of training, of listening to the same orders over and over, of picking fights with one another until their patience ran thin. And all he wanted was to say goodbye to you properly. In a way that he’d feel each time you crossed his mind.

“You want a ride?” Fanboy asked, digging his keys out of his pocket.

He nodded. “Yeah thanks.”

“Let’s head out boys.” Phoenix shoved her arms into the leather jacket she’d brought even though the weather outside was warm enough to sunbathe.

He found his mind wandering to the image of you doing just that.

“Alright,” he sighed, standing tall as he reached for the jacket on the back of his chair.

You smiled as he sauntered over to you, his hand gripping your waist as he tugged you to stand up. “You’re going?”

He sighed as if you’d asked him the hardest question to exist. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go baby.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

The soft smile that crossed his lips was enough to have your heart racing. “I’ve got a new bottle of wine, some new desserts to try out.”

He smiled, his hand sliding lower as you listed out a few other things. Some which you had to say softly, lest you bring the wrath of the others. You’d been in that predicament before; you didn’t necessarily want to go back. At least not for a few months. Getting caught at the rocks by the beach was bad enough. Getting caught by Rooster, Phoenix, and Coyote was worse.

Although they couldn’t deny it, they were much happier seeing Hangman in a relationship than out of one.

“We got to go man,” Fanboy said, nudging Payback to get up from where he sat. “I don’t want to get stuck doing extra push ups when your asses make me late.”

Jake chuckled, his eyes dropping to the way your tongue slid along your bottom lip. The idea of dropping in when he got lunch was appealing enough to hold him over for a few hours. At least then he could show you what he’d been craving to eat since this morning.

“Gentlemen. Phoenix. You might want to avert your eyes. I’m about to kiss my woman goodbye.” The groan from behind was enough to set you off in a fit of giggles, your hand sliding into the base of his hair. “C’mere sugar,” he mumbled, grasping the nape of your neck.

To say Jake Seresin invented the art of saying goodbye was an understatement. He made bidding farewell dirty, debauched, and so filthy so as to solidify that moment in your mind for the rest of the day. His tongue slid into your mouth, a soft moan at the taste of your coffee being pressed into the searing kiss, as he tugged you even closer. The breath was knocked from your lungs with each lick into you and you began to wonder if maybe he was thinking of something else entirely.

That only made you grip onto his hair tighter, pulling him close enough to feel the way his hips shifted forward. Not enough to draw attention from the others. Yet you felt as if he was grinding into you without a single item of clothing on.

“That’s disgusting!” Rooster shouted from across the bar.

Yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away. Spit spread slightly down your chin, his teeth digging into the plush skin of your bottom lip, and you felt your knees begin to buckle. Even as he gripped your ass tight enough to leave a phantom touch behind.

He made sure you’d feel him all fucking day.

“Mm,” he hummed, his grip growing tighter. “Your coffee tastes delicious baby.”

You laughed. “You want some?”

“I gotta go,” he mumbled, kissing you again as he licked even deeper into your mouth. His sharp inhale the cause of your heart stuttering.

“So go,” you breathed. “I’m not stopping you.”

He smiled. “Liar.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Or what?”

Twisting his hair between your fingers, you tugged his head back slightly. Earning you a soft grunt you felt in the base of your stomach.

“Or I find something else to occupy my night.”

“Noted Mrs. Seresin.” He snuck your mug out from behind you, stealing a sip as you hung on him—addicted to his mere presence.

You smiled, biting into your bottom lip as he cleaned you up with his thumb. “I’ll see you later Mr. Seresin.”

“Oh yes you will,” he murmured, stealing a chaste kiss as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. “You can count on it sugar!”

#look i have no idea where this came from #one minute i'm writing for batman and the next i'm down bad for hangman #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake 'hangman' seresin #my writing

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miclipse · 2 months

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ princess & the fish.

pairing: rafayel x fem! reader

synopsis: rafayel’s dream of turning into a human had miraculously come true! but things didn't turn out like he had expected…

word count: 3.7k

cw: afab! reader, rafayel is a fish (literally, but he turns into a human), reader is a princess, nicknames used (princess, your highness), rafayel struggling to walk with legs, rafayel hates toes, very slight and brief abysswalker! rafayel reference (just one line), reader finds rafayel half-naked in her room, fluff

dt: everyone that wanted fishy rafayel (aka fifi) to turn into a human + the person in my asks asking if i was continuing this.

note: reupload because apparently my post didn’t show up in the tags :( but unfortunately that means the ask got deleted as well, sorry anon :(

likes reblogs & comments appreciated! <3

this all had to be a dream, right?

…actually, no. this was most definitely a nightmare, if anything.

because why else would rafayel be standing naked in your bedroom, the fishtank he once called his home now nothing but shattered glass scattered across your study table?

there was no logical explanation for this, rafayel thought to himself while struggling to manoeuvre around your room with his new pair of human appendages.

he spent at least ten minutes stumbling over his toes while trying to make his way to your bathroom door.

…seriously, why did humans even have a need for toes? and ten of them, at that!

when rafayel had finally, finally made it to the bathroom entrance, he spent another five minutes figuring out the mechanism behind how to open it.

turns out, the grand secret behind it was that he had to push the door, not pull.

once in the bathroom, rafayel was tempted to fill up your bathtub with water and just jump in for a swim, but he figured seeing a naked man with a towel wrapped around his waist would be a little less intense for you than having to see a fully naked stranger swimming around in your tub.

thus, rafayel opted to grab a spare towel from the cabinet just under the sink, carelessly tying it around his waist to hide his indecency before you came back from your royal duties.

rafayel spent yet another ten minutes trying to walk out of your bathroom (he nearly slipped at least twice but he refuses to talk about it) and towards the nearest furniture he could sit on without it breaking due to his new physique.

looking around your bedroom to ensure that there were no maids around to witness this phenomenon, rafayel plopped himself on the edge of your soft mattress.

resting his head on his fist, his eyebrows furrowed in the process.

this was not how he imagined things to go at all.

in all honesty, rafayel was pretty satisfied living life as your pet fish. though there were many pros and cons that came along with his new domestic life, he wouldn't have wished for things to be any different than how it was.

of course, there were times when rafayel would ponder to himself how life would be for him if he were to turn into a human and be able to properly talk with you.

but out of all the exaggerated and cliche scenarios rafayel had fantasized about during his free time (which was whenever you were not around), being naked with only a fluffy white towel tied around his waist as he dreadfully waited for you to return was definitely not one of them.

well, it probably was. but it was not at the top of his list, that was for sure.

but here came the real question—

how did he even turn into a human? there was no logical or scientific reason behind how all of this was possible. rafayel had never heard others talk about stories of fishes turning into humans either.

well, unless you included ariel from that little mermaid movie. but ariel was a mermaid, so it really was not exactly the same as rafayel’s current predicament.

and besides, rafayel didn’t think he knew or angered any shady sea witches back when he lived in the waters.

there was nothing he could really do at the moment. as much as rafayel wanted to sneak to the royal library to dig out some sacred books in order to do some research about his condition, he dared not imagine the consequences he would have to face if anyone caught him sneaking out of the princess’s private chambers with only a skimpy bath towel covering him from waist-down.

just the image of him getting beheaded by the royal guards was enough to convince rafayel not to leave your private chambers, knowing it was the safest place for him to be in right now.

so his only option now was to wait for his princess to return to her chambers so that he could try to explain the situation to you in hopes that your naive little brain could understand and help him out.

he was your beloved fish afterall, so surely you would find a way to help him, right?

an ear-piercing scream echoed loudly through the room.

rafayel's eyes snapped open in panic and immediate dread, sitting up from the bed frantically only to be met with a big white thing smacking his face.

as he made a clumsy attempt to back away from the bed and nearly tripping over his newly grown toes (human toes be damned), rafayel’s eyes wandered to the big white thing that was thrown at him.

it was your polar bear plushie, he noted.

rafayel then turned to look at the door, only to see you standing there looking like a frightened kitten, now holding a thick, hard-cover book ready to launch at him once more.

it was only then rafayel realised that he had accidentally fallen asleep in your bed while waiting for you to come back.

this was not good. not good at all.

“who… who are you?!” you shrieked out, preparing yourself to throw the book in his face within the next five seconds if he didn't respond.

“me? i’m…” without even realizing it, rafayel darted his eyes to look at your study table as he fell silent, his lips pursing together.

you gave him a look of skepticism before slowly following his gaze. the man watched as you let out a horrified gasp when you saw that your fishtank was nothing but shattered glass on the table.

“fifi!”

running to your study table, you stared at what once used to be fifi's home for the past three months, now nothing but broken shards scattered all across the table.

“you! what have you done to my fifi?”

rafayel backed up into the corner of the room when you pointed an accusatory finger at him, feeling very wronged by your assumption.

what, did you think he ate your fish or something?

“woah!”

to prevent his nose from breaking tonight, rafayel quickly moved his head to the side to narrowly dodge the book in your hands that came flying towards his face.

that was a close one.

“let's use words, shall we?”

before you had a chance to frantically look around your bedroom for a new deadly weapon to fling at rafayel's handsome face, he had to think of something believable, and fast.

“i’m asking you one last time, where. is. my. fish?”

your eyes narrowed and your eyebrows furrowed as you glared at rafayel as an attempt to threaten him.

rafayel doesn't really have the heart to tell you that your glare was nothing more than a little fly trying to square up to a frog.

not the best comparison, but you get it.

“well, if you're looking for fifi, i’m right here.” rafayel responded as nonchalantly as he could, desperately trying to hold back his laughter.

you shot him an incredulous look, obviously doubtful with his claim of being your pet fish. rafayel felt absolutely scrutinized under your gaze while you looked at him up and down.

“do you think i’m five?”

“well, given how you spend your nights talking to a fish like it's your newfound soulmate, i wouldn't doubt it.”

man, rafayel wished he could describe how proud he felt when he saw your jaw slacken and you gawk at him with wide eyes.

it felt so good finally being able to talk back to you, and in a way that you understood him too. rafayel picks this over ‘glub! glub! glub!’ anyday.

you looked around the room cautiously, before your eyes landed back on rafayel.

no one really knew that you spent your nights telling your baby fishy little bedtime stories.

…not unless this man in your room was fifi himself. it was a secret solely kept between you and fifi.

…still, it wouldn't hurt to double check, right?

“oh yeah? tell me something about fifi then.” you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest. you still felt doubtful over this whole situation. “anything at all.”

i mean, it wasn't everyday that you got to see your fish turn into a grown man (that was also naked, you observed), now a head taller than you.

rafayel smirked at your demand. oh boy, where should he start? he had many, many juicy secrets that he could spill to you. ones that he knew were only shared between you and your beloved fishy (him) in these very four walls.

but he was determined to embarrass the hell out of you, so he was thinking what exactly was the most embarrassing moment you've ever told him.

maybe he should start with that one time you started weeping your eyes out in front of his tank because you thought he was sick and about to die since he wasn't eating the kibbles you poured into his tank? (you were overfeeding him).

or perhaps that one time you told him you accidentally broke your mom's jewellery box while trying on her earrings and blamed it all on the maid instead?

oh. he couldn't forget the countless amounts of times you fell asleep sprawled over the study table, your hair looking as neat as a bird’s nest, drool escaping from the corner of your lips and dripping onto the sleeve of your nightgown as you snored the night away.

but the most memorable one of them all was…

“...remember that time when you tried to cut a piece of strawberry cake and dump it into my tank?” rafayel questioned, a smirk appearing on his lips as his eyebrow quirked upwards, anticipating the kind of reaction you’d give.

the way your eyes widened in horror and the tips of your ears started to tint in a dark red hue was enough for rafayel to conclude that he had won this round.

“only fifi would know that…” you mumbled out in utter disbelief. was this man standing in front of you really your pet fish of three months?

“exactly.” rafayel puffed out his chest proudly at your words. “but if you’re not convinced, i can tell you about that time when you tried to bring my fishtank to your bed so you could hug me to sleep—”

oh. not that. you desperately cut rafayel off mid-sentence.

“stop! stop, stop!” your face felt hot, as if you just ran a whole marathon with no breaks in between.

there was an awkward and tense silence lingering in the air, with you looking at your pet fish dead in the eyes.

“s.. so it really is you, fifi…” you managed to mutter out, albeit still in disbelief that your pet fish was now a grown man a head taller than you.

rafayel doesn’t have it in him to break the devastating piece of news to you that his name was actually ‘rafayel’ before you came along.

“affirmative.” fifi— or, rafayel, nodded his head without a beat of hesitation.

you both then proceeded to awkwardly stare at each other without a word, waiting for each other to break the tense silence.

eventually, rafayel was the one that broke the silence.

“so…” he sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck, feeling like a fish out of the water (literally and figuratively). “has the shock died down yet?” he asked, hoping you were calm enough to have a proper conversation with him.

you blinked and glanced back at the broken fish tank a couple of times to make sure that rafayel was not some kind of crazy hallucination stemming from your lack of sleep recently.

“well, not really.”

“good enough for me.” rafayel casually bent down and picked up the weapons you used for your assassination attempt (your books and polar bear plushie), making his way to your study table to put the books back where they belong.

“i know you probably have a lot of questions, your highness,” rafayel’s gentle voice filled the room’s silence once again. “but i, too, don’t have the answers to them. i hope your highness can forgive me.”

he briefly glanced at you from his peripheral vision, a faint and apologetic smile ghosting his lips while he slotted the books back into the shelf.

you were still standing in the middle of the room, your eyes following rafayel’s figure while he was putting back your books. you still had the dumbfounded and surprised look from this whole ordeal.

when rafayel caught sight of you meekly nodding your head in silent agreement to his words, he took it as a sign to continue speaking.

“since you’re free tomorrow, how about your highness help a fishy out to find a way to turn me back?” he asked with a chuckle, making a final stop to your bed and gently placing your polar bear down by the pillows, now reunited with the rest of your fuzzy friends.

“how’d you know i’m—”

oh, that’s right. you told fifi at the start of this week that you had tomorrow to yourself. the realisation that you spent your nights practically telling this man (in his fish form) the a to z’s about your life started to settle in, coupled with embarrassment.

“oh.. right..” the corners of your lips twitched into an uncomfortable smile, trying to keep your cool despite the absurd situation unfolding before your very eyes.

“also, do you mind if i borrow a hoodie of yours or something? walking around with only a skimpy towel around my waist is a little uncomfortable.”

“ack!”

before you could protest, rafayel strutted towards your wardrobe and began rummaging through it like a stray mouse in search of a slab of cheese.

attempting to recollect your composure, you stammered out a remark in hopes to gain back some sort of control.

“h..hey! is this how you act in someone else’s bedchamber?”

rafayel halted his scavenger hunt for a brief moment.

“… i’ll remember for next time.”

…and he’s back to digging through your wardrobe for one of your oversized hoodies.

in the end, rafayel settled with one of your gray hoodies coupled with a pair of sweatpants he miraculously could fit in.

“what’s this?”

a look of confusion washed over his face as the fish stepped out of your bathroom, finally properly clothed.

his eyes were glued to the unfamiliar scene before him. a thick woven quilt was spread across the carpeted floor not far away from your bedframe, accompanied by two pillows and a neatly folded but thin blanket sitting on top of it.

“your new bed for the night.”

your response was as casual as inviting a friend over for a sleepover.

you gave his new bed a few soft pats, a gesture to coax him over, before making your way back to your own cozy haven.

“since you don’t fit in a fish tank anymore, i figured we have to come up with an alternative.”

rafayel watched as you tucked yourself into bed and fluffed up your pillows, getting ready to drift to dreamscape anytime from this point forward.

“yeah, well what if your maids see me?” his voice was full of skepticism as he approached his new bed, lifting up the blanket to fit into the warm cocoon.

“then i can tell them that you’re fifi.”

one of rafayel’s eyebrows quirked up in doubt and a hint of amusement.

“and will they buy it?”

“no.”

“…”

well, that was reassuring.

rafayel’s head was resting against the pillows now, completely unimpressed with your response while also trying to get used to sleeping outside of the water.

“well, but that’s something we’ll both deal with tomorrow.” you laughed nervously, leaning back against the plush pillows and turning your body so that you were laying on your side; facing rafayel with a faint smile ghosting your lips.

staring into your eyes like this made rafayel’s heart swell in an odd way. he didn’t know exactly how to put it to words, but the atmosphere of your bedroom felt dangerously intimate right now.

in fact, way too intimate for an owner and her pet fish to be having.

rafayel was no fool— he could tell how you seemed to be holding back more now that he had taken the form of a human. how the gaze you directed towards him still held a hint of love and affection amidst all of your other mixed emotions. you looked at him as if nothing had changed between the two of you, like he was still that tiny fish you had brought back home (kidnapped) three months ago.

“yeah… we should get some rest. we’ll be ransacking our brains a lot tomorrow.” rafayel agreed with a nod of his head, breaking eye contact first by turning his head to look up at the ceiling, trying to get rid of the dangerously growing intimacy dancing between the two of you.

his arm slid beneath his head to get into a more comfortable position for himself, still in disbelief that he was actually a human now.

he tried. keyword, tried to ignore the lingering feeling of not being able to bury his little fishy body in his favourite coral reef to fall asleep, and instead having to settle with sleeping on the cold hard ground with a paper-thin blanket that barely reached to the tip of his toes.

but in the end, the thought still greatly bothered him.

“tell me a bedtime story.”

…the words flew out of his mouth before rafayel could even comprehend what he was saying.

“i beg your pardon?” your expression morphed into one of astonishment.

“what? don’t you always go on and on about your day in front of my fishtank?” rafayel scoffed, turning his head back to face you. he had been kept awake against his will, forced to listen to your endless ramblings ever since you first kidnapped him.

he had grown so accustomed to your excited life updates that it was part of his daily routine now. rafayel always relied on your storytelling to help him get sleepy and prepare for bedtime, and he definitely wasn’t going to let this routine stop tonight just because he had grown a pair of legs out of thin air.

“… how about you tell me a bedtime story this time, fifi?”

your soft voice almost made rafayel wonder if he misheard what you had just said.

“hah, me? as if i have any tales that would fascinate you.” rafayel was quick to dismiss the idea of telling you a story.

one, bedtime storytelling was your thing. it always has been, and it always will be. as a fish, rafayel was habituated to just listening. i mean, he was a fish, there wasn’t much he could say to you in the first place. asking him for a sudden role reversal to play as the storyteller was beyond his expertise and comfort zone.

and two, his life out in the seas wasn’t as interesting or fascinating as whatever you were expecting.

or in other words, rafayel had no stories to tell in the first place.

“oh come on, i’m sure there’s some interesting stories about your life before you started living here.” you continued to persuade him further, trying to give him a metaphorical nudge to get him to open up.

rafayel really couldn’t resist when you talked to him in that soft and persuasive tone. you might as well grow a pair of fins and live in the ocean as a siren with how easily you allured him to obey your words.

“fine, fine, let me think of something,” the fish grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing together as he dug through his memories for anything worth mentioning to you.

entertaining a princess was hard work— rafayel was finally starting to understand the pressure of being in the presence of a princess like yourself. it was like there was an invisible expectation for him to uphold. one that was unspoken, but still anticipated in a way.

“does me being chased by an octopus sound entertaining enough for you, your highness?”

the way your smile grew, and your eyes held a hint of curiosity made rafayel let out a breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding.

so that was how he began telling you about the instance where he was chased by an octopus back when he was still adventuring around in the stray waters.

rafayel’s storytelling skills wasn’t top tiered as compared to yours. his story began awkward, his tone unnatural. this was not his forte, so he was basically a fish out of the water (once again, literally and figuratively).

however, the sounds of your soft giggles, hums of acknowledgement and occasional small nods of your head served to be the main catalyst for him to improve as the story progressed.

by the time the story reached its climax, he sounded more confident and sure of himself. he also was more natural when speaking and somehow, without even realising it, managed to lull you to dreamscape.

“...seriously? just as i was at the good part too.” rafayel muttered, feigning mild irritation when he saw that your eyes were closed, facial features relaxed, along with your breathing deep and slow.

rafayel let out a defeated sigh, lightly shaking his head before he turned his head to face back towards the ceiling again.

he finally understood how you always managed to fall asleep so quickly after telling him about your day— talking in such an excessive manner was… tiring. and now, he was feeling the growing fatigue about to consume him too.

he briefly snuck a glance at your sleeping form through his peripheral vision, the corners of his lips gently tugging upwards into a smile.

rafayel’s mind was tired, but his heart was filled to the brim with nothing but affection. affection that you had been showering him with for the past three months.

“no matter what form i take, you’ll still love me just the same, huh?”

he wasn't expecting an answer. he didn't need your verbal response to confirm his thoughts in the first place. the facts were as clear as day before his very eyes.

his vision was getting blurry, his breathing slowing down and his eyes feeling heavier with each blink.

rafayel vaguely remembered letting out one final whisper before everything fell to the darkness.

“…at least now i can finally tell you that i love you too, princess.”

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grandline-fics · 5 months

Note

Hi can i request a Luffy x fem!reader where the pair are just two dumb idiots together like the reader has a personality like his (overly enthusiastic and optimistic) and they do everything together but they both dont realize that the like eachither (bc again dumb idiots) and the crew works tgt to make them both realize and get them to confess to eachother?

DESCRIPTION: You’re just as clueless as Luffy and the crew have to intervene to make you both realise your feelings

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 1,734

A/N: Thank you for this request. I honestly didn't know how to make this work in the beginning but I'm happy with how this fell into place. Hopefully you like what I came up with

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

Once upon a time the Strawhat crew believed that their Captain was one of a kind. They took his energetic nature, clear motivation to only do what he wanted as his current mood directed without any thought beyond that, stubbornness, and still unwavering joy in the face of most things as the concoction that could only be Luffy. However they were all collectively shocked when you crash landed into their lives and promptly made them realise that everything that made Luffy his loveable yet exhausting self was also very clearly what made you you too and when you and Luffy first interacted it was like two points finally connecting, never to separate.

All their adventures before you came along seemed like such a breeze, how naive they had been in those days to consider it difficult to keep up with Luffy’s optimism and spontaneity. After you joined the crew if felt like double the work. It didn’t matter if they had eyes on one of the chaotic pair you two created because without the vigilant supervision over both of you, it only assured a disaster that could have been avoided. It never mattered to you or Luffy because at the end of the day you two would be laughing and telling the drained crew that it had worked out in the end and that there had been nothing to worry about. After a while it wasn’t the lack of thought to the crew and their wants of an easy time on an island to explore that frustrated them, it was the fact that you and Luffy still hadn’t realised you had feelings for each other and continued to act like oblivious morons every single day while also so clearly showing them and anyone else you interacted that you were two idiots in love.

“They’re doing it on purpose.” Nami muttered one day, arms folded tightly across her chest as she glared at you and Luffy running about the deck of the Sunny, laughing and chasing Chopper without a care in the world. Suddenly Luffy grabbed one of the masts and propelled himself through the air. Chopped managed to dodge but you ended up being the one Luffy tackled loudly onto the ground. There was a beat of silence before the two of you burst out into loud laughter once more, doing nothing to move out of the position you were currently in. “They have to be doing it on purpose. They’re evil geniuses.”

“Don’t give them so much credit. They’re both just blind to how they really feel.” Zoro disagreed from his spot in the shade, opening his good eye to look you and Luffy’s way. “Don’t know how many times the stupid cook and I have brought it up. Luffy just believes he loves them the same way he loves us as his crew.”

“Oh no, that’s a very different kind of love compared to what he feels for us.” Usopp said with a small shake of his head. He supposed that the only reason this whole matter hadn’t been resolved yet was because of your personality. Anyone else would have been more aware of the difference and clear feelings and actually talked things out with their Captain. Everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh of exhaustion and resignation. All of them wishing-more for their own selfish peace of mind more than anything- there was something to be done and help you both realise your feelings.

It wasn’t until a week later that the crew stopped at a new island to relax and enjoy while they waited for the Log Pose to set. While some took to resupplying the ships, others took to exploring. You weren’t exactly annoyed that you hadn’t gone with Luffy, you were just confused at why Usopp and Nami insisted on you joining them on their shopping trip and no one else coming with them. Had they had a fight with some of the others on the crew that you weren’t aware of? You certainly hoped not, you didn’t like the crew fighting amongst themselves.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Nami whispered to Usopp as they remained a couple paces away from you. Operation: Divide and Conquer might have had a good name but the strategy didn’t seem all that good except try and get you to confess to Luffy by either making you jealous or straight up lying. If they couldn’t get through to you, they would try the same tactic with Luffy.

“It has to!” Usopp hissed back, quickly throwing you a nervous smile when you looked over your shoulder with a curious tilt of your shoulder. “Hey let’s go in here!” He called out in a panic, pointing to the closest store. You stopped and shrugged, going along with whatever the sniper wanted. You had nothing to buy on this trip so you were just here for company and fun. Still this wasn’t what you’d thought would be on his or Name’s shopping list.

“Is someone getting married?” You asked, looking around the store filled with elegant gowns, robes and suits. Suddenly your eyes lit up as you hurried to hug Nami and Usopp tightly, so this was why they had insisted on you coming with them. You couldn’t fully understand why they were being so secretive but it didn’t matter given how overcome with happiness for them. “You guys! I’m so happy for you both! Have you told the others?! Are you getting married on the island?”

“WHAT?! NO! ” Nami blurted out in shock while Usopp could only shriek at the implication. “We’re not getting married!”

“Oh…that’s a shame.” Your smile fell slightly. “I always thought you two made a nice couple. Guess I was wrong. So who is getting married?” You asked, staring intently on your friends who stammered and struggled to think of something. Operation: Divide and Conquer was crashing and burning around them and their brains all but blanked as together they rambled together while you patiently listened. Neither of them really knew what they’d told you or knew if it made any sort of sense but you seemed to accept it and continued with your day with the frazzled pair.

When you returned to the Sunny later that day you went to your usual perch of the railing near Sunny’s head. Silently you thought over what Usopp and Nami told you and were beginning to work it out in your head when Luffy appeared beside you with a bright grin. “Hey, what’s got you so frustrated looking?” He asked, oblivious to the rest of the crew on the deck; all of them pretending to go about their business when they were only making sure they were close enough to hear.

“I’m thinking about Usopp.” You explained in a dazed tone, absently running your fingers along your bottom lip, deep in thought. Luffy frowned slightly while different sets of eyes glanced Usopp’s way, all confused about what he and Nami did while they were alone with you. “I’m trying to work out this wedding.”

“Usopp’s getting married?” Luffy asked. On the one hand he was happy but on the other hand he thought Usopp would have told him personally. “To who?”

“That’s what I’m trying to work out.” You mumbled before taking a deep breath, deciding to start from the beginning. “Usopp’s enemy wants him to marry their princess to avoid a great battle but he doesn’t want a fight or to get married so he needs to make them think he’s already married so they don’t get angry right? He needs Sanji to cater the wedding, Brook to preform the music, and Zoro to be his bodyguard so they’re out. Nami said because she’s giving Usopp the money for the wedding that’s the only favour she’s doing and won’t marry him as well because that’s not fair. Usopp said he can’t marry Franky or Robin because they’re like his parents and Chopper’s a reindeer and that’s weird. Which leaves us.”

The more you explained the situation the more Usopp and Nami shrank towards the floor out of despair and embarrassment. Why had you believed that nonsense enough to now relay it to the entire crew who were now looking at them in bafflement. Through it all Luffy hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. He didn’t want Usopp to be forced to be married to someone he didn’t like but it didn’t stop him from quickly turning on his heel and looking to his friend. “Usopp I’ll marry you!”

“You can’t marry me dumbass!” Usopp shouted back making Luffy glare, all but standing in front of you to block you from Usopp’s stare.

“Well you’re not allowed to marry them. So it’s me or the princess.” Luffy told him with defiance in his eyes.

“Why can’t he marry me?” You asked curiously while getting to your feet, watching Luffy blink as he only now considered his fierce sense of protectiveness and possessiveness towards you.

“Because I don’t want him to?” He suggested with a shrug. “I don’t want you to marry him, I don’t like it.”

“Well I don’t like you being married to Usopp.” You added, voicing your own reluctance and unhappiness at the thought of Luffy marrying…well anyone. There was a silent exchange between you and Luffy as though you were communicating in your own way through a look alone. Together you both grinned with a faint blush creeping across your cheeks as you both whipped your head towards Usopp and declared in unison. “Usopp you’re marrying the princess.”

While it hadn’t been the grand romantic epiphany the crew had been expecting to witness, they could tell that a shift between you both had occurred. There was something a little more intimate between you both while you both remained your happy, energetic selves. No one on the crew had the heart to tell either of you that Usopp had been completely lying about the arranged marriage so they never mentioned it again. They were however all in agreement that if it ever was brought up it was to be brushed aside and explained as a story Usopp had been thinking of writing and nothing more. But from the looks of things slowly developing between you and Luffy they could all see that it was shaping up to having a happily ever after.

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece x reader #luffy x you #luffy x reader #one piece x you #one piece fic #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #straw hat luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy #one piece luffy #monkey d luffy #luffy one piece #luffy op #mugiwara no luffy #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d luffy x reader

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leqonsluv3r · 6 months

Text

bf!leon kennedy

—ID!leon kennedy x soft!croquette reader, a headcanon list

masterlist taglist

an: i cannot be controlled anymore. i promised i’d make it a series and im delivering slowly but surely. have faith in me lol, im doing my best to get requests out. i have them closed currently just so i can catch up and write them all in a timely manner. enjoy ID!bf leon kennedy in the mean time.

bf!leon kennedy who is getting too old for the soft cream sheets on your bed, he wants to just rip them off and demand something more mature. but he knows you wouldn’t like that. you practically yell at him anytime he tosses one of your stuffed animals too hard off the bed.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you out to dinner, makes sure your happy. he knows he’s not around as much as he should be so he takes the time when he can to treat you special. your his girl, he needs to.

bf!leon kennedy who makes sure your sleeping constantly when your next to him, even when he wakes up from nightmares. your scent of jasmine and laundry detergent makes him at ease, proves that everything is real and he’s really here with you.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you pack him notes in his lunch when he heads to the agency everyday. your cursive hand writing is sloppy but adorable, always writing for him to have a good day and that you love him. he’s just happy he has you to remind him when things get hard.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you press kisses all over him and hug him to death whenever he comes home unscathed from a mission or just a regular day at the agency. he loves when you show your love for him, always making him feel special and good. like all the things he had endured at this point have been worth it.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you shopping on his days off, not happy he has to stand around and hold your bags. but when you try your cute little skirts and dresses on, it makes it a tiny bit worth it. you would look pretty in a paper bag and he would still look at you all the same.

bf!leon kennedy who has your morning and nighttime skincare routine down, he watches you do it every morning and every night, never knowing that so many pieces came with you looking so pretty and gorgeous for him. but anything to make you happy, even if you don’t need all that to be beautiful in his eyes.

bf!leon kennedy who watches you organize your books on your bookshelf, clean up your shared space of your guys shared bedroom. all your little knickknacks and jewelry and frilly clothes. he doesn’t know how you do it, or why you like such a mundane looking room, but if it pleases you, it’s fine with him.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you crawl on-top of him in the early hours of the morning before he goes to work and press kisses everywhere. your lips pressing across his jaw, his cheeks, his neck and his lips. any place your pretty little self can reach, he’s letting you do it. you waking him up like this is another reason why his heart is so enamored with you in the first place.

bf!leon kennedy who helps you when you need to wash all your stuffed animals and sheets, helping you with chores. he likes being domestic with you, it makes him feel like he’s normal, like this is a normal life. like this matters, like his life has purpose with you.

bf!leon kennedy who drives you to the park or to the plant nursery so you can be around nature. he loves how you admire each plant anytime your out like this, the way you care for such things. it makes him happy to see you enjoying such a small part of life, gives him hope.

bf!leon kennedy who celebrates your guys three year anniversary, buying you anything and everything you want. taking you out all day. he cooks for you and makes your favorite dish, he buys you pink roses. he lets you dress in your dress and be all pretty for him.

bf!leon kennedy who eats with you, talking with you like he normally did everyday. but this time it’s different and leon is going to prove just how much he loves you. he slides a box out and watches your face change. you open the box and feel your eyes water when you see a diamond engagement ring.

bf!leon kennedy who watches as you nod rapidly, pretty tears and say yes over and over again. he slips it on your finger and smiles softly at you, watching as you practically hop over the table and hug and kiss him like your life depends on it. you smother him and kisses, tangling your sweet mouth with his.

bf!leon kennedy, who is very proud to not call himself your boyfriend anymore. but your fiancé and he’s proud of that title. of making you so happy and obligating to do that every single day for the rest of his life. he wants you everyday, every night and everywhere in between. he’s found his safe haven in this world, and it’s you. it always will be.

an: thank you for reading, reposting and likes are greatly appreciated. i’m trying to keep my posting schedule up and should have requests open when i’m finished with all the ones in my drafts. thank you guys for being patient with me. i love you all, kisses. xx

490 notes · View notes

dantenyhpmir · 2 months

Text

Boots

Pairing; Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Plot; You staying at Ghosts place and see his uniform for the first time

Warnings; CNC, humiliation, Oral M Receiving

Word Count; 2,574

Dante Nyhpmir Master List

So much music you'd never heard of. It was odd dating someone of a completely different generation than you. Why he felt compelled to collect records in the first place was a little beyond you but it made him happy. He had showed you how to start the gramophone before, you'd do your best to remember after,

“Finally” you thought, recognizing an album you actually know. One that would fit the mood you're looking for. You don't grab the actual center, he showed you how to hold it to not damage the vinyl as you bend over. Making sure the needle made contact all while not realizing he had come back into the room. His eyes fixated on you while you put the other record back. Sitting on the floor.

A scream lets out of you when you turn around to see him. You can't help it. It catches you so off guard.

“Holy fuck” you let out as you catch your breath, “you weren't kidding about your uniform….”

It was daunting. Full tactical gear, all black, combat boots, gloves. Everything looked so heavy.

And the mask.

It highlighted his eyes. Eye contact felt more intense. More extreme. The same feeling you get when you know someone's watching you, the instinct to look back. The evolutionary impulse to find what's hunting you.

Were you being hunted?

He stayed there for a minute. No words.

You forgot how big he was. In those moments realizing how quiet he could be.

What the people who had the misfortune to run into him felt, the last thing they saw before they died.

His eyes.

Burning holes into yours.

You felt stuck in place until he finally took his first step.

Simon never ran during any scenes. He didn't move quickly until you were actually fucking. Every moment of build up was slow. Discerning.

Each step he took you felt in your gut as he got closer.

And closer.

You have to at least to try to meet him but as you get up he cuts you off

“Stay”

You sit back down, slowly.

There is no asking.

You recognize a command when you hear one. This is not Simon in front of you. This is not the man that picks you up and takes you for dinner. This is not who brings you flowers and asks you about your day. This is not the gentleman that holds your hand under tables and grabs your thigh in the car. This is not the man you catch staring at you like he's the luckiest person in the world to have you. It's not the man who listens intentionally and shows you how much he respects your opinion. This was not a man of egalitarianism.

Ghost was different.

“Good girl” he says as he takes a seat on the couch across from you. Staring at you.

“Wow” you let out “I didn't expect it to be so….”

He stares, not helping you find words

“Formidable” you finally finished.

“You asked what my uniform looks like”

“I did” you swallow

Beat.

“Do you–”

“Take it off,” he interrupts.

You hold onto your shirt, your eyes asking the question.

“All of it,” he answers.

Sitting up on your knees you remove your trousers, and gliding back down you pull the shirt over your head. His eyes never leave you. Trained on you.

As if they hadn't been undressing you all night.

With your shirt tossed aside your eyes meet but he's not satisfied.

“All.

Of.

It.”

He commands.

“I'll sit back down” You say as you stand up at a leisurely pace, bending over sliding your panties down your legs as they highlight every inch. Making eye contact with him again once they reach your ankles and tossing them aside with a flick of your foot. Without hurry, making your way back to the floor.

It was beautiful watching his chest lift under the tactical gear.

He leans forward, elbows over his knees holding his hands

“Come here”

Beat.

Your body forgets to work sometimes before it snaps back to what's happening. To just respond.

To just let go.

Taking your time to crawl over to him,

“Eyes up” he says with each step you take before you find yourself between his legs.

His hands hold your face. The tension in his fingers is palpable, you feel him holding himself back already. Managing to gently move hair out of the way of your face as his thumb runs itself over your cheek.

Why does this scare you?

Why does this feel like a threat?

Why are you so far gone by now?

Your hair needs to be out of the way for the collar he takes out of one of the many pockets.

“Sit down and straighten your back”

You listen, you're already locked in but the collar proves that point.

He's not the gentleman you know.

You're not the progressive feminist for a night. You're not the woman who fights back at the second site of disrespect. You're not the person who has to navigate each individual situation and how it will affect the outcome of your day to day. You don't have to think of anyone else.

You don't have to think at all.

You're just a body.

His body to play with.

A pet.

It feels so good tightly wrapped around your neck. Both hands holding onto your face as he kisses you, there's a way he kisses you that always takes over. Like his whole body does it, the hold you feel when his lips finally let go but linger next to yours as you hear his breath.

Hearing him breathe always helped you let go. You're just bodies. Exploring each other, matching his breath before his hands tighten up and toss it aside.

He sits back.

“Show me how you play with it”

His arms spread across the couch as you sit between his legs, directly looking at him. Remembering eye contact until your instructions are presented.

“Sir?”

“Show. Me. How you play with it” he adjusts before you clue in. Seeing the bulge you think could rip through his fatigues.

Your lips press against themselves, excited to play with him.

To please him as your hands undo his belt, zipper and adjust to finally let his cock breathe.

Before you drown it in the back of your throat.

Your hand pulls down your face as you lick your palm before your tongue pulls itself up over his cock. No friction to be had as your mouth moves up and down. Feeling him get harder and harder with every slow thrust of your lips and grip of your palm. It was the best feeling, his body couldn't lie, how happy you'd make him with each twist of your hand finding rhythm as your head would escape to the tip. Your tongue wrapping around and centering that sensitive head. Even making your lips wet and kissing it softly before plunging back down.

Your favourite challenge.

To take all of him.

“Eyes up” he says again

Your lids flick up, doe eyes matching his cold ones. You can't smile but your eyes can as your melancholic energy breathes new life into him. Tightening your grip and then releasing, your hand working in unison with your mouth and tongue. Each one taking care of him from the base to the very top.

His body didn't lie, you didn't know how to explain it but you knew exactly what his body needed. So in tune with how to please him, harder and harder, until

“Do better”

You halt mid lick, looking up at him confused before finishing the lap.

Your eyes don't smile. Just concern.

Maybe you forgot to make eye contact. You would get lost in pleasing him at times. That's probably what he meant.

Fixing your mistake as you look up at him, tip of your tongue caressing around the bottom of the head and kissing before going back down with your mouth and hand. This time, eyes locked on.

But his head never falls back, pupils never roll into his skull. Just looking at you.

How can someone look at another in a condescending way? How do his eyes say that?

His hand finds a way around the back of your head and lifts it up off his cock before you once again hear.

“Do. Better”

As he lowers you back down by your hair, eyes trained on him.

You know he's excited. You feel it in your hands. You know how to play with him. You know how to please him.

He's playing with you.

Give him more.

Your body lights up, there's a difference between autopilotting a part of your body and giving over your body. You hold your weight, as you take him with your entirety. All of your energy in your body is being thrown together.

He would kiss you with his whole body.

You would do the same.

But still, if not worse this time,

“I told you to do better”

His boot finds a way to your shoulder, your scared eyes lock into those cold ones before he kicks you back onto the floor. Off your balance.

It takes you a minute to compose yourself before he calls you back over. His boot extended and his condescending lean on his knees again.

“Lick it”

His eyes point to you, his boot and then back to you.

Beat.

“Sir?”

“You can follow instructions, can't you?”

You nodd.

It's hard to get words out.

Find your knees, find your ground.

Even you leaning over isn't good enough as he interrupts

“Slower”

Before your mouth is inches away

“Eyes up”

Your eyes meet his as your tongue falls out of your mouth and head tilts, dragging your tongue behind on the foot of his boot.

Back and forth.

Over and over again.

His eyes smile.

“Good girl”

Your tongue makes its way around your mouth, almost reminding itself what it feels like. The texture isn't normal to you before hearing

“Did I say you could stop?”

You continue.

Back and forth.

Over and over.

Your head drags your tongue, looking at him. Relishing it.

“Ass up”

You do what you're told. You're well trained.

Mindless.

“So you can follow instructions”

As he pulls away. Your head falls forward as if he pulled out a chair from underneath you before his hand reaches down.

His finger finds the piece of the collar to pull you back up, tightly. Holding you in place as he moved the mask up to expose his lips.

“Open your mouth”

God he had a beautiful jawline.

His other hand gives your face a light slap.

“Just when you were doing so well.”

God it felt good.

“Let's try this again. Open. Your. Mouth”

Your eyes meet his as your chin falls.

“Let's see your tongue.”

Gravity pulls the tongue out of your mouth without hesitation.

“Good girl” he says as he spits directly in your mouth, his index finger under your chin to close it.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you” you manage to get out

“Thank you, what?”

“Thank you Sir”

His hand slides to grab your face, pressing your cheeks together before letting go

“Are you ready to try again?”

You nod as your body floats back to him. You dive into him. Both hands holding on and twisting with each thrust of your mouth. Your tongue does not leave any spot untouched. The delicate head being caressed and kissed before plunging back down. Feeling him hit the back of your throat and keeping him there. Your eyes don't leave him. Back and forth repeating, hitting a bit harder each time. The gagging muffles of your whines sounded so sweet to him. Reveling in watching your eyes water and drag the liner down your face. Weak enough to have his eyes roll in the back of his head. Finally hearing him moan at the new pace.

God you lived to make him moan. To watch him breathe.

To use your body.

His hands grabbed onto your cheeks.

To fuck your face.

“Fuck” he whined gripping on tighter and tighter, moving his hips back and forth to hit that back wall of your throat.

“You're such a fun little toy”

Faster and faster,

Over and over again.

You were not in control anymore. You never really were. Your tongue couldn't keep up with this pace now. The only thing it could do was hang out of your mouth and guide his cock as it dove deep in your mouth.

“You have such a pretty little fucking mouth”

His hands tighten in your hair, your eyes watering. Almost crossed in a daze as your eyelids fall half asleep.

Taking him.

“Its so fun shutting you up”

Over.

And.

Over.

Faster.

And.

Faster.

“Eyes up”

You don't hear.

His hands tighten in your hair

“Eyes….”

Your lids open, pupils match with his.

Your cum drunk eyes matching his rage filled ones.

“....Up”

He says before you feel him cum. Before you hold all of it.

His grunt when he cums is one of your favourite sounds in the world.

He needs a moment to catch his breath before he takes his hands and guides your head off his cock.

“Hold” he says in an exhaustive breath.

Your lips glide off his cock and close. His hands holding your face, eyes locked together. Breathing in unison before he gives you your next command.

“Open”

Your jaw falls, your tongue hangs as he watches himself drip out of your mouth. Falling on your naked body.

A smile creeps across his face before he pulls the mask down back over his jawline. His hands holding your face delicately again, his thumb makes its way to sit on your tongue and whip some of it out then moving to your chin to do the same favor. Pressing harder.

“Aren't you a sight”

You nod. All words left your body so long ago. You can't muster them anymore.

He kisses you, with his entire body.

“You're so beautiful”

His hands pull the back of your head into him. Still tight.

He's being loving but the coarseness isn't through.

Merely a break.

He gives you a moment before pulling you.

“Knees” he says “on your knees”

It's hard to hold your body up, he feels like he's doing it while he braces your neck with one hand as the other trails down your body. Over your breasts that his cum has dripped over, past your midriff and just along where your thighs meet your pelvis and finally over your lips, finally between them, finally buried inside you.

“Jesus Christ”

He would drown in you. First in your mouth and eventually your cunt.

It was a long night ahead.

“What a damp little slit.”

His hand tightened around your neck as the other explored your walls, soaked.

“I'm not done playing with you” he threatened

“Still so much of my toy to play with” as his fingers hooked inside you

His hand lessened around your neck as you caught your breath, awake again.

“What do you say with all that air I gave you?”

“Thank you” you muster out, looking at him with the stains rolled over your cheeks

“Thank you what?”

“Thank you Sir”

“Good girl”

He kisses, hard. On your open mouth.

“That's my good little pet”

Dante Nyhpmir Master List

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #ghost #ghost x you #cod modern warfare #ghost cod #cod x reader

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lilacmingi · 1 month

Text

HADES (DISNEY VILLAINS AU)

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Hades!Hongjoong x fem!reader

Word count: 2,830

Note: This imagine is part of my Disney Villains series from 2022 on Wattpad! 😈 Also!! I have a new rule in place. No spam-liking please! Reading through a series and liking the post when you’re done is fine, but don’t go through and like multiple imagines one after the next consecutively please! I don’t wanna get shadowbanned </3 if you wanna save multiple imagines to read later, like my masterlist instead!

It was a boring day in the Underworld. The flow of souls coming in was lower than usual, which meant Hongjoong didn't have much to do. His poilished, black nails tapped against the arm of his throne as he stared blankly into the flames before him.

He was bored to death.

He snapped his fingers, his two lackeys appearing in a puff of black smoke.

"You called?" Wooyoung asked, brushing his hair away from his face.

"It's a slow day." Hongjoong responded.

"We noticed." San added, suppressing a yawn.

"I was thinking we could have some fun in the mortal realm today. What do you think, boys?"

The duo shared a look, mischievous smirks tugging at their lips.

Hongjoong took that as a yes.

The three disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, appearing in the mortal realm somewhere away from the crowds. Hongjoong was quick to disguise himself in his human form. His extravagant, black attire was replaced with cream-colored robes to blend in. He looked at the two stood across from him.

"What have you got?" He asked, indicating for the two to show him their disguises.

In an instant, the pair turned into two children.

A wicked smile spread across Hongjoong's features.

"Perfect. No one ever suspects children."

"What do you want us to do, boss?" San inquired.

"Go wreak havoc. Steal something, harass the elderly, let the livestock loose in the streets." He ordered, listing off things that would cause disturbances.

"You got it." The two saluted Hongjoong before scurrying off into town leaving their boss to watch the chaos ensue.

You strode through town, perusing the different carts lined up along the dusty streets. You didn't need anything in particular, you just wanted to get out, stretch your legs, and get some fresh air.

Suddenly, you heard a commotion from somewhere behind you. You turned around to see what was going on, and when you did, two little boys ran by nearly knocking you off your feet as they did so. You stumbled a bit but was quick to regain your balance as you saw the two kids run over to a nearby fruit cart. You couldn't help but notice one of them going to steal an apple. Just when you were about to speak up, the lady running the small business began shouting at them, shooing them away. You frowned, feeling sorry for the two boys.

"Excuse me." You called out, stepping towards the fruit cart. "What's going on?"

"These two ruffians tried to steal my goods!" She spoke harshly, her voice a bit gravelly.

"They were just hungry, I'm sure."

"Lady, do you see the chaos these two have caused?" She pointed to the other vendors' carts lining the street. Some appeared to have things knocked off, the sellers trying to gather their goods out of the streets.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to. They were probably just having fun and weren't paying attention. Right?" You asked, turning to the children.

They both nodded.

You then bent down to their level, looking at the two of them. One had short, choppily cut black hair, the other longer brown hair with subtle waves. They both looked to be around the same age, maybe seven years old. You weren't too sure. Either way, you weren't going to leave them without making sure they were alright and out of trouble.

"Where are your parents?" You asked.

Neither said a word.

"Do you have parents?"

The one with brown hair nodded while the one with choppy black hair shook his head. You weren't sure what to think of that, so you chose to overlook it.

"Are you guys hungry? I'll get you something."

The two shared a glance before nodding.

You stood up to face the lady running the fruit stand.

"I'd like two apples, please."

"For these two delinquents?" She asked, harshly.

"I'm giving you business, so why does it matter who I give them to?"

The vendor pressed her lips together, knowing she couldn't possibly refuse a paying customer.

"Alright." She huffed, taking the money from me.

"Thank you." You gave her a friendly smile, picking two apples from the woven baskets on the cart and handing them to the boys.

"Thank you, Miss." The brown-haired boy smiled, his cheeks round like bread.

Hongjoong, who was watching from a distance witnessed the whole thing. He felt something in his chest when he saw how kind you were towards San and Wooyoung. It was an odd feeling he hadn't felt before—ever. He wanted to talk to you right that instant. He then stepped out of his hiding spot and began walking over.

"San! Wooyoung!" He called.

You lifted your gaze at the unfamiliar voice, your eyes landing on a man with straight, black hair. He had a prominent nose that came to a point; it was dainty and reminded you of a fairy. He hurried over to the two children, crouching down to their height.

"There you two are." He spoke.

His voice was unique. It was a bit higher than you expected, but so light and airy. You could listen to him talk all day.

"Oh. Do you know them?" You inquired.

"Yes. I'm their... older brother, actually."

"Ah. I thought they were lost so I bought them apples. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. That was very kind of you." He went quiet for a moment before piping up. "I'm Hongjoong. That's San and that's Wooyoung."

"I'm Y/n." You introduced yourself.

"Nice to meet you." Hongjoong smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Miss Y/n." The boy with the choppy hair, who you now know as San, thanked you.

"Yeah. You're really nice." Wooyoung spoke up.

"Thank you, boys. You're awfully kind."

"You were so nice to my brothers, I feel like I should do something for you in return. You know, as a way to say thank you." Hongjoong spoke.

"That's alright. You don't have to do anything for me."

"I insist."

"Well, if you must."

"Would you be interested in a visit to the theater?"

"The theater?"

He nodded with a smile.

"That's a very nice offer."

"Is it something you'd be interested in?"

"I would."

"Wonderful." He beamed.

His smile was incredible. His teeth were stunning and so white. You'd never seen anyone with a smile as perfect as his.

"We could meet by the colosseum tomorrow when the sun reaches the top of that mountain." He pointed.

"That works." You nodded.

"Are you going on a date with my brother?" Wooyoung asked.

"Date?" You parroted.

You and Hongjoong both started denying it.

"No, no, no." You shook your head.

"I'm just thanking her for being nice to you two." Hongjoong clarified.

The two boys gave both of you skeptical looks.

"Alright, well we should be going." Hongjoong spoke up, pushing his brothers forward. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The next day, you met Hongjoong outside the colosseum as promised. You put on your best robes, wanting to impress the handsome man. It seemed he was thinking the same as you, because he showed up wearing nice robes as well.

"You look wonderful." He complimented.

"So do you."

"Ah. Really?" He asked, pushing his hair back.

"Yes. Very handsome." You told him.

"Shall we head inside?" He nodded towards the colosseum entrance.

"Of course."

He offered you his hand, which you gratefully took and allowed him to lead you inside.

The both of you got seated and waited for the chairs around you to fill up.

"I love coming to the theater." Hongjoong commented. "It's a nice break from work."

"What do you do?" You asked.

"Oh." He seemed caught off guard by the question. "I'm a... supervisor."

"A supervisor? What do you supervise?"

"The dead."

"Oh. So you're a coroner?"

"Yes, exactly! That's what it's called." He nodded.

"Don't you get creeped out being so close to dead bodies?"

"Well, I don't really deal with the bodies."

You gave him an odd look. "Isn't that what a coroner does?"

"Oh, um, I mean, it's not so bad. I just look at the body and document the person's time of death, so I'm not around them for too long."

"Hm." You hummed in response.

"The show's starting." Hongjoong pointed.

The two of you continued to spend time together for the next few weeks. Hongjoong took you to incredible places and did many fun and exciting things with you. It was never boring when you were with him. Always something new.

The both of you walked hand in hand as Hongjoong took you home. Your hair was adorned with flowers Hongjoong had placed in there. You had even placed a few in his locks as well. You had just gotten back from watching the sun set on a hill overlooking the city. It was the most perfect evening ever.

"Thank you for today." You told him, leaning your head over on his shoulder.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you had a good time."

"It was wonderful, as usual. You always seem to find a way to one-up the previous date."

"Oh, so these are dates now?" He asked with a smirk.

"Of course they are. That visit to the theater was a date too."

"How so?" Hongjoong inquired.

"I know you didn't just invite me to the theater to thank me for being nice to your brothers."

"Alright, you got me." He chuckled. "I needed an excuse to see you again."

"So you admit you were smitten from the start?"

"You could call it that." He smiled, fondly. "What about you?"

"I was quite taken with you too." You admitted.

"I knew it." He grinned.

"Liar." You laughed, shoving him playfully.

Your heart sank just slightly when you saw your home come into view. You always hated saying goodbye to Hongjoong, but you knew you'd be see each other again soon—you always did.

The two of you came to a stop at your front entrance.

"I don't want to leave." You told him.

He smiled a bit as he brought his hand up to cup your cheek.

"I know."

"Thank you again for the wonderful afternoon."

"Of course, darling." He smiled warmly, his thumb caressing your cheek, sending a rush of tingles throughout your body. "Now go get some rest."

You nodded as Hongjoong's hand fell from your face.

"Oh. There's something that I want to tell you. It's pretty important. Can you meet me at the building overlooking the botanical garden tomorrow after sunset?"

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"It's not the right time."

"And tomorrow is?" You inquired.

"Yes. So, will you meet me there?"

"Of course, Hongjoong."

"Thank you."

You stepped inside, glancing back at the charming man.

"Sweet dreams." He whispered.

You gave him a small wave before closing the door.

It took you a while to get to sleep that night, as all you could think of was what Hongjoong might want to say to you. He could want to officially ask you to be his girlfriend, that would make you really happy. Or it could be something else. You tried not to think of anything negative as you finally forced yourself to go to sleep.

You approached the building Hongjoong asked you to meet him at. Your hands were slightly clammy as you headed to the balcony in the back. The sun had gone down, bathing the scenery in its cloak of darkness. You had wondered why Hongjoong wanted to meet at night, but chose not to question it.

You admired the beautiful nighttime scene and the way the bright moon cast shadows over the trees and sculptures in the garden sitting below. It was somewhat eerie but beautiful at the same time.

"You showed." A voice spoke up.

You turned to see Hongjoong approaching.

"Of course I showed." You smiled. "I told you I would."

"Thank you."

"You said you wanted to tell me something?"

"I do." He confirmed. "Well, I also want to show you something."

You stood and waited, watching as he took in a deep breath.

"Watch this." He instructed with a smile.

He held his hand out, a rose engulfed in blue flames appearing out of thin air.

You stared at it in awe, unable to comprehend how he conjured the flower out of nothing and also why it wasn't wilting under the flames.

"How did you do—" You were cut off when you looked up to see Hongjoong standing in front of you, but he looked different—very different.

His normal black hair was now blue, matching flames of the same hue were coming off the ends of his locks. His outfit had changed as well. Instead of his usual cream-colored robes was now an odd-looking black outfit made of some sort of leather. He donned a large feathery coat on top with a black skull on his shoulder. It was nothing like you had ever seen before. The outfit wasn't the only thing that changed. His brown eyes were now covered in heavy eye makeup, black shadows smudged around his intense eyes.

His entire look was, in a word, otherworldly.

"Hongjoong?" You asked, shocked by his new appearance, unconsciously taking a step back as the rose fell from your hand.

"Y/n, just let me explain before you freak out, okay?"

You took in a deep breath, staying silent and allowing him to continue.

"I'm not actually human. I'm god of the underworld."

Your eyes widened in shock and mild horror.

I've been going on dates with the god of death? You thought in disbelief.

"I couldn't come right out and tell you because I didn't want you to run away. I wanted you to get to know me for me."

Hearing him say that made you pause for a moment. He's right. You probably would have ran away if he came out looking like he did.

"I'm still the same Hongjoong, I just look a little different is all."

He had a point. It's not like he's some monster. He's still Hongjoong.

"So, San and Wooyoung aren't your brothers?" You asked.

"No." He shook his head. "They're my henchman."

"And you're not a coroner." You said it like a statement.

"No."

You let out a short sigh. "I can't be mad at you. You had good intentions. Also, you did kinda tell the truth about your profession. You do supervise the dead."

"That I do." He chuckled. "So, does this change the way you feel about me?"

You smiled softly. "No."

Hongjoong took a few steps forward, reaching his hand out. His jewelry-clad fingers glimmered under the moonlight as he waited for you grab hold of his hand.

"Your nails." You commented, glancing at his black colored fingernails.

"You like them?"

You nodded. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, sweetheart, things in the Underworld are a bit different than they are here."

"I imagine so." You said, glancing at Hongjoong's outfit.

"Maybe I can show you one day."

"You can take me there?" You asked.

"Of course. I'm king, so I make the rules."

You chuckled.

Hongjoong pulled you close, his arms wrapping securely around your waist. Your breathing quickened as you realized how close your faces were.

"Will you be my queen, Y/n?"

"What?" You choked out.

"Not now, but someday. Will you be my queen and rule the Underworld by my side?"

"That's a difficult question to answer at the moment."

"Then let's start with girlfriend first. How's that?"

"Good. That I can handle." You nodded with a light chuckle.

Hongjoong smiled, his thumb gently ghosting over your bottom lip.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice so gentle it made your heart flip.

All you could do was nod your head.

The gap between your mouths was closed instantly as Hongjoong's lips met yours, nearly taking your breath away. His hands briefly squeezed your sides as his lips pressed harder against your own.

"You're so beautiful, darling." He murmured before diving back in for another kiss, his hands roaming your waist as yours stayed firmly planted on his shoulders.

You pulled away, gazing into his eyes.

"I don't want this night to end." You admitted, your fingers playing with the black feathers of Hongjoong's coat.

"It doesn't have to. We can always take a walk through the garden or gaze at the stars."

"That sounds romantic... but first I'd like to try that kiss again." You grinned.

"As you wish, my dear."

When Hongjoong asked you about ruling the Underworld with him, it caught you off guard. However, the idea of being by his side made you happy and the thought of it was rather appealing. Maybe one day you would accept his offer. As of right now, you'd like to take things slow and just have a normal relationship—well, as normal as a relationship with the god of the Underworld could be.

Seonghwa: Maleficent ⟡ Yunho: Captain Hook ⟡ Yeosang: Evil Queen ⟡ San: Cruella de Vil ⟡ Mingi: Dr. Facilier ⟡ Wooyoung: Hyena ⟡ Jongho:

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