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hier--soir · 4 months

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raising cain | 001

din djarin x ofc

pairing: spy!din djarin x spy!ofc rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: at a private gala in berlin, two agents slip inside, uninvited. unbeknownst to one another, and working for seperate agencies, they prepare to bring the same target to justice. the only problem is - one of them wants him dead, and the other wants him alive. who will succeed? will the strange connection they feel stop them from completing their mission? warnings/tags: modern au, spy!din can bring them in warm or he can bring them in cold, ofc is named + has short hair + is french, alcohol consumption, brief + unemotional mention of being an orphan, violence [including impersonal violence between din and ofc], descriptions of blood and injury and [briefly] brain matter, murder, very brief mention of sex trafficking, sexual tension like hello, choking [sexual and non sexual], ofc has an interesting relationship with pleasure and pain, fingering [not technically in public, but certainly not in private], kinda dom!din, explicit rough unprotected piv sex... on the floor... carpet burns... okay bye. word count: 9.7k series masterlist | main masterlist to raise cain means to cause a commotion, to create a disturbance, to make trouble. a/n: my only defence is that i've been watching too many james bond movies lately. also, for the record, i love berlin. also also, the smut in this made me blush. okay hope you guys like this one x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part one of raising cain.

BERLIN, FEBRUARY

It is bitterly cold, and she hates Berlin.

Not because of the weather, although it never helps to visit a city one loathes while the windows are covered in a thick layer of ice and the ground a slippery sheen of sleet.

No, Cain hates Berlin because it has always been a city of business for her. Never pleasure, nor entertainment.

In the car, en route to the gala, a driver escorts her by the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom, the Altes Museum, and each one passes her by in a blur of beige architecture and pretty lights. Endeavours for another trip, another year, another life.

She pays her driver in cash and thanks him for taking the scenic route. In broken English he slips his number into her palm and asks if she will use his services the next time she visits Berlin. She smiles and nods and doesn’t tell him that she hopes to never return.

Her dress is a flimsy thing. One of satin and silk that clings to the skin of her arms, her torso. It curls around her ankles, just shy of brushing the ground as she exits the car. The air outside bites against her skin. Her feet ache and cry out for reprieve, strapped into a skimpy pair of shoes that pinch at her toes as she glides across the cobblestone path.

A clean-shaven man stands at the door, adorned in a modest suit and a winding earpiece. He requests her name, notes her face, and grants her entry with a strict nod and an all too brief once over. Handsomely oblivious to the comforting weight of a weapon at the inside of her thigh.

The venue is small, but the crowd is thick, pulsing with life; dense enough for her to mingle, to go unnoticed as she glides through the ground floor, blending into a mix of countless other women dressed in long slinky dresses. She wears black because they all do; her makeup is simple because she did not come to be remembered.

She accepts a flute of champagne from a man with a tray. Offers him a graceful smile and a softly spoken danke schön, and waits until his back is turned before tipping the golden liquid into a plant at the base of the staircase.

Chancellor Karl Weber skirts past her, one of the most powerful men in the German government, and she does not meet his eye.

She is patient; thoughtful as she surveys the room. She knows better than to move too quickly. She counts the exits and entries, the number of security guards and wait staff. Assesses the balcony that overlooks the room, curving around the entirety of the upper level, and slips up a winding staircase when she is sure no one is watching.

With every upward step, the lengthy slit down the side of her dress parts, revealing the soft skin of her legs.

There’s something intimate about the balcony space. Red velvet drapery covers the walls, hanging from the roof and spooling against the floors in soft crimson swirls. She takes in her surroundings, fingers twinkling across the gorgeous fabric as she walks. A slim door around the bend, at the other side of the upper level, reads NUR FÜR MITARBEITER; staff only.

Another, a few paces behind where she settles, leads to a small bathroom. Six private stalls, one with a thin window above the toilet, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Beyond it; open air, a thick pipe that leads down to the street. Perfect for scaling.

Assuming a position near the bathroom, she tucks herself amongst the drapes. Lets shadows and velvet caress her skin and hide her from prying eyes as she juts out a knee and slips a slender hand between her thighs.

The pistol is dense. Thick and black, it rests heavily in her palm as she slips a titanium cylinder from her purse. Deft fingers lead the butt of the suppressor to the mouth of the pistol. Pin meets groove and she lets it spin, stroking cool metal as she twists and twists until it clicks into place.

Ulrich Meier stands four metres from the stage, eight from the bar, and two from the closest security guard.

Another man—taller, leaner—talks down to him. Speaking in hushed tones, the two of them glance over their shoulders every few moments. Careful, cunning as they talk.

And as she watches them, her face remains neutral. But somewhere inside of her chest, somewhere forbidden and secret and soft, she feels a threatening rage begin to unfurl.

Because the longer she stares, the easier it gets to picture other faces. Men and women with sallow cheeks and fear in their eyes. Countless bodies strewn apart by weaponry they had no business being close to; rigor mortis setting their horror-stricken faces in stone.

Yes, that anger unspools inside of her. Burns through her veins like ice, chilling her blood until she feels nothing but relief as she bends her elbow and lines up her shot.

Cain does not think about collateral. Cain does not think about those standing close to him, ones who will no doubt remember this night for the rest of their lives. She does not think about his wife or his children. These things do not concern her. All that matters is the mission.

Her hands are steady around the weapon, finger poised beside the thick trigger. She takes slow breaths. Deep inhales that fill her lungs, followed by warm exhales. Once, twice, three times until she is steeled. An eye pinches shut. Her finger slips over the trigger. Meier laughs at something.

And then a heavy palm lands on her waist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man’s voice is a low, rasping thing.

She stiffens, grip freezing around the pistol. His breath hits the back of her neck, and a hundred little hairs there stand on end. She smells cologne, light and airy. Feels fingertips dig into the flesh around her hipbone. Ulrich Meier turns and walks towards a doorway, disappearing from sight.

“Take your hand off of me.”

“Lower your gun.”

Cain’s elbow whips backward, cracking hard against the centre of his chest. His fingers tighten then fall from her waist and she spins on her heel, the butt of her pistol colliding with his jaw.

He stumbles backwards and she advances on him, returning the gun to the holster on her thigh before striking him across the cheek with an open palm. His head hardly even turns before he’s batting her arm down with a stern shove.

She throws a mean fist forward, but her knuckles barely graze his jaw before the heel of his palm snaps against her chin. The blow sends her staggering to the side, head bouncing off the wall with a low thwack. She tastes blood, the tip of her tongue stings, and when he steps closer she juts her knee into his groin. Feels the harsh rush of the breath leaving his lungs, exhaled roughly across her face, and snarls.

Cain wraps her fingers around the nape of his neck and digs her nails in, pulling him down to meet the knee that she drives into into his stomach. The man grunts against her chest, his hand grasping upward to wrap around her neck. He squeezes tight, dragging her toward him before rocking her skull into the wall again, holding her there. Stars burst in her vision, her nose tingles, and she spits a low curse. Music swells downstairs, a live band starting up on the stage.

Neat curls and dark eyes dance before her. She blinks to stop the world from spinning. Firm jaw… strong nose. Moustache.

“Din Djarin,” she rasps, voice strained from the pressure of his palm on her neck. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Recognition sparks in those dark eyes.

“Cain,” he grunts, pupils like pinpricks as he assesses her face, and then his free hand is sneaking past the slit in her dress, tapping the gun at her thigh.

“A Walther?” Din’s fingers squeeze ever so slightly tighter at the sides of her throat, callouses rough on her skin. "A little old fashioned, isn't it?"

“A German gun to kill a German cunt,” she whispers. The artery in her neck pulses and pounds, blood roaring in her ears. “It felt fitting.”

“No one dies tonight,” he grits out, and it takes everything she has not to laugh right in his face. He cannot see the way her arm is twisted between them, fingers working to loosen the tiny dagger resting just inside the sleeve of her dress free.

“I should have known,” she smirks faintly, fingers grasping the hilt of the blade now. “The Guild do love to play around in international affairs these days.”

“Quiet,” he hisses, fingers sliding up to grip around her jaw now. His palm is hot against her lips, covering that sly smirk, the way she sucks in warm, grateful breaths. “Keep your mouth shut. Meier doesn’t die tonight. Not here.”

Smooth, careful, she presses the tip of her blade against his abdomen. Only 4 inches in length, but long enough—sharp enough—to penetrate through two layers of clothing and pierce the thick skin of his side. Thumb and forefinger tighten, begging for an excuse to press forward, to eliminate this new complication.

But then two things happen in quick succession.

Cain hears a peal of laughter raise from the staircase and glances past Din to spot blonde hair, a red dress, and slides the dagger back inside her sleeve. Moving fast, his hand falls from her face, body curling protectively around hers in a faux embrace. He tucks his face against her neck and the short hairs in his moustache raise goosebumps on her skin.

“Qu’est-ce-que tu fais?” she hisses. What are you doing?

“Shut up,” he bites back, jostling her against the wall once more.

Laughter dies down into awkward chuckles and murmured words. Cain peers over Din’s shoulder, understanding him then. Her fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of his neck and she watches them, ignoring how soft it is against her skin. Two women, eyes assessing them from the top of the stairs. The blonde frowns, wary; concerned.

“They’re looking,” Cain warns, hooking an ankle around the back of his.

Something soft skates down the side of her neck. Such a stark contrast to the rough grip of his hand before; a pair of lips tracing gentle kisses along her pulse point. For a moment, she holds her breath, focusing on the dull ache in the back of her skull, the feeling of his arms around her.

“Make them look away,” he says plainly, the words a hot wash against her skin.

His palm tightens around her hip, and Cain tilts her chin upward, letting the women see her smile as he lays kisses against her throat, lips parting to form a loosely whispered oh. Through heavy lidded eyes she sees the women flush and look away, one of them giggling. But they do not leave.

Meier, where is Meier? The thought jolts through her like an electric shock, and her smile fades a little.

Frustrated, she skates a hand around his body; lets it fall to the hem of his suit jacket, rucking it up until her fingers are digging into the flesh of his ass. Round and thick with muscle, he tenses beneath her grip, letting slip a harsh grunt of surprise into her ear. The women balk at that, turning to begin their descent down the stairs at last.

Biting back a smirk, Cain’s fingers trail up up up inside his jacket, around the front of his body. Down the buttons on the front of his white dress shirt, the solid muscle beneath it, to where it meets his trousers. The tips of her nails flirt across the front of his pants, and she is certain he’s stopped breathing; entire body still beneath her touch, lips frozen against her skin. Searching, searching, she finally hums triumphantly, fingers sliding over the holster on his hip at last. Hidden beneath his jacket, she fondles the butt of his gun. Slim; inconspicuous.

“Hmm,” she purrs, lips brushing the soft skin of his earlobe. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“I thought I told you to shut u—”

Din flinches as her other hand touches the side of his face, a finger pressing swiftly into his ear canal. His head tilts to the side, trying to evade her touch, but she’s already pulling away, using his surprise to slip around his body and move towards the stairs.

She smooths fingers over her hair, neatening the mussed strands and tucking them behind her ears. Straightens the neckline of her dress, ensures her holster is hidden. From where she stands, Meier is nowhere to be seen.

Din calls after her, a low warning. She doesn’t look back, gripping the railing of the staircase as she begins her descent. The gala is in full swing, guests dancing and talking in every direction. A six-piece band performs a playful jazz song from the stage.

“There is no need to shout,” Cain murmurs, smiling when she hears a sharp intake of breath through the earpiece.

She doesn’t know if he follows her down. Keeps her gaze trained forward as she accepts another glass of champagne from another man with another tray. Drinks it this time, thick hurried gulps that wet the skin beside her lips and soften the rough scratch in her throat. She wanders, looking for the man she came here for, and in time she ends up at the bar.

“A vodka martini,” she tells the barman, slipping onto one of the plush highchairs at the counter. “Dirty.”

The blonde man grips a clear glass bottle from his station and asks, “Shaken or stirred?”

She waves a hand, unbothered. “Dealer’s choice.”

He’s short with thick hair and a reddish hue to his beard. Handsome enough. She watches him with a light curiosity as he finishes making someone else’s drink.

It doesn’t take long before Din Djarin slips onto the seat beside her, suit jacket straightened out, not a single curl out of place, and orders a cosmopolitan.

The barman pulls two frosted coup glasses from beneath the bar and Cain arches an eyebrow at her companion.

“You’ve a sweet tooth, Monsieur Djarin?”

“It seems that way,” he murmurs, turning on his stool to face her.

Brown eyes assess her face in this new lighting, pupils flicking across everything he can see. His hand reaches across the bar and peels a small square napkin from a pile. Slides it across the wooden countertop.

“Wipe your nose.”

She swipes the material beneath her nostrils and spies a small blot of blood on the fabric, crumpling it in her fist with a saccharine smile.

“In Germany long?” he asks casually, nodding at the bartender when he places their cocktails on the counter.

“As long as it takes.” She wraps her fingers around the stem of a chilled glass, dragging it closer. “And it shouldn’t take long.”

He takes a lengthy sip, draining half the glass in seconds, and his eyes slip closed as the alcohol hits his tongue. Cain watches his throat move as he swallows and crosses her legs tighter on the stool. Feels her gun holster dig into the soft flesh there and welcomes the distraction.

“Alone?”

He eyes her for a second, gaze momentarily dropping to the low cut of her neckline, the swooping curve of her shoulder. “I was.”

“Well,” she holds out her glass to him. “It’s an honour.”

A beat passes as he contemplates her—her words, her steadfast gaze—and then he knocks the rim of his glass gently against hers.

“I’d apologise for upstairs,” he smiles faintly, posture loosening. “But I’m sure you understand.”

“There is no need,” she agrees easily, taking her first sip. Cool vodka slips down her throat and she allows a pleased purr to fall from her lips. “Tempers are frayed. Patience is short. What’s a little scuffle between friends, hmm?”

He smirks at that, a miniscule upward twitch of his lip. Friends.

“You know, I’ve heard the stories about you,” he tells her.

His suit jacket is well tailored, she notices. Tight around those broad shoulders of his, hemmed perfectly around his wrists to reveal crisp white sleeves and silver cufflinks.

“Is that so?”

He nods. “Cain, the femme fatale.”

“Mm,” she smirks, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. He watches the sharp point of her red nail ping against the coup. Glances down to her toenails peeking past the tip of her heels; the same colour. She wiggles them for him, and he looks up.

“Then it appears there are equally silly tales about the both of us, non?”

“Do tell.”

Her grin broadens, something like excitement splicing through her veins. “Well, I had wondered if it were true. That you have your own little… catchphrase.”

A low scoff rumbles from his chest, and his stare cuts to where the bartender stands, mixing a drink only a few feet away. Across the room, one of the musicians onstage starts up a winding piano solo. Sparse and melodic to start, he sprinkles his fingers against highest keys on the piano, and Cain focuses on keeping her gaze on Din. She never did care for jazz.

“Do you say it every time?” she teases in a whisper, eyes lit up with mocking glee. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in co—”

“Stop.”

Din’s voice is harsh, a little too loud for the quiet space by the bar. The word cuts through the soft music and has a few guests glancing in their direction. Cain laughs, unperturbed by the sudden attention, and plucks an olive out of her drink. A saxophonist joins in with the pianist, and he relaxes once more. Leans into this little game of hers.

“Don’t be a fool,” he softens, reaching over to tuck a short strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushes the curve of her jaw as he pulls away and she fights the shiver that trips its way down her spine. “Not every time.”

She laughs again, quietly eyeing the length of his fingers as his picks up his glass. His knuckles are thick. Warm blue veins spiderweb across the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his shirt. If she tries hard enough, she can still remember how it felt to have that hand pressed against her throat, squeezing.

“And what else do they tell you about me?” she licks her lips, elbow on the bar, leaning forward to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. Eager – hungry.

“I know you’re an orphan.” He is stoic as he says it; as if unphased, uninterested. But Cain’s eyebrows lift, delighted.

“Then it must be true of you too,” she posits slyly, left eyelid dropping in a wink. “No one is more eager to accuse another of being an orphan… unless they themselves are one also.”

He ignores that, though she can see the way his weight shifts in the seat and the muscle in his jaw twitches.

“A Valkyrie.”

“Common knowledge in our line of work.”

“You’re from Paris.”

“An easy guess,” she leans back, bored.

“Your first name is Nikita,” Din says then, a teasing lilt to his voice. She considers that he may enjoy this game just as much as she does.

And that makes her pause. She lifts her glass and laughs against the rim, a soft tinkling sound that rings in his ears and has every man in earshot turning to look at her.

“You watch too many films,” she swallows with a smirk. “Think French, Monsieur Djarin.”

He ponders it for a moment, lips pursed softly, gaze darting somewhere over her shoulder and then back to her face. Takes a sip of his laughably pink cocktail and licks the residue from his lips, savouring every drop.

“Camille.”

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, fighting back a genuine smile now. “I know you can do better than that.”

It’s his turn to wink now, and for one fleeting moment she feels oddly at peace with the idea of spending the rest of her evening at the bar with Din Djarin. A stranger, yes, but a little less so than the others that crowd the room.

In a career so harsh, characterised by its solitude, its violence, Cain is unaccustomed to the feeling of being seen like this. She knows unfamiliarity and discomfort and pain like the back of her hand. Is no stranger to a man’s grip around her throat, her life in his hands. But not this… this twinkle of implicit understanding that she can see in his eyes. Those endless brown eyes that say we are not so different, you and I.

Despite the bloodied napkin in her lap and the ache in her jaw, it’s enough to loosen her shoulders; to set her at ease.

But then he turns to stare pointedly over her shoulder, and she snaps out of it. Twisting around on the stool, Cain follows his gaze until she spots Meier across the room. He stands with a few others, shoulders back, eyes bright. Perfectly oblivious.

The barman slips to the other end of the counter, serving a tall gentleman, and Cain lowers her voice.

“What does the Guild want with Ulrich Meier?”

Din takes a sip of his drink. Keeps his eyes to the right, glossing casually over guests, the band, and then back to the asset.

“Information,” he says finally—carefully. “He’s of no use to us dead.”

She hums quietly, plucking an olive from her drink. Eats it slowly, allowing the briny taste to wash over her tongue as she watches him. When he doesn’t speak again, she squints, unimpressed.

“Are you not going to ask me the same question?”

An amused sound escapes his mouth, and he meets her eye again.

“You want Meier dead,” he muses simply. “But why so abruptly? When there is so much to be gained from taking him in.”

“That is not an option for us.”

“Why?” His voice takes on a harsher quality now, eyes narrowing. Mistrust.

“Did you know that name Ulrich,” Cain murmurs, leaning forward to avoid any listening ears. “Comes from the Old High German name Uodalrich? Uodal meaning heritage. Rich meaning king; ruler.”

Din Djarin says nothing.

“Did you do your research before coming to Berlin?”

“Yes.”

“Then you understand that Monsieur Meier is not simply an arms dealer.”

A beat of silence. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. “Yes.”

“He took his name personally, you see.” Her eyes float back to Meier. “Held it in his slimy little hands as a baby and said Oui Maman, I will rule. I will rule the desires of weaker men, and bring nightmares unto any woman that I can get these two hands on.”

“This is about revenge.”

“This is about justice,” Cain snaps, that calm façade slipping for a second. No more games. Din’s spine straightens. “Have you ever spoken to a human trafficking victim?”

He takes another sip of his drink and does not respond. She does her best not to remember the photos from her briefing. Not to remember the countless interviews, witness statements, and obituaries she’d had to paw through before her flight.

“Your silence is very telling,” she smiles, that easy composure returning. “But I trust that you understand my position now. Ulrich Meier will be of no help to your organisation after this evening.”

“Cain—”

“Because,” she continues easily. “When I leave this building, he will no longer be able to speak. And if you wish to get in my way… then I am afraid the same fate will befall you, Monsieur Djarin.”

A soft announcement sounds through the speakers, and they turn their heads to listen. The Chancellor will be giving his speech in a few moments. That’s her cue.

“And Weber?” he asks, the words coming out stilted, rushed. “What do you think of him? He’s known for turning a blind eye to Meier’s dealings.”

She tilts her glass, swallowing the last of the icy liquid.

“I do my best,” she places it down on the counter with a soft clink. “Not to think of men at all. Unless it is imperative to my mission.”

“And yet you’ve thought of me,” Din asserts, gaze heavy. His eyes slip down, just long enough for her to notice the way he stares at her mouth, before his eyes return to hers. “You know me. Enough to recognise my face in a second.”

“As I said,” Cain smiles, stepping down from her chair. “Imperative to my mission.”

He is still as she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his left cheek, and then to his right.

“Take care, Monsieur Djarin. I would like to see you live another day,” she says, slender hand coming up to the side of his face. Her finger taps the piece in his ear once, and she is not smiling anymore. “I’ll be in here if you need me.”

Cain coasts around the edge of the room, keeping her eyes to ground whenever an unfamiliar sets of eyes strays in her direction. Swipes a finger beneath her nose once or twice, checking to see if any blood has returned. And as Chancellor Weber makes his way towards the stage, she makes her way back upstairs, quietly hoping that Din does not follow her again.

Halfway up, a single word crackles through her ear piece.

“Amélie?”

Surprised, she grips the banister and almost turns around. But she can hear a woman speaking into a microphone in German, performing a plain and winding introduction for the Chancellor, and continues her ascent.

“Wrong.”

Reassuming her position on the balcony, shrouded in waves of those soft red velvet drapes, she watches Weber take his place on the stage. A hush falls over the crowd and her eyes move fast, landing easily on the thinning grey hair atop her target’s head. Every eye in the room is facing the stage. The Walther is thick and heavy in her palm as she ensures the silencer is correctly in place. Old fashioned indeed.

Cain’s breathing is calm, heart rate slow and measured as she raises the weapon and aims it at his head. And then, like a little ant crawling across her skin, she feels something shift. The air gets thicker, and a suddenly familiar shiver tickles its way down her spine.

Her eyes tick up and she pauses at the sight of Din on the opposite balcony railing. Almost hidden entirely by the shadows, pistol raised. And it is not pointed at Ulrich Meier, no… no it is pointed at her. And he is so handsome, even when he’s bluffing.

Grinning now, she lets the tip of her finger lightly caress the trigger. So gently, with no intention of doing any damage just yet. Some feeling akin to glee sparks up in her chest. Such excitement. The Chancellor’s voice fills the room, swelling from the speakers as he welcomes his guests.

Din’s face is placid, unimpressed, and then that honeyed voice drifts through her ear once more.

“Celine?”

Cain allows herself a brief laugh, eyes drifting back down to rest on the man she came here for. The target drapes an arm around his wife’s waist. She inhales deep, filling her lungs before letting the air spill from her nose. Calm, collected. All of it so easy for her.

“Wrong again.”

The Walther jerks in her hand, bullet flying silently through the air, and for a moment there is silence. Nobody moves.

And then Ulrich Meier’s wife releases a blood curdling scream, dropping to her knees and cradling what’s left of her husband’s head in her lap. Popping the silencer off her gun, Cain catches a glimpse of thick, dark matter across the woman’s chest, spilling down the bare skin of her arms, and then she is slipping away into the bathroom in search of that thin little window.

Back on the cobblestone street, sirens wail through the air, police cars and ambulances roaring past as she traipses away from the scene. A little flushed, a little exhilarated, she blends into a crowd of pedestrians, hidden in the shadows. She cuts across the road, avoiding traffic, and heads toward Unter den Linden, knowing it is safer to walk. Don’t be seen by a taxi driver, don’t be recognised, don’t—

“That was a clean shot.”

The words ring in her ear, clear as day.

Cain’s feet drag to a halt against the ground, shoulders stiffening. She turns, eyes assessing the busy pathway behind her, a parked car idling by the side of the road a few metres back. But she can’t see him anywhere. Countless unfamiliar faces wander by, jostling her shoulders as they pass, but he isn’t amongst them. He’s hiding somewhere, watching her from afar – playing his own little game now. Shivering against the cold, she turns and continues walking.

And then: “I thought I might follow you home.”

The words are so confident, so self-assured, and they send a rush of jagged heat blossoming between her thighs. Her heels clip against the ground, knees feeling a little weaker all of a sudden.

“Would you like that?” he asks, and she wishes she could see his face. Wants to see the desire burning in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw as those words drift from his pink lips.

“Only if you can keep up.” A little breathless, the words form a soft cloud in the air in front of her face.

Din laughs, low and dark in her ear, but he doesn’t speak again.

She walks for a long time, ambling her way down dark streets, icy wind whipping at her hair for all of half an hour before she finally reaches the street of her hotel. And all the while, she spares quick little glances over her shoulders, trying to spot him in the shadows. Her clothes begin to feel too tight, too warm, despite the low temperature, and with every step her panties cling closer to her warm, wet skin.

The hotel doorman smiles tiredly at Cain as she approaches, holding the door open wide to welcome her inside. As her feet hit the entryway steps, his eyes flit over her shoulder.

“Ein freund von dir?” A friend of yours?

When she turns, she is quietly amazed to find Din there. Gait unhurried, only a few steps behind her. There’s an easy smile spread across his face. Hands tucked deep in his pockets; the top button of his shirt undone.

“Ja,” Cain murmurs, slipping inside.

Din nods to the doorman, following her in. “Guten Abend.” Good evening.

They do not speak as she leads him toward the elevator. Her numb fingers slide against the button with an upward pointing arrow, and together they wait. Heat radiates from his body, warming the skin of her back where he stands behind her, so close yet not touching her yet. Together they slip inside when the doors open.

She presses a button, the number twelve lighting up on the switchboard, and the doors glide closed.

Soft, tinny music plays in the elevator, and they stare at each other from either side of the small space. Din’s chest rises and falls with steady, measured breaths. He watches her and she watches the buttons on the wall, lighting up in turn as the two of them travel up, up, up.

Two floors below Cain’s, he speaks for the first time.

“Vivienne,” he says. “Final guess.”

Her eyes flash to him and she smiles, the skin beside her eyes pinching.

“It’s Remy,” she reveals at last, voice so soft, so forgiving now that her mission is complete.

“Remy,” he repeats. Rolls the r like she does, hums around the y. Sees how it tastes in his mouth and steps forward, saying it again, again. Remy, Remy, Remy, Remy Cain.

“Don’t wear it ou—”

His lips crush against hers, chest warm as he pushes her back back back into the wall. His hand flies up, cradling the back of her skull to protect it from the wall. Not a third time. Despite the softness of his hand, the way his fingers card gently through the short locks of her hair, his kiss is biting. A wet mess of clashing teeth and tongues as he works her jaw open, coaxing his way inside of her mouth. A rough exhale streams from his nostrils, warming the skin of her face. His breath tastes like Cointreau and lime, and she moans.

His hand slips up her thigh, trailing past that slit in her dress for the second time this evening, until his fingers are brushing against the front of her panties. Feeling the thick damp strip in the lace, the way the thin material clings to her centre.

“Fuck,” he exhales, and when he meets her eyes again his pupils are blown fat and black with desire. Moving fast, he tugs the gun from her holster. She pauses, eyes narrowing, but then he tucks it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, simply allowing space for his forearm to rest between her thighs.

The elevator thrums around them, stomachs dropping as the metal box takes them higher and higher through the building. A finger curls around the edge of her panties, dragging them to the side, and when he finally slides through her wet cunt she sighs into his mouth, every muscle in her body pulling taut and warm.

His touch is lax, almost taunting as he sucks her tongue into his mouth and traces a digit over the drooling mouth of her entrance, smearing it up to make a mess of her clit. When she moans he presses down; careful little circles there, messy figure eights, a sharp back and forth back and forth back and forth, trying to see what she likes best. And the second her eyes pinch shut, a low curse falling from her lips, the elevator dings.

His hand whips out, slamming against the red emergency stop button. The elevator jerks to an abrupt halt and then he’s on her again. Teeth at her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, fingers moving in a slick blur against her pussy. Her thighs splay apart, and she leans heavy against the wall, knees shaky, trusting him to keep her from falling to the ground.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, the words brimming with pride, and she trembles beneath his touch, needing more and needing it now.

“Inside,” she pants, lips parted and searching for his again. “Want your fingers inside me.”

Din swallows those words down, pressing two fingers inside of her with a groan. Remy gasps, bearing down on the weight of his fingers and shivering as he curls them inside of her. Stretching her out and grinding his knuckles against her entrance with every deep thrust.

“Yeah?” he goads, watchful eyes drinking in the way she moans for him, turning her face into her shoulder as if to hide how good it feels. “You like that, hm?”

Warm wetness pools out of her, dripping past his knuckles and onto the inside of her thighs. Obscene sounds fill the tiny space as he pumps in and out of her, and she catches herself glancing upward, searching for a security camera. She spots it in the corner just as he fits a third finger inside and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, her mouth falling open with a rough groan. Her shoulders tilt forward, forehead knocking against his shoulder, and Din grunts, fucking her harder. His fingers never leave her wet clutch now, the tips of them persistently working against that soft spot at the top of her walls.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he’s saying, nipping at her earlobe, but the words blur and warble around the rushing in her ears. “Squeezing my fingers so good, you’re so good.”

She grips the back of his neck, squeezing desperately. Her jaw aches with the strain of hanging slack.

“Tell me,” he says roughly, growing impatient. Everything feels hot, too hot; the skin of her face against his shoulder, her chest, the sizzling tension coiling in her core.

“Close,” she chokes out. Din snakes his free arm around the back of her waist, steadying her loose-limbed frame between his body and the wall. “Just a little longe—ohhh, merde.”

He shifts then, the thick heft of his cock crushing against her thigh through their clothes. He presses a finger against her clit now. And that low rub, his calloused thumb paired with three thick fingers massaging into her, is enough to send her spilling over the edge.

A hoarse cry pries its way out of her throat, body shaking against his and he works her through it, still pressing down against the aching bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She pulses around his fingers, everything pulling tight and wet around them as she comes. Teeth sink into the lapel of his jacket in an attempt to muffle her cries but his arm is dropping from her waist, hand coming up to grip her jaw and push her back.

“Let me hear it,” he purrs, voice like silk as it washes over the skin of her neck.

“Ohh,” she moans, uncaring now about the camera, about who will hear. Focusing wholly on his fingers on her face, her cunt, the way her entire world seems to shake within his grasp.

He holds her there, lets her shake and shiver beneath his touch until the ebbs of pleasure finally fade and she’s strong enough to stand on her own. Remy watches as he takes a small step backward, pressing one hand over the front of his trousers and three slick fingers past his lips to taste her come. Din’s eyes slip shut at the taste, lips pursing as he sucks the remnants of her from his skin. Flushed and awed by the intimacy of it, the depravity of it, she looks away.

Her fingers tremble against the button as she presses it, and the elevator shudders back to life around them. Another sharp ding rings out again, the doors sliding open within seconds.

A few paces down the hall, the key card slips easily against her door, and she presses it open, flushed as she steps inside and kicks off her heels. She discards them somewhere to the side, turning to watch him follow her in, toes sinking gratefully into the rough carpet beneath her feet.

The door slams shut behind him and he tears his jacket off, letting it drop to the floor as he makes his way further inside. And he looks so much more intimidating like this, she thinks. Domineering as he advances on her, the thick length of his cock evident against the front of his pants. Despite him aiming a gun at her less than an hour ago, despite the way he slunk through the shadows to follow her back here, this is the first time all evening that she’s felt eager to bend to his will, his desire. Her heart races, thudding heavily against her ribcage, and he grins wickedly at her, as if he can fucking hear it.

They collide in the middle of the room, slick swollen lips sliding against each other in a mess of harsh exhales and lewd smacking sounds. Her hands roam across the vast expanse of his chest, trailing down to cup him through his pants. He groans at the feeling, hips jerking forward, seeking more more more. He rips the gun from his holster and tosses it onto the bed, her Walther following shortly from the back of his waistband, and then his hands are on her too. Fat palms pawing at her body, gripping the meat of her ass and squeezing, trapping her against his chest so he can rut his cock against her stomach. Din grips the back of her head then, thumbs rough against the apples of her cheeks as his mouth devours hers.

Thick fingers drift from the ends of her hair down the nape of her neck, the curve of her spine, until they slip beneath the back of her dress. Distracting her with his kiss, greedy and lustful and dominating – she doesn’t notice his curious fingers until they’re curling around the fabric and ripping. Remy staggers backwards with the force of it, gripping his neck. He snarls into her mouth, following her to the ground as she falls. The breath rushes from her lungs and her tailbone aches from how she lands but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even care when Din straddles her waist, chest heaving, and continues to tear satin and silk from her body. The black material practically shreds in his hands. So thin and delicate, the threads fall apart with every twist, every yank, until he’s prying the ruined dress away and throwing it towards the bed.

Remy’s fingers work hastily to undo the buttons on his shirt, but just as she reaches the fourth one, he’s gripping her hands, pinning them above her head. Din’s free hand works open his belt, the button and zip on his trousers, and then he’s dragging them down his legs, freeing the thick weight of his cock. She gasps, eyeing the angry red tip hungrily. He’s thick and long and leaking against the white material of his shirt. Her hands push against his and she grunts when he simply tightens his grasp on her, the friction of the coarse carpet harsh against her skin.

“I let you have your way back there,” Din says, eyes blazing. “Are you gonna let me have mine now?”

Her body stills, wholly captivated beneath the heat of his gaze, the weight of his thighs over her hips.

“Yes,” she exhales, mind a blur, limbs still loose and heavy from her orgasm. “Yes, Din, just fuck me.”

“The Guild are gonna have my fucking head for this,” he mutters, fingers falling from her hands to rest heavily at the waistband of her panties.

Remy isn’t sure if he’s talking about Meier or her, but she doesn’t fucking care. What happens to Din after tonight is not her problem.

He toys with her for a moment, tickling the skin around her navel, above the band of her panties, before his fingers hook around it and—snap. She flinches as the material is torn away, her skin pinching beneath the lace.

She stares up at him, clad in nothing but the pale material of her bra now. He watches the way her chest heaves beneath it, nipples painfully stiff against the thin lace.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he snaps angrily. He shifts back, moving down her body until he can pry her legs from between his, spreading them open on the carpet to display her glistening cunt to him. The sight seems to stem his anger a little, jaw going loose as he gazes down at the shiny swollen mess of her.

A thick thumb swipes through her folds, pinching one of them back to hold her open for him to ogle at.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he tuts under his breath, thumbing at the flesh between her clit and her hole.

Her face heats, heart stuttering in her chest a little at this feeling of exposure. Can feel the intensity of his stare practically inside of her the longer he looks, waiting for something.

“So take it,” she says finally, patience thinning.

She fists his shirt in her hands and tugs him forward, breath hitching when he grips his cock and jerks it slowly, smearing her wetness down the length of it before notching his tip at her entrance.

He pushes inside of her in one fell swoop, hardly giving her a moment to adjust to the fat girth of his tip before he’s pressing deeper. Lips on lips, sucking the breath from her lungs, their kiss vibrates with the strength of his groan. It tastes like relief, like understanding. And for a moment it’s just that. The thick weight of him seated inside of her, his chest against hers as they kiss lazily, sloppily, smearing spit across each other faces, tasting beneath tongues, behind teeth.

“So fucking tight,” Din bites out, forehead heavy against hers.

“Mm,” she whines, face screwed up.

A dull burn ricochets through her abdomen, the stretch more than she’s taken in a while. Remy wills herself to relax, but desire has her core tightening around him, sucking him in further and further until the coarse hairs at his base are flush against her clit and there’s nothing more to take. She loops a leg around his waist and ruts up against him, and anything soft about him vanishes.

Din’s thrusts are punishing. Hard and fast, the weight of his hips rocking her into the ground over and over, until she can feel carpet burns forming at the base of her spine, the soft skin of her ass. Every slick pass of the heft of his cock punches the air from her lungs and has her eyelids fluttering.

It’s greedy, the way he fucks her. Like he’s had it before, perhaps in a past life, and been deprived of her touch for years. He fucks her like he misses her. Like he loves her or hates her or something dark and grotesque in between the two emotions. Like if this were the last thing he ever got to do in this lifetime, then he was going to do it right.

So she says, “Harder,” and he grits his teeth, fucking her into the carpet until she’s sure there’ll be littles scrapes and bruises on her back in the morning.

The tip of his cock brushes near to the end of her, and every little nudge there has her gasping in an intoxicating medley of pain and pleasure.

“There?”

“Yes,” she begs. “Fucking—yes.”

Din works her open like it’s his fucking job. Settles on his knees and drags her ass up onto his thighs, splitting her open with every brutal thrust, hands fitted over her waist in a vice.

Up close like this she can see past the collar of his shirt. Can see thick raised lines on his skin, pink and purple scars beneath his collarbones. She reaches up and lays a hand there, feels his heart jack hammering against the marred skin, and moans his name. Din, Din, Din.

And he likes that. Releases an almost pained moan at the sound of his name on her lips, leaning down to attach his mouth to her neck. He bites and sucks and kisses, leaving a trail of deep dark marks from the hollow of her throat to the hinge of her jaw.

“That’s it,” he snarls into her skin, hand lowering to press down above her mound, and that mixed with the sound of his voice makes a fresh load of slick gush out of her. Pushes her deeper into this depraved, endless pit of pleasure he’s raining down upon her.

He tells her again, say it again, and she cries out Din, head lolling back against the floor.

Something fierce begins to brew inside of her. A bright white twisting feeling that frays and sparks like a live wire, stoked by the speed of his movement, the firm press of his hand against her lower stomach. And just as she thinks she’s there, almost there, so close, a shrill ringing comes from the sofa to their left.

Din’s hips stutter against hers, head snapping to the side to pinpoint where the interruption emanates from. A little pink phone rings and rings, the sound piercing through her ears and setting her teeth on edge. She taps his chest quickly, urging him back. He frowns, opens his mouth to tell her no, tell her ignore it, but she pushes him harder, again and again until he slips out of her with a haggard moan.

He grips her waist and turns their bodies, landing on his back with a thud. Eyes trained on his face, the dark red blush on his cheeks, his swollen mouth, she reaches out blindly, snatching the phone from the receiver and putting it to her ear.

“Allo?” Remy breathes, eyebrows pinching together as she sinks down onto his cock, free hand splayed on his stomach. “Bonjour.”

He props himself up in a seated position, resting back on one hand while the other comes up to grope at her chest. Cocky asshole. But her eyes glaze over as she takes in the tanned skin that peeks out of his shirt again, the soft smattering of hair between his pecks. Legs spread out wide on the carpet, he watches her bounce slowly on his cock, nodding in encouragement but careful not to speak, lest he be heard down the line by her handler.

At this angle his tip presses into her g-spot with every movement. It only takes a moment for that low burn to start up again in the base of her stomach. Her mouth is open wide, ragged breaths spilling from her lips as she listens to the words being spoken down the line.

She says, “Ouais, c’est fait.” Yeah, it’s done.

Din’s fingers flex around the cup of her bra, tugging down the fabric to let one of her tits spill out. He sighs heavily, leaning forward to latch his mouth onto the skin there. Lathing hot, messy kisses against her sternum, her nipple, and then grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. She trembles against him, hand coming up to grip the back of his head and hold his face there. He sucks it into his mouth, pulls it taut between his lips before letting it slip out with a wet pop.

“À bientôt.” See you soon.

She hangs up the phone with a rough clang, and then her mouth is seeking his out again. Teeth clash and she moans at the sharp pain, uncaring. Din’s grip on her waist tightens and he plants his feet on the carpet, fucking up into her at a break-neck pace. She cries into his mouth, a harsh animalistic sound, and her stomach is pulling tight, cramping up. Her cunt locks down around him, and when she comes it’s a low throb of a feeling. A deep swooping ache that spills from her core and spreads out through her thighs, her stomach, until her body is jerking and twitching above him.

“Fuck yes,” he grits out, white teeth flashing in her hazy vision. He doesn’t give out, spitting a mess of that’s it, fucking give it to me as her pussy flutters and drools around his cock. Her hips roll and stutter over his, the muscles in her stomach twitching beneath the skin, and Din swears under his breath. Her vision whites out, throat hoarse and head pounding as she succumbs to the pleasure. And he feeds off it.

“God, look at you,” he grunts, prolonging that low burn in her gut the longer he fucks into that softest warmest little spot. “Made to take this cock.”

“Say it,” he rasps urgently, eyes rolling back when her hand grips his throat for purchase, nails digging sharply into the skin over his thrumming carotid. “Say you fucking want it.”

“I want it,” she moans, back arching, knees on fire where they slide against the carpet at his sides. “Want your come, Din, fuck—fuck, give it to me, give it to me.”

His body practically vibrates as he comes. A thousand tiny little twitches and spasms rocking through this frame, the muscles in his thick thighs turning to tense stone beneath her. A gravelly shout falls from his lips, cock kicking hot and hard against her walls until she feels his spend begin to seep out of her around his length and pool around his base.

It’s almost frantic, the way his hands clutch at her body, clinging to any part of her that he can. And when she thinks he might pull her closer, press himself deeper to keep painting the inside of her walls, he pushes her away, dragging himself from her clutch just to grip his length in a tight fist.

He strokes himself in tight wet movements, a few final weak spurts of his come shooting up to land over her mound and the swollen lips of her pussy. And only when he’s done, spent cock beginning to soften in his palm, does he pull her down a little. Resting wet hands over the base of her spine to feel the way she shivers, body shuddering its way through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Remy’s chest expands with stilted, ragged gasps for air, trying desperately to fill her lungs as she folds against his hot thick frame, exhausted.

And after a few moments the foggy, erotic blur that held her mind in a vice for the past few hours slowly begins to lift. Din’s hand is on the back of her thigh, fingers splayed, tickling the skin there, and the weight of it suddenly itches. Reality drifts back in and it feels heavy on her shoulders. The clock beside the hotel bed reads 9:12 – her flight out of Berlin leaves in two hours.

His hand drifts up her back, nudging her down to rest her head against his chest. Her body aches suddenly; dull pains popping up in her neck, her jaw, her hips. She remembers the way it felt to have his palm strike her chin and almost smiles.

A metre away, her suitcase lies spread open on the floor. Clothes and lingerie and a gun peek out of the red trunk. She can see two passports beside it, stacked neatly atop one another. And she knows that his hotel room can’t look that dissimilar from his own, but it feels too much now. As their breathing starts to even out, vision swinging back into focus, this level of intimacy – having another person, even a colleague of sorts – seeing behind the scenes of what after looks like for her… it feels like a splinter in the tip of her finger. A sharp sting that won’t go away. Wrong.

Remy rests her chin against his collarbone and glances up at him. Din’s eyes are closed, lips parted as soft breaths puff out from between them. He looks tired – almost as tired as she feels.

“I’m going to shower,” she tells him, fingers brushing curls back off his forehead. His eyes are soft, warm as they open to watches her stand. Too much, that look in his eyes. Too close. “Be gone when I come out, okay?”

Remy turns, back to him as she grips the handle of the ensuite door, and for a moment she pauses. Feels the weight of the silence between them, the heady scent of sweat and come in the air, on her skin, and glances over her shoulder. Looks between him spread out on the floor and her things dotted across the room. An empty martini glass lying on its side. The blush-coloured rotary phone on the hotel sofa. Passports with different names, birth dates, home countries, addresses, and her face. She knows that has to be firm now.

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you, mon chére.” My darling.

Din’s lips curl up into a smile and his eyes drift up to stare at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She slips inside the bathroom and pulls the door almost closed behind her. Twists a nozzle until water is beating down against the floor of the shower and steam begins to fill the room. Silently, she pries open a cabinet and slips her hand beneath the sink, feeling around until her fingers grasp the pistol strapped there.

Bare skin of her back flush to the wall, thighs still wet with come and sweat, she peers out through the crack in the door. Still ajar, she can see him past the wooden frame. Sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, looping his belt through the waist of his trousers. With her eyes trained on the soft skin of his neck, on messy curls, on shoulder blades and biceps that bulge out against the thin material of his dress shirt – she leads a silencer into place over the mouth of her gun. A rhythmic repetition, the exact same as earlier. She doesn’t even need to look down. Pin meet groove, twist, twist, twist.

Din slips his arms inside the suit jacket, elbows bending as he smooths his palms along the front of it. She holds her breath as he turns, as he takes three steps toward the hotel room door, and then—pauses. Hand on the doorhandle, he does not move.

Remy’s finger rests featherlight on the trigger.

She is calm. What happens next is his choice.

And he must know this because he does not turn around. Does not try to catch one last look at her. His fingers curl around the handle and he slips out the door, closing it was a soft click behind him. The air in the room rushes to fill his sudden absence.

Only when there is silence does she exhale, dropping the pistol onto the marble countertop beside the sink. And she smiles as she slinks beneath the hot spray of the shower head, letting it rush over the crown of her skull and drench her hair.

Her scalp stings and pink water swirls in the drain, blood slipping from a little cut on the back of her head. She pays it little mind, tilting her chin up so the scalding water hits her face too, stripping away a thick layer of sweat and blood and secrets from her skin. The silence stretches, and her smile grows. He does not come back.

Smart choice, Din Djarin.

thank you so much for reading! x

#i know the fire brigade probably gets called when you hit the emergency stop in an elevator #but this is a fantasy land where i get to make the rules #my writing #fic: raising cain #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin au fanfic #din djarin x ofc #din djarin smut #din djarin fic

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impishjesters · 6 months

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hii can you please do jax x shapeshifter reader hcs/short story (your choice)... like they dont have a "normal" form nn can turn into anything they wanted to i think thatd be cool /nf

warning(s): Jax, mentioned using someone's fear as a prank note(s): I wasn't sure how to list the prank, it's probably considered particularly cruel given it's using Ragatha's fear of centipedes as entertainment A/N: I think having the ability to shape-shift and be friends with Jax is such a violently chaotic blend, and honestly I'm here for it. Gotta get your fun somehow.

To be honest, Jax questions whether you’re actually a human or not at first

It wouldn’t be the first time Caine decided to throw something new at them, though usually it’s a game or activity and not another…person?

Like obviously you don’t look like the wooden doll NPCs, but you can just uh, change what you wanna look like?

He’s entirely convinced you’re just some fancier NPC for a hot minute before you start to react in a very non-NPC way

Those wooden dolls don’t particularly do much, and they sure as hell can’t speak

The first thing Jax tries to do is rope you into his messing around with the others—just think of it, you can turn into whatever you want which means even more hilarious possibilities for pranking the others!

Now if you aren’t like Jax and deny helping him, he’ll still find ways to use your shape-shifting abilities to his enjoyment.

Even if it doesn’t result in a prank, it’d still be hilarious to see you shift into something that ends up scaring someone else or just overall causing chaos to whatever awful domino effect might happen (I mean look at the Kaufmo situation, shit went downhill real fast unintentionally)

He’s not going to be aggressive or forceful but he’ll still throw out that the two of you would make a great team in entertainment

And if you like causing hell then this baby is just like a kid on Christmas, as mentioned above he’ll use your ability to shape-shift into things that’ll entertain him—and well by proxy you

Like the time you guys fucked with Kinger

He had you shape-shift to look like himself and engage in a convo with Kinger, and when the convo ended he came over and started up a conversation, acting as if he hadn’t seen the old coot in a hot minute. Kinger was very very lost—Ragatha didn’t find it that funny

Nor did she find it funny the time you turned into a large centipede-like creature and scared the ever-loving shit out of her

Okay maybe you felt a tad bad, and sure it definitely had her loathing you for a bit—but she’s definitely grown more on guard with you around

Overall Jax finds it kind of interesting that unlike them, you are able to sort of pick and choose what you wanna look like. The two of you no doubt spent hours just watching you cycle through and test just what kind of stuff you could change into.

Caine still isn’t sure how that happened to be completely honest, you’re an enigma to him and he doesn’t like that

Jax won’t say it but he’s only a little weirded out when you’ve made yourself look like him, he knows what he looks like—there are reflective surfaces, but it’s just…weird

#jax #jax x reader #tadc #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader

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soleminisanction · 7 months

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Okay this misconception keeps coming across my dash and it drives me nuts because it means people are lumping two very different versions of the DC universe under one disparaging banner. So let me just say this to get it off my chest because I'm this close to shaking somebody:

The New 52 ended seven years ago in 2016.

That started a section of DC's history called "Rebirth" in which they started bringing elements of the pre-Flashpoint continuity back into the timeline. The first changes came in a big burst called Convergence -- which is how Jon Kent effectively manifested fully formed at 10 years old -- while other reintroductions like Kon-El, Bart Allen, Cass Cain, etc. were more gradual.

The original plan, being forced through by King of Bad Decisions Dan Didio, was that after ~4-5 Rebirth would give way to another full reboot known as 5G. I could go into detail about the plans but they're honestly not important to this post because Didio was (thankfully, finally) ousted from his role as publisher early in 2020, along with something like 80% of the higher-level editorial staff. DC had a complete creative turn-over at the start of the pandemic and completely changed directions as a result. The material being developed for 5G was retooled into the hypothetical future event "Future State" to buy the new staff time to pull together their new direction.

That new direction is called INFINITE FRONTIER. It started in 2021 and THAT is the era of DC comics we're in now. Infinite Frontier is an active push to bring back the pre-Flashpoint characters, as well as some pre-Crisis ideas and characters, while also keeping the few elements of the New 52 that people actually liked (like Jason Todd's more heroic characterization) and actively pursuing diversity initiatives both in creative staff and in creations. And outside of the big events, they're making a real effort to keep these comics short and self contained in the hopes that that'll make them more accessible. So it's actually really easy, if you read comics pre-Flashpoint and dropped off, to just pick up a series and go with the flow. Anything confusing is just a Google away.

Please, please don't make the mistake of thinking modern comics are as bad as the New 52 just because some people are butthurt their ship isn't getting canonized. There have been some really good comics made in the last few years that you should totally try! Spirit World, Monkey Prince and the entire We Are Legends line has been genuinely fantastic. The new Birds of Prey is shaping up to be a ton of fun. Dark Knights of Steel is an entertaining Elseworld. Urban Legends and Brave & the Bold have done some really fun things with shorter anthology books. One Minute War was a really fun Flash family event and everything Stargirl's done recently is liable to make you cry.

I'm begging people to give these comics a chance. It's just really sad to see them being dismissed out of hand.

#dc comics #batman #bat family #superman #wonder woman #superheroes #idk man #the way people talk about comics sometimes just makes me sad #i love comics #i usually want to talk about how good they are #and I only talk about the ones that are bad because I want them to be better #i just hate so much to see the really good comics getting published today #being lumped in with the mean spirited mess that was the New 52

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hyperfixatedbastard · 2 months

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Hi i hope you doing well. I have a resquest... more like a headcanon. What if Adam was a dad ? What his behaviour will be ? Does he be a good or a bad father ?

I understand if you don't do it. I don't want to force you for something you don't want to.

Dadam (Dad!Adam) Headcanons

we bringing out the daddy issues on this one boys

WARNINGS: none

A/N: I haven't done a headcanon type of post yet, but they're easier to write than regular one shots and I'm too tired for that shit. The request didn't specify what kind of Reader (spouse or child), so I just went with general headcanons that don't specify the Reader at all. Insert yourself as you wish!

Also, thank you all for your patience! It's been very busy for me lately and I've been too exhausted to write much, so expect a lot more of these kinds of posts (the formatting is easier and I don't have to write a bunch of dialogue lol).

Dividers

As the father of humanity, Adam had...a lot of kids. The guy lived for 800+ years just populating the earth. That's a LOT of kids. We all know how the first two turned out. That is, not fuckin' well. To be honest, I don't think Adam valued his children. It was just kinda... a thing he had to do. (When Abel died and Cain got exiled, he fr just went and had another kid to replace them.) But I am in deep, deep denial and this is for my enjoyment as someone with severe daddy issues. So fuck all that.

At first, Adam is 100% the guy that freaks the fuck out when he finds out he knocked someone up. That man is SWEATING. He's actually pretty chill if it's someone he's in an established long-term relationship with, though. He still freaks the fuck out, but to a significantly lesser degree and with a much smaller chance of up and leaving. Once he's over the initial shock, he's shocked to find that he's kind of excited. Back when he was alive, having kids was just normal because it was such a common occurrence.

This man knows every little detail about pregnancy and infants. With the amount of kids he's had? He has seen it ALL. Sure, all his information is thousands of years old, but knowledge learned through experience is super valuable when it comes to this shit! He doesn't know what the fuck a uterus is, but he knows exactly how to make his partner the most comfortable, how to deal with cravings, etc. If his partner has a problem, he's got a solution. It might be a fuckin' weird one, but it works! He'll probably grumble and complain, but he doesn't actually mean it. Bitching is just his thing, y'know? But... pregnancy hormones + Adam's douchebag-ness = feelings getting hurt. If his partner starts crying because of some shit joke or complaint he made? He's scrambling so fast. "Shit, babe, fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, fuckfuckfuck, don't cry—"

Once the baby is born, he definitely surprises literally everyone but his partner by actually doing helpful shit. Changing diapers? Easy fuckin' peasy (he does watch a tutorial online because he doesn't know how tf modern diapers work but he's a fast learner) Feeding? No problemo. Getting up in the middle of the night to do both of those things? His sleep schedule's already fucked, this shit ain't new.

When it comes to parenting and raising the kid, though... that's definitely where Adam struggles. He'd struggle with bonding. A lot. Adam mostly talks about things that you really shouldn't say around children, much less bond over. I think he'd be better at just letting the kid ramble while he's just sitting there, fully engrossed in whatever bullshit his child is saying. He's not just passively listening with little 'uh-huh's and nods, this man is active in the discussion. Have you ever heard a small child speak? They say the most random shit ever, and Adam would love it. It's peak entertainment to him. Even if it's just incoherent babbling, he'll have full-on conversations with this baby.

He'd definitely have some shared interests as the kid gets older. I think Adam's favorite shows/movies are a mix of action movies and shit like Power Rangers. He's not ashamed of it either—'fuck you, the Power Rangers are fuckin' cool.' This also goes for video games. I know that man is a toxic COD gamer boy and you can't prove me wrong. Basically, the only thing that keeps him from becoming one of those husbands that locks himself away in a man cave to play video games is the fact that he can game with his kid.

And once they get into school, he just gets really invested in the drama. Elementary school drama is such bullshit, and it'd be the best reality TV he's ever seen. "Oh, don't tell me—it's that bitch Cindy. The fuck did that little shit do this time?" He'd be gasping like it's a damn soap opera. 'Oh no she didn't!' kinda vibe.

He'd talk so much shit around his kid about the parents of their classmates, the teachers, anyone. Then the kid would repeat it and Adam would get sat down in the office with his kid like: "Your child said, and I quote, 'My dad says your mom's a bitch.'" "What? She fuckin' is." And yeah, he's not wrong - some of those parents are fucking nightmares.

If his kid got in trouble for fighting, his reaction would depend on the situation. If it was unprovoked and/or a part of bullying, he'd originally laugh it off but would be freaking the fuck out internally. He's probably a little traumatized by what happened with Cain and Abel. But if the fighting was an act of defense (whether of themselves or someone else) he would be the proudest dad ever. Fist-bumps his kid in the office in full view of the principal.

You cannot trust this man to give his kid the sex talk. It just will not go well. Like, if his kid needs advice when they're older (basically anything beyond 'where do babies come from') then he's your guy, but it's still gonna be awkward and uncomfortable. He'd probably have Lute handle most of those issues just so he doesn't have to know about his kid's sex life but can still trust that they have a responsible(?) adult if they have questions.

In terms of where Adam is lacking as a parent, there's a few areas in particular to focus on.

Emotional availability? Not his strong suit. At all. He can't deal with his own feelings, let alone his kid's. Most of the emotional support will be coming from his partner. That doesn't mean he doesn't try. But he can't show it with words all that well. He'll show emotional support in other ways—quality time, gifts, and acts of service for the most part. Like going out for ice cream, watching a movie, etc.

He's not good with discipline. To him, everything's no big deal. If his kid hasn't killed their sibling, that's good enough for him! Generally, his partner will choose when/how to discipline (with Adam's input ofc), but Adam's job is to just enforce it/not overrule it. He's 100% the type to be sneaky about it tho. If his kid is grounded, he'll go out with them to give them a break from being stuck in the house, y'know, stuff like that. Because of this, his kid forms a closer, different kind of bond than with Adam's partner. It's more friendly, I guess is the word? Like, his kid won't go to him for actual helpful advice, but if they fuck up somehow or are in a bad situation that they kinda got themselves into (drinking, car accident, etc.), then Adam is the parent they call.

I think Adam's peak parenting era would be when his kid is a late teen/young adult. 'Cause then he can actually be himself, for the most part. His personality is not very kid-friendly, so once his kid isn't really much of a kid anymore—he is so fucking excited. His relationship with his kid would be a lot more unconventional as they grow older. Like, he's really close with his kid once they're an adult. (totally not basing this off my relationship with my mom) His advice would be shit, but he'd give it if his kid needed it!

Definitely the type to text his kid more often than most parents. Mostly because he texts more like them and has the same sense of humor. Lots of shitty memes.

Also!! I think Adam would definitely make time for his partner. Date nights are a must. His kid better get comfortable with sleepovers at friends' houses or getting babysat by Emily 'cause he ain't letting parenthood fuck up his sex life.

I think that's all I got. Not sure how to end this so uh... shoutout to all you bitches with daddy issues lmao

Taglist: @little-miss-chaoss @fakeguysarehot @3sire-777

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel headcanons #headcanons #adam headcanons #hazbin headcanons #adam x reader

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d6volution · 5 months

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Okay okay so, what if, Caine seems a bit off one day and you notice, you go to his room to see what's bothering him and things progress and get yk, intimate

sure, 😌 here's a little something ♡

-------------

"Well then my little superstars! That... that will be all for today!" Caine said with a bit of hesitation, wrapping up the adventure for the day with the intentions of sending you all off.

But, you couldn't help but notice how bothered he seemed.. maybe you should check up on him after everyone disperses..

You see, you two have somewhat of an established relationship. Friends with benefits almost, but not quite. Caine is still a firm believer in being "family friendly" even when he has you bent over his desk, praising you for taking him so well.

You waved at Ragatha and smiled at gangle as they both headed in the same direction. Jax took the longest to leave being overly observant of your actions.. but he eventually got bored and seeked out entertainment else where.

You took this chance to finally rush to Caine's quarters. You knocked on the door a few times before turning the knob and peeking your head inside.

"Y/N? Don't be a stranger. Come on inside!" He said , maintaining his usual attitude, but spending so much time with him made you acutely aware that he was forcing it.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind yourself, "Its just me Caine." You reassured him hoping he would drop the facade just a little around you.

"Ah.. yes, and what can I do for you my dear?" He sounded a little nervous, a little agitated.

"Alright, what's going on, Caine? You've been fidgeting with your baton since earlier today .. you look a mess.." You commented, and he you saw his shoulders fall just before he appeared in front of you and grabbed your shoulders, causing you to jump out of surprise.

"Y.. Yes, you are quite perceptive. In simple terms!" He started loud and proud, but his voice dims to a whisper, "I need to taste you, y/n.. It's been so long that .... i've nearly forgotten what you taste like. Isn't that just terrible?" He shook you a little for theatrics.

You flushed, going a little stiff in his hands.

"Was I perhaps too forward?" He said and his grip on your shoulders loosened but you immediately shook your head, grabbing the mans suit jacket to keep him in place.

"No, no.. I'm— well I know how you are about keeping things appropriate, so I wasn't exactly expecting this." You said, and Caine seemed to be staring past you, off into space.

"I see. You're absolutely right!" You about to protest, after all you did want him want to touch you, taste you. It's been a while.

But he picked you up underneath your arm pits as if you weighed absolutely nothing, "W..Wha— Caine?" You sounded a bit alarmed when your feet left the ground.

He took you over to his desk and placed you back on your feet. He gave you a certain look, and you looked at the desk before meeting his wild eyes again. He gave a small nod of confirmation, and you bent yourself over the desk without another question. Your face against the cold wood.. you knew the drill, but— didn't he just agree with your reasoning to not do this?

"Caine, I thought—"

"Yes, y/n and you would be correct!" He cut you off again and got on his knees, "That's why I must make this quick, straight from the source!" He said and yanked down your bottoms to your ankles, and you held couldn't help but squeal as the cold air hit your bare ass.

His large tongue started lapping at your cunt without warning, and you gasped, spreading your legs a little in need. Caine wasn't talking anymore, he was intent on savoring and hopefully committing your taste to memory. His tongue nudged and prodded at your hole, trying to shove his thick tongue past your wet lower lips. The tip of his tongue seemed to get a little smaller, just so he could snake it inside but it was still girthy enough to make it a tight fit.

"Fuck..!" You whined as his tongue seemed to go on forever, reaching deeply inside you.

Caine slapped your thigh as punishment for cursing but didn't stop his assault on your cunt.

To make up for it, he focused more on that senstive bud nestled between your swollen and puffy lower lips, causing your legs to tremble. "Caine.." You whine.

His pants were becoming tighter by the second, but he couldn't give into those desires just yet. This would do. Yes, this would do nicely for the time being. He could think about your taste and the sounds you were making to him satiated until the next time he decided to take you completely.

He gripped your thighs as he felt your insides convulsing around his tongue, keeping you steady and in place as you reached your climax. Calling out his name whilst your sweet juices coats his tongue and throat..

You were leaned over on the desk, panting, and he slowly pulled away from you. But not before lapping up any other mess you or he created in the process.

"My the wonders of you, y/n! My own personal antidote." He adjusted your bottoms back onto your body.

"How are you feeling, dear? That wasn't too much, was it?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"If anything it wasn't enough.." Your eyes trailed to the large tent in his pants and a gloved finger tiped your chin back up to look at him instead.

"Now, now , let's not get too greedy! I can't imagine breaking the rules twice in one day!"

#the amazing digital circus #ask #minors dni #caine x reader #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #caine x reader smut

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pokedashwarrior55 · 6 months

Text

I gotta ramble about Showtimeshipping and Digital Circus for a hot minute before this thought disappears into the Void forever.

I just LOVE the potential of a Caine/Pomni dynamic in a one sided disaster ship kinda way. I see alot of shippers like making Caine the romantic one. Whether its Showtime or Royalshipping it seems Caine is boisterous and loud, therefore he's the haughty romantic. But he is afraid of Moon's advances, "Let's get outta here before the Moon get's frisky!". He's also an AI made for a children's point and click adventure carnival game by a cooperation in the early 2000s. Gooseworks has stated at Glitch con that he lacks alot of human emotions. I see no reason he would be outwardly romantic in the slightest other than his overenergetic and passionate personality.

I find it more hilarious if Pomni, the anxious and probably overlooked in her past life girl that she is, emotionally latched onto Caine in some way or another. Either from his personality being everything she wished she could be, bold and confident, simply seeing him as a powerful being that is the last remaining hope she has of returning to who she was, or a lighthearted Stockholm syndrome emotional dependency I dont' know. Maybe it's simply she found his voice attractive and spiraled from there. Pomni becomes angry that she's attracted to this floating teeth with eyes and just screams. Jax catches onto her little infatuation very easily and makes fun of her without outing her, making it a back and forth with them.

Caine eventually realizes his new player is unhappy and becoming increasingly unhinged very quickly. He doesn't want another intrusive abstraction, especially since she just got here, so he begins spending more time with Pomni trying to get her to chill. His purpose is to entertain and provide a fun escape from daily stress, so seeing a player as stressed as Pomni is tugs at his sensors. He needs her to be as accustomed to the world as everyone else is. If not he failed as a video game and failed is own programing. It's his duty to ensure she is comfortable and having fun.

So now Caine is hyper vigilant of Pomni's life and emotions. He takes her on adventures just for her to cheer her up, just the two of them. This is to ensure the quest is specific to her, that others aren't at risk to make her spiral further, and that he has full attention on her so he can assure her it is a painless and harmless quest, since he can always fix her or get rid of an issue if it becomes too much. All of it was just meant as a safety procedure, but Pomni sees it as coming on to her with his eagerness to spend all this alone time together. Human perceptions see it as a date, which is not even a thought for Caine. She's still jumpy and nervous and touches him alot. Like alot alot, which Caine thinks is her telling him she's lonley of course! So he gets her gifts to make her feel like she belongs and that she has things to keep her saine. Off course, this all interpreted by Pomni in a Human relationship lense and the attention deepens the hole Pomni has now dug for herself.

Eventually Caine rambles his frustrations about Pomni's behavoir and how no matter what he tries he can't seem to make her happy here to Bubble, who repeats some of his words to the cast that is mostley gone ignored, except for Jax (who already knew) and Ragatha, who finally understood what was happening and feels bad for them both. Pomni is struggling with a crush on a probably dangerous and confused AI while said AI is getting flirted with by a Human and is driving himself mad trying to decipher her strive. She steps up to actually let Caine know what he is missing and this is when true Showtime would start, with Caine realizing he does enjoy helping Pomni and Pomni coming to terms with her emotions instead of just screaming at herself for having them. From there they can have a cute, if mostly aromantic, fluffy friendship that almost borders on dating, but never quite gets there with Caine's limitations.

She's feeling claustrophobic from the tent one day and he generates a small area for her to explore stressfree to take her mind away from that feeling of being trapped. He talks about having creations both from Jax saying, "is this another one of your NPCs?" and Caine saying, "You know how I don't like people seeing my unfinished work" so he is a learning AI that enjoys creating and seems somewhat artistic, despite his limitations and bluntness. He enjoys helping her feel at home, despite the circumstances and Pomni grows more comfortable with herself by his radiating confidence, yet they can both be equally frantic and chaotic if the scene needs it. It's both a timid/bold dynamic and a chaos duo and I love it.

Ok that's my showtime HC dump byeeeeeeeee

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bunniekittiee · 7 months

Text

my sweet angel- johnny slaughter x reader

Based off of Sunday Morning by Ethel Cain. You worshipping Johnny. Reader is so far gone. Johnny is a POS but what can you expect from him? Do not feel bad for him.

ᴛᴡ: sᴛᴏᴄᴋʜᴏʟᴍ sʏ��ᴅʀᴏᴍᴇ, ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴅᴜʙ-ᴄᴏɴ, ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴ ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

18+ MDNI

Every day, every night, almost every hour if he could, he was inside of you. Breeding you, corrupting you, defiling you. Like an innocent doe and a starving wolf. Licking his chops and drooling with desire. He sank his teeth into you and claimed you as his own. No one else could have you, and he made sure of this. He scared off any of his family that would try to talk to you. You were alone, all you needed was him.

You did not have the freedom you wished you had. You were chained up in his room with an old, uncomfortable mattress and very little sunlight. A wolf kept his prey hidden from onlookers. He would leave for long hours without telling you when he would ever come back. He did not give you the respect of that, he left you wondering when he would return. When he left, you hated him and you felt it coil in your stomach. Your heart would pound with jealousy, your ears would ring, you had trouble breathing. You knew how easy it was for him to find another woman to please him if you could not. You needed him, but he did not need you. You relied on him so much, he was your captor and you disgustingly loved him. That’s what made it hurt so much. But that sickly, loving feeling spread across your chest when he entered the room with your lunch or when he was taking a break to fuck you. At least he made an effort to pay attention to you.

“Been busy in the yard.” He said as he set down your plate on the floor. “I have ta’ fix ta’ sprinkler system. It’s been a bitch.”

You nodded your head in recognition, crawling towards him. He glanced at you, tilting his head slightly. “Did someone miss me?”

When you hummed in agreement, he smirked. “Show me how much ya’ missed me, sweet pea.”

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they immediately went to his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He let you figure it out yourself. He never made a move to help you. You wanted to do it, you do it. Why should he help a miserable bitch like you?

“Best hurry it up.” He hissed as he wrenched his hands on your scalp. “Don’t keep me waitin’.”

Shoving your mouth onto him, he tightened his grip on your hair and began to face fuck you. Tears spilled from your pretty, doe-like eyes as he abused your mouth. He looked down at you, a wide, evil smile ghosting his lips. Corrupting God’s innocent.

The combination of your tears, gags, and eyes sent him over the edge, spilling his mess inside of your mouth without warning. It felt toxic, blood-hot and it coated your entire mouth. He made sure your mouth was full of his creations before you swallowed. The uncomfortable sensation between your legs made you squeeze your thighs together, but he disregarded it. Buttoning his pants up and buckling his belt, he left without another word from him. Left you with a sopping wet face and an empty pit in your stomach. You ignored the food he gave you and laid down on the mattress. Drifting off, you wondered how life would be if Johnny loved you too.

Your dreams were very empty. There wasn’t much to dream about when you were stuck in a room that did not give you much to be entertained by. Johnny was your lifeline, but you never saw much of him to begin with. He did not need you, he only used you for his own pleasure. But it would be soon before he disposed of you. He would move on, find the next best thing to satisfy him once you were dried up and worthless. The wolf had much more prey to attend to, he could not stick to just one. He said you were a special girl, his only girl, but you knew he was lying straight out out of his teeth.

Worshipping Johnny came with its downfalls. He loved the way you came and took care of his every sexual need. All of his desires. You were so willing to make him feel good. You never put your pleasure first. But he never felt the same way back. He never made the effort back for you. But why should he?

He was your God. You worshipped him. Why would he do the same for you? You would lick the blood off the heel of his boot if it meant that he would love you and give you attention in his own insane way. You thought that he liked the attention he got. Sometimes you could see it in his face that he enjoyed every minute of it.

You were risen out of your sleep by the creak of the door and light coming into the room. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out who the figure was despite how unadjusted your eyes were. When was the last time you saw the light? You knew somewhat what time of day it was when Johnny would wake up and leave, come back for a few breaks, and then saunter back for bed.

“Hey sweet thang,” he said as you looked at him sleepily. “How’s my pretty girl been?”

Your heart swelled as he said this and you mumbled back an “okay” as you blinked a few times. It was taking a while to adjust.

“I know I haven’t been ’round a whole lot. Must get real lonely up here.” He said with a devious smile. It was untrustworthy. “I thought I’d spend a bit of time with ya’. Got ya’ a friend too.”

Your eyes widened as he pulled another girl into view. Her mouth was gagged, eyes wide with fear as she frantically looked at you. Her arms and legs were bound and she was on the floor.

Your blood ran hot in your whole body and your heart was pounding in your ears. That white, searing hot jealousy coursed through your entire body. Johnny was supposed to be only yours, just like you were all his. Why did he need another woman? What were they doing that you weren’t? You gave into all of his needs. What more could he have wanted?

“I thought ya’ could use another person around to keep ya’ company. I get ta’ benefit of enjoyin’ you both.” He said as he pulled up a stool and sat down on it, legs wide open as he held his knife. “But it’s like introducin’ a baby animal to an adult one, ya’ gotta see if they are compatible.”

The girl’s eyes flooded with tears as she realized her situation was much worse than she thought. It was either be killed by him or be killed by you. It made her angry. It made her want to scream at both of you. You were just as guilty as him for not doing anything. Johnny looked at her in wonder and reached his hand forward to take the gag off of her mouth.

“Fuck you!” she yelled out as Johnny laughed at her misery.

“That a way to talk to me?” He said as he slammed her head into the ground. “Ya’ best treat me with respect, your life is in my hands, baby doll.”

The use of pet names he only used on you made you sick. Extremely nauseated. You wanted to hurt Johnny and her. Mainly her for stumbling upon the forttress and causing Johnny to take a liking to her. You were so fucked in the head, maybe fucked so stupid, that you blamed her for everything. Johnny was your God, he could do no wrong. It was her fault.

Tears stinging your eyes, you looked away from the scene of Johnny whispering sweet nothings in her ear, the same things he told you. “Be a good girl and maybe I won’t bite as hard.”

Jealousy radiated off of you and you felt yourself become dizzy from the amount of blood that pulsed through your body. You wanted to kill her for taking your Johnny away.

“Help!” She screamed as she tried to claw away from Johnny, but he grabbed her and held her down, sitting on her back instead of the stool.

“That ain’t a way to thank me, sweetheart. Ya’ could have been dinner. Fuckin’ thank me for my generosity.” He said as he pulled onto her scalp. He was getting angry.

“W-why her?” You asked out loud, eyeing both of them.

He snapped his head up in your direction. “Thought it would be quite fun havin’ the both of ya’ to enjoy.”

Your heart sank and you felt yourself breathing hard. Why did he have to bring her? In your twisted way, you wanted him all for yourself. You wanted to enjoy every part of Johnny, inviting him inside of you and letting him live inside of you like a parasite. He was your life now, but you were not his. A mere toy.

As more tears tapped onto the rotten floor, Johnny reached his hand out to your face. “Awe, what’s ta’ matter baby doll? Ya’ don’t like sharin’?”

Throat practically closed up, you could barely speak. You continued to cry, your weeping clashing with the victim’s wails. It drove the Slaughter boy crazy. He thoroughly enjoyed it when his victims cried, whether it was out of fear, sexual violence, or sadness. It flipped a switch inside of him.

“All this damn cryin’ is makin’ me frustrated.” he said roughly. “How about I put ya’ to the test? See if ya’ worthy of replacin’ her.” He winked at you as these words slipped past his lips and it made your stomach tighten more. You felt like you were going to get sick.

He flipped the girl over and began to rip her pants off, making your jealously turn you into a hazy, almost blacked out mess. You wanted to scream at both them, you wanted to kill her. You wanted to kill Johnny for doing this to you. For playing with your feelings, for being so cruel to you. You did everything right.

Your vision was blurry as he cut her panties off with his knife. He was unbuckling his belt with his other hand and the victim screamed. She screeched like an animal caught in a trap, but it was not enough to deter Johnny.

“Now now, just sit still.” He said as he placed a hand on her lower stomach, sinking into her forcefully. The screams made your head spin, you felt like passing out. He did this on purpose, he wanted to test you. That’s all it was.

He looked at you, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Ya’ want to take the knife? I see ya’ considerin’ it, doll face. Come on, take it!”

He held his hand out to you with his knife splayed out. With trembling hands, you took it and gripped it. This knife killed many, killed your friends, killed those before your friends, and it would continue its legacy.

“I think this pussy might be better.” he said, a bit out of breath. “Not as used and abused like yours.” If his grin could get wider, it sure did. His face was obscured by shadows, but you could still make out his features. Those eyes.

Envy ate away at your bones as the woman bawled. Moving closer, you tightened your grip on the knife as she stared at you with panic-stricken eyes. The weapon reflected back in her blue irises.

“I think she would be a great replacement.” Johnny bellowed out. “Maybe ya’ should learn ta’ share, Y/N.”

Plunging the knife into her chest, you clenched your jaw and felt your vision go black. You were not in control anymore. This animalistic fury have possessed your body. Johnny watched in amazement as you continued to stab her in the chest, grunting and shrieking as you did so. You and Bubba had something in common. Johnny had stopped thrusting and took himself out of her, pulled up his pants and moved back as he watched the disarray unfolded right in front of him.

You were doused in blood. The smell was hanging in the air and stained the floor. Her chest looked like ground beef, her heart ground up in pieces with the amount of times you stabbed her. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling, no signs of living in her still, mutilated body. You were on a rampage, stabbing into her stomach and screeching out incoherent sentences. Johnny did nothing but watch. Her intestines peeked out of her bloodied skin and you threw the knife to the side.

Hyperventilating, you started to come back to your senses after coming down from your blacked-out anger. You stared blankly at your hands and legs that were drenched in the gore of the woman you never even knew the name of.

Cackling, Johnny leaned forward. “I didn’t think ya’ had it in ya’! Look at that! You made a mess, girl!”

It didn’t hit you right away. You killed another person. Another woman for taking Johnny, but he was the one who had taken her. In your jealousy fit, you did not see that she was not a threat, he was. He caused this. But you were just as bad as the group of cannibals. You killed another person.

“N-no…” you stuttered out. “I’m not a murderer.”

He laughed like it was the funniest thing you had said in your whole life. “Ain’t a murderer? Ya’ just goin’ to disregard ta’ fact that ya’ killed another person out of jealousy? Honey, ya’ just as bad as one of us! Ya’ ain’t all that innocent. I knew ya’ would crack soon.”

“No!” you retaliated. “No!” That was all you could muster out. You could barely put any sentences together.

“Shut ya’ mouth ya’ stupid slut!” Johnny said as he smacked you in the face. “Ought ta’ put a lid on it before ya’ end up like this bitch.”

You cried. You wanted to hurt him.

“Ya’ know how I feel about ya’ cryin’. It gets me goin’, and I never got ta’ finish since ya’ interrupted me and this broad.” He motioned towards the dead girl. “Since ya’ don’t like me fuckin’ other girls other than ya’, selfish bitch.”

Lashing out, you lunged at Johnny. He was caught off guard by your outburst and was a bit delayed in his reaction as you clawed at his face. You were singing your sorrowful lament as you hurled what ever physical strength you had left in your body. He grappled your throat, flipping you over onto your back. His eyes were black with anger, something you had not experienced before. This was different. This was not Johnny.

You choked on your saliva as he gripped your throat. “Ya’ are quite a fucking headache. A fuckin’ miserable, annoying, cunt.”

He raised his hand at you once again, and reigned hell fire onto you. Between his slaps and punches into your body and the pressure on your throat, you felt yourself slip in and out of consciousness.

“Oh no ya’ don’t. Ya’ ain’t gettin’ off easy, girl.” He said as he seized you by your hair and dragged you across the floorboards. Coughing, you tried to control your breathing but it was uneven. Your lungs were grateful for the air it could now take in, however you were faced with death itself. Shoving you into the face of the woman you killed, Johnny held your head in his tight clasp. “Fuckin’ look at her! Look at the mess ya’ made. Ya’ killed her.”

“N-no I didn’t.” you wheezed out. “It wasn’t me!”

“Ya’ just like the rest of us, Y/N. Don’t act like God’s perfect angel, ya’ are a corrupted devil.”

Sobbing, he pushed your face closer to hers. “Take it all in. Take it!” He was enjoying every moment of this. It was payback for the outburst you had, but he was not done with his punishment. Nowhere near it. “Ya’ are no different from me, girl.”

Her body still had some warmth, but it was slowly fading. Soon she would be stiff and cold, a sorry sight. She had the same fate as your friends, at the hands of you. For a man who could not even say he loved you back. How pathetic.

Your head was throbbing and you felt like you were going to pass out. This was exhausting. Your nose was bleeding, your ribs ached from Johnny’s fists, and you felt sore.

Releasing your fiery scalp, he let you fall onto the floor. “Learn ya’ place. Ya’ will never overpower me. Remember that.” He spat at you as you moved your hand to a puddle of the woman’s blood, wetting your finger tips as you smeared it onto your lips with a whimper. He watched you in curiosity, not exactly sure what you were planning on doing. Crawling towards him, you grabbed onto his left boot, gripping it like a lifeline. Shakily, you pressed gentle kisses onto his boot. You could feel the dirt, blood, and clumps of an unknown substance on your lips but you ignored it. You moved onto the other boot and left blood-stained kisses on it. Sure, they would be washed away with other blood and grime eventually, but it was to make him happy.

“I am your fucking God, baby doll. Ya’ best remember that now.” He said with a smirk plastered on his face. That stupid smirk. The same one that lured you in from the beginning. The same one that got you into this mess. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you to the dingy mattress. “Undress.”

There wasn’t much to take off, you were wearing a now-bloody dress that was stuck to your body from the blood drying. He undid his boots and pants once again and slipped them off as you shakily undid your dress. “Ya’ be good now, okay?”

You nodded absentmindedly as he kissed you deeply. His personality could change quickly. You never knew what kind of Johnny you would get. You wanted to despise him for all the mind games and grief he gave you. The heartache he imposed upon you for his own pleasure.

He slipped inside of you, you and the unknown woman’s substances mixing together. His thrusts were animalistic, and they showed you the pent up neediness he had built up. Your blood from your open wounds and her blood had blended together into one. You could not tell the difference.

“Ya’ know I can never replace ya’.” he grunted out. “Ya’ always gonna’ be my pretty girl.”

The praise he gave you after treating you like absolute shit always reeled you back into it. It made your heart swell, your chest feel warm, and the butterflies start again. But they had turned to moths over the course of your stay.

“Ya’ know no one can compare to ya.’ he said as he caressed your face.

The pleasure felt so good. That sickening, loving feeling made it’s place known within you with the way he was acting, doting and being sweet to you. His mood changes were like whiplash, you never knew which Johnny you would get and you never knew when the next mood would come.

“Cum on my cock. Yeah, that’s right.” he said as he drove your body into the mattress. “Go on baby doll, you’ve been doing so good.”

It felt like he unlocked a primal connection in you and you felt yourself come undone. You came hard between his thrusts and his fingers working your clit. He was finished himself, slamming into you one last time before tilting his head back in ecstasy. His eyes were blown out from the pleasure.

With a few more thrusts, he pulled out and laid next to you. Panting, he kissed your forehead. “Good, my sweet angel. Now just rest. Ya’ did so good. I’m proud of ya’ first kill.”

You could barely hear him as your eyes impulsively shut. The remnants of her face reflected back in your mind’s darkness. She was watching. It was unfair how you were left alive, yet they were killed. All because the monster had taken a liking to you. That was the only reason that separated you from the rest. You would have been dead just like them if he decided to not keep you.

It was like a slap in the face to be in love with the creature that caused so much pain. Wrecked the lives of many and taken what was not theirs to take. Yet, you loved him. You adored him. You worshipped him.

“Johnny?” you asked quietly.

Small snores were your reply back. Well, you would never get the answer you wanted. You had a feeling it was better off not knowing. You let your eyelids close and drift off to your dreamless sleep. Maybe tonight would be different. You would dream of what was never to be and the woman who laid motionless in the room with her eyes on both of you. Your guardian angel.

#texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw game #tcm johnny #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer x reader

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jester089 · 6 months

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Jax Ass kicker here, it was definitely funny to see your thoughts on the purple menace and thanks for entertaining it! I’d like HC’s of them but only and ONLY if your up for it. I’m happy as is. Thanks! LOL ^_^

A well deserved A%# kicking (Part 2)

Can do! I'll read requests more thoroughly so I don't gloss over a vital thing like that again. Sorry again! Enjoy.

Caine

You being willing to fight back against Jax didn't really affect Caine as Jax never messed with him. Though Caine appreciates you helping out the others. It's strange but since Jax arrived Caine has seen an abnormal rise in abstraction. And Caine just can't put his finger on why? But then you showed up and it dropped back to the usual. *shrugs*

Gangle

Out of everyone Gangle needs it the most. She's made out of ribbon so she's easily hurt AND can't fight back! Have you ever tried to hit someone with a ribbon? It's impossible. AND HER MASKS ARE BREAKABLE! Yeah she needs some help. Your like a much needed Jax repellent that Gangle has been hoping for since she got here. But every time you protect her she feels bad cause she can't really do anything for you. But she'll try and be a bit more talkative/affectionate as you seem to like that. Do be warned each time he's stopped Jax gets more and more aggressive. So the only real way to have Gangle be safe is to either A. Always be with her. Or B. Get rid of Jax somehow. But that isn't going to happen so I recommend setting up a bed in your room for Gangle.

Zooble

Jax doesn't pick on Zooble a lot. He doesn't do her any favors sure, but I feel like their similar ages might make her less of a target? It's either that or because her reactions are never much fun to him. Well whatever the case, Zooble doesn't need much help. She can handle herself in an argument and in a fight. She could pop one arm off and have double the range making her able to hit the person with a full strength punch from afar. Still though everyone gets caught at a bad time eventually. And if you stepped in between her and Jax when something went wrong or Jax was being especially awful she would be grateful. She wouldn't show it until you two were alone but she does appreciate it. And she'll make sure you know that. Later.

Kinger

Kinger has been in the circus a while. He's the oldest in actual age and the one who's been there the longest. So he's definitely met a few Jax type people in his time and has learned how to avoid them. So more likely then not he wont need your help to often. But everyone needs help eventually. I can see Jax coating the outer layer of one of Kinger's pillow fortresses while he's inside with like cement to trap him. So when you save him he, like a true royal blushes then gives you his child's hand in marriage. But he doesn't have a child. So he'll have to do! (Don't expect anything fancier then a ring pop as a ring and a white sheet as a wedding gown.)

Ragatha

Ragatha honestly needs the help. Not because she's weak or anything. But because she's so worried about making sure the others are ok that she just lets herself be a punching bag if it means the others are ok. She's to much of a people pleaser and she suffers because of it. You two are a good mix of brain and brawn. She keeps everyone in the best state of mind she can manage. And you keep everyone as physically ok as you can manage. You make a good combo but you two can be a little overbearing so make sure, to make sure the persons ok with it. She's got a lot on her mind at all times so she wont always notice you helping her out, especially if it didn't happen in front of her or she was in the middle of something. But when she does realize she'll always thank you for it.

Jax

Two Jax's?! And your protecting one from the other?!? Error code 116832//: To many Jax's. Restart in 30 seconds. :\\ (That was a joke but like, it's a digital world. Technically it could glitch and their could be multiple of a character. I mean did you see that flower at the start of the pilot? It's clearly not a super well held together place.) (So, naturally my mind went straight to the thought being sandwiched in between two Ragatha's having the life squeezed out of me x2 in a super tight but incredibly loving hug. And naturally I'm going to write about that. Eventually. I'm pretty swamped rn.)

Pomni

From her first day here she's known that Jax was bad news. But she doesn't really avoid him, I mean she was there when he admitted to having keys to everywhere. So if he wants to find you their isn't just you can do. Until you arrive she hangs around him and is secretly hoping that he'll like having her around and take it easy on her. That of course doesn't work and by the time you arrive/realize how bad Jax is she's hanging on a thread. More likely then not your going to be taller then her. So if you see her clearly uncomfortable, with Jax or someone else if you just pick her up and walk away she'll be both embarrassed and thankful. She isn't the best at putting her foot down and stopping something she isn't comfortable with so your might end up having to be kind of an a%$#hole for her sake. (Ok I think I did your request right. If I didn't, again. Message me. Sorry but I'm not doing this for a third time. Your just gonna have to live with the two I did make. Even if it turned out wrong I hope you enjoyed.)

xoxo, Jester

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #caine x reader #gangle x reader #zooble x reader #kinger x reader #ragatha x reader #Jax? x reader #pomni x reader #noob author #not beta'd

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angelsanarchy · 8 days

Text

Righteousness of Man: Kappa x Y/N- Mini Series PRT 02

Tagging: @icarus-star @ithinkitstimetonap @kappasbbgirl @chainsawgvtsfvck @luzclarita57 @miniisunshine @romanroyapoligist @madamemaximoff06 @thirtyratsinasuit @ethical-cain-vinnel @blueberrypancakesworld @dumbbitchdelrey @loljustignoreth4t @tvgirlsbluehair @s0ulfulll @mommymilkers0526 @vomiting-blood @ultrakissed @hisemoslut @lustkillers @s-0lar @roryculkinsgf dukesofsp00ks thirtyratsinasuit

Y/n had decided to stick around camp for awhile and Kappa made it his mission to incorporate her into the family as seamlessly as possible. The two of them had a way of moving about the camp watching one another's every move.

Kappa found the way she spoke with the others and brought a level of comfort just from gentle touches to their faces or arms made everyone calmer. It was very motherly. He pondered the idea of having her teach all the girls how to be as soft and gentle as she was.

Y/n found listening to Kappa rant around the bonfire was both entertaining and educational. He spoke with such conviction that the others listened to him like he was preaching gospel straight to their souls.

"They're trying to take over. Soon enough, there will be metal rods in all of us, puppetting around like mindless robots. It's fucking disgusting." Kappa spit into the fire. Tonight's topic was based on the technological advancement that NASA had come up with sending astronauts to space but allowing them to have animatronic vessels here on Earth that could be present with their families.

The idea of robots taking over the world made Y/n chuckle to herself and it caught Kappa's attention.

"Y/n....do you have some thoughts on the matter you wish to share?" His tone was challenging and she simply shrugged her shoulders as she leaned back in the chair, holding onto a beer bottle.

"It's the American Dream isn't it? Father goes off to work while mother stays home and raises the nuclear kiddies, only now dear old daddy can be working around the clock while mommy gets to ride on a mechanical cock instead of the flesh and blood kind." She smirked. Some of the others laughed and Kappa knelt down opposite her, the large fire between them.

"No machine could ever compare to weighted flesh of the real thing." Kappa palmed at the front of his slacks and Y/N smirked.

"I don't know, I think unless you've used one then you can't really speak on its efficiency." Y/n knew she was pushing it and Kappa held her gaze. He was clearly getting worked up. His silence meant he was annoyed. It had only taken her a few days of being here to know that his silence could bring punishment.

As people started to retire to their cabins, Y/n remained in her seat, watching Kappa places kisses on his adoring flock of women who begged him to fall into their beds but he refused. He made his way towards Y/n who looked up at him as he stood towering over her.

"Left all your little minions heartbroken tonight? How will they survive without the weight of your flesh and blood cock?" Y/n continued to pick at Kappa and he grabbed her chin forcefully making her stop.

"Why would you defend the government taking over the human race?" Kappa's tone was serious.

"What?" She tried to laugh it off but his grip tightened.

"Who do you work for?" He asked curiously. Y/n held his gaze strongly.

"Technically I don't work for anyone. I'm self employed." She tried to give him the straight answers he was looking for.

"So a government contractor, is that it?" Kappa pressed stepping closer, trapping her in the chair.

"Let go of my face." She hardend herself but Kappa didn't budge.

"Darlin' if you think just because we've fucked that I won't toss you into that fire, you're sadly mistaken. I asked you a question." Kappa threatened squatting down to stare into her face.

"You want to hurt me because I challenged you in front of your people or because I think a robot cock is just as useful is your own?" Y/n bit back.

"You want to fuck something that feels nothing? That's what you want? That poison running through your veins?" Kappa flips out his knife and holds it to her throat.

"You want to kill me? Go for it." She tilts her head back exposing her neck to him. Kappa pressed gently drawing the slightest bit of red blood before wrapping his hand around her throat.

"I am trying to build a community here, something real. Something that will survive when the world goes to shit and the machines try and take over." Kappa growled.

"You think I don't realize that? You think I've stayed for the fun bonfires and fucking?" Y/n asked making Kappa release the pressure of her throat.

"You are the leader here Kappa. To them, you are a God among men. They feel safe and empowered with you and they should." Y/n could see him taking in everything she was saying.

"And you...what do you stay for then?" Kappa asked almost nervously.

"Every great man has a woman at his side reminding him of his potential." Y/n leaned forward towards Kappa.

"And you think you're going to be that woman?" Kappa challenged. Y/n shook her head at him.

"I am that woman." Her breath against his lips made his eyelashes flutter. He stood straight up and held his hand out for her to take but instead of taking his hand, she played with the front of his pants. Carefully unlooping his belt and resting her face against the zipper, long enough to take in his musk and grip the zipper with her teeth.

"Come to bed with me." Kappa lifted her chin gently this time and she refused.

"I want to feel the weight of your flesh and blood cock on my tongue..." She pulled his slacks down his legs and his cock hung heavy between his legs, slightly curved to the left and sprung from a heavy bushel of dark, coarse hair.

Y/n leaned forward and licked his already wet tip, listening to him take a deep breath in through his nose as she peppered little wet kisses over the skin, lapping at the precum.

"You want to be a God among men Kappa? Fuck the word of man into my throat then." Y/n's words made him look down as she held his eye contact while she took him into her throat deeply. He let his jaw slack as she drooled all over his cock, sucking and gargling on his thick cock. She let used her hands to stroke the length she couldn't fit into her mouth and massage his balls.

"Fuck...your throat is sinful." He brought his hands to his face and tried pushing his hair out of his eyes. He wanted to see Y/n take him down. He wanted to see her sacrifice air for his pleasure. He held the sides of her head and fucked into her throat harshly, feeling her moan at the contact of the tip hitting the back of her throat roughly.

His moans and the sound of the fire behind him were the only sounds that could be heard for miles.

"I'm going to cum and I want you to swallow every last drop. I want you to taste something machines could never produce. I want you to feel my cum in your belly tonight when you sleep and know that a little piece of me lives inside of you forever." Kappa whined as he yanked on the top of her hair so she would stare into his eyes, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. He held her gaze as he released into her throat, watching her eyes roll into the back of her head as she swallow around him. When he softened, she slowly pulled back, letting his cock fall semi-limp against his thigh. She leaned back trying to catch her breath but instead of allowing that he yanked her to her feet by her shoulders and kissed her.

He could taste himself on her tongue and she gripped his greasy hair between her fingers tightly as she kissed back. When she pulled away, he wiped the tear streaks off her face carefully and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Don't leave...ever." Kappa's tone sounded like a plea rather than a demand and Y/n smiled. This was only the beginning.

#TV Show: Black Mirror #Kappa #Kappa x Y/n #Black Mirror Mini Series #Righteousness of Man series #One Shot Mini Series #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #Righteousness of Man

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nunalastor · 18 days

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Something else that makes the "Alastor is Cain" theory so interesting is the way it would immediately foil and parallel him with Adam.

Both of them are committing murders against horrible people (it's assumed Alastor's MO is usually the worst of the worst, probably male-leaning but his hands are still technically rated E for Everyone) and openly admit to there being an entertainment factor.

But a big difference between them and part of what makes Alastor so fascinating as a character is that Alastor is self aware. Alastor from the time of the pilot made it no secret he belongs in hell, the chance he had for heaven was the life he lived before. Even if he is taking out terrible people, he doesn't display the same self-righteous attitude about it that Adam does. Trying to attack Adam, there was no "I'm going to stop your genocides and your evil deeds" it's just "I'm about to end your fucking life."

Alastor knows what he is and makes no effort to hide that, regardless of his reasons. Adam completely believes he is right in everything he does. Even if Alastor wasn't Cain, the similarities and differences are fascinating, but it adds a whole different layer to it if they are father and son.

👀

#abel hate blog #alastor #adam

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impishjesters · 6 months

Text

Time out for Jax

warning(s): Jax, temper/anger issues, inappropriate reaction, unhealthy coping methods, suggestive/implied sexual content, cursing note(s): I'm at a loss for the correct words I wanted to use in the tags, but Jax's anger is a little overkill and the reader admits to him not having great coping methods when he's really pissed off and at a breaking point. I'm in no way saying that type of coping/behaviour is acceptable, just that it exists. I also want to state that the sexual implications at the end are completely consensual! A/N: I don't know why this popped into my head but the idea of Caine putting Jax in time out only for it to not really be effective is absolutely hilarious. Plus I told my mom about it and she agreed it'd be something Caine would do and fail at.

“That’s it!” Caine shouted. He raised a hand and gave a quick snap, summoning thick iron bars from the ground that formed a small jail cell around Jax. “You sir, are in time out!”

You and a few others let out a surprised gasp. Caine had never gone so far as to actually do something to punish Jax for his behaviour, if you could even really call it a punishment.

Even Jax seemed surprised if you could get past the obvious miffed expression coupled with a few censored curses being thrown at the AI. Caine did nothing in response to the words except fix his clothes that had seemingly gone astray amidst his anger.

If you could call it that.

Caine turned to the rest of you and rushed through a more dramatic rendition of what was basically I Spy meets hide and seek, the activity he initially had started explaining before Jax’s little stunt. As soon as he finished explaining he let out a huff and disappeared with a poof of smoke.

“God dammit Jax!”

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen Caine so upset.”

“Oh, that’s worrying…”

“He didn’t give us a list of what we’re looking for…”

“Oh, maybe this thing?”

Everyone spoke over one another the moment he left, except for Jax who was still irked at being put in time out like a child of all things. “Oh c’mon this is bullshit, he’s the one who wants to keep us entertained.”

“You tried to pants him, baby.” You approached the bars with arms crossed, staring up at your idiot of a boyfriend. “I don’t even think you can pants him.”

He scoffed and copied your stance, crossing his arms. “It’s his fault we’re stuck here, he wants to entertain us then that would’ve been fucking hilariously entertaining.”

Of course, Jax didn’t feel guilt for literally taunting the entity that was likely your captor. He barely found himself feeling guilty when you did something stupid enough to make him laugh. Entertainment was entertainment, no discrimination there.

“How long do you think Caine will keep you in there?” Gangle asked, slowly approaching the two of you.

“Knowing that bastard? Who knows.” he shrugged.

“Hold on a second..” You took a step back and let your eyes roam the little makeshift prison before letting out a laugh. The whole thing was as tall as Jax and had at least enough room for him to stretch, but that wasn’t what made it so hilarious.

“What? What’s so funny?” Jax sneered, this whole thing wasn’t funny in the slightest. Weren’t you supposed to be on his side, as his partner? He was fucking stuck in this thing until you guys either finished this dumb little activity or got his attention to let him out.

The laughter caught the attention of the rest, causing them to slowly inch closer. “What’re they laughing at?” Ragatha asked.

“Heck if I know.” Jax threw his arms up and stared you down. “You gonna tell the rest of the class angel?”

It took a few moments to compose yourself, but the faint giggle never left you. Rather than answer them out loud you simply walked closer to the cage before slipping yourself between the bars, joining Jax. Caine had been so focused on putting Jax in a cage that he didn’t even take into consideration the spacing between the bars. Sure the bars were thick but they were spaced too far to really matter.

“Baby, you were never trapped.”

You walked back through the bars with little difficulty and Jax’s eye twitched with irritation. “You’ve gotta be shitting me…” He slapped a hand over his face and growled, stepping between the bars and finding himself outside the very useless prison. “I’ll kill him…”

“No, you won’t.” A sigh left you, the giggle dying down completely. At least for you, the others were still varying levels of laughter and giggles accompanied by Kinger’s slightly confusing questioning as to what everyone was laughing about. You could hear someone try to explain it to him but focus your attention on the man before you.

Jax was still agitated and like this, he would be nothing but bad company for the others. You turned to Ragatha and asked if they’d be able to handle the activity for now. She agreed, telling the two of you to return before they finished and got Caine back. Who knew how he’d respond to finding Jax outside of his time out punishment?

The others left and you turned back to Jax before offering an open palm. “How about we go to our room and let the others handle the game? I’ll even help you plan a few pranks.” If only to make sure that none of the others suffered too harshly at Jax’s irritation.

Sometimes his outbursts could get particularly nasty and would often result in some less-than-ideal words or pranks aimed at others. You’ve been on the receiving end a few times and while the first few times hurt, you knew it wasn’t anything to take personally over time.

It wasn’t healthy but it beat letting him keep everything pent up. Plus it had its rewards, Jax would always make it up to you in some way or another when that happened. The worse it was, the better the reward, and boy were those rewards worth it.

“Oh angel I’ve already got a list of pranks planned, but what I want to do is blow off this steam in other ways.” He jabbed a thumb behind himself. “Get walkin’ sweetie.”

Oh, this kind of blowing off steam was your favourite. Double reward in your book.

“Yes sir.”

Jax let out a low growl before following close behind. He’d definitely make it up to you for getting him out of that, his own anger clouded his judgment, and had it not been for you he’d still be stuck there. No, he was going to blow your back out and then reward you with a long, tender round two.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #jax #jax x reader #tadc jax

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that-weird-mime · 6 months

Text

WELCOME TO THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

Wait, did we say circus? That can't be right.. This place is more of a freakshow than a fun place with clowns and tricks! So let me try again.. Welcome to the Amazing Digital Horror. Enjoy your stay.

TADH is a silly TADC au me and my good friend cartooemcanhis made! Where Caine isn't like is usual friendly self, and there are abstractions around every corner.. Abstractions that do a little more than just glitch you when they attack.. Anyways, enough about those loathing pieces of insanity! Now we have the active players.. Jax, Gangle, Ragatha, Zooble, Kinger, and out newest, Pomni! Doing deadly missions and surviving abstraction attacks for your entertainment (and their own survival)!

Will they survive? Who knows! But trust me, it'll be a good watch.. (My dear co-conspirator will be making a post with more info on the plot, along with character info I think! Check them out!)

#the amazing digital circus au #the amazing digital circus #tadc fanart #tadc ragatha #tadc jax #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc pomni #tadc zooble #the amazing digital horror

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shesjustanothergeek · 3 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-One

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: This will be a heavy one, besties. We're getting into the story's darker and potentially triggering side, so I've given more detail than I usually do about warnings. Also, the song Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain heavily inspired this chapter, and I really, really recommend listening to it to connect with the reader. Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter Warnings: graphic depictions of dissociation, seizures, sexual assault, misogyny, incontinence, attempted rape, power imbalances, and murder. You have been warned.

Red Butterflies Meanings: courage, passion, the life-death cycle, fire, and survival.

"Even the iron still fears the rot

Hiding from something I cannot stop

Walking on shadows, I can't lead him back,

Buckled on the floor when night comes along..."

- Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain

Arryk's head spun when he finally reached White Sword Tower, his armor bearing the weight of his emotions as he yanked the knots that held them together, discarding it haphazardly across his chamber. The more he thought of what he witnessed, the more his head pounded, the pain building inside until he could no longer stand it, and vomit spewed into his chamber pot.

He was an imbecile, a fool, no better than the court jester who embarrassed themselves for others' entertainment.

Arryk knew that you and Prince Aegon were close. You spent most of your days with him or Helaena as any kin would, but he should have learned, paid closer attention, and protected you from the Prince's ensnarement.

Sometimes, the knight would notice the Prince too close, a hand resting in an unusual spot or a stare lingering far longer than what was proper, but he thought nothing of it. You were a capable woman. You were far better at standing your ground than any other noblewoman regarding a male's advances. He saw for himself with the Lord Reaper of Pyke.

Perhaps that was a lie. Maybe you were not the strong woman he believed. Maybe you rejected advances because your sights were set on someone else, your heart on someone else, not because you held your honor to a high degree. You made your own choices–made your bed. You could save your own against the vices of the opposite sex yet make the choices of a hoydenish woman, and that was what Arryk sinkingly realized.

It was your choice.

***

Your chest felt hollow as you stared out a paned window in Aegon's chambers as he laced the back of your dress. The hours after Arryk's intrusion were spent inside the Prince's rooms listening to his apologies. His pleas and snivels were disregarded as you stared at the vast expanse of King's Landing.

"I'm so sorry," he cried, rubbing his tear-stained cheeks into the crook of your neck. "I am a fool. I should never have done such a thing. I-I should have protected your honor," he stuttered, swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth. "Please, speak to me. Yell at me, strike me, please just anything."

Your emotions had switched off like the flicker of a candle flame, tears long dried and left to crack on your skin. "What is there to say that you have not?"

Aegon sobbed further into you in admission, the weight of his actions lowering him to the floor as he crumbled at your feet, shoving his face into your thick skirts. He reminded you of his son who screamed and wailed if you ignored him, the same soft, wavy blonde hair below you, begging to be touched.

You did not feel anger towards the Prince. It would have been better if you did, but you could not force it in spite of your best efforts. It felt like nothing. No simmering rage threatened to boil, no sadness or embarrassment pulling at your gut. No emotion. Simply and utterly nothing, and it felt wrong. You needed to show something to sense anything.

Imagining all the hardships you faced, Ma's abandonment and the death of Lyra and Sara proved fruitless. Only when Aegon became too grabby and pinched the flesh of your thighs then did you feel something.

Pain.

It was the sensation that guided the victories of some and the downfalls of others. It brought you back to reality, feeling Aegon's rapid breathing on your wrist and realizing you had not been inside your body despite your mind moving.

"All will be forgiven with time," you decided, hand moving to stroke the fine strands on your fair-haired boy's head, "but you must swear to me you shall never do such a thing again. You will work on yourself to find what causes you to commit such atrocities. I cannot mend what has been broken if you do not know what needs to be."

You sensed Aegon's gaze on you before he spoke, nodding profusely. "I will, I will! I will do anything for you, my love!" he simpered, rubbing the tears and mucus from his lips.

"No, Aegon," you said firmly, his eyes snapping to his bleary ones. You must do this for yourself. Not for me."

He knew better than to speak again, for the only words he would utter would debase himself further, so he bobbed his head and pulled your legs closer in a mock embrace. He loved you so... so much.

"I must confront Ser Arryk about this," you began, your voice one of practice. "You will need to be the unmoving rock that the waves crash against for me. Arryk is furious and I fear he will say things that might hurt me far worse than any blow."

"I shall kill him if he tries to," Aegon declared with a fierce glint in his eyes.

While it pleases you to no end, the depth of his affections is unnecessary.

"No," you stated firmly, bending at the waist to pull your lover up to his full height, "you will do no such thing. I need your support, not your wrath."

He stared at you sternly as if ready to take up arms and defend your honor, and it warmed your heart, finally feeling something other than empty. You smiled delicately, the tug barely there as you kissed the wrinkles between Aegon's pale brows, smoothing his unruly hair.

"I love you," the words were like an oath as if this was the first time you had uttered them, "more than I could ever explain. I want you to remember that. Always."

Aegon was speechless, taken aback by the sudden gravity of your confession that he had already heard many times before. He knew he could only show his appreciation in one way when words were useless. Kissing your lips with a breathless intensity that nearly knocked you off your feet, he slowly kneeled before you.

The Prince wrote his apologies with his tongue on your cunt, drank the sweet nectar from between your legs gratefully, and once you peaked, digits twisting and pulling his silver hair, he thanked you and begged to allow him to do it once more.

***

It was nearly impossible to track Ser Arryk after he left; even asking his twin brother led you to no answer. There was one place he could be, but you could not set foot in White Sword Tower. The mere thought of it stole the air from your lungs. Instead, you found it less vexing to wait until his inevitable appearance. After all, he swore an oath to you, and those who broke them received punishments worse than death.

Searching for your sworn shield, you ran into some welcoming faces and some not. Young Dyana was the first for you to greet along with another nursemaid now carrying the nearly fluent Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Your littlest cousins were ecstatic to see you, almost knocking you to your knees as they squealed in delight, telling you of their day. Prince Jaehaerys declared with such vehemence that he would be as skilled as a swordsman as you, and when you brought up his Uncle Aemond, who was just formidable, he shook his head.

"There are a lot of Uncle Aemonds," he said, "there are no yous."

No matter the circumstances, the twins always make you smile. And just the same, Larys Strong's appearance asking you to share a bottle of wine regarding the previous subject he discussed always makes you scowl.

It was the hour of ghosts before the guard change, forcing you to stay awake with needlework in your hands. You applauded him for choosing such a late time, but he underestimated your will, as men often find themselves victims of.

And that was where you found yourself, staring into the once kind, soft blue eyes, now cold, impenetrable, and filled with venom.

Ser Cargyll's reaction confused you. He was your protector, not your father, but even then, you were optimistic that Daemon would be proud of what you had done. Was it because he only knew of the Aegon spoken of in rumors? The one who ate, drank, whored, and gambled in gluttonous amounts. Did he think you needed protecting from the contents of courtly gossip?

"I understand your apprehension about Aegon," you began, taking a deep breath and readying yourself for a monologue, "but I can assure you I can handle a spoiled prince."

"I have no doubt in that," Ser Arryk huffed, crossing his arms with a sneer. You were physically taken aback, your head shaking as if he struck you in the face. "Seeing as you took his cock like a common Flea Bottom whore."

Mouth gaping like a fish, you gasped, surprised at the gull of your sworn shield. The man who had comforted you after the abuse you received from Septa Mariam was insulting you and, in a way, he knew would hurt you deeper.

"I beg your pardon?" you questioned aghast, eyes wide as the conversation between friends turned to one of enemies.

"What? Did he fuck you deaf too?"

You sighed heavily, mouth in a deep frown as you glanced away, attempting to comprehend how to proceed. Anger was slowly rising within you, like the tide of Blackwater Bay, but you refused to let it control you. "I see," you answered dejectedly, "you believe like the rest of them... the rumors." It hurt to finally confront someone who thought of Aegon so lowly, having been woefully unprepared for the sheer hostility. "But you must put your trust in my judgment not to love someone who is so wretched."

"I loved you. I swore my life to you, my blood to you, and yet..." he paused, clenching his chestnut-beard jaw before cracking, "You desire a monster."

Arryk's statements befuddled you, causing you to let out an ugly guffaw. "You speak of oaths, yet your words are empty. Did you not promise to stay by my side no matter the cost? To spill your blood and offer guidance when needed and when not?" He gave you no response, his stare filled with all the hatred of the Seven Hells. "You are sworn to me!" You shouted in desperation, arms gesturing with each passionate phrase he refused to answer with only disgust.

"I am sworn to the King," he answered like a blade cracking through your ribs.

"You are an oath breaker, Ser Arryk Cargyll. Men have been punished more for less," you declared with ire, your voice husky from your previous statements.

Arryk understood what you meant by those words—the unspoken outcome of death to those who returned to their promises.

"You would never punish me," he flatly stated as if he had just said a mundane fact about the weather.

You nodded in acquiescence, sucking your cheek as if you tasted something vile. "You are correct. I am not the vile bastard people claim me to be. I do not betray and break promises I have sworn before the Old Gods and the New! Do not go back on your words simply because of your own emotions."

"I love you! I care about you morning and night, not him! I've been the one to weather the storms of your life! I have protected your honor from those who thought to use it because I believed you were kind and good!" he yelled, blue veins popping from his pale neck. "I thought of breaking my vow to the King for you! Creating a life for us where you would be free of judgment and duties, from the whispers and gossip of nobles, but you-"

"You speak as if it is my fault for your fantasies, that I gave you love letters and kisses and sang ballads." You refused to accept any blame for this. "You are a man and responsible for your own emotions, not me. Take your leave and return when you have come to your senses," you declared with finality.

He acted like a petulant child- far worse than you had ever seen Aegon. The man seemed entitled to your emotions as if you owed him for not reciprocating his feelings.

Arryk could not stand this. How could you be so selfish and uncaring? He loved you. He loved you! Why didn't you love him back?

"You are your blood," he spat, raising a gloved finger in ridicule, "a harlot and a monster."

It felt as if you got a blow to the chest, arms wrapping securely around yourself. You loved your Father and your Mother; they were good people. So why did it hurt?

Ser Arryk left without another word, large oak doors slamming shut behind him. He entered without hesitance when he reached another set of intricately carved wood, fitting that of only those who lived in Maegor's Holdfast.

The Queen sat within her solar, a cup of evening tea resting on a saucer in her lap. She wore her dressing gown, staring idly into the warmth of the fire as Ser Arryk's presence caused a start. Ser Criston stood not too far from Alicent, the hand on the pommel of his sword as he began to scold the knight.

"Ser Cargyll, what is the meaning of this?" Criston questioned, irritation laced in his words. Arryk had not realized he was out of breath until he attempted to speak, words becoming difficult to create. "I must speak with her grace. Tis a matter of great urgency."

Ser Criston bristled, scowling as he stood tall in the face of the disheveled knight. "You may speak to her highness on the morrow. It is too late for audiences and hardly proper."

Arryk sucked in a breath as he readied to protest but was stopped short by the rise of the Queen's hand. Her protector stared at her in confusion, telling with his eyes that he was not pleased with her allowance of this.

"Please, ser," Alicent spoke with her smooth alto, gesturing to the area before her.

Ser Arryk took a few calming inhales, wanting to speak as eloquently before the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, giving her a brief bow. He was unsure of how to word it. He knew if he spoke with the scorn he felt within, Alicent might not perceive the honesty of his confession and take it as an upset man with bruised pride.

"I have served as a steadfast member of the Kingsguard. I have not shied away from any challenge nor dishonored him," he began, the rise and fall of his chest steady. "I did not cower when your father, the Lord Hand, tasked me with protecting the King's granddaughter. However, lately, there have been revelations that have caused me to question where my loyalties lie. I seek your guidance, my Queen, regarding the Princess." The Queen stared at him with concern, brows wrinkled, and plump lips pursed.

"I happened upon your son, Prince Aegon, and the Princess within his bed chambers."

Ser Criston could not hide his shock, glancing at Queen Alicent to see her unphased reaction. "I initially believed the situation to be non-consensual, but her grace explained that it was not, that they are in love. It worries me that if word should travel and Prince Daemon discovers the relationship, I should be punished for not protecting her honor."

He purposefully hid the valid reason for his appearance, knowing he could be punished if he revealed it.

Alicent inhaled, silently relieved that someone else shared her concerns regarding you and her son. She placed her tea on the foot table before her, gently wiping the corners of her lips and clearing her throat.

"I understand your concern, Ser Arryk. Who all knows of this?" she inquired with a frown.

"Just my brother, Erryk, and I. He has known for some time but protects the Prince's secrets."

"I see," she responded, voice resigned. "I thank you most graciously for coming to me. You have done your duty well, ser. You needn't shoulder this burden any longer. I shall take care of the matter. You may take your leave."

The knight bowed his head, the weight on his chest still there, but not for political affairs, as he swiftly exited, thanking the Queen for her time.

Criston studied Alicent once the knight left, eyes scanning over her form. He could tell from the years of servitude when she was hiding something, her fingers begging to pick at her digits, but being the ever-dutiful protector, he remained silent.

The Queen stewed in the quiet, her teeth gnawing on her plush lip. Endless outcomes ran wild through her mind, all of them creating a ball of anxiety. Finally, when she was too far lost in her thoughts, she grabbed her tea and took a calming sip.

"Ser Criston," she spoke, startling her sworn shield, "please summon Lord Larys. I wish to speak with him."

***

You found yourself within the Godswood as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the golden leaves of a Cottonwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make within the darkness, only able to see the outlines with the dusting of stars, but they gave you comfort. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark, grass crunching beneath your boots.

You recalled your first time within the Godswood since arriving in King's Landing, trying to seek peace yet being disturbed by a drunk and blubbering Aegon. The memory pulled a smile onto your cold cheeks, a nostalgic feeling coming over you as you thought of your time under the Heart Tree together. It felt like an age ago now. Such foolishness you did then...

You hadn't returned to Aegon yet, needing time within yourself to fully comprehend such a betrayal from your knight. It was still raw, the wound gaping and pooling with blood as it seeped into the sod below. Arryk hurt you far more than you ever thought him capable.

Your relationship with the knight began purely logistically. You needed to gather as many allies as possible, and you had succeeded by having your maids, Madam's web of spies in the Keep, and a Prince and Princess. The now missing piece was a protector. Some of you desired to march to the Commander of The Kingsguard, Ser Harrold, and tell him how Arryk had betrayed his oath in more ways than one, but you could not.

You had unknowingly shattered Ser Arryk's heart, and some part of you that had grown fond of the knight was pained because of it. You were confident that he would return once he fully understood you did not mean to do so and would forgive him.

Suddenly, a quiet cracking noise came from the far corner of the Godswood. Your head snapped, and your hand instinctively went to your dagger. Instead of a foe, the metal and glass shack of Helaena's butterfly hut stood, the rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunk becoming louder as you trekked across the yard.

You observed in awe as a newly hatched butterfly, a mix of red, black, and tan, white dots that looked like eyes, flapped its inexperienced wings, repeatedly flying into the glass wall. Your heart broke for the insect, glancing at the door. If you unlatched the shack, you could free the singular insect for a time of freedom beyond its transparent cage but doom the rest of the cocoons to the frost. Or you could leave it to be the only one that dies, continuing the life cycle for the dozen other insects evolving into their destined form.

You stared at the lone creature for a moment, your teeth tugging at your lip before making your way to the inside of the Red Keep.

***

When you entered your hall, seeing no guard at the door was surprising. Usually, you expect to catch a member of the Gold Cloaks fast asleep outside your door, especially if Ser Arryk was not posted. You did not think the knight was so careless as to leave a member of the royal family unguarded, but people acted out of character in anger, so you did not hold it against him.

Upon entering your chambers, you found the cause of the missing protector. Lord Larys Strong sat at your dining table, the flagon of wine he promised glinting in the candlelight.

"I see now why there is no guard at my chambers," you began, eyes scanning the Lord for any potential threat. "Did you pay him or offer a girl indebted to you?"

Larys grinned, mirth in his stare, and bowed his head as his palms rested on the firefly of his cane. Would it be so terrible if you broke the thing?

"Princess, you speak so lowly of me. Words like that wound a man's heart." He brought his hand to his chest, emphasizing the mock pain. "I have come to have that drink with you."

You stared at him skeptically, your eyelids slit as you placed your fur coat across the back of an empty chair at the table. "I do not recall agree to such an invitation," you spoke, taking your seat and peering into the red liquid inside the glass.

Larys took his drink, lifting his cup in a slight toast. You followed his actions, sipping the cup demurely as only an action of politeness. It stunned you momentarily that the Lord had chosen your favorite Essosi wine, flashing him a tight-lipped smile as he watched expectantly. "I do hope your only reason for being here is not regarding our previous conversation. My mind has not changed."

"I understand it has not, Princess, but I want you to understand that I have yet to fail the Queen and do not intend to do so now," he responded with a stern furrow of his brow.

Rolling your eyes, you groaned, taking another sip of your wine before speaking. "I am not leaving King's Landing, and that is final. Queen Alicent knows now that I shall not, and neither of you has the power to do so." You stood from your chair, fists on your hips as you leaned against the oak table, looking down at the crooked man. "I am here in my Mother's stead. You recall the Lords trying to remove me from the Small Council and how it faired?"

The Master of Whispers nodded in recollection, crossing his ankles as he gazed above at you, his mousy brown hair falling behind his ears. "I remember that, indeed. It was quite a sight," he chortled, "you inspired enough courage in the King to leave his sick bed, and not even the namedays of his children could do that."

You giggled at his words, but it quickly became a cough, your mouth dry as you took a swig of the Essosi wine to coat your throat. "Yes, and you remember his words? That I'm to be retreated as an extension of Princess Rhaenyra. You would not remove the heir to the Iron Trone from her rightful seat?"

The Strong Lord hummed through his nose, taking a drink in silence, his beady stare on you. Something was always hidden with his gaze as if he knew the very thoughts inside your head. You grew uncomfortable as your mind wandered, fidgeting with the golden rings on your fingers. The betrayal of the Red Keep was profound, which you understood from a very young age and was the whole purpose of your prolonged stay here, but it still amazed you when you met it head-on.

The only reason for the questions around your Mother's legitimacy as heir was the fact that she had a cunt instead of a cock. The ruling lords feared what change Rhaenyra would cause with her rule. It threatened the centuries of tradition they had created, a tradition that served to their advantage. If a woman ruled the Seven Kingdoms, what would that mean for them? What would it mean for all the eldest daughters tossed aside in favor of a younger son?

It would mean women would no longer be the property of their fathers and husbands. They could not barter and sell for their advantage. It would tell women they weren't the lesser sex; they were not subservient but equal, and that threatened men's power.

"My Mother will create a new order for the realm, Lord Larys," you declared flippantly, your palms becoming sticky. "She will not be the exception but the rule, and you will either bend the knee for her when the time comes or lose your life." You raised a brow as if to invite challenge, daring the Lord to say the treasonous words that were written across the lines of his face.

Larys smirked as always, sighing as he twirled his cane between his digits. "We shall see," he stated wistfully, eyes trained on the object in his hands.

You moved yourself off the table to protest but nearly fell, an abrupt burning sensation radiating within your gut, catching you unaware. Groaning, you cradled your stomach and rested on the wood for support. You felt your body begin to weaken with every minute of discomfort, a sudden onset of symptoms that reminded you of when you ate tainted food. Grunting, you glanced at Larys, the man now observing you with an expecting look in his blue eyes.

"I apologize, my Lord. I believe I may have eaten something foul today," you gritted out, sweat beginning to seep from every pore in your body. "Please, excuse me and we shall reconvene at another time."

"No, Princess. I intend to stay. As I have said, I have yet to leave my Queen's wishes unfulfilled, and you are no different."

You stared at him perplexed, vision going blurry momentarily as a stabbing pain scorched your insides, and suddenly it all made sense.

Your gaze quickly flickered over to the half-drank cup of wine, the absence of a guard, and Larys' calm demeanor. You could see it in his eyes, the same cold, icy gaze as he watched your knees buckle beneath you. Pushing yourself off the table, you made your way for the exit. You would not sit idly and allow this man to escape with whatever he had done. You would fight until your heart finally ceased to beat.

The Lord stuck out his cane before you gained enough distance, causing your knees to crash against the stone floor, pain radiating throughout your body.

You whimpered pitifully, the sound causing shame to rise as you attempted to push yourself up, but your arms gave out, collapsing again. Larys stood from his chair, his dragging gait and rhythmic tapping of wood creeping up behind you as you turned to face him, back pressed to the cold floor.

"Tell me," you rasped, the mere act of speaking creating a combination of exhaustion and nausea, "what have you done?"

He peered down at you through the end of his nose, the tip of his cane pressing into your chest as you pushed your body away. You couldn't catch your breath, a buzzing within your ears sounding as Larys began to speak.

"I saw you, the morning of Ser Lorgan's death, in the lower quarters of White Sword Tower. I followed you in." He lowered himself to the ground next to you, your limbs unable to move as a helpless terror rose within your heart. "I saw what you did, Princess. You murdered an innocent man, severing his head from his body, and when finished, sat at the table, you broke your fast."

Tears cloud your vision, leaking from your eyes with abandon as you struggled to breathe, the once thoughtless task becoming laborious. He knew all this time that you were the killer the scullery maids feared at night, yet he said nothing. He could have easily used that knowledge to blackmail you from Kings Landing. So why... why did Larys Strong choose death? What could he possibly gain from your murder?

Larys' hands made their way to your skirts, sliding the thick fabric you once held pride in up your legs. You could not feel the sensation, nor your lower limbs, horror tearing at your mind as his fingers went to your stockings next.

"Stop," you inaudibly muttered, mouth full of lead. "Make it stop."

You were praying to anything, anyone who would listen to your cries– any god, Old or New, the Seven, Valyrian, Pentosi, the Drowned, anyone who would help save you from this fate. It was not enough that Larys had incapacitated you; he had to defile you, too.

"I was confused, at first, why you would seemingly murder someone at random. It took time, but eventually, a connection was made. Ser Edder and Lorgan were the ones that punished the two women who attempted to help you flee all those years ago." Larys removed your boots and stockings, baring your unmoving limbs for his eyes to feast upon. "Lyra and Sara I believe. A whore and a maid."

He stroked his thumb over the arch of your foot, admiring the concave flesh as he brought it to his lips. You gagged, abdomen lurching as you turned your head to the side, a mixture of blood and digested food spewing from your mouth and onto the floor beside you. The vile man proceeded to cherish the soles of your feet as one would a jewel, nuzzling his face into them as he licked a stripe from your heel to toe.

"Make it stop. Please, I've had enough," you cried, the words only a murmur.

There was fear within you, but what overshadowed it was sadness. You had finally found the happiness you craved, the missing piece within your life that would ultimately make you whole, and now it would be taken away. You did not mourn for the loss of life. You wept for Aegon, Luke, Jace, Joffery, Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, your Mother and Father for the years you would miss, for the events you would never see.

You would never see the twins grow into adults, little Aegon and Viserys speak their first words, or the babe growing within Helaena's belly. You would not see Aegon become the man he was meant to be, to watch him blossom into the loving father and husband he was always capable of being. You feared what would become of him without the one he depended on. Would all your planning and sacrifices be for naught?

Larys glanced back up at you, noticing the pile of gore beside your head, stained lips and tears, smiling as he gingerly placed your foot down, proceeding his assault onto the next.

You were relieved to some degree that you had lost all sensation in the lower half of your body, a welcomed gift from whatever poison he chose.

"You poor thing. Sweet, mourning lamb, there's nothing you can do. It's already been done," he cooed, leaning above you to brush a strand of loose ebony hair sticking to your forehead. "The poison will kill you soon, and you shall not remember a thing," he declared, kneeling as he shoved himself between your legs, undoing the laces of his breeches.

"Poison Hemlock is often mistaken for carrots by young children in the Riverlands. 'Tis a volatile thing. Sometimes, it starts with vomiting, tremors, and uncontrollable movements of the muscles, but one thing is for certain: you will die tonight, Princess, alone and at the mercy of a man who you think yourself above."

Your heart began to race impossibly faster as Larys shifted your skirts, pulling the knot of your small clothes and dragging them down your legs. He brought the sweat-soaked fabric to his nose, burying his face as he inhaled your natural scent. It sent another wave of disgust, coughing up excess saliva and leftover blood as you choked.

Suddenly, you felt as if a wave rolled through your head, an intense pressure pounding inside your skull as you lost all the breath within your lungs. Larys looked up at the noise, seeing your horror-stricken gaze as your body went rigid, your eyes involuntarily rolling back until he saw nothing but the whites of them. Your body began to convulse uncontrollably, your mind losing consciousness and control.

Larys sneered in distaste at the abrupt cut off to his fun, adjusting himself more comfortably between your legs. He had hoped there would be more time before the hemlock took full effect, but this would have to do. At least he would no longer hear your pathetic mewls of protest.

He waited patiently until the tremors subsided, leaning back on his haunches as he observed the pink bubbly froth seep from your mouth, tearing his aching cock from his trousers as he began to stroke himself to total hardness.

Larys felt the warmth of liquid on his knees before he saw it, a puddle of urine soaking through the material of his breeches as he moved your legs over to the side. He was disgusted with his now urine-soaked clothes, insulted that you would do such a thing as if you had control over it, standing with the help of his firefly cane. He peered down at your still convulsing form, intrigued by your body's lack of control despite your unconsciousness.

It was disappointing that he could not derive some pleasure from his actions. It left him woefully unfulfilled, but he was satisfied enough to have kept his promise to the Queen, to reduce someone who thought so highly of themselves to a pissing, vomiting mess. Larys left your chambers with a smile on his mousy face, as silent as the rats within the walls of the Keep.

Masterlist of Series

So what do y'all think? I warned that it would get darker here, but it's ASOIAF. What did you expect? I wanted to express the reader's fear and the sense of violation she felt during the poisoning scene, so I hope I did a good job with that. I also really wanted to not just do the type of poisoning scene where people cough up some blood and then be done with it. I'm probably on the FBI's watch list for my search history because I did so much research on the effects of Poison Hemlock and different types of seizures. XD

Also, when I was little, I gave my mom a bouquet of poison hemlock. To be fair, the white flower is pretty, and I was like 8.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you so much for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @ynbutbetter, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk, @xitsemm

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