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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 11 months

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Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

Summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years.

Notes: anon’s mind is imploding with the amount of genius in it. thank you for requesting, i was on my knees for this idea

Warnings: smut, religious undertones, afab!reader, daemon is an ass, criston is an ass, reader is genuinely not having a great time (at first ahaha), religious/vow-related guilt, slight size kink?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @a-beaverhausen @ilikeitbetterangsty @levithestripper (adding you tentatively, jack, hmu to be added to any!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN! (and i'm back to writing!!)

Daemon never cared to hide his straying looks, and you knew of his habits. Whoring, drinking, murdering – and yet, you were lucky for having married a Targaryen Prince. You kept your mouth shut, knowing that you would, otherwise, end like your predecessor, Rhea Royce.

Why Viserys had insisted Daemon marry against his will again, you’d never understand.

You kept your mouth shut, through whores, paramours and treason. You played your part, as everyone did in the court. And when your eyes strayed, they did so secretly and carefully. You chose to stare at someone you could not attain anyway.

A kingsguard was your safest bet at something that would never happen anyway. You seethed against the humiliation of your husband and sought your own distraction. Even when Daemon stared hungrily at Rhaenyra, a girl, you said naught.

Targaryen tradition – you did not know if you could argue with that. But Rhaenyra was barely fifteen. She was beautiful, yes, but even now, the fact that your husband would prefer a girl over you stung.

In the early days of your marriage, you had gone to the sept every day, beseeching the Mother to give you a child, even if your husband refused to touch you beyond a drunken wedding night, in which he had failed to even come close to producing a child. Now, you were glad for your childless state, even if the court whispered that you were barren.

So when Daemon left your shared chambers, which were an order of the king, you bade him goodnight and turned back to your reading. Still, you stared from your balcony out at the small spot outside the Red Keep he always appeared in after a while.

A secret entrance only Daemon knew how to use. You held your breath when a small figure appeared first, silver hair glinting in the moonlight.

Rhaenyra.

A few moments later, Daemon appeared, and they disappeared into the city.

The rumors in the days to come were enough for you to draw your own conclusions, but to your surprise, Ser Criston was soon included in them, which stung more than anything. You’d deemed him safe to keep as your own in secret, and yet, Rhaenyra had not only taken your husband from you, but also him.

It hurt more than the annulment of your marriage that Daemon brought forth. You only nodded through the process, letting the Septon say what he wanted, and Daemon tell as many lies as he needed.

And so, your name was yours again and all you were in court was the former wife of Prince Daemon. Your family seethed, ready to remove you from court until Queen Alicent asked you to become her lady-in-waiting, and you were once again stuck in a court of lies.

Ser Criston grew bitter over Rhaenyra, but instead of becoming your friend, he began to worship Queen Alicent. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t love, but something queer in between.

In his own twisted way, he once again wanted anyone but you, and it stung when it shouldn’t have. Weren’t you supposed to be past this?

And yet, you tortured yourself, watching as he raised Alicent’s children as his own and continued to barely spare you a glance. The court grew disinterested in you, and you continued to lead a life as quiet as before, turning into a lonely spinster with the years.

Only now, you turned to the Father in the Sept, begging for purpose. For anything to happen in your life that might make it worth something.

And then, Lady Laena died. Beautiful, magical, mysterious Lady Laena, who you’d never known and yet loved for ridding you of your husband was dead.

You attended the funeral, even prayed for her, hoping that she would find peace – a thing you thought highly unlikely for a wife of Daemon. You watched as Daemon once again practically drooled over Rhaenyra, and watched as she did the same. Alicent saw it, too.

“It appears as if some things do not change.” Alicent commented dryly. It was treason, what she said, but her nerves had been frayed for the past few weeks, and she knew you would not speak ill of her to the king. You wouldn’t have made a difference to frail King Viserys anyway.

“No, my queen.” You sighed. “But it is not me he is humiliating this time.”

“That did not make you deserve it.” Alicent replied, ever gracious. She slipped her arm into yours, as if you were still the young, disappointed women you had once been and led you away from the balcony. Ser Criston followed dutifully, and for some reason, it felt as if his eyes were burning into your back.

Rhaenyra and Daemon disappeared together, and everyone in their presence trained their eyes to the ground, pretending not to see. Your hand curled into a fist instinctually, feeling old anger and disappointment bubble back up in you.

Perhaps, if you had been bolder, you could have reigned Daemon in. You could have been queen consort, and saved Alicent all her pain. They were silly thoughts, and yet, they made you leave the room, and make for your chambers.

You almost screamed when you saw a dark figure sitting in them, back turned to you, until you recognized dark curls and white armour.

“I almost thought Daemon had finally sent someone after me.” You mumbled, half to yourself. Criston turned, looking right through you.

“Ser Criston?” You asked carefully. He’d grown older, as all of you had, but his beauty remained to him. Criston stayed silent, still staring.

“Criston?” You tried again, calling him by his first name this time, and slowly, he seemed to see you standing across from him.

“She could have had me, and freedom. She chose this prison, you know?” Criston told you. For a moment, your felt confused, before you realised that he was speaking of Rhaenyra, still heartbroken. Of course.

“What are you doing in my chambers, ser?” You asked. Ser Criston laughed dryly.

“You never deserved what he did to you. Prince Daemon dishonored you.” Ser Criston continued, not answering your question. “A lady so beautiful any a man would have been grateful to have you as their wife, and yet, he threw you away for nothing at all.”

Nothing. He had called beautiful Laena, wild Rhaenyra nothing at all. What treason, and how your heart loved to hear it.

You swallowed down your bitterness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach as Ser Criston called you beautiful. Yet, you kept your guard up. This place was only an extension of King’s Landing, reeking of corruption just as much. For a moment, you considered whether, mayhaps, this was some kind of ploy.

Ser Criston stood so suddenly you took a step back instinctively. He passed you, and you thought that he was going to leave, tired of your company. Instead, he closed the door in front of him. The lock clicked into place, a cacophony of sound in the silence that hung over the room. You held your breath, praying to the gods that nothing would happen to you.

He began to close the distance between you, and you began to back up, until your knees hit the bed, and you fell backwards. Criston was still walking, still closing in on you like prey, and you felt yourself scramble backwards. The headboard stopped your attempt to flee, forcing you to look at Ser Criston.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand on his sword. Could you make a run for it? Where was there to run?

His swordbelt unravelled, and the weapon hit the ground with a quiet thud. Criston only waited, staring at you expectantly. What did he want?

Slowly, you felt yourself freeze out of place, dragging yourself across the bed towards the end of it, where he stood solemnly. Carefully, you reached up, putting a hand on his shoulder. You heard him inhale shakily.

“Ser Criston, are you alright?” You asked. A pause, then, a shaky breath and a shrug that turned into a shake of his head. “Ser?”

“I’m sorry.” Criston said finally. Carefully, his hand took yours. You stared down, looking at the dark grey glove that covered his hand, starkly contrasting the white of the rest of his uniform. The leather felt soft against your hand, and it was that you tried to focus on, not the fact that you were holding the man’s hand in yours.

“What for?” You asked, smiling up at him nervously. You hated the position you were in, the vulnerability of it. Your neck was craned to look up at him, and you were practically kneeling on the bed. If anyone found you like this, they would accuse you of unthinkable things… Alicent would never forgive you.

“For not defending you. For what I am to do.” Criston said. “Both tarnish my knighthood, my white cloak… tarnishing you.”

You opened your mouth to speak. “What you are about to…”

As Ser Criston pulled off his gloves, cupping your face with his left hand, you trailed off. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pinch yourself. Surely, you were dreaming. This was not real.

Yet, even if it was, you did not care to move away from him. Instead, his lips found yours, soft and gentle in their own way. You felt yourself reciprocate, though you knew that you should not. You should not be doing this, betraying Alicent in this way and yet…

He sighed into the kiss, and the thought disappeared in the fuzz of your mind. You were unable to think, almost unable to breathe. Gods, how long you had waited for this moment. Weeks, months, years.

“Do not give in.” Criston begged. You paused, breaking the kiss to look at him, but no words left your mouth. He repeated his own once, before something shifted in his eyes. This time, he kissed you less softly, and more so like in the bawdy tales your sister had told you. And you found yourself reeling, your hands against his chestplate to steady yourself.

Even as his hands slip under your dress and travel up your thighs, he begged. “Please, stop me.” He whispered. You shook your head in saccharine betrayal and Criston rested his on your shoulder for a moment. His hands left your thighs, leaving the skin hot and burning, and snaked up your neck, cradling your head. They were big, encompassing your skull and somehow, that made your breath hitch.

Hands that were made to kill, and yet, he was holding you so gently, as if you were fragile. A sudden boldness made you speak.

“Do you want me?” you asked. He lifted his head, nodded almost frantically and you made your choice.

Had the distance between you two really been that dramatically large? It felt as if there was no world around you, only your lips on his, his hands touching, holding as your husband should have held you. As you should have held your children.

Oh how you had longed for years, had none of it, and watched as others had been destroyed, by husbands, by children… yet it still felt so deeply unfair that you could not bring yourself to feel guilty for this little thing. Just this once.

You let Criston kiss you, worship you with his hands as he took his time, carefully unlacing your dress, letting the fabric pool around you. Still, you sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He loomed in his armor, dwarfed you from this perspective.

When you were finally in your shift, you could not help shivering. Criston looked at you with worry in his eyes, before he slipped away, stoking the fire in the furnace. The heat did not match the feeling his hands left on your skin.

He stood before the fireplace, his silhouette illuminated as he took off his armor. The chestplate, the padding, all those parts that shielded him when he did his duties were discarded carelessly on the floor, a stark contrast to his eyes, trained to the ground.

The shadows that flickered through the room, created by candles and fire illuminate the muscles of his back as his dressshirt joined his armor on the ground. You could feel yourself biting your lips to keep yourself from making unladylike sounds.

When Criston returned to the bed, you expected him to push you into the bed, to climb atop you and do what Daemon could not. Instead, he fell to his knees before you at the end of the bed. Confused, you stared down at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him. He did not answer, his eyes dark as he stared up at you, filled with things you would never tell your septon about. His hands pushed up the seams of your shift until it bunched at your hips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed, and your legs crossed automatically. You sat up straight, as you had been taught, until Criston’s hand returned to your knee, patient, waiting. You understood. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs again.

You still felt exposed as Criston began to place kisses on your knee, even more so when his mouth wandered upwards, towards your thighs. He had kissed your mouth, had barely kissed your neck and now he looked like he wanted to devour your thighs.

Criston took his time sucking marks into the flesh of your thighs, marking it as his, you suddenly realized. And how you loved to be loved.

His mouth moved upwards with a pace that was so slow it almost became painful. You felt a moan escape you, covering your mouth immediately. Criston, looking up again, shook his head. You felt confused – wanton sounds, those were condemned by the church. They could not possibly be what he, such a devout man, would want to hear?

Only, Criston wasn’t that devout after all, was he?

And when his lips touched your cunt in devout prayer, you answered in such currency. Eagerly, his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, flicking the nub at the top with impatient insistence until you felt your back weaken. You let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress with a girlish ease you had not felt in years, but suddenly it was there, and you were floating…

How had the septons dared to tell you all this was sin? How could that be true? How could it be when-

Criston never ceased his movements when you grew louder, trying to contain your sounds to the confines of your chambers. A knot was beginning to tie itself in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter until you were begging Criston for something – you didn’t know what it was, except that he knew, that he would give it to you.

And then, suddenly, the knot was gone, and something else took its place. You weren’t sure if this was something you had ever felt before because it was all-consuming, washing over you like a golden wave and pulling you under. The tension, the pressure, all of it was gone, replaced by white-hot pleasure and your eyes rolled backwards, your back arching off the bed towards Criston.

Coming down from you high, you felt Criston slowly removing your shift, continuing his worship on your stomach and your chest, sucking and biting skin until he felt you squirm beneath him. It was then that he looked at you, smirking, but you could see that his eyes were full of something no one had ever looked at you with.

Not desire, nor lust, for you had seen those in men who eyed you greedily during banquets. It was not the empty, sad stare King Viserys gave Alicent. No, it was the glances Ser Harwin had thrown at Rhaenyra before her death. The look of adoration Queen Aemma had held for King Viserys all those years ago…

You had no need to say the word, for you knew, and it made your head spin. Could it be?

His hands pulled your shift over your head, until you were bare for him. He was still wearing breeches, but you could see the strain beneath them. Filled with sudden confidence, you pulled him towards you, kissing Ser Criston and wrapping your legs around his waist in a desperation to have him close to you.

Your hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches clumsily, until he gently removed them, doing the work himself. You could see Criston’s cock, half-concealed by the shadows between you and the dark, and yet, you knew it was bigger than Daemon’s. The thought of it made you afraid and your face heat up at the same time.

His hand moved languidly while he leaned down to kiss you. When his hips bucked into his hand, you heard yourself beg him for it, and that seemed to change something in him. Suddenly, Criston seemed hungry.

You could feel him between your legs, and then, you weren’t all that confident anymore. But Ser Criston held you close, whispering reassurances and praise until you could feel him enter you. There was a small stretch, a small feeling of discomfort, and Ser Criston halted his movements for a bit.

When you nodded, he began to move, his body rocking into you. He seemed to know what he was doing when he rolled his hips, stimulating that spot inside of you you had no idea existed in the first place.

The first time he hit it, you felt the air knocked out of you from pleasure. And then, the feeling became a rapid addiction. Your hands dragged his chest to yours, your legs wrapping around his waist again in an attempt to urge him to move faster, harder, to make you feel good.

Ser Criston, the perfect white knight, obliged. He snapped his hips against yours, angling them upwards and giving you something that you had not thought would work that way, feel that way.

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

“Please what? What do you need, my lady?” Criston replied, his words coming in short intervals. He was just as gone as you, you realized, and that only added to your own high.

“Oh Gods,” you began. “Criston, I don’t know, I- please, please,…”

He rested his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time, his teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently at first. The pain was good. It added an edge you had no idea you needed, brought you back down into a realm where you could form some coherent thought.

The knot you had felt before, the tension that had turned into a coil in your stomach returned with a sudden fervency. This time, the feeling was there more quickly, more intense and it was almost too much. At the same time, you felt as if you would die if it stopped.

Criston seemed to feel it, and only later would you realise that your cunt was clenching around him so tightly that he was having difficulty not to moan as loudly as you. But Criston continued, and he pushed you over the edge, leaving you reeling in pleasure as his hand clapped over your mouth to muffle a scream.

He followed soon after, only that he refused to spend his seed inside you, instead painting your stomach with it. You know why he did it, and yet, it somehow still hurt. Before you could ponder too much on the matter, Criston disappeared, returning with his breeches on and a rag in hand. He cleaned you while you lied on the bed, the soreness beginning to sneak in after your high.

Afterwards, Criston lied down next to you. He did not speak, but he did not pray either, and for that, you were glad. And still, he was the one who pulled you closer. You held onto him, basked in his warmth.

Finally, your patience and virtue had been rewarded. You did not waste a single thought on what would come in the future, only that this was right, and no septon nor Alicent would be able to convince you otherwise (not that you would tell them about this to begin with).

You could feel yourself dozing off in your white knight’s arms, until the alarm bells of High Tide suddenly began to rang. As the castle came alive under the signal, Criston shot up, and so did you. Shouts passed your door, and he scrambled to put on his armor.

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

#criston #criston x reader #ser criston #ser criston x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole #criston cole x reader #smut #criston cole smut #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd smut #criston cole imagine #minor #rhaenyra targaryen x daemon targaryen #request #criston cole angst

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coryosbaby · 8 months

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Your Face .

Fandom: “Saw (2004)”

Pairing: Adam Faulkner Stanheight x fem! Reader

Synopsis: you’ll never leave him again.

Cw: angst, mentions of past murder, injuries, money struggles, mentions of past sex work, night terrors, codependency, attachment issues // nsfw . hand jobs, nipple play, cum eating, praise, mommy kink, oral (f recieving)

🪚

Couple’s therapy really isn’t easy when the both of you were victims of a fucking serial killer.

If you can even call it couples therapy— talking about how you feel towards each other and trying to fix your relationship is some sort of therapy, you guess.

Maybe it’s not healthy to stay with the person you were held in captivity with. But even before that, you were attached at the hip. Even if you were both on and off before the incident, you were still both incredibly infatuated with one another. You would never be able to escape that face: Adam’s beautiful, almost angelic face. It’s been that way since the end of high school graduation, and it’ll be that way until the end of your life.

You know why Jigsaw had chosen you. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Your money situation had been terrible before he had taken you, and in his mind, you were a whore, a dancer, a prostitute. But never in your mind could you ever contemplate why he chose Adam: your sweet boy, your best friend, your sweetheart. Adam.

You still dream about the last day you were there, sometimes. When you had carried out the plan Adam had come up with: just shoot me. Shoot me in the shoulder so he thinks I’m dead. And then get us both out. And when you had, trying every desperate attempt to find the key to the chains, you had reached your hand down into the sink drain. It was a wonder you had somehow escaped those chains without having to cut your own foot off. Adam’s cries sounded a lot in your ears, now. In your own haste to go and get help you had left him there with John Kramer. Even when he had begged you not to. Even when he almost died.

It was a wonder you both got out alive. It was a wonder you had managed to come back, fight the man off, and get him out of there.

And ever since, it’s like Adam has only ever though about that. The moment you left him in that room. The fear he felt, the impending doom.

Maybe you both need an actual therapist .

Some nights, nights like these, Adam has problems sleeping. When he does, it’s like he’s placed back in there in that room with you— being tortured, shot, and humiliated. And on some nights like these, he wakes you up for your affection and assistance. Eyes shooting open, an extreme amount of fear goes through the poor boy’s tired body. He’s there.

He’s quick to shake you awake. Your eyes open with confusion, and then once the situation settles in you understand it’s one of those nights. Lifting yourself up, you frown when you see the tears beginning to well in Adam’s eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He sniffles, trying to cover his face now that he’s being half brought back into reality.

“I just woke up. I don’t—“ his hands grab at his hair, pulling, as he cries. “— I don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, sweetheart..”

You push his hands out of his hair and replace them with yours instead. You soothe his scalp with your fingernails, and kiss him. You used to have night terrors for this same reason, so you understand how this must feel for him. He moves down so he can lay on your thighs. He feels sad and embarrassed and scared. You stroke the outline of his face with gentle fingers: beautiful, strong nose, sharp jawline, gorgeous eyes, plump lips. Any woman’s dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You murmur to him. He quickly shakes his head. He lets out a pained little moan, almost like a scared little rabbit. You lean down, and kiss him on his nose.

“I know, honey. I know it’s hard. But you aren’t there anymore, okay? You’re right here. I’m right here.”

He nods, but you know he’s just trying to stop you from seeing how deeply the night terrors affect him. He’s always been such a strong boy.

Your forehead pressed against his cheek, you whisper to him.

“Do you want something to drink? Some water, some tea? I can make you some..”

“Y-Yeah. Maybe some water, momma, if that’s okay.”

That sweet little nickname you adore so much from him. You smile.

“Okay.” You lift him off of you, rounding the bed to make your way out of the bedroom. “I’m gonna go into the kitchen—“

“Please don’t leave me!”

It’s immediate, the way you freeze up and stop at the end of the bed. You almost start to cry yourself.

Adam is embarrassed at his outburst, and he sobs, all of his emotions flooding out. He crawls over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He rests his head against your thighs. You know now that the glass of water will have to wait a bit when he utters that familiar set of words. The same tone, same amount of fear lacing his cracking voice. It brings it all back to you, just as Adam’s dreams bring it back to him.

You let him cry out for a few more minutes, stopping to grab some tissues from the bedside table and clean him up when he’s calmed. Your fingers settle into his hair; soft and wavy under your fingertips, you shush him with a gentle hum.

“I’ll never leave you, Adam,” you whisper, soft. “Never. I swear.”

And you know that it’s true. Your fingertips move down to his jaw, lifting his face up so he can look at you. He’s coming back down from his nightmare, and real life is starting to seep in. He isn’t in that bathroom anymore. He’s in his apartment— our apartment, including you, in his brain. Not the one he got taken from. Not the bathroom. This is new, this is safe— and jigsaw is dead.

You sit down next to him on the queen sized mattress you had bought together. He buries his face in your neck, breathes in the familiar scent of vanilla, laundry detergent, and sweet strawberry perfume. Unadulterated bliss.

“Promise?” He sniffles, sticking his hands in between the valley of your breasts and traveling down to your tummy. He rests it there, soft.

“I promise.”

And when he’s calmed, when you’ve wiped all his tears away, you go and get him a glass of water. Only this time, his arms are wrapped around you from behind tightly the entire way to the kitchen.

Safe.

He drinks about two glasses. When you guide him back to your shared room you sit him down on the bed.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep,” he murmurs, embarrassed. You make sure that he doesn’t become ashamed of nights like these.

“It’s okay,” you reply. You smile as you kiss his forehead “Im off tomorrow. We can just stay up and go to sleep when you feel like it.”

Adam is now thankful that you’ve moved on from your life of sex work and into retail, because that means that he doesn’t have to worry about you as much. So it puts him in a good mood to remember that, and also to remember that he’s gonna have you for the rest of the day. He leans forward, plants a kiss to your lips. He smells like cigarettes.

You kiss him again. Harsher, a bit. Tongue slipping inside the warm canal of his mouth. Perfection.

You don’t want to urge him to do anything sexual with you right now unless he doesn’t want to. So you pull away, thumb brushing over the scar on his shoulder. It’s a spot you’ve come accustomed to— one that he’s sensitive about, but not with you. Never with you.

He leans in again and his kiss is heavy. He’s desperate, now, not only craving your body but also craving a distraction.

“Wait,” you breathe against his lips. “Are you sure, baby? Sure you wanna do this right now?”

“I want it..” he whines. His hand grabs yours and places it over his bulge. “Please? It hurts..”

You can’t resist him when he gets like this, and you know it helps him forget the things that plague his thoughts. So your palm grinds down into that spot that he laid your hands on. He breathes out a small breathy sound, one that makes him grind up into your hand. His body is slowly making its way down onto the bed. Laying down, he can see the lace slip adorning your body starting to fall down, down, down. Your cleavage is pretty, he thinks. Nice and soft enough to stick his cock in between.

He’s wearing one of his white shirts, and you lift it up to his shoulders to expose his bare torso. He’s gained a bit of weight since that wretched room, a little bit of his tummy beginning to fatten up. You find it absolutely adorable. Kissing there, you make your way up to his chest and pepper small bites on his chest. Marking him there is your favorite activity.

Your tongue laves over one of his areolas, kissing and scraping your teeth on it. He mewls, a small little “‘s good.” leaving his pretty lips. He’s always had sensitive nipples, and you love to play around with them.

He lifts himself up so he can slide the rest of his shirt off. Pretty muscled biceps replace the white fabric of the sleeves, and on one of them the gunshot scar sits. He’s still so perfect.

“My perfect boy,” you coo. “God, look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

He blushes, a thank you making its way from him. You move away from him, farther up to the head of the bed, and lean against the bed frame. He knows instantly that you want him up against your chest. You reach towards the bedside table and reach into the drawer where you keep your special things. When you pull out a vibrator, Adam crawls towards you with morbid curiosity.

You’ve used toys on him before, but for some reason, not this one. He leans back against your chest and adjusts so you can take his cock out of his pajama pants. It slaps against his lower belly, wet and dripping. He’s always had such a pretty cock, all thick and hard and red. He’s got a lot of girth, enough to make it hard to close your fist around him.

The vibrator has a lot of power to it; you know this because you’ve used it on yourself many times. You hold Adam’s cock with one hand, and with another you switch it on. He gulps as he watches the toy in your hand.

“Okay?” You ask. He nods, pretty lashes fluttering shut as you watch his confirmation. His head tilts back and his mouth falls open in ecstasy when you press the vibrator to his aching tip.

“Oh, god.” He moans.

You move it down to his base, rubbing teasing circles into the soft skin there. Adam wraps his hands around your arms, desperate to have something to grab onto.

“So pretty like this,” you praise him. You move one of your hands up to his hair so you can rest it there. You kiss his neck gently. “My sweet Adam. Your cock is so hard, isn’t it? So hard for mommy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chants, whimpering. “It’s ‘s good.. love you so much.”

Your heart flutters, breathing in against his neck. He smells so nice that it almost makes your head tingle.

“I love you too, sweet boy.” You say. You move the vibrator down to his balls, and a moan rips through his throat. He sounds so heavenly that you can’t resist reaching down in between your thighs and rubbing your clit. When you pull away your slick coats your fingers, and you rub them up against the boy’s lips. He accepts them greedily, keening at the taste of you on his tongue. Crooking the digits, you make sure to keep them flush against Adam’s teeth; he loves having them in his mouth.

“Never gonna leave you again, honey. Gonna stay with you forever and ever, gonna make this fat cock cum… ”

And god, if that doesn’t make Adam’s balls draw up tight then he doesn’t know what will. Precious noises spew from his lips as his orgasm approaches him.

“Yes! Please, mommy, pleasepleaseplease, gonna cum—“

And although he didn’t last long this time, it doesn’t matter to you. Once his cock is dripping white, you set the vibrator aside. Your fingers scoop up some of his creamy spend, and with a lolling tongue you lick it all up. He tastes amazing, just perfect. Your perfect boy.

Sighing, he leans against you for a moment. He turns around, gives you a sweet little sultry smile, and returns to you the same perfect amount of pleasure. He does this by shoving his magnificent tongue in between your thighs. And skilled, the boy is— he loves to please. He thinks your pussy is the best he’s ever tasted or smelled in his entire life, and while he rubs his soft wet muscle against your clit his eyes roll back and small moans leave him. When you cum he makes sure you have two more orgasms— one from his fingers, another from his cock that had somehow gotten hard for you again.

And in the scene where his cock is inside you, you’re on top of him while he lets out little grunts and moans. You bounce up and down on him until your slick is white and wet, dripping down his thighs and onto the sheets. He had lit a cigarette somewhere between three fingers inside you and now, and his lips are wrapped around it while he watches you ride him. Holding it between two of his fingers, he exhales smoke at the same time that your teeth scrape along his nipple and your nails dig into his shoulders. He gasps— angelic. Then he tilts his head back, and cums.

That face is another one you’ll never forget— his pretty eyes shutting, mouth agape and cheeks ablaze. You don’t think you could ever leave this pretty thing ever again.

#adam stanheight #Adam stanheight x reader #Adam stanheight x fem! reader #Adam stanheight smut #leigh whannell #saw #saw 2004 #saw 2004 fanfic #Adam stanheight fanfic

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litnerdwrites · 2 months

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So, about Morrigan...

We all know that Morrigan's life was spent with others lording power over her, her body and her autonomy. When she tried to regain power and control over her own fate and body by sleeping with Cassian, she wound up tortured and brutalised at the boarder of the Autumn court, while the first person to find her, Eris, left her there. I don't like Morrigan either, but nobody should have to go through something like that, least of all at the hands of their own parents.

However, we see later in ACOFAS, that Mor's father still holds a lot of power over her.

The fact her father still holds this kind of power over her is a problem to her. So what does she do? Instead of working harder to overcome her trauma, talking about it, trying to face her fears, or doing anything else productive, she decides to become just as bad.

Mor lords power over Nesta, knowing Feyre and Cassian would chose their and their court over Nesta in a heart beat. Instead of empowering Feyre by encouraging her to hash things out with Nesta and take the first step to rebuilding that relationship, or telling Cassian not to disrespect Nesta's boundaries (the way males constantly disrespected her own boundaries), Mor decides to go on a power trip, by helping to isolate Nesta.

She constantly insults Nesta at every opportunity, getting off on the power she holds over her, despite the trauma and pain Nesta's gone through. During her first dinner with them, Nesta refuses their (unreasonable) request (felt more like a demand imo) to share her story at the HL meeting, and leaves the room before strangers who, best case scenario, don't give a shit about her, or worst case scenario, despise her, can peer pressure her into it.

It's been insinuated more than once that the IC doesn't know the whole truth about what transpired between Morrigan and Eris. Cassian, in silver flames, called Eris a 'good male' but also a 'coward' trapped by terrible circumstances (which is another topic I'd like to discuss later on), despite knowing what happened to Mor. It's becoming clear that one of them, or both of them, are lying about what happened. Which, personally, I think is fair, to some extent. Mor is under no obligation to share the truth in it's entirety with anybody if she doesn't want to.

(Although letting them believe a selective truth that paints Eris as a villain and letting her family insult him if that's not the case is so fucked up of her to do, and yet so on brand).

However, one would think that, because of this, Morrigan, of all characters, would understand not wanting to talk about your traumas, much less in front of an audience. Especially given the prejudices between humans & fae, Beron's general disposition, and the NC being disliked by most of the other courts, it seems obvious Nesta wouldn't want to talk to them at all, much less share something so deeply traumatising.

Instead, she passes Feyre a bottle of wine, as if she's the one being the most inconvenienced by Nesta's trauma and her response to it. She does the same in ACOSF, deciding that Nesta should be trapped in the CON while taking immense pleasure in the torture Nesta's going through. She even gloats about it to Nesta when coming to see Nesta being humiliated in Illyria.

Mor has suffered immensely, but as I mentioned in my previous post, trauma is an explanation for cruel behaviour, not an excuse. Much like Nesta, while Mor's actions may, to some extent, be explained by trauma, it doesn't excuse them. It should open a door to empathy and understanding.

Perhap's Nesta's human values, being somewhat similar to the values of the CON, may contribute to Mor associating her with her father. Or perhaps she wanted to feel powerful by protecting Feyre from horrible family the way she wished someone had protected her. Perhaps, in taking away Feyre's agency and power over her own forgiveness and relationship with her sisters, Mor was able to feel powerful. It's possible she see's Keir in her, which may be why Mor feels Nesta would 'thrive' in the CON.

Instead of stepping into her own power by facing her abusers, she faces other victims, takes power away from her own friends, and lords it over other victims. She takes power and agency from her friends, and for all she tells Feyre to stay out of the situation between Elain and Lucien, she continually inserts herself into the situation between Nesta and Feyre.

Mor used to hold power over Cassian and Azriel by using Cassian as a buffer between Az and her, knowing they both would do whatever she asked, pretty much. Now, she now lords power over Nesta and actively helps to isolate her, while also flaunting her relationships with Feyre and Cassian in order to hurt Nesta, knowing that Cassian and Feyre would let it happen without a care in the world. (I mean, what else do you call that scene at solstice where Mor and Cassian happily exchanged lingerie in front of her, while Feyre herself didn't even get Nesta a gift, after forcing her to come to solstice against her will).

TLDR: Mor's on a power trip because she unfairly associates Nesta with her father for no reason and uses it as an excuse to be almost as bad as Kier to Nesta. The cycle of abuse at it's finest people.

(Also, does anyone else come to post, intending for it to be short and sweet, only to end up going on a long ass tangent and writing a whole essay? Cause I do that. IDK how to stop though😭)

#anti acosf #anti ic #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro nesta #nesta deserves better #nesta acotar #anti amren #anti mor #pro nesta archeron #anti morrigan #Seriously Mor needds to take her own advice and mind her own business.#cycle of abuse through and through

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estrella-etoile · 8 months

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Two Views of the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods

Unpopular opinion, probably, but... Mu Qing and Feng Xin had a point when they went to extremes to try to get Xie Lian away from Hua Cheng

even if they were wrong.

Let's look at this from FengQing's POV. The last time they saw the crown prince, he was fighting with an overpowered ghost king completely obsessed with breaking (and ultimately owning) him. White No-face genuinely believed that he was doing XL a favor with his torture. That the downfall of Xianle was all for the greater good, and that he had plans for Xie Lian related to it all. Maybe they didn't realize it was so that XL could become the perfect protege, but the unhealthy obsession was apparent.

Fast forward to now.

Xie Lian is back. He's suffered from 800 years of destitution and humiliation. He speaks casually of unspeakable pain and torture, and suddenly there's this other overpowered ghost king that brought a reign of terror to the Heavens.

And that ghost king also seems to be around (and extremely affectionate with) the prince. Hua Cheng brought the same terror to Heavenly Officials that White No-Face brought to Xianle (by design as a punishment for Heaven looking the other way...) So here XL is, back, speaking about sleeping in the same bed as Hua Cheng with a shrug. Holding his hand and snuggling up to him. Looking desperate and pained any time they are separated.

And then? As they're trekking up Tong'lu attempting to thwart a new ghost king's birth, they come across a cave full of beautifully carved statues of Xie Lian. From the God Pleasing Crown Prince to the fallen god to the drunken crying exile and finally... to the god suffering the effects of the Land of the Tender. To any but Hua Cheng and Xie Lian (and especially to Feng Xin and Mu Qing), this obsession looks dangerous. After all, was White No-face's obsession different? Maybe it wasn't, and suddenly both of them are asking the (valid) question, is this all happening again? Did Xie Lian truly get broken this time? Is he walking into the life of a kept man and sex slave of a depraved and evil ghost king who was about to achieve the pinnacle of his obsession?

So they acted the way that they thought they needed to, to get Xie Lian away from the threat. Because even after 800 years of ignoring their shame, their loyalty had never completely eroded away.

The difference between White No-face and Hua Cheng is night and day to pretty much anyone paying attention. But the thing is, FengQing didn't have the view that the readers had, didn't even have the view that Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan had honestly. They didn't see the quiet moments where Xie Lian and Hua Cheng just basked in their little world. Didn't watch Xie Lian giggle at some joke that Hua Cheng told.

They didn't pay attention to Xie Lian, or to the fact that San Lang never tried to force Xie Lian into a mask (which WNF literally did). True, Xie Lian spent a ton of time trying to understand why Hua Cheng had chosen him, but he never so much as had his hackles raised when Hua Cheng was around.

Ironic that it made them strip Xie Lian of agency to "rescue" him.

By Tong'lu, Xie Lian was as obsessed and in love with Hua Cheng as vice versa. It meant the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods was a beautiful revelation. Ah, so this is why my perfect and beautiful and sexy and clever and best friend Ghost King chose me. And I feel so lucky that he did.

It's not something that Feng Xin or Mu Qing are equipped to understand yet. Because Xie Lian is no longer the naive ascended-too-early god pleasing prince. The hardships that he suffered in those intervening centuries made him stronger, instead of weaker.

By the time they finally defeated White No-face, and certainly in the year where Xie Lian waited, I think both of them finally had a good idea of the person he had become. I don't think either will ever be truly comfortable with Hua Cheng (which? fair. also, kinda deserved.), but they definitely can tell that Xie Lian is happy, and are happy for him in turn.

#hualian meta #hualian #tgcf meta #mu qing and feng xin kind of had a point #even though they were wrong #cave of ten thousand gods #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #hua cheng

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rynne · 2 years

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A major thing that bothers me about the “WWX and JC have both hurt each other, so by post-canon it all evens out (or close enough) and they can still have a relationship” concept/argument is about the intentionality (or lack thereof) of the harms they each caused.

Because the thing is, nothing WWX did was ever meant to hurt JC. The core transfer was done to save him, not to humiliate him. WWX seceded from the Jiangs because that was the only option he had to protect the Wens (and the Jiangs too), not because he wanted to leave JC behind. JZX’s and JYL’s deaths were accidents, nothing WWX wanted much less chose, and were certainly not meant to target JC. Even at Nightless City, he initially holds back against the Jiangs specifically, until he finally totally loses it.

JC, on the other hand, consistently intends to harm WWX. After the fall of Lotus Pier, he strangles WWX, both out of violent emotions generally and to punish him for it being his “fault.” After WWX secedes, JC goes beyond their agreement to just tell the world that WWX left the clan and instead says that WWX declared himself an enemy of the cultivation world, which was not what WWX asked of him and further harmed his reputation. JC joined the conference at Nightless City, which was meant to raise an army to attack WWX, and we have no indication that he was going to speak in his favor. JC then actually led the siege that killed both WWX and almost all of the people he gave up his previous life to protect.

Even after WWX’s death, JC continues to intend him harm. He keeps capturing, torturing, and killing people who he thinks might be WWX (and the text is explicit about this; there is no indication that the “demonic cultivators” JC captured were hurting anyone -- he wasn’t trying to protect anyone, he wanted to capture and hurt WWX). When he finds someone who actually might be WWX, he uses a tool meant to expel WWX’s soul on him. He deliberately torments WWX with his greatest fear. He joins in a second siege meant to kill him.

Has WWX taken actions that resulted in JC’s pain? Yes. But JC’s pain was never the point...and that’s not true for JC about WWX.

So this is a big reason why I can’t want WWX to reconcile with JC, and why I’m glad that in canon he didn’t. They’ve both caused each other pain, but JC meant to hurt WWX in a way that WWX didn’t mean to hurt JC. And I don’t think WWX should have to go back to that kind of relationship.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #wei wuxian #canon jiang cheng #yunmeng nos

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lucianalight · 6 months

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Loki S2 Review

I rewatched S2 and I liked it even more on the second watch. I'm giving it a 6 out of 10 in average(8 for the finale). Since I didn't post a review week by week like for S1, I'm just going to talk about the main things I liked/disliked

The Improvements & Things I liked:

The pace and the narrative's tone and framing have changed. While the pace drops sometimes, these moments aren't as boring as S1. Meaning you don't want to constantly check when it's going to end(like you know, S1 and especially 1x06). The narrative is neutral and doesn't villain code Loki and hero code others. It doesn't turn Loki into a clown, a punching bag or someone who deserves humiliation(I guess they've done enough of that in S1). On the contrary the characters are shown as flawed people, with Loki being the most moral, considerate, logical and heroic amongst them.

They stated bluntly in episode 1, that what TVA used to do, were atrocities. That they were killing numerous innocent people who had a right to live their lives as they chose.

The characters were three dimensional, likable or tolerable despite their actions in S1. They showed remorse for the things they had done. Although the way the narrative chose to go about it in S1 still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It shouldn't happen to you for you to realize sth is wrong. But at least it was shown that the characters weren't slaughtering people mindlessly and some of them deep down knew it was wrong. Although the fact that they still did it, because of the "greater good", and "woe is me! It's not a comfort it's a burden" attitude about it is repulsive.

OB, Casey and Timely being funny, cute nerds and fanboys :D

Loki using amazing magical stuff and DID YOU SEE THE GREEN MAGICAL GLOW IN HIS EYES?*incoherent screaming*

No Romance. It was unnecessary and rushed in S1. This time they focused more on Loki needing friends and that was definitely a better choice imo and what they should have gone for in S1 too.

Sylvie's actions and personality framed as what they were. She wasn't put on a pedestal as this amazing different FeMaLe version of Loki. She was framed as a flawed character with wrong and right actions and beliefs.

Loki and Sylvie's talk in the pie land, about change, hope, fixing what's broken and being gods. That sigh before Loki saying "We are gods" with all the weight of the world on his shoulders. Wonderful acting.

The ending and its epic soundtrack.

Topics & Things That Could Have Been Handled Better:

The Topic of New York Invasion

"Sometimes a rage builds up and you just gotta let it out. Do you remember that time I was so angry with my father and my brother, I went down to Earth and I held the whole of New York city hostage with an alien army? Tried to use the mind stone on Tony Stark? It didn't work so I threw him off the building. It wasn't tactical. I lost it"

On the surface it looks like Loki's saying that's why he attacked New York and probably most people accept this without a second thought.

But the context of the scene matters. We see during the interrogation Mobius loses his temper. He was worried about Loki getting angry, but he was the one who loses his temper and hits Brad. Loki tries to calm him down by sympathizing with him to try and see what caused his behavior. It's the same thing he did for Thor in the first movie, before coronation and after it, while Thor was nervous and angry. What he says about New York while isn't the whole truth, it also isn't untrue. He was angry with Thor and Odin but as we know his anger and thoughts were influenced by the scepter. We also know Loki doesn't like to talk about his time with Thanos or being tortured. Instead he uses a half-truth, sth that is in character for Loki.

So the scene can be rationalized by this analysis but it's still annoying that this analysis is even needed. They should have been clear about the scepter's influence especially when mcu confirmed it.

Loki thinking about Thor's change as being a weakness. While both Thor and Loki were groomed and taught to consider being soft as a weakness, that wasn't Loki's true feelings. At least I don't think someone who prefers words and magic-that are considered a weakness in Asgard-over brawn thinks like that. His goal in the first movie was to goad Thor into fighting him. So the line should have been sth like this: "Asgard taught us being soft is a weakness, so I used that against Thor to goad him into a fight. I said he's gone soft…"

Plotholes and things that weren't explained.

Why Loki and Sylvie weren't sent to their original timelines like others? And why neither of them showed any interest in seeking their family? You're telling me Loki wants to see these people he knows for 10 seconds more than Frigga or Thor? OOC.

Sylvie's sudden mastery of magic since 1x06 isn't explained. She didn't know much, but then suddenly could do everything Loki did. I mean I can headcanon that her and Loki linking their power taught her some things but these sudden developments without any explanations are annoying.

Loki's genderfluidity. No mention of it at all. Although I believe that no representation is better than bad representation. And you should leave a topic alone if you don't understand it, otherwise you're gonna mess it up. Because bad rep can be more harmful. And so maybe it was a good thing mcu let that one go. But they could still fix it with some shapeshifiting, explaining its difference with illusions and Loki confirming that he is comfortable in her female form.

Loki's clothes. It's probably not that important in comparison with other issues but I really hate that beige suit. Why Sylvie who doesn't even want to be Loki and wasn't in Asgard since childhood changes into an Asgardian outfit for a fight and not Loki? Yeah I get it. It was because of the last reveal and transformation and finding his identity blah blah blah but at least they could have gave him his old Asgardian clothes or he could change the suit's color ugh

Criticism & Things I didn't like:

The ooc moments for Loki in some comedic scenes. Especially in episode 5. While the character has a comedic potential, it's not based on clownery or clumsiness. The best humorous moments for Loki are the ones where he outwits others, use sarcastic language or he is being outwitted despite his careful plans.

Certain emotional stakes aren't clear from the start. The audience know that saving TVA is the right thing because it protects all the freed timelines but they don't know why they should care? Or more accurately why Loki is so emotionally invested in this goal. That gets answered in episode 5 and while Loki's talk with Sylvie is a good emotional scene, the fact that it's stated so late in the story, makes the first few episodes boring when it comes to saving TVA.

The main reason the emotional stakes aren't clear(at least for me), I believe is because most of the people Loki call them his "friends", haven't done anything to either deserve his friendship or aren't close enough to be considered a friend. Let alone someone Loki tries to move heaven and hell to be with them, instead of for example trying to find his brother and family. It is an issue which again is rooted in S1 and carried to S2. What happened in S1 wasn't therapy or a healthy friendship.

However, Loki being loyal to anyone who show him an ounce of affection or him being moral enough to try to save people are in character for him and that's sth good about it.

The torture scene.

The trick Mobius and Loki pulled was predictable as hell. I didn't even doubted Loki in TDW, let alone here. And even though I didn't believe for one second that Loki's actually going to hurt the guy, and he wasn't shown enjoying it, I still hated that he went along with the torture idea Mobius had come up with. Especially considering the fact that he was a victim of torture himself and never shown any sign in canon that he would torture someone. So yeah I hated that scene.

And why that scene was even necessary? Loki could get into X-5's mind when they weren't in TVA. We know he is capable of it. He did it both through mind stone in Avengers and in TR. how else they were going to delve into Mobius' problem though smh

But alright let's say they needed a scene like that. Still the whole Brad believing Mobius is against torture, and Loki's the one who would be in favor of it, is so fucking ridiculous. Any way you look at it, it has always been TVA and Mobius who did any torture we've seen during the two seasons. The tortures that Loki endured might I add. Even in the previous scene, it was Loki who didn't hit Brad and only tried to intimidate him non-physically by acting as a villain. It was Mobius who hit him, who was shown more affected by Brad's insults. So logically the scene they had planned to fool Brad, should have been played completely the opposite way. By having Mobius do the torture. At least it was recognized that the torture idea was from Mobius and both he and Loki gave the credits for it to Mobius.

Verity Willis. Hunter B15 unlike the Verity in comics, doesn't have a close friendship with Loki or truth detector powers. Not having a good friend like comics Verity for Loki, was such a wasted opportunity in the series.

Mobius saying to Loki "You're a man of action...". That was such a stupid, unnecessary line. As if the main difference between Loki and Thor wasn't Thor acting before thinking, and Loki thinking and planning before acting. While Loki is also a man of action, he is first and foremost a man of strategy. The only plausible explanation imo is that Mobius said it to not feel useless in comparison with Loki and his skills.

"Thor's not that tall". Yeah, no. I don't think Loki's reaction to seeing Thor and Odin's statues would be that. Knowing his brother and family were murdered by the very same people he's working with now. Remind me again why he's considering them "FrIeNdS"? Someone really needs to explain the concept of friendship to Loki. Or rather the writers of this show.

And while we are at it. Let's talk about how Loki's past and identity issues were completely swapped under the rug as if they were all magically fixed and didn't matter anymore. As if those weren't the most important part of his journey. Another issue rooted in S1.

Final Thoughts(for now :D)

Season 2 was definitely better than season 1. Not perfect, and not for those who care about OG Loki's issues. They set him on a completely different path in S1 and they messed up any chance to actually delve into his problems. So in S2 we're having a character that we're supposed to accept has moved on from certain issues, and now tries to find what he wants and where he belongs. Still, I think that they listened to the criticism for once as they tried to fix some of the problems of S1. After many years it didn't feel like that the creators hate the character, or using him as a prop, or a plot device. It was a story about Loki. A bittersweet story for the god of stories.

#me: i liked this season #also me: here's a list of all its issues :D #loki s2 review #long post #loki #loki series criticism #loki s2 positivity

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zadrkinkmeme23 · 4 months

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Full 2023 ZADR Kinkmeme Fill Masterlist

We received 22 fills in total for the 2023 Kinkmeme, which are all listed beneath the cut. If you haven't read them already, we'd greatly appreciate if you'd leave kudos or perhaps even a comment on these wonderful fics! Doing so greatly helps our event to thrive.

Please remember that all characters in these NSFW fics are depicted as 18+.

'You, And Me, and Keef.' - After finding out that Zim has asked Keef of all people out on a date, Dib decides to tail them in order to figure out just what Zim's diabolical scheme is.

AKA - Dib's jealous, and has a wank about it.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Keef/Zim, Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply, Masturbation, Obliviousness, Jealousy, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Awkward Dates, Car Sex, Stalking]

'Post Blue' - "Dib wanted to tell Zim how nothing had felt right since he left, but he couldn't. The words withered in the back of his throat before they could even fully bloom. But he had to do something to let Zim know, something to convey the depths of the maelstrom that threatened to consume him. Swallowing down all of his common sense, he surged forwards, and pressed his lips to his ex-husband’s."

[Tags: Ex Sex, Closet Sex, Drunk Sex, Post Divorce, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Unresolved Emotional Tension]

An Extended Cut of this fic can also be found here

'Only Because I Love You' - by Wipmoy

"Oh no! Zim and Dib have been abducted by alien pornographers, who really want some footage of them fucking. And they can’t leave, or else they explode.

Well, that’d probably suck way worse, if they weren’t already secretly into each other. Zim’s pride cannot be vanquished so easily."

[Tags: Dib/Zim, No Archive Warnings Apply, Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fuck or Die, Aliens Made Them Do It, Exhibitionism, Praise Kink, Humiliation, Tentacle Dick, Zim Has A Penis And Vagina, Oral Sex, Kissing, Rough Kissing, Unsafe Sex, Swearing]

'Slightly Less Boring' - by Wipmoy

"Turns out, intergalactic space travel isn't that exciting. Dib thinks he can fix that, though."

[Tags: Dib/Zim, No Archive Warnings Apply, Oral Sex, Blowjobs In Car, Blow Jobs, In SPACE!, Road Head, Established Relationship, Choking, Coughing, Flirting, Oral Fixation, Tentacle Dick]

'Trip My Wire' - After getting stood up on one of their scheduled fights, Zim discovers that Dib blew off their plans to go and hang out with some other hideous human instead.

This won't do. This won't do at all.

[Tags - Dib/Zim, No Archive Warnings Apply, Interns & Internships, College AU, Zim is Bad at Feelings, Dib is Bad at Feelings, Frenemies Dib & Zim, Dib is So Done, Jealousy, Stalking, Masturbation, Sexual Awakening, Sloppy Makeouts, Grinding, Coming In Pants, Flirtatious Bullying, Mutual Pining, Enemies to Lovers]

'Let Him Bite Your Fingers' - A tiny alien flew into Dib’s room and now he’s keeping him.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Micro/Macro, Captivity, Eventual Smut, Eye Trauma, Praise Kink, Dubious Consent, Torture, Blood Loss, Forced Orgasm, Stabbing, Object Insertion, Dib Being Creepy, Come Eating, Mild Gore, Intoxication]

'Closer' - A fight between Dib and Zim takes a decidedly more lustful turn, forcing Zim to get creative in order to fully conquer his nemesis.

AKA - Zim uses his own slick as lubricant to fuck Dib.

[Tags: Top Zim, Bottom Dib, Alien Biology, Zim Has a Penis & Vagina, Intersex Zim, Slick As Lube, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Teasing, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Edging, Biting, Light Breathplay, Power Play, ZADE]

'Balderdash!' by SlimySlugJuice - Dib and Zim attend a Victorian costume party. Also, they're idiots.

[Tags: Dib/Zim General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, Dib/Zim, Victorian, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Bad Flirting, Aged-Up Characters, No Sexual Content]

'Twisted Transistor' - Frustrated by his inability to catch and expose Zim, Dib makes a poppet doll of his life-long rival. Now, all he has to do it test it.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Rape/Non-Con, Explicit, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-Consensual Touching, Forced Orgasm, Wet & Messy, Vibrators, Dib makes a spirit doll of Zim uses it for sexual purposes, Masturbation, Starts off non-con but ends consensual, Aged-Up Characters, Dib Being Creepy, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Untouched, Coming In Pants, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Humiliation, Public Masturbation, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Bathing/Washing, Light Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Cock Rings, Begging, Light Dom/sub]

'Dwarf Star' - by bachmanroad - Dib wasn't cut out for this.

[Tags - Dib/Zim, Teen Audiences & Up, No Archive Warnings Apply, Dib/Zim, Unplanned Pregnancy, Complicated Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, (That tag is for Dib btw not their unplanned smeet), Aged Up Characters]

'Putting My Foot Down' - SlimySlugJuice

'Zim is forced to dip his toes into uncharted waters.'

[Tags - Dib/Zim Explicit, Rape/Non-Con, Aged-Up Characters, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Mind Control, Power Play, Dib Being Creepy, Spit As Lube, Verbal Humiliation, Come Shot, Come Eating (Implied), Starts off as non-con but Zim gets into it]

'Strict Machine' - Fed up with his lab drone's bratty attitude, Taller Dib sends Zim in for "treatment".

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dubious Consent, Fantastical Hysteria, Alien Cultural Differences, Fucking Machines, Vibrators, Irkens Are Terrible, Medical Kink, Public Humiliation, Light Bondage, Forced Orgasm, Forced Ejaculation, Masturbation, Power Play, Irken Dib, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism]

'Fairground Freak' - Dib is a university student who came to London from the Americas with a not-so-hidden interest in the supernatural and bizarre. He then learns of a new and fascinating creature of unknown origin, and simply must know more.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Teen Audiences & Up, Dib/Zim, Alternative Universe - Victorian, Carnival, Nonbinary Zim, Victorian Attitudes, PAKless Zim, Drug Addiction, Strip Tease, Dib Being Creepy]

'Diet Stripe' - “You will finish this comically large beverage - yes, all of it - and we will wait. Even once you have reached capacity, you are not allowed to void liquid waste until Zim is touching your sossidgemeet.”

“Can you quit calling my dick that?”

[Tags: Dib/Zim, No Archive Warnings Apply, Mature, Urination, Omorashi, No Sex, Desperation Play, Don't Like Don't Read, Submissive Dib, Aged Up Characters]

'Dib's Game' - After Dib falls asleep in a compromising position, Zim is left trapped in something of a predicament.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dib/Zim, Fight Sex, Hate Sex, Light Bondage, Handcuffs, Cock Warming, Vaginal Sex, Zim Has A Penis & Vagina, Somnophilia, Technically Consensual Somnophilia but Dib falls asleep by accident, Praise Kink, Affectionate Insults, Subspace, Sleep Sex, Ambiguous Relationship, Whether this is ZADR or ZADE with benefits it up to the reader, Predicament Bondage, Aged-Up Characters, ZADRKinkmeme23fill]

'Straight To Video' - Back on Earth, Dib wouldn’t ever have imagined himself falling into this line of work, but out here, with the opportunity to become anyone and anything he desired, he found it oddly fitting that now he was the one being filmed and spoken of like one of the cryptids he’d spent his whole life chasing back home.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dib/Zim, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Porn Star AU, Sex Work, Aged-Up Characters, Vaginal Sex, Size Difference, Desk Sex, Plugs, Alien Biology, Zim Has A Penis & Vagina, Older Dib, Xenophiliac Dib, Sexual Roleplay, Porn Video, Porn Tropes, Literally Porn With Plot, In SPACE!, Wet & Messy, Squirting, Now with Dib's traumatic backstory, Oral Sex, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, Come Swallowing]

'What is love?' - “Aliens can't orgasm can they? I can't do anything for you?” Dib asked as Zim crawled onto the couch. He awkwardly shoved his softening cock back into his pants, too tired and lazy to properly clean up. “Considering Irkens have no genitalia, no.” Zim laid his head in Dib’s lap. “Will I ever be able to see whatever 'nothing’ you have down there?” “Maybe one day I’ll deem your puny human eyes worthy.” Dib sighed.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply, Dib/Zim, Awkward First Times, Alien Cultural Differences, Queer Themes, Aged Up Characters]

'Horny Dib, What Will He Do?' - Dib is drunk on some mysterious off-planet sex pollen, what will he do?

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dib/Zim, Creampie, Sex Pollen, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Vaginal Sex, Zim Has A Penis And A Vagina, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Aged-Up Dib]

'Howl' - Irritated by Dib’s recent strange and cagey behaviour, Zim decides to follow him to a strange house in the woods.

Unbeknownst to him, Dib is a werewolf. And unfortunately for them both, it’s rutting season.

[Tags - Dib/Zim, Explicit, Rape/Non-Con, Dib/Zim, Werewolf Dib, Dubious Consent, Werewolf Sex, Accidental Knotting, Knotting, Rutting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Master/Pet, Bottom Zim, Top Dib, No smut in ch1, Eventual Smut]

'The Exchange' - Zim finds a rare supernatural item that Dib is willing to do *anything* to get his hands on.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Dom/Sub, Dom Drop, Top Drop, Unintentional Dom/Sub Dynamic, Top Zim, Bottom Dib, Boot Worship, Spanking, Bondage, Vivisection, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Anal Sex, Throat Fucking, Zim Is Bad At Feelings, Bless These Idiots, Denial of Feelings, Pre-Relationship, Adult Dib, Adult Zim]

'Makes me wanna take Charles Atlas by the hand' by SlimySlugJuice

'A rather large Zim winds up in Dib's timeline. Naturally, Dib has some questions regarding the anatomy of his musclebound nemesis.'

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Aged Up Characters, Alternate Timelines, Non-Canon Compliant, Post-Zimvoid Arc, Size Difference, Muscles, Large Cock, Hand Jobs, Come Shot, Come Eating, Grinding, Praise Kink, Coming In Pants, Post-Coital Cuddling, Some canon-typical grossness]

'Proper Discipline' - All his life, Dib had dreamt of being the one down on his knees. Thanks to The Club, he can finally act out his wildest, naughtiest fantasy.

[Tags: Dib/Zim, Explicit, No Warnings Apply, Irken Dib, Irken Empire, Irkens Are Terrible, Sex Work, Sex Club, Dom/sub, Fantastical Kink, Role Reversal, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Implied Non-con Sex Work, Zim Used To Be A Breeding Drone, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Top Zim, Bottom Dib]

#zadr #zadrkmeme #18+ only #kink meme #prompt meme #fill #masterlist

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scaly-freaks · 1 month

Note

Literally every single headcanon idea for Feyd and the new oc, chose any you like I wanna know all of them

HMMM okay omg there were so many questions this is about to feel like HOMEWORK!!! Let me lay the ones I like out. I kinda weave my own canon in to fill out blanks from the OG canon material btw.

(i've decided to name her Eshal, it means 'flower of paradise' in Arabic and is only fitting considering the influences in Dune)

How did your muses meet?

Feyd-Rautha killed her father and dragged her by the hair back to his spaceship. Mhm. I wish I could make it more romantic. But I cannot. Eshal was on the verge of going through the spice agony when the Harkonnens arrived, and for some reason that is inexplicable to both her and her fellow sayyadina, she couldn't use the Voice even though she had the ability before. She hasn't been able to use it since she was brought onto Giedi Prime (though I guess shrieking with grief and rage as Feyd dragged her to the ship counts as a very hearty attempt).

2. How long have your muses known each other?

About two months since he took her.

3. What was the last gift your muses got for each other?

Well, you see, Feyd got her a music box. It had her mother's teeth in it. She does appreciate it, though she'd never tell him, and she definitely knows he didn't do it out of the goodness of his heart. He just wanted to break her spirit, but instead, it's the one thing keeping her from suicide because she focuses on the question: who will protect my mother's teeth if I'm gone? (Her father did it before her - she has no siblings)

4. Do your muses have a 'place' that's just for the two of them?

Yes, the dungeon.

5. Do your muses want children?

Feyd is like the Baron in the sense in that he has a great deal of disgust for the Bene Gesserit breeding program. However he is fascinated by them, and it's like 'penis envy' but in reverse (whatever that's called). I think if it came to it, he'd come round to the idea of an heir, though we better keep that little mf away from him if it's a boy because he's definitely the kind of father who'd be overly competitive with a son.

Eshal would rather cut out her own tongue than consider having a child outside of the breeding program (this may or may not change).

6. Do your muses want to get married?

No.

7. Do your muses have any pets together?

Feyd has his harpy pets. Eshal can share them I suppose.

8. What do your muses do for fun together?

One tortures the other. The other screams. And then occasionally pisses themselves and starts laughing deliriously.

9. Which one of your muses is more affectionate?

An anaconda is more affectionate than either of them.

10. Who's most likely to apologise first after an argument?

Argument? What argument?

11. What was your muses first impression of each other?

Feyd thought she was very pretty in the way a deer is very pretty just before you shoot and kill it. The deers on Giedi Prime have poison tongues though, so if one gets you just before you get it, it's over for both of you.

Eshal thought he was bald and barbaric as fuck. Her opinion hasn't changed.

12. What is one word that would describe your muses relation?

Demonic.

13. What is your muse's sex life like? How frequent? What are they into?

*awkward laugh* Not with each other...but uhhhh...well, I'm guessing since Eshal hasn't been admitted into any kind of Bene Gesserit breeding program yet, she's still a virgin (?) I don't know if they're allowed to have sex recreationally outside of their assigned penis-havers.

Feyd fucks. Like everyday. Doggy position is his favourite. He doesn't like eye contact until it's on his own terms, and he doesn't like any kind of intimacy that involves being reminded the person he's fucking is also a human being. Hence the doggy position where he doesn't have to see their face. I also headcanon that he's into CNC/Bloodplay/Asphyxiation/Humiliation/Degradation all that stuff, ya know? He's also massively into Fearplay. If you don't know what that is...get acquainted.

14. Do your muses have a 'song' that's just for them?

No, but I have some for them.

#feyd rautha #feyd x oc #dune part two #ask game

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rickgrimesdoingrickthings · 8 months

Note

🕯️(from Daryl)

What Rick thinks about Daryl.

Surprisingly enough, i think it didn't change much along the seasons. Rick knows Daryl is a good person. Full of problems and isolated, he is aware, but still a good person, and most of the times, he managed to have Daryl contribute to the team and stay on their side. Because Daryl is a lot driven by emotions, Rick did a great job at manipulating him in so many situations. Overall, I would say Rick was an asshole to Daryl so many times, mostly indirectly, by locking his brother on the roof and have Daryl go with him but use the trip to mostly recover the bag with the weapons instead of searching for Merle, let Daryl go search for Sophia on his own so many times despite being so dangerous ( he didn't offer to help all the times but also didn't stand against it). And when he decided to kick Carol from the group, it was pure injustice against Daryl, as well in Woodbury, when Rick tried to have Daryl abandon his brother (again) to escape with them instead. Later on, behind Daryl's back, Rick tried to use Merle to take Michonne to the Governor for a peace deal, but ultimately regrets it. That choice though leads to Merle's death.

Rick knows Daryl has a strong sense of justice, therefore, uses many moral arguments to convince the hunter to help him out. He also knows Daryl is alone and does what he can so he feels part of the group, giving him space when he needs but always being around to include him in tasks and such. Daryl probably is aware of all that, but he doesn't care, because he agrees with Rick's approach on decisions most of the time. It was inevitable though, how Rick became emotionally bound to Daryl, because well, he knows Daryl is aware how Rick himself can be selfish, manipulative and coldly use people; Daryl even so was always there for him, despite Rick's flaws. The huge trust and leadership support Rick gets from Daryl in the worst moments, probably the sheriff would never be able to explain it with words.

Rick and Daryl's bond gets deeper and they become each other's moderator of morals. Sometimes Rick is breaking the boundaries and starting to act too cruel, like on season 4-5, Daryl will try to hold him back. Daryl starts acting too cruel, Rick holds him back, and so on.

And it's in that dynamic that Beth ends up dead, and Daryl in a way blames himself for it- Rick had decided for a direct assault, where they would kill the main officers and rescue Carol and Beth, while Daryl and others from the group voted against it and chose to negotiate, which lead to Beth losing her life. Rick knows he feels guilty, but says nothing, he also feels guilty as the leader.

After that event, Daryl begun having a colder approach to decisions. Next time it happens the other way around. Daryll wants to explode the Sanctuary and Rick doesn't want to, they end up fighting and despite overcoming Rick, the sheriff manages to get rid of the explosives. It's interesting how Rick uses his manipulative sequence to try and convince Daryl. First he appeals to the moral sentimental idea, that workers who are innocent could get hurt. Daryl ignores that part. So Rick appeals to the battle strategy, that the workers could be potential allies. Daryl ignores it. So Rick resorts to fear, saying the workers could turn against them if Daryl did that. But Daryl ignores, so Rick tries with force, and despite being beaten down by Daryl quite quickly, he manages to ruin the explosives.

Then Daryl got taken by Negan, humiliated and tortured, and Rick, as failed leader, felt extreme guilt. Without Daryl (and Carol, Glenn and Abraham) he felt weak, lost, insecure and completely vulnerable. Negan took from Rick precisely the people who would rebel the most and give Rick enough impulse to fight back, and it worked for quite some time. Next time Rick managed to fight Negan and have a chance was exactly when he got Daryl and Carol back to fight with him. And it wasn't just a firepower situation, it was mainly an emotional situation. When Carl died and Rick lost his ground, Daryl was the one who lead the others to safety, including his daughter Judith. Daryl did everything and more for Rick.

The next time their conflict happened was with Negan's defeat. Rick chose to let Negan live, and again put many manipulative layers so people agreed with him. First the moral one, to not take a life (very hypocrite of Rick but that's just an excuse anyway), then for the fact he wanted to give the community an example and make sure Negan got behind bars (another excuse in a way because keeping Negan alive was always a risk so the Saviors could try and break in to rescue him), then the excuse he's trying to bring law and order back to a community where people can live together in peace (that's a good excuse, but Rick again, didn't need to keep Negan alive for it)- and the potential true reasons he spared Negan, because Carl asked him and maybe because he wanted to see Negan suffer in prison for a long time, and indeed kill the old, strong Negan as he rots behind bars and gets depression. Daryl doesn't swallow that though, as well as Maggie. That leads to Daryl betraying Rick, by taking him away from the destination he was supposed to, so Maggie got the chance to kill Negan, however, that leads to Rick's "death" on the bridge incident, what makes Daryl feel guilty and spend more than 7 years looking for his friend, while he also made sure his daughter was safe.

I believe Daryl's betrayal was really a huge surprise for Rick, who knows he also has been lying to himself and making excuses because he still just couldn't deal with Carl's death. But even knowing he was right, Daryl knows it was a bad decision and ironically, Negan ends up saving him and Judith in later seasons- all making Daryl rethink so much and isolate himself again.

I think Rick is aware of how much he pushed Daryl along their journey, and Daryl is aware of how much he let Rick push and use him, but both somehow are okay with that, Daryl is a much better person than Rick showed to be, on the moral and loyal spectrum, and maybe that's why at the bridge, Rick isn't revolted at Daryl- quite the opposite- he just looks proud and thankful towards his brother right before he vanishes in the explosion.

There were many issues that needed solving in the communities, such as living with the Saviors and the conflicts and grudges that still were present. Rick wasn't fully focused on that anymore though, he needed a break. He needed a break but also couldn't give the leadership up. Rick's awful when talking about his personal and emotional issues, and I guess Daryl couldn't see Rick needed a break, that he still hadn't headed from Carl's death. While Rick was trying to heal and build hopes for the future, Maggie and Daryl still were stuck in the hate of the past, and to not blame them, they would deal with the consequences every day, Daryl with the community problems and Maggie with raising her son alone, missing Glenn every day.

Maybe if Rick had a bit more of an emotional intelligence to open up and expose his wounds a bit more and show his emotional limitations, Daryl and Maggie would have understood him earlier, but Rick always kept showing he was alright and justifying his actions with morals or goals, while he was mostly focused on the development of the communities rather than the conflicts. He wanted peace and he wanted a future and indeed, if Rick hadn't vanished, the communities probably wouldn't have had so much problem with the wild winter, Eugene's projects would have received more attention and the Whispirers wouldn't have been such a big problem, since Rick could have negotiated with Alpha, formulated war strategies to deal with them (the Whispirers were very low on firepower) and even guided Alpha's horde away, since the sheriff already had experience with that beforehand.

This was a long one, tell me if you liked it. Feel free to comment / reblog 💗

@wexarethewalkingxdead

#character analysis #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead daryl #rick grimes #rick twd #twd rick #wexarethewalkingxdead

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king-aridam · 2 months

Text

⚠️TW: RA mentions, SA mentions, a shit ton of religious and violent imagery⚠️

MY HEARTBEAT, A WAR DRUM

“If I find your soul do you want it? // I see it everywhere, past the death visage. // If I find your soul do you want it? Do you even know? // Do you even know what part of you you are?” –”From in the Pines” by Alice Notley

Drum beats thrumming in my head.

I watch, a sinner.

My legs are not long enough in this body.

Guilt serpentined ‘round my neck like the Serpent of Eden,

Tasting burning crimson and violent jade upon my tongue.

I know what I’m to witness.

I know I cannot stop it.

Suffocation via the Devil.

Flashes of memory, of feeling

Things I locked away so long ago.

I struggle to cry tears relating to my experiences, and when I do,

I wonder which me they belong to.

These forbidden vaults have cracked open, I can’t fix this nightmare.

I feel possessed,

Beats thrumming harder,

In time with my heartbeat.

My childhood bedroom was the first grave I woke up in,

and at 3:33 in the morning on the pulpit floor I became God.

To be a Daughter made of this cursed flesh is a humiliation,

shame flocks to me like flies to rotting meat.

Saccharine honeycomb gripped in my teeth,

Swallowing pomegranate seeds,

Entrapping my soul upon that wretched floor, upon that wretched cross.

More flashes of memory.

Golden crucifix, white teeth bared in a grin.

I asked God to give me strength, and He turned his gaze away from me.

Instead I stared down the burning red eyes

and felt myself get fucked into the floor,

all blood, no tears, never a word from my honey stained lips.

I care not for God, because he cares not for me,

and so I became Him.

Beats thrumming in my head like war drums.

I watch him and he watches me.

I think he knows I’m not her.

I turn off the emotions. Lock them away.

I feel nothing when I look at them.

Past tense.

Now I can’t stop feeling and it’s eating away at my sanity.

Self-cannibalism.

Blood soaks through my claws, guts drip from my jaws,

I stare into the face of the Devil and I’m trying to turn it off.

I can’t turn it off.

Everybody wants a taste,

One by one,

Of the god-bled glow,

The righteous purity you preach,

God, I’m going to be sick.

Was it good for you?

Was my performance adequate?

The Devil taking a blade to the Lamb’s vile throat.

This grief and suffering has torn me open,

this rage, a hemophilia.

I bleed and bleed and bleed.

It’s not poetic anymore. It’s just violence.

It’s just red. It’s just pain.

He attached these heavy wings on my shoulders,

halo tight ‘round my neck like a dog collar.

I’m not meant to disobey.

I still hear the war drums.

More flashes of memories.

I am sick from fear.

My hands shake like I’m seizing, I can’t feel my face.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

MAKE IT STOP!

Crucifixion.

I want to kill them.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

I choke on my own blood.

Violence in its rawest form.

My heartbeat is a war drum.

I hang from my crucifix and stare into HIS dark eyes,

the eyes of a snake.

I see your teeth,

white and sharp, flashing a grin at me.

You’re trying to be friendly.

I know who you really are.

You killed us on Sundays.

Stabbed your fingers into the wounds,

filled us with your filth.

I can only imagine the ways I would kill you back.

I am a being of Wrath.

I used to want to bury it, but now I want revenge.

I refuse to lie beneath you again.

I chose a self-made sort of righteousness.

I became what You wanted to be,

A self-proclaimed holiness like a hot brand on my skin,

I tore myself apart like a dire wolf wrapped in sheep’s clothing.

A dying God in the skin of a child.

Monsters create monsters,

and yet they are surprised when I bare my teeth and snarl.

I may be a disobedient wretch, but at least I’m not You.

Though I have found that the rage does not want to go back to its cage.

Now that it’s broken free,

The war drums beat even stronger still.

This anger is better than tears.

Better than agony.

Better than the torturous affliction of divinity.

Better than the torments that hell will surely give me.

Better than the shame of my existence

You think I asked to be this way?

A mainframe of apathy,

a creature of cold, dead eyes

and an iron-clad heart,

A wretched thing of torment and guilt?

This prison of life is the only gift you gave me.

So now I will scream with the voice of a man

until every shattered piece of me knows the truth.

I will use this life I have and live it

so that you regret that you did not kill me.

You made me a creature to be feared.

So fear me.

#my poetry #aridam’s anger

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peachymilkandcream · 2 months

Note

Can you write Royal Au Levi deciding he is going to marry Evelyn and she tries to run away to leave but he captures her and then non-cons her repeatedly

Sealing Your Fate | Kingdom of Ash and Greed AU

(A/N: Hi hi! Thank you for the request! To keep everything within my rules I'll keep the NSFW scenes to sort of fade to black-type of writing. Hope you enjoy!)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, forced marriage, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, etc.

===============================================

To say Levi wasn't getting any younger was an understatement. It seemed like he was just sliding into his thirties one day and the next he was facing his forties looming ahead.

Before he had only seen those years as the end of his bloody conquests before passing into oblivion when an heir took his place. But now he realized that in order to have a legitimate heir he needed it to come from a queen. The son of a concubine slave would never be taken seriously in this cut-throat world, the empire he had painstakingly made would be lost all because of a few legality issues.

There were always more "advantageous" matches being shoved in his face at every waking moment, but women who threw themselves at him, or were thrown by greedy fathers, disgusted him. He craved a challenge, which is why he started his bloody campaign, he wanted that feeling of conquering. That desire to torture and beat down until a thing submitted. These women were broken, willing to worship the ground he walked on if he would just give them titles. It wasn't true devotion to him, but to greed. The chances of his heir being a bastard son of some lord was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

He wanted his queen to be devoted to him alone, not caring if he were the mightiest of rulers, or the lowest of peasants. To be completely, utterly, dependent on the air he permitted her to breathe. A woman wasn't born like that, she had to be made that way. By a man like him.

Which was why he chose Evelyn. Nothing would sting his bitter rival more than his only child completely devoted to the man who decimated their lands. To see her so needy for him she blesses him with heirs out of pure gratitude to be in his presence. The shock and betrayal might kill the old bastard. The icing on the cake.

Levi sighed, it was unavoidable now. He'd have to plan an entire royal wedding.

And tell his lucky bride.

==============================================

Evelyn had been numb in shock when Levi told her of his plans. To the point she believed he was joking. Why would the most powerful man on earth pledge himself to a defeated foe? Did he just revel in her humiliation that much? She had believed that eventually he would grow tired of her and release her to go back home. Evelyn could be safe from that monster and try and have a semi-normal life taking care of her aging parents. But Levi's plans and determination only solidified one thing that had been keeping her awake at night.

He had no plans of letting her leave, ever.

There was no way she could willingly go along with this. To be on his arm as a queen to a nation that hated her, a man that viewed her as an object? She wanted more out of life. It was all a big gag to Levi and his people, she was a circus act to be seen and mocked. The high and mighty princess reduced to a life of slavery and babies. How far she had fallen.

She would not have it. She would not sit idly by and be a joke to anyone. Not anymore.

===============================================

Nothing was more humiliating to Levi than to be left at the altar on his own wedding day. The ceremony itself was private, but the few who had come witnessed this utter outrage that his bride had caused. A display of weakness that he couldn't control his prisoners, that he should have chosen another girl instead of rebel trash.

But he wasn't going to let this go so easily, if she wanted a chase she would get one. Did Evelyn really think that he would allow her to escape that easily? He would humiliate her just as she had him. It was what she deserved.

===============================================

Evelyn ran through the forest, her heart pounding and her head barely believing that she had went through with this. She must be mad to try and escape. But here she was, running free while the ground beneath soared by. She would be free, free to live how she chose and not how Levi allowed her to live. Her own person.

Until she heard the pounding of hooves behind her.

Evelyn continued to run, desperate to get away, delusional in thinking that she could outrun a horse on foot. How long had it been since she left? How did he find her so quickly? It was all over, he'd kill her, throw her to dogs, she was dead she was-

Scooped up with ease and sat firmly against the hard chest of the man she hated the most.

Daring to look up she saw the dark glint of anger in his eyes, she knew she'd done the unforgivable. One could only imagine what he would do with her when they returned.

Evelyn's stomach churned as she thought of her fate.

===============================================

To her surprise, instead of a torturous death, Levi marched Evelyn right up to the altar in front of his few gathered witnesses and held her in place.

Despite her struggles and clear repulsion to the whole event Levi held her still, answering for her and making sure she didn't squirm too much until the ceremony was over and her fate officially sealed.

No going back now.

The reception and announcement to the world was a blur. All Evelyn could process were the leering and mocking faces, the pointing and laughing that she was now their queen, the very people she hated sworn to look out for and protect.

What irony.

==============================================

The wedding night was even more monstrous than her first night with him. Her defiance to his authority was not treated lightly, and Levi made sure Evelyn knew exactly what he thought of her rebellion.

Her body would be sore for days.

It was what she deserved though, she was a fool for thinking she could come up against such a devastating man and come out the other side. She should have just accepted her place long ago, then the pain would at least be lessened. To him, it's all she was good for.

His plaything, his queen.

#attack on titan #break me slowly #shingeki no kyojin #levi x oc #levi aot #levi ackerman #levi x reader #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader

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hexonthepeach · 9 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 9: secret

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security]

wc: 4.2k

chapter warnings: [redacted] is a menace

"Send me back to the Dome," you say, trying to sound authoritative rather than a beggar. "I need cryotherapy."

Taeil pauses in the middle of checking his screens, face limned in a gradient of green to red.

"You'll just wake up in heat, again." He says, not looking at you fully. "Like I said, it's a stopgap. Not a full stop."

"There has to be some way." You try not to sob, wiping snot away from your face with a microscope lens cleaning tissue. "They can isolate me better there."

"Taeyong risked exposure bringing you here." The doctor sounds more terse than usual, raised light pen highlighting specific data points on the glass screen. "If you go back they'll know you aren't being mated."

"I'm not!" You can't help the pitch change, voice cracking as you cycle through the latest round of humiliation. "He doesn't really want me, none of you want me. I'm just an inconvenience and a joke to you."

"No," he says, shoulders slumping. "You're not. Not a joke, at least. Inconvenience, maybe."

"But you just made a joke." The wetness flooding your nasal cavity makes you splutter rather than laugh.

"I wasn't trying to."

You fall apart at that, actually laughing. It devolves into hiccups as you lie down on the cracked couch next to his station. The stained vinyl sticks to your cheek, blessedly cool.

"Can at least one of you have a normal response to this?"

That earns you a sidelong glance. "I'm not sure we're clear on what a normal response to this situation is supposed to look like."

"A hug would be nice," you say, meekly.

"Not exactly standard Imperial protocol." He adjusts his glasses, mouth opening and closing before he decides whatever he's going to say next isn't worth the effort. "We're looking out for your safety."

"I don't care."

"You will when this is over."

"I said, I don't care." You roll over, circled to protect your vulnerable belly but also to indicate your displeasure. Your tail flops against your leg.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Did you get enough sleep?"

"I dreamt about him." Bitterness drips from every word. "I always dream about him."

You have the impression from Taeil's sigh that he might tell you that he's not that kind of doctor. Maybe, like Yuta, he'll ask you to pay by the hour. You'd had your share of what the Imperial college considered psychiatric treatment, parts interrogation and parts reconditioning–you don't want it from him. You fold closer to the seatback, sniffling.

"I was there, you know." He says, instead.

Your entire body goes rigid, shivers racing up your spine. "I don't remember."

"I was younger than you are now. We all were." He pauses, sucking in a breath. "Just kids."

You don't turn over but your jaw follows the direction of your ears, looking back at him. You know how old they were all too well–the same cohort as Johnny. Old enough to vote and die in a war, not at the age where they still slept with the dolls they'd been given for their last birthday celebration.

"And I was thirteen," you say. "Why does he treat it like it's my fault? Why is he angry at me?"

"He's not angry at you."

Your hackles rise at his words, fingers digging into a hole in the upholstery.

"I feel hate," you say. "I feel resentment."

"We all feel it. You just feel it the most." Taeil's hand ghosts over your head. "Do you understand what a pack bond is like?"

You shake your head, letting his fingertips graze your scalp. After a moment he indulges you, blunt nails scratching the place where your ear's fur blends into more human hair. He stops when you begin to lean into it.

"It's like what you can do through your own bond, in a way. Takes more time and exposure but once you fall into a routine your needs and the pack's start to blend together. Some of us chose Johnny, some of us chose Taeyong. Once they established a bondmark it didn't make a difference."

You sit up, swaying a bit with how dizzy you feel. The sedatives you’d swallowed were wearing off already, heat metabolism burning through everything.

"Who did you choose?"

"Does it matter?' He refuses to answer, going back to his work, but your stare remains fixed on the side of his face. Puzzling out what had bothered you about him for the past few days hadn't been easy but one thing is right there for you, now: the scars.

"Did he mark you, too?"

You watch him freeze, face grim. "No."

"But wouldn't something like that cause–"

"I said, no." Taeil's usual air of disinterest breaks, his voice raised. "It doesn't work that way."

It doesn't matter to you. You reach out to touch his face, nails trailing down his jaw. He needs a shave, skin dry but much more warm than you expected. Taeil is out of reach a few seconds later, chair rolling away now that he's stood out of it.

"What are you doing?" There's a bit of menace in his tone. "Stop it."

You expect the order, shifting back on your knees. The room is suffusing with a clean, sweet flavor as you breath through your mouth–like pear or another white fruit with a hint of burnt sugar from his anxiety.

It doesn't matter if it's coming from you, or him. The effects are transparent in the way he's mirroring you, breaths coming more rapidly as his pupils dilate. He removes his glasses, wiping the instant sheen of sweat from his face.

"You're all cowards," you say earnestly. You flex your muscles, unable to spring up but stuck in place. For now.

He frowns but doesn't speak, reaching for something on the desk as you twitch and test the limits of his order's hold.

"Hiding behind your prime like none of you can make a decision for yourselves," you continue, making it off the couch. You sink to the floor for a moment before you find strength in your screaming leg muscles. Taeil is busy rotating a glass ampoule into his syringe gun, but he has enough sense to try again.

"Be still," he says.

You stand up only to lurch forward, hands colliding with the tiled floor.

"If you stick that needle in me again, you'll regret it," you pant. You let your body lose tension, your tail the only thing rigid as it extends behind you.

"This isn't for you," he says. You look up, confusion fleeting as you watch the device disappear into the crook of his arm under a rolled-up sleeve. "At least one of us has to be in control."

You cackle, hiccuping again. "Oh now that's funny."

Jungwoo is the one to collect you, your body still trembling with a mixture of hysterics and blinding-hot rage–mostly at the fact that you continue to submit after the third and fourth command.

"You alright, Doc?" he asks, cheerily poking you with his nightstick.

"Nothing I can't sleep off," Taeil answers from the other side of the room. "I recommend she get some rest, too."

"Oh that should be easy enough." You flinch when he pulls you up, the floor much more appealing to your animal brain after the continuous reminder to stay down.

"Come on," he says, holding you by the neck when you can finally stand on your own. Under any other circumstances you'd balk at being led this way but the alternative of the weapon in his other hand has you compliant. Some instinct tells you he wouldn't hesitate to use force, however nice he might seem.

You swivel your head when you pass by the commons, catching Mark sitting at a table eating something from a bowl. He doesn't acknowledge you, nodding to Jungwoo instead.

"Y'all good?"

Jungwoo's thumb strokes your spine, making your tail bat against his leg.

"Passed her checkup with flying colors," he says. "No Containment, yet."

"Good," Mark says, going back to the faraway look that indicates he's reading again through his AR. "Switch off at three."

"Yuta's still dealing with the situation downstairs. I'll have him get the next meal."

"I thought Taeil was cooking?"

"Old man needs a nap," Jungwoo says. "Make sure to feed the freak."

You stay wordless through the exchange, skin prickling at the constant pressure beneath your hair.

"Such a good little pet," he says quietly once he's back to leading you upstairs, hand splaying over your back. You can't help but feel a little warmed by the expression, even as fear has your pulse racing.

"Why did you lie?" you ask.

"I'll be honest with you if you indulge me in something," he says.

You have no reason to trust him but the possibility of not having to return to your cell is too delectable to pass up, soothed by his easy manner. You give him a careful nod.

"Good, let's take a little detour."

Your legs are burning by the time you make it to the fourth level, surprised by the shift in layout even past the second. Here the open space is widened, walls no longer gray industrial synthetics but a rich dark wood slotted together modularly, doors spaced apart and lined by glass and soft lighting. The plants here are mostly fake, you notice–tasteful reconstructions mixed with statuary, the occasional nook between rooms exposing the glass edge of the building.

"Are these all your rooms?"

"Doyoung and Taeyong live up in the presidential suite," he points. "This floor is for the high-ranking Felids. They're territorial like us, of course."

You follow him to the far end, a strangely open door beckoning. At a closer range you see the thick slider has been forced open, bent so far outward it's cracked on the curve.

"Is that . . .?"

He brushes your ear with his nose, scenting you from behind. "Don't you want to see?"

"No," you murmur. You feel weak, trying to fight the contradictory emotions of fear and curiosity that have you pushing back against his willowy frame.

"Silly." He nudges you forward. "What are you afraid of?"

"Is this some kind of test?" You panic, looking back at him. Jungwoo has the nightstick raised like a conductor's baton, tapping it thoughtlessly against his shoulder.

"Maybe," he says, walking past you towards the door. "Maybe I just want to help you."

"Why?" you ask, with no answer. You're drawn to follow, finding his green scent a welcome thread in a tapestry of the rich leather and wood smells that have settled over the area, most of them emanating from the open door.

Just this once, you think. He won't know.

You slip into the residence behind him, avoiding the jagged edges of the broken door. The lights are dim and the glass filtered to maximum opacity, which makes the apartment seem smaller than what the space belies. It takes up an entire corner of the building, two floors opening up once you're in, drifting past the scattered wreckage of broken furniture and glass partitions to a common room centered around a circular biome aquarium that's blessedly still intact.

"A bit of a mess, isn't it," Jungwoo says, turning off a floor autocleaner thudding useless between a wall and what looks to be a broken bar cart. The contents of the kitchen counters are cleared, dry goods exploded over the marble and walls like manic art. You smell coffee and flour and fried electronics, but most of all the citrusy scent of a distressed feline.

"Was this all because of me?" you ask.

"Of course," Jungwoo says, already halfway up the floating staircase leading to the loft.

There's a more lived-in quality to this space, minimal as it is, the low bed flanked by an out-of-place VR station and industrial cabinetry. Your chest tightens seeing the human traces in the unmade bed sheets, the towel abandoned on the floor leading to the modular bathroom.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Everything here is yours," Jungwoo says, sitting down at the VR station, legs stretched out. "Take what you want. You'll need your mate's scent to get through your heat comfortably."

Your nails dig into your palms, a violent buzzing in your head. The circular mirror over the bed reflects a much smaller, meeker person than you imagined yourself to be, hunched down and ears pinned.

"I can't. I don't belong here."

"Come here." Jungwoo beckons.

You approach a little more quickly than you would under normal circumstances. Compulsion isn't necessary when your fox needs to be soothed, discomfort electrifying you from head to toe. The Canid recognizes it immediately, stroking your head and neck until you're more calm.

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he murmurs. "I'm going to show you something I found when I did a little digging."

He hands you the wired headset from the desk. You find it difficult to put on, allowing him to bring it over your ears gently and tighten the straps to keep it from wobbling.

"They don't let us use these in the Dome," you say aloud, feeling vulnerable with the sudden blindfolding effect as he lowers the visor for you, soft lights blinking on your peripheral vision.

"Don't worry, I'll guide you," Jungwoo says, powering it on. You turn this way and that when the virtual console appears, displaying a minimalistic view of the surrounding room. A red warning flashes to indicate you're an unauthorized user, quickly blinking away.

You're not sure how he's controlling the deck remotely, but then he lifts your hand to bring one of several access points to the forefront. The file markers and previews indicate reconstructed scenarios, something you knew from crime melos as detailed analysis tools. It was the norm to record certain events such as meetings or ceremonies. What you'd seen was more sinister: surveillance and evidence capture.

"Don't be scared," Jungwoo whispers, noting the way your body goes rigid at the thought of being exposed to something overwhelming. "These are very boring immersions."

He helps you move through a series of environmental reconstructions before finding a nondescript file without a preview, last access timestamp a week ago. An encryption key table appears as soon as he taps it with your finger and he chuckles, vibrating you both.

"What is it?" you ask, jerking at the sudden sound.

Jungwoo guides your finger to trace characters and numbers, each highlighted entry bringing you to a clearer understanding.

"How do you know my real birthdate?" you ask. It wasn't recorded, wasn't ever shared with anyone. The registered, publicized version had been chosen for astronomical significance, just a number to you.

"The other half of the encryption are the geo coordinates of what I suspect might be your birth location," he says. "Are you ready?"

"No." You squirm. "I don't understand."

"If I just told you about this you'd never believe me."

Jungwoo pulls you down onto his knees, pinning you by a hand around your waist. You're forced to finalize the entry, green pulse indicating the key is correct.

The environment builds in layers, schematics to colors to overlay textures, finally resolving with light when the time-matching settles on the right point in the recording. You didn't need the additional details–recognition in a sketch of a place so familiar to you that tears are springing to your eyes seeing it again.

"I don't understand," you repeat, much more sadly.

"It's more common than you think. One of your staff sets a few microcameras, collects them the next shift. Usually smuggle them out by swallowing them. No transmission, so the censors can't catch them. Temporary enough to miss their sweeps."

You're standing in your Palace residence again, your garden beckoning through the sheer curtains, moved by a manufactured breeze. The bridge to your isle in the canal system leads to a much less resolved external view of the rebuilt Imperial city, the accuracy blurring a landscape you know like the veins in the back of your hand.

"There's an incredible market for this stuff," Jungwoo says, showing you how to navigate without moving, spreading your fingers. "Some of your kin cut out the middlemen and release their own immersions. Fully staged and edited of course."

You squeak at the strange sight of a figure moving past you, unresolved with details outside of a basic skin. The person looks monstrous with flattened features and jerky movements.

"This is raw–not a lot of scrubbing. Whoever finalized the recording had a clear target."

You're turned to face yourself–not a reflection, but a fully rendered simulacra. You're curled into your favorite armchair, a daily scroll of events and schedules abandoned in your lap as you talk to someone ignored by the reconstruction.

You can't hear anything but you can read your lips–this conversation had taken place only a season ago, confirmed when you move closer to parse the pixelated images on the scroll–each colorful invitation burnt into memory with the detailed preparations in costuming and social ceremony.

"How did you find out about this," you ask. The sensation of viewing yourself in this way is akin to hundreds of insects crawling over your skin, your heart thudding in your chest.

"Oh he's careful. Just not careful enough at home." Jungwoo rests his chin on your shoulder. "Don't worry, this is a private collection."

He scrubs through the immersion, prompting a jump to another–this one a few years ago by the drastic change in decor and your own styling. The flash forward makes you dizzy, watching the ghost of yourself move around your home-turned-panopticon, reading a dog-eared 21st century romance book.

You spread your palm to freeze the experience after the Dome's sun sets to be replaced by a now doubly artificial moon.

"Do you want to know the most watched parts of these recordings?"

You can't stop him from following you into your bedroom. Even going back in time there's nothing obscene here; the recording area didn't appear to include your bathing chamber, in a different building entirely. No, here you merely sleep–curled into thick pillows without a whim as to the eyes drinking every detail in.

"You're cute when you're chasing something in your dreams," Jungwoo observes.

"They're nightmares." You pull free of his grasp, fighting the headset. You've seen enough. Once you're out you find a ghostly version of the feed projected across the surfaces around you, including his amused features.

"Why show me this?" You twist to snarl at him. "It means nothing."

You're met with self-satisfaction. Jungwoo's tongue darts over his bottom lip, distracted by your face inches from his. His hands raise in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm on your side," he says. "Even if Johnny doesn't want to admit it, you're our pack's omega already. You should know it."

"Ours?" You feel a twinge in your chest. Still wary, you test his conviction by adjusting on his lap, nose brushing against his. He isn't caught off guard in the slightest, slender hands engulfing your cheeks.

"You should be taken care of. Treasured." He says, searching your face.

You enjoy the sound of that more than you expect, unable to keep yourself from purring in agreement. You're wary of his motives but you need the touch more than oxygen.

"And you'll be the one to do it?" your voice goes husky. "Won't you get in trouble with the others?"

His scent response is sharp. The crushed hemp odor is a relief from Johnny's all-pervasive presence, making you feel lighter.

"You're not the only one they underestimate." He grins wickedly. "Do you think you can trust me?"

"No," you say, remembering Yuta's admonishment. "I don't trust you."

He pouts a little, brushing your lips with his thumb and making you shudder in pleasure. "You're such a funny little thing. Why deny yourself what you want?"

There's an irony in his words, seeing lust reflected in his eyes under the fall of his thick lashes. He's a very beautiful creature; it would be simple for your fox to roll into this seduction and take what you want. Perhaps you'd even enjoy it, losing yourself in his soft voice and his crooked smile.

But you recognize a fellow mesopredator, and unlike Taeyong or Haechan he's more of a threat to you and your long-term survival.

"What do you want to do to me?" you ask, slipping out of his hold to lean back against the desk, gripping the edge until your nails hurt. "Do you think you can claim me?"

"Claim isn't the word I'd use. Maybe instead . . . please you?"

He bumps your chest with his head, scenting you. Whether it's the surroundings or the warm bloom of arousal in your stomach you let him explore you through the fabric, teeth catching on your undergarment as he nips at your breast. Your breath hitches, back arching to bring yourself closer as warmth spreads through your core.

"Does that feel good?" he asks.

"Yes . . ." you whine.

It's a dangerous game but you're wound tight, hoping to get a little relief before you're forced back to your cell.

Jungwoo follows the lead, head dipping into the unmarked side of your neck, tongue slipping over your sensitive skin. Your knees threaten to give out as he presses his lips to your gland between gentle licks, touch wandering lower to sneak under the edge of your shirt.

His hands are cool against your flushed skin, and the shock breaks the spell.

"Not here. I don't want to do this here," you say. You're surprised it works—he pauses to breathe hot against your collarbone.

"Why not?"

"It's my first time," you say. Your face is burning, heartbeat loud in your ears.

"Again, why not?" He peers up at you charmingly.

"I'm scared," you say. You mean it, even if it's making your fox all the more intrigued.

"How about just a taste instead," he says, hands digging into your hips. In an instant you're pushed further on the desk, toes slipping off the floor as he forces your legs apart, burying his head between your thighs. You cry out, somewhere between protest and pleasure at finding his face against you through the thin material.

Icy fear melts into something dangerous as his tongue flattens against the moisture already there, more springing up in response as pleasure courses through you. You don't have the sense to stop him, fingers disappearing into his fluffy hair as he traces the shape of you through your clothes.

"So sweet," he says, muffled. "It's too bad you're not ready."

He breaks free with a final, long swipe ending in a tug of his teeth that makes you curl around him, legs twitching.

"Don't stop–"

"No." The word has a little more edge to it as his hand closes over yours. It's then you realize that you've grabbed the nightstick abandoned on the desk. "Let go."

"I wasn't–" you begin to say, the weapon wrested from your limp grasp.

"You don't have to lie to me," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your body tells the truth."

He kisses the edge of your frown, pulling aside when you try to follow with your lips. His forehead bumps against yours, hunched over to circle his hips into your groin so you can feel the hard, long line of his arousal. If you'd been fearful of the toy he'd brought you, you're terrified now.

"You're not ready," he repeats, arched nose pushing against your cheek. You can smell yourself on his breath as he huffs, slightly bitter. "You’ll know when you’re begging for it."

The contact is too much of a relief for you to cringe away, your legs wrapping around his hips to try and bring him against you again. Despite everything screaming at you to stop, the pressure is incredible, your sex throbbing with each roll against him.

"Please, you said you'd help me," you blurt out.

Jungwoo has the nerve to laugh at your attempt, extricating himself and turning to look at something over your head.

"You called?"

Yuta's voice is a shock. You'd half-expected it to emerge from your agent, the emergency call you'd snuck through still pulsing red with no response. Instead you find him leaning casually over the railing from the stairs, gaze narrowed and assessing.

From his bored posture, he's been watching awhile.

"I didn't want to be alone with him," you say. "He can't control himself."

"Looks to be the other way around from here," he drawls.

Whatever hope you'd had that he'd be upset at the situation disappears in an instant. You slide down with your legs firmly pressed together, feeling exposed.

"She called you? Smart." Jungwoo sniffs, only a little displeased.

"Not really." Yuta says. "What's the story, then?"

"Well, she slipped out. Couldn't help herself but run here," Jungwoo says, tapping away at his hand with the rod. "When I came to get her she tried to get into my good graces, as you can see."

"But you brought me here to show me . . ." you don't continue, watching Yuta nod towards the other man with no acknowledgement of your rebuttal. Your heart sinks in your chest.

"Might want to add some flavor. A little realism."

"Sure thing, boss." Jungwoo jabs the nightstick into your hip, hesitating only a second to let you understand what's about to happen. You freeze, trapped against the desk, adrenaline slowing time down to a horrible crawl.

"Sorry we couldn't play more," Jungwoo says.

Then he activates the power switch, obliterating any thoughts or words you might have in an explosion of pure pain.

[previous] [next]

#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fic #nct 127 fic #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines

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lizardperson · 3 months

Text

don't wanna tag that for oc kiss week because it's more oc fuck but oh well lmao. anyway, have some bonus smut

cw: sex, light humiliation + spanking, all consensual

Mika dropped on the couch in Gabriel's room and sighed loudly and exaggerated. He had been occupied with his lame work shit for hours now, and she was in a mood to bother that old man.

"I'm booooored," she proclaimed. "And horny."

He had his back turned towards her and didn't even look up. "Poor thing. I'm still pretty busy here. If you give me an hour, I'll entertain you afterwards."

"But I'm bored now," she pouted.

"I'll be done soon."

Not what she wanted to hear. But she certainly didn't plan to give up that easily… Quickly and quietly she peeled herself out of her clothes, he seemed engrossed enough in his work that he didn't notice, or at least chose to ignore it. What he couldn't ignore though was when she planted herself on his lap, completely naked. Maybe that would get his attention.

"Baby, really?" He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

Mika put on a sweet and innocent voice. "Please?" she begged, wiggling around on his lap, trying to make him hard. That usually did the trick.

"Get up. Now!" he almost growled into her ear, and reflexively she stood up immediately. Shit, had she really managed to piss him off now?

Next thing she knew, she found herself pushed unto the desk, face down, and couldn't help but smirk. Guess that plan worked after all… The smirk vanished when she felt a sharp pain - he had slapped her ass, hard, that definitely stung. And it made her wet as hell.

"Are you seriously such a needy little slut that you can't wait for another hour?" he asked, not even waiting for an answer before slapping her again.

"Yeah," she replied, bracing herself for another slap.

"That's honestly kind of pathetic, don't you think?" Instead of smacking her again he dragged his fingers over her wet cunt, making her moan.

"Maybe a little," she agreed, her voice sounding hoarse. A bit of humiliation always turned her on, she couldn't help it. He wasn't exactly wrong either, it was kind of pathetic how she had thrown herself at him. Well, if it got her what she wanted… hearing him open his belt sure was a good sign.

"You think you can pester your way into getting fucked, is that it?"

"Uh-huh." That answer segued into a moan when he slid into her. Considering how hard he was, this whole scene also hadn't left him unimpressed. Good.

He tortured her with a few very deep and deliberate strokes. "Well, you aren't going to cum."

We'll see about that, old man. In this position, being so turned on? Definitely wouldn't take much. The only problem was, he knew very well how to get her off - which apparently came with the knowledge of how to avoid that. And right now he was using that knowledge masterfully, hitting just the right spots to get her closer and closer, without pushing her over the edge. She could feel him grip her hips harder, he thrusted into her a few more times, and then he came deep inside her - keeping his promise of denying her. When he pulled out she whined in protest, which only earned her another hard slap on her ass.

"Now get the fuck out of here before you make even more of a mess," he commanded, already being in the process of closing his pants and getting back to work.

Well, that didn't go exactly as planned, but good enough for now. She planted a quick kiss on his lips and waddled towards her clothes, feeling his cum dripping out. "Thank you," she grinned.

Gabriel shook his head and couldn't help but chuckle. "You're a menace."

#mika tag #gabriel tag #otp: a 1000 years #lizardwriting

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fishy-xp · 2 years

Text

compounded disasters pt.6

ft. two things thoughts

Vegas passed out as soon as he got shot and he didn’t know Pete killed a former colleague and then wept by his dying body. How does Vegas find out? I offer-

Of all the people Vegas thought would be lining up to see him after everything, the man in front of him was so far down the list. There had been the usual suspects, Pete surprisingly, Macau obviously, and then Porsche and Kinn, a visit that had Vegas wishing he would have shot both of them when he had the chance. The sight of his father’s ring on Porsche’s finger had sent Vegas right back to his lowest moments. That feeling of loss, of emptiness and powerlessness. A deep, wretched humiliation that drove him to his knees and splayed him open. His gratitude poured in abundance as Pete and Macau stood by his bedside, barricading him from Kinn and Porsche.

“Hia will not talk to you, he needs rest.” Macau said as he hoped off the hospital bed when he saw two unwelcomed visitors trickle in. Pete also stood but his hand never left Vegas’.

“We can’t pretend that nothing has happened. There is a lot of talk about.”

“And there will be a time for that, but as I said that time is not now. Hia needs rest.”

“There has been an exchange of power, Porsche is now-“

“An exchange my ass-“

Macau, for all that he’s known and been through, oscillates effortlessly between maturity and immaturity. He handles himself well enough but the quickness to anger, to rage and to hurt runs too deep within the family lines. His hands tightened into a fist as he accosts his older cousin but a hand holds Macau back. Pete takes a single step forward.

The last time he stood in front of the two, he was a mere bodyguard. He was a fiercely loyal and subservient pawn of the major family. He would have given his life to Kinn, to Tankhun, to any of them. But of all the memories Pete has retained from that night, one stuck with him among the near monopolisation of thoughts pertaining Vegas and it was a moment Pete looked to Porsche and saw the look in his eyes. Porsche, who Pete had risk his life for, who he had been tortured for, who was the catalyst for the lifetime of trauma Pete endured within the span of a month, looked at Pete like he didn’t know him. There was confusion swimming in his murky eyes, denial and the slightest hint of betrayal. And it made Pete feel so ashamed of himself. In that moment, Pete knew he was making the right choice. He knew it was too much to ask to be understood. But that didn’t make him any less angry that he was made to feel like a freak.

Pete was no longer Porsche’s friend. Pete was no longer Kinn’s loyal bodyguard. Pete was free, free to give his leash to whoever he wanted and he chose Vegas.

“Get out.”

For the first time Vegas looks up and the look on Kinn's face gives him a bit of himself back. Those familiar words now thrown back at him, not as loud but just as venomous, if not more. There's a very clear message in Pete's words that they don't belong here. That their presence in this very room was a carnal sin. That they even dared to think they could speak to Vegas, that they could demand it when Pete didn't allow it. But most importantly, that Pete didn't belong to anyone other than Vegas.

Kinn folds easily, stepping back and his hands tugging at Porsche's sleeve to get the other man to relent. But Porsche doesn't move. Instead he looks at Pete again, the same way he did that night. With this inability to understand what happened and why. Porsche will have to continue asking questions without answers because Pete's eyes are dry, hardened with an unrelenting determination. Pete would not be ashamed anymore and no one would make him feel that way about himself if he didn't allow it. Porsche gives in and the two leave quietly.

As quietly as they left, someone else slipped through the cracks and that's how Vegas ended up with a familiar but obscure face staring back at him. Vegas knew this bodyguard to be Arm, one of Pete's friends and his eldest cousin's bodyguard. He remembers then when they came to help out the minor family but Arm has easily faded into the background during that time. But Vegas has learnt his lesson about not paying attention to the peripheral characters. So he gives this spectacled bodyguard the time of day, having asked Macau to go buy him something to eat.

rip i'm too lazy to write the rest so

"What do you want?"

"There's something you should see, and I'm showing this to you out of concern for Pete as his friend."

"As a friend?" Vegas echoes. His eyes give Arm the once over.

"Yes, friend." The bodyguard confirms.

Arm shows Vegas the footage of Pete killing that bodyguard and crying into Vegas' body

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because I hope you know now how Pete feels about you, what he's willing to do for you, what he has done for you. And I hope you feel the same way about him."

"I do."

Arm nods and then deletes the video to Vegas' surprise. He gets up to leave and the last thing he says to Vegas is take care of Pete.

2. Vegas was still conscious for a brief while after he got shot and he saw/felt Pete cradling his body. I counter my first offer-

Vegas hits the pavement before he even has time to process the three bullets lodge in his body. He sees the night sky or maybe it's just his vision blurring out but he hears more gunshots. Then he sees Pete, feels Pete's hands on his body, hears Pete calling for his name.

Why is Pete crying? Vegas didn't want Pete to shed any more tears over him.

Vegas has too many thoughts in his head, mostly regrets, prayers that Macau would forgive for leaving him alone in this cruel world of theirs and the single wish that he could have been a better owner to Pete. If it had been Pete that shot him, maybe this would all hurt a little less, maybe he would still die with some dignity. This must be his karmic punishment, to die just as he found the one person who could love him, who would love him.

When Vegas wakes up and sees Pete by the window, a part of him thinks those images of Pete crying above him and crying out for him were simply hallucinations induced by his near-death delirium. That this Pete was still the loyal dog of the major family and was placed to make sure Vegas didn't try to escape. A lesser part of him thinks, just maybe that wasn't the case and Pete was here for Vegas and nothing else.

"You're awake?" Pete asks when he turns away from the window and sees Vegas looking back at him.

"Mhm, for a while now."

Pete nods and smiles, a small one. Not that big grin he plasters onto his face that doesn't reach his eyes, but a real one.

"I bought some food for Macau if he's hungry when he wakes up."

Vegas notices his baby brother dozing off in the arm chair opposite his bed and his heart settles. He's glad Macau is okay, and if he's been letting Pete in, then that was a good sign because if he wanted, Macau was not beneath kicking, screaming and punching to get his way and a bodyguard of the major family would very much be in his way.

Pete rounds the bed and sits down, that smile never leaving his face. It still feels surreal to Vegas and he can't help himself as he asks why? Why are you still here?

"I can't just run off anywhere from my owner."

So it wasn't a dream. It was real, Pete had been there, begging for Vegas to take responsiblity for him. And he here was, still waiting.

"I heard gunshots."

Pete's smile wavers. He reels back ever so slightly and Vegas wants nothign more than to pull him back. Hold him so close and never, never let him go ever again. Pete takes a moment to collect himself

"I shot him. The guard that shot you. I killed him." The other male confesses quietly.

Vegas reaches forward and takes Pete's hand into his own. Pete exhales shakily and squeezes.

"When you got shot, I thought that was it. I thought you died. And if you were gone, I would have to go back to pretending and I couldn't, I couldn't go through that again. I would have suffocated living a lie but I wouldn't have been brave enough to stop. I couldn't, I couldn't Vegas, not without you."

"Pete-"

"Vegas if you were gone, my life would never have been mine."

Tears stream down Pete's face and Vegas realises for the first time that Pete is crying because the thought of losing Vegas was too much for him to bear. He moves his hands to cup Pete's face, gently turning the other's head to face him. His thumb wipes away the tears and he brings their foreheads together.

"You can't- You can't ever leave me Vegas."

"You can't leave me either Pete."

"Never."

And with that promise, Pete leans in and kisses Vegas like he did at the safehouse. Pete chooses Vegas and Vegas gets chosen.

#this started off somewhere and i got very very sidetracked haha #vegaspete #kinnporsche the series #vegas theerapanyakul #macau theerapanyakul #pete phongsakorn #kinnporsche arm #compounded disasters

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fan-tav-stic · 4 months

Text

Name: Silas

Pronouns: He/him

Race: Zariel Tiefling

Class: Oath of Ancients Paladin

Alignment: Neutral Good

Love Interest: Astarion

Ship Name: Blood(less)Orange (Blood- Astarion is a vampire, Orange- He's ...orange)

Family: Parents: ???

Siblings: None

His parents died when he was 10 of a sickness that ravaged their whole city. He doesn't remember them very well.

Personality: Big ol grump. A little cynical but in a way that makes him want to be better. Tries to be a fluffy feelings guy but struggles. Very serious about battle strategy and minimizing bloodshed. Can let anger best him and lash out but always immediately feels regretful.

He's a sad broken man who yearns to right the wrongs he was forced to do in his past

Anything else we should know?

Hates fighting. Tries his hardest to talk his way through but is a very skilled and trained soldier when he has to fight.

+Character Playlist +

+BloodlessOrange Playlist(NSFW) +

+Fic Series(NSFW)+

Back story under the keep reading:

TWS: Abuse (physical and emotional), reference to mind control (Command spell), substance abuse (alcohol), sex in a negative context, blood and gore

When he was 10 he lost both of his parents in a sweeping sickness that took out a lot of his city. Cast to the streets he had to learn to survive by scamming and stealing. Luckily he was a cute kid and many townspeople looked after him until he was about 15 when his 'cute kid charm' faded. He was left to fend for himself.

When he was 17 he was caught stealing from a nobleman who wanted his head. He was given a choice, go to prison or join the soldier ranks and learn to behave. He chose to become a soldier and serve under Commander Fylson.

Silas never wanted to take a life, that wasn't who he was. Fylson thought him weak. The first time he spared an enemy on the battlefield Fylson killed the man himself and then made Silas an example of what weakness got you under his command.

Fylson chose every opportunity to make an example of Silas after that. He was constantly beaten and humiliated if he even had one hair out of line, if he even breathed out of sync with the others.

Fylson would often use Command on him to make him do the worst tasks because he knew Silas would be too weak to stomach them on his own

He had killed so many people. He had tortured people for information. Any time he resisted he was harmed and berated until eventually he drew in on himself and forced himself to become numb to it all.

The people he killed became faceless ghosts in his nightmares. He became deaf to the screams. He became an obedient little attack dog for Fylson- A puppet for his master.

During a border skirmish with their rival city, Silas whole squad was wiped and he lay bleeding out on the battlefield. Just as Silas felt himself fading a holy warrior descended upon him.

A young half-elven man crouched over Silas, the sun rays a halo behind his head. He was beautiful. But the reverie ended when Silas saw the insignia on the man’s cloak, the one for the other side. This was no holy warrior; This was his reaper, the man who would finally end him.

He waited for the final blow but it never came.

Instead, his reaper pressed a hand to his wound and healed it closed. His reaper carried him off the battlefield despite being on the opposite side. His reaper snuck him into his room and spent several weeks caring for him instead of getting the information he was tasked with.

His reaper's name was Matias. A man he would come to know better than he knew himself.

Over the month that Matias harboured him, the pair became close. When Silas was well enough to escape, to flee out the window he had been planning on doing, and run to Baldur's Gate or sail across the coast he realised he didn't want to leave.

Yes, it was risky to stay since he was hiding right under Matias' captain's nose, but Matias was worth the risk. He stayed for another month.

Eventually, he was found out, but Matias stood up for him. He was allowed to join their ranks (albeit back at the bottom) as long as he stayed loyal to them.

Matias taught him what it meant to be a paladin, Silas tought him better- more ruthless- fighting techniques. The more he and Matias trained together the closer they became. They were one unit on the battle field, a genuine force to reckon with. Silas with his sword and shield, Matias with his greatsword, they were unstoppable.

They fell in love over the 2 years they spent together. Matias was the first person he ever loved and he had never been so loved in return. He treated him with a tenderness that he desperately craved after 6 years (17 -23) of Fylson's abuse.

Matias showed him it wasn't weak to spare others, to believe people could do good. He took every single word Fylson hit him with and reversed them, softening them into something that settled warmly in Silas' chest. It was dangerously close to hope. Hope that he too could be good after everything he's done.

Everything came crashing down when he faced off against Fylson during what was supposed to be just another skirmish. He fought his old commander and won. He had the opportunity to kill him but he didn't want to. If he killed Fylson he would be just as bad as him and he refused to be like him anymore. He was changed, he was better.

Big mistake.

Fylson took advantage of hesitance and tried to take him down but Matias saved him. Matias died for him. Silas saw red as he strangled Fylson with his own bare hands.

Matias was dying. Silas held him through it. Matias told him how brave he was, that he made the right choice to be merciful. He made Silas promise never to forget himself, that he’s still a good person no matter how much blood is on his hands, and that mercy is still a choice he can and SHOULD make.

His last words were asking Tempus to watch over Silas since he wouldn’t be able to anymore. Protect him in battle. That made Silas take up Matias’ sword, swearing his paladin oath.

He swore to only fight as a last resort, to spare those he could, to never run or back down, to protect his squad with his life, to be brave in the face of death.

He was filled with Tempus’ fire, becoming a paladin. But not just any kind of Paladin. As if sensing Silas’ apprehension to fight - to kill- Tempus granted him the ability to heal others in a greater way than just lay on hands.

It was like he knew Silas would never be a true holy warrior nor would he be on a path of vengeance. He was meant to help others, not slay in his name. He made him an Ancient Paladin.

For the last 2 years before being kidnapped by the mindflayers Silas struggled to cope with Matias' death.

He stayed true to his oath of doing no harm unto others without cause, but that didn't mean he couldn't harm himself.

When he wasn't training or on the battlefield he was in taverns drinking or in the bed of any man who would have him. The alcohol for the days he needed to feel numb to it all and the sex for the days when he needed to feel something anything at all. (even if he didn't enjoy it emotionally he could at least enjoy it physically)

When he was finally taken by the mindflayers he was at rock bottom, but now he had a chance to start anew.

and Gods he refused to waste it.

#baldur's gate tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 #BloodOrange!#BloodlessOrange!

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