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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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𝕽𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖇 • 𝕰. 𝕵𝖆𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖗: chapter two

synopsis: for as long as he could remember, eren jaeger’s only concern and love was his music..despising fame and all that came with it. That was until he was forced into a club appearance by their mutual manager and met (y/n) (l/n), a renowned pole dancer and social media’s newest rising star. After a picture of the pair together begins circulating, they find themselves at the center of a rumor mill. But with the two forming a fast friendship, will they feed into the speculation or will the rapper’s less than welcoming nature push her away?

cw: inappropriate and heavy language, drug use (mainly weed), mentions of sexual content and nudity, FaceTime (implied phone sex and masturbation), eren being a flirt, pole dancing (not stripping though), small mentions of sex toys

wc: 5.8K

📝: y’all, I’ve been enjoying this story so much, obviously. I’m going to try for weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) also, if you’d like to be added to the tag list for future chapters, please comment or reblog to let me know!

“Babygirl, I don’t dabble in what ifs and rumors..little too grown for all that shit. I let people believe what they want because I don’t care. As for as you and I, if you really wanna give ‘em something to talk about and make ‘em mad, then keep fucking with me..I’ll make it fun.”

prev chapter > next chapter

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“Alright, let’s take a break right here and then we’ll run it back one more time. You’re doing great, bro. I’m loving it so far.”

the rapper could be seen nodding behind the plexiglass partition to Eren, who was talking over a microphone as he removed his head seat to pause for an intermission. For some reason or another, the famed producer seemed to be in a much better mood than he was during the previous session.

either way, he’d take this version of him over the temperamental one any day and while he was letting him rest, he’d go grab him some water. just then, the red light and buzzer, signaling that someone else was trying to enter his little lair, sounded off above the ceiling.

he’d flip the switch to unlock the door, because people loved to walk in unannounced and interrupt him so he had to remedy it. He knew it wouldn’t be long before someone came to disturb his peace and progress..

“Mr. Jaeger, Mr. Jaeger…are you in here?”

spinning around in his chair, Eren would be greeted by his wiry, red haired, hard working assistant. Who, as always, was a basket case and didn’t want to disturb his boss while he was busy. But what really annoyed him was the way he greeted him. “Floch, dude. Chill with all that ‘mister’ shit. We’re like a year apart, you can call me Eren. It’s cool, I promise.”

what he didn’t realize was that it just reminded him too much of his asshole doctor of a dad. And being remotely referred to in any capacity the same as that man, made him want to claw his own eyes out..regardless, Floch would apologize and he’d ask him to state his business so he could get back to work.

“Right, sorry sir. Well in any case, I just wanted to bring you this. Came through your email this morning..offers from like six different clubs to do an appearance, GQ and Elle both want to do interviews with you. For Ten Favorite Things and Song Association.” But if he knew anything about his employer, every last one of those were about to be declined with a quickness.

releasing a heavy sigh, the producer reclined in his seat and just shook his head.

“Dude, you already know the answer to this shit. The answer is no. And not just no, hell no.”

“I know and I apologize, but—“

but before that question could he given a proper answer, another voice intervened and interrupted their talk.

“I told him to accept them. Looks like you have a busy week ahead, buddy.”

it was none other than the maverick herself, and she seemed to be all smiles..which frightened both of them! “M-miss Ackerman!How’d you get in here?!” Floch muttered nervously, knowing better than to question her but still curious all the same.

but the musician surely wasn’t afraid to ask.

“Yes, Mikasa. That’s a good question, why the hell are you walking in my studio like you pay bills here? Better yet, why are you volunteering me for more bullshit?”

she was as much of a powerhouse as ever; intimidating and afraid of nothing, including the brown haired brat sitting in that chair. Dressed in a more casual outfit than her normal thousand dollar Givenchy and Giuseppe’s, she’d just smirk and help herself to one of the empty seats.

“Didn’t we just go over this like three days ago or are you just pretending to be stupid?”

one thing about her was that she would always meet him where he was at. If he took it low, she’d go to hell and wouldn’t stop until she won. As with everyone. You’d be a damn fool to ever challenge Mikasa to anything. She was a third generation talent in the music industry and next heiress in line to take over AMG, Ackerman Management Group.

they were the premier record label and talent agency that everyone wanted to work with. They were notorious for getting some of the biggest names their start but working hard all the same.

founded by her great uncle, Kenny, who was a popular rock singer back in the day and taken over by his son and her uncle, Levi. Who was even far more ruthless than she could ever be! he wasn't a fan of the rapper’s lackadaisical attitude in the slightest so he told her to make him get his act together or get his ass out the door. Needless to say, she didn’t want it to result in the latter. Hence why she was here.

“I’ve got a dress fitting at twelve and a meeting with my wedding planner after that so let’s make this quick. And I’d prefer if we could do it privately.” Talking bluntly as she scrolled through her Apple Watch, pecking at the screen. It didn’t take long for Floch to get a clue and kick rocks.

he’d take being on his boss’ shit list over hers any day.

regardless, he could care less and both of them to beat it so he could continue recording..once the two of them were alone, Eren stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket and gave her a deadpan expression.

“I’m just gonna take a wild guess and say you aren’t here for a friendly chat.” “Correct again. There is more than wind between those little ears of yours.”

he really wasn’t in the mood for her nonsense so she better had made this quick! Whatever it was…

“I’m here because one, Ms. Hange asked me to send her personal regards and this…said that her club has been packed full every night since you performed and she’d love to have you back.”

handing him an envelope with a check in the amount of ninety five thousand dollars. When you were a huge name of his caliber, it came with a hefty price tag! She wasn’t mad though, because she made a couple million easily that night..the second thing on the docket though, was a tad bit more personal and something she needed to know.

it had been a week since that show and since he met (y/n), who was all over Twitter and Instagram, going viral for the simple fact she was spotted with him. And Mikasa would be damned if he screwed up this poor girl’s career this early on.

“Speaking of..you mind explaining why you and my new client are playing footsies in VIP for the entire internet to see?”

scratching her forehead as she pulled her phone up to show him the picture that had been circulating social media heavily. Which he probably knew nothing about since he never checked those damn things anyways. Poor (y/n) was probably being bombarded with more questions and threats than she knew what to do with.

“I know that shit was your idea, Eren. You get a rise out of sending people into a panic so you probably told her to kiss you. Am I right or am I right?”

without so much as another word, she just let out a frustrated huff. “So goddamned predictable..”

she was incredibly annoyed and hadn’t even been there for five minutes.

“Please don’t tell me you fu—“

“No!..what type of man do you take me for?”

“A slut, because that’s what’s you are!”

taken aback in complete offense as he playfully grabbed his chest!

she knew him well enough that he wasn’t the type to do a million random hookups but he was also a huge flirt and could charm the pants off of a snake. Which telling by that photo and the videos, it was obvious that he had this girl wrapped around his finger and vice versa so she wouldn’t be surprised if something came of it..

and he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t feeling (y/n)…you were stunning, funny, sweet and had all types of sex appeal. Honestly, had you been the one initiating it, he definitely would’ve hit on the first night.

“Look, I’m not telling you what to do with your life but I am telling you not to get this girl caught up in some weird nonsense. She’s got a bright future ahead of her and the last thing she needs is to be messed up by the industry’s favorite misfit.”

rolling his eyes, Eren leaned back in his chair before grabbing his water bottle.

truth be told, the only thing on his mind was making music and getting this album finished. He didn’t have time to lay up with you or anybody else.

“Mika, if I wanted a lecture, I’d go call my mom and let her bitch at me. Thank you for the check but I promise, you don’t have to worry about anything. I barely know the girl, we did as you asked and that was it. Now if you’d be so kind as to get the hell out so I can finish working, I'd be very grateful.”

at this point, it was the best thing. He was hard headed as hell and knew he’d go against her out of spite. Still, a small part of her was happy to see him smiling for once and if you had managed to bring that side out for just a moment, then she was fine.

“Fine, I’ll leave you and your rat’s nest to it. Just remember what I said.”

demanding as she rose from her seat and began to leave. But of course, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her. They were best friends before they were manager and client.

“Yeah whatever..hey, speaking of rats, where’s your ugly fiancé?”

clicking her tongue into her cheek, Mikasa just rolled her eyes and dismissed the comment. She knew that they didn’t and probably would never get along but she also knew Eren was an asshole.

“You’re such a jackass, I swear.” declaring before turning on her heel and heading towards the door.

“You know he got a face that can’t be seen in the daylight. You’re gonna scare my neighbors.” cracking up as he joked on the rival artist.

all he received in return is a middle finger from his manager! “I love you, Mika!” she was so used to his annoying behavior that she just tuned out half the time. Now that she had left though, it was time to get back to what really mattered and that was working his magic on another project.

just then, his friend and fellow rapper, Connie Springer reentered the studio, ready to finish out the second half of this session.

“Aye bro, you ready?” He’d ask from behind the partition as he placed his headphones back on. However, there was one thing Eren needed to take care of beforehand. Grabbing his phone, he’d scroll and search for a particular contact..one that hadn’t left his head since Saturday.

he couldn’t believe that someone actually had his attention..and he hated it! But still, it’d be nice to hear from you again.

staring at the screen for just a minute, he’d contemplate sending the message he had typed before setting it down and getting back to the grind.

“Yeah, I’m ready, bro. Let’s run that last shit back.”

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meanwhile, somewhere a couple states away, (y/n) was working diligently on your craft as well. Preparing to perform alongside the headliner for a music festival and you had to ensure that not only yourself but the entire collective was on their A-Game.

“Alright, we all go up on three count, heel click at five and come down on eight. Got it?”

a group of five other ladies looked back at you and nodded with reassurance as you stood before them in front of the pole classroom at the Allure Dance Studio. The premier studio where you and your team had practiced for many years now.

The Pole Assassins consisted of yourself, Janae James, Syrai Hughes, Kellie Grant, Niesha Daniels and Brianne Scott. Some of the most talented performers; some of them well versed in a multitude of dance styles and having served as backup for so many artists..ranging from SZA, Megan The Stallion to Rihanna and many other household names.

although there was a huge misconception that all of you were just strippers turned social media stars, that wasn’t the case. Granted, there wasn’t a single thing wrong with that because Syrai and Brianne did happen to get their start at the infamous Blue Flame in Atlanta.

regardless of where all of you came from, you were here now and getting backup performers their much deserved recognition.

in another year’s tops, you wanted to organize your own tour..traveling across the country to show off the illustrious skills and art of pole. Help break the stigma and bias towards the trade..

but at the moment, duty called and there was so much to do before the show in a couple days. At the moment though, what you all could use was a much needed break! “Alright y’all, let’s rest for thirty and then get back to it.”

all the ladies exhaled a sigh of relief and dispersed for the time being. That was all except one..your best and closest friend, Niesha. Everyone on the team had a close bond and considered yourselves sisters but you and Niesha had known each other since childhood.

she lingered around, taking a sip from her water bottle before collapsing near her designated pole.

“Damn bitch, I knew you worked hard but you straight slave driving us today.”

joking as you walked towards her, playfully swinging a towel at her. You couldn’t help but laugh because your reputation as a perfectionist preceded you. Everything you put your name on was done to the precise tee or not at all!

and although the rest of them were gracious for your hard work and leadership, they were no stranger to that obsessive behavior and rigorous training.

“Was I that bad?” muttering and giggling as you took a seat next to her.

“Nah baby, you good..but the last time I saw you go this hard, you were fighting with your ex nigga and your family. What’s on your mind?”

Niesha was the jokester of the troupe but she was also a sweetheart. She never let any of you have a bad day or stay there for long..releasing a sigh, you’d take a swig of the chilled water, positioning yourself on the backs of your seven inch clear Pleasers.

“I’m good, I’m just trying to make sure we do this right, ‘s all. I want us on that next level so I’m pushing hard this year.”

Niesha would nod, seconding the sentiment. She knew you well enough to know that was the case but also, couldn’t help but feel as though something else was at play here..clicking her tongue in her cheek, she’d smirk and glare over at you.

“Yeah..or the fact that you all over the internet right now and you’re trying to forget it.” And there it was. She had called your bluff yet again..as a true best friend would! Doubling over in laughter, she’d watch your expression change and couldn’t help but to cackle about it.

if it’s one thing she knew about you, it was that this fame thing would never quite register. Unlike her and the rest of the girls, you did not attend these industry parties or accept hotel room invitations.

once whatever job you were hired for was finished, you were the first to dip..you didn’t get starstruck or fawn over the million different famous faces. You simply wanted to dance and that was that. But if there was one person that stance was broken for..it was the man who was featured in the circulating photo with you.

but it was bittersweet, considering the fact that every other comment was basically alluding to the fact that y’all were fucking or that you needed his name for some half assed attempt at getting clout. Which was a complete lie because in the entire week you had known him, you only spoke for a little while before your work pulled you both away. There was no agenda or networking..just a nice vibe and you wanted it to stay that way.

“Girl, ion know why you even tripping. That man is so fine, I wouldn’t give a fuck about what these people got to say. Especially the way he was all up on you? Chile, you a better woman than me..I know I would’ve folded.” that’s exactly why you loved her! She was your exact opposite and afraid of nothing. Shame and judgment didn’t exist and she lived everyday to the fullest, doing whatever made Niesha happy.

smacking your lips, you’d dismiss her argument. As right as she was, you couldn’t allow yourself to get carried away.

it wasn’t as if something would come of the little exchange. It was a job and nothing more. By now, you were certain he had forgotten all about you and was on to the next model or singer on his roster. meanwhile, you were being called a ho and clout addict by the illiterate rap pages and bloggers..not to mention his hormonal fangirls who probably had a shrine of him in their bedrooms.

you heard the rumors about how he operated but you couldn’t help but feel that they were just that: rumors.

because he didn’t do a million interviews or put his business on front street, these shady reporters did the next best thing and constructed lies to get their clout and coins up.

“Be for real, Niesha. You know that man probably doesn't even remember me. Besides, he only did that because they were taking pictures and annoying him.”

“Right. And if I was you, I would’ve gave they asses something to snap. You had Eren fucking Jaeger touching all over you in the middle of the club and didn’t give that man no pussy? You crazy. Listen, they would’ve just had to hate me.” all you could do was laugh at this point because she was serious and you had to respect it..at least she was honest!

“Do you hear yourself right now? I don’t care who it is, I’m not fucking on no random man after only three hours of knowing him. He was real sweet, we had a good time…even smoked a lil’ bit after the club but that’s as far as it went and will go. I’m not ‘bout to be on the front page of TheShadeRoom every week, fighting hoes in the comments. Not over him or nobody else.”

she knew there was no changing your mind but she considered the fact that you had been going hard non stop since you all had made it big. No breaks, no relaxations and damn sure no man in your life..tapped into multiple lines of work but never taking time for (y/n).

so what if he did one night you? That the two of you would’ve gone back to your hotel and let him put those lyrics to the test? No one would have cared or blamed you for doing so. You were a young woman, a very beautiful one at that it so made no sense to sit here and let that allude you. Nothing was wrong with dating and

“Girl, I think you just need to stop letting stuff get to you. I know you don’t want to hear this but it comes with the game. These bitches gone’ talk shit regardless and if you wanna be out there and have Pole Assassins all over the world, then I think you need to get a bit of thicker skin and let it roll off your back. They don’t pay your bills so don’t pay they asses no mind. Period.”

she was right! No need in dwelling over something that couldn’t be undone. You two enjoyed yourselves so there was nothing to regret, even if it was short lived. Meeting him was a top five experience in your life and career, even if that was the first and last time…rising from her spot, heels clicking against the previously polished sandalwood floors, marked by your scuffing.

“As for mister EJ, if he does by some miracle remember you, don’t fumble that bag, bitch. It’s time to put (y/n) first and stop worrying about an image. He obviously don’t care so why should you?”

letting out a loud huff, you’d stand up as well and stretch your limbs. It was no point in denying the truth..someone was going to have an opinion, good or bad. Something that Eren had probably learned early on and it was your turn now to do the same. Especially if you wanted to achieve all these wild dreams and see (y/n) (l/n) up in lights…

“Yeah, yeah. Damn I hate that you always right..”

you just hoped that it wouldn’t be for all the wrong reasons..

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later that evening..

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darkness had all but settled over the bustling city of Miami but it was most certainly a place that never slept. Parties, clubs, bars and adult playgrounds alike..you’d definitely find your poison there. Something to suit a vice of every kind. It was also a place, notorious for the amount of celebrities that resided there, including Eren himself. However, he didn’t partake in the late night culture much or being around people at all for that matter. Granted, it was a far cry from his hometown of northern Jersey but at the fresh age of sixteen, he made the move all by his lonesome to South Florida and hadn’t looked back since. It was something that kept his family at odds for years and baffled his friends all the same.

they thought he was insane for choosing to leave a life of comfortability and luxury, just to chase this dream of making music. To voluntarily couch surf and sleep in cars all because they didn’t support him…it seemed crazy but it was a necessary sacrifice. He could’ve easily followed in his father and older brother’s footsteps; dealing with sick people or sitting in a chair with a note pad, listening to people bitch about their problems. But he’d much rather go mop the entire sea floor of Miami Beach before being in their shoes. So he stayed diligent, drowning out any noise that refuted his goals and went hard. He worked at Foot Locker during the day and done a few..illegal things at night to fund his engineering education. Fast forward almost ten years later and it had paid off major. Three Grammys; two for album of the year, one for songwriting, four VMA’s, and even an Emmy for a song he once produced in a movie. His resume was quite stacked and impressive for being so young. And the bank account matched!

with a net worth of over thirty million, it was no wonder that he was the topic of discussion every other week. Wondering how he did it..what his secret was and what he was going to do next. At the moment though..he was enjoying the fruits of his tireless labor.. but without squaring away the remained of his business first!.. “Listen, I heard the song and that shit go crazy…bro, I’m telling you, this the next single!..imma be flying out there next week for a shoot and you already know what I’m on. Let’s link and make this shit happen. I just got my second studio out there and I’m ready to go to work. I’ll send my verse in the morning..”

the rapper spoke into his AirPods as he conversed with excitement on his face. When it came to creating, that’s what truly made him smile. All that other stuff, they could keep. On the other end, was a fellow artist that had been dying to work with the famous producer. Not just to mix and master the music but have him on the song as well and getting an EJ The Don feature was like getting the rarest Pokémon you could find. He was a hot commodity, even after all these years and still hadn’t reached his prime! It was a great feeling because his best work was yet to come. For now though, what he needed was rest! “Aight, man. I’ll talk to you later..bye.”

ending the call shortly after before settling into his massive king bed with the pillow top mattress. Covered in neatly tucked silk sheets and fluffy comforters..all courtesy of his wonderful housekeeping staff. Which consisted of seven people that kept his ten thousand square foot, three story mansion spotless. Six bedrooms and baths, a mini theater, game room, home gym and an infinity pool with a jacuzzi in the spacious backyard. Not to mention, the all black Wraith, cobalt blue Maserati and two muscle cars sitting in the five car garage. To say he lived lavish was an understatement and the best part was..he did it all on his lonesome. Not a red cent of his doctor daddy’s money like everyone loved to claim.

but one thing about him, is that he didn’t give the first, second or third fuck about anyone’s opinions. He had the life that they could only dream of and no amount of comments or commentary videos would stop him. Having freshly showered, the musician ties his shoulder length shag into a bun..completely topless; covered only by his tattoos and donning grey sweats as he climbed into bed. On the nightstand sat his phone and a pre rolled blunt, awaiting his ignition. After the stressful day he’d had, he most certainly needed it.

despite his rampant success and having anything he wanted at his disposal..there was something missing that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Unlike most of his cohorts, he didn’t do well with company. Having a house full of strangers to fill a void or laying up with a bitch he didn’t know the first thing about was not his ministry. He’d rather be alone in the solitude of his fortress before going out sad like that..still, like anyone, he did long to have someone around, at least to talk to.

his two best friends: one, a philandering playboy with more bodies than the morgue and the other, a soon to be married woman with a husband that hated his guts had no time to kick it with him, as their schedules just didn’t permit it. Reluctantly, Eren grabbed the phone from the nightstand and scrolled for a minute. It was very rate that he even picked that thing up because he was just jaded by social media and folks in general. But it was the closest he’d get to human interaction right now.

placing his blunt between his lips, he’d grasp the lighter sitting next to it and spark a flame, allowing the air to permeate his lungs. There wasn’t a better feeling in the world!..but it was about to get that much better when he flicked his thumb across the screen to scroll up his very bare feed, completely ignoring the thousands of notifications and spotted something in the recommended tab..

@(socialmedianame) Worked on a little something today with the girls..can’t wait to be on the stage at Rolling Loud. ♥️”

a video with a familiar song, a very familiar face..and a pretty infamous body too was seen twirling around a pole to one of his tracks, doing a variety of stunts until she went spread leg in the air and then landed on the floor in a split! To say he was impressed would be an understatement. Stretching those big green eyes, the rapper replayed the reel at least a couple times before becoming completely entranced..he couldn’t stop staring at the woman or her movements. Out of complete curiosity, he’d click the user and there she would appear..

(Y/N): the one who had been on his mind constantly. And that much was proven by the fact that he was even lurking on your page because he never even bothered to check in anyone. But after only seeing a couple pictures, that infatuation grew tenfold. From the aesthetically pleasing photos of you in some sexy outfit, to the videos of you twerking to a new song as you sported a string bikini. Now, he had had his fair share of women and seen all types of girls throughout the tenure of his career but not one of them would EVER come close to being as bad as you..that pretty brown skin tone, perfect hair, nails and makeup..an absolute beauty. Of course, he was a man before anything so his attention averted to that ass, which was sitting..

he’d never admit it but he had watched it far more times than he should’ve been proud of. One perk of being alone in this big house was that he was free to do as he pleased..which included cupping a hand around his bulge and release a huff while watching that thickness move like water. “Damn (y/n)…”

it made no sense how fine you were and how mesmerized he was..the fantasies running through his head right now were not thoughts unbecoming of a renowned recording artist. But something would soon snap the singer out of his trance and that was a call from (y/n) yourself! Not was he expecting but he’d quickly pull himself together to accept. “Fuck.” Mumbling underneath his breath, Eren swiped over and in a matter of seconds, your pretty face was on the other end in real time.

“What’s good?”

his deep set voice speaking out and immediately catching you off guard..not because it scared you but that tone done something to you. He played it so cool that you wouldn’t have even known that you had him sweating bullets a few minutes ago!

“I’m just now getting in, sorry about calling you this late..I didn’t see your text until now so I figured I’d say hey.”

now, if anyone else had been hitting his line that late, they would’ve been getting cussed out from A to Z but for you? He was happy as hell to hear your voice and even happier to see that smile. Something he didn’t believe he had ever experienced. Yet here he was imploding with joy..blowing a cloud of smoke, he’d eye you up and down before speaking again.

“Nah, you fine. Glad you did…” from there, the two of you proceeded to talk about your days, exchanging laughs and stealing glances of one another through the camera lenses. You were in your hotel room, just now making it back from a photo shoot and fine wasn’t even the word to describe the look. Face beat to perfection, long thirty inch jet black hair laid and a skimpy two piece on your curvy body. “You look pretty. Like that outfit on you..” the compliment making your stomach flutter in return. For some reason, conversation flowed so casually with him. This was the first time that you had actually seen his face since the club and you didn’t even feel nervous. The fact that you even had his number was still a shock but it was nice.

however, there was a huge elephant in the room that would inevitably take over your chat. “So Miss Ackerman called me today..” the words making him visibly irritated because his mind immediately reverted back to their talk earlier in the day. He despised being told what to do but as he was certain she gave him that advice, he was sure she had given you the same lecture. “Oh yeah? You got a visit from the wicked witch too? What she say?” Playing oblivious as he absentmindedly turned on the TV to distract himself. Meanwhile, you’d giggle and prepare to put your hair up. Unbeknownst, she had already gotten on his ass but you’d be completely honest.

“She said she was really happy with the club performance and that she’d be happy for us to come back and host any time. Which again, I have to say thank you for helping me. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to do it without you.” nodding gently as he looked at you. It was his pleasure because your paths probably would’ve never crossed regardless. Which may have been for the best, considering that you were being dogpiled simply for being associated with his namesake. But Eren wasn’t much for small talk and he could tell by the look on your face that something was bothering you..

“And what else did she say?”

the question caught you off guard but there was no use in lying. Might as well be upfront because knowing him, he was completely oblivious to the whole situation. “..I’m assuming you don’t know about the picture then, huh?” letting out a soft cackle, he’d simply shrug his shoulders before pursing his lips together for another hit. “I’ve been made aware..why? What’s up?” It was as if nothing ever got underneath his skin. Which was more than what could be said about you because for the past few days, they had managed to piss you off something serious! As you stood before your bathroom mirror, you’d section off those locks into sections; placing them in rollers for the night.

“Well, they out here saying we fucking. Talking shit and making up stuff..so annoying.”

without so much as the raise of an eyebrow or change in expression, EJ blew his third consecutive puff and dismissed it, which you figured it was because of his long term tenure in the industry and he was accustom to having his name used for clickbait. It was another day for him but you weren’t exactly privy to it so he’d try to ease your mind…at least in the best way he knew how!

“I mean…I’ll prove ‘em right if that’s what they want.” muttering so casually that you’d blurt out a laugh and smack your lips. “You know what?” eventually, he’d start laughing as well and sit up, now staring you straight in the face. “But for real, that don’t bother you? They just making shit up, playing on yo’ name like that?”

the question was all but rhetorical, still her answer truthfully and let you know exactly what the deal was! “Yeah, cause imma be mad that they’re saying I had sex with a beautiful girl. Oh, the horror..” that sarcasm was something you’d hav to get used to quickly if you wanted to be his friend and not many people had the patience to put up with it. You found it refreshing though.

that’s when he’d say something yet again to take all of those thoughts and say to hell with them.

the absolute and sure fire conviction in his words was so attractive! That nonchalantness was so sexy and you couldn’t help but wish that they were correct in their statements. Gliding your tongue across your lips, you’d just smirk and try to feint your true feelings. He was problems..that much was certain but were you truly prepared to deal with them? Was Niesha right about what she said?..what should you do?..

“Mmmm, can’t tell if you threatening me with a good time or what?”

“Shit..come find out.”

he really did play too much!

while you were busy contemplating, he’d set the phone down and you’d catch a glimpse of his chiseled physique and you wanted to jump through the screen. You should not have had this much tension and attraction to a man you barely knew but honestly, how many girls would kill to be in your spot? FaceTiming with everyone’s celeb crush. Hell, you wanted to put it in the camera for him!

“..well I gotta go. I’m happy you called me, beautiful. Get you some rest, alright? And don’t let these dumbass people get to you..”

you didn’t even try to attest and would tell him goodnight because you definitely needed to get out of these clothes and into a hot shower. “I’ll try. Goodnight..”

and with that, the line would disconnect, leaving you both to reflect on the conversation and all of the intrusive thoughts that plagued your minds during and had to suppress out of respect for one another but when you hung up, you couldn’t help but to think about what he said:

“If you really wanna make ‘em mad, keep fucking with me..”

it was a dangerous game messing with him but maybe it was time to live a little. You could only imagine what it would actually be like..unfortunately though, that was all you could do. Imagine! Throughout the duration of that call, you were trying to hold it together but that was a problem and a half.

letting out a loud sigh, (y/n) proceeded to continue that nighttime routine and get ready to settle down for the night and you knew just the way to relax..

“I’m so glad I brought that damn rose toy with me..imma need it.”

you doubted that this rumor would come to fruition anytime soon but it didn’t hurt to improvise.

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if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! please check out some of my other stuff in the masterlist. Likes are appreciated but reblogs would mean the world and help me out a TON! Also, considering leaving a little something in the tip jar if you’re feeling extra generous! 🫶🏾

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*: .･*:｡.･*:｡.

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tressasinterlude · 2 years

Text

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 #𝟓: The Hyper-sexualization, Masculinization & Dehumanization of Megan Thee Stallion

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥: These rant blog posts are really just reflective of my thoughts at the time that I make them and are posted here because I need an outlet to release all of this shit I have going on in my busy ass mind. That’s it and that’s all. Now let’s get into it..

As someone who has been an avid supporter of Megan thee Stallion since her Houston cypher went viral back in 2016, it’s nearly impossible for me for not be proud of the three time Grammy-Award winning artist she’s manifested herself to be. However, being an OG Hottie has not been the easiest task either. From her mother passing away abruptly from cancer, her having a nasty feud with her label, to her being physically assaulted by a Canadian leprechaun that shall remain nameless, it’s been a tough journey.

Being that I pride myself in being one of the few people who followed Megan back when she used to upload freestyles from her college campus, it’s beyond disheartening to witness the same people, who rooted for her as an underdog, taking every opportunity to break her down. How did we even get here? I honestly can’t provide a definite answer to that but I can pin-point to moments when things began to take an ugly turn.

Let’s start with the most obvious:

I. The hyper-sexualization of Megan’s public persona.

Contrary to popular belief, Megan shaking her tail-feather on stage and sticking her tongue out was not a recurring theme within her brand until she started to attain mainstream success. DJ Chose did an interview with AllHipHop back in January 2021 discussing how Meg was NOT a heavy drinker at all and actually prided herself on being the “best rapper without having to twerk.”

I’m not the type of person to chastise another adult for engaging in some fun and drinking booze but it’s not by mere coincidence that the frequent ‘driving the boat’ and twerk videos began surfacing almost immediately after Ms. Holly (May she rest in peace) was no longer in the picture. The focus became more about how her ass moves rather than her rapping ability. Every viral video of Megan on the Twitter & IG timelines was one revealing her backside. We get it! Megan’s natural physique, without a doubt, lives up to the name she was given at 10: THEE Stallion. However, Meg is more than a pretty face and a coke bottle shaped figure. She’s a person with feelings, emotions, interests and most importantly, talent.

The sexual exploitation came with men fawning over her and giving her open invitations to their bedrooms. While I highly doubt Meg slept with every single man she was photographed with, it didn’t stop many from speculating. Quickly, she gained the reputation of being an industry pass-around to the point she felt the need to prove she wasn’t on numerous Twitter tirades and interviews (including the infamous Sway in the Morning interview she did about ‘not adding bodies’). The irony of it all is the same male gaze she was working overtime to appeal to already decided she was not deserving respect. Not because she raps about playing niggas the same way they play her or because she twerks but simply because she is a woman thriving in a male-dominated genre.

Misogyny is a constant losing battle especially in an industry that has been constructed to kick women back down a few notches every time they manage to climb up the ladder since its development. With the help of a certain crazed fanbase(s) and urban media publications, Meg was completely stripped from her humanity. By the time DaBoogeyMan and Tori Lamez started playing a game of Whack-A-Mole on Meg’s perception in the eyes of public opinion, the damage was already done.

Which brings me to the next part…

II. The subsequent masculinization & dehumanization of Megan thee Stallion

Meg has been called “Marcus”, “Michael”, and just about every male name that began with an M as well as been accused of being transgendered since she first emerged on the scene in 2019. These insults only grew to become more vitriolic overtime, notably after she took to her Instagram to confirm she was shot [by the Keebler elf himself].

Rapper Cam’ron’s post in response to Megan confirming she was shot via Instagram

Normally, this is the part where I’d go on a full tangent about how this meme alone further perpetuates transphobia and promotes femicide against trans-women but I will reserve it for another rant separate from this one. Anywho, it’s beyond disturbing to see fully grown men excuse gun violence committed against women. The amount of times I’ve heard both people use Megan’s height in comparison to the 5-foot-tall lollipop guild as a valid explanation for why he sh*t her has made me wish to lose all my senses just to escape the stupidity.

Howbeit, I am not surprised. History once again repeats itself and yet another black woman’s voice is being silenced to protect the sanctity of another black male. A black male who seized the opportunity to throw her under the bus even though she initially lied to the authorities to protect HIM. A black male who has continued to physically assault other people since he’s been awaiting trial and a black male who has used this woman’s former work-husband to help in conducting her most recent smear campaign. Peanut Head clearly does not value his own character enough to not jeopardize his current pending case let alone even thoroughly explain away his [alleged] actions. Yet Megan’s account of events and trauma responses is always up for questioning. Why?

I’ll tell you why: Because Megan was never valued as a human being.

It was all fun & games when Meg was just a sexual toy that men could wind up to do all the gyrating and dancing their lustful hearts desired. The minute she demanded respect was the minute she became disposable. She suddenly became every woman she tried her hardest to disassociate herself from and the backlash of it all came down like a ton of bricks. Her sexual history has been more of a talking point than the actual incident itself. To say it’s humiliating and invasive would be an understatement.

Let this be a cautionary tale to all the young ladies internationally of what male validation to be weary of. Growing up, we’ve been conditioned to think that if men/boys are giving us attention then it means that we’re doing something right but we’re never warned about the dangerous consequences that ‘attention’ can bring. Even when we are, we get told that men/boys causing pain is just a funny way of them showing they ‘like’ us. In no way, shape, or form, am I ever blaming any woman for the harm that can be inflicted on her but I just want us as (black) women to understand the power we truly possess. Being that we’re still living in a culture that’s driven by sexism, it’s important we learn from the past mistakes of the women before us and also be a helping hand to those who need it. This is beyond Meg at this point. We are the only support we have and even that support is not much.

Last but not least, if you’ve recently suffered a loss in your family, I send my greatest condolences. I know these past couple years have been rough for many including myself so I just want to let you know, everything will get better in due time. I also highly recommend finding a safe & healthy way to cope whether it be writing in a diary or going to a therapist. I wish you nothing but peace & prosperity during this troubling time. I love us for real.

- 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂 𝙴𝙳𝙶𝙰𝚁 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙽 𝙷𝙾𝙴. 💋

#rant #female rappers #hip hop #black women #rap #anti blackness #megan thee stallion #dababy #cam’ron #misogyny #misogynoir #transmisogynoir #my uploads.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You notice a sudden change in Lord Barnes.

Note: This is just me being self-indulgent. I start a new job on Monday and yesterday, someone close to me passed. I’m trying to distract myself but I’m too stressed to work on an standing series. This will have at least one other part.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You scattered fresh herbs over the rushes carefully as you backed down the hall. The woven mats would absorb the scent and keep the floors tidy until the next sweep. When you reached the corner, you tied up the sachet and gathered up your bucket and broom. The corridors were already smelling fresher though the task had kept you well past the evening meal.

Your usual chores you assigned to Marjorie. As the years piled on her crooked back, she wasn’t as suited to the more physical tasks. Sweeping would have been too hard on her and you didn’t mind the solitary of the work.

You turned past the kitchens and stopped. Your footsteps seemed to echo behind you. You looked back but saw nothing in the shadows. It was late and most of the castle was asleep already, the torches were snuffed but for a few and you could find you way through the dark easily in the familiar castle.

You went to the rear door of the castle on the lower green, just beside the stables, and dumped the dirt. You heard the horses snoring and nicking as the moon shone down on the wood roofs. You basked for a moment in the silver light and the brisk night air. The harvest season was coming to an end and it would soon be cold.

You dropped the bar as you went back inside and returned your broom and bucket to the cellar. Again you heard a step that did not quite align with your own as you came into the corridor. You spun slowly and glanced around. Some of the younger servants were known to sneak around after hours and there was the odd mouse that skittered over the stone. You saw nothing and went on, more than ready to retire to your straw mattress beside Elsa.

“You sent the old lady,” the voice had your heart in your throat and you stopped short to bow to your liege.

“My lord, I was occupied elsewhere. Harold approved the reassignment,” you said shakily. It was unlike him to traverse the lower floors.

“She spilled wine on my tunic,” Lord Barnes said, “and she can barely see her own crooked nose.”

“My lord, she is old, we did not want her to tax herself--”

“She is a servant. Like you. You have your work and she has hers,” he stepped forward out of the dark shadows though there was no lantern or torch to limn his features, “I bid you to bring my meals and tidy my chambers, no one else. There are far too many covetous servants.”

You were put off by his confrontation. You replaced his former chambermaid several years back but Lord Barnes hardly seemed to warm to the change. He never offered more than an obligatory courtesy and when he was present during your tasks, he rarely spoke at all. Your service had been one of complacency on both sides, so you wondered why he would come to the lower floors to search you out after dark.

“I will be there tomorrow, my lord,” you said, “I apologise for my negligence.”

“And every day thus,” he demanded as he got closer.

“Yes, my lord,” you lowered your chin, “as you wish.”

He stopped only an inch from you and you felt him staring down at you. You didn’t dare look back, that would be an affront to any noble. He let out a long breath and slowly backed away.

“Go, you must be worn out from your hard work,” he retreated, “and there is as much to do on the morrow.”

“My lord,” you bent again and listened to his footsteps fade.

When you dared to look up, he was gone. The man was always particular, even those of his own standing were not guaranteed an audience, even as they visited his estate. He stayed far from court since his injury and on those occasions he did travel to the capital, it was not for more than a fortnight.

You did not take the encounter lightly. He had dismissed labour for less and you did not relish a job outside the castle, there wasn’t much to be had in the village. As dull as the work was, it provided you a place to sleep and comforts not known to many others of your breeding.

🏰

When you went to the lord’s chambers the next morning, he was away. His horse had been saddled for an early ride and you did not expect him until his evening meal. After your tasks, you kept busy until you were due with his supper. When you arrived with the tray, he was not there. You waited but he did not appear. You left the tray covered to keep the food warm and went to attend the last of your nightly duties.

You retired without seeing the lord once. The next day passed in kind, and the next, and the next. You wondered for a moment if it was due to his ire with you but quickly shrugged away the notion. Lord Barnes did not think so much of you and his absence was not so unusual. He was a reticent man even if he was willful.

The first you saw him again was with his supper. He sat at his large carved desk as you entered with the tray and you crossed to the round painted table. He raised a hand and tutted as he didn’t look up from the parchment before him.

“Bring it here,” he ordered.

You went to him and set down the tray on the left flank of his desk. You filled his goblet and he blindly reached over to take it. He gulped and kept his head down as he picked the chicken to pieces and chewed over the inky words.

You retraced your steps to the door, usually he ate alone, as he did most things. You only returned to clear his scraps.

“Do you not see the mess?” he asked without looking up. You turned and followed his sharp point to the shelves along the wall. “It is difficult to focus in the chaos.”

“My lord,” you nodded and went to the oaken shelves. You rearranged the crooked spines and tidied the stack of loose leaves. You took the cloth from your apron and wiped down the line of inkwells. You could hear him chewing quietly behind you as he shifted in his chair.

“And you will ready my bed for the night,” he demanded as you finished up, “pull back the covers, it’s been a tiresome day.”

He lifted the parchment and leaned back as he wiped his fingers on his breeches. You acquiesced with a “yes, my lord,” and went to his bedchamber.

You folded down the heavy blankets and linen and fluffed the pillows. You took the brick from the foot of the bed and set it in the hearth. The fall slipped in through the windows and the chill of the castle was no longer so welcomed.

“I won’t need that,” Barnes said as he entered. He was so quiet, you jumped and stood straight. You spun and bowed your head.

“Will that be all, my lord?” you asked as he unbuttoned his overcoat with one hand.

“My footman has been stricken with an ague after we were caught in the rain,” he said evenly, “you can aid with my wardrobe.”

“My lord?”

“Here,” he pointed in front of him and pulled his jacket free of his left arm, “you will take these,” he handed you the garment as you neared, “to the laundries.”

You kept your eyes on the plain grey fabric as he shoved his boots aside and added his socks to your armful, then lifted his tunic as you peered at the floor. He pulled of the leather glove that hid his iron hand, the metal forged to the mirror of his real extremity. You resisted the yen to look higher up the artificial appendage.

You were unprepared to act as his footman and as he stripped away his layers it made you squirm. He rolled down his breeches and slung them over the rest of his clothes.

He stood in only in his undershorts and bent your head lower, “my lord.” You backed away and he caught your elbow. He stopped you and you hugged the pile of clothes with your other arm.

“Didn’t you miss me?” he asked.

The question struck you. You were unsure how to answer. You were used to the silent, brooding lord, not this pensive, prodding master.

“My lord?” you frowned.

“You didn’t?” he urged, “do you not enjoy your duties?”

“I am only… uncertain of what you mean, my lord. I apologise for my displeasing response but I do not know how to answer.”

You looked at his hand still on your elbow. He squeezed and slowly his palm glided up your sleeve. You shivered as he pushed his hand against your neck and his thumb tickled under your chin.

“I must confess I missed you,” he said, “I did stay away because I was upset at your absence and thought to punish you in kind but it seems, it hasn’t had the same effect.”

“What do-- my lord?” you kept your eyes down as his hand moved higher and he brushed along your lower lip.

“I know I shouldn’t let these… feelings persist but there are many lords who indulge without emotion. I assure you, I do not touch you in a meaningless manner.”

“My lord,” you took a step back and he stopped you again. This time his hand gripped your jaw. He pulled you flush to him.

“Look at me,” he hissed. Your lip trembled and you raised your eyes reluctantly, “you continue to deflect me; your lord.”

You stared at him, searched his deep blue eyes desperately, and shivered, “I only seek to fulfill my duties as your chambermaid.”

“And I offer you more. Offer you… privilege over duty,” he rasped, “I would not mistreat you.”

Your heart raced and you wiggled in his grasp. You peeked down at your armful, “I should get these to the laundries, as you bid, my lord.”

He was silent, just for a moment, then he let go of you and tore his clothes from your arm. “You would deny me?”

You stumbled back and watched him fearfully, “my lord, I only-- I am only a maid--”

“I have a dozen maids,” he growled, “I would have you as more. I would take care of you.”

He bore down on you again and you backed up until you were at the hearth, the mantle jutting out against your head. You turned your head as he loomed over you and his hot breath washed over you. His hand was again at your throat as his lips trailed along your cheek.

“A lord does not ask,” he sneered, “a servant obeys.”

“My lord--”

“Shhh,” he hushed as he turned your head and pressed his lips to yours. He parted, his nose rubbing against yours as his hand stretched over your neck, “I can be kind or I can be cruel. Thus far, I’ve spent most of my patience on you.”

You quivered as he kissed you again. You were too afraid to resist as his hand descended to your bodice and he squeezed. You gasped into his mouth and he smiled against you. He grasped your waist and pressed himself to you.

Your blood went cold as the panic rose up your spine. As he tugged at your skirts, you were blinded by fear. You reached up along the mantle as he dipped his head to kiss your neck. You couldn’t think through your shock, your body seemed to move off instinct.

You grasped the beaten metal vase and swung it down on Lord Barnes’ head. He grunted and stumbled back as he touched his head and tried to shake away the pain of the impact. You tossed the vase and it bounced over the stone as you scurried for the door. You tripped as you reached the receiving chamber and heard him behind you, his steps slowly gaining strength.

“You little bitch,” his tone turned to fire.

You struggled to get the heavy door open and raced into the hall. You lifted your skirts as you barreled ahead of him on the stone. Your thin soles slapped the mats and you hurdled down the stairs as you heard his pants coupled with your own. Down and down and down and down.

You led him through the mazed corridors and flitted out through the lower doors behind the stables. You fell into the dirt and quickly climbed back to your feet. You tore off across the yard as he swore into the air and his steps came to a halt.

“I will find you!” he shouted as you head for the wall, your only hope was the tree winding up the east corner, “You won’t get far!” You reached the trunk of the towering oak and your hands scraped against the bark as you hopped and latched onto the lowest branch. You heard him calling to others, “saddle my horse! Rise and ready my horse, boy!”

You reached the top of the wall, weak and worn and hooked your leg over the stone. You carefully scaled the uneven brickwork and the tangled vines. As your feet met the dirt, you turned and fled towards the tree line, darkened with the myths of vengeful wraiths and wicked witches, driven by the threat of a worse monster behind you, the voices and hooves an omen of his intent.

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #medieval #medieval au #medieval!au #fic #miniseries #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #au #winter soldier

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deviltoys · 3 years

Text

— ‘𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗼𝘆.’

sakusa kiyoomi x top!male reader. (wc; 1.7k)

#a/n: lolol self-indulgent sakusa fic because i wanna breed him so bad. this is painfully horrible and short but hopefully enough to feed everyone for the time being!

warnings. NSFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI, blindfold, overstimulation, breeding k., frat!au, gangbang, dubcon turned con, belly bulge, cum inflation, no aftercare, manipulation, sex slavery, implied somnophila.

joining the most prominent fraternity on campus was the last thing on his mind. sakusa struggled immensly when it came to social interaction, he even took extra precautions to avoid having to exchange any dialogue between peers. especially a bunch of guild boys who could barely keep their heads attached to their shoulders; but atsumu had somehow convinced him to give it a shot.

according to the miya twin, he needed to push past this boundaries and explore his comfort threshold a little more. the perfect place to do just that? a frat house. who's more loud and rowdy than a couple of douchebag adults trying to assert their alpha-ness by hosting a copious amount of house parties.

as much as he beseeched and argued against it, the frat scene had him hook, line and sinker. and soon, the unbearable pull of charming guys passing around pamphlets for recruitment day had caught up to him.

the hall of residence was a lot more alluring that media would lead on. he was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness and charm of the home; the parade of shirtless guys crowding around the hobby room only added a sense of authenticity to the whole ordeal.

after he was plucked into the roster of other men trying their hand at slipping a way into the frat life of their dreams. the initiation was on the horizon, and sakusa’s overwhelming social anxiety from the day prior came flooding right back into his system. he had forgotten the most important rule about a brotherhood, proving your worth and loyalty to your new family.

the two paths you could choose to go down were no bed of roses— the first opportunity was to streak and sprint down the length of the campus yard. or a play special game, in which your fellow brothers would surprise you with.

no way in hell would he sacrifice his dignity by stripping down bare and humiliating himself in front of the entire university. his education was on the line, he had a reputation to uphold; the only option was to partake in whatever the sorority had waiting for him.

that's where you came in, merely handing the dark-haired male a piece of cloth to don around his eyes. the last thing he could recall about his surroundings was the eeriely warm yet sadistic expression you gave him— his vision melting into a blur of black when the blindfold made contact his skin.

“just find a place to sit on one of the couches, my brothers’ll be with you soon.” your tone was low and gravely, the remainder of his senses were heightened due to his loss of vision. his ears exploding with your voice and your voice only, he felt the flesh on his cheeks bleed from pink to red; praying you wouldn't notice his shift in attitude.

“ye- yeah.. okay, thanks.”

your footsteps faded into the backdrop, signalling him to begin his search for the couch. he'd rather die than have you watch him scramble around the room like a headless chicken. he stumbled around a little, as predicted— bumping into furniture here and there before his hips knocked into a pool table frequently used for beer pong.

his hands feel around the object in an attempt to slip past it, amongst all the chaos he's experiencing he's dimly aware of the presence of a group of people. the scuffling of shoes against the hardwood floors only solidify his suspicions, but before he's able to call out to you; or anyone. heavy pressure is placed atop his shoulder blades— the curve of hips lace into the divit of his ass until he's pressed against the table.

the silence drifting around the open space between your bodies isn't broken, nobody dare mumbles a sound. your broad palms slink up the underside of his shirt, keeping a painfully slow pace up his chest until your fingers pinch the first nipple they come in contact with. your free hand snakes around his hip and dips into the hem of his jeans before making it's way into the waistband of his boxers.

his body shudders desperately, thighs bucking forward as your fist pumps around the length of his twitching cock. by the time he can gasp out a flurry of winces, two fingers that weren't there previously, poke and prod around his rim. devilishly forcing his walls to mold around them and shape room for a few more.

both of your hands now find a home around his hips. your groin, which is positioned at his rear, ruts the outline of your erect bulge against his ass— plowing the multitude of fingers already planted inside of him, deeper. this only entails that the fingers now wrapped around his cock, teasing his chest, and sinking into the depths of his rectum all belong to a different set of people.

he once more unclamps his jaw to sputter out more nonsense, only moaning once the warm, wet agitation of lips suck a dark mark into the curve of his collarbone. he's overcome with bliss, marveling in the way each frat member simultaneously toys with his sensitive body.

an abundance of hands fumble with his zipper, unbuckling the leather around his waist— unlooping the material before tossing it aside. you shove his pants down past his calves, releasing your grip on him so that you're able to abandon your own set of clothes. there's more rustling of clothes and clinking of belt buckles and your hands return to him once more, binding his arms and shoulders while gently bending him onto the table.

bracing for impact, he's pleasantly astonished when his chin and shoulders sink into something soft and pillowy. you were kind enough to replace the hard surface beneath him with one of the sofa cushions, strengthening his trust in you.

with his body now calm and relaxed with aura around the six of you, you take a few moments to prepare your cock to breed your good little fuck toy.

hot breath teases the meek, male’s ear; your monstrous cock pressing into puckered hole only making the lewd torture of the situation worse.

“miya told us you'd like to become our little breeder sakusa, we've had our eye on you for awhile. is this true? do you want us to pump your little womb full of our children?”

atsumu? he was the one who had him in this position, such a trusted friend making him seem special enough to catch the attention of these compassionate boys? maybe he was born to be a slave for cock. atsumu wouldn't lie to him, would he?

oh poor kiyoomi, if only he saw right through that twisted facade.

you growl into the shell of his ear, he figures that you're the one who's bending over his back; threatening to breach his fertile hole. being the head of the frat, you got first dibs on all the fresh meat brought in, it's sad you'd have to share this one with your brothers.

there's nothing sakusa has to resist with, he whimpers out a few noises before you're rewarded with a barade of nods. a rise of chuckles and quiet exclamations from the group feed through his brain— apparently all of your peers are patiently waiting for their own couple of minutes with him. silent vulgarites phase past your teeth as you impatiently card a hand through his thick curls. plunging into the boy with one fluid motion, your cock vanishes from sight, disappearing inside of his stomach.

his ebony iris’ screw shut behind the blindfold. you can feel the way his womb parts just for your cock, the slimey g-spot of his is completely ignored as you push past it; the fat head of your cock mercilessly drilling into his belly. your cock is on full display, the layers of flesh seperating you from the outside world bend and jiggle around the outline of your shaft.

“i sure do hope you have enough room for all of our cum in there.” your thrusts don't falter, not daring to give his poor, ruined prostate a breather. “because we're not stopping until every single one of us has had a chance to knock you up!”

with those final words rolling off your tongue, your hips snapped long and harsh strokes into his twitching hole— cum bursting at the seams of your slit, balls tightening and enlarging as the pent up pleasure and lust readied the fat sacks for release. sakusa feels his tummy bloom with the first batch of warmth, sticky ropes of seed shoot right inside. perfectly filling him up in preparation for the next cock eager to breed his tight ass!

so wonderful, his womb feels so full and claimed! a bright and hot flush pools across his face; without warning the next cock sinks even deeper than the last. more of the groups genes passing through him, mating the frat’s new bitch over and over again. he's hit by a wave of orgasms after the second brother slams himself nice and deep, pumping his seed inside him once more. his asshole greedily opening and closing to filter as much thick cum as humanly possible into his intestines. before he's able to come to his senses, he's already chubby with semen; happily inviting the next member to come and breed his stupid body.

the entire night is flooded with sounds of hiccuping, skin on skin contact, and the leaking of cum being deposited right back into sakusa. the incredible feeling of his frat brothers groping and touching him up have him cumming time after time— all night he's shuddering as another orgasm passes through his frame.

once he's positively gushing with cum and reduced to nothing but an overstimulated puddle of arousal— you scoop up his limp, bloated body, collecting the rest of your buddies before carrying him to his very own dorm. labeling his room, the ‘breeding room’. the sorority didn't let him waste a dime of time rejuvenating his body with sleep. they didn't want their new play thing to go to waste; he was awoken multiple times during the wee hours of the night. cock fitted tightly between his lavish cheeks.

he was certainly going to love it here, nothing but a obedient puppet.

#𓉔 — m.list #𓉔 — directory.#𓉔 — works.#c; sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x top male reader #sakusa kiyoomi x male reader #haiykuu x top male reader #haikyuu x male reader #sakusa kiyoomi #dark haikyuu #haikyuu smut #dark content #male dark blog

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5sospenguinqueen · 3 years

Text

PULL ME BACK FROM THE DARKNESS ~ CATO HADLEY

PLOT: You and Cato fill in the missing pieces of each other.

Warning: smut, m/f, hints at PTSD and depression, slight breeding kink if you squint, slight size kink.

I am not responsible for what media you choose to consume. If you cannot handle the contents of this or are too young, please do not read. It is your responsibility, not mine.

________________________________________________________________

Wet strands of hair dripped down your back as your fingers nimbly worked at braiding them away from your face. Not yet fully dressed, you leant across the sink to gaze into the small mirror to see whether the top of the braid was flat. A click resonated throughout the room and you couldn't help the smile that sidled its way onto your face as the thudding of heavy footsteps filled your ears. The hulking figure of the man who had been your rock filled the doorway and you connected eyes with him through the mirror. Rough fingers replaced your hands as he smoothed out the tangles in your hair and expertly twisted the strands together. Once he was done, you couldn't help but admit that he had done a better job than you would have done yourself. Reminding you that he had younger sisters who he'd been forced to practice on, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before stripping for his own shower.

Sinking your teeth into her lip, you heard him exclaim in shock when the water came out cold instead of the usual lukewarm. Guilt made its appearance once more when you realised you had used up the hot water for the day. Plopping down onto the mattress, you closed in on herself as the memories that had plagued you all day took their toll on you. For so long you had been fighting – fighting for survival, fighting other children, fighting your own mind. Whilst your hands were no longer covered in blood, they would never be cleansed of the innocent lives you had taken.

Pulled from your thoughts as a bare chest entered your view, you bit her lip at the towel slung around his hips. How it didn't drop any lower was beyond you but you found herself almost willing it to slide down. Leaning into his touch as he placed his hand on the side of your face, you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Rough day, baby?"

You remained silent, relishing in his strength for a moment or two. All you wanted was to lie down and wait for the fight to pass. To wait for the moment when her mind would fall blank and the memories would cease to exist. Eyes connecting with Cato's, you realised you had disappeared inside your own head once again. Concern was written across his face until you reassured him that you were present in the room and not back in the arena. Both of you had spent too long plagued by the chaos that had followed you out of the arena. Thankfully, one of you was always there to be the tether to reality. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Cato from looking at her as if she was one crack away from irreparable.

"Stop," she demanded. "I'm not weak enough to crumble from one bad day. I’ll get through it, just like I get through the rest.”

"Sweetheart, I never meant-."

"No, I know exactly what you meant. The next Games are fast approaching and my nightmares are coming on faster and darker but so are yours. Snow didn't break me. I'm not some fragile little doll that needs to be hidden away whilst the pieces are glued back together again. I am perfectly mentally capable of mentoring the next lot of tributes without having a breakdown.”

"Indie, this isn't about me thinking you're not strong enough, this is about me not being strong enough! How can I look at these small children and send them to their death. I've already had to deal with losing them before."

Falling to his knees, Cato buried his head in your lap and allowed the tears to fall. Whispering soothing words, you ran your fingers through his blond strands. Teardrops slid down your own cheeks as you watched the strongest person in your life fall apart. Cato had been there for you since the moment you had been reunited after your were rescued from the arena after cutting down all those in your way. He had been there to catch you every time you stumbled. Watching him feeling so hopeless shook you and although you felt like curling up next to him and giving in, you knew it was your time to be there for him.

"Listen to me, we've made it through death and we've made it through separation. Baby, I am just as scared as you but I know that we're going to get through this together. We haven't made it this far just to lose now. You and me, together, Cato. Forever."

"You don't deserve this." Cato sniffled, brushing away his own tears. "You've been through so much, lost so much, I'm supposed to be there for you."

"Cato, I'm your partner, it's my duty to be there for you. We fight together or we don't fight at all. Don't forget that we're from Career Districts. We're always strong and we never lose. We will not allow these next Games to strip away the strength that we have left."

"Well maybe, for one night, we reward ourselves with the luxury of being weak. Just tonight, let's forget about this stupid war and just wallow in our pity. Please?"

And maybe it was the broken look on his face, the sadness swirling in the sky blue eyes, or the fact that forgetting about the future Games was all you wanted to do, you granted him the only thing he had ever asked of you. Snuggling into his comforting (still bare) arms, you allowed yourself to cry about your own pain. The tears that fell weren't for the fallen and all they had left behind, they weren't for the deaths of the future children you were about to witness, these were purely for how mentally exhausted and rundown you felt. Soft lips kissed away your tears. One warm hand rested on the cool skin of your hip, having slithered its way under the thin shirt you slept in.

With a small inhale, you pressed your lips to his whilst your hands snaked their way into his hair. Salt mixed with the taste of his tongue but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A rumble echoed in his chest as his length pressed against you and he straightened, yanking you up with him. Spinning you around, Cato backed you up until you hit the wall with a bump. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you rested your head against the wall, back arching when Cato sucked on the sweet spot just below your ear.

"I love you," his lips traced the words down to the valley between your breasts before he wrenched the top over your head and threw it behind him.

Left hand reaching up to palm at your breast, his mouth wrapped around the nipple on the other one, tongue flickering over the hardened bud. Your breath hitched and you used your foot to deftly push the towel down and finally reveal what had been hidden from you. Exclaiming in shock, you scowled when Cato chuckled against you. When you reached down to grasp him, he gently bit your nipple but the action forced your hips against his and with one roll, he brushed against your clothed clit.

"Off," you begged, lifting your hips slightly away from the wall so that Cato could slide them down your shaky legs.

Fingers dancing along your legs, he reached down to cup your heat and one finger slid between your wet walls.

"I will never get sick of this," he groaned, watching as you bit your lip in pleasure.

Thumb rubbing your clit, he added another finger, watching as they plunged in and out of your slick heat. His name tumbled off your lips as your pleasure increased and Cato knew that that would be his favourite sound. If there was one sound that could banish the nightmares and dispel the darkness, it would be you crying his name as you tumbled over the edge, coating his fingers. Panting slightly, you pushed him away, revelling in the confused look on his face.

As you sunk to her knees, lust clouded his blue eyes until they were as dark as the sea in District Four on a stormy day. Hand wrapping around the base, you smirked as he hissed when your tongue licked a stripe from balls to tip. Mouth wrapping around his tip, you moved down ever so slightly before pulling back up. Hollowing your cheeks out, you sucked gently on his tip and was rewarded with a throaty groan as Cato bucked his hips, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

"So good to me, baby." Cato cursed, hand resting on your head as he pushed you down a little more.

Humming around him, you gagged when he jerked slightly and his dick hit the back of your throat. One hand gently fondled his balls and Cato swore before pulling himself away from you.

"As much as I love your mouth wrapped around me, I'd rather put my cock somewhere else."

Shivers skittered down your spine as his husky words were whispered in your ear and you found yourself being pulled of your knees before you were shoved against the wall face first. Large hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and you smiled knowing Cato remembered just how you liked it.

"Always so tight for me," he grunted as he slid into you.

Cheek pressed against the cold concrete wall, you whimpered as your walls adjusted to the girth of him. Teasingly, he slowly entered inch by inch until his impatient girl backed up and enveloped the entirety of him in one quick movement. One hand braced on the wall, small grunts escaped his mouth as h thrust gently into you. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred back of his hand, you rested your head against his hand in a loving gesture. A primal instinct ignited in Cato at the sight of his partner so small and vulnerable, as you let down your guard and opened yourself up to him both emotionally and physically. The woman beneath him was always so strong and fierce that he couldn't help the dark chuckle that escaped as his body encompassed yours entirely as he pressed you further into the wall.

"Such a good girl. Take me so well," he praised, enjoying the little pants that left your mouth and with a shift of his hips, he coaxed a scream from you.

Unable to help the moans that tumbled from your mouth, you reached down to grab the hand that gripped your hip and pulled you against his cock. Love swelled within him as you held on tightly to him, begging him to go faster as you pleaded for her impending orgasm.

"I love you," you cried as stars exploded across your vision and your walls clenched him tightly.

At the feel of your orgasm, Cato burrowed himself in deeper and pounded harder into your sensitive walls.

"So close, Princess." Cato gasped, his breath hitting the back of your neck as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his movements quickened as he sought release.

"Cum in me," you begged.

Not one to deny the woman he loved, Cato called your name as he stuffed himself inside you, hot cum painting your walls. Sensitive to his touch, you leaned back into his chest as his arms came around your waist and pulled you in for a loving embrace. One hand wrested flat on your belly as he whispered promises of having their own family but in a world where the Hunger Games didn’t exist. Naked and wrapped around one another, you could pretend for just a moment that you were a normal couple whose only issues were what to eat for dinner and how many children you wanted. Whimpering as Cato pulled out of you, you watched him wander into the bathroom in search of a washcloth.

Hand resting on your own abdomen, you wondered whether you would have end up with child. And, for the first time in your life, you found herself hoping you would. Struck by the aching pang within you, you realised that the life you had built with Cato had made you realise just how badly you craved a perfect family with the man you loved. In a world where they grew up safe and never needing to learn the ways to kill another person.

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Loosely based on a scene from my Cato x OC story but details have been adapted to avoid spoilers. You can find the book Pugnator at;

Wattpad

Fanfiction.Net

#cato imagine #cato hadley #cato hadley imagine #cato smut #cato hadley smut #cato thg #thg cato #Hunger Games #hunger games imagine #hunger games smut #5sospenguinqueen

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missmewts · 2 years

Note

I need some more sub colin pls 😳😳 maybe one centering around him wearing his collar and eating the reader out while they call him a good lil pup or something like that?? Idk

collar//colin zabel

pairings; colin zabel, mommy gender neutral reader

rating; mature

warnings; no smut but heavy implications, dominant reader, submissive colin, puppy play, slight degradation, slight praise, not at all proofread

taglist; @lanawinterscigarettes @kitwalkersmommy

bonus tags; @sapphimoff @divineruler

I SORTA CHANGED IT OOPS anyway self indulgent post???

miles. thats what separates you and the love of your life.

you had met colin over social media, twitter to be exact. some political message that he agreed with. he had messaged you his agreement, you messaged back, and it blossomed from there, to say the least.

draw attention to the "to say the least", because as of now, colin was driving home with a baby pink collar, matching panties and frilly socks, and a cockring sitting in the passenger side under your request. he knew he would get rewarded, but that wasn't the best part. you made him feel like the only person in the world. he had never felt like this. you're all he thought about. every second of every day, he wished you were there with him. he would imagine what you would say in response to everything that happens to him. just the thought of getting praised by you for taking time out of his day, money out of his paycheck was astronomical. it's all he wanted.

so when he pulled up into his driveway, he gathered all his kinky belongings into the plastic bag, took a picture, and sent it to you. he made sure to get his hand in it; he knew you loved it.

instead of waiting for an answer, because he knew you were at work, he grabbed everything, and made a dash for the house. when he got in, he was already stripping down. the curtains shut, and colin was butt ass naked while he ripped the tags off of the lacy panties. they were a bit tight, going on around the thick of his thighs, but they sat pleasantly just below his hips, and forced his cock to peek out the top. you had mentioned that you were so excited for that part.

next were the socks. he ripped them off the plastic, tugged out the little plastic cross that held them together, and leaned against the counter to put them on. he kept turning them to find the best way to wear them. and the collar, which he figured he would save for you.

grabbing the last item, he hurried into his room with a slight waddle due to the friction caused on his sore cock.

he pulled up your text conversation to see your answer;

'good boy. put it on for me? i wanna see it.'

so, he kicked his door shut and propped his phone on the coffee mug sitting on his desk. he turned on a timer, and bounced back. he posed just before the big "1" flashed over the screen, and the camera caught it. without thinking, he went into his messages, pulled up your contact, and sent it. after a moment, he realized his mistake; he hadn't put on the collar. before you had a chance to answer, he added,

'i was saving the collar for you. i want you to be there with me when i put it on<3'

'ah, okay. good. im almost home, ill talk to you then. i love you.'

colin smiled, typed up an answer and laid his phone down. he picked up the collar next to him and read over the words with tingly stomach.

'mommy's slut'

#colin zabel #colin zabel smut #mare of easttown #sub colin zabel #colin zabel x reader

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voltagesmutter · 4 years

Text

Jumin x MC - Sleepy Sex.

Pairing: Jumin Han

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Prompt: Sleepy sex || Religion Kink || Mirror Sex

Warning: Fingering, sleepy sex, marital bliss, vaginal sex, internal cumshot, Me just being weak for a new man, references to Jumin story-line and plot.

Note: 2nd to last piece for Kinktober from @alloveroliver, please accept sweet tender Jumin as apologies for Pet-play Jumin.

The autumn breeze blew outside, sweeping fallen leaves from the floor and swirling them around the air. Trees rustled and branches swayed, couples wrapped up in warm coats and wool scarves matched with gloves to keep warm in the hazy glow of the morning sun. A thin layer of frost, barely visible to the eye, settled across the grass. Making it glisten in the rising sun's light.

But the slowly waking up of outside caused no stir for a couple in bed. Too busy embraced in sleep to notice the changes going on out in the world. Too lost in their own blissful paradise to acknowledge anything else but themselves.

The Manor House was silent apart from the gentle noise of breath softening, Jumin slowly stirring awake. A natural for him to be up early due to Elizabeth the Thirds feeding schedule but this time, he stayed exactly where he was. Pulling his lover, whose back was curled into his chest, tighter towards him and burying his nose in the crook of her neck. In-hailing and savouring her scent, rose perfume mixed with lingering wine, the scent of her was his favourite. The scent of home, warmth, love and protection.

The arm around her waist kept her close as she mumbled slightly, a tiny yawn escaping her lips as her eyes slowly fluttered open. The floor to ceiling curtains draped shut, allowing only a teasing peak of the light outside into the room. A ‘Good Morning’ was muffled into the pillow as she shifted back, no inch of separation between them.

“Good morning Mrs.Han,” Softly whispered, followed by lips pressed to the crook of her neck. Earning a deeply content smile from the corner of her lips as the arm around her waist squeezed her waist slightly.

“It still feels strange being called that,” Her voice a little hoarse, drifting in between the realm of sleep and being awake.

“You have the rest of your life to get used to it,” He hummed, his matching smile visible against her neck. The light scratch of his barely visible stubble rubbing against her skin, a flood of soft giggles leaving her lips each time it tickled against her.

“Mmm I like the sound of that,” His left arm over her waist lifted to find her left hand, intertwining his fingers over hers just beneath her chin. A fresh set of gold wedding bands both on their rings fingers, placed under twenty fours ago in an extravagant affair in front of close friends and family. A little over a year of being together, they had married in the glow of the fall sunset beside the lake of the stately manner.

Jumin had never been looking for love, he’d never even been looking for a relationship. Whenever anyone, his father, would press into the matter of his love life he would shut them down instantly. He cared none for the rumours spread by the media of his sexuality, the teasing of his friends, the snarky comments by his father. All he cared for was himself, his working effort and most importantly Miss Elizabeth the Third.

That was until she came into his life…

A joyous whirlwind of emotions, bringing a new way to view life to his normally bleak world. She brought colours into his world, teaching him over message and voice calls how optimistic life can be without having full control. How to let loose on the grip of holding the reins so tight. She supported him through the rocky road of the pushing ‘engagement’ between him and Sarah, supported him to finally stand up to his father, the running away of Elizabeth. Helping him to cope with his emotions rather than perusing through regretful and dominating actions to keep in charge of everything in his life.

Their involvement in each other’s life and relationship developed rapidly within the first two weeks of her entering his life, staying at his for safety before the RFA party causing great concern for the others. Only they had the most wonderful of evenings, sharing a bottle of wine in front of open fire whilst engaging life stories and personal moments. Jumin went as red as the vintage wine in his hand when she kissed his cheek to say goodnight, mind and emotions racing from dusk till dawn. Minute by minute she became of importance to his life, the night she stayed with him was the night that he released how he felt. That she was the one for him, the only woman to be interested in him and not his money or father.

They finally became a couple at the RFA event the following days after, Jumin unable to hold himself back. Breaking his normal composter as he came clean without how he felt, how she had affected him and stirred feelings in him that he’d never felt before. She responded with her own reciprocal feelings, her lips meeting his on the outside balcony. The party seemed miles away rather than just behind the closer doors as they lost themselves in each other. Jumin finally breaking apart to tell her, “I think… Miss. Elizabeth and I would like it if you would could our home, yours”. She moved in with him that night.

“Say it again,” She sighed softly, giggling to feel his lips press against the base of her neck. One of his favourite hidden places to kiss her.

“You looked even more beautiful than ever yesterday,” His lips moving up her neck. “Simply exquisite,”. His lips found the soft spot beneath her ear as nuzzled her hair out of the way with his face. She let out a pleasant hum, her eyes falling onto the sheer white dress she had worn. Skin tight bodice with lace trailing from her shoulders down to her wrists, a flowing silk skirt that touched the ground. A price tag that made her eyes water, but Jumin insisted he would pay whatever for the wedding. That her happiness was worth every penny. Not that she demanded or wanted a big white wedding, all she wanted was him and all he wanted was her.

“You looked rather handsome yourself Mr.Han,” Unable to hold back the gasp in her throat as he moved back down to her neck. Lips pressing over and over until they sucked down on a spot, a spot he knew made her knees weak.

Letting go off her left hand to push the blankets keeping them warm away, settling his hand on top of her thigh which was pushed up against his. “It seems such a shame to waste such a beautiful outfit,” A slight drop of his normal soft voice to be replaced with a huskier tone. His reference to the silk nightgown she was wearing, crystal white with trimmed lace over her breasts and settling just beneath her thighs. Whilst they’d been intimate many a time in their relationship, practice for the wedding night as Zen would cheekily refer to it. The couple was still to consummate their marriage. The mixture of high excitement and aged wine caused them both to fall asleep in each other’s embrace.

A different type of martial bliss than what was expected.

“What do you say we take full advantage of it…” A rock of hips against her making her gasp at the hardness pressing against her. His fingertips tracing up her thigh and disappearing under the material of her night gown. A boldness and need that grew with his confidence during their relationship. Slowly pushing the material up, exposing her bareness underneath causing a low growl from her husband. His hand curling over her front to settle between her slightly parted thighs. Deft fingers teasing brushing over her sex to already feel the wetness of her slit, still in complete awe to feel how wet she already was from his teasing touches, simple words and gentle kisses, “Mrs.Han,”.

“-Jumin!” A gasp filling the quiet air, a finger coaxed in her arousal being pushed into her, another following shortly after. Continuing to kiss and gently nip over her neck, leaving the faintest trail of bites upon her skin- he was never a fan of leaving large physical marks upon her. His fingers continued to work inside her, pulling out every so often to circle over her clit before rejoining back inside her. His other hand curled beneath her body, tugging the dainty straps off her shoulders to free her breasts. The weight of them heavy in his palm, grasping with the feather like touches as he worked her slowly to climax. She came in gentle waves over his fingers, unable to stop his name falling from her mouth as hers hips jutted back. The added pressure of her bucking back against him caused low groans against her neck, ones that made her core tighten and her body shiver in anticipation with that was to come.

Neither of them were able to be apart any longer, her negligee tossed off her body quickly whilst Jumin stripped from his long pyjama top and trousers behind her. Resuming their position as skin pressed against skin, Jumin curling around her body from behind as they lay on their sides. Tiredness completely torn from either of them, the need to be one with their lover was empowering their thoughts.

His already leaking head pressing against her core. Never had he had such physical urges, she brought out his inner primal needs. The desire to fill, to thrust, to love was consistently on his mind.

Slowly pushing into her, pulling out after every inch, savouring the way her body moulded to him. The grip of her walls before they loosened, each time he pulled out he thrusted in a little further until finally her dripping cunt swallowed him whole. Sheathing himself inside her, inside his wife. Raw. Unbridled passion. Lust. Every emotion of love coursing from their veins, skin tingling on fire with the slow rocking of his hips up against her, a steady rhythm falling into place. The bed giving away their morning passion, it squeaking alongside their breathless moans, as if trying to convey and capture the eternal love they had for each other inside its springs.

“Jumin!” Her hand instinctively grabbing his wrist as he brought it to circle her clit once more, back arching off her chest. Hips rocking back against his, meeting his every thrust. The slow precision, the calculated angles, all overwhelming her senses as she felt her peak reaching within her once more. The mixture of emotions and his perfected knowledge of her body was too much, unable to hold back the sighs of pleasure, letting the empty room know just how good her husband was too her.

‘I love you’ repeated over like a prayer from both of them, the hand cupping her breast rolling a nipple between his fingers. Her climax hitting her faster than expected, heavy waves of pleasure rolling across her body starting from the tip of her head to the bottom of her toes. Unable to hold back as she shuddered in his hold, body curling at its peak.

Holding her as she trembled in his embrace, the soft sound of clapping skin ringing through the air paired with the quickening breaths of him against the shell of her ear. The low groan that followed, one final push of his hips against her until warmth flooded her. The pulse of him inside her as he gently gripped her waist to keep her flushed against him as he came.

They stilled in position, for maybe a minute, maybe ten. Neither of them sure as they basked in their blissful afterglow, his arm back around her waist to keep her nestled close to him. Tender kisses with delicate doting words of affection were whispered to her shoulder. The ability to think blanked from their minds, lazing in the sweaty shine of their love. Until finally Jumin pulled himself out of her heat, turning her with a gleaming smile to rest his eyes upon his wife properly for the first time that morning.

“Mmm, good morning you,” Her eyes half lidded, threatening to shut as she rested her head upon his broad chest, an arm instinctively coming to wrap around her.

“I wonder how Elizabeth is coping without us, I hope assistant Kang is not over feeding her again,” Concern in his voice, his free hand pushing the hair stuck to his forehead off his face.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” A yawn followed, the warmth of the blanket pulled back to envelope them. The flirting temptation to sleep pulling them back into its embrace.

“Maybe I can ask her to bring her to the airport this afternoon, so we can say goodbye,”.

“Jumin…” Pressing her lips to his chest, eye’s finally shutting, “We’re going on our honeymoon, I’m more than positive Jaehee can look after her for us for two weeks,”.

“Your right… I already have a schedule set up so we can facetime her daily, I’m sure she’ll miss us. I can’t stand that she can’t come, maybe I should invest in cat friend hotels-”

“-Jumin,” She cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips, “No more worrying,”. He didn’t answer back, just turning his head slightly to watch her chest rise and fall. The finger to his lip moved to rest of his shoulder, sprawling over his chest as she drifted back off into a peaceful slumber. His lips curving into a euphoric smile, his world, his meaning for life, his everything, in a tranquil state of blissful contentment resting upon him.

Normally he would rise, dressing and preparing for the busy schedule of the day. But for now, he’d simply stay in bed a little while longer, ready to face the adventures of the day and the rest of his life with her by his side.

Kinktober masterlist here.

#alloverkinktober #kinktober #mystic messenger #mystic messenger smut #mysme #mysme smut #mysme jumin #mystic messenger jumin #jumin han

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dixie12 · 3 years

Text

so much angst

why do some real work when i can write 1700 words of angsty jonny in the aftermath of pat’s 400th goal!

Jonny had spent the last three days practicing looking and sounding excited. He knew Patrick would be calling him to celebrate after his 400th goal, especially since Chicago was still mostly on lockdown, and it wasn’t like he could go out and party with the guys. He was determined not to bring Patrick down, not to make yet another conversation about him and his issues. Patrick deserved to be the center of attention, and Jonny was damn well going to give him that.

He texted with Sharpy a bit before the game, predicting when they thought Pat would score. After the frustrating loss in their last game, Jonny had has money on Patrick scoring early. Thankfully, Sharpy didn’t ask how he was feeling; he must have known that he wouldn’t get much of an answer out of Jon, anyway.

Jon watched the game with increasing tension as time wound down and Pat still hadn’t scored, his body moving unconsciously on the couch as he deked along with Patrick. When the puck finally found the back of the net, after that beautiful hesitation move, Jonny whooped in joy, throwing his arms up before he even realized what he was doing. Not like he had any neighbors to bother, though, tucked away in isolation at his cabin. He pulled out his phone and sent Patrick a quick text, even though he knew Pat would be overwhelmed with congratulations over the next few days.

Jonny pulled up Twitter and watched the goal a few more times, scrolling through reactions from the Blackhawks, NBC sports, the NHL, other Chicago athletes, and pretty much everyone involved in hockey.

As the accolades added up, a familiar heaviness settled into his chest, weighing down his excitement. Patrick was somehow getting better with age (“like a fine wine, baby,” Patrick had teased him, once), and while Jonny couldn’t be prouder of him, of what they’d accomplished together and what Patrick was continuing to accomplish on his own, he couldn’t help but compare himself to Patrick, and it wasn’t pretty.

Everyone knew that the organization was grooming Kirby to take over for him. If it hadn’t been for that freak injury at World Juniors, the kid would be out there centering the first line right now, in the spot that had belonged to Jonny since 2007. Jesus, Kirby was six when Jonny started his first game in the NHL. How was he supposed to compete with that? Sure he had the “respect of the room” and the experience, but Jonny himself had taken on the captaincy before he turned 21; there was no reason Kirby couldn’t do the same.

He tried not to check message boards too frequently, but sometimes even his willpower wasn’t enough, and he was already feeling sorry for himself, brief elation at Kaner’s goal subsumed into the ever-present anxiety he felt these days. He poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, knocking them back quickly and setting up a refill before he opened up a thread on Reddit talking about the salary cap and bad contracts.

It wasn’t as bad as what Seabrook got, but the general consensus, Jonny learned, was that he was way past his prime. There were a lot of posts that “wished him all the best” but pointed out how much cap relief the Hawks would get if Jonny never came back. “I’ll never forget what he did for Chicago, bringing hockey back with Kaner,” one poster wrote, “but Toews should recognize that his contract is a fucking albatross on the team.”

Albatross. Decline. Overpaid. Lost a step. Lost a lot of steps.

Jonny kept scrolling, barely reading the individual words anymore. Six months ago he may have laughed them off, would have turned to Pat to show him the most ridiculous comments. Now, though. He was pretty sure they were right, and he didn’t really know what to do with that.

The ringing of his phone, signaling an incoming FaceTime call, startled him out of his spiral. Oh fuck, that was Patrick. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d lost reading, nodding his head in bitter agreement as poster after poster pointed out all of his flaws.

Showtime, he told himself. This was what he’d been preparing for. He hit accept, willing his smile into something bright and natural.

“Congratulations, babe!” he said, a little too loud to his own ears. Maybe the volume would make up for any lack of enthusiasm. “That goal was a beauty, Patrick,” he continued, more quietly and more sincerely. You can do this, he repeated in his head. Do this for Patrick. Be there for him.

Patrick just stared at him for a second, worn out from the game and all the post-game media, probably, but then he broke into a grin.

“Yea, you liked that, didn’t you?” He replied, letting himself be way cockier than he’d act to the press.

“You know I did, Peeks,” Jonny told him truthfully. “Was so stressed just watching, can’t imagine how you held it together out there.”

“Just imagined you were there yelling at me, telling me to keep my head in the game. I told you to fuck off a few times, just fyi.” Patrick was still smiling, now chugging a Gatorade and stripping out of his suit while they talked.

Jonny was distracted by the broad lines of Patrick’s shoulders, his strong chest and arms now visible as Pat settled down on his bed. Without thinking, he mumbled “better get used to imagining it, man.” He felt his face flush as the words came out. Ugh he sounded pathetic. Patrick deserved so much better than this, especially tonight.

“What do you mean, Jonny?” Patrick asked immediately, languor gone, tension snapping into his muscles as he sat up.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jonny hurried to add. “You can imagine what you want, but I’m imagining being there in your bed right now,” he tried, desperate to distract Patrick and get the evening back on track.

Patrick looked like he might push it, but Jonny took his momentary silence to strip off his shirt, as well. He saw Patrick’s eyes flick down to his chest and abs, and yea, at least he was still able to work out enough that Patrick still thought he looked good.

Unless. Unless he was looking at Jonny and judging. Looking at Jonny and thinking of how much better he’d look if he were training full-time. How much better Jonny used to look, when they shared the rink and the locker room and the gym, not just each other’s phone screens.

“Jonny..” Patrick’s voice sounded hesitant. Focus up, he told himself fiercely.

“Just thinking about your goal, Pat. Gets me hot,” Jonny said suggestively, letting his voice drop lower, one hand drifting down to his chest, fingers sweeping over a nipple like Patrick liked to do.

It wasn’t the best phone sex Jonny had been a part of, though Patrick seemed to enjoy it well enough, based on how hard he came, and how quickly he hung up afterwards, telling Jonny he was about to pass out. Jonny had to work way more than usual at just getting himself hard, getting himself off, but he got there eventually, a minute or two after Patrick.

He usually slept pretty well after an orgasm, and he’d actually been jerking off more often lately just to get himself to sleep. Tonight, though, every time he closed his eyes those comment threads started running through his head. He laid in bed for close to an hour, trying to force himself to sleep before giving up, throwing off the covers and wandering into the living room.

He opened his laptop, even though he knew that if he couldn’t sleep, he shouldn’t be messing around on his computer, either. Nothing good would come of it, not at this hour.

Instead of message boards, he opened YouTube, pulling up old highlights of himself. He watched his hands, his edges. He watched himself lift the cup three times, remembering the roar of the home crowd that third time, how he felt on top of the world.

His eyes were burning, suddenly. He rubbed at them, clenching his jaw and fighting back tears. He was so tired. Tired of the uncertainty. Tired of the tests. Tired of the well-meaning questions. Tired of being left behind as Patrick continued to exceed all expectations. He didn’t cry, not quite, but it was a close thing. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breath coming in gulps as he fought for control of his body.

He spent the rest of the night like that, sleep never quite finding him, but not really awake, either.

The doorbell rang at 7:00, making him jump. Only a few people even knew where he was, and none of them should be showing up this early on a random Monday morning. He stumbled to the door, the old afghan from his couch wrapped around his shoulders. He was probably a mess, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

He opened the door slowly, not sure who to expect, and then he saw the flash of Patrick’s curls. Patrick shouldered in, not even waiting for Jonny to finish opening the door.

“Patrick, what-” he started, but Patrick cut him off right away.

“Jesus, Jonny, you look terrible,” he said, reaching one arm out as he spoke, pulling Jonny in towards him. Jonny tripped, feet heavy with exhaustion, but Pat supported him like it was nothing. “You’re still a terrible actor, man. You were messed up last night, don’t even try to lie.”

Jonny didn’t know what to say to that, brain moving too slowly. Patrick was here. The Hawks had a three day break, their last one of the shortened season, and instead of getting some rest, or maybe seeing his family, Patrick was here. He wasn’t even sure how Patrick had managed to get here this early in the morning.

“How,” he tried again, but Patrick just tugged him in tighter.

“Shhh, Jonny,” he said, stroking one hand over Jonny’s neck. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet. Let’s just get you to bed.” Patrick started walking Jonny back towards the bedroom, steering with the weight of his hand on Jonny’s neck.

They stripped quietly, not bothering with pajamas. Patrick settled them on their sides, facing each other, foreheads almost touching. Jonny finally felt his body relax, muscles sinking into the bed. Here in this space, sharing breath with Patrick, he let the tears come.

#blackhawks fic #1988 #kazer #o captain my captain #angst #just to be safe #tw: depression #jonny is having a rough time #pat is here to make it better #get well soon jonny

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

You and Me...

Chapter 7

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** This is going to be another heavy one. Description of injury that heavily implicates and suggests rape, Doctor’s being dicks. Angst, overall this one is going to be emotionally taxing guys. Suggestion of a still unstable mental state due to trauma. Language. I think that’s everything. If I missed something you guys feel needs to be warned please message me and I’ll go back and add it to the warnings.

Word Count: 3622

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jared x Reader

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. This is something I actually did and witness, and I realize this one might be hard to read because it is a little heavy. The injuries described in this chapter were actual injuries that I witness. I described them as mildly as I could.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Jensen had been in the hospital for three days, and every day you had gone to the hospital after work to see him and help give Jared a break. You just couldn't stay away from him. You hated the way he looked right now, so broken and distant.

He still usually just laid on his side and stared at the wall not saying anything to anyone. He still hadn't let them clean him up anymore, and checking him in any sort of way was a challenge, but they didn't want to sedate him in order to keep a check on his mental state.

You had given Jared your cell number, and he kept you updated on any progress Jensen made while you were at work. The man barely left the hospital. Part of you thinks he feels a little guilty because he was captured at his bar.

The police still hadn't found the men that did this to him. Jared had turned in security camera footage from that night at the bar, and the bartender had also given his statement. Still, they were looking with no luck. Neither Jared nor yourself told Jensen. Neither of you thought it was a good idea for him to be concerned with that right now because no one really knew what kind of mental state he was really in. That was the biggest worry.

Jared tried to call Jensen's ex-wife hoping that if she came to the hospital Jensen might start talking, or at least give some sort of response to her even if it was just to tell her to fuck off. All she said was she hated what happened to him, but if he did what the girl claimed he did then he got what he deserved and hung up the phone.

Jared and everyone else had kept what happened from the media coverage so far. Thank God, Jensen didn't need that kind of attention right now.

Today was Saturday, and you had the whole weekend off. If Jensen wasn't any better by the end of the day then you probably were going to ask for your week's vacation by Monday, so that you could stay around and help Jared.

You didn't know how Jensen felt about you being around, but Jared was grateful for the help. Jensen would look at you when you came in. Then you would always go and take your usual seat next to his bed. He hadn't reached for your hand again, and you hadn't tried to touch him, not wanting to agitate him at all, he'd been through so much already.

Walking down the now-familiar hallway headed toward Jensen's room you could hear voices arguing before you even got to the closed door of Jensen’s room. You paused before you opened the door, not wanting to walk into something you weren't supposed to hear or something that would upset Jensen.

"NO!" you heard Jensen's voice boom through the door, and just for a moment, you jumped back. You hadn’t heard it in so long that it took you completely by surprise.

"YOU’RE NOT TOUCHING ME!"

"Mr. Ackles, we have to get you cleaned up. You have a lot of lacerations on your skin, and you could easily get an infection. You need to let us help you, or we will have no choice other than to sedate you," the calm voice retorted.

You stood in silence with your ear pressed to the door and your heart in your throat.

"We're here to help you, Mr. Ackles. We're not going to hurt you in any way," a woman's voice followed, you assumed it was a nurse.

Only the sound of sobbing followed.

"Come on Jay, you'll feel better once you let them get you a little more cleaned up," Jared's voice came through the door, pleading with his friend.

No answer followed, just more sobbing.

You couldn't take it anymore you had to see what was going on in that room. Turning the knob you peeked in slowly.

The doctor, two nurses, and Jared looked at you. Jensen laid on his side in a ball. Face covered in almost a fetal position, or the best fetal position that his body would allow him to get into, still crying into the sheets. He looked so pathetic and scared, so contradictory to the cocky actor that strutted into the studio. It made your stomach churn.

You knew they were just trying to help him, but you couldn’t ignore the anger and annoyance at how aggressive they seemed to be acting towards him. He’d gone through a massive trauma. There had to be a better way to handle this.

"Y/N," Jared came over and greeted you with a side hug." You hugged him back, never taking your eyes off of the heap laying in the center of the bed.

"We're trying to make him understand that we need to clean him up. Are you his wife or girlfriend?" the doctor asked you calmly, but you could hear the hint of annoyance in his voice.

You shook your head no and made your way closer to Jensen’s bed. The attitude these people were taking toward him was getting under your skin.

Yes, he absolutely needed to let someone clean him up, but considering everything that he'd gone through you highly doubted that he wanted a group of people stripping him and scrubbing at his body.

As it stood you were the only one in the room that he’d willingly let touch him. With that in mind, an idea started to come to you as you watched the heap of covers in the middle of the bed.

"Can he walk?" you asked the doctor.

He exchanged a look with the two women standing there next to him.

"Well, in theory, yes. He does have two ribs with a hairline fracture on his left side that would prevent him from bending over comfortably, and I'm sure he's very sore. Still, he should be able to walk around if he wanted to," the doctor said, giving you a look of confusion.

"Okay, so why does it take two orderlies and a doctor to help him get in and out of a handicap excisable shower?" you asked them, and the nurses exchanged a nervous look.

"Well, as sore as he is, Miss, he's going to need a little help getting thoroughly clean."

You fought the eye roll that threatened to slip past your defenses. You looked down at Jensen who is looking up at you now with the best deadpan, bitchface you've ever seen. There wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to let them touch him.

"Why don't you give Y/N and I a few minutes with him and come back after a while and we'll try again," Jared said, holding the door open for the doctor and nurses to leave.

They did without question. When you have as much money as these two do they tend to listen a little more than they normally would.

Closing the door after the doctor and the nurses left Jared looks at Jensen, a tired expression on his face.

"Dude you need a shower. They're not gonna let it go, and honestly, you can't stay like that and you know it."

Jensen just shrugged and avoided his friend's gaze. You were glad to see he was talking and communicating, but a little pissed that Jared hadn't told you before you got here.

"So, when did he start talking?" you asked Jared in a dangerously low tone. Jared gave you an apologetic look.

"Right about the time you got here was the loudest he's gotten, but he started kind of communicating with me this morning."

"I'm not deaf you know," Jensen's voice came from the bed beside you.

You turn to look down at Jensen, who was looking between the both of you.

"Well, you're getting your wit back," Jared looked at him and Jensen narrowed his eyes at him.

"I don't want those people touching me," Jensen said matter of factly, looking away from the two of you.

Since he was in the talking mood you decided to test the waters, hoping it didn't backfire on you. You really didn't want Jensen to tell you to leave, and you didn’t want to set back his progress in any way.

You walked over to the side of the bed, and he shifted over closer to the edge away from you. Slowly you sit down on the side of his bed next to him.

He stares at you with the same distant, dead look on his face. He didn't tell you to move so you took that as a good sign.

"They said you can get up," you tell him gently, afraid what you were about to say would trigger him in some way, and he’d snap back into his mental cage or start yelling again.

"Why don't you let me help you get to the shower and get cleaned up," you tell him, but before you could say anything else Jared interrupted you.

"No. What if he gets weak or something. You're not strong enough to manhandle him. He's twice as tall as you are and probably doubles your weight."

You gave Jared an irritated look.

"They said there's no reason he can't walk. He doesn't want them to touch him, but we have to get him cleaned up so he doesn't get an infection. It's not my first time helping someone take a shower, I think I can handle it," you tell him, fighting against your temper. You knew that Jared was just concerned, and was trying to do everything he could to protect his friend.

You hadn't missed the fact that while you were arguing with Jared, Jensen had slipped his hand on top of yours again.

"Let's try at least," you said, turning to Jensen, and he had silent tears still streaming down his face.

You could tell he did not want to do this, but the alternative was worse than what he wanted to experience either.

"If for even a moment you get uncomfortable just tell me and we'll stop," you tell him, holding your breath you reach over slowly as you can and lightly place your free hand on the side of his face.

His first reaction was to hold his breath and jerk away, but after a few seconds, he relaxed a little.

"Okay, let's try it," he said, avoiding looking at you. Jared stood across the room with his arms folded, not exactly thrilled about this idea.

Standing slowly you grabbed his hand and pulled the covers back.

Moving painfully slowly Jensen started to sit up in the bed for what was probably close to the first time in days, wincing as he did so. His body jerked and strained with every movement.

For just a moment you wondered if the doctor was wrong, and he wasn't strong enough to stand up, but after some effort he did it.

Jared instinctively ran over to help, but Jensen threw his hand out to stop him, one hand still holding onto the side of the bedrail as he worked to keep himself steady.

"No offense man, but I really don't want another man to touch me... Period," he told him, giving his friend an apologetic look.

The bathroom was just a few short steps away from the end of his bed, but every step he made was slow and looked agonizing.

You didn’t take a breath until he finally reached the bathroom. You shut the door and looked at what you had to work with. There were plenty of towels and rags stacked up on the shelf. There were an overnight bag and some clothes that were still in a target bag.

Jared obviously had gone and picked him up some things, or had someone bring it to him.

Jensen grabbed the sides of the sink and leaned into it. He was already shaking, and you hadn't even got started yet.

"Jensen, are you ready?" you asked him.

He nodded but said nothing.

Turning your back to him you got the water going as warm as you thought he could stand it, hoping it wasn't too hot for him, then took down the detachable shower head and placed it within reach. Doing this brought back some pretty painful memories of all the hospital stays where you had to do this with your mother, but you shoved it down. Right now you needed to focus on the task at hand.

Turning to Jensen you walk up behind him and start to untie the hospital gown that he was wearing. His body stiffened. He was already holding his breath. You stood there for a moment really second-guessing this bright Idea of yours, praying he didn't freak out on you.

Slipping the gown off his shoulders the sight you saw standing before made you almost freeze on the spot, then followed by the wave of nausea that almost had you gagging. His body was heavily bruised like he'd been repeatedly hit with something heavy across his back, all the way down to the back of his knees. Small cuts and ligature marks were scattered over his body.

There was what looked like the remains of dried blood that went down the back of one of his legs. They had gotten some of it off, but not really. The best you could describe what was standing in front of you was he literally looked like he’d gotten his ass kicked.

It was his shoulders and upper back that got to you the most. There were deep purple hickies and bite marks that were scattered there.

You looked over his shoulder and saw him staring at you in the mirror. So you shoved down the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, and the anger at the men that did this deep down in your chest and helped him step in and sit down on the bench inside the shower.

The front of him was worse. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't have some sort of mark on it. You reach over and hand him a rag, and sit the soap where he could reach it. Then you grabbed a spare hand towel and covered his lower reign to give him some sort of modesty back. He sat there holding his rag not making eye contact at all with you, or doing anything other than holding onto the guard rail with a death grip.

What you saw before you covered him up made you want to kill those sick bastards that did this, but you couldn't let him see that. Your main goal was to get this done without making him uncomfortable in any way.

"I'm about to start with your hair okay?" you asked him and waited for his permission before you touched him.

Slowly he nodded his head. His body visibly trembled and you hadn't even touched him yet.

"I'm gonna work as fast as I can okay?"

Again he said nothing, looking at him you saw that dead distant look on his face had gotten even more distant. He had zoned out, trying to block out what was about to be done.

The moment you touched his hair and started massaging the shampoo into his scalp his shaking got harder, so you work faster, hurrying to try and get him clean, and be gentle at the same time. Working your way all over his body, except what you had covered, because honestly, you were a little afraid to go there. You started scrubbing his legs. Looking up at his face tears were steadily streaming down his face, and his eyes were slammed shut. He'd bitten his lip so long, and so hard that it was starting to bleed.

"Almost done," you tell him, rinsing him quickly.

Lifting the hand towel himself he that still sat draped across his lap, he grabbed the soap and slowly started to lather up his rag that was in his hands. It was the first movement that you'd seen out of his other than the death grip he had on the handrail the whole time you were scrubbing him.

"I'll do it, please don't touch me there," he said through gritted teeth. You backed up immediately and closed the curtain to give him some privacy.

Finally, you saw his hand reach out and turn the shower off.

It was over. You did it.

Releasing the breath you didn't know you were holding, you grab a towel and wrap it quickly around his waist as he pulls the shower curtain back, stepping out of the shower.

Once he was out of the shower you helped him sit down on the toilet seat slowly, grabbing another towel you dry him quickly, touching him as little as possible.

Honestly, it hurts you a little that he didn't want you to touch him. That his muscles would tense and he would jump every time you did. What did you expect, he seemed to hate you when he first met you? So why would it be any different now that he was down?

Fighting against your own emotions you reached in the bag on the counter, and grabbed the clothes that Jared had gotten him; holding it up for him to see. It was black boxer briefs, black running shorts, and an oversized T-shirt. He looked up at them and then looked back down, his face turning red.

"I... I... can't do the boxer right now," he said, clearly embarrassed.

You knelt down in front of him, slipping the shorts over his feet and pulling them up slowly to his knees that way all he had to do was stand to pull them over himself.

Then you got up to slip the shirt over his head and he stopped you before you could help him stand up so that you could get the towel off his waist.

"Why are you being so nice to me? I was a complete and total dick to you," he was looking at you genuinely confused.

Shaking your head a little you didn't really know how to answer that. You helped to brace him as he stood slowly, and pulled his shorts into place before dropping the towel from his waist, and sat back down on the toilet seat slowly.

"You went through a lot before this Jensen. I didn't exactly go out of my way to show you any respect at the studio either. I don't hate you though. You didn't deserve what happened to you," you were avoiding his gaze now, not wanting him to see your true feelings because you were afraid he wouldn't feel the same way you felt about him.

"I'm sorry I was an ass. I was Jealous that you were getting along so well with Jared. I shouldn't have been a dick to you. I liked you more than I probably should have, and honestly, I wasn't ready for that."

He wasn't looking at you now. His eyes closed and facing the wall. His mind a million miles away from the two of you sitting in the bathroom of his hospital room.

"Now... I'm really fucked up. I don't know if I can give you what you deserve. I don't know if I can even..."

With that he cut himself off, shaking his head violently, unable to finish the sentence.

"Let's just get you past the physical healing process right now. We got time to figure out anything else," you tell him, but he still refused to look at you.

"Okay, but I need to know. Do you have feelings for me?" he asks, finally looking at you. His eyes were still dead inside. It was a look that would probably haunt you for the rest of your life. You didn’t like it, and you didn’t know how to fix it.

"Jensen, you already know the answer to that. You've known since the day I met you," you were sitting on the floor of the bathroom in front of him. This was not how you pictured this conversation to go when you imagined it.

"Even after they... What they did to me?" he said, looking anywhere but you.

"What they did to you doesn't affect the way I feel about you at all," you tell him reaching out and touching the side of his face, and he immediately jumps away.

You jerk your hand back, a little hurt, but determined not to let it show.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching for your hand, and putting it back to his cheek. "I don't have any control over my body anymore. I understand if you leave right now and never come back," he said, his whole body trembling. He was obviously reaching his physical limit of sitting there.

You shook your head and made him look at you. "I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna get through this together. You and me, okay."

He nodded and stood slowly in front of you, wincing at every moment as he made his way toward the bed.

Jared entered the room as you got him into the freshly cleaned bed. Jared had obviously had them change the sheets while you had him in the shower.

"Damn man, you look better already," Jared said, carrying an Outback Steakhouse bag in one of his hands. Sitting it down on the rolling table next to the bed.

Jensen ignored his comment. His focus on the bag of food that he was opening.

"Is some of that mine?"

Relief evident on Jared's face when he realized what Jensen as asking him.

"Yeah man, I'm so glad you want to eat again."

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168 notes · View notes

ofcloudsandstars · 4 years

Note

Amber and orchard for the fall asks!

amber - share an unpopular opinion that you may have.

Hahaha this is like cracking open pandora’s box. I feel like I have too many.

I think my primary one though is I absolutely despise capitalism’s affect on witchcraft. I DO NOT think it’s made it more accessible for people, I feel like the only very minor positive thing is that you can now tell people you are a witch and into tarot cards and they won’t find you as weird anymore. Otherwise people don’t realize how capitalism is a force that actually strips culture of it’s meaning in order to sell it for profit and it’s affects on this practice has left a lot of damage not just to some aspects that are sacred but towards the earth since it’s a practice that works really closely with nature.

(added a read more to spare you poor scrolling souls from my rant lol)

Anyway what crapitalism does is it takes a culture and turns it into an easily consumable concept- almost like a brand, so that as long as you slap something ‘witchy’ seeming together then it qualifies as that brand. It boils everything down to an aesthetic. And no one has to actually believe in it anymore, or practice it or make any effort towards learning it or incorporating it into their lives. As long as they buy into the brand or embody the aesthetic then they count. Sometimes you can try to express that some traditions and materials and such do have meaning (I mean of course they do no one just sat around and made this shit up) people kind of have this nihilistic view that’s fed from this weird modern capitalist society that like: nothing truly has meaning anymore. But it’s like they are feeding this consumerist culture by repeating this mindset and gaslighting others when they appropriate magical practices or other cultures that are still very much alive and still tended to (often by indigenous people still being prosecuted) that are focused on working with the earth.

Then you see this ripple effect on places like instagram or the big mainstream like magazines and shit and do not get me wrong cause there are a lot of cool and creative people that practice this that are on there but there is so much cashing into this field now and oversaturation that comes with seedy and shady background stories that show creators being completely disingenuous because they really just want to make money. And then going back to my point that this practice works closely with nature, capitalism exploited the fact that we like working with certain herbs, woods, crystals etc and is overharvesting and mining and tainting the very tools that we want to work with, with greed, pollution, child slavery etc. And it’s irritating cause you can make your own tools and don’t have to import anything and you can tell everyone how bad some industries are but they don’t listen cause they are buying into capitalism’s lie that they can sell you anything at a price, even if it’s sacred. Then if you try to defend your point they tell you that this is the only way it can be accessible to everyone, but it’s NOT accessible to everyone, it strips it away from people that could be working with these tools for generations and protecting the climates that these guides and resources for the tools grow in. It also disempowers people in their craft to begin with because witchcraft is about finding that connection to your own power and magic and the bridge with the universe’s power and magic and when you venture down into this practice you will find tools and guides local to you and find ways to make your own magical tools but capitalism disempowers us by telling us that we are not legit until we can put a price tag on it. So people don’t believe in their ability to find the sacred in themselves or nature, they just keep consuming whatever herb bundle or tool capitalism spits at them because it’s the only way to feel legit in this culture.

And then since it’s seen more of a title or aesthetic and less of a way of life or set of ethics or practice, you have people interested in this spiritual or witchy community that don’t do any work or want to work on themselves that bring their shadow baggage into it. So you get racism seeping into it, homophobia, I also am so fucking confused how TRANSPHOBIA has made its way into here like transfolx are magical by just existing they are walking manifestations and works of alchemy like wtf; and like if you guys were friends with any queer people and hung out with them, they get the idea of magic, ritual and manifestation so well cause so much of their daily life already embodies some of that. But that’s a whole other topic. I vibed well with my queer friends on this and they were the only ones I could talk to about it before witchcraft became mainstream.

Then in general it’s seen as like radical if you tell people that are supposedly practicing witches that our energies should be focusing on restoring balance and we should put our energy towards healing nature or towards human rights (since humans are apart of nature) you will literally have witches being like: don’t tell me what to do!!! Like!! Gurl wtf lmaoo I don’t know how people claim to be empaths or into this but they don’t see that maybe if there was a so called “Great Awakening” to “Empower Ourselves” that’s probably what the fucking point was? Not to say that you need to spend every waking moment protesting (another contribution of capitalism- showing some kind of documented proof on social media that you stand for something instead of little daily actions embedded into your everyday life) but you can find ways to change your daily patterns to make space for the societal change that’s coming to bring in a more compassionate world and better community. But since we are so indoctrinated in this consumerist culture, so many people don’t know how to incorporate their values into their everyday lives anymore. It’s all about quantity and showing off on social media. And that negatively impacts witchcraft cause witchcraft is a daily practice you do little things for everyday that just gets embedded into your everyday life, but people get confused and think to be legit it’s something you gotta buy into or show off as proof with stylistic rituals and of course for many people that’s exhausting or financially inaccessible.

And for the sake of clarity cause the internet hates using critical thinking sometimes, of COURSE you can have a fun and flashy craft I’m not saying you can’t, but there is a massive imbalance here I am pointing out with how people are developing insecurities because they cannot attain this aesthetic overnight without dropping a shit ton of money. Yes witchcraft is very aesthetic-heavy but that’s because it’s a really creative practice that people pour their creativity and energy into and capitalism saw a way to put a price tag on it and now it’s confusing everyone else that’s mistaking this as something else to consume in exchange for money.

And then I hate that I feel often I cannot talk about this cause instead of people using their critical thinking braincells and realizing how bad capitalism is, they somehow turn this conversation into thinking that I just don’t like when a culture becomes mainstream cause not everyone should enjoy a culture or whatever and it’s like fucking hell of course I would LOVE more witches and to have more people into celebrating nature or finding their own magic and connecting to the universe and whatever, but capitalism isn’t helping at all. It’s separating us from it’s connection and the meaning behind it’s practice. (Also one day I dream of living in a witchy town or community so yeah, the more the merrier, but right now with capitalism, this method is not the way to get into this practice lol).

You really see the negative effects of capitalism marketing witchcraft because people now treat it as like this commodity they can jump into without finding a way to genuinely connect with it cause it’s all just a gimmick until the next zeitgeist. This either manifests in two ways where they think they can just buy a book or read some posts and not do any work on themselves or thinking on stuff like cultural appropriation so when they start experimenting they might bring harm to themselves by evoking spirits that do not want to work with them, or taking in some sacred herb or substance that can fuck them up leaving deep psychological damage or death- or they can harm others in a myriad of ways.

Then the other way it manifests are people feeling like witchcraft is suddenly inaccessible because you need money to practice it because capitalism put that veil over their eyes. It’s now another thing gatekept by money. So they try to reclaim it by being like: it’s just a title you can slap on yourself; but they give capitalism more power because that’s what capitalism was doing all along by stripping the meaning. Stripping it down to a concept that only matters as a label that evokes a brand or idea but not an actual practice. In a way it’s very counter culture to not buy into the aesthetic or put in effort anymore. Even if you want to put in effort you feel like you are not good enough cause you will never fit capitalism’s standards of quantity and money to spend to showcase it on the internet to feel legit. So people develop this no-effort approach to it. And ONCE AGAIN for clarity for the internet’s lack of critical thinking and jumping to conclusions I am NOT referring to anything like spoony witchcraft or energy based witchcraft (I am an energy witch primarily thank you very much) I am talking about people calling themselves witches but then when you want to sit down and chat about the craft they have a blank stare cause they were never serious and sometimes judge you for how much you cared about it cause they don’t really believe in it anyway. Not even cause it’s woowoo it’s cause capitalism doesn’t make you believe any anything anymore. The only thing it wants you to believe in is money and what you can consume with it.

And then when people online try to talk about this and point out it’s a practice these guys get angry with you like you are gatekeeping but it’s like BITCH it’s a FREE FUCKING PRACTICE like GO TALK TO A TREE go COLLECT A ROCK YOU FOUND IN THE CLEAR STREAM OF A BABBLING BROOK and maybe you’d CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Capitalism making it seem like you gotta buy all this shit to be seen as legit is not what this practice is about and it makes me upset how there is like this massive group of people that want to access this culture but are so lethargic about actually doing anything because they are disenchanted and it’s really because they are mentally bogged down by capitalism’s grip on it making them feel like they aren’t shit cause they can’t afford all that bullshit that ain’t gonna help them anyway so they just call themselves witches to get them 2 drops of serotonin and feel included but never really go anywhere beyond that cause capitalism strips the fucking joy and meaning out of everything. The only reason why this bothers me is cause I could be staying in my lane drinking my herbs and shit and chilling but then people either judge me for the effort I put into my practice’s aesthetics thinking I am shallow and buying into this or they think I am being reckless and dangerous believing in something not real by practicing a craft that tbh has a lot of dangerous aspects to it so it’s not rated E for everyone. Like you can fit it to what you want it to be since it’s your journey but it’s always been a bit edgy in some ways and it’s annoying when you get people judging you now for your lifestyle or they wonder why you are so invested cause they don’t get it.

Anyway that was a rant but you asked for it lol.

orchard - share one thing that you’d like to happen this autumn.

Get some more weed

Thanks for the asks lol. Kept the last one short haha but it’s true I have been trying to manifest for a while after my quarantine rations went out. Here are the autumnal asks if anyone else wants to ask or reblog them!

#capitalism

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

Persephone Will Have Her Fill

Pairing: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: Here’s part two of my little hannigram verse. You should absolutely read the first part before you take a peak at this one. Word Count: 9.4K Warnings: There be some cannibalism and talk about killing. Oh, also - Will suffers from encephalitis, so there’s that, too! Summary:

After meeting the mysterious darkness that is Will Graham, Hannibal finds himself snared by the presence he brings into his life. When a question sparks up the need to truly be seen, Hannibal sets out to do just that. Earth-rocking realizations ensue.

Read on AO3 here.

“Have I ever seen any of your work?”

Looking up from the cutting board in front of him, the chef’s knife in his hand stalled through the rough chop he was treating the cilantro to. Hannibal took a second to draw in breath, then tilted his head – a contemplative look on his face.

“I’m surprised you haven’t pieced it all together already,” Hannibal replied smoothly, his body shifting to turn in Will’s direction. For a second, Hannibal let himself soak the other man in. His hands were covered in blood from the preparation of the organ on the butcher block in the middle of Hannibal’s kitchen. The man’s latest acquisition, a heart that would make great steaks for their dinner that evening, and then a lovely addition to a stew that blew Hannibal’s mind the last time Will shared it with him.

There were so many hidden components to Will Graham that Hannibal still didn’t completely grasp, but this one, the element that brought freedom and dropped the masks – Will flourished in it. The pinch of his shoulders eased and the fluid motion of hand to knife created art; a sort of relaxed talent that Hannibal only ever knew of himself before the whirlwind of Will swept into his life.

And, while they didn’t indulge the other in shared secrets of recipes and know-how in the kitchen, they each brought their own pieces to the game and let the innate connection between them bring about the result. The last few months of collaboration were some of Hannibal’s greatest culinary triumphs.

A coy smile directed Hannibal’s way brought him from his thoughts – the killer gleam in Will’s eyes reminding him of the existence of the wild animal the other man only barely kept at bay. He watched Will drop his knife, hands still covered in blood and viscera, and make his way directly into Hannibal’s space. There was a beat of shared breath, and then Will was suddenly behind him – his arm wrapping around Hannibal’s upper arms, pulling him until they were flush together, back to chest.

A blood stain in the shape of Will’s hand on the bicep of Hannibal’s shirt contrasted the stark white of the color – Will’s mark on him tangible in that moment in more ways than one.

The slightest height difference between them made it easy for Will to hook his chin over Hannibal’s shoulder, his lips already pressed delicately against the sensitive shell of his ear.

“I’ve thought about your design since the second I met you,” Will muttered, the words kissed into the soft skin just below Hannibal’s ear. “You’ve been killing most of your life – probably started young, caught the bug and had the talent to back it up. You’re knowledgeable in anatomy, so your dissections are precise. You only take what you need and use the rest to send your message.”

Each word felt like a direct hit to the walls in Hannibal’s mind. The palace that existed there, while generally untouched by outsiders, called out to Will. From the day they met, Hannibal felt himself making expansions, rooms being added on in an attempt to fit Will Graham’s infiltration.

“What I can’t decide on, though,” Will continued, the hand not gripping Hannibal already drifting down svelte sides until it settled on the middle of a trim stomach, “is whether you make a grandiose display, or not. You already play with your food, but do you reconstruct it, too?” There was another shift, Will practically plastering himself to every part of Hannibal he could reach.

Hannibal, unable to resist the temptation of the delectable heat behind him, pressed back, his right hand reaching up to grab onto Will’s forearm. In this position, he could feel warm breaths against his neck and the gentle rise and fall of Will’s chest. Despite the topic of conversation, the rate of Will’s heart didn’t pick up – the lack of acceleration more thrilling than a flare of excitement would’ve been. Finding someone so similar to himself was disarming, and yet, Hannibal didn’t know what he might do without it now that he understood the taste. His palette was redefined, covered and shaped by his darkness and its interaction with Will’s.

“And now? After getting to know me – what do you see?” Hannibal questioned, his back pressing more firmly against Will’s chest. The thickness of Will’s erection was there against his back, heat and want adding to the odd intensity they found themselves in.

A nip to the neck tore a sigh from Hannibal’s throat, the answer to Will’s interest now smashed up against the zipper of his pants – the well-tailored suit slacks for once a nuisance, hindering his pleasure. Not usually so submissive, Hannibal fought against the urge to turn around and pin Will to the counter – these moments where Will shed the façade were few and far between. These interactions acted as gates opening to the empathetic mystery.

Will’s hand on his cheek had Hannibal turning his head, their lips joining in a warm kiss. He could feel the patches of Will’s hand that were still wet with blood – the liquid smearing wherever work-rough hands touched. The scent of copper and sweat were prominent in the space between them; an aphrodisiac if Hannibal ever knew one.

Tongues tangled in a desperate attempt to draw something from each other. When Will kissed, or touched, or even looked – the air went a little thin and every part of Hannibal was on display. Empathy or not, Will’s ability to look past the heavy walls and see within was unmatched and equal parts confusing and tranquil in its own right.

Parting for air became necessary – in their tussle to be as close as possible, Will pressed him hard against the counter. There was no space between their chests, no room to draw in a breath, even if he wanted to. Hannibal used his extra weight to lean forward, effectively cutting their kiss off. His chest heaved, and with every pulsing beat, Hannibal felt his cock throb – the timing of it eerily close to the pace of Will’s huffed out breaths.

Sure hands were quick to grab onto him again, Will used his leverage to turn Hannibal around – the two men practically nose to nose. The easy way Will stripped him down to this person that just did what was prompted, it was disarming and intoxicating all at once.

Those same hands were cupping his face then, Will’s thumb lightly running across Hannibal’s bottom lip. Will took his time looking Hannibal over, the tender brush of the man’s empathy caressing his skin. “I think you’re an artist, Hannibal. Sometimes you like the audience,” Will peppered kisses around the skin of his mouth as he spoke, “and sometimes, you keep your brutality all to yourself. I’m willing to bet that several names in the media over the last few years apply to you.”

“Such a clever boy you are, Will,” Hannibal said in reply, both hands wrapping around Will’s hips. “My most recent hunts have been underground, but one day – very soon, you’ll truly see me.” There was a soft breath shared, and then their lips were upon each other again.

It didn’t take but a few steps to get down the hall and into the study – the idea of walking up the stairs completely out of the question. In their time together, Hannibal was quick to understand that the physical urge to own and connect would come whenever and wherever it wanted. Will carried chaos with him and used it to his advantage – his impulsive, yet completely strategic actions were off putting and wild – absolutely delicious in its juxtaposition. Each of the rooms in his house now stored lube in at least one of its drawers.

There was only so much expensive olive oil Hannibal could let go to the cause.

Hands fumbled to rid bodies of clothing while trying to keep the tension of lip on lip. Hannibal made quick work of Will’s blue and green flannel; his fingers nimble on the buttons. A gasp left Will’s lips when fingers made their first touch on bare skin – an entire army of gooseflesh overtaking the sensitive flesh.

By the time they made it into the study, Will’s pants were hanging open, the belt flapping wildly with every movement. Hannibal, on the other hand, still wore his waistcoat and shirt, both of which were unbuttoned, yet hanging off his shoulders. His cock pressed ruthlessly against the seam of his dress pants, and every part of him ached to have Will in any way on offer.

Huffing out an exasperate breath, Will stepped back from their embrace. He made quick work of the clothes that still clung to him, his cock slapping his belly obscenely as the last layer fell to the ground. His eyes were ablaze, the usual blue of them completely overtaken by the lusty black that made Hannibal think of paranormal beings – beautiful little monsters with dark eyes and so many tricks under their sleeves.

“Have I told you how much I dislike all the layers you wear? While sexy, the suit takes so damn long to get off,” Will grumbled, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip. “I’m not patient enough right now, either.”

As he spoke, Will climbed onto the couch, his forearms settling against the armrest – the rest of his body a delicious temptation. Knowing how good he looked, Will glanced over his shoulder, a devilish glint in his eyes. He didn’t need to say anything, either – he simply maintained eye contact and reached behind himself, deft, coppery red fingers prying his ass cheeks apart; the cherry pink of his hole on provocative display.

“Take it off, Hannibal – or don’t. Just get over here and fuck me.”

Unable to think any further than that request, Hannibal shrugged off his waistcoat and practically dove onto the couch behind Will. He let his eyes roam over every inch of Will he could before impatient hips pressed back against him. The string between divine and desperate constantly hung in the balance – Hannibal frequently forgot the things he learned over the years; control and patience no longer existing.

Ducking between the delectable spread that was Will in that moment, Hannibal allowed himself to take in a long breath. The earthy musk sat in the back of his nose – his senses overcome with how manly and right the scent registered to be. It was a catalyst, the final notes of reign over himself falling as he tucked in and let the entire expanse of his tongue press against Will’s most intimate spot.

Like a man starving, Hannibal set about claiming his prize. He started with small licks around the rim, Will’s muscles already starting to relax under such simple ministrations. The first taste drove him mad with hunger, his tongue flattening after the first few teasing brushes to press more insistently against the still tight pucker. Pushing Will’s hands away, Hannibal took over the job of spreading supple cheeks, his longer fingers pushed into the flesh. Wanting more width, Hannibal shifted, practically yanking the globes even further apart.

The pleasure-pain of it tore a growl from Will’s lips, the man pressing his hips back against Hannibal’s face roughly in retaliation. Though he could see the redness start to overtake skin, Hannibal continued on – he felt familiar enough with Will’s interests to know that his counterpart appreciated the heat of pain just as much as delicate pleasure.

An abundance of spit both on Will’s skin and around Hannibal’s mouth and chin made the whole process easier – the point of his tongue and the tip of a rogue finger were easily admitted access. Little by little, Will loosened around him. Hannibal’s ministrations, like the rest of him, were precise – dealt with the intention of taking Will to pieces. Yet, Hannibal felt like he was the one falling apart; every rough touch and drawn out moan felt like a hit straight to the soul.

No one – not even Mischa, laid Hannibal so bare to the world. Especially with something as simple as a well-placed look or cleverly worded demand.

Only Will.

Groaning at the thought, Hannibal pulled back, a hand coming up to wipe away some of the moisture from his face. His chest was heaving, the cardiovascular system within him used to heavy lifting, not marathon tongue fucking.

The small gap in movement and Hannibal’s preoccupation was just enough for Will to once again take control of the situation. Where he was splayed against the side of the couch just moments before, Will was now facing Hannibal, his eyes alight.

Strong hands pushed against Hannibal’s shoulders until his own back was resting against the opposite arm rest, his long legs stretched across the entire length of the couch. Will settled into his lap nicely – strong thighs bracketed Hannibal’s, each clench and pulse of muscle bringing them closer, magnifying the feeling of touch and stimulus. Hannibal didn’t even have his pants off, yet, he felt just inches from the delirious cusp of that little death.

Hannibal watched with a contained awe as Will reached for the end table drawer – his brain was so strung out, he completely forgot that lube existed there. The soft slam of it being closed snapped him out of his haze. Hannibal tried to make quick work of getting his pants open – though, was quickly thwarted by Will, who merely let him get the zipper down before he was reaching in and grabbing Hannibal’s cock without any sort of finesse.

Will impatiently opened the lube and poured a decent amount directly onto Hannibal’s length – his teeth gritting against the cold of it. Fingers followed the flow. Will’s hand wrapping around the girth of him brought sharp canines down into a kiss swollen lip – Hannibal never had to fight so hard with the quick to cum trigger reflex that attempted to fail him right that instant. Fingers were tight around him for too short a time; instead, they trailed from his swollen flesh and found their way to Will’s hole, the man fingering himself open just enough to spread the slick.

Before Hannibal took his next breath, or had a second to find some control, Will lowered himself onto Hannibal’s rigid cock – their joint pants of exertion sounding around the room, overtaking the entire space. In an attempt to stop himself from finishing right that very second, Hannibal gripped Will’s hips tightly – his fingernails digging into the skin there, each one drawing up little welts of blood; Hannibal’s mark visible now, too.

“Fuck, Will – don’t move. Please,” Hannibal mumbled, his forehead resting against Will’s breastbone, his chest heaving with short, abortive breaths.

The slightest roll of hips was Hannibal’s answer – Will adjusting their position to better fit his own comfort.

While more movement did not follow, the filthiest words did, instead. With his hands gripping either side of Hannibal’s neck, Will used his leverage to tilt Hannibal’s head up until they were looking eye to eye.

“You look good like this – completely undone. Your clothes are less than immaculate, there’s wrinkles and sweat stains. Your pants are barely open and, in this moment, there’s nothing that could get you to care any less about it. I wonder what you would say if you saw yourself – splayed open like the pigs we hunt, looking at me like I’m both judge and executioner. Do you think you would like what you saw?”

Biting down hard on his lip, Hannibal fought each second to keep their eye contact – the words were delicious, and so eerily on point. Nodding his head seemed to be the best course of action – words were failing him, his brain short circuiting one neuron at a time.

How did Will get to the very core of him? With all things considered, Hannibal constructed walls that no one else came close to touching, let alone blowing apart the way Will seemed to. It felt like losing himself in a way – giving up those pieces to be cared for by this beautiful monster of a man.

Sensing Hannibal’s dilemma, Will started to move his hips in earnest. His rhythm a perfect distraction. There was a subtle roll down Hannibal’s length, then a powerful drive up until only the tip occupied space. Up and down, over and over – Will drove him closer to a new kind of insanity. This one would take everything from him; mind, body, soul – even the heart that didn’t seem to exist until the murderous temptation that Will embodied walked so easily into his life.

For a few exquisite minutes, Hannibal clenched Will’s hips tightly in his hands while the man worked him over. At one point, Hannibal wondered if Will got off more on the power, than the actual physical closeness – but, a particular hard drive into the man’s prostate made the answer obvious. Power over Hannibal drew him to madness. The power of Hannibal’s body and the pleasure he could achieve from it – that gave him strength.

“Don’t hold back anymore, Hannibal. I want you to own me,” Will whispered against raw lips.

With the permission to do so, Hannibal surged up – their barely there kisses turning into something brutal as his grip tightened on Will’s hips, his own finally breaking free of the self-induced confines to pound ruthless up and into the tightest heat ever experienced.

He felt wild and completely undone – his being only used to this adrenaline pumping feeling after the satisfaction of a hunt well done. It was crazy to be so unleashed, and yet, Hannibal let himself go, anyway; what Will wanted, he got.

When finality became something he could no longer hold back, Hannibal leaned forward and dug his teeth into Will’s shoulder – his teeth marks from previous encounters still there, getting deeper and more defined by the bite. He clenched his jaw down and with the skin still between his teeth, came harder than ever before (which was saying something, because sex with Will was always an adventure). The rhythmic pulse and flutter around his length signaled Will’s jump over the cliff edge with him.

Sticky cum in the space between their chests seemed pedestrian after such a connection. Physical representation of their joining didn’t matter – the mental connection overwhelmed it all.

The come down a few minutes later consisted of blood in his mouth, long drawn in breaths, and the feeling of Will’s palms on his cheeks. It felt like too much effort to fight anything from that point on, so he leaned back, his eyes catching Will’s. Their shared look made his stomach clench – the overwhelming feeling of being taken apart more alive in that moment than their entire coupling.

“Will – “ Hannibal tried to say, his voice so thick and scratchy from pulled out moans, new feelings, and heavy sighs.

Will’s thumbs brushed chiseled cheekbones, the flat of his fingers settling on the edge of Hannibal’s square jaw. “Shh,” he said in reply, their lips joining for a surprisingly soft kiss. “I know – me too.”

----

After that night, something shifted. For so long, Hannibal conducted himself as a solitary creature – life was simpler when his plans consisted of his own wants and desires. Even after meeting Will initially, Hannibal figured things would stay separate – work, play, and the occasional murder taking up their own sphere in his life. The sudden realization that neither he, nor Will, wanted any sort of separation, was monumental. In almost fifty years, Hannibal never saw something like this coming.

With the addition of Will in mind, Hannibal went about planning his next tableau. The Ripper hadn’t made an appearance in a while and his sounders were due. Will understood what it meant to take someone’s life – their shared desire to see the light in someone’s eyes fade was apparent. And yet, Will chose to elevate his prey by making them into meals that anyone would drool over.

In his own experience, Hannibal appreciated the consumption of his victims because of the control it gave him – they weren’t worthy of anything in life and as their flesh passed his lips, their sole source of meaning was to feed him, to nourish him – to provide the needed macro and micro nutrients that were essential to life.

Even still, The Ripper’s message took things a step further. The elevation of murder into widespread art truly spoke of Hannibal’s innermost feelings. Most people were beneath him and their only redeemable quality was their ability to be changed into priceless beauty. In his attempt to boost the lowest of low, Hannibal found himself – power of the hammer and all.

If anyone were to truly understand him and the tangible personification of his darkest and most intimate thoughts, Will Graham continuously proved he could be that person. With eyes that already saw so much, Will simply needed a nudge to truly see Hannibal – in every way.

Though completely terrifying, the thought brought about a new sort of excitement, too. To truly be seen and understood – Hannibal never even fathomed the occurrence. Living outside the confines of society came at a price, and no matter how many people graced his dinner table or laughed at his well-timed jokes, a divide between him and them existed. People turned a blind eye to what they didn’t want to see – it was easier to ignore the things in front of them than genuinely accept inferiority.

Will, though – he gripped the chains of normalcy and broke them between his fingers. Still trying to piece together the extent of his empathy, Hannibal didn’t quite know the complete depth of Will’s ability to truly see. In the same breath, Hannibal swore that he could feel the intensity of the unique gift in everything Will did. While Hannibal wore a finely tailored person suit, Will used his ability to become the things people revered and those they feared whole heartedly – so simply, with just the roll of his shoulders and a long, deep breath.

The Ripper deserved the right audience and finally, after so much time of not knowing how much he truly wanted the echoing applause, Hannibal found someone worthy of it.

Planning such a grandiose thing took time. For weeks, Hannibal went about everything as usual. On the nights that Will cooked late, Hannibal made the trip out to Wolf Trapp – his Bentley eating up the miles with relative ease. Winston, who took a liking to Hannibal immediately (he was sure the freshly made sausage had a lot to do with that), expected play time and pets before Hannibal could even think about joining Will in the kitchen.

The weekends, however, those belonged to Hannibal. Unless otherwise occupied with a last-minute client, Will spent both days in the glorious confines of Hannibal’s fancy brick and mortar. Most of that time, admittedly, was spent in the kitchen – Will’s passion for food (and not just that of the human variety) kept things interesting. There was always a new knife technique to try or a rare ingredient to add to the mundane. When they weren’t cooking away, or eating their weight in their creations, both men simply existed together.

Will let Hannibal sketch him in whatever way requested, and in return, Hannibal brushed his fingers through Will’s hair as he perused cookbooks and academic articles. A give and take existed that shouldn’t – not between two very peculiar men who took to murdering others as a hobby. And yet, Will kissed him goodbye when Hannibal mentioned something about hunting on his way out the door. Picture perfect domestic bliss.

One particular weekend a few months after falling into such a routine, Hannibal convinced Will to join him at the opera. After weeks of preparation and recognizance, he finally felt ready to reveal his most coveted persona to the man that quickly became the most important part of Hannibal’s existence. Why not make a night of it?

As usual, they made dinner together – Will’s latest victim’s kidney made for a delicious steak and kidney pie. The crust was buttery and flaky, rolled thin to perfection. When it came out of the oven, Will preened at the proud look on Hannibal’s face.

“Looks amazing, Chef,” Hannibal complimented, his fingers already twitching to scoop a fork into the molten confines of golden pastry.

Will continued to beam as the table was set and Hannibal, in all of his unselfish glory, handed over the serving spoon. Despite being the one to take the lead on most of their meals, Will gave the dishing out honor to Hannibal – even at his own table. There was a power dynamic that existed, and each man understood their role.

Will sent him a genuinely intrigued look, his eyebrow lifting. Instead of questioning, however, he simply gripped the utensil and went about portioning out their meal.

They made small talk throughout the devouring of their joint efforts – Hannibal spoke of his latest client’s swiftly developing obsession with him and watched delightedly as Will grew more menacing by the second. Franklyn never stood a chance, but the opportunity to push at Will’s boundaries wasn’t something he wanted to pass up. Jealousy, though such a base emotion, could lead a person astray very quickly. For the first time, Hannibal wanted the tenacity and rage that came with the juggling act. Someone he craved wanted him just as much and would fight tooth and nail to keep it that way.

And though not entirely thrilled to be amongst the masses in a “penguin suit”, Will cleaned up nicely – the tailored tuxedo was midnight black, enhanced with a single, dark pinstripe down the side of each pant leg. He finished the look with a stark white shirt and black bow tie – elegant and simple, yet dangerous at the same time.

Finishing up his own look, Hannibal retreated from his walk-in to find Will casually seated on the edge of the bed. Merely lounging there, he looked absolutely exquisite.

His eyes were closed and for a moment, Hannibal wondered if he were asleep sitting up. He cleared his throat in an attempt to rouse Will, his long legs carrying him until there was only a couple of inches separating them.

Blue eyes blinked open slowly, a faraway look overtaking Will’s face before finally registered Hannibal’s presence.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal asked, concern heavy in his voice. He reached to press a hand to Will’s forehead and found the skin there warm, the slightest bit of moisture sitting just barely on the surface. All tell-tale signs of an oncoming fever.

Reaching up to grab Hannibal’s hand and lacing their fingers together tightly, Will attempted a smile – the man’s mask not as secure as usual.

“I’m fine – just a bit of a headache. I haven’t been sleeping very well the last few nights, so it’s probably just some fatigue.” While he spoke, Will got up from the bed, his persona shifting with a soft roll of his shoulders. Now cognizant, the process came easily. His eyes were already a little clearer and any sort of weakness that existed in seconds before, was completely gone. Will Graham, the unsuspecting chef, Hannibal’s partner, stood in front of him once more.

“Are you finally ready?” Will asked, an eyebrow quirking.

Shaking the worry off, Hannibal grinned at the cheeky question. In their time together, certain habits made themselves known. Will drooled when in deep sleep and didn’t always pick up his wet towels. And while completely put together outside of the walls of his room, Hannibal was fussy and took a lot of time to get ready – the construction of his person suit more time consuming and labor intensive than Will’s would ever be.

“Snarky thing,” Hannibal immediately remarked. He pressed forward to press a chaste kiss to Will’s forehead. “Let’s go, darling. I have something for you after the show and am suddenly impatient to gift it.”

Will’s simple nod brought a brief surge of panic to his chest, but he quickly brushed it off. Though not the reaction he thought he’d get, the line of sweat still painting Will’s brow reminded him of the blurriness he encountered just moments before.

Leaning in again, Hannibal tucked his nose into Will’s neck and took a deep breath. Apart from the normal smells of bergamot, vanilla, and the slightest bit of wet dog, Hannibal scented something warm and sweet – the rising fever in the other’s skin taking on the body of over-ripened fruit.

He was met with the same intrigued look from their time at the dinner table when he pulled back. In an instant, Hannibal suddenly realized that was Will’s way of expressing his curiousness. Will usually pieced together the situation before it happened and reacted accordingly. Most people broadcasted their thoughts and feelings unconsciously, and Will’s intelligence made it easy to fill in the blanks. Hannibal, however, kept things locked tight – meticulous thought and effort went into making sure people received the exact message he wanted them to.

Though completely disarming himself, Will found a peculiar sort of mystery in Hannibal – the appeal of the unknown one of the things Hannibal could easily tell attracted Will to him so holistically. Like the true predator he was, Will enjoyed the chase. One that they both knew would probably never dull with the lifestyle they both kept.

The realization made his heart drum rapidly; love never took on a definition before, but in that moment, Hannibal finally understood. How interesting the realization came barreling towards him so out of the blue, yet so naturally. Like companionship – love didn’t ever seem like an option.

A soft touch on his cheek brought Hannibal back to the room – he blinked quickly, smiling to cover up the absentmindedness. The same curious look was on Will’s face, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, his other hand pressing against Hannibal’s chest. “We might be late if we don’t go soon.”

That was all Hannibal needed to get back into gear – they made quick work of getting into jackets and climbing into the car. Hannibal held the door open for Will and before he could sit down, pressed a kiss to his lips.

“You don’t have to butter me up – I’m already in the tux.” The words came out of his mouth, yet Will couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks or the duck of his head.

The drive over was uneventful – there wasn’t any talking, but the soft tones of Mozart kept the atmosphere calm and serene. Will’s hand landed on Hannibal’s thigh halfway to the venue – Hannibal dragged his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the megawatt smile from overtaking his face. Instead, he wrapped Will’s hand up with his own, their fingers tangling effortlessly.

Out of all the reasons why Hannibal donated to the arts, the preferred parking had to be one of the best among them. He pulled into his designated space a while later and shot will a playful wink.

Will snorted, his head shaking – “pretentious prick.”

They arrived just in time to schmooze for a few minutes before having to take their seats – a fact that Hannibal was over the moon about. Through months of dating, he never got the opportunity to show Will off. Aside from the fact that the man shone with impressive energy, Hannibal selfishly wanted everyone to see who he managed to attract; a very special man came into his life and despite it all, chose to stand proudly by his side.

With a soft kiss to Will’s cheek, Hannibal gestured to the bar. “I’m going to grab us a drink. I’d like to introduce you to a few people, if you’re not opposed.”

“I don’t mind – you’ve been dying to show me off for ages. I’m surprised you were able to wait this long,” Will retorted, a look of absolute knowing on his face. He casually slipped his hands into his pockets, the needed mask for the occasion slipping into place. “You know where to find me.”

Turning, Hannibal glided easily to the bar, ordering the same vintage chardonnay he always did and a whiskey neat for Will. The bartender recognized him immediately, the gold membership card that sat in his breast pocket unneeded.

“I’ll put it on your tab, Doctor Lecter.”

“Thank you, Tyler. It’s a pleasure, as always.” He saluted the younger man with the drinks in his hand and set off to find Will.

Without even having to try, Will drew people to him. The ever-curious Mrs. Ellen Komeda stood proudly in front of his beau, her eyes cataloguing him sharply. In a lot of ways, the two of them were very similar. Where Ellen lacked the empathy, she made up for it in pure grit and tenacity. She could read a room because she knew just about everyone and everything in it. Someone like Will, a gorgeous outsider, more than likely called to her from the moment she saw him.

“Where have you been hiding this one, Hannibal? He’s an absolute delight,” Ellen remarked the second he was within conversing distance. She eyed him up, then nodded approvingly.

Handing Will his drink, Hannibal let his now free hand wrap around Will’s waist. A moment existed where he thought Will might tense up, but he simply leaned in closer – the doting boyfriend act both natural and highly manipulative. What a delightful boy.

“We’re both busy men. Will here is the mastermind behind that delectable pate from my last dinner party.” The pride he felt carried over in his voice – people knew how Hannibal felt about food; the compliment held a lot of weight.

From the surprise on Ellen’s face, she too understood the sentiment.

“That’s high praise indeed. When I didn’t see you still wrapped in your apron when I arrived, I should have figured something was up.” She turned to Will then, her smile challenging. “Tell me Will, how did you charm the good doctor so?”

Seemingly unable to stop himself, Will chuckled, then pressed himself closer to Hannibal. “I bumped into him in a gourmet cheese shop. My refined palette was the major selling point.”

Before anyone else could say anything, a gentleman making his way into their little group stopped the conversation in its tracks. Hannibal watched Will’s eyes flash, the other man’s arm tightening around him. It was a minute reaction but telling all the same. He pulled at the seams of his person suit, the edges tightening up imperceptibly.

Luckily, Ellen saved them all, her social graces without fail. “Mr. Bowerman, it’s been some time since I last saw you at the opera.” Her mouth quirked as she spoke, like the words were bent nails in her mouth.

“Yes, well – since my wife’s passing, getting out to these fancy shindigs isn’t nearly as fun.” He took a long sip of his drink, his eyes shifting to Hannibal, only to linger on Will a second later.

“Walter Bowerman,” the man announced. The words were spoken into the open nothingness of the air, but his eyes – they were glued to Will.

A rush of murderous rage ran down Hannibal’s spine, his nostrils flaring.

Will didn’t miss a beat though, the brilliant boy he was. Tossing back his drink, Will waved the empty glass at the newcomer, a neutral look on his face. “Walter.” The single word was dismissive, only to be aided with a subtle turn of his body. He flashed a smile at Mrs. Komeda next, his expression softening slightly. “Ellen, it was glorious to meet you. Have Hannibal pass on my information – I’d love to cook for you some time.”

Understanding without any further prompting, Hannibal bid them both an absent goodbye and let himself be led by Will. He watched blue eyes track down a waiter, where he deposited his glass before continuing towards the theater door.

There wasn’t a sound made until they were alone in Hannibal’s booth – Will’s face was sweaty again, eyes slightly hazy. “Is it common knowledge that Walter Bowerman killed his wife?” Will asked lightly, breaking the silence. He swiped at his brow, looking a little off kilter.

Thrown off by the bluntness of Will’s words, Hannibal tuned out everything but the question. A sliver of pride sat in his chest at the other’s deductive abilities – Hannibal instantly knew there was something off but wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what. Will’s mind – it was a beautiful thing.

“Tonight happened to be the first time I’ve made his acquaintance – Ellen seemed put off, but I think the interruption to our conversation played a big part in that. You are very charming,” Hannibal admitted easily. Even he had been impressed.

“He got pleasure from mentioning his wife’s death. There was that murderous glint in his eye that just felt – wrong.” He moved to continue, but the stage lights flickered, and the heavy curtain started to pull back.

For a while, previous interactions fled from Hannibal’s mind – the mind-numbing drift a welcome gift after the stress of the evening. He let Will take his hand before the aria started, the touch the only anchor he wanted to the present. After a beat, the soprano opened her mouth and started to sing. Merely relaxing back, Hannibal let the music wash over him.

About halfway through the first act, a tightening grip on his hand brought Hannibal out of his mind space, a confused look on his face for a split second before it was quickly replaced by worry. Will’s face was covered in sweat and his chest seemed to be heaving, despite the dwindling awareness. He looked at Hannibal helplessly, mouth opening around unspoken pleas.

Finally, Will managed to grab ahold of himself for a second – his words a little slurred when he babbled out – “I think there’s something wrong.”

Acting quickly, Hannibal jumped out of his seat, suddenly glad for the privacy of his usual booth. Getting up wouldn’t disturb anyone, so there was room to get Will out however he needed. The man was cognizant enough to help Hannibal pull him out of the chair, but that only went as far as the hallway outside of their seats before Will went limp. The seizure that followed so nicely allowed Hannibal to get Will to the bathroom, the convulsions starting the second he got them pressed against the solid surface of the door.

His hands cupped Will’s cheeks, the grip of them strong to keep the back of his head from smacking against anything. Will’s eyes were open, but the pupils were completely blown – there was no focus or constriction whatsoever. Holding Will as tightly as possible, Hannibal rode out the storm.

When the shaking stopped, Hannibal counted out five minutes before Will came back around – his once slack body clenched all at once, fear and confusion flowing through him. “H-Hannibal?” Will chocked out, the syllables running together.

Bringing his face up to do a quick check of blue eyes, Hannibal let out a breath. There was finally some response in the dark pupils. He ran his thumbs softly over the apple of Will’s cheeks, maroon eyes roaming everywhere at once. “Are you with me, Will? You just had a seizure and you’re burning up. Can you hear me?”

“Hannibal?” Will questioned again, his chest heaving once more.

Unable to stop himself, Hannibal leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Will’s cheek – the contact just as much for him as it was for the confused man in his arms; an earthshattering need for comfort overwhelming. They needed to get out of there while Will was still upright and conscious. The increased heart rate and continued confusion meant there wasn’t much time left to do that.

Instead of forcing Will to respond anymore, Hannibal got them into a position where he could take most of Will’s weight – thankfully, Will was with it enough to walk with the help. The lobby was empty – an absence of sound appropriate to the situation at hand.

Being in the heart of downtown made getting to a hospital quick and easy. Every couple of minutes, Hannibal reached across the middle console to check on Will, his heart slamming into his chest in the scant seconds between touching and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Though the seizures didn’t return, Will’s consciousness diminished with each passing second.

The Bentley skidded to a stop outside the emergency room doors, Hannibal hopping out in a fit of adrenaline – he threw open Will’s door to pick him up bridal style. There was a second where their eyes met, a brief connection before Will slumped into him, his fight with whatever was burning him up coming to a swift end.

----

It took two days for Will to completely regain consciousness.

Throughout those two days, Hannibal worried incessantly, sat by Will’s bedside, and didn’t think once about the tableau he set up that was probably discovered by the authorities, already.

Being so thorough in his work, Hannibal didn’t use a sing brain byte to dwell on it – there wasn’t any evidence. There never was.

After carrying Will into the ER in the most dramatic fashion as possible, the hustle and bustle of brain scans and medication deployment took up all the space in Hannibal’s mind. In the bouts of time that Will got swept away, Hannibal went home to shower and change; once, he made the trip out to Wolf Trapp to get Winston and clear out the remainder of Will’s fridge. No matter what happened, a hospital stay was in Will’s future. The least Hannibal could do was take care of his dog and make the already harvested meat into delicacies to be eaten when Will felt better.

Despite trying to keep busy with arrangements and appointment reschedules, the minutes between Will’s decent into unconsciousness and his waking were long and torturous. The encephalitis diagnosis made a lot of sense after thinking about Will’s behavior over the last few weeks. The increase of headaches and nightmares, a dwindling appetite, and large periods of losing track of time were all there pointing in brain swelling’s direction.

It was pure luck that Will’s body had such a severe reaction to the neurological change. If things were different, he might’ve dived very slowly into madness; both visual and auditory hallucinations were common symptoms of Will’s particular brand of encephalitis. The spike of fever came at just the right time – the majority of his treatment would be minimally invasive and able to be given outside of the hospital.

The most confusing part of the whole situation was Hannibal’s feelings towards it all. Of course, Will couldn’t help the fact that he thwarted plans that were many months in the making. Yet, the anger he figured would sit under his skin, waiting to erupt, didn’t exist. Instead, Hannibal felt the claws of worry drag along his back.

Every second that Will didn’t wake up, Hannibal dipped a little further into unease. Going fifty years without the look in Will’s eyes was one thing, but now that he knew – now that the feeling crept under his walls, there was no going back. How did he exist without the rambunctiousness and intelligence that accompanied the experience that was Will Graham?

His earlier thoughts about love came back to him with a not so delicate slam to the chest. The world felt like it was ending without the shine of Will’s personality surrounding him because of the love he felt for the man. And what a thought – being in love with a soul so similar to his own. The match they made was perfect and for many reasons, shouldn’t exist whatsoever. Yet, Hannibal could barely remember what life felt like without Will in it.

He didn’t want to, either.

When Will eventually completely came to, Hannibal had his forehead pressed against their joined hands – his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to escape to the happier rooms in his mind palace. It was getting more difficult to filter everything out, so the halls were more cluttered than usual. The immense distraction almost made him miss the gentle squeeze to his hand – Will’s fingers tightened around his own for the first time in more than fifty hours.

Sitting up, Hannibal didn’t have a chance to stop the affectionate smile from slipping across his lips. His chest felt a little lighter – Will’s eyes were the same shade of deep blue and shining just as brightly as he remembered. The glassy nature of them was to be expected, the physiological expression of symptoms a reassurance that the body was actively fighting. After what seemed like years of waiting and worrying, Hannibal found comfort in all of Will’s disarray, bed head and sleepy smiles included.

“Hannibal?” Will questioned softly, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being unused. Upon hearing it, Hannibal reached to press the nurse’s button to get Will some water – they would want to know he was awake, anyway.

“Will – I’m so glad to see you,” Hannibal admitted easily, his body ditching the chair to sit on the edge of Will’s bed. He craved the length of Will pressed against him, any sort of familiar weight, really. Just the sign that the man was alive and with him was more than enough.

Reaching up to brush a curl from Will’s forehead, Hannibal spoke up again. “It’s been a couple of days since you last opened your eyes. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Will mumbled immediately, his brows pinching together with every move as he adjusted. “You said two days? Did this happen at the opera? Hannibal, I’m – “

“Don’t even begin to apologize, Will. Your brain was on fire – the last thing I’m worried about is a subpar rendition of Don Giovanni.” There was a beat, then a subtle move forward to press lips to Will’s still clammy skin. “I’m relieved you’re going to be okay, Will. Everything else is moot.”

There wasn’t much talking after that – the exhaustion Will complained about took him under shortly after coming around. The nurses were able to document his stats and get a doctor in to see him before fatigue won out and Will became lost to sleep once again.

To occupy himself, Hannibal let his emotions run wild across the pages of his sketchpad. Despite being exhausted himself, sleep did not come. Memories and things yet to come crept through the halls of his mind – his hand manifesting them on the smooth paper at record breaking speed. With all of his energy drained, Will made the perfect model. Hannibal found himself able to get the man’s lips right for the first time he laid pencil to paper. Drawing his partner in a much happier state of being made coping a little easier – the smile he could replicate brought a warmth that Hannibal couldn’t admit he wanted with him at all times. Though, he so desperately did.

A hand on the top of his sketchbook brought him out of his artistic stupor. Hannibal moved quickly, sliding his fingers between Will’s before the hand could retreat, or suddenly disappear like he feared. The skin there was warm, but not scalding like the days previous. When their eyes met, the blue depth of Will’s seemed much clearer – like the rest was actually doing him some good.

“She looks like you,” Will said, turning his attention back to the sketch pad he reached for initially. “Who is she?”

The feeling of being exposed washed over him for a second, Hannibal pulling in a deep breath in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. A Thursday in the middle of the night wasn’t how he figured his past would come to light – dark news needed an ideal setting. And yet, what better way to break down the last wall between them?

“This is Mischa, my sister. Even after all these years, I’ve never been able to do her true justice,” Hannibal replied, his voice just steps away from melancholic. “She was this beautiful spirit – free and intense. Kind of like you, actually.” A soft smile overtook his features, the truth of that statement ringing in his ears.

No wonder.

Will’s hand tightened slightly, the fatigue keeping him weak in his touch. “Mischa – I like that. She’s beautiful. You both have that little curl in your nose.”

A laugh escaping Hannibal’s chest broke whatever tension remained – the depths of his chest finally clear. The days of worry and not-sleeping were catching up to him, and like it was so natural to do, Will cleaned the chaos up, his words sweeping out the cobwebs Hannibal let develop. Sucking in another long breath, Hannibal let that last bit of himself in hiding step out into the light.

There was another clear shift in the air between them then, the softness in Will’s eyes something that didn’t exist before that very moment. While so wrapped up in his own masks and Will’s ability to see through them, Will was sneakily putting himself up for display, too. Breaking down walls brought about a gentleness that didn’t befit ruthless murders, and yet – Will caressed Hannibal’s hand softly, the touch for comfort’s sake alone.

Without being prompted or asked, Will moved until a spot that maybe half of Hannibal could fit into appeared. Taking the offer for what it was, Hannibal dropped his sketch pad on the table, the pencil sitting lovingly over the cupid bow of Mischa’s lip. He climbed in, the two of them rearranging limbs until Hannibal’s arms were wrapped tightly around Will. It took a second to settle – then, sleep came quickly and kept them under for the rest of the night.

Will spent another two days in the hospital before Hannibal could convince the staff of his capabilities as a doctor. They were willing to release him after all of the intravenous drug administration was finished – the rest of Will’s recovery would be based around rest and recuperation, anyway.

There wasn’t any discussion about where Will would end up – the man simply climbed into Hannibal’s car, curled up in the passenger seat with his head in Hannibal’s lap, and slept on the trip back to Baltimore from the hospital. Hannibal made a quick trip home while Will sat in the MRI machine for the last time during his stay – both Winston and the kitchen were ready for Will’s arrival.

It took Will most of his energy to get from the car to the door, but when Winston came jogging around the corner, a burst of joy sent him two steps forward until he could easily wrap the dog warmly in his arms. The whispered “I missed you” into the dog’s fur more than making up for the hair on all the surfaces of the house.

When the reunion was over, Hannibal helped Will walk upstairs, the man already dead on his feet from just a couple of short encounters. That previously unnamed warmth took up space in Hannibal’s chest again – the overwhelming feeling of being so deliriously dedicated to another human being exhausting in its own right.

“I thought maybe you’d like to take a bath,” Hannibal said, his legs already carrying him towards the bathroom to start the water.

“Will you hold me, instead? I know I probably stink like hospital and it’s killing that nose of yours, but all I really want to do is be in your arms.”

Looking over his shoulder, Hannibal stopped in his tracks. There were no masks on Will’s face, in the moment, so raw and open. The man who stood before him was stripped bare and asking for something – when he usually did nothing of the sort. The warmth bubbled a little bit more, the intensity of it growing with every passing exchange. He didn’t need to think about what to do next – instead, he kicked off his shoes and went about turning the bed down.

Hannibal climbed in, reclining back against the nest of pillows. Though he figured he wouldn’t sleep, Hannibal was more than willing to simply sit and catalogue Will a little more. The replica in his mind palace wasn’t quite what he wanted, and the perusal of finer features was exactly what he needed to make the perfect rendering.

For a while, that’s how things went – Hannibal kept Will against his chest until the call of food preparation took precedence. It usually took all of Will’s energy to get downstairs to the table, so the first few meals were taken in bed.

Little by little, Will spent more time awake than asleep, the clarity of his thoughts returning as the days past. Surprisingly, the only thing that didn’t return was the mask Will wore. Maybe it was the lack of energy, or maybe – after all was said and done, there was no need for them anymore. Seeing and being seen – it did something to a person. Especially ones like Will and Hannibal.

Then, a Saturday morning two weeks after his diagnosis, Hannibal woke to the feeling of Will’s hands running down his chest and arms, nimble fingers pressing into skin, fingertips tracing and memorizing with every touch. Hannibal kept himself still, letting Will have whatever he wanted before the realization of having an audience occurred.

The rise and fall of Will’s chest sped up a little, his body heat rising for a much better reason than the earlier fever that ravaged him. Without meaning to, Hannibal shifted back into it – giving himself away in an instant.

“I know you’re awake,” Will mumbled against his spot on Hannibal’s neck, hips pressing forward ever so lightly.

Rolling over, Hannibal used the quick movement to pull Will under him, their bodies lining up from head to toe. Will’s legs opened just enough to allow Hannibal access to gap, the length of them wrapping around Hannibal’s hips in the next instant. There was a clench of muscle, then no space between them at all.

“I see you’re awake, too,” Hannibal whispered, his hips pressing down – erections grinding together with the barest of touches. “Are you feeling better?”

Hips pressing up for a longer drag of cock on cock was his only answer. Unable to ignore the call, Hannibal moved against him, the friction building there absolutely exquisite. They shifted and moved until their lips met and the oxygen in the room steadfastly escaped. Every pull of breath in was more of Will – more of his scent, more of his presence – more.

Though neither made any move to takes thing further along, Hannibal could feel the intimacy building up between them. It wasn’t so much about the heat of the physical, this particular moment more than just a sexual connection. Where Hannibal pulled, Will pushed – their hearts beating in tandem.

A crescendo didn’t carry them away – instead, a sort of peace overtook the room. The feeling so foreign that they looked and touched just to make sure the other existed – that after everything, the other was there and the affection that zinged between them wasn’t one sided. Two psychopaths falling in love was never on the top of anyone’s love story list, yet – it happened without either of them knowing.

When Hannibal pulled back this time, the words on the tip of his tongue, he let them fall effortlessly from his lips.

Brushing his nose against Will’s, Hannibal stayed close, the words “I love you” leaving his chest and sitting in the air. It felt odd and for half a second, he thought Will might not feel that way about him after all. The two, three, four beats of his heart before any sort of response were agonizing, both too short and much too long.

Those warms hands were there, though, Will’s palms cupping his cheeks and fingers digging into the longer hair around his temples. Their eyes met, maroon holding blue – and the worry melted away. No mask, after seeing past it, could hide the devotion existing in the ceaseless pools of gorgeous blue.

“I love you too, Hannibal.”

#hannigram #murder husbands #will graham/hannibal lecter #hannigram fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fanfic #persephone will have her fill #bobbie writes #will graham #hannibal lecter

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

New Duties

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, cheating, fuck machine, toys, tied up.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bucky’s wife is never around as much as the maid.

Based on these drabble requests:

Bucky Barnes + “If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought.” + Maid AU + Bucky is rich and married too, but his wife is never in the house so he decide have fun with the naive maid.

Bucky Barnes + “You really think this is over?” + Fuck machine + honestly just the reader being tied up and left with a fuck machine and some overstimulation.

Both requested by anons.

The large house was often empty when you went there. You had a key on a tag and the alarm code written on it. You showed up in your black pants and matching shirt and let yourself in as you always did. You tied on your apron and looked around as you went over the work in your head.

It was hard not to be envious of the grandiose abode. Hard not to feel bitter at all the money spent on the place and yet it seemed the resident never enjoyed it. They hired a maid, you, to clean the table they never ate at and make the bed which was the only lived-in part of the place.

You started on the lower floor as usual. Living room, dining room, kitchen, the office, the foyer, and the parlor dedicated to a carved pool table and shelves of expensive sculptures. You climbed the stairs and set off down the hall of unused rooms. There wasn’t much more to do than dust and check that the sheets didn’t smell musty.

As you approached the master bedroom, you stopped short as the door opened and you were met by one of the elusive owners of the mansion. You saw Bucky Barnes more than his wife but your run-ins were still rare. And you’d never seen him like this. You were embarrassed and off-centre as you were surprised to find him there.

He wore only a pair of silky pajama bottoms and his hair was amess, sticking out at all angles. His muscles moved under his skin as he rubbed his eyes and smiled at you. His voice was thick with drowsiness and he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, “thought I heard someone.”

“I didn’t know you were here, sir,” you glanced around. It was late for him to be sleeping still.

“I took the red-eye home,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you chuckled nervously, “I can come back when--”

“You sure?” he batted away the last of his tiredness with his lashes and leaned on the doorframe, “you almost jumped out of your shoes.”

“Uh, yeah,” you assured him and started to turn back.

“It’s fine, I’m up now,” he stopped you, “I’m gonna have a coffee…” he caught up to you and brushed by you, facing you as he blocked your path, “bedroom is all yours.”

You fidgeted as his eyes flicked away from your face for just and instant but you didn’t think much of it as the apron hid made your figure lumpy and vague. You nodded and gave another yes, sir. He watched you until you spun back and headed for the bedroom. You felt his gaze until you slipped inside and let out your breath at the rumpled blankets.

You heard him descend the stairs and set down your bucket of supplies. You went to the bed and fixed his side of it. You could smell his sweat on the sheets still. Then you began to wipe down the edges of the tables and inspected for any inch of imperfection.

“Looks good in here,” his voice spooked you again. Bucky stepped inside and set his tall coffee mug on the polished table beside the door. “I’m glad I caught you, I did have a special request.”

“Oh?” you stilled the cloth and twisted it in your grip. You watched his metal arm as he he rubbed his middle finger with his thumb.

“Here,” he crossed the room and waved you over, “it’s a bit of a secret but… I haven’t had the time to take care of it myself.”

You watched as he went to the bookshelf on the far wall and he reached behind the gilded globe. He spun it slightly but you could see what exactly he was doing. There was a shift and the shelf lurched forward. He carefully pushed it over until the edge met the corner and a small doorway appeared.

Your eyes rounded in confusion and he chuckled as he looked over his shoulder, “our little secret,” he said, “I figured since you’re here…”

“I… yes, sir,” you neared as he waited, his hand on the shelf, and as you stepped by him, he quickly followed, so close you could feel his body heat.

You stopped short as he flipped on the light. A red haze cast over the hidden room. You were shocked, almost laughing in disbelief as your brain spun to process what you were seeing; leather cuffs hung from the wall on one side and a leather bench sat center with similar bounds, there was even a sex swing dangling from the ceiling. You never expected that but really, you tried not to think about your clients intimate habits.

The shelf shifted behind you and the room grew dimmer, only the scarlet shadows of the tinted bulb remained. You turned back to Bucky.

“My stuff,” you pointed to the wall behind him. There was no visible mechanism and that made you nervous.

“Oh, well, you see, I haven’t had a chance to use any of this,” he shrugged and stepped closer. You inch backwards and dropped the cloth as his hands settled on your upper arms, “Ilona’s never here, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Mr. Barnes,” you winced as his vibranium hand squeezed, “I should get back to my--”

“The house is spotless. I only pay you because my wife can’t be bothered to lift a finger herself or even be around,” he said.

“Please, I should go,” you gulped, “I think you, uh, you…”

“Fine, go,” he moved out of your way and smirked at the wall, “if you want to, go.”

You looked between him and the smooth wall. You neared it and shoved on it. It didn’t move. You felt all along it, searching for anything that might trigger a response. There was nothing there.

“Can you--” you began to ask but stopped as he pressed himself to your back.

He tugged at the knot of your apron and it fell loose. His hands crawled up your back and he lifted the strap over your head. He grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face him.

“Thought you were going,” he taunted.

“Let me out,” you tremored.

“I said go, so…” he gestured to the wall.

“I can’t--”

He snickered and pulled you with him as he walked backwards. “It’s just a little fun,” he purred, “for both of us.”

“No, I-- you’re married--”

“My wife, if you can call her that, hasn’t touched me in a year, probably more,” he pulled at the hem of your shirt, “so this is as much her decision as mine.”

“No, Mr. Barnes, I--”

“Listen,” he grabbed your jaw and loomed over you, “you can be a good little maid and do what you’re told or I can report you to the agency for stealing.”

“What, I never--”

“Maybe a few of Ilona’s necklaces go missing or a few bills out of my wallet,” he growled, “we’ll see who they believe.”

“Please--”

“It’s time you start earning that tip,” he turned and thrust you towards the low bench, “now get undressed and lay down on your stomach.”

“Mr--”

“I have a gag. I have several if you want to choose,” he warned, “even if I’d rather hear that sweet voice calling my name.”

“Why are you--”

“I won’t tell you again,” he barked as he crossed his arms and paced.

You noticed how the front of his pants tented and you slowly neared the bench. It was all so jarring, you didn’t know what else to do but obey. You couldn’t leave and you were certain if you tried, he would lose all patience. You peeked over as his metal fist tightened and a chill went through you.

You pulled off your shirt and kept your eyes down. You rolled down your pants and took your time untying your sneakers. You hesitated to strip off your underwear but a gristly breath made you wince and you added them to the pile of clothes.

You were cold but your flesh burned as you sensed his close attention to your every move. You got down on the bench, the leather icy against your chest, and stared at the floor. Bucky walked around behind you and framed your ass with his hands as he stood over you. He pushed your thighs apart until your legs bent over the side of the bench and the cool air tickled your cunt.

“Hmmm,” he mused as he flicked his finger along your folds, “I can’t decide what I want first.”

An overwhelming wave of panic shook you and you tried to push yourself up. His hand slapped down on the middle of your back and he held you down. He tutted and reached down to slip your wrist into a leather cuff and tightened it until you whined. He ignored your struggles as he did the same to your other arm and your ankles. You straddled the bench as he pushed himself up and groped your ass again.

“Why are you making this hard?” he asked, “you’re already spread for me.”

“Please…”

He sighed and you heard his bare feet on the floor as he marched away from you. He came back around you and knelt to force the ball gag into your mouth and buckled it behind your head. Your eyes glistened as you watched him desperately and breathed heavy through your nose.

“We have a lot to do,” he touched your chin, “you need the proper training.”

You tried to talk past the gag but it only came out as muffled gibberish and your saliva soaked the gag.

“If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought,” he chuckled and stood, rubbing the front of his pants, “guess you’ll have to wait for it.”

He left your eye line again, even as you craned your neck around. He was quick to huff and stomp back to your. He took the collar that hung from the front of the bench and secured it around your neck so you could stare at your impossible escape.

You heard something rolling behind you and metal fasteners being loosened then tightened. His fingers scared you as he touched your cunt and felt around for your clit. He teased you until you tilted your pelvis in response. You moaned around the gag as your thighs quivered. Despite your fear, it felt wonderful.

He played with you until you were wet and then you heard the same wheels. You felt a prod at your entrance, a hard silicone tip slowly slid into you until you were full. You gasped and choked as he pulled away his hand entirely. You heard a soft click then a whir and the dildo began to move, your cunt sucking at it loudly as you grew wet around it. He reached under you and a new buzz began as he placed a vibrator against your bud.

He rounded you again, his pants were gone and his hand glied up and down his dick. He watched you with fiery eyes as you tried to hold back. The flames licked from your core and crawled along your thighs and back. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as your voice droned sloppily as the gag made you drool.

You came in defeat and hung your head. You gasped and gulped for air and your entire body tensed and released, but he didn’t stop it. The vibe kept buzzing on your clit and he only turned the machine up so that it fucked you harder and faster. You wined and rolled your head back and forth.

Another orgasm strangled you and your muscles ached from the tension as it snapped again. You lost count as the red light glared through your eyelids and a sheen of sweat coated your body. Breathless and battered, you could only twitched as you were rocked by climax after climax.

And then it all stopped. The machine shut off and the dildo was slid out of you, your thighs sticky and sore. The vibrator stilled and slipped from under you and you groaned. There was a moment of peace as your heart slowed and then a slap across your ass made you yipe.

“You really think this is over?” Bucky asked as he got behind you and bent over you. His tip pressed against your entrance and his hot breath bristled against your scalp, “I’ve only just begun.”

🧹🧹🧹

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60b3r · 4 years

Text

Memes Kill Creativity?

Memes vs. Genes

In the 1976 book The Selfish Gene, Richard Dawkins coined the term 'meme' to describe something with symbolic meaning that spreads by imitation from person to person within a culture. This idea is an analogue to the nature of selfish gene, described similarly as a piece of genetic material possessing information required to be able to replicate themselves inside a living. The only key difference in both terms is that the gene is natural, while memes are artificial. The rest of memes' operating schemes completely mimic the genes perfectly. In our current timeline, memes as we know today are taking many forms: as image macros, short videos, and rick-rollicking music. Memes in imageboards and forums have been pushing internet porn traffic into a stalemate and putting our power grid into unnecessary burden. Of course, memes are not to be regretted, but otherwise need to be taken seriously, since they are able to put our current understanding of media industry and economic system into shame.

As with every other thing that have existed, memes are not exempt in its dualistic nature. If you ever venture to the depths of dark web, you may know that memes also took part in the infamous mimetic Tumblr-4chan War. Not only that, some memes are reportedly causing harm towards some users, even though it is often disguised or said to be a dank joke or mere sarcasm. Memes have seen its share of use in online bullying, mass shootings, and hate crimes, cowering behind the freedom of expression tag. Regardless, memes are also an extremely effective form of information transmission. Like all living systems with no set moral standards, memes do evolve and are subject to natural selection. Memes, like genes, actually work like a mindless machine. Again, this is eerily like the performance of DNA in living systems. The last thing we want from this thing is virulence.

Every day, something went viral on Twitter. Hashtags are flaring into the top trends, some videos are being watched billions of times, and another cat vs. cucumber pic garnered thousands of likes. Viral properties of a virus (duh) is defined as the capability to multiply quickly in relatively short amount of time. The term saw a huge increase in usage during the dawn of the internet age and the rise of computer malwares spread through unsecured ports of network protocol. This term is being applied to memes, as it is like a virus (which is a pure embodiment of a selfish gene). Now, a lot of people are utilizing memes to create art, because it enables them to cater the short-attention spans of current internet users. They create shorts, illustrations, inside jokes, and small comic strips. Some of you might not agree with me on this one, but stay with me now and I will explain to you why I would like to treat memes and art as a single unit of interest in this argument.

The dawn of meme-technology

Viral memes and their popularity are now often considered important in defining a time period in the internet culture. Now every netizen can somewhat distinguish the approximate age, sex, and political views of other users from the usage of rage comics, meme songs, and meme platforms they use. Intuitively we can make a generalized difference between the userbase of Reddit, 4chan, 9gag, Vine, and now Tiktok. Others, by the share of relatability with sub-genres of different areas of interest (film memes and game memes). Some others, even, in the perspectives of different social and economic class system (first world problems and third world success memes). Meme preferences to us netizens are ironically giving away our anonymous identity. Identity which the media companies are vying to get their hands on. That's where I would like to come into my opening argument: both memes and genes which originally possesses no intrinsic value, suddenly become a subject of value with technology.

How do we draw the logic, I say? The ones and zeros inside electrical systems are value-free, so does DNA in living cells. As we meddle ourselves with biotechnology to manipulate genetic material for profit, we also simmer ourselves in the computer sciences and tweak physical computation to perform better. We give value in the inanimate object by manipulating them. In our world, we often heard these expressions: that communication is key, sometimes silence is golden, and those who control the information wields the power. What’s these three statements have in common? Yes, information and expression. Memes are the simplest form of both. This is the beginning of the logic: memes are no longer in and on itself independent of external values. The infusion of utilitarian properties in memes as artificial constructs are seemingly inevitable, and for the better or worse shapes our current society.

We might have heard that somewhere somehow, the so called ‘global elites’ with their power and wealth are constantly controlling biotech research and information technology—or, in the contrary, they control these knowledge and resources to keep shovelling money and consolidate their power. Memes are one of their tools to ‘steer’ the world according to their 'progressive agenda', seemingly driving the world ‘forward’ towards innovation and openness. Nah, I am just joking. But, stay with me now. It is actually not them (the so-called global elites) who you should be worried about. It is us—you and I, ourselves—and our own way of unwittingly enjoying memes that are both toxic and fuelling the age-old capitalism. Funny, isn't it? We blame society, but we are society. But how are be becoming the culprits yet also be the prey at the same time?

Middle-class artists are hurt

Now, aggressive marketing tactics using memes are soaring. Media companies are no doubt cashing in the internet and viral memes to their own benefit. Streaming and cataloguing are putting up a good fight compared to their retail, classic ways of content delivery. This is quite true with the strategies of Spotify and YouTube, other media companies alike. They can secure rights to provide high-quality content from big time artists and filmmakers and target these works directly to the end consumer, effectively cutting the cost of distribution which usually goes to the several layers of distribution line like vinyl products, radio contracts, and Blu-ray DVDs. I believe this is good, since it is like an affirmative action for amateur artists to start a career in the art industry. Or is it? Does it really encourage small-time artists to begin? Yes. How about the middle-class artists? Not necessarily.

You might sometimes wonder, “how the hell did I get somewhere just by following the trending or hot section in the feed?”. This toxicity of memes often brings some bad things to our tables. Social media algorithms handle contents (like viral memes) by putting those with high views or likes to the front page, effectively ‘promoting’ the already popular post and creating a positive feedback cycle. By doing so, they could capitalize on ad profits on just few ‘quality’ contents over huge amounts of audience in a very short amount of time. The problem is most of the time, these ‘quality’ contents have no quality at all. They just happen to possess the correct formula to be viral, with the correct SEO keywords and click-bait titles with no real leverage in the art movement. This way, I often find both the talented and the lucky—of which the boundaries between them are always blurred—overshadow the aspiring ‘middle-class’ artists who work hard to perfect their craft.

If you are already a famous guitarist with large fanbase, lucky you, you are almost guaranteed to top the billboards. What, you have no skills? Post a video of you playing ‘air guitar’ and… affirmative actions to the rescue. Keep on riding the hype wave and suddenly you get to top trending with minimal effort, thanks to your weird haircut. Those haters will surely make a meme out of your silly haircut, not even your non-existent guitar skills. But still, hype is still a hype, and there’s no such thing as a bad publication. This also answers why simple account who reposts other people’s content could get much more followers than the hard-working creators. Not only being outperformed by the already famous artists taking social media by storm, now the ‘middle-class’ artists are also dealing with widespread content theft and repost accounts because of the unfair, bot grading system. It is unimaginable how many nobodies got the spotlight they don’t deserve just because they look or act stupid and the whole internet cheers around them. Remember, this is not always about the artist, but also the quality of the art itself. I believe a good art should be meaningful to the beholder.

Why capitalism kills creativity

The problem in current art industry is that we are feeling exhausted with the same, generic, and recycled stuff. We indeed already see there’s less discourse about art now. Sure, the problem lies not in the artist or medium, but is in the viewers—the consumer of the art form—and how the capitalist system reacts to it. The hyper efficient capitalist system doesn’t want to waste any more time and money trying to figure out what’s new or what’s next for you. What we love to see, what is familiar to us, the market delivers them. The rise of viral memes phenomenon in the social media pushes the market system to the point where they demand artists to create the same, redundant, easy art form. Listen to some of The Chainsmokers’ work and we'll see what music have become: the identical 4-chord progression, the same drop, the predictable riser, and the absence of meaningful lyrics. We sat down and watch over the same superhero movies trying hard to be the next Marvel blockbuster. The production companies are also happy not to pay writers extra to come up with new ideas and instead settle with borrowed old scripts from decades old TV drama. Disney's The Lion King and its heavy use of the earlier Japanese Kimba The White Lion storyline is one guilty example.

Despite it initially being an economic system and not a political ideology, it is untrue that many Marxist philosophers usher the suppression of art. While it is ironic that Stalinist policy intends to curb ‘counter-revolutionaries’—in this case his enemies—by limiting freedom of press and media; American propaganda added further so that it seems that the ideology is also limiting art and kill creativity. We all know the Red Scare in the U.S. during the Cold War saw a popular narrative of communism and socialism that is devoid of freedom of expression. This state propaganda then further become ‘dehumanization’ and make freedom of expression invalid under the guise of equality. Marx argue that total equality is not possible, and the uniqueness is being celebrated by having them doing what they do best and provide the best for their community. Thus, an individual's interests should be indistinguishable from the society's interest. Freedom is granted when the whole society is likely to benefit from an action. According to Mao in his Little Red Book, freedom of expression in art and literature, after all, is what initially drive the class consciousness. It is capitalism, not communism, that kills creativity.

If left unchecked, the threat of this feedback loop is going to cause a lack of diversity, resulting in stale content, less art critique, and overall decline in our artistic senses. Artists’ creativity that are supposedly protected by the free internet are destroyed within itself through the sheer overuse of viral memes. Capitalism has successfully turned the supposedly open, free-for-all, value-free platform that is the internet against the people into a media in which they are undeniably shaping new values on its own: the art culture that's not geared towards aesthetics and appreciation, but towards more views and personalized clicks. How social media and media industry caters to the demands of the consumer are, in Marx's own words, “digging its own grave”.

Spare nothing, not even the nostalgia

Well, people romanticize the oldies. The good old days, when everything is seen as better and easier. Look at the new art installations that uses the aesthetics of naughty 90s graphic design to become new, the posters released in this decade but with an art deco of the egregious 80s pop artist Andy Warhol, or the special agent-spy movies set frozen in the Nifty Fifties. Nostalgia offers us a way to escape from the hectic choices of our contemporary: different genres of music, dozens of movies to watch, and different fashion to consider. We choose to settle with our old habits, that we know just works. Remember how do we throw our money on sequels and reboots and remakes of old movies we used to watch during our younger days? We don’t even care about new releases at the cinema! Did you remember how Transformers 2 and their subsequent sequels perform at the box office at their opening week?

The huge sales of figurines and toys of Star Wars franchise—if we could scrutinize them enough—came from the old loyal fanbase of the late Lucasfilm series, not primarily from new viewers. Then suddenly, surprise-surprise. Our love for an old franchise deemed dead enough to be remembered and treasure soon must be destroyed to pave way for three new outrageous sequels (the ones with Kylo Ren and Snoke) by the grace of our beloved capitalism. Sadly, nothing is left untouched by the capitalism’s unforgiving corruption. Nostalgia has become a gimmick that makes people like some art more than they should, because it’s familiar. It is another way of squeezing your pocket dry.

Not that it is bad to make derivatives like covers or remixes, but the trade-offs are far too high. Consequentially, the number of original arts is now very little, because artists don’t bother making new stuff if they just aim for a quick buck. Most of the young adult novels are essentially the same lazy story progression with only different time setting and different character names. Most of them even have the same ending! No more a beautiful journey like the thrillers of Dan Brown or the epic adventures of Tolkien’s Lord of The Rings, which defines their respective times. Do we seriously want to consider Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey as a unique work? Isn’t the Hunger Games and the Maze Runner essentially the same?

If you play video games, you must have known that the trend always starts over. Game developers are making gazillions of sequels, and only a few of them that are actually good. Most are outright trash. Oh, wait, old video games like Homeworld are also getting remasters to cater the demand of nostalgic consumers. No new Command and Conquer release from EA Games? Re-release the 25 years old Red Alert because people will re-buy it! Profit!

15 June 2020 8.03 PM

#essay #writing #exposition #meme #art #capitalism

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