#CAST IRON MURDER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incognit0slut · 5 months

Text

DARK DESIRES

Last part of kinktober | main masterlist

ghostface!spencer x fem!reader; dubcon, knife play, sensory deprivation, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, rough sex

A twisted encounter with the masked killer roaming in your neighborhood had you questioning your morals because as it turned out, you were more attracted to him than you let on.

words: 6335

a/n: this fic might not be everyone's cup of tea. IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, DO NOT ENGAGE. Anyway, thank you for the amount of love everyone has sent me through this short series. I appreciate it❤️

(find my ghostface reid edit here and here)

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER you had with the masked killer was at home. You were in your living room, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the television until the news captured your attention. You watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the unfolding report detailed a series of gruesome murders, each committed by a mysterious figure concealed behind a chilling mask.

"The armed suspect remains at large as law enforcement intensifies efforts for apprehension," the newscaster's voice declared. "Victims have sustained multiple stab wounds, with survivors recounting a chilling detail of a mysterious call from an unknown number before each attack. Citizens are urgently requested to report any suspicious phone activity."

As you sat there engrossed, a sense of dread began to coil around you. The details of the gruesome murders had been haunting enough, but a chilling realization gripped you as the camera panned across the crime scenes. Your eyes widened as the news footage revealed a recognizable building. That was the local library a few blocks away from your house.

A shiver went down your spine, and a cold unease settled in the pit of your stomach, as you realized that one of the victims was the young teenage boy who volunteered at the town's library every weekend. It then dawned on you with chilling clarity—a serial killer was lurking in your neighborhood.

The second time you saw the masked killer, his face was plastered around town. Ghostface. That was what they called him. The once-anonymous menace had transformed into a chilling icon that echoed through hushed conversations and whispered warnings. His mask, a pale and expressionless countenance with hollow eyes, exuded an unsettling aura of anonymity. It was what you saw in every corner; materializing on posters, shop windows, and even billboards.

Beware of Ghostface!

It was ironic. For someone who was murdering people with his bare hands, your community was giving him too much attention. It wasn't until you saw a group of well-dressed people, who clearly weren't from around here, that you realized how serious this situation was.

When the FBI arrived, you knew it was no longer a local matter, but a national concern. There was reassurance in their presence, in the sense that the full force of specialized agents was now focused on apprehending the killer that haunted the streets. But despite their formidable presence, against all expectations, the masked killer continued to pursue more victims.

You couldn't help but wonder every time someone you knew was reported dead—were these people even doing their job right? What were they doing here when they couldn't arrest one person when they came in a full pack?

You never really noticed these agents, although you did sometimes see them lurking around shops and houses to ask questions. You didn't really give them much attention, until that one night when you walked back from work and saw a figure leaning casually against a sleek, black SUV adorned with government markings.

He was standing alone, arms crossed and eyes focused on you as you slowly stepped closer because the only way to your house was to pass this street. He was clad in the quintessential FBI vest over his dress shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up along his forearms. His height commanded attention, casting a subtle shadow that seemed to stretch into the surrounding darkness.

A cascade of curly, unruly locks framed his face, falling in a chaotic dance that obscured much of his features. But even in the dark, you could tell he was handsome, and the messiness of his hair added a touch of his disheveled charm. Yet, it was his eyes that held you captive. Stark and penetrating. Instead of finding comfort in the presence of an authority, you felt an unsettling chill crawl down your spine as his stare lingered on you.

"You shouldn't walk alone at night with a killer on the loose," he stated abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence.

Caught off guard, you stammered in response, "I, uh, my house is right around the corner."

His eyes, still fixed on you, held an inscrutable intensity. You shuddered. Without thinking much, and fueled by a sudden surge of unease, you briskly left his side.

People say the third time's a charm, that the idea after two unsuccessful attempts or failures, the third attempt is more likely to be successful or fortunate. However, in your case, you didn't know what to make of it when you encountered the masked killer for the third time.

It started with a call.

At first, you didn't bother the unknown number flashing on your phone, especially when a killer was roaming around town with its known trademark of calling his victims before his attack. So you ignored it and continued to prepare your dinner. But then it rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time it constantly rang, you realized, that whoever was on the other line wasn't going to stop until you answered.

"Hello?" you nervously greeted.

"Hello there. Took you long enough," the voice on the other line replied. It was soft, distinctly masculine, quite disoriented, yet it carried a mysterious familiarity that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Who is this?" you pressed.

"A person."

You scoffed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief coloring your response. "Charming." With an eye roll, you dismissed the call, attributing it to nothing more than a prank. "Goodbye."

"Wait—no! Don't hang up!" The urgency in the voice pleaded, catching your attention before you could close the connection.

Frowning, you hesitated, the nagging sense that you had heard this voice somewhere before lingering in your mind. "No, really, who is this?"

The voice, now veiled in a playful tone, responded with, "A secret admirer."

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across your face. "I doubt it," you said, leaning over the kitchen counter. "No one has ever had a crush on me."

"Well, I do."

"Tell me who you are then," you challenged.

"But it won't be a secret anymore."

You paused for a moment, the wheels of curiosity turning in your mind. "You really know me?"

"Of course, I do."

"Do I know you then?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered, a playful ambiguity threading his response. "So, you got a boyfriend?"

"Why?" You laughed, the unexpected question breaking the tension. "You wanna ask me out on a date?"

"Maybe," he responded again, maintaining a hint of mystery. "So do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"That's a pity," he sighed, his tone taking on a flirtatious note. "You look too good in that shirt without a man appreciating it."

Your heart quickened at his words. Was he... you looked around your house, your eyes traveling across the many windows adorned in your personal space. A mixture of shock and discomfort settled in as you considered the possibility of being observed.

"W- What did you say?"

"You look too good in that white shirt," he repeated. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination."

You looked down at yourself. The shirt he mentioned was actually a tanktop you decided to wear for bed, but you weren't wearing anything else under it, so true to his words, this piece of clothing didn't leave much to the imagination. The hemline hung low on your chest, leaving a perfect view of your cleavage. The cold temperature of the room managed to make your body react, which was why your nipples were pressing hard against the material.

"Hello? Are you still here?" Sensing your silence, the voice on the other line held a sudden edge of urgency. "Wait—don't you hang up on me—"

You quickly ended the call. Feeling a sudden need for privacy, you hastily closed the curtains, shutting out the view from the windows as you clutched your phone in your hand. Your heart raced, and a wave of dread engulfed you. The unsettling possibility that someone might be targeting you, and not just anyone, but the masked killer, cast a chilling shadow over your thoughts.

The phone rang again. You hesitated, a part of you urging against answering, but somehow, almost involuntarily, you found yourself pressing the phone against your ear. The adrenaline of fear seemed to override your rational instincts, forcing you to engage with the source of the unease, even against your better judgment.

"I told you not to hang up on me," the man greeted you, but his voice lacked the soft, friendly tone it had before. Instead, it had morphed into something more sinister, a deep resonance that reverberated through the air.

"Wh-who is this?" you asked, your voice quivering with a blend of fear and frustration. "What do you want?"

"To volunteer. Let me appreciate how good you look tonight."

You were desperate now. The urgency in his voice propelled you into action. Your feet guided you to the front door, and you locked it securely before quickly running up the stairs. Panic seized you as you checked and secured all the windows, the sense of vulnerability amplifying with each lock turned.

A sudden sound of laughter filled your ear.

"What you're doing is useless," he taunted, the malicious glee in his voice sending shivers down your spine. Then, with a sinister tone that cut through the air, his next words had you stopping in your tracks.

"I'm already inside."

The air in the house thickened with dread as his words hung ominously. Panic set in, and the once-familiar surroundings now felt like a trap closing in around you. Every creak of the house, every flicker of shadow, became a sign of impending danger.

He was the one to end the call, and you looked down at your front door from the top of your stairs. You calculated how long it would take you to escape your own house as you slowly descended down. But then, the closet door by the front, the small room where you kept your coats and unused items, suddenly opened.

The creak of the door echoed through the silence, and your eyes fixated on the widening gap. Your escape route seemed to diminish and fear paralyzed you. The once-familiar confines of your home now held an intruder, and as you stared at the ominous opening, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Your eyes widened, because right in the flesh was none other than Ghostface, stepping out of your closet with a knife in his hand. The chilling reality gripped you, and time seemed to slow as the masked intruder stood before your eyes. The pale, ghostly visage stared back at you, obscured by the haunting mask that concealed any trace of humanity.

You moved on instinct. You turned on your heels and ran back up the stairs, even when you were aware there was no escape unless you jumped out of your window. But it was a better plan than running right into the arms of a killer, so you picked up your pace, sprinting as fast as you could down the hallway.

But he was fast, unnaturally so, and suddenly you felt a vice-like grip around your waist. His hand urged you with brutal force before slamming your back against the wall. The impact reverberated through your body, and a gasp caught in your throat as the cold surface of the wall pressed against you.

His presence loomed, the masked figure inches from your face. The hollow eyes of Ghostface bore into yours through the chilling mask, and the glint of the knife in his hand reflected the cruel intent that hung in the air.

Panic engulfed you as his other gloved hand circled around your throat. "Pl-Please.." you chocked, struggling against the force he pressed on your neck. "...don't—don’t kill me."

The air felt constricted, and the desperate plea escaped your lips in a struggled gasp. The gloved hand tightened its grip, the leather cool against your skin, as Ghostface's masked visage remained impassive.

"Kill you?" he asked, an eerie edge in his voice. "That's the last thing I want to do right now."

You desperately placed a hand on his wrist as you let your phone hit the ground.

"Don't move," he warned. But you kept on thrashing around, the primal instinct for survival overriding reason, and he tightened his grip on you. "If you keep struggling, I might have to gut you out like a damn fish."

That made you stop. Satisfied you were listening, he finally let go of your throat. The release brought a gasp of air, and you stumbled back, leaning against the wall.

"I'm not here to kill you," Ghostface declared, the chilling mask betraying no emotion. "But I do have something else in mind."

He responded by caressing your face and pinning you against the wall. The cold, gloved hand traced a chilling path across your skin, and you felt the sharp contrast between the mask and the vulnerability of your flesh. He tilted his head as he saw the fear in your eyes, tears welling at the corners.

"Aw, come on, don't look so scared," he murmured, a perverse tenderness in his voice that clashed with the situation. His sharp blade went to your throat, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine. He forced you to stare into the hollowness of the mask.

"Let me have my fun."

You felt the blade on your skin as he dragged the weapon along your body. He smiled when he noticed you tensing, trying to avoid the sharpness of the blade from grazing your skin. Through tear-filled eyes, you looked up, struggling to catch your breath. Fear still consumed you, a chilling grip on your senses, but alongside it, an unexpected emotion stirred. Curiosity.

As you gazed at the masked killer looming over you, a strange sense of intrigue took place. It was a baffling response, the surreal proximity to the infamous Ghostface left you grappling with a mix of terror and fascination. The sheer scale of his presence seemed to stretch into the shadows, and you couldn't help but wonder—was he actually this tall?

A sudden movement caught your attention as he took a step. He moved underneath the black cloak he wore, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he slipped a leg between yours. The confined space of the hallway seemed to shrink further as his presence pressed in on you.

And then there was silence. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and you sensed a deliberate slowness in his actions. It was as if he offered you a chance to resist, to push him away. But you didn't move. Instead, you held your breath, the rhythmic pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet.

"You've stopped struggling," he hummed to himself, trailing the knife over your shoulder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

There wasn't time for you to reply as he hooked the blade under your top and ran it along the fabric, watching it snap under the sharp surface. The cool air hit your skin as you were suddenly exposed to him. Without warning, his other hand moved over your breasts, squeezing them roughly, earning a gasp from you. Your heart pounded with something akin to fear, or perhaps, it oddly felt like… excitement?

"Of course, you are," he muttered, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You could feel the cool touch of his gloved hand over your skin as he brushed his thumb over your sensitive bud. "Knew you were a fucking slut."

What was happening? It was wrong, morally twisted, yet you found a strange sense of anticipation as he continued to touch you. Your body was shaking, not just from fear, but from something else. While your rational side recoiled at what was happening, your body seemed to betray a darker truth.

You hated yourself. You loathed how easily you were giving in. You kept on reciting how wrong this was in your head, but when you felt the blade cut through the fabric of your shorts with ease, you didn't mind as much. Then your breath hitched when he quickly ripped your panties with his knife, and somehow you were now naked with his leg placed between your thighs.

"Would you look at that?" He taunted, his leathered hand moving over your curves. "You're dripping."

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up your thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed over your heat. The touch was so faint it shouldn't have even had that much of an effect on you, but it did. It fucking did.

This was so unlike you, you weren't the kind of person to let someone you barely knew touch you. You even disliked the idea of a one-night stand. Yet here you were, legs wide open as you let a murderer touch you, and the messed up thing was, you wanted more.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly as if to test your reaction. You bit your bottom lip, stopping yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he played with your clit skillfully.

He was far too good at this, you found yourself thinking. Your body jerked as he increased his pace and you knew he had a goal in mind—to make you fall apart. The fast pace of his fingers had your brows furrowing as you chewed your bottom lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips bucked and rolled against his hand. He let out a chilling laughter.

"Stop acting like you don't want this," he said, increasing his pressure on your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, and you focused on that touch alone, the leather sliding over your wet skin. "Let me hear your pathetic voice."

You shook your head furiously.

"No?" He mocked. "You wanna bet how fast I can make you scream?"

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly stroking you, earning a muffled cry out of you. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He laughed again.

"I'm going to make you scream so loud your neighbors will know how much of a slut you are."

And then he pressed the edge of the blade on your throat at the same time he plunged two fingers inside you. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open and a loud squeal left your lips, the sound distorted by the vibrations surging through your body. He hummed in satisfaction at how fast it was to earn that moan from your lips, and surprisingly, he loved the sound you made.

It didn't take long for him to force more sounds out of your pretty mouth. You felt the coolness of the wall behind your back, the pads of your fingers brushing over the concrete in a pathetic attempt to get a hold of something, anything that could keep you steady while his fingers kept pumping in and out of your throbbing cunt with a wet, squelching sound.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, saturating every cell of your trembling body. The electrifying rush heightened your senses, amplifying the surreal nature of the pleasure. You wriggled your hips under the pressure of his body that was keeping you pinned against the wall, feeling so fucking embarrassed by the wetness dripping out of you.

"Fucking filthy, letting a murderer touch you." He then dragged his fingers out of you and started to rub your clit in tight, rapid circles. You practically cried out and quickly bit your lower lip to subside another embarrassing moan. "You know how many people I've killed with this hand? The same hand touching your sweet little pussy?"

Your thighs tightened around his hand, trying desperately to push him away. He responded by sinking three of his fingers inside you and groaned at the way you were clenching around him. "Look at you taking my fingers so well."

The leather slightly burned your skin, and somehow, it only heightened your pleasure. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit hard as he continued to curl his fingers. You gasped as your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him while his fingers pushed deeper into you, touching a spot you had never been aware of. The sensation brought an unusual feeling to your senses. You looked at him in confusion, your eyes widening.

"Pl- Please, stop," you begged out of fear of the unknown. The tickling in your abdomen was becoming almost unbearable, and you clasped your thighs together and involuntarily bent your knees a little in an attempt to make his fingers slip out of your wet cunt.

With a feral growl, he suddenly threw the knife on the floor before wrapping his hand around your throat, pinning your head against the wall.

"Take it," he hissed and tightened his grip, making you jolt forward. You helplessly part your legs and whimpered as his palm brushed over your clit with every thrust, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he held you in place. "Fucking take it."

The sensation was overwhelming to the point tears began to trickle down your face, and you tried to desperately blink them away as they hindered your vision.

"Oh, you're crying now?" He cooed, still rocking his fingers violently inside you. "Pathetic."

Before you knew it, your hips were bucking, distraught cries escaping you. Your body shuddered as if it were under his control, forcing out your orgasm like it was effortless as his fingers curled inside you, continuing to stimulate you even after you begged him to stop.

It wasn't long before he was bringing you back up again. His pace turned into a more intense speed that, to your surprise, the familiar contracting of your pulsing walls was followed by the splurge of weird liquid coming out of you. Your mouth fell open as you writhed against him, your sensitive cunt almost numb to the sensation as he pressed you for more.

You were so numb you could no longer feel his fingers buried deep inside your convulsing walls, squeezing around his digits as you shook in the tremors of your release. When you looked at him in shock, cheeks burning crimson and chest rising and falling heavily, a pretentious laugh left him. With a vulgar squelching sound, he slipped his fingers out of your pussy.

"Squirting like a pathetic slut,” he spat, his other hand still wrapped around your neck. "Told you I'd make you scream."

Your body turned pliant as you gave in and sank against the wall. You watched him lean down through your half-lidded eyes as you tried to ground yourself, his movements deliberate and swift, grabbing your wrecked shirt from the floor. You watched in confusion as he pressed the flimsy material together before firmly shoving it over your eyes.

Panic surged through you as the sudden darkness enveloped our vision. Although you couldn't see him, you heard him very well. His muffled breathing behind the mask, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted the material at the back of your head. Your other senses were heightened when you were robbed of your vision that you could even smell him.

The sharp scent of sweat and a faint hint of earthiness clung to him, as though remnants of the ground followed his presence. Yet, amidst the rawness, there was a surprising note of sweetness, as if a subtle cologne lingered beneath the surface.

God, he was so close. His chest was now pressed against yours, and then suddenly, almost forcefully, you felt warm hands grip your jaw. Your mouth fell open.

He took off his gloves.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when a sudden breeze of air brushed across your face and you gasped. You could barely think clearly, and you could barely even brace yourself when harsh lips captured your mouth desperately. You couldn't believe what was happening, because holy fuck—you were kissing Ghostface.

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way he kissed you. A deep shuddering groan rippled through him as he continued to assault your lips. You were too stunned at the way he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you in a way that had your body trembling at the sheer force of intensity traveling through your veins.

And when you finally felt his bare fingers grazing along your drenched core, going up and down your swollen folds, he captured the moan falling through your lips with a groan.

"So fucking filthy," he whispered against your lips as he continued to tease you. His voice, once muffled, was now very clear. The tones were distinct, carrying an inexplicable familiarity that tugged at the edges of your memory. But before you could even try to recall where you had heard it before, he surprised you by increasing the speed of his fingers.

"You want more of this, don't you?"

You shook your head, but your body was saying otherwise. Your hand gripped his arm as he started to play with your clit again, and your knees buckled pathetically. His other hand fell on your waist to steady you while he pressed a kiss on the hollow point of your throat, traveling further up the skin till his teeth nibbled on your ear lobe.

He then grabbed onto one of your legs and hiked it around his waist as he pushed his hips into you. You could feel the outline of his hard cock behind the cloak he was wearing and you let out a whimper when he started rolling his hips.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped out at the shell of your ear. You felt strong hands grip your wrists before he pushed them above your head, pining you against the wall. "You want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You shook your head again, attempting to anchor yourself. The struggle was evident in the tension of your muscles, each fiber resisting the pull toward surrender. You should push him. You should cry for help. Yet here you were questioning your sanity as you slowly, almost desperately, grind your hips along with his, yearning for more friction.

"Dirty, dirty slut," he muttered against your lips before kissing you once again, swallowing your whimpers as his hips snapped into you. "I bet you feel so tight around me."

Desire roared fire in your veins, and you whined. He leaned over and captured one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you moaned again before he let out a satisfied hum. You could practically feel the smirk curling on his lips as he taunted, "You react so well. I might have to keep you."

Goosebumps rose along your skin. Then in a swift and forceful motion, he yanked you, abruptly pushing you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, leaving you landing on your knees.

As you tried to make sense of what was happening, a hand pushed against your back, and you toppled forward, landing on the ground face-first, finding yourself on your hands and knees. A sharp smack hit your bare ass from behind and you jolted in surprise.

"Spread them wide for me," He murmured, gaze skipping over your nakedness. He marveled at the sight before him, the way you shamelessly arched your back at his command. Yet when he noticed you hesitating, he dropped his voice in a lower, sinister tone.

"Don't make me use my knife."

You quickly did as you were told, your hands traveling behind you, spreading your sticky thighs in a languorous stretch, and you shuddered under the weight of his eyes. You whined at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed skin and a trickle of your arousal ran down your thigh, much to your utter embarrassment. "Look how pretty you are."

Heat blossomed in your chest. Then the sound of a belt being undone had you whimpering, and you moved instinctively, arching your back even further. One of his hands landed on your ass again with a sharp smack before he gripped a firm handful of it. You could hear more rustling and a slight soft thud behind you. The lack of vision made you overly sensitive and you found yourself waiting with bated breath for his every move.

With a sharp tug, he pulled you back by your hips before one of his hands landed on the back of your neck. You felt him push down hard and you obliged, lowering your face and upper body to the floor as his other hand remained holding your hips up in the air. And then you felt him—pulsing warm right at your entrance.

A pitiful groan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock swiped back and forth along your folds. He moaned out a deep, pleasure-filled noise that reverberated around the small space at the feel of your arousal coating him. And then suddenly, without warning, he abruptly plunged inside of you. He thrust straight into that spot deep inside that stung so good a sharp cry slipped out of you. It was painful, his sheer force of girth stretching you apart, though that cry quickly became a low moan of pleasure.

The man behind you showed no mercy, thrusting his hips into you with force and purpose, so hard you felt your body inching across the hardwood floor with each stroke. Your mouth fell open when one of his hands released your neck before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you and he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher.

He held himself there as he used the grip on your hair to haul you backward to him. Your back was arched, his cock still buried deep inside of you as you fell back into his chest. For a few moments, it was almost uncomfortable, but then, surprisingly, you felt even more aroused than you already were.

You pushed your ass even higher, arching your body in search of more of that delicious sensation. It felt like electricity shocked your entire body, triggering intense waves of pleasure that repeatedly spread wildly from your core as you focused on the pleasure building between your legs, the burning sensation filling you to the brim.

It was maddening. Frustrating, even. Because you didn't even care anymore, you didn't even care if you exposed for him, you didn't even care if your knees ached from the hard friction of the floor because any shreds of sanity and pride had long since been destroyed. You wanted more. You needed more.

It was so twisted. You longed to be broken by him. You longed to be ruined by him.

You had never imagined being in this position, kneeling on the floor with a murderer thrusting himself into you, yet here you were, whimpering at the sensation of doing the forbidden. Your mind turned delirious he released the hold on your hair, his hand snaking around your front to grip your throat.

You continued to meet his savage thrusts with your hips, slamming into you as your wail turned into a ragged scream. The sensation, though pleasurable, became too intense to handle. You attempted to move away from him, stealing his breath as your inner walls clenched around his cock. His firm hand gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away as he held you in position, thrusting his cock into your throbbing pussy.

A helpless sound trickled from your throat as your body jerked, and he mercilessly fucked you through it. Everything was so intense your mind was struggling to comprehend what was happening as he pounded into you roughly. You tried to breathe through the incredible pleasure surging through your body but you were too overwhelmed. "T-Too much."

"T-Too much," he mocked. A sinister laugh sliced through the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. "Fucking. Take. It."

His words were punctuated with every snap of his hips. The insistent thrust made you thrash your head as your body convulsed, dragging it out and heightening it to a point where you could only wail. Your breath came in harsh pants; his breathing was as rough as he urged you on, and you gave yourself over to the wildfire consuming your body. You whimpered, head rolling back onto his shoulder.

"That's it, taking me so perfectly," his voice, now a sinister whisper, slithered into your ears. "Knew you were special the moment I saw you."

A gasp escaped you, the weight of his words settling with an unsettling realization. Amidst the darkness, you felt the contours of his laughter.

"Don't act so surprised. I'm your secret admirer, remember?" You felt his hand leave your hips before it trailed toward your front. You knew what he was about to do and you clenched him involuntarily, already anticipating what was to come.

"Fuck," He hissed. "You feel so tight around me. I really do have to keep you now."

The coil inside you was dangerously close to snapping and he growled as your cunt clenched around his cock.

"Oh, you liked that. You like the idea of me using you? Fuck you whenever I want?" He questioned, his fingers moving to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling the coil in your abdomen tightening at his sharp movements, your hands moving to his wrist as you tried to ground yourself.

You gasped when you felt him tightening the grip on your throat, the skin tingling as he repeated the motion. "Filthy little thing, aren't you?"

"I-I—" You spluttered, feeling your legs going numb. You squealed when you felt him pick up his pace on your clit, rubbing messy circles against it as your back slumped against him, mouth parting, your tongue slipping out between your lips.

It was too much. You felt like you were about to explode. Your mind went blank. Your body felt numb. There was nothing else you could do but to give into the force of pleasure consuming you as he fucked you roughly, his hips hitting you in harsh motions.

"You gonna cum now?" He grunted, pressing his mouth at the shell of your ear. You helplessly nodded, not able to make out any coherent words anymore. He groaned between thrusts, keeping a firm grip on your ass to keep you from squirming. "Go on then, cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are."

As if on command, your body spasmed involuntarily. It started with a prickling of your skin creeping up your body, over your breasts and face, inner walls tightening around his cock, and you came hard. You squirmed uncontrollably as all that pent-up pleasure welled up in your core. Your heart was pounding erratically against your heaving chest you could even hear the pounding in your ears.

Your mind was in a drunken haze as the pleasure continued to flow through your veins, his fingertips languidly brushed against your clit. But despite the desperate spasms of your pussy, he continued to penetrate your body. Every thrust hit more intensely than the last, wetness flooded from you as reality slipped away, and all you could do was burn, vocally urging him on as he moaned darkly behind you.

You were very far from sanity from everything consuming your body. You felt him everywhere. His grinding cock, the press of his fingers as they moved to toy with your clit, and his blunt nails cut around your throat. Your cunt continued to possessively grip his cock as you wailed breathlessly.

Heat traveled through you, body quivering and going boneless, the warm ripples of release dulling the sharp edges of your mind as he drove into you and finally chased his own high. The filthy feel of him emptying inside you, your shimmering release, and his hands decorating your skin with fingerprint bruises, was all you could focus on.

Until the distinct sound of sirens echoed in the background.

Your mind went hazy as you tried to anchor yourself and you heard him chuckle in amusement. "I guess you really woke your neighbors up," he said, letting go of his grip around your throat. You let out a breathless sigh when you felt him slipping out of you, surprisingly feeling empty.

He groaned as his eyes traveled down, watching the way his release dripped out from your convulsing pussy, traveling down the length of your thighs. “It’s a pity I have to cut this short.” Then you felt his lips near your ear. “Until next time."

"W- What?" Your head snapped up, disoriented in the darkness, as you tried to discern his voice. "You'll come back?"

"I'll be here when you least expect it." Then the unexpected happened. He surprised you with a gentle kiss on your shoulder, a stark contrast from everything that had taken place. The contradiction sent shudders through you as you felt his grip on your hips tightening. "Keep your doors unlocked for me."

A sudden emptiness enveloped you as he withdrew from your personal space. Your mind, still reeling from the inexplicable events, struggled to make sense of what happened. And now the realization that he wasn't behind you anymore prompted your hands to instinctively reach for the makeshift blindfold, swiftly slipping it off your face.

Blinking in the sudden light, your eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Your eyes caught his figure standing tall at the top of your staircase, back turned, a fleeting glimpse of brown curls disappearing beneath the mask he hastily put back on.

Abruptly, he turned to you, the hollow visage of Ghostface now fixed in your direction. The tilt of his head sent a shiver down your spine as he looked at you for another fleeting second, as if he was giving you a silent promise as the faint sound of sirens continued from the distance. You stared back at him, heart thrumming in your chest.

And then he was gone.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #ghostface imagine #ghostface smut

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alt-vera · 1 year

Text

— don’t take the girl ⁀➷

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when faced with a life-threatening choice, joel miller makes a surprising confession.

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☆ | joel miller | 1.5k | ❛ don’t take the girl - tim mcgraw ❜

warnings: fluff. slight angst. lowkey soft!joel miller. murder. kissing. age gap.

❝ take the very breath you gave me, take the heart from my chest. i’ll gladly take her place if you’ll let me, make this my last request. take me out of this world, god please, don’t take the girl ❞

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HE DIDN’T MEAN TO BECOME SO ATTACHED.

　Joel could remember the very first minute he met you. The shade of the alleyway casting a low tone over your soft features, a small scrape on your cheek just below your eye.

　Tess had taken you in, explaining that you were the daughter of an old friend from way before all the chaos and destruction. That she remembered meeting you when you were just a baby, barely cooing out words with small chubby fingers that wrapped around her own. That you’d lost your mom a while ago, and had no one else. That you’d been on a mission to find Tess for a long time.

　He didn’t like you at first. Thought you were too soft. It annoyed him how persistent you were, always hovering around him and Tess. Always there. He didn’t like how young you were, and he was convinced that you’d somehow fuck up one of their deals if you were there, or that you’d somehow get killed in the process. Or worse, get him killed.

　It wasn’t until he saw you in action that he gave in a bit. Saw how you’d really survived all those years on your own. Saw how you ripped yourself free from a raider on one of their trips out of the QZ, how you’d so effortlessly pulled your knife across the taut skin of the raiders throat, blood splattering onto the soft apples of your cheeks as you watched the man fall, no emotion crossing those deep eyes of yours that always seemed so expressive. They were blank in that moment, as if you had watched a man’s life leave his body a million times. As if you were used to it.

　He couldn’t believe how you’d smiled at him so softly that same night while a fire flickered between the two of you, mere hours after the whole scene. How could you still be so sweet after killing a man as if it were plain sailing?

　He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to a darker place. How many people had you killed?

　He didn’t like to think about such a kind young woman slashing a man as if he were a bug she were squishing.

　After that, he began letting you come on runs with him.

　It was supposed to be a routine mission in the city, grabbing supplies and trades at a drop point to smuggle back into the QZ. Neither of you were expecting a struggle, not to mention an ambush, but in the world you lived in the unexpected always seemed to happen.

　Inside the drop point, which was an abandoned warehouse, rotting and dilapidated, you’d let your guard down. Your gun was placed on an old crate as you poked around while Joel, only a few feet away from you, checked to make sure everything that had been promised was delivered.

　You didn’t see the man coming up behind you, didn’t hear his uneven breaths or the crunching of old glass beneath his feet.

　He grabbed your arm, nearly tearing your shoulder out of it’s socket as he pulled you like a shield across his chest. The cold barrel of his pistol pressed against your temple, his grip like iron, bruising your supple skin.

　Joel heard the struggle and whipped around instantly, eyes wild and frantic as he held his gun out in front of him, not sure where to aim that wouldn’t get you shot in the crossfire.

　“Put your gun down!” The man behind you screamed, his voice so loud that your ear drums rang. You watched everything in slow-motion as Joel carefully put his rifle down, raising his hands as he did so. A stray bead of perspiration ran down your spine.

　“Just let her go, n’we can talk,” Joel attempted to reason, but was met with silence broken by the mans ragged breaths as he pressed the gun further into your temple, the metal creating a building pressure in your head, leaving an imprint in its wake.

　“There’s no talking here,” The man spat, “Someone ripped me off. I don’t know who it was, but somebody here is paying for it. It’s either you or the girl, old man. You choose.”

　Your pulse quickened as your eyes trained on Joel, who’s face wrinkled as he tried to figure out some sort of solution. You tried to speak with your eyes, tried to tell him that it was okay. That he could get out of here and take the stuff back to the QZ, and leave you to your fate. You were fine with it.

　But Joel wasn’t. “I’ll take her place, if you’ll let me,” He said quietly, his words slicing through you. “Just please, don’t take the girl.”

　You wanted to scream at him, but you stayed quiet, lips locked shut and body shaking with fear and adrenaline.

　You heard the gunshot, and your eyes closed on impact. You only inched them open when you felt the pressure on your head leave, and heard the sound of a body hit the floor. When your eyelids lifted, there stood Joel, small handgun that was presumably in his back pocket resting with it’s aim towards the floor, his hands shaking.

　You slowly looked to the ground beside you, and there laid your assailant, blooding and bits of brain pooling on the concrete around him with a fresh hole in his forehead. The gun that had been so dangerous in his hands only moments ago now laid slackly in his limp palm.

　“Goddamn it!” You could faintly hear Joel yell, his words falling on deaf ears. “See this—This is what i was worried about.”

　Joel was in front of you in an instant, rough hands cupping your cheeks as he examined you for any sort of injury, eyes lingering on the crisp indent from the barrel that stayed on your temple.

　“I thought i’d lose you,” He breathed out softly, anger leaving the bones of his body, hot air fanning your face as he fought to calm down his anxiety. He pulled you into him, surprising you as he wrapped his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug.

　Your voice was muffled against the flannel of his shirt. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

　“I’d have traded places with you in an instant.” His words were heavy against the shell of you ear, and you pulled away from his grasp, eyes studying him carefully. There was no denying the terror that still lingered in the dark hue of his iris’, and how deep his worry lines were creased as he frowned down at you.

　“You’re around so much that I—I can’t imagine what it’d be like if you weren’t,” He continued, “Don’t want to.”

　“I would’ve given him everything i had,” He carried on, “Would’ve given him the damn heart out of my chest if it meant he’d take my life instead’a yours.”

　You figured this was Joel’s messed up version of a confession. So, without words, you kissed him, and he deepened it with long buried affection and protectiveness. Two things you didn’t think Joel Miller was capable of.

　“Let’s get out’f here,” He said after he had pulled away. His words brought you back into the atmosphere, struggling to tame your wildly beating heart as you remembered the dangerous predicament you could potentially still be in. “Don’t know if it was just him, or if there’s more.”

　You nodded, taking one of the duffle bags of supplies onto your shoulders. It made you lean to the side slightly from the weight, and a rare chuckle escaped Joel’s lips. He took the bag from your shoulder, putting both onto one arm and slinging his rifle onto the other.

　“I got it,” He said, “Jus’ watch my six.”

　During the trip back to the QZ, it seemed as if nothing had changed between the two of you. But it did. There was a newfound tension in the air, one that spoke of the kiss you shared in the warehouse, and how Joel would lay his life on the line for you. It sparked with the electricity of intimacy and a fucked up version of love.

　It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that neither of you would tell Tess about what had happened. About the ambush, or the kiss. But you and Joel would know. You and Joel would know that there was now some sort of feelings between the two of you. A new connection that would be acted upon on late nights and moments alone together. The kind that was shared within knowing looks and small grins to one another. Fleeting touches when no one’s watching, and memorized whispered pleas of trading your life for his.

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grugruel · 2 months

Text

Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

The campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout as smouldering flakes of ash rose in swirls above her.

Her face lit up, the sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The soaring fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing space from any other thoughts.

The trees around her rustled. She leaned back against the wall of the overhanging cliff. Sliding down into a sitting position and slanting her head in ponder, slipping deeper into the memory.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

But the fire. . . Now the fire, was not her fault.

And not only was the law after her, but they'd sent out money hungry, bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved quite the nuisances, but wouldn't be a problem anymore. . .

. . .Unless they died of starvation, and then she would indeed be guilty of murder. Lovely! She gritted her teeth at the memory, rolling her eyes interanally.

But she doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond. She was back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between its stems, but her vision was good and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her–

'Ma'am.'

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

'Mister' she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he gave her was unmistakable. 'Theres quite the bounty on you girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth from the fire.

'There's no doubtin' that,' she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, 'Although im only worth half of it, I assure you.'

She sat still, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. '. . . 'S that so?. . .' He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. 'Mister, I'm not a murderer. Crimes I did not commit have been written in my name. The sheriff framed me!' She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

'I belive ya' ma'am.' His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. 'But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes.' His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. 'But a bounty 's still a bounty girl.'

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly week. And unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her when she fell. In a sense too literal for her liking.

'And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . .' His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt– and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward and her feet was swept from under her– then just as sudden, it sped up again.

As a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushing up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up as he did. Its sound of hot friction against fabric made her stumache churn. She rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation. And there he stood. Just by her feet, looming over her. With his back to the fire it cast a glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her, securing his bounty tightly. He grabbed the knot and pulled her up diagonally, pulling her flush against his body so he could level her head with his. '. . .And I've done bad things.' He whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps, having it spread over her skin like wildfire.

He straightened his legs and stood back, taking her with him while keeping her close to his chest.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope until they were at her waist, and in one strong motion threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped, 'You brute!' kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. 'You keep your hands to yourself Mister!' She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

'Yes, ma'am.' He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind.

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadnt planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. 'Well, good.' She said curtly, calming herself. Being a nuisance and making the situation worse would be a bad idea, and she'd not made any progress nonetheless, his grip was solid steel. She'd have to settle on feeling his strong back beneath her instead and revel in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse, 'Sittin' or layin'?' He asked, being nice enough to hand her to options of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, 'What a gentleman, take a guess Mister.' She muttered.

He nodded, 'Sittin' with me it is.' his hands moved to her waist, easily transfering her from his shoulder to the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look would certainly have killed him. 'Quite presumtions of you.'

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, on hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against it, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, 'Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures.'

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, it took everything in her power to stop from rocking her hips forward. But she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, 'Id like to see you try.' And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her and leaned over her shoulder. 'I will if you let me ma'am.' He whispered in her ear, and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated. The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

But finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the morning of her capture to the next night. If that werent enough, a heatwave had been raging the entirety of the day aswell, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh. . . the way he toiled away.

He had removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

God, focus. She needed to hatch a plan. Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either, and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been succesful so far, he didnt even want the money she'd stashed away.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under. . . The waist of his pants. In that moment, she wanted nothing else then to see where that trail ended. She wanted to trace her fingers along it, or perhaps lick it, all the way down. . .

Her jaw began aching, she fought herself to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze at the ground instead, waiting for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared to look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette placed between hid lips and was breathing in a long drag of it. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

'Want one girl?' He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

'I do, yes.' She answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched on one knee infront of her, his arm bracing against the other. 'You'll have to do better than that.' He said, only a feets distance between them. Then picked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain, 'Go on.' He nodded. But reluctant to follow his orders, she met his eyes, making sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in despite herself. Closing her lips around the cigarette, she sucked the toxic smoke smoke into her lungs like it were air, keeping her eyes locked on his. She swore something glint in his eyes as he studied her pouting lips. A plan struck her suddenly, but–

'Good girl.' He hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette as she regained her composure. 'You alright there sweetheart?' He asked with a grin, and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

'Fine.' She hissed, still reeling from. . . Everything. 'You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?'

He nodded, and pulled out and old bottle of bourbon from his bag, 'Could you?' She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. 'Got somethin' for me then?'

Insinuations led her down a path of all kinds of possibilities, but she instead opted for a simple, 'Please?' Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt, 'Thats more like it.' He mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. 'Try anythin'. . .' He raised his eyebrows, and lowered his voice to a mocking tone '. . . run, hurt me' his eyes narrow as a corner of his lip tugs. 'And there'll be a steep price to be payed.'

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, 'I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that right?'

He nodded, 'S'pose so. . .' And began cutting, '. . . difference is girl' the rope snapped and slid down her sides, 'I'd never get caught.' He gathered the rope from her sides, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips.

Her breath hitched, and her skin tingled desperatley for more of him as fluttering wingbeats set of in her stumache. Such a small thing, turning into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire. He sat down on another log, not as far away form her this time. Leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate, 'It's not easy you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you Mr Morgan.'

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question, 'You know me?'

'I know of you.' She corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. 'All bad I guess.' He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. 'Many of the ladies say you're handsome.'

At this he looked up at her, chuckling. 'Well, I don't know 'bout that.'

'It's true. . .' another sip, followed by a hiccup. 'They say you can be quite the gentleman too.'

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humours her. 'Depends on the lady.' He reaches for the bottle, and she stands up to give it to him. Walking closer, she hands it over, fingers brushing against eachother in the motion.

His eyes meet hers, and she brushes her hand under his chin, 'You know what else they say Mr Morgan?'

'No, what do they say about me sweetheart?' A smirk tugged at his lip, the liquor starting to affect the both of them.

'That you're good in bed. . .' She steps between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hums appreciatively, then takes another sip of the bourbon and sets the bottle aside. His hands reach for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him and squeezing them at his pleasure. 'They're only rumours girl.' He tilts his head backward against tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hikes her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she step over his legs, one at a time, slowly sinking down onto his lap as his hands automatically slide to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge, and he grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

'I doubt it Mr Morgan.' She whispered, 'Women do not lie to eachother of such things.' his bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her, but she wills it from her lips so that it only reaches her eyes. 'They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood.' As she says that, she swears she detects the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan. . . Blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself as the smile reaches her lips. Hes quite endearing.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. 'That's told of me in everythin' I do girl.' He smirks, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

'But you're always sweet 'n caring.' She continues, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It was becoming hard to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, she rocked her hips downward. Grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as she nuzzles his cheek. 'Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys–'

'Girl.' He interrupted with a chuckle, 'I know what you're doin'.' He breathes, 'Seducin' me.' With the tight grip on her hips, he helps rock her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shoots out to burry itself in his hair. Then she leans into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rests her head against his shoulder. He nuzzles his cheek against hers, and mutters, 'You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan girl?'

Her eyebrows furrow, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screws her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she can do to answer him is hum in admittal as shes straining hard to even stay contious.

He chuckles. 'Easy girl. . .' His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slows her hips, but keeps the pace hard. 'Use your words.' He orders, loving the way shes falling apart for him.

She nods hastily, hoping it would satisfy his request. But he pinches her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrow in pain, however not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep secret anymore, 'Yes– yes. . .' She sighs, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

'Mmh, thought so.' He breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. His hands leave her hips, one arm snaking around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stands, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. 'Mr Morgan?' She inquires, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walks them to the tent, 'Arthur.' He corrects, carrying her with ease. He pushes the flap to the side and kneels, bending over her as he lays her on the ground.

'Arthur.' She smiles, worry seeping out as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slide apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shoot up, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes meet, 'Please. . .' She whimpers, one hand sliding downward. '. . .Please.' She says again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. 'Outlaw or gentleman?' She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

He grunts, lips brushing over hers. 'Neither.' And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch, catching the other in the motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, 'Arthur, please. . .' Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completley different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope burning her skin in the motion.

She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckles, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrects her, 'Should've behaved.' And when done, he sits back. Observing her as she lies tied up, legs spread infront of her, circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. 'It's late.' He grunts curtly, then stands and walks toward the flap.

'Arthur. . .' She pleads, trying one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral, 'Get some sleep, you got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.' He flashes his eyebrows smugly, 'Night, sweetheart.' Then exits the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelivable. Nuzzling herself into the bedroll.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he calls her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. 'I warned you, girl.' He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

'Thrid times the charm.' She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, 'That so?' His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. 'Repeat that for me girl.'

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, 'No.' Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. 'Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart.'

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. 'Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?' She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. 'I just might.' He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. 'May I do with you as I please?'

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. 'Yes– yes, Arthur please.' Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. 'Need ya' Arthur, please.' She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. 'Sure about this?' He asked, a final reassurance.

'Yes.' She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

'Good girl.' He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. 'You close girl?' He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

'Mhm. . . So- close.' She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. 'You're alright girl.' He breathes reassuringly, 'Well done Sweetheart.'

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, 'Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man.' She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. 'Surprised?' She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, 'Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl.'

#arthur murgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #rdr2 arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr smut #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfic

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historicity-was-already-taken · 4 months

Text

I am posting and responding to this ask anonymously as I don't want anyone harassing its sender. This has already been communicated with the person who sent the ask.

I just want to thank you for being a light in the darkness of anti-semitism, especially on this website. I have found I am on this site a lot less ever since it was made clear that other leftists here are more anti-semitic than we ever knew possible, using very specific wording of our own trauma against us (i.e. saying stuff like "colonialism", "genocide/ethnic cleansing", and calling JEWISH PEOPLE Nazis). It feels like, at best, they know Hamas ≠ All or even most Palestinians, but think that they think all JEWS = Bibi; and at worst, agree with Hamas and think of him as some sort of "freedom fighter". So, thank you from one leftist Jew to another, just trying to keep afloat here. ❤️

You are very welcome; it's certainly been overwhelming, and I'm glad this can be a safe space for you.

I do want to push back on some of this ask, though. Specifically in regard to terms such as "colonialism," "apartheid," "genocide," and "ethnic cleansing."

The use of these terms is not inherently anti-Semitic. For a lot of people, these terms are the best ones they have access to describe what they are seeing. I do think such terms as “colonialism” and “apartheid” are overly simple in regard to the last ~3000 years of Jewish history, and that they cast the situation into an alien historical context which dilutes and uncomplicates the all the historical realities at stake, but I truly do not think that all who use these terms do so to cause Jewish people pain.

Further complicating the picture is that terms like "colonialism" aren’t completely wrong. Modern Zionism arose in the context of mid-nineteenth century European large-scale movements towards nationalism (ie, the creation of nation-states) and away from the multi-national empire. Jews—a subject of anti-Semitism and fifth columnist suspicions within those emergent European nations—reacted to all this by joining the nationalism game.

What’s ironic, is that those European Jews who founded contemporary Zionism were reacting to the exclusion and racial hatred with which Gentile Europeans treated them, and then once they had some settlements in Palestine, they deployed similar variants of racial hatred at both the Palestinian Arab population, and Middle Eastern Jewry.

The existence of a distinct people and ethnic group in Palestine before the aliyot were not something the first generation of Zionists were concerned with. Because they were part of the same shitty, white supremacist, pro-imperialistic intellectual European tradition to which they were responding as victimized parties. As time went on and Zionist thought spread across Ashkenazic communities, we can see some variants. Some forms of far-left Zionism in twentieth century Poland, for example, actively built the presence and rights of Palestinian Arabs into their ideology, some of them actively stating that Zionism could not be a success if it necessitated transforming Palestinian Arabs into a group of secondhand citizens and a cheap source of labor in their own home.

Those leftist strands of Zionism tended to be Socialist/Communist in nature, and centered around the idea of life in Eretz Yisrael as one of a series of self-sufficient communes. Thus when the 1930s hit and things start to go bad, the Zionists we see fleeing to Palestine tended to be of the more centrist and far right variants. The left wing, socialist movements, already operating as a collective, had a membership uncomfortable with fleeing to safety while the rest remained behind.

And that same socialist/communal attitude, is why those variants of Zionist thought never made it into the Israeli political mainstream; most of their members and proponents were murdered in the Holocaust in part because they refused to leave their comrades behind. The General Zionists and Zionist Revisionists who rode out the years of the Holocaust in Palestine therefore already had access to the avenues of power which would become important in 1948, when the British Empire shrugged off its responsibilities towards the regions it colonized and destabilized.

Now, as for ethnic cleansing. I can’t sugar-coat this: that’s what the Naqba was. It was ethnic cleansing of Palestinian Arabs from their homes to make way for the Jewish State. The manipulative shit (but still somehow extremely prestigious) youth group I was in taught us that Arabs call it Naqba because they hate Jews and therefore existence of Jews in the Southern Levant was a tragedy, as was the fact that Hitler didn't finish the job.

That’s garbage: it’s called the Naqba because it was ethnic cleansing. And that's not the fault of the Holocaust survivors who made their way to Mandatory Palestine/Israel in the late 1940s--they lacked political power, and were often looked down upon by those who did; the Holocaust as part of Israeli National Mythology wasn't an immediate Thing.

If you spent your formative years around older Jewish folks of A Certain Generation, whose trauma has pretty much placed a permanent block on their ability to see some of what went down in 1948 for what it was, I can’t blame you for having that gut/cognitive dissonance reaction to the use of “ethnic cleansing” in the context of Israel and Palestine. I know those older folks. I loved them. They’re mostly gone now, and I miss them terribly. But their trauma-induced view of everything lives on in the ability of some younger Jews to properly name and understand what it is that happened in 1948.

It was ethnic cleansing.

Further, not only were Palestinian Arabs ethnically cleansed, but the Middle Eastern and North African (MENA) Jews who were forced by their governments to flee their homes of thousands of years and seek refuge in Israel throughout the second half of the twentieth century…the Western and Central European Jews in control of Israel and its institutions treated them like shit too. Hadassah actively stole the babies of Yemeni Jews, told the parents that their children were dead, and rehomed them to Ashkenazic couples. There were death certificates. Members of the Ethiopian Jewish community were forcibly sterilized, and their ongoing treatment by the State is racist and generally atrocious. And this analysis of the relationship between the Israel State, MENA Jewish populations, and different Ashkenazic groups in Israel is horribly short and overly simple.

As for genocide. I honestly don’t know. I do know many people, who are very much not Anti-Semites, who are calling what’s happening in Gaza right now genocide; many of these people are also Jewish. I know many others who refer to the experiences of Palestinians between 1948 and now as a slow genocide. Many of these people are also actively not anti-Semites, and many of them are Jewish.

So these terms, as uncomfortable as they may feel for people within the very specific Jewish generational background I believe we share, are not deployed as anti-Semitic weapons. Nazi comparisons? Yes. Swastikas superimposed over the Star of David? Yes. Very specific hook-nosed Jewish caricatures in relation to Israelis? Yes. Blood libel shit? Yes. These are all anti-Semitic, and are deployed to hurt and retraumatize Jewish people. But the rest are not nearly that simple.

And I didn’t learn this from like, Bad Evil Post-Modern Academics at Columbia University Who Hate Jews; I learned this from doing graduate-level work in the field of Modern Jewish History, and working in Jewish archives; this did not come from outside the building.

Now, as for Hamas as freedom fighters…that’s ignorant at best. Hamas’ charter clearly calls for the global destruction of the Jewish people [ETA: they edited this part out in 2017 for PR purposes], and their actions as rulers are horrifically, violently, homophobic, and seem to be more abut provoking Israel than they are about governing and protecting their people. But as you said, Hamas isn’t all Palestinians, and it’s also not all Palestinians who consider themselves freedom fighters. (A second reader of mine had the following commentary on this paragraph: "Might need a bit more complication around Hamas? I know that's not your area of expertise but it's worth mentioning that they were basically set up to undermine the PLO and what would become the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank. You're right that they aren't representative of all Palestinian thought and resistance, and that they are on some fuck shit.")

So while I’m so glad that blog is a comfort to you, I encourage you to also take a step into some of your discomfort, and ask yourself where it comes from.

No one reading this post has my consent to use it to silence other Jewish people who are in different stages of their journey towards understanding how generational trauma has impacted their ability to grasp all of this. Further, if you choose to attack me for gently calling my people in, you're a piece of shit and I will be mean to you.

#jewish history #israeli history #palestinian history #history of zionism

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luckybyler · 6 months

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This was a reply to someone else, but I'm making this its own post because so many people are being so evil right now re: Noah Schnapp.

You can find other, longer explanations with history and all, but all the places I've seen more or less agree with this:

So you're all calling people to cancel Noah because he's in favor of a Jewish nation in what is today Israel. Which is a perfectly reasonable, decent and educated opinion to have, especially when you, to use a trendy term, "educate yourself" and find out why the state of Israel was created.

11000 dead Palestinians, half of them children

According to Hamas. Don't forget that, ever. They're the current, official government of Gaza, thus they're the ones who give numbers. This means that the real number could be 10, 1 million, anything in between. What I've read is that they probably give more of less accurate total numbers. What they fail to do, however, is distinguish between Hamas militants and civilians, and beteween civilians killed by IDF strikes, civilians killed by failed Hamas or Palestininan Islamic Jihad's rockets (which happens a lot), and Palestinians murdered by Hamas/PIJ (which also happens, a whole damn lot). They also don't specify how many civilians they have prevented or tried to prevent from evacuating or receiving aid.

11k dead people is a horrible number. Even 1 dead person is a horrible number. However, urban warfare in such a densely populated area is its own kind of hell, especially when the other side is fond of using civilians as human shields in every way possible. The fact that the number is 11k and not 50k, 100k, and so on, indicates that the IDF have indeed done a lot to minimize deaths. You don't genocide people by doing roof knocks, opening evacuation lines, dropping guided bombs, putting up an Iron Dome to deal with rockets while avoiding escalation, etc. simply because actual genocide, while a lot worse, is also cheaper, easier and faster than what they're doing. This is important because caling every act of war genocide dilutes the word, and there are actual genocides happening around the world. Also, there is a difference between striking military targets and causing civilian deaths as a side effect (what the IDF is doing) and planning and carrying out a massacre deliberately targeting civilians and inflicting as much pain and humilliation as possible on them. And there is a difference between doing so by breaking a ceasefire (which is what Hamas did), and defending your country because if you don't do that a terrorist group will anhilate you (which is what the IDF is doing).

Back to Noah. So far, these are the things that people have tried to cancel him for:

Traveling to Israel (a completely normal thing)

Having Israeli friends (another completely normal thing)

Condemning Hamas' horrible attack on October 7th (the decent thing to do)

Posting a statement saying he feels unsafe as a Jewish person in the US (which, given the rise of antisemitic acts in the world, including the US, including where he lives and where he studies, is a valid feeling to have)

Signing a letter, along with Shawn Levy, Brett Gelman, Ross Duffer and I think Cara Buono, asking Biden to press for the liberation of every hostage by Hamas. This especially shows the utter ignorance of the cancellers because, as it turns out, caring about every hostage implies a slowdown of IDF's actions (and, at the time, a delay of a ground invasion).

Supporting the existence and preservation of the state of Israel (once again, a completely normal thing). The fact that people are turning against him for these things says to me that the real reason you are all hating Noah is beacuse:

He's Jewish. Like, really really Jewish.

And the fact that this all comes from a place of antisemitism isn't hidden at all: I've seen y'all on here, on Twitter, Reddit, every other social media calling him slurs (such as "cunt"), censoring his name, pretending he's not part of the cast, asking the Duffers/Netflix to fire him, wishing him failure, doxxing him, calling on his classmates to physically assault him, etc. He doesn't need to educate himself: you guys are already teaching him a great lesson on why a Jewish state is necessary. If that's the treament he gets from his own "fans", what can he expect from the world at large?

#byler #noah schnapp #antisemitism #jumblr #stranger things #i know many people here are actual children or college students #who have never lived war or armed conflict #and this is baby's first social justice fight #but the way you're acting towards Noah is disgusting and evil #I'm not even jewish but I know what terrorism is like #and I know what it's like to have idiot 1st worlders be on the terrorists' side because they think they're “liberators” or something #harming the very people you think they help

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 6 months

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Spooky season needs spooky stuff.. >:3

So can I request the digital circus cast (minus Caine)meeting a Child Spirit Y/n headcanons,who like Kinda possesed/went inside the game to find they’re killer for some reason? They are eerily quiet and like to stare but if talked to very sweet but quick to snap in distrust because..well trust is what got them killed in the first place? They’re a bit bloody..and a eyeball sometimes hangs out?? Like vhs horror stuff

Sorry I’m being so descriptive,I hope you are a nice day!

OOOoo yes time for more spooks!

Also I am having a nice night, thanks! (and I hope you are having a nice day/night too!)

......

Pomni

To make a long story short, you got murdered while wearing the headset, and that tethered your spirit to TADC.

As expected, you lost memories of who you were--except for the knowledge that someone killed you because you trusted them too much, and you believed the answers were inside this very game.

Your character ends up looking like a child's ghost costume: a white bedsheet stained in blood and one of your eyeballs occasionally wanting to pop from its socket.

Caine (who was very much bewildered at your arrival) declares that you're part of an "exclusive Halloween update" and changes up the tent and grounds to have more spooky flair.

But Pomni clearly wants no part of it, and she can tell you don't either.

You're clearly a kid who is (somehow) handling the situation of being stuck in this game better than her, yet when she tries asking you about it....all you do is stare back.

She swears she can hear static noises and whispers she can't decipher--all in all getting a...very creepy vibe from you.

Initially she decides to keep her distance, afraid you were secretly some virus or Abstraction underneath that sheet.

But that changes when you're walking by the rooms one night, and you pass by Pomni's door, hearing her quietly crying.

Although you weren't inclined to get close to anybody here, you were concerned. And since you weren't actually coded into the game, you didn't have to follow any of its rules--and that allowed you to enter her room without a key.

At first you scared the shit out of her, but after realizing it's you, she lets you sit beside her, eventually venting about how badly she missed her real home.

"Everyone keeps telling me "oh this place is so much better" or "get used to it"...but what if I don't wanna do that? I don't care if my old life was bad...I-I can't take anymore of this.." Her sobs grow louder. "I wanna wake up in my own bed knowing my real name!!"

"...I miss home, too," is all you say in response. Yet it's more than enough to calm her down.

For once, you're not trying to brush her off or force her to "cheer up" and accept her reality. You made her feel heard.

"Yeah..me, too....sh-should I thank you for agreeing..?" She sniffles, seeing your subtle nod, before you leave her be, not wanting to get too attached.

Ironically, she was able to sleep a little easier after talking to you.

Jax

From the get-go, he's gonna be real nosy and curious.

Since not even Caine himself expected your arrival and found out that you don't follow the "rules" like everyone else...Jax is gonna try his damnedest to understand you and see what makes you tick.

But he's gonna be disappointed quickly since you don't respond much to him (or anybody in general).

"So...ya like Halloween?"

"........"

"....thought so. Good talk, new kid."

You definitely act like a legit ghost--doing nothing but stare, move things around, and pop up unexpectedly.

Eventually, his curiosity leads to him visiting your room (which has no key), and he discovers many drawings on the walls.

Most depicting a dead person wearing a headset.

What he found most disturbing was a journal that contained his and the others' names..

From what he's gathering...you're suspecting one of them of murdering your real world-self.

But he doesn't get much time to ponder this as you show up, angry at him for intruding.

You make yourself look even bloodier and scarier, with both of your eyeballs hanging from their sockets and staring at him.

"Get out."

Those two simple words put the fear of god in him.

Jax runs out faster than a jackrabbit, colliding with Gangle in the process. Her comedy mask falls off again, but he catches it and looks at her.

"J-Jax..?" She realizes his fur is standing up on all ends, and he looks terrified....even more than he did after realizing the circus was his forever home.

But he just shoves the mask back into her hands and leaves without saying a word.

He never speaks of what he found in your room that day.

Kinger

He thought his eyes were weird...until you came along and periodically had to put your own eyeball back into its socket.

"It's good to know I'm not alone!" He nervously chuckles, only to be met with your eerie silence.

Sometime later, he suggests showing you his insect collection, and it does pique your interest.

You did love all things "creepy" and "crawly".

Yet you're adamant about going to his pillow fortress after he invites you.

It reminds you of the ones you used to build all the time, up until...

Fortunately, Kinger recognizes your reluctance and just brings one of his bug boxes to you so you can look at it.

He could infodump about the various critters for hours, with nothing but nods and quiet "mhms" from you, and he's happy.

In general, he doesn't mind your quiet personality.

Although you still sometimes jumpscare him unintentionally like Gangle often does.

Tbh he's a good father figure and recognizes that you're just a kid who got trapped in this game unfairly.

Even so, you try to keep your distance and looks at him suspiciously if he starts acting too nice.

He was quiet aloof, and you weren't sure how he would act on any given day.

Gangle

After accidentally spooking her (by simply existing in the same room as her), she breaks her comedy mask off.

But immediately she feels guilty for screaming and tries scrambling to fix it, hoping you weren't mad at her.

Yet all you do is stare, not looking angry or anything at all (it's hard for any of the performers to see your expression in general, aside from your hanging eye, but still).

Poor Gangle is just afraid you'd turn into a scarier version of yourself.

When she keeps cutting her ribbon fingers(?) on the ceramic pieces, you come over and clean it up for her, taking it away despite your own hands bleeding.

The implications that you were able to shed blood and nobody else were a little disturbing to her..but she's glad you're not offended by her screaming.

Although she wonders where you're going with her mask..

Later on, you knock on her door and present it fully fixed.

Except...it looks more Halloweenish with an evil smile painted on it, messily glued together.

'Oh god I hope this doesn't turn me evil or anything..' She thinks, putting on a smile as she takes it anyways.

Yet you remain where you are, staring and clearly waiting for her to try it on.

And so she does, and it turns her into a very chaotic Halloween lover, acting even more mischievous than Jax and allowing her to finally get her revenge for all his pranks.

In the end, you gain a decent friendship with her, subtly protecting her from Jax's bullying.

Ragatha

Seeing that you're so distant from the rest of the gang has her worried.

Some of them might consider your loose eyeball creepy, but she's not gonna judge you on that (besides, she's missing an eye altogether so she can't say much anyways).

Howeve,r she's the first to find out how strong your distrust of everyone is.

"[Y/n]? I don't think it's good to be isolating yourself like this. I know you hate being here and Caine's a weirdo..but...we're all in this together. You can trust us-"

"Don't." You warn, putting on a frightening display of anger that sends her tumbling to the ground, sending chills up her spine.

"Trust" became something you didn't take lightly, as the last time you put your trust in someone....you ended up dead, turning into a literal ghost in the machine (that was your gaming system).

Despite this, Ragatha doesn't run away.

Like Pomni, she understands that you're just a kid who's confused and lost.....and clearly had serious trust issues.

But she's determined to help you through that, even if you keep scaring everybody away.

She's got motherly instincts, and she hopes that in due time you'll learn to warm up to her.

Zooble

"A bedsheet worn as a costume? That's a classic."

She's seen weirder things during their time in the circus, so you don't faze her too much.

Only when you snap at Ragatha or somebody who was trying to be nice to you does she raise an eyebrow.

Honestly, they 100% understand that you just wanted to be alone sometimes, and she respects that.

It's suffocating trying to act all cheery and go along with every damn activity Caine tries to get everyone involved in (but lucky for you, he can't make you follow along).

Especially since she believes he made up that stupid "Halloween update" as lazy way to explain your sudden arrival.

The only time you do interact with Zooble is after she yanks Jax by his ears, and they hear this eerie-sounding giggle behind them.

When she turns around, you're just standing there motionless, staring at her.

Somehow, they just know you were smiling underneath that costume, which makes her smile, too.

"Maybe I should pull him out a hat next time, huh?" She jokes after letting him go, and you giggle once more as he hits the ground.

#clanask #anonymous #tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc jax #tadc zooble #ghost reader #child reader #tw body horror #platonic #headcanons #halloween

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thankskenpenders · 1 year

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It's a bit late, but I figure I have to touch on the big news from today, which is that for an (early) April Fools celebration Sega went and released a free visual novel about Sonic getting murdered

Here's a thing you should know about me: I am deathly allergic to ironic visual novels, and the related trend of announcing dating sims (which are synonymous with the medium of visual novels as a whole to many people) on April Fools

Aside from an incredibly small selection of titles that have seen wider success, it feels like much of the game industry is only willing to acknowledge visual novels as a punchline. And said jokes about dating sim stereotypes have been done a million fucking times by now. They're parodies of parodies of parodies. Even when these prank dating sims actually go and get made rather than just being a few fake screenshots, it feels like it's just because VNs are seen as cheap, disposable entertainment compared to "real" games. Companies can afford to commission some bullshit like the KFC dating sim and write it off as a marketing stunt. And it works. These games will get widely reported on for being so ~wacky~, while devs pouring their hearts into doing sincere, interesting work with the medium of visual novels are usually out of fucking luck. It's so, so tiring. The fact that this happens like clockwork every year has made me come to dread April Fools Day

So imagine my surprise when The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog drops out of nowhere and it's actually one of my favorite Sonic games in years

Aside from the intentionally tongue-in-cheek, attention-grabbing title (and Sonic doing the Family Guy Death Pose), there isn't an ounce of irony here. It's just a straight up whodunnit VN set on a train, albeit a lighthearted and pretty easy one. It's still a Sonic game, after all, and Sonic games are for kids. But it's so clearly made out of a place of love, both for the characters and for murder mysteries, rather than being a parody that's constantly winking at the camera and going "haha, isn't this absurd that this even exists at all?" Forget that. This wants to tell a genuinely good little Sonic story. Not to mention how gorgeous all of the artwork is throughout, with character illustrations from IDW cover artist Min Ho Kim (AKA deegeemin)

Like, for real. I've wanted the Sonic games to explore the supporting cast more for years, and I can't believe the game to finally do it is a murder mystery visual novel released for April Fools. This might be one of the best showcases of the cast... ever, in the games? The script from Ian Mutchler is so, so great, with fun and cute moments for everyone involved. And, smartly, you see the cast through the eyes of a new character (I named them "Blorbo") who isn't necessarily familiar with things like Blaze being a princess from another dimension, making this a surprisingly valid way to introduce people to the supporting cast. I'd say more, but it's a short game, so I think everyone should just go out and play it if you haven't already

There is still part of me that wishes a Sonic visual novel like this could've been greenlit for release any other day of the year, rather than being yet another April Fools visual novel. But regardless of the excuse they used to make it, I'm extremely happy that this exists

#tkp post #other media

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a-s-fischer · 9 months

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One of the things I hear a lot from Gentile witches and neo-pagans who want to work with Lilith or claim to work with Lilith, is that she is actually a Mesopotamian goddess, usually either Ishtar/Inanna or Erishkigal, and that it was the Jews, with their horrible patriarchy juice, who slandered her and cast her down, and so the Jews do not deserve to say what happens to her and it isn't antisemitism to work with her, or to completely ignore what the Jews say about what she is in a Jewish context.

Lilith is not Ishtar or Erishkigal. However, there is a Mesopotamian figure that is pretty stinking analogous to Lilith, and is probably her folkloric ancestor, by which I mean the idea of Lilith probably comes from this Mesopotamian figure. In fact, Lilith almost certainly is either a Jewish version of this figure, or, they are both descended from the same Near Eastern and Mediterranean basin folkloric figure. That figure is Lamashtu.

Lamashtu is, much like Lilith, the supernatural embodiment of maternal and infant mortality, a figure of power and terror, who functions as a way to embody and cope with the profound dangers that are pregnancy, childbirth, and infancy without effective medical care. the Mesopotamians never worshiped Lamashtu, but they did seek to appease her, including making symbolic gifts to her, to keep her from visiting them, and killing them or their children.

An interesting side note is that there is also a Mesopotamian figure who specifically opposes Lamashtu and functions as the protector of pregnant women and infants, and that figure is Pazuzu, a wind spirit, who ruled over other wind spirits, including ones called the Iilu in the Akkadian language. Akkadian is a Semitic language, related to Hebrew, and this word is probably a cognate of Lilith, but the Iilu probably have no relationship to the figure of Lilith except her name. You might know Pazuzu as the demon featured in the movie, The Exorcist, and ironic fate for a mythological protector of women and children.

Anyway, if you'll remember, I implied above that the Lamashtu/Lilith figure, was present in various guises throughout the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, so there are of course figures analogous to both of them throughout the region, such as Lamia of Greece, and the Strix of Rome.

So if you really really want to work with a figure who functions as the supernatural embodiment of maternal and infant mortality, Lamashtu, Lamia, or the strix would all be excellent options that don't come from an extant closed religious practice. All the baby killing, none of the antisemitism and cultural appropriation.

While all three figures are almost certainly descended from the same folkloric root, they're all subtly different, because as stories and characters travel, they change. as such, they all have particular good points about them as figures of veneration.

Lanashtu is the OG bad bitch, who commanded fear, respect, and offerings, like a mythological mafiosa, collecting protection money.

Lamia has attached to her the story that she was one of Zeus's dubiously willing lovers, who was screwed over first by Zeus, the embodiment of patriarchical rule, then by a jealous Hera, the embodiment of patriarchal marriage, so if what attracted you to Lilith was the story from the Alphabet of Ben Sira, about a victim of the patriarchy getting her own back through violent vengeance, Lamia might be the girl for you. With her however, the emphasis is less on her murder of children, then on her seducing and eating men, though she does also get strongly associated with killing children, especially boys.

And the strix is particularly interesting, because the word comes down to us in the modern Italian word for witch, striga. Indeed, one of the theories as to where the witch figure came from in Early Medieval, and then Early Modern Christianity, was as the strix demon made human. This might explain the close association between Early Modern Witchcraft and infant mortality, including Italian stories of witches causing infants to die seemingly natural deaths, so that they could dig them up and eat them after their funerals, something that ties these human supposed witches very closely to demonic folkloric antecedents. If you are looking for a figure of unfairly maligned female power, the strix and her close association with later human witches, might be the one for you.

All three of these figures, much like Lilith herself, are reflections, both of the power women wielded even within patriarchal societies, over the process of pregnancy, birth, and childrearing, and also the powers of death and loss that everyone was subject to. There is something powerful, transgressive, and even healthy in acknowledging the fears and dangers presented by this death and loss,and for some people, that might take the form in venerating the underlying powers. If this is something that would be spiritually meaning for you, and you wish to work with such a figure, and you are not Jewish, please respect the fact that Lilith is part of a closed religious practice, and remember that Lilith has sisters, in other parts of the Mediterranean basin and the Near East, who are not from extant closed cultures, and who might serve your needs better anyway.

#a s fischer original #Lilith #jewish #jumblr #witchcraft

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devonellington · 1 month

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Fri. March 22, 2024: More Incoming Snow This Weekend

image courtesy of Jill Wellington via pixabay.com Friday, March 22, 2024 Waxing Moon Cloudy and mixed precipitation And another week gone. We’re preparing for another half a foot of snow this weekend. Urgh. Today’s ANGEL HUNT episode : Episode 122: The Ethics of Parking Magic Is magic for only for big life events? Angel Hunt Serial Link Today’s DEADLY DRAMATICS episode: Episode 76:…

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#ANGEL HUNT #CAST IRON MURDER #computer issues #Deadly Dramatics #grant proposal #ink #Legerdemain #residency #script coverage #weekend

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dumbificat · 2 months

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Happy Birthday, Kai !!

☆ - cyno + albedo + zhongli + heizou + tighnari + raiden + shenhe + jing yuan + blade + kafka fluff | wc: 1.8k ♡ - no warnings | gn reader (intended for kai) ♪ - note:: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAI !! im sorry this was posted late ,, i hope you had the amazing day you deserve, beby <33 ★ - taglist -> @thexianzhoujade @ryuryuryuyurboat @dailypenpen @thestarswhisper

CYNO, as i’m sure you know, is a busy man. for that reason, it took many weeks, if not months, to plan out your birthday. he needed it to be perfect after all. so on the morning of march 6th, you awake to an empty bed. rightfully upset, you wander into the main room where you find cyno, a delicious brunch on the table and tcg cards ready to go. your face breaks out into a smile. you knew he wouldn’t let you down. it was early afternoon by the time the brunch and games were finished, though the day was far from over. he takes you out, a lovely stroll through the streets of sumeru. you were headed on up to pardis dhyai, though cyno refused to disclose any details. along the way, he bought you some small trinkets from stalls in the zubayr theatre. you stopped to watch nilou’s dance, which ended in a happy birthday sung to you. finally arriving at your destination you were amazed to find a huge feast, piles of gifts and your close friends waiting. it seems this would be one of your best birthdays yet, topped only by future celebrations planned by the same man.

ALBEDO will have a portrait of you as a gift painted by himself. you look as elegant as ever, holding a bouquets of your favourite flowers as the sun casts a golden glow on you as it sets. when he hands you the painting, you can tell how much effort he put into it - yet he’s apprehensive. all the hours he spent holding that brush and he doesn’t even know if you’ll like it. of course, the tears in your eyes are quick to quell his worries as he embraces you tightly. a small kiss is pressed to your forehead, along with a whispered “happy birthday, my muse.”

ZHONGLI would have quite the experience with birthdays given his age. and of course, being the liyuen archon meant he knew of every desirable spot the region had to offer. the whole day would be planned for accordingly, with meals, walks and resting time accounted for. your day would begin with breakfast in bed, leading onto a walk through the city as you head towards third-round knockout for drinks. with iron tongue tian’s stories floating through the air like a historical melody, you take the time to admire the hustle and bustle of the nearby streets. you’re shocked when the story ends with a “happy birthday!”, zhongli only offering a knowing smile. you then start a short trip down through the harbour, zhongli buying any gifts you want from the stalls before making your way over to wanshu inn. there, you and zhongli have a filling meal with a cake for desert, decorated just for you. moving to your final destination, you see xiao, who offers you a small gift on your way to the roof. there, he hands you a gift, a silver ring with a complementary cor lapis gem sitting in the middle. he slips it onto your finger, then you move to sit in zhongli’s arms as you admire the view of liyue from above. needless to say, you enjoyed every moment of your special day with your special someone.

HEIZOU knows of your bad relationship with your birthday and wants to be the one to change that. he will have spent a lot of his time preparing the perfect day for you, hoping deep down that you’ll enjoy it. with the permission of his superior, and help from his colleagues, he plans a murder mystery, albeit fake, where each clue leads you closer to a surprise party at the end. you played your unsuspecting role perfectly, though you didn’t know it was all an act in the first place. you seemed genuinely upset at the prospect of a murder, and on your birthday no less. that’s where heizou’s intellect comes in. he knew how this could affect you, or anyone really, so he made some of the ‘clues’ outlandish and suspiciously fake. you thankfully caught on, the victim picking your favourite flowers only to be killed with chopsticks stained with your favourite food was… a bit much. regardless, you took the ‘bait’ and solved the murder, being rewarded with a party and gifts from your friends. there wasn’t much more you could have asked for, and it seemed as though your opinion about your birthday changed for the better after all.

TIGHNARI would know the gift he wanted to give you months before your birthday. he wanted to make you a flower. not through the means of paper or crafts. but with science. your own hybrid, a species made just for you. it took time, naturally so. but he finally had it made, just in time for your birthday. it was a cross between mourning flowers and padisarahs, the gorgeous sunset colours of the mourning flowers mixed with the structure of padisarahs made for one of the most pulchritudinous flowers out there. of course, he couldn’t just give you the flower. no, instead he had a whole garden of them, some being in pots as well. he invited you to dinner, then brought you to the garden with hands covering your eyes. to say you were in awe was an understatement. then again, tighnari managed to shock you each and everyday.

RAIDEN would have to ask kujou sara as to what celebrations humans hold for birthdays. after listening to her advice, she decided on a simple date, focused solely on you. your day was spent walking the streets of inazuma, drinking dango milk and having only the best street food (she wanted to cook but… you know how it is). just when you thought the day was over, she brought you to a cliffs edge, one with a stunning view of inazuma. there was a small picnic prepared, sweet treats that she managed to decorate herself. a short while - and many snacks - later, there was a sudden bang interrupting the serene silence. with a furrowed brow, you looked around hastily to find the source of the sound. it was only when raiden wrapped her arm around you, guiding your face to the sky in front of you that you realised what it was. fireworks. gorgeous colours and patterns filled the sky, an ode to you on your birthday. your head fell to her shoulder as you admired the sight just for you. they slowly came to a stop, but your head remained. raiden’s arm tightened around you as she confessed sacred truths and vows of love to you, drawing your special day to a close.

SHENHE would not be used to human traditions, so she would seek out the guidance of her master and ganyu . the three of them together would plan a small celebration for you, with many gifts made in advance. perhaps the best gift they had for you was a small mechanical device, made with the purpose of star gazing. the idea was shenhe’s, but it couldn’t have been made without xianyun’s help. when march 6th finally rolled round, she was ready. the two of you shared a lovely day together, sharing drinks and meals - she indulged in you and for once had liyuen dishes - and visiting friends along the way. when the time came, she gifted you the device. at first you were confused, but when she explained how it worked, you were elated. you spent the rest of the night stargazing together, while shenhe described constellations for you. a tiny star shot across the inky sky, upon which you wished every birthday would be like this. it was in the early hours of the morning that you finally fell asleep, head resting on shenhe’s shoulder. she promptly carried you home, cuddling up to you before sleeping herself.

JING YUAN - your darling husband - has a practiced plan for your birthday. he wakes you up with your favourite breakfast in bed, leading straight into a near hour long cuddle. if anyone were to witness such an inherent act of intimacy, they would believe you two had become one under the blankets, the tangling of limbs only serving as evidence. dragging you out of bed with a perfected ease, you fall easily into the prepared routine for your birthday. from chess to a picnic, you get a lot done on your day. as you wind down into the evening, there’s a final surprise for you. your favourite cake, topped with candles and sweet decorations. little yanqing was with you both, his smile brighter than the candles when he wished you a “happy birthday!!” as for jing yuan, his regular lazy smile was replaced by something more akin to ‘home’, for that’s what you were to each other. after sharing some of the cake, it was time for bed. though, being his husband, you knew jing yuan wouldn’t let you sleep without more cuddles and sweet confessions of adoration whispered into the night.

BLADE is not one for celebrations, but for you, he makes an exception. he gets permission for a day off, something he rarely sought. he makes simple plans for the two of you, though you couldn’t complain when you were expecting nothing from him. he knew how important birthdays were to humans, but also how you felt about your own. for that reason, he didn’t get anyone else involved, or even brought attention to your day. he home cooked dinner, and you stayed in watching a slew of movies and romcoms, something he’d normally be opposed to. hours passed as you basked in the comforting presence of each other. you thought the night was over, but there was a small surprise blade had for you. he handed you a tiny box, the velvet coarse in your hand. opening it, you find a silver necklace with a little sword pendant, a blade. he clasped it around your neck, the metal cool on your skin before taking you into his arms.

KAFKA would sense that you were stressed even weeks before your birthday. for that reason, she plans a spa day for the two of you. she treated you to the whole thing: massages, manicures and pedicures, facials, the lot. after such a soothing experience, your nerves were calmed. it wasn’t over though as you spent the majority of the day between saunas and steam rooms, as well as a dip in a jacuzzi. to top it all off, kafka ordered only the most luxurious of meals for you, and the sweetest cake they had. you could officially look forward to your birthday from here on out, especially if it would bring such a relaxing experience.

rest assured, these characters will be celebrating your birthday every year.

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xiaowhore · 2 years

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lights, camera, action!

premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.

previous episode. watch here.

note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D

四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder

although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.

he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.

he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.

so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!

is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.

but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.

ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.

except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.

contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.

in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.

the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.

...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!

you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.

“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)

you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”

“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.

“do you dislike it?”

your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.

“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”

all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”

sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”

rely how exactly?!

...

“is it too tight?”

“um... a little.”

“okay. is this better?”

“yes. am i too stiff?”

“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”

ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.

he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.

but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.

thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.

but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.

“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”

“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.

“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.

...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!

“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin them with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”

“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.

“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”

“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks.

“oh? my bad.” he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly. “you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”

his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.

“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”

五 ; scaramouche, the best friend

“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”

“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”

“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”

“yes. you've made that very apparent.”

“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”

“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”

“this is where i store my beer.”

scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)

(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)

his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.

he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.

he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.

“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”

“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”

(personal grudges were involved.)

he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.

(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)

when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”

“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”

two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.

“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”

he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”

“which one?”

“...the hotel scene...”

ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.

“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“...whatever. suit yourself.”

“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”

“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”

“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”

as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.

but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.

long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.

he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.

but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.

“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.

the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.

the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.

it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.

to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.

but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-

your lips were touching something soft and warm.

the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.

after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.

it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.

“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.

“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”

“i don't.”

for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.

this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.

(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)

六 ; thoma, the former male lead

there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.

for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.

thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.

you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.

actual partners. once. for a romance drama.

(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)

it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.

your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.

thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.

alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.

but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.

naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.

he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)

“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”

and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.

when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”

when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”

when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”

and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.

he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.

you got lucky. what about him?

slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.

he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?

it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.

still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.

“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”

always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”

thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”

for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.

“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”

you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”

“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”

“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.

thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”

you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”

“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”

you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”

“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”

oh.

fuck.

“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”

thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”

it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.

but you want to help.

“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.

“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”

it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.

“you... want to help me?”

you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.

“[name]. can you look at me?”

slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.

yet they also seem... resigned.

“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”

he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.

“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”

this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.

long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;

your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.

now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-

you hear it.

the shutter of a camera.

七 ; kazuha, the murderer

the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.

alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!

and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.

he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?

the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.

but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?

“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”

it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.

“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.

“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?

you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.

even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.

being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.

sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.

it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.

“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.

you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”

kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“letting me off easy.”

...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.

“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.

“iced tea is fine.”

“got it.”

as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.

you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.

the first thing you see is your face.

you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!

you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.

he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.

later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.

“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.

“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”

“???”

xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”

“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”

xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”

that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.

now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.

... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.

as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.

xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”

“yeah?”

“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”

now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.

“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”

“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”

“they were heart-shaped, [name].”

(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)

days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.

his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.

he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.

it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.

and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”

nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”

he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.

eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”

“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.

your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”

“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”

“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”

...............FUCK.

you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.

but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.

did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?

you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.

it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.

albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.

kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.

“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”

you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.

the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.

...

sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.

but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.

albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does. he can't catch you with his male lead in a romance drama reflexes now.

ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs where darkness falls with each lower step, and wire cables don't exactly glow in the dark.

...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.

you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, praying to at least save your face, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.

you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.

you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.

heart pounding in adrenaline, you jolt back to action when the relief fades away and the panic settles back in. “your head-!” you scramble to touch kazuha's head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over his body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress for you, and you crushed him under your weight. he looks so so frail, what if you permanently crippled him or somethi- what the hell is all this muscle?“what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”

“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.

“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks as you admonish him, frowning severely. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember—but you won't let that distract you now! that was very reckless of him!

bashfully, he averts his gaze, the cheeks beneath your palm growning warm and flushing with a pretty pink. “i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...”

you blink, glancing down at your position. at a proximity entirely inappropriate, you're hovering above him, straddling his hips and making no move to get away.

you scramble to scurry to the side, but his hands maintain their tight grip on your waist.

this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!

what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!

(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)

5K notes · View notes

vashtijoy · 1 year

Text

deleted scene: "i'm still a detective, you know."

Something quick that's in the third semester, in Akechi's deleted Mementos mission. (which is essential viewing/reading if you are even remotely interested in him, btw.)

Akechi has a line in the Sae's Palace arc that goes like this:

Akechi これでも優秀な探偵だよ kore de mo yuushuuna tantei da yo I am an exceptional detective.

kore de mo—"even considering [this], despite [this]". In this context, "this" is his age and appearance. But what happens later, in the third semester? He says it not once, but twice:

Akechi これでも一応探偵だからね kore de mo ichiou tantei da kara ne Remember, I am a detective myself.

Akechi これでも探偵だからね kore de mo tantei da kara ne I am a detective, aren't I?

It's the same line. But he's cut the bragging ("exceptional") and replaced it with ichiou, often used to make yourself sound more humble. Except the entirety of the line doesn't match that tone:

Akechi わかってるよこれでも一応探偵だからね wakatteru yo kore de mo ichiou tantei da kara ne Oh, I know. Remember, I am a detective myself.

What's that wakatteru yo? It's not polite, lol—rather than just "I understand", it means something much more like "I know already"; "give it a rest". Joker has told Akechi not to slack off, and it's testing his patience: "I don't need telling not to do that". He has another line just before this that begins wakatteru yo, and again, he's being taught to suck eggs: Joker tells him "you'd better help out with this too".

So what's ichiou doing here? Third semester Akechi is not humble; he doesn't hide his light under bushels, and the line isn't a sugary "you can count on me"; it's backtalk. It means "tentatively". "pretty much; after a fashion; for now". It sounds like he's trying to be polite, but it's actually ironic: "Despite [this], I'm a detective, you know." "I'm still a detective, more or less."

The second time he has to tell them, when Yusuke asks if he's really going to investigate by himself, he drops the ichiou. "I'm still a detective, you know."

And what's the "this" of kore de mo, here? It's not his age any more. It's everything else that's happened, and is happening. He's still a detective, even if it's only in this false reality; he's still a detective, even if he's dead and it will only be for a few weeks; he's still a detective, even though he was a fraud and faked all his cases, even though he murdered who knows how many people and singlehandedly cast Tokyo into a state of terror. He's still a detective.

It's important to him. It matters to him. He's sensitive about it. and they cut the whole damn thing

#persona 5 #japanese language #p5 meta #goro akechi

1K notes · View notes

neymarsangel · 9 months

Text

There's no place like home - Joao Felix x reader

Joao Felix x female!reader

Requested? Yes/No: Anon: lazy s3x w joao

Warnings: Smut, 18+++ (male oral receiving, unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it!) swearing, fluff

Word Count: 1.5K

—

English summertime wasn’t like the rest of Europe. The rain outside suggested that it was more wintertime rather than the middle of July. Joao was on his break for the summer and considering the two of you couldn’t go out and enjoy London you opted for a lazy afternoon. The pair of you were laying on the sofa watching The Wizard of Oz. When you’d met Joao he’d told you he’d never seen the film. Making a mental note you were adamant you’d get him to watch it one day and what better time to watch a film with an ongoing thunderstorm outside?

You were laying on his bare chest, your eyes glued to the screen as the brunette ran his hands through your hair, glancing down at your figure, a small smile on his lips as he took in how attentive you were to the film. He glanced over at the screen before speaking.

“Why didn’t the munchkins just kill the witch if she was such a problem?”

You turned your head to look back up at him, your large doe eyes making Joao melt in a heartbeat. “Because you can only kill anyone by accident.” Your eyes looked over to the screen before looking back at him. “Dorothy didn’t mean to kill the witch, any death we see in the film is accidental. Glinda rules over Oz and she cast a spell which didn’t allow murder.”

“Then why didn’t they just plan to kill the witch and make it look like an accident?”

“Because that wouldn’t really be an accident, would it?” You smirked as you spoke, Joao mirrored your expression before he leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“You know sometimes I hate watching films with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you always know everything.” “Well, what else am I supposed to do whilst you’re at work?”

“Hmm… true…” His hands now went to your waist, his grip tightening on your body as you felt his hips buck. “God you’re so pretty.”

One hand left your waist to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him he slowly leant down and planted a kiss on your lips. You kissed him back instantly, your mouths slowly moving on one another. Shifting you now straddled his waist, and your hands went to his jaw as you slowly started to grind down on his clothed cock.

He moaned at your actions, his hips bucking up into yours as he pulled away from the kiss. His hands now went to the hem of your shirt which ironically belonged to him. His cold hands on your stomach made you jump slightly which earnt you a low laugh from your boyfriend. His hands went higher and fell upon your boobs.

“Joao…”

“What baby?” As he spoke he swiftly pulled your shirt over your head. “Such a pretty girl…”

“You’re such a tease.” Your hands tugged on the waistband of his shorts.

“You’re one to talk.” He pinched your nipples as he spoke, the sudden sharp feeling making you grind harder into him. “Remember the end of the season awards? When all you did was tease me? Constantly begging for my cock until I bent you over the car and fucked you until you forgot your name…”

His words caused you to moan, only growing more impatient with him. “Please…”

“So needy…” He kissed you again before raising his hips up. He effortlessly pulled his shorts and boxers down before pulling your clothed hips onto his bare ones. His hand slowly started to pump himself as he watched your eyes light up. “I need your mouth meu anjo…”

You didn’t hesitate. Moving down his body you trailed light kisses down his body, the feeling giving him goosebumps. When you reached his cock you glanced up at him before kissing the tip, now it was your time to tease him. Your hand had replaced his, slowly moving up and down his large cock. You planted another kiss this time further down but still not enough for him to feel the slightest release.

“y/n… please dom’t tease…”

“Who’s the needy one now?” Your tongue slowly darted across the tip, collecting the precum that had spilt from your teasing.

“Good girl…” He moaned as you slowly started to take him into your mouth, your head bobbing around his cock, with every stroke you started to get deeper. Joao did his best not to grab your hair and force you down onto him but it was proving harder by the second. His hands moved through your hair, tugging at the strands with every movement.

You took the hint and changed your pace, moving faster he began to hit the back of your throat. The sound of you gagging around him was one he’d never grow tired of. His head fell back and his stomach muscles tightened at the pleasure growing inside of him. Your hand moved in sync with your mouth, at first you were gentle but the rough movements of his hips and the hand in your hair caused you to quicken.

You could feel he was getting close but he suddenly pulled your hair hard enough that your mouth left his cock and now you were looking up at him with pleading eyes. Joao's thumb went to your lips and swiped any mess from your lips before planting his thumb in your mouth. “Suck.” He commanded which you happily obliged. “Good girl.” His thumb left your mouth but continued to trace your bottom lip.

“I need you.” You moaned at his actions.

“Where do you need me, baby?”

“I need you to fuck me…”

Joao smacked your ass, a chuckle leaving his lips as you let out a light yelp at his sudden actions. “I want you to ride me.”

Nodding you shifted on the sofa, quickly slipping off your underwear you straddled him once again. Joao’s hands went to your hips, guiding you onto his cock. No matter how many times the two of fucked you would never get used to his size. Gripping on his skin your nails left marks on his shoulder as he entered you.

“Move when you want to.” He leaned up and kissed your lips, his thumb caressing your cheek as you slowly rose your hips before grinding back down onto him.

At first, your movements were slow, Joao guiding you gently as you rode him. His hands started to grip tighter on your hips, he was silently begging to fuck you harder. You were bouncing on his cock at a steady pace but his actions made you slowly speed up.

His hands went up to your boobs, cupping and pinching your nipples as you continued to ride him. Joao started to buck his hips as you started to speed up, his actions hitting you in all the right places. “Fuck Joao…” Your head fell back as you moaned, your hands resting on his stomach to steady yourself as his hips started to move faster.

“You feel so good princesa…” Joao moved one hand to your neck, pulling you close enough that he could latch his lips against your neck. His teeth bit your skin, each shudder of pain mixed with pleasure as he started to thrust harder.

Your eyes scrunched at the sudden sharp pain, a gasp which quickly turned to a moan leaving your mouth. Your moans only encouraged Joao more. His mouth left your neck, a smirk on his lips as he admired his artwork on your skin. “So good for me.” His hand once on your hips now made its way to your clit. His thumb added more pleasure to your body and if it wasn’t for Joao holding you up you would’ve collapsed on his chest. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joao…” You started to bounce faster. Joao knew he couldn’t hold himself back for much longer and luckily for him you couldn’t either. “Fuck I’m gonna come…”

“Yeah?” His actions quickened. His thumb sped up, adding more pressure on your clit which caused the familiar pit in your stomach to build.

“Fuck Joao I’m close…”

“My name from your mouth sounds like a dream…” He kissed you again, tugging gently on your bottom lip as he pulled back. “You gonna come?”

“Yes, Joao…” Your body started to slow, your hips only being moved by your boyfriend's hands. “Fuck…” You felt yourself grow tighter around him.

“Come for me y/n.” He moaned in your ear and that was all you needed.

Your body began to shake as your high washed over you. The tight feeling around him made Joao finish deep inside you. Holding you down on his cock as he finished his forehead leaned against yours as his high finished.

“Good girl.” He kissed your lips again, the pair of you catching your breaths.

You went to move off from his cock but he held you firmly in place. He slowly pulled you back down to lean on his chest whilst still inside of you, the film still playing in the background. “I know I hate the cold but I wouldn’t mind if the rain never stopped. You both shared a laugh at his words before you kissed his bare shoulder.

There really is no place like home.

—

Buy me a coffee <3

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