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lemontwst · 4 years

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crossing the line. ❤️ ace x m!reader

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: in which ace runs his mouth and then gets his cheeks clapped by an mc with immense big dick energy.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: ace trappola x m!reader

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.2k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: non-con to dub-con, revenge/hate sex, mentions of voyeurism, public sex, enemies to lovers, mc has magical devices he definitely should not be having, grim is not present in this particular scene.

“You don’t even know about the Great Seven?—”

His malicious voice bounces around your skull like thunder, drowning out the rest of the world like you've suddenly plunged into deep, cold water.

“Are you that ignorant?"

Tranquil rage licks at your insides, your stomach twists with nausea and your hands twitch with the impulse to wrap around his neck.

“Maybe you should go back to kindergarden before thinking of coming to this school.”

Don't punch him. You dig half-moons in your palms, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. Your muscles tighten from the strain of holding yourself back, from resisting the urge to punch this idiot's face in and drag him across the boulevard by the hair. Your heart thump thump thumps against your ribcage like it wants to jump out of you. Don't punch him.

"Aww I'm sorry, did I offend you?" The redhead's features morph into an expression of cheap remorse. His hands clutch his chest like he's so heartbroken, then the joke is over and that obnoxious smirk curves his lips once more, "—just kidding. Why don't you go cry about it to your mom? You won't last long in this place if you can’t stand up for yourself.”

Your reach into your pocket and your fingers brush against one of the slips of paper Crowley gave you before you parted. Paralyzers, he called them. They look pretty useless to you — just a bunch of small, fragile talismans cut from some yellowed paper, but according to Crowley, these things can subdue weaker magical beings for a limited amount of time. The headmaster gave them to you predicting that you would end up in less than savory situations, being the only ordinary human in a school full of wizards, shapeshifters and God knows what else.

“The immobilizing effect will last for about ten minutes,” Crowley had mused as he handed you the talismans, “Do try to escape the situation before the time runs out, would you? It would reflect poorly on our beloved school if one of our students were to die, after all.”

Escape. You snort, your eyes slowly appraising the other student who is still mouthing off. This place still doesn’t know you’re not one to go down without a fight. You’d much rather cling to the monster that’s tearing you apart, digging your teeth in its flesh even as you bleed out all over the pavement than turn tail and run. The carrion on your skin is a hard enough shield, the rot that stains your soul a powerful balm that turns the sting of your wounds into repugnant adrenaline.

"...Anyways, unlike you I actually have classes to attend to," The redhead throws you one last condescending smirk before turning around and giving you a half-assed wave, "Have fun cleaning the halls, janito—"

The words catch in his throat as you stick the Paralyzer to his vulnerable back, grabbing him by the hair and throwing him not so gently behind the obnoxiously large statues and out of the open street.

The student rolls a few times across the grassy side of the road, almost crashing into the flowerbeds that fence the statues off, then he finally lands on his back, coughing and spluttering more from the shock of the sudden fall than actual pain.

He quickly tries to hoist himself up, but his arms and legs feel boneless and he falls back down, eyes wide and panicked as a jolt of electricity runs him from head to toe. He tries to get up again, but it seems like the more he struggles, the weaker he becomes. The talisman saps every ounce of his energy in a matter of seconds, leaving him unable to do anything more than lay there, eyes to the sky as he tries to catch his breath.

"What—the fuck—did you do?!" He snaps, his crimson eyes filling with hate when you slowly enter his field of vision, blocking out the sunlight and hovering over him with disinterest written all over your handsome face.

His temples throb with the strain of his thoughts traveling at supersonic speed, his head hurts like he just slammed it against a wall, and the cold look in your eyes makes his stomach twist into tight knots in what he stubbornly decides to be fear—even as his skin starts to heat up like he's been sunburnt the longer you look down at him.

"Oh, you know…" You casually put one foot on his stomach and lean in, ignoring the long, pained gasp that scratches his throat raw, "Just thought I'd teach a cockroach in my path a little lesson. I was thinking of letting you go quietly, but all your whining really got on my fucking nerves." You step off of him and he twitches and coughs, trying and failing to curl into himself for some sort of comfort.

"...Ha...so what, are you just gonna beat me up?" He says, smirking through the pain as if he's used to it. You don't doubt it—his mouth has probably gotten him in trouble plenty of times before—but simply hitting him would be so boring. You kneel between his legs, spreading them apart with ease and his smirk falls, "Hey—what are you doing, you idiot?! Get off me!" You ignore him as he tries to squirm out of your grasp.

"Since you act like a little bitch..." You take his shoes off without untying them and throw them somewhere behind you, then you unbuckle his pants and do the same thing, slightly annoyed with the way he whines and struggles—as if he has any chance of wrestling you off when his body is about as responsive as jello, "I'm going to fuck you like one."

The redhead's breath stutters and he stops moving, looking at you like you just escaped the nearest psych ward, but the sudden flash of crimson that lights up his face and the subtle way his eyes fall to your crotch before quickly focusing back on your face betray just a smudge of confused desire—he's probably seen something like this in porn and he’s relieving it in his mind.

"W-we're in public, you bastard! Are—are you insane?! Get away from—" His brain slams on the brakes and his head empties like it's hyperspace.

A shocked gasp leaves his lips when you bring your index finger to the front of his boxers, lazily drawing a circle over the growing hardness beneath. His stomach clenches, ripples of pleasure seemingly falling from where you're touching him to pool in his belly like molten lava.

His breathing picks up the pace, loud and humid in his ears as his eyes stay on your hand like you've hypnotized him, "...H-hey, s-stop that—this isn't fucking funny—"

"Says you." You hum, stopping your slow circling on his now visible erection to finger the elastic band of his boxers. The intimate touch makes his muscles clench and his head fils with air, "I find the way you're sprawled on the grass with no pants on absolutely hilarious." He makes a sound between a shriek and a gasp when your fingers grab his cock and pull it out of his underwear.

This isn't happening. He looks at his cock standing out in the open with a horrified look on his face.

It's not happening—it's a dream—the thought of other students walking the boulevard and seeing him there, behind the statue of the Queen of Hearts, his erection out and his body unable to move makes bile pool in his mouth—and his dick throb, but he doesn’t have time to consider his fucked up reaction because you suddenly blow on his glans and his entire body spasms, his head hits the grass and his eyes find the clear, blue sky once again. He briefly registers the feeling of his underwear sliding off his legs. This isn't happening.

You ignore his useless protests and start unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders roughly but not quite taking it off -- the contrast of his pale, heaving chest and his flushed face as he lies helpless in front of you with his dick out almost makes you forget how irritated you are with him. Almost. But just because he’s cute doesn’t mean you’re not going to make him pay for daring to talk to you like you’re a piece of garbage on the side of the road.

You envelop his hard shaft with your hand and start pumping, slowly, letting him feel the soft texture of your palm and ignoring his pleas for you to wait. With every stroke his sensitivity increases, the thought of being caught flies away as if someone just blew in his skull and the redhead can only claw at the ground and pull at the grass with jerking fingers as a sweet voice starts spilling out of him.

It's just broken gasps at first, confused, scared and excited in equal measure—and then the world loses focus and it's full blown moans, little sighs that grow in volume the more you manhandle him. His shaft and your fingers become slick with precum and the movements become easier and smoother, the tingles in his crotch fly up his spine and he has to remind himself that this is wrong to keep himself from bucking up into your hand.

Stubborn as he is, he almost succeeds in resisting you. But you know just how to break him, allowing yourself a few seconds to listen to his cute moans while you wet your fingers, saliva dripping down your wrist as you methodically suck on the appendages as if they were the hard, leaking dick in your hand.

When you decide your fingers are wet enough, you bring them down to his ass and spread his cheeks to find that tight hole no one has ever touched before.

His entire body jolts when you start circling it, the sensation completely knew and so unexpected that he momentarily comes back to reality. "Wait—not there!" He tries to raise his head but his willpower leaves him when your middle finger draws a deep semi-circle around the rim.

It feels so fucking weird, he jerks his head this and that way as he tries to focus on the hand on his cock and the finger prodding at his hole at the same time. It's tingly and intense and he doesn't want it, his hot asshole parts under your push, welcoming you in a cavern of velvet, and the gasp that leaves him is the loudest one yet.

"Relax, you little moron." You stretch him carefully, briefly wondering if he's going to come from your handjob before you even have the time to reach his prostate. He's so fucking tight, unused, pure and yet vulgar as he moans and twitches under your skilled hands.

You insert another finger in and his voice turns high-pitched, then you brush against that little button inside his ass—barely, just the ghost of a touch—and he falls off the edge, convulsing like he's been electrocuted and cumming all over himself.

His semen lands on his chest and jacket and as he slowly comes down from cloud nine, eyes glazed and drool on his chin, he briefly wonders how the fuck he's going to go back to his dorm with cum on his uniform. Then he feels you crawl on top of him and that thought too seems to dissolve into thin air.

No one can blame him for being unable to think, unable to act and, somewhere in the deepest recess of his mind, unwilling to move when you start stroking his sensitive dick again, your hair tickling his chin. He can feel how warm your body is and how nice you smell now that you're so close. If you weren't such a fucking demon it would almost feel nice.

"What's your name?" You exhale next to his ear and he shivers, feeling sick to his stomach when he realizes it's because he wants your lips on him.

"A-Ace…" He mutters, tilting his head away from you as much as he can. The white expanse of his neck is right there and you place a few slow, open-mouthed kisses on his vulnerable skin. Ace's heart does a fucking pirouette, little sparks of pleasure run down his abdomen and he lets out a soft moan, one he wishes he could stuff back in his mouth as soon as he hears it.

He feels the sudden urge to cling to you as he lets you kiss him everywhere. He wonders how it would feel to have your mouth draw a line from his collarbones to his stomach before you take his cock in your mouth and the thought alone makes his entire body tremble with need, little gasps leaving him as you lick the curve of his jaw and then blow on it.

"Ace." You growl his name against his skin and the vibration threatens to destroy the rickety dam that keeps his sanity in place. You're doing something unforgivable to him, fuck, Ace knows it and he hates you for it, but the way you say his name makes him so fucking glad to be born, glad to be lying in the grass like a slut with his pants discarded somewhere and your hand slowly stroking his cock.

"Fuck—don't say it like t-that…" He practically wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses on the scorching waves of pleasure that pulse through his abdomen when you chuckle against his skin. This feels so fucking nice, one of his hands reaches down to grab your wrist while you continue to stroke him and he absentmindedly caresses your hand as you pump his cock.

He curses loudly as he takes in the hard curve of your knuckles and the wetness of your fingers. Your touch is different than what he's used to, rough but with a regular rhythm that pushes him closer and closer to his orgasm with every flick of your hand. You lazily nibble at his jaw and he suddenly finds himself overrun by the universally irresistible urge to come. Fuck, he's gonna come so hard in a hand that's not his own—

"S-so—sensitive—fuck, gonna cum all over your fingers—" His other hand grabs your shoulder in a way that almost feels too romantic given the situation, but Ace doesn't give a damn. The only thing that matters right now is your hand jacking him off and the trail of stars that dances behind his eyelids as you shatter his galaxy.

So close—so close—his moans become loud and shameless as he bucks up into you, ignoring how useless his body still feels because right now he really fucking needs to come again.

The muscles in his abdomen tighten, hot white pleasure flashes in front of his eyes and Ace is so fucking ready when he arches his back, but instead of feeling relief, a tidal wave of frustration and disappointment crashes into his electrified body and his loud voice trails off in a pained whine as you suddenly take your hand off his dick, denying him the sweet mercy of orgasmic bliss.

The disparity between what he’s feeling and what he expected to feel is so vast it takes him a minute to realize what happened, the dam in his head breaks and he’s left gasping and sobbing and twitching, hands flying and grasping at the grass beneath him as he struggles to catch his breath.

"—What the fuck?!" He basically screams, looking at you with teary eyes and a face that screams betrayal, "W-why did you s-stop?! I told you I was close!" His chest heaves and he looks almost possessed when his own hand reaches for his abused, throbbing cock, fully intent on finishing the job one way or another.

You stop him before his fingertips even reach the shaft, meeting no resistance when you pin his hand back against the grass.

Ace glares at you but it's feeble and pathetic, the last remains of his rejection completely snuffed out by the shock of being denied an orgasm for the first time in his life. He doesn't look proud and hateful anymore; he’s now just a brat naked from the waist down, this close to crying because he didn’t get fucked the way he wanted.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you wanted me to stop? Did you change your mind, Ace?” The voice that whispered his name almost lovingly in his ears now drips with venom, almost as if you’re imitating the way he talked to you just a handful of minutes earlier.

Ace flinches, his heart sinks and he looks fucking crushed as he takes in your cold expression. You’re not going to stop, are you—? Not now that he actually wants you to touch him—?

“No...that’s not—I didn’t—” He splutters, flushing up to his ears when he realizes he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Do you want him to beg? Because at this point Ace doesn’t really care enough to even object to that. He just wants you back on top of him. He wants to feel your warmth and have your scent fill his head while you bring him to his release again.

“Dont...be like that...come on,” He groans, letting his head fall to the ground. His dick hurts. His back hurts. Fuck, everything hurts, even his heart for some fucking reason. He doesn't like it when you look at him like you hate him. If anything he should be the one looking at you like that, not the other way around.

"Y-you want me to beg? Is that it?" Ace scoffs and weakly spreads his legs, leaving his cum-stained self complete exposed to your scrutiny. He has the decency to look embarrassed, but when his glazed eyes slowly go from your face to the tent in your pants, what you see in them is not disdain or shame, but pure, unbridled lust.

"You'll beg without me having to ask for it." Ace follows your hand as it goes to your belt, and when you unbuckle it, the soft, erotic click makes his body tremble and his heart flutter.

It's not like he wants to see it—his eyes stay on your crotch as you slowly pull your pants down, revealing the black underwear beneath.

Are you—are you going to pull it out? Out here where everyone can see?—Ace momentarily forgets that he's had his dick out in public for more than it's considered appropriate in every fucking country across the world. Every one of his thoughts comes to an abrupt halt, like he's suffered a concussion.

Except he hasn't, he's just drooling in his mouth at the thought of your cock.

"You don't get to come again, I told you you're going to be fucked like the little bitch you are." You finally pull your dick out, hissing when the air hits your feverish skin and Ace thinks he’s going to spontaneously combust.

The rush of heat that flares beneath his skin is unlike anything he’s ever felt and his slow mind has trouble comprehending whether he suddenly feels on fire because he can see your erection right in front of him or because of the sound you just made. Both. It’s probably both.

“Is that right…” He probably sounds as dazed as he feels—his breath catches in his throat when you lean down again, hovering over him but not quite touching him, the ghost of your breath on his lips threatening to turn him delirious.

You teasingly drag your wet erection across his stomach and Ace moans, his eyes falling shut when your dicks touch. He grinds up against you without thinking and suddenly his body is weightless and he's on the verge of coming all over himself. It feels like every nerve he has is experiencing its own little earthquake, the sound that leaves your lips makes his mind fall apart at the seams and the only thing he can say is a long, desperate "Fuuuck."

His eyes flutter open and he finds you smirking down at him; the sight is so surprising and so beautiful that Ace’s heart lodges straight in his throat.

"Turn around and raise your ass." You chuckle and he goes redder than his hair, but ultimately doesn't protest, waiting for you to give him some space before complying.

The sleeves of his uniform are completely ruined at his point, wet with dew and mud and grass as he pulls himself up on his elbows and gives you an expectant look from over his shoulder.

What he doesn't expect is to feel your thick fingers push into him again. He almost falls face first into the dirt as he gasps, waist shaking as he's once again wrecked by the feeling of his rim being teased.

You stretch him more insistently then before, the saliva and cum on your fingers aiding you in your preparations. You try to avoid his prostate, because Ace is already shaking like a leaf and you know how close he is to his climax, but your redhead seems to have had enough of being edged and insistently grinds back into your fingers until you touch that sweet spot inside him that makes his dick leak precum like a faucet.

He's still not used to it however, and the shock of such an intense stimulation makes his elbows give out as he falls unceremoniously on his face. But he doesn't seem to care, cheek pressed against the grass and eyes squeezed shut as he experiences having his prostate massaged for the first time.

Fuck, he’s sure his legs are going to give out soon too. If just your fingers feel this good, what’s going to happen when you stick your dick in—? Is he going to lose his mind—? Somewhere along the line he seems to have completely forgotten that he's outside in broad daylight with his ass in the air. But even if someone were to see him getting fucked like a slut, would it really be so bad—?

"Hold on tight, stupid," You take your fingers out and he whines softly, sounding surprisingly disappointed for someone who has never had their ass played with before, "I'm gonna make sure you can never come just from touching yourself ever again."

You line your hard cock against his opening and Ace shivers from both anticipation and fear. You’re so big—is—is this gonna hurt? I mean, after everything you've done to him this should be a walk in the park, right—?

It isn't.

You slowly push your dick inside and Ace's first instinct is to scream.

His mind shatters into oblivion as he takes in the feeling of your thick cock stretching him like he's a fucktoy. But this is still nothing, you haven't done anything yet and he's already broken. You pull your hips back and thrust into him hard, your dick scrapes against his prostate and Ace falls into a state of euphoric delirium.

He was made for this, he thinks. Born with the sole purpose of being your slut, ass up and legs spread as he invites you to plow him harder, to mess up his head until your cock is the only thing he can think about.

And he doesn't even know your name, Ace realizes as his body bounces back and forth against the grass with the force of your thrusts, his tongue lolls out and he tries his best to match your movements with his exhausted body, his hole squeezing your dick like it doesn't want to ever let go.

"Fuuuck—can we do this like…..every day from no—ah!—now on?!" He'll let you do anything you want if you promise to keep fucking him like he's your girlfriend. On his bed in front of his roommates, in class, on the headmaster's desk, anywhere you want him, Ace will be a good bitch for you.

In response to his nonsense you griiind into him and the explosive pleasure that flashes in front of his vision is almost seismic, devastating like nothing he's ever experienced as he breaks and cries and cums all over the grass, eyes rolling back when you roughly grab his hair and thrust a few more times before painting his insides white with your own release.

You make sure to fill him to the brim and Ace doesn't pull away. Instead he remains obediently glued to your crotch as the feeling of hot semen running down his legs completely obliterates his sanity.

Your nasty temper placated for the time being, you pull out in one swift motion and let his boneless body fall to the ground.

Ace groans and curses you under his breath, then he very slowly rolls onto his back, still dazed by the fact that you just came inside him.

If he thought everything hurt before, now he thinks he might actually need to pay a visit to the nurse's office. The effects of the Paralyzer have worn off by now but he's so fucking tired—he startles out of his drunk reverie when something like a curtain falls on his head.

Except it's not a curtain, but his pants. He takes them off his face and gives you a weak glare as you adjust your belt.

"Wear a skirt next time," You throw him a smirk over your shoulder and Ace hates the way his heart quivers, "Like a good girl."

You barely have the time to dodge the shoe that comes hurtling towards your head, Ace quickly reaching for the other shoe when you start running back towards the school building.

"Fuck you!—"

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #citrus #scenario #m!reader

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insufferablelust · 4 years

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Pretty little thing, (II)

Warnings : this series will be filled with Adult content, upcoming smut, murder, psychotic behaviors, dark kinks, traumatic events, manipulation, gaslighting, and isolation, interrogations, Daddy issues, abusive parents, blood, Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader.

This is a dark fic, there might be stuff that could trigger you so please read with caution and/or don’t read it if you are sensitive to the stuff in the warnings.

MASTERLIST.

——————

like i’m a flower,

that’ll rot at a speed of light,

like i’m a ripe peach,

that’ll bruise in the daylight.

——————

“Y/N Y/l/N put your hands on the air and hand us your weapon!”

Y/N’s brain thrummed against her skull, her lips quivered as she laughed loudly at the situation she was under, her hands up after she has tossed her gun and knife, turning around with knuckles all bloodied and face tear stained with angry red splotches— the sight truly psychotic.

“You’re making the biggest fucking mistake, Professor.” She chuckled, head tilting to the side at the gun cocking beside her head. Her eyes never leaving Spencer’s as Luke cuffed her scarred wrists behind her break and guided her outside of the house to the police car.

Spencer watched as she continued laughing from inside the car, her eyes never leaving his as his eyes stayed with hers. “She’s truly a narcissist huh?” He was blurred out of his thoughts by JJ’s voice beside him, His brain can’t seemed to let go of her voice chanting ‘mistake’ over and over inside his head.

“Spence?” JJ tapped his shoulder, jolting him from his mindless thoughts of a girl, the girl he arrested, the girl in the car, the girl who killed so many others, the girl who worked with cat, the girl— that looked innocent.

————

He stared at her through the window pane, he saw her bandaged knuckles, her head hung low and the wrist twisting around the cuffs. The more Spencer looked at her, the more he connected the dots, the more her remembered every foggy memories that surrounded her, every time cat mentioned her name before.

“Y/l/N isn’t dumb Spencie—“ Cat rolled her eyes, “She’s quite smart actually, when i’m dead she wouldn’t dare to betray me. do you know why?” She challenged, licking her lips in a cocky manner,

“Tell me.”

“Because i live inside her, every time she breathes it’s because i allow it— even after i’m dead, she’ll keep doing what she does best, killing our fathers.”

Our fathers,

“Our fathers.” Spencer blurted out suddenly, alerting Emily who was about to stepped into the interrogation room. “What?”

“Our fathers, that’s what cat said when i visited her last to talk about Y/N.” He whispered the last part, still unable to connect all the dots. It’s like when it comes to Y/N, he freezes, he stopped breathing, his mind stopped thinking. Its like he had known her for so long— that she was someone special to him.

“Let me talk to her..” He pleaded, fingers gripping the door tightly— eyes begging Prentiss to just let him talk to her. “Spencer you’re—“

“Conflict of interest, yes but i— i know her better than anyone here okay, give me a chance. She trusted me more because she knows me.” Emily’s eyes switched between Spencer’s and Rossi’s, looking for the best decision. “You know the protocols, just get her to talk, if things get difficult in there i won’t hesitate to pull you out of this case.” She stated firmly giving the files over to Reid, which he thanked her for, before stepping into the room.

———

Y/N felt him before even seeing him, she felt the warmth of his presence before she even had the knowledge of touching him— his body heat. Yet, Y/N knew it was him, he’s here with her. She kept her head low, closing her eyes tightly as she felt the low rumble of his voice as he sat down on the opposite chair.

“Hello, Y/N.”

She smiled, the sound of her name— her real name rolling from his tongue brought her some peace and quiet. Stopping her raging mind from all the torture she endured. It was 5 seconds of heaven, she concluded.

“Y/N, I’m—“

She giggled before he even muttered a third word, she giggled loudly but her head kept hanging down, she could already paint his expression inside her mind— she had studied him in great details for years, she knew every twitch of his face without even looking at him, like it was imprinted deep in the core of her memory.

“Is there something funny?”

He used that tone, the tone that made her shivered whenever he uses them on class, when he had scolded her because she was late, when he corrected her because she ‘accidentally’ did all her homework wrong. The very same tone she adored, that made her nerves twitched and seared her core. So she shrugged, licking her lips as if he could see her.

“Y/N Y/l/N, born November 17th 1985, only daughter of Amethyst Ren who died giving birth to her, and William—“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Her head snapped, looking at him with a sharp glare— a glare so sharp that it could cut through the glass. Spencer remained calm as he sees the way her fingers twitching together, and her skin on her wrist digging painfully against the cuffs.

“Be careful not to hurt yourself, as i was saying.. William Y/l/N who was a—“

“Fucking stop.” Her skin digs through the cuffs painfully as tears spilled out of her eyes— her tone was raging with anger.

Reid looked at her briefly before continuing with a straight face, trying so hard not to show any emotions, “A local businessman, apparently he raised Y/N—“

“You have a fucking death wish, Professor.” The blood dripped onto the interrogation table as the sharp cuffs nicked the skin, her legs bounced hard against the desk, a sign of agitation and pent up frustration.

“He raised Y/N dutifully and he—“

“He was an abusive fucking prick, who destroyed my life.” Y/N screamed loudly, her hand banging the table as Emily marched in to the room, trying to pull Spencer out, “Reid, out.” She said sternly but Spencer refused.

“He was a fucking coward, do you know what he did, professor? he broke me— damaged me into this this fucking monster” Y/N let out a sinister smile as she fought through the sobs, “My mother— my mother, he killed my mother. He killed her because do you know what men like him wants? what gets him off, professor? some young girl to torture,” She’s full on laughing now as she stopped the bounce on her knees and stilled completely,

“My mother was his precious girl, yet she’d grown too old so- so then he had me— and it was time for her to go.” She tilted her head to the side, “I was perfect for him, his personal punching bag..” Y/N closed her eyes briefly before opening them again and smiled sweetly at Spencer and Emily, “I never killed anyone, not once, i might be insane— might thought about killing, but there’s only one person i want to kill, and i haven’t gotten the chance yet.” She leaned in closer to Spencer as her waist bent over the table,

“I’m not Cat, Professor. I’m smarter than her, you know that. She thought she manipulated me, made me her personal clean up puppet. But, look at us now— she’s underground and i’m up here with her favorite man.” Y/N bit her lips, eyes pierced at Spencer’s “If you want to Arrest me, arrest me. But you know damn well, i’m just an innocent and beaten up daddy’s girl. My hands are clean.” She sat back down as her eyes flicked to Emily and smiles sweetly,

“I want a lawyer, please and thank you.”

————

“We’ve got enough evidence to arrest her, her fingerprints was all over Cat’s victims.” JJ voice rang through the room as the others kept on discussing about Y/N lawyering up,

“Yeah, but why is she lawyering up now? she knew about the evidence, she left them on purpose at the latest crime scene 2 years ago.” Rossi said, his eyes trailed over to Spencer who hasn’t said much after the interrogation room, eyes glued to her file and seemingly deep in thought.

“Right, it doesn’t make sense. She could’ve stayed hidden if she wanted to— she managed to do that all this time. Why expose herself to Spencer now?” Tara chimed in, head shaking at the puzzle thats in front of them, confusing each and every one of them. Whilst Spencer’s eyes blinked repeatedly as he remembered, the words that left Y/N’s lips,

“My hands are clean.”

“You know that, Professor.”

“Beaten up Daddy’s girl,”

“Daddy’s girl.”

“She never killed anyone.” The table went silent as he spoke up, his eyes darted to the picture of William on the board then back to his team,

“Spencer—“ JJ was about to cut him off before he murmured,

“The reason why she exposed herself now is because she found her ultimate target, the one she has been after all these years, she was right— she’s way too smart to fall into anyone’s game even Cat’s. I’ve seen her ability enough times to know how observant and smart she is combined with the fact that She has managed to stay hidden all these years when Cat was too unstable to see through my lies when i arrested her,

That’s why we never found any evidence except the fingerprints— we profiled that this splatter of blood..” He pointed to the picture on the board and took a deep sigh “was an act of someone cleaning up, all of the murder site said the same things about her fingerprints— clean up.” He finishes, whispering the last word.

Spencer looked up to see his teammates all shocked, especially JJ who has her palm on top of his shoulder trying to say something but clearly couldn’t, then his eyes flicked to Emily as she stood and walked over to him,

“It’s not impossible.” She stated, leaning into the table as she used her palm to support her body, “Emily—“ It was Alvez this time whom raised the doubt,

“No i mean think about it, The blood, the way she stayed hidden and her sudden appearance, her behaviors— we profiled her as the exact epitome of Cat Adams but what if that was only her cover up. If she was truly a narcissistic psychopath she wouldn’t have the ego to deny any of the murders— she would be proud of it. What if, all these time we weren’t looking for a killer, but the misunderstood puppeteer?” Emily grabbed a photo of her and placed it on the table,

“Well then who’s her actual target?” Penelope bit her lip nervously as Spencer placed a photo of,

“William Y/L/N, her father.” Next to her’s.

“Garcia—“

“On it!”

————

Taglist and Requests are open! Message me or simply send in your asks!

( @drreidshands , @annestine , @addie5264 , @maybankslut , @lolitstiana , @imjusthereformggcontent )

upcoming updates : TAAHM VII, Blurb Requests!

#Prettylittething #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds smut #dom!spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #dark!fic #dark!spencer

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literaphobe · 3 years

Note

i have finally given in to mcyt brain rot and caught the last 10 minutes or so of george's cooking stream. and like i don't ship real people seriously but all the stuff you say about dnf having the most insane dynamic is absolutely true. dream asked george to dunk his hair in the sink just to see how it looked wet and george did it with no question? and after that dream said george should get hair gel and do it like that all the time? what the fuck. where's my questionable bff who will do that

god i finished the VOD and that shit was so funny istg for full context george made this video w dream and sapnap where he had to speed run minecraft but every minute he had to put on a new t shirt. and so he made a bonus video where he took off every single shirt

anyway what actually happened was dream was like “ok listen to me right now and do everything i say ok?” and george was like ok.... and dream told him take off ur hate n ur headphones and mess up ur hair. and george, reacting like a normal person would, said why? but dream was like Just Do It and so then george suggested WETTING his hair and dream was like YEAH DO IT DO IT and george did it and there was a stream delay but when dream saw it he started freaking out he was like HOLY COW DJSJSOH MY GOD THAT LOOKS SO GOOD?? and then after a while george was like wait why did u make me do this n dream was like idk and george was like so u just made me wet my hair for nothing?? and dream was like well not for Nothing. i just wanted to see how it’d look like. i was curious. and then he brings up how he was curious because he watched george take off shirts and his hair looked a little messy so he. wanted to see more. it was literal insanity and it got like SO awkward for the next few moments they were waiting for karl to start streaming so george could raid him and they were like UGHHHH WHYS HE NOT STREAMING YET and it was fucking hilarious to watch,,, 0/10 would not recommend tho

oh the hair gel part djdjdjd yes that was funny dream was really so riled up over the messy wet hair and like i don’t blame him if i had a pretty best friend who would literally do whatever i asked of them i would exercise my power like it’s just nice to look at pretty people but it’s just so funny because #thankyoudream started trending which was ridiculous and neither of them understood why so dream wasn’t even asking george to do his hair for the fans he just wanted better looks JDJDJD

#ask #dnf #mcyt #he said ur usual look fucking sucks switch it up #JFJDJDKDKDK #anyway i hate them but i badly want to have a dynamic like this w a very pretty person

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c0ry-c0nvoluted · 4 years

Text

THE ENEMY IS NOT A SKIN COLOR. THE ENEMY IS A CLASS.

White privilege. The phrase implies special rights. The phrase implies having a jumpstart in the race by way of DNA. What it doesn’t imply is that that white-skinned Jim or Judy is gonna win that race, just that the game is rigged in their favor.

I don’t hate the concept. The validity of it, I mean. It honestly rings some-kind-of-true in my brain when taking into consideration the general social status of people of color. But there’s a problem with it. Not in its validity, but in its generality, its assumption, and the overall affect it has on our society.

The biggest and most obvious problem with it is that there are tens of millions of white people (if not hundreds of millions worldwide), who are all struggling just to make ends meet (if they can at all). There are “poor white folk” everywhere. And there are white kids who are terrorized by their own parents. There are white boys and girls getting bullied at school or in their neighborhood. There are white people suffering at the hands of violent criminals, scam artists, corporations, policemen… And I’m not talking about white criminals suffering, here...

I worked with this insanely gorgeous blond who was one of several dozen (I don’t remember the actual number) of women who were raped by this cop in my city (San Diego). He’d follow them from clubs, pull them over, take what he wanted from them, then send them on their way. He got away with it up until he didn’t, but how many cops still do? His choice of victim was young and white, as are most serial killer victims, but does their skin color matter? In the sense that they’re preferred as targets, yes, but not in the sense of right and wrong. Their white skin, in this case, wasn’t doing them any favors.

But let’s get back to the topic at hand.

Is “white privilege” real?

Well that depends on what you consider “white privilege” to be, and I think that’s where our signals are getting crossed. I think that if you look at it on a more psychological level you’ll see that, yes, “white privilege” is a real thing in that “white people are less likely to be demonized or judged negatively based solely on their skin tone.” (But not on their appearance. If a white person is dressed like a thug, he/she is going to get negatively judged the same way a Hispanic would. Whereas vice versa, if a black person was dressed like a total bookworm, they’re going to get judged as such, not as a criminal.) But blacks being judged more often solely on skin color is 100% true. Black-skinned people have been demonized throughout our nation’s history (and many other nations) and this demonization, along with insidious, covert attacks on black communities by those in power, have caused two things (among a plethora of others, but two for the sake of my point). 1: It’s caused non-blacks who are not racist but are just recognizing the patterns they’ve been force-fed by the media, to unintentionally relate black-skin with ignorance, violence, and criminal behavior. And 2: It’s brought about disparity, anger, and emotional trauma in the black community that is the cause of the higher crime rates in those communities and more black-on-black crime than white-on-black crime (by the people, I mean. I’m not counting by the government because that’s a whole other fuck-storm of shit that isn’t only aimed at blacks, but at any who are considered “lower-class,” which, yes, the majority of blacks in our country are. That’s not to say there are more poor black people than poor white people. I really doubt that’s the case. But the percentage of blacks or other minorities who are poor vs the percentage of whites who are is likely leaning in the direction of exactly what makes “white privilege” a valid argument. But I’m not a “facts” guy. The numbers are just ways to distract from the problem, so you’re not gonna catch me quoting them to cry foul on the BLM movement. The reality is that yes, there are probably more poor white people total than blacks in this country, but the psychology, the demonization of blacks, is a real thing.)

But there’s a problem with looking at this as “white privilege.” Number one: if we do that we (unintentionally) discredit any white person who is or has suffered. Those who are, or have suffered, will absolutely not take kindly to being told that they are “privileged”. And what happens when they are told this? It makes anyone with white skin who has suffered or is suffering (and there’s a fuck ton of us) think to themselves, “Oh, fuck no! You think I got it good? You think you’re the only one who has problems? You think you’re the only one who’s getting fucked by the system? Well fuck you, and your white privileged bullshit excuse to whine to the guilt-ridden middle class to get your free handouts! The government has fucked me over more times than I can count!” And what does this mind-state do? It creates a racial class-war between those who have white skin and are suffering, and those who have black/brown skin and are suffering. And who wins in this scenario? If you guessed “the upper-class” you get a prize. (Whatchoo want, a fuzzy bear? A goldfish in a plastic tub? G’ahead. Pick something nice out. You earned it.) So now you got poor white people with guns itching to shoot any black person with or without a gun who supports a movement that indirectly claims that their suffering is invalid. And what does this “civil class war” accomplish? It creates more “criminals” for the fucking private-owned prisons to make money off of, further separating the upper-class from the lower, creating more suffering, more anger, more hate, MORE RACISM.

So is white privilege real? Psychologically, yes, to the extent that our society psychologically favors white skin over black/brown. But has it ever made me any more money? No. Has it ever stopped the cops from pulling me over and searching my car? Fuck no. I’ve been detained, searched, followed, fined, towed, impounded, harassed more than most people you know, regardless of your color. I’ve lost count of how many damn times I’ve been harassed by the cops in my city. Shit, I wrote a goddamn rap song about it back in the early 2000’s called SDPD, smashing on the fuckers for harassing a guy who was just trying to get by. And I was NEVER a criminal. I NEVER had any weapons or hard drugs (ok, some pills and plenty of pot, but…), I was NEVER robbing anyone or breaking into cars or homes or gang banging (maybe just a smidge of graffiti, but that shit’s art), or causing any kind of…ok, no, there was some drunken shenanigans, for sure, but that was mostly my boys, not me. Lol The point is, being white DID NOT stop me from getting constantly harassed by the cops in my city. You know what did? A new car, less homies in the ride, no smoke blowing from the windows, and a slightly more tempered demeanor while driving. I still bump my rap music, but I’m not in a car full of teenage “trouble-makers”. I still speed, but I come to a complete stop at them signs, bruh. I still run red lights, but I look reeeal fucking carefully when I do. I still zip in-and-out of lanes on the freeway, but I keep it below 80 (mostly). So the only thing that’s changed is that I “appear” to have more money (with a nicer ride), and I show more maturity in being on the road. My skin color hasn’t changed, but my run-ins with the cops have.

The bottom line: Crying out “white privilege” ain’t gonna help anyone but the rich who’re sitting back and raking in the dough off all the drama and weapon sales and fines and arrests and damaged property that needs to be rebuilt. So don’t make our society’s problem about a skin color. When you do that you divide people into groups when you should be uniting them. Divided we fall. I know most of your intentions are righteous, (and this goes out to white people too who’re acknowledging their “privilege”), but you’re doing it wrong. You’re creating enemies by unintentionally discrediting anyone with white skin who has suffered at the hands of the system, claiming that you own the rights (the privilege?) of deciding that they’re the ones who are privileged, all while they’re slowly rotting in inequity right beside you.

THE ENEMY IS NOT A SKIN COLOR. THE ENEMY IS A CLASS.

And that class is the rich. The 1%.

Are most of them white? Yes. But will that stop them from stealing money from poor white people? From bankrupting small businesses with corporate industry? From putting blue-collar white people out of work and replacing them with machines? From taking their homes when they can’t pay back their loans? From putting them in prison when they fight back right next to you for equality? No. Because the 1% only care about profit, and they don’t care who they have to manipulate, rob, demoralize, or demonize to get it, or what skin color those people have. Let’s get our heads right. Open them angry eyes and see who the enemy really is. And fight THAT enemy, not the enemy that their manipulation has created for you.

How? The real solution to “white privilege” and inequity and inequality is a very simple concept but an incredibly complex task. It involves creating a society where money is obsolete. When this happens there will be no more inequality. There will be no “superpowers” or 1%. There will be no poor. There will be no rich. There will be no profit other than the profit of betterment, progress, knowledge, discovery, science, quality of living. But there’s only one way to make money obsolete, and that’s by removing labor from our society. Sound crazy? That’s because you don’t realize how close we are to doing it anyway. A fully automated society is right around the bend, my dudes. We have the technology to make ALL LABOR OBSOLETE, in which case no one will have to work, in which case money will have no significance. What will have significance? RESOURCES. But this is a topic I’ve discussed before and will again soon and more directly. So for now what can we do? We demand a society that serves the people’s interests, not the corporations’. Unfortunately I can’t tell you how to this because I’m not into politics, I’m into actual change, not perpetuating the same system that’s fucking us all. My advice? Start spreading the concept of a RESOURCE BASED ECONOMY as loud and as often as you can. This type of society eliminates corruption and inequity and is only just now becoming possible thanks to advancements in technology. Look into it. Spread the word. AND STOP CREATING SEGREGATION AMONG OUR PEOPLE. Please, for fuck’s sake, stop adding to our problems and start moving towards eliminating them. #fightsmarter2020 Thanks for reading. -cc

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beerecordings · 5 years

Note

Hey can we get 🤐🍄 with Marvin? Maybe he’s gotten captured by someone that wants to leave a message to Jackie or his other brothers 👀 and if you have time maybe a rescue too! But if you can only do whump that’s awesome too 👌👌👌

Okay I’m going to start with the poisoning and then the rescue will follow here in a couple days! Maybe some more sections in the middle, too, still working it out.

Trigger warnings for poison, blood, mild gore, and vomit/bile mentions.

Prompts: gagged and poisoned.

“I want all of that down his throat.”

She’s crazy. She’s out of her goddamn mind. There’s no way this is actually happening, is there? She’s not really going to make him drink that, is she?

“Cut it out, Cottonmouth,” he snarls, yanking against the chains on his wrists, scrambling for purchase on the concrete beneath his feet. One of her soldiers strikes him in the face, not for the first time, and he yelps, spitting blood out from between his teeth.

“I want to watch him choke on it,” she says.

Her face is blank, but fury radiates off her like ammonium. He’s only ever met one person with more hatred in their eyes - and right now, Marvin thinks he’d prefer Anti. She crosses her arms over her blood-splattered blouse and snarls at him, baring her teeth wildly as her soldier approaches him, shaking the jug. Marvin catches a heavy chemical smell and gags, trying desperately to back away.

“I’d say this hurts me more than it hurts you, but I’m going to be honest - I’m pretty fucking excited. Aren’t you, White Cat?”

She has eyes like a bayou at night and a mouth full of teeth. Her soldier grabs his jaw tight in his hands and begins to work it open, closing off his nose. Marvin pants desperately, meeting his eyes, begging him to stop.

You don’t have to do this, man. Don’t put that down my fucking throat.

But his pleas don’t reach him.

Marvin howls like something rabid as a nozzle full of poison is shoved between his teeth, down his throat, jabbing at his mouth as a thick liquid floods into his esophagus. It’s so godawful his brain doesn’t even register it as disgusting, because the only thought in his head right now is: Get rid of that! Get rid of that! Get this out of my mouth! accompanied by the crashing sensation of his own utter terror. Alarm bells ringing across his body, his throat begins to spasm as it tries desperately to push back against whatever the fuck this chemical murderer is, but to no avail - he cannot open his mouth, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe! His teeth snap at the nozzle in his mouth, but they will not take it out, they will not take it out of his mouth. His chest heaves, his nose burns. He can’t breathe, holy shit - he needs to breathe - he -

He’s swallowed it, just a little -

He swallows another mouthful, sobbing for air -

He can hear Cottonmouth shouting, elated -

He’s chugging it, chugging it, swallowing everything poured in his mouth, like it’s the vilest alcohol ever known to man and he’s taking shots at gunpoint. He’s allowed to have one breath of air before his stomach heaves and they must cover his mouth again to keep him from throwing it up.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he chants through the hand over his mouth, his chest rising and falling like it’s trying to see how high it can get on a trampoline.

Cottonmouth laughs wildly, stepping forward to grab his broken face in her hands. “Your fucking brother,” trembles her voice. “Took everything from me.”

“Moccasin belongs in prison,” snaps Marvin, sucking in huge mouthfuls of air. “Even if your coke wasn’t tainted, you’d still be dealing to fucking teenagers. Now three of them are dead because of you. Your partner deserves that sentence!”

“And yours deserves to fucking die!” she screams, recoiling from him with her hands out-streched. “But not fucking yet! Not yet, not yet! First I’m going to make him watch you die. I want him to taste this. I want him to taste this hatred. Goddamn, this hatred… I am swallowed up, I am drowning… I’ll make him choke on it too.”

“If you want to know where he is, you’ll get nothing from me,” spits Marvin. This much he knows, surer than he knows that the bone sticking out of his cheek is his own.

“He’ll come for you,” replies Cottonmouth coldly. “When he sees you like this. Give me my camera. Killian, gag him.”

“Rot in jail,” he manages spitefully before her soldier is shoving cloth in his mouth and tying it tight around the back of his head. On any other day of the rest of his life, he’d be revolted by the taste. Oil, cloth, sweat, something filthy and copper-tasting. Pennies and blood and rainwater in the drain on the side of the pavement. But you know what?

Compared to the taste of the poison, it’s not that bad.

“Say hi,” cooes Cottonmouth, and the red light of a recording camera opens its eye to stare at him. Marvin lifts his head up as best he can, leveling his glare at the lens. If there’s a way to look tough while dangling from your wrists and swallowing back vomit, he’s determined to find it. This is going to be hard enough for his brothers as is.

“Hiya, Blue Mask,” calls Cottonmouth, ignoring Marvin trying to manage Jackie’s name through the gag behind her. “Isn’t this a fun Friday surprise? Look, I’ve got my own little show, just for the two of us. It’s repayment, you know, for that really fun exhibition your little cop boyfriend gave at the trial. Waving around all the evidence you gave him, shouting about all the shocking things Moccasin’s done. Like a real actor, it was incredible! What can I say? I’m appreciative! I like to give proper returns on the favors I owe. And you and I, Hoodie - you and I have a world of debt between us.”

Marvin’s so nauseous it feels like his whole body is spinning. His head is a clothes dryer and his stomach’s the washing machine beneath it, and they’re both shoved full of oil rags and poison, turning at full speed.

“Do you know what I just gave him?” he hears Cottonmouth call. She grabs the jug she shoved in his mouth and holds it up to the lens. Marvin’s eyes widen as he finally reads the label.

“It’s gopher poison! They use it on golf courses and shit. Look, there’s all these warnings on the back about keeping it away from your dog… what do you think it will do to a cat?”

Holy shit.

He’s going to die.

He groans and bile comes dripping onto the floor, trickling towards his crushed mask and shattered phone. Cottonmouth laughs again, bizarrely loud. Marvin wonders if she’s losing her mind. She grabs his chin, making him moan as the broken bones of his face shift and protest.

“This hatred,” she hisses, almost desperate, almost insane. “It’s devouring me. And you, you – Jackie, that’s your real name, isn’t it? You deserve a taste of it. You took my partner away from me.”

Her eyes glisten like diamond. Marvin whimpers, shaking beneath her hands. He can’t let her do this. Jackie will be so afraid. Jackie will be so afraid, and they’ve been through so much this year already.

“Now you can feel what it’s like to lose yours,” she gasps, backing away again, hands open, open, out-stretched, Agkistrodon piscivorus. “Now you can get a taste for this hatred. This hatred, this hatred… it is eating me alive… strychnine or despair, Jackie, which would you prefer? I can promise you the grief is worse. Your little cat will be dead, I expect, in about three hours. But you, Jackie - you and I can live with this hatred for a long time to come.”

Marvin, behind her, can’t figure out why it is that he can’t stop chewing on the gag. His jaw is moving without him.

Should he be scared that he isn’t nauseous anymore?

#poisoning tw #tw abuse #blood tw #vomit tw #vomit mention #nausea tw #le sang #ask #huffle-dork

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 9*

09: Double trouble

Summary: Y/N finally learns the truth.

Warnings: angst, death, violence, SMUT (unprotected sex, always use condoms kids!!), swearing??

Word count: 7100

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST

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Y/N wasted no time, running forward and into the open arms of her mother as the twins tried to pick up their jaws of the floor. They watched their love embrace her dead mother, both women crying, inconsolable.

"What just happened?" Apollo's voice cracked, his shock evidently on display as he too fought to remain sane with the image before him playing games with his head. It felt like his brain stuttered, unable to contemplate the sight.

"Hecate." Hermes' jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing. His forehead wrinkled, a single line foiling his smooth skin across the middle, another forming between his eyebrows - anger, frustration, and the slightest bit of fear taking over him.

"This is a cruel trick. One I have no doubt she created to break Y/N. Once broken, she'll have free reign." His lips set in a thin line, feeling his brother's hand brush his own.

"She feeds off her emotions. Whenever the emotion is too great, Hecate takes over." Apollo realizes, eyes widening when his girl detaches from her mother and turns to face them.

She's completely flushed in the face, her eyes brimming with overflowing tears, red as well. She crinkles her nose, brushing the back of her hand under it to gather the tears that stained her face, her lips parted enough for her front teeth to be seen.

"Guys, this is my mum." She giggles, still attached to her mother's hip and ecstatic like a child. Almost like she doesn't realize the insanity of the situation.

"As in your late mother?" Apollo says carefully, trying to be considerate, but he can't let her be oblivious to what is happening. A part of him is screaming to take her in his arms and whisk her away because the dead never return as they were - there is always a catch. And considering Hecate is the one who made it happen, he's sure the catch is much more dangerous than it usually is. The other part of him wants to tell her all of that, admit to his heritage, his love, the entire truth and just hope she'll still have him.

But how can he?

How can he dim the light in her eyes, despite the tears that cloud them? How can he take away what may very well be her last chance to say goodbye? How can he be the one to break her heart?

"I, uh..." The smile on her face falls, her eyes flickering to her mother who looks at her in confusion, like she had no clue what they're talking about.

"Can I talk to you?" Hermes pipes in, hoping she'll want to speak to him, even if it's just to scream at him.

"Alone, please?" He adds, looking at the way her mother's lips twitched between a smile and a sneer once he asked, feeling something is wrong in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll be right back." She excuses herself, kindly smiling up at her mother and back at Grayson before following Ethan out of the room. The very moment those doors close behind them is the moment his mouth moves.

"Babe, I want this to be all that you think it is, but I can't let you believe this is real." Ethan spoke in rushed, slightly hushed voices, his eyes flickering to the closed door as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"You see her too, right? I'm not entirely mad, am I?" She whispers, her chest trembling with a heavy, shaky sigh.

Unable to watch her crumble, Ethan quickly pushed her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her frame, overlapping in the middle of her back. He pushed her into him so suddenly that her breath left her, so strongly that she swore her ribs cracked, so lovingly her heart skipped a beat. His chin atop her head as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking how lost he's felt his entire life, and how he finally found himself in her embrace. He always thought he was past saving, long lost in the eternal damnation his life became, but she gave him a chance...she saw him as Ethan, a good guy who she safely tucked herself in and refused to let go. He had to reassure her.

"I do. I see her. But we both know she isn't really here. Not to stay. Not for the right reasons. It's Hecate." Ethan takes a whiff of her hair, slowly unwrapping himself from her.

"You believe Hecate is real too?" She breathes out, happy she's no longer alone in this mess. She has Ethan and possibly even Grayson, both of whom she finds have taken root in her heart.

"I always did." He smiles slightly, watching her press her lips together.

"I'm still pissed about the fire, but I forgive you for it." She taps her hand on his chest lightly, but their moment is cut short once Grayson screams for help.

"GUYS?!"

Y/N was the first one inside, opening the door wide with her eyes darting toward a struggling Grayson and...

"MUM?" Y/N screamed, horrified at the sight. She laid atop of Grayson who was pinned to the floor, inhuman sounds filling the room, mixing with Grayson's grunts. However, the simple call of her daughter reeled the woman back in, her aggressiveness and jaw snapping stopping for a moment, long enough for her to turn to Y/N with her cold, dirty yellow eyes staring at her, so empty and void of life. Her mother's skin was like old crinkled paper and her lips the color of rusted iron. Her jaw, which was open too wide, displayed a set of rotting yellow teeth. The veins were about to burst from her forehead and blood was splattered like red paint all over her face and hands. And her hands, once so soft and loving, were like sticks with their flesh almost falling off.

"Oh, God." Y/N stumbled backwards as Ethan stepped before her, his arms open wide, pushing her behind his body as he glanced at his brother who kept the zombified woman at arms length.

"Grayson, I suggest you go for the head." Ethan said calmly, but his heart felt like it would burst with the speed it took on. While he wasn't frightened of the sight, he was sure as hell afraid his brother and Y/N would never recover from it. He's seen far worse in the Underworld, but they haven't. And this... this was personal.

In moments, Grayson grabbed onto her head and rolled over her, slamming her skull into the floor until her brain splattered on the boards and the body mystically disappeared.

Y/N could hear the cracks, the grunts and the sound of blood and tissue splashing around, crying openly and without reserve. Brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down. The screaming had stopped so very suddenly. One minute her mother was right in her embrace, more alive than Y/N ever thought she could ever be, and the next she was meat on the floor.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her instantly, pulling her up into his chest and into the bed where she could rest. Stealing a glance, she found there was no body on the floor after all. She didn't see any blood, any indication of what happened in the room nor on Grayson, only messing with her head further.

Thanks to Ethan and Grayson...and the magical disappearance of evidence.

Hecate at least granted them that courtesy.

Grayson appeared by her side out of thin air, pushing back her hair to see her face properly. She's got red patches of skin, tears running in every direction, her nose joining in. Her mouth is open and her wails echo the room and his heart, breaking him to pieces.

They held her until she could no longer weep, tucked in between them like a precious pearl within a clam, protected and loved...loved beyond belief.

And she fell asleep, the warm bodies around her serving as comfort for her to get through it all.

However, the moment she slipped away into dreamland, she woke with her mother before her. And it wasn't the zombie version of her mother that Grayson had to kill, but the woman who wore a gentle smile and always had something wise to say.

"I am sorry you had to see that." Her mother said, tilting her head ever so slightly, her lips curling into a small smile.

"What is dead cannot remain undead for long. Your friend did the right thing." The woman's smile spread, her hand reaching out for Y/N's. "Thank him for me."

"I don't understand." Y/N shakes her head lightly, eyebrows furrowing as she clasps her mothers hand tighter.

"I have been given a rare chance to let my daughter know how much I love her. But to let her know she has to move on from this pain. Stop holding onto it and let love in." Placing her palm on Y/N's cheek, she continues.

"You have two men falling at your feet. And they might not be what you think, but they have good intentions in mind." And that's when Y/N understood. Her mother wanted her to let them in. But how could she? How could she ever choose one and not hurt the other?

"I can't. If I let one in, the other will suffer and I can't do that. I can't bear it."

"Why choose? Just feel. If they care for you, they will learn to respect that."

While Y/N said goodbye to her mother, the brother's had other things on mind.

"We have to tell her." Grayson whispers, his eyes falling to his brother who seemed to be lost in thought. He knew it would be a hard sell, but he needed to try and convince Ethan to cooperate. Whether he agrees or not, he had every intention on telling her everything. Keeping the truth from her only put her in danger.

"I know. Just as much as I have to deal with Hecate." Ethan sighs, running his knuckle down her cheek gently, so softly she could barely feel it. But he felt it, needed it - the touch, the softness, all of it.

"When?" Grayson bit his lower lip, taking in a shuddered breath as she shuffled in her sleep and moved closer to him. Her fingers wrapped around his shirt, pulling it slightly toward her.

"Now. You tell her and I'll go tell Hecate to fuck off already." Ethan stood, the bed instantly colder for Y/N, but while she does frown in her sleep, she doesn't wake.

"We always told them together in the past." Grayson hissed, trying not to move too much in order to not wake her. It didn't feel right to leave him out of such an important conversation.

"And when did that ever work in our favor? Time to change things up, brother." And Apollo knew that before him stood Hermes, not Ethan. He wasn't just a man, but a god in love...and a god in love will do whatever he has to in order to secure safety for the one he cares for. His love knows no bounds, and Apollo knows that. Because he feels the same way.

Nodding, he bites his lip once more as Hermes leaves, leaning down so the tip of his nose brushed her cheek.

"Y/N, love." Grayson swallows, realizing he can no longer hold off on being honest with her. He has to let her know the truth before she goes mad. He has to give her all the information and let her choose what to do with it.

But instead of speaking, the moment her eyes open, her lips close in on his. It felt like she had been made anew.

His arms locked around her; unyielding, they tightened, impressing her soft flesh with the male hardness of his. A pleasant sensation streaked through her; her skin tingled. Still she held him firmly, so closely to her - almost desperate for his touch.

He tilted his head, his lips moved on hers, a powerful, elemental call to her senses. It woke her up, enough to pause their kiss for a single moment, her labored breathing matching his. She pressed herself into him, until she could feel his hardness pressing back.

"What are you doing?" Grayson asks, pained and needy, frustrated and completely confused.

"A girl is offering herself to you and you're blind to it? I don't buy it." She smiled against his lips, her tone unusually cheerful, far too calm for a girl who just lost her mother for the second time. Pulling back, Grayson cups her face, observing her carefully for signs of Hecate. He could tell who it is just by looking into her eyes, however, he is surprised when he finds it's Y/N who is gazing back at him.

"You should know who I am before giving yourself to me." Grayson leans in, his forehead resting atop hers, his lips brushing hers just for a moment before he utters the truth finally.

"Ethan and I aren't human." He closed his eyes, unable to look at her at all. He didn't want to see her when she rejects him, enjoying the last moments he can have her all to himself. He felt her body stiffen, her lips quiver as they brushed his once more, her forehead wrinkling despite the weight of his head on it.

"Okay." She whispers, swallowing thickly as his eyes snap open, confused and a little happy she's not running for the hills. But she wanted to honor what her mother told her. Be open and listen...feel, don't think.

"I'm sure there's more to the story." She continues, her right hand hovering above his right cheek before she sets her palm on it, her thumb tracing half circles on his skin.

"My name is Apollo and he is Hermes. We've been cursed to walk the Earth to atone for our sins against mankind. Doomed to do so until a descendant of the old gods falls in love with one of us, allowing the chosen one to return home while dooming the other one." Apollo tried to pull back, the silence and the stare too intimate, too heavy for him to take, but she doesn't let him. Instead, she hooks her leg around his waist, her other hand joining the task of cupping his face.

"And Hecate is my bloodline?" She asks, but it's obvious she knows the truth. Taking in a shaky breath, she tracks her right hand to his jaw and further back until it settles on his neck, slowly sliding to his shoulder.

"What happens when the descendant loves you both equally? So much so she feels her heart is comprised of two pieces and each piece has your names written on them." Y/N lifts her head up, chin first until their foreheads part and she tastes his lips languidly. Only to break the kiss a moment after.

"But do you love me?" She adds, kissing the left corner of his lips as her entire body trembles in need. In pure need of his body on hers.

"With all my heart." And that is all the confirmation she needs.

His lips parted, she slid her tongue between to tangle challengingly with his. He tasted powerful, so wonderfully, a mind-whirling sensation gripping her. He hadn't moved, instinctively she deepens the caress, angling her lips against his.

Passion. It burst upon her mind, heart, upon her senses like a hurricane. It rose from within him, from between them, pouring through her, deep, swirling emotion, a soul-stealing compulsion.

On one heartbeat, she was the leader, on the next, he resumed command; his lips hard, his body a steel cage surrounding her. A cage she never wished to escape. She surrendered, gladly yielding; ravenous, he stole her very breath. Breasts aching, heart thundering, Y/N stole it back.

A part of her wondered about Ethan, no, Hermes, and where he may be for she remembered him being on her other side, but she couldn't stop. Another part of her, one she never knew existed, wished for him to be there, right by her and his arms on her. She was never a dirty mind kind of a girl, nor would she ever think she'd be one to wish for a threesome with twins...brothers, gods, inhuman beings...but she did. It was more than physical, her need stemming from deep within.

She does love them both, choosing in this moment is impossible. But only one of them told her he loves her back. Only one of them remained by her side. Only one of them pressed himself against her when she felt she would die if she remains untouched. His lids slowly rose; she met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Are you sure, love?"

"With all my heart." She mimicked his words from earlier, her fingers sliding into his thick hair.

Apollo nodded, smiling as he pulled back much to her dismay. He slid further down, freeing her of her shoes, socks and then pants - slowly, almost painfully. Like he didn't care if Hermes came back and stumbled upon them. Like he had all of eternity to make love to her. To make love with a mortal, no reason but the way she makes him feel as if he is someone worthy of her heart. Not just for the fun, nor hope of ruin...just love he feels.

He let his hands fall, tracing her sleek thighs before closing one hand above each knee. Slowly, he slid his fingers upward, his thumbs drawing lazy circles along her inner thighs. Higher and higher, inch by inch, he raised his hands - the muscles of her thighs tensed, then locked, then quivered.

He stopped with his thumbs just below her panties, placing his fingers on the soft cotton. While he let his hands roam her body, his lips savored the taste of hers. Drawing back from their kiss, he watched her and waited for her lids to rise. When they did, he trapped her gaze with his and drew two more circles. She shivered.

One hand slid around to spread across her bottom; her skin turned feverish at his touch. He caressed her in slow circles, her senses followed, distracted by the cotton shifting between hand and naked skin.

Then his fingers fanned, cupping her bottom and in the same instant, she felt his other hand slide between her parted thighs. His head angled over hers; his kiss became more demanding. He stroked her through the cotton panties, stroked and caressed and teased until the cotton clung, a second skin, muting his touch, tantalizing her senses. Y/N tensed, fingertips sinking into the muscles of his back, pulling his shirt up and breaking the kiss just to pull it over his head. She felt his hand shift; one long finger sliding into her, probing gently, then more deliberately. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. She pulled back with a gasp and he let her go, his hands leaving her. He tore his clothes off, watching her through hooded lids while she did the same, revealing her beautifully curvaceous body. She was far from perfect, a million reasons why she could never be a model obvious to anyone, but Apollo didn't care. Grasping her waist, he toppled over her entirely and they sank into the bed.

With a valiantly smothered shriek, she rolled into him, into his arms, unable to gain any ground on the slippery sheets. He lifted her over him, her legs tangling with his, her hair fanning over his naked chest.

He expected her to be shocked, expected her to hesitate, believing she had never touched a naked man. The shock was certainly there, he saw it in her stunned expression; hesitation followed but it lasted a split second. In the next, their lips met and there was no longer any distinction between him kissing her and her kissing him. He felt her hands on his chest, greedily exploring; he ravaged her mouth and felt her fingers sink deep. He spread his hands over her back and held her against him, easing the throbbing ache of his erection against her soft belly. She writhed, heated and eager. Some women were catlike, elusively seductive but she was demanding, aggressive, intent on not just fraying his reins, but shredding them. Deliberately invoking his desire, all the possessiveness in his soul. Which, given she was a virgin from what he could tell, qualified as abject madness. Breathing raggedly, he pulled back from their kiss.

"For Zeus' sake, slow down!"

Engrossed in caressing his chest, Y/N didn't even look up.

"I'm nineteen. I've wasted enough time." She wriggled while Apollo gritted his teeth. Out of all the things he expected when he finally came clean, for her to throw herself at him was the last one. He even felt guilty for stealing this moment from Hermes, because touching her felt better than anything Mount Olympus had to offer. But another part of his was struggling to keep himself in check, realizing he didn't want to destroy her the first time she gets a taste of what sex feels like. And she's made that job incredibly difficult.

"You're nineteen and you should know better. You should at least have some measure of self-preservation." Intent on rushing toward her fate, she seemed to have no concept of how much he could hurt her, of how much his strength overshadowed hers, of how much harder than her he was. She was intent on learning, her hands reached lower, exploring the ridges of his lower chest.

Apollo felt his desire rise, full-blown, ravenous, too strong for her to handle. Releasing her buttocks, he grasped her upper arms. Just as she grasped him. The shock that rushed through him nearly shattered his control.

He froze. So did Y/N.

She looked into his face, his eyes were shut, his expression graven. Carefully, she curled her fingers again, utterly fascinated by her discovery.

How could something so hard, so rigid, so ridged, so blatantly male, be so silky smooth, so soft?

Again, she touched the smoothly rounded head, akin to stroking hot steel through the finest silk. Apollo groaned; he reached down and closed his hand over hers, not to pull it away but to curl her fingers more tightly. Eagerly, she followed his unspoken instructions, obviously much more to her taste than slowing down. He let her caress him until he thought his jaw would break - he had to pull her hand away.

She fought him, squirming all over him, soft, hot flesh writhing over his by-now-painful erection. With a curse under his breath, he caught her hands, one in each of his, and rolled, trapping her beneath him. He anchored her hands to the bed and kissed her, deeply and more deeply, letting his weight sink fully onto her until she had no breath left to fight him, no strength to defy him.

They both stilled; in that instant, she was open to him, heated, her thighs spread, soft and welcoming, her hips baiting him to move. All he needed to do was reach down then sink his throbbing erection into her softness and claim her.

Simple.

Gritting his teeth, Apollo let go of her hands and lifted away. He moved back. Knees spread, he sat back on his ankles in the middle of the bed. Locking his eyes on hers, he beckoned with both hands.

"Come here."

Her eyes widened; they searched his, then fell - jaw locked, he suffered her scrutiny, saw the age-old question form in her eyes. Giddy, not only from breathlessness, Y/N slowly blinked, then raised her eyes to his face. He looked exactly like a god, seated in the remains of sunlight coming through his window, his maleness so flagrantly displayed. The soft light gilded the muscles of his arms, his chest—and the rest of him. She drew in a deep breath; her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Slowly, she rose on one elbow and came up on her knees, facing him. He took her hands in his and drew her closer, then closed his hands about her waist and lifted her. As he set her down astride his thighs, Y/N frowned into his eyes.

"If you tell me we have to wait, I'll scream." The planes of his face looked harder than granite.

"You'll scream anyway." She frowned harder and saw his lips twitch. "With pleasure."

The idea was new to her. She was still thinking as Apollo...well, Grayson still in her mind, drew her closer. High on her knees as she was, her hips grazed his lower chest.

"Kiss me." He didn't need to ask twice; willingly, she twined her arms about his neck and set her lips to his. One hand at her back holding her upright, he deepened the kiss, skimming his other hand upward, over her abdomen, before closing it about her breast. The already heated flesh swelled and firmed, hearing her moan as he tweaked her nipple. He drew back from the kiss; she let her head fall back, the exposed curve of her throat an offering he didn't refuse. He trailed hot kisses down the pulsing vein; she inched closer, pressing her breast to his palm. Bending her back, he lowered his head. She stilled, her breathing quickened. One long lick dampened one nipple. She gasped as his lips touched the peak, sucking lightly as he felt her melt in his arms.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd bedded a virgin, even then, whoever she was, she hadn't been someone he loved. He harboured no illusions over how difficult the next half hour would be; for the first time in his lengthy career, he prayed he'd be strong enough to manage her and the passion she unleashed in him.

Head bent, he tortured one tightly budded nipple, then turned his attention to its mate. Sinking her fingers into his upper arms, Y/N gasped and swayed. With her bones transmuted to warm chocolate, her weak grip, his hand at her back and the tantalizing tug of his lips were all that was keeping her upright. Hot and wet, his lips, his mouth, moved over her breasts, teasing first one aching bud, then the other until both were swollen tight. She ached to touch him, to send her hands searching, but didn't dare let go. His lips left her; a second later, his teeth grazed one crinkled nipple. She gave a muted cry.

His lips returned, soothing her flesh, then he suckled hard. With a long-drawn moan, she swayed forward, into his kiss. It caught her, anchored her, as his hands roved her body, heated palms burning. Every curve she possessed, he traced; every square inch of her skin tingled, then ached for more. Her back, her sides, the curve of her stomach, the long muscles of her thighs, her arms, her bottom - none escaped his attention. The shiver that racked her came from deep within, a final farewell to the virgin she was but would be no more.

His hands rose and he released her lips. Splaying her fingers, she sank the tips into his chest and felt his muscles lock. She kissed him with a fervour to match his own, revelling in the urgency building between them. Excitement whirled as their lips melded, each breath the other's, tongues entwined. His hands roamed, as urgently demanding as his lips, hard palms sculpting, fingers flexing, possessing.

Still on her knees, her thighs locked on either side of his, her hips pressed to his abdomen, she felt his hands curve and cup her bottom. One remained, holding her high, the other slid lower, long fingers questing. They found her heat and slid further, pressing between her thighs, probing the hot, slick folds, caressing, then pressing deeper and deeper as she ached and burned. His only response was to deepen their kiss, holding her captive and to his mercy.

His fingers stroked slowly, deliberately. Abruptly, Apollo drew back from their kiss. His fingers left her; he cupped her bottom with both hands.

"Slide down." Y/N couldn't believe the strength of the compulsion that gripped her, but she knew she needed him inside her more than she needed to breathe. Even so, just looking at his hardened length, she shook her head.

"You're never going to fit."

His hands firmed about her hips. "Just slide."

She did, sinking lower, his hands guiding her. She felt the first touch of his cock, hot and hard, and stopped. He slipped his fingers between her thighs and opened her; she felt the first intimate intrusion of his body into hers. Catching her breath on a strangled gasp, she sank lower, and felt his head slip inside.

He felt large, much larger than she'd expected. She sucked in a breath; under the weight of his hands, she sank still lower. Hard as forged iron, hot as unquenched steel, he pressed into her.

She shook her head again. "This is not going to work."

"It will." She felt his words within her; he was, if anything, even tenser than she, rock-hard muscles flickering.

"You'll stretch to take me. Every inch. It's the way your body is built." He was the expert. Through the storm of emotions inside her; uncertainty, desire, and giddy need, laced with distant remnants of shyness, all gave into the most desperate longing she'd ever known.

Stubborn as always and determined to be brave, she sank down. And stopped. Immediately, Grayson lifted her, not quite losing her clinging heat.

"Sink down again." She did, until her hymen again impeded their progress. Under his hands, she repeated the maneuver again and again. She was hot, slick and very tight; once she was moving freely, he brushed his lips against her temple.

"Kiss me." She lifted her head immediately, swollen lips parted, eager for more. He took her mouth vigorously, struggling to harness the wild passion that drove him, battling to remain in control long enough to avoid unnecessarily hurting her. He was going to hurt her enough as it was.

One, powerful upward thrust, timed to meet her downward slide, enforced by the pressure of his hands on her hips, and it was done. He breached her in that single movement, forging deep into her body, filling her, stretching her.

She screamed, the sound smothered by their kiss. Her body tensed; so did his. Focusing completely on her, waiting for her softening, the first sign of acceptance that he knew would come, Grayson grimly denied the primal urge to lose himself in her heat, to pound into her mindlessly like he would if it was any other girl.

Their lips had parted; they were both breathing raggedly. From under his lashes, he watched as she moistened her lips with her tongue.

"Was that the scream you were talking about?"

"No." He touched his lips to the corner of hers.

"There'll be no more pain from now on, you'll only scream with pleasure." Y/N could only hope. The memory of the sharp agony that had seared into her was so intense she could still feel it. Yet with every breath, with every heartbeat, the heat of him eased the ache. She tried to shift; his hands firmed, holding her still.

"Wait." She had to obey. Until that moment, she hadn't appreciated how completely in his control she was. The hard, throbbing reality that had invaded her, intimately filling her, impinged fully on her mind. Vulnerability swept her, rippling through her.

She heard Grayson groan. Blinking, she looked up; his eyes were shut, his features like stone. Under her hands, the muscles of his shoulders were locked in some phantom battle. Inside her, the steady throb of him radiated heat and a sense of barely reined urgency. Her pain had gone. On the thought, the last of her tension ebbed; the last vestiges of resistance fell away. Tentatively, her gaze on his face, she eased from his hold, and rose slowly on her knees.

"Please." The single word was heavy with encouragement. He stopped her at the precise point beyond which their contact would break. She sensed his eagerness, the same compelling urgency that welled within her; she needed no direction to sink slowly down, enthralled by the feel of his steely hardness sliding, slick and hot, deep into her. She did it again, and again, head falling back as she slid down, opening her senses completely, savoring every drawn-out second. Their guidance no longer required, his hands roved, reclaiming her breasts, the full curves of her bottom, the sensitive backs of her thighs.

Lifting her head, Y/N draped her arms around his neck and sought his lips with hers. The glide of their bodies, uniting in a rhythm as old as the moon, felt exquisitely right. She gave him her mouth; as he claimed it, she tightened her arms, pressing herself to him, drawn to the promise contained within his powerful body, demanding more.

He drew back from the kiss; under his lashes, she saw his eyes gleam.

"Are you all right?" His hands traced mesmerizing circles on her lower back. At the peak of her rise, she held his gaze and slowly, concentrating on the rigid hardness invading her, sank down. She felt his rippling shudder and saw his jaw firm. His eyes flashed. Greatly daring, she licked the vein pulsing at the base of his throat.

"Actually, I find this quite..." She was so far past breathless her words shook.

"Surprising?" His voice was a rumble almost too low to be heard. Catching a desperate breath, Y/N closed her eyes and offered a different word.

"Unearthly." His laugh was so deep she felt it in her marrow.

"Trust me." His lips traced the curve of her ear. "There's a great deal more pleasure to come."

"Ah, yes," Y/N murmured, trying desperately to cling to sanity. "I believe you to be a past master at this exercise." Dragging in a tight breath, she rose upon him.

"Does that make me your maiden, worshiper?"

"No." Apollo held his breath as she sank, excruciatingly slowly, down.

"That makes you the love of my life. My pupil. My world." It would make her his consort had he any power over her, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

On her next downward slide, she pressed lower; he nudged deeper. Her breath hitched; instinctively, she tightened about him. Grayson set his teeth against a groan. Eyes wide, she looked up at him, her breathing shallow and fast.

Breasts rising and falling, brushing his chest, she moistened her lips. "I really didn't think you'd fit."

Apollo clenched his jaw along with every other muscle he possessed. After a moment of fraught silence, he managed to say: "I'll fit—eventually."

"Eventually?" Her eyes grew round, but he didn't wait for more. He caught her lips in a ravishing kiss and, anchoring her hips against him, tumbled her back onto the pillows. He'd chosen their earlier position to break her hymen, placing a limit on how deep he could go, helpful given the force of his instincts. But the time for limits had passed; his swift rearrangement landed her on her back among the pillows, his hips between her thighs, his cock still buried deep within her.

She tensed as his weight trapped her; instantly, he lifted his chest and shoulders from her, straightening his arms, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side. Their kiss broken, her eyes flew open. He trapped her gaze in his. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew from her, then, fluidly flexing his spine, he entered her.

Inch by inch, he claimed her; heated and slick, her body welcomed him, stretching to take him in. He watched her eyes widen, his hazel eyes with golden specks now a deep brow, almost black as he surged deeper. He sheathed himself in her softness, sinking into her to the hilt, coming to a rest as his forehead leaned on hers. Gazes locked, they both held still.

Y/N couldn't breathe, he filled her so completely; she could feel the steady beat of him at the base of her throat. Staring up at his face, she saw the hard planes shift, sharp-edged with reined passion. A conqueror looked down on her, eyes dark, ringed with green, a god she'd given herself to. A sense of possession swamped her; her heart swelled, then soared.

He was waiting, but for what? Some sign of surrender?

She smiled—slowly, fully. Her hands had come to rest on his forearms; lifting them, she reached up and drew his lips to hers. She heard him groan in the instant their lips met. He came down on his elbows, his hands flicking her hair aside, then framing her face. He deepened their kiss and her senses went spinning; his body moved on her, within her, and pleasure grew.

She caught the rhythm and matched him, letting her body welcome him, holding him tight for a heartbeat before reluctantly releasing him. Again and again they formed that intimate embrace; each time, each devastatingly thorough thrust pushed her higher, further, toward something she couldn't even imagine. Her mind and senses merged, then soared, driving her to the brink of madness.

Fed by their striving bodies, by each panting breath, by each soft moan, each guttural groan, the pleasure intensified, growing larger until it exploded between them and Y/N lost herself in the glorious, heart-stopping sensation. Blind, she couldn't see; deaf, she couldn't hear. All she could do was feel him under her hands and know he was with her, feel the warmth that filled her and know she was his, feel the emotion that held them, forged strong in the fire and know nothing on earth could ever change it.

Neither of them gave a second though to the god who ventured into the basement and drew a pentagram in the concrete.

Setting a candle at each peak of the star, he set them aflame and swallowed thickly. A golden chalice in his hand, Hermes brought a knife to his palm and drew blood, filling the chalice.

Adding saffron, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to finish this.

''Hecate, ισχυρή θεά της διασταύρωσης, το σκοτάδι, ο θάνατος, η σοφία, και το φεγγάρι, παρακαλώ έρχονται σε μένα. Παρακαλώ εκδιώξτε, προστατέψτε με και βοηθήστε μου όταν είμαι σε κίνδυνο. Φροντίστε με το δικό σας και δώστε μου όλα όσα χρειάζεστε. Εκατέ, περιπλανηθείτε στο σκοτάδι σας για να μπορώ να φέρω το φως μου " (''Hecate, mighty Goddess of crossroads, darkness, death, wisdom, and the moon, please come to me. Please Hecate, protect me and help me when I am in danger. Treat me as one of your own and give me all that is needed. Hecate, surround me in your darkness so that I can bring forth my light.") The moment he opens his eyes, he find his consort before him in the pentagram. "Isn't this a surprise? My husband coming to me after all these centuries passed." Hecate stepped forward, looking down on the tightly drawn-on pentagram meant to keep her in. "I need you to leave Y/N alone. Whatever you want in return..."Hermes pauses, knowing he is making a deal with someone much worse than the devil. "Whatever you want in return is yours." He repeats, finishing his original statement as she tilted her head, studying him with her unforgiving gaze. "Had you come to me all those centuries ago, I'd have turned every reality there is to bring you and your brother home. But you failed me - as a friend, as a lover, as a consort. I will never help you for I live to destroy your happiness. And she is a part of that, is she not?" A viciously poisonous smile crept up her lips as she giggled to herself, only for her smile to disappear in moments like it never happened and her face takes on an innocent look. Hermes knew she wanted to hurt him. "But does she want you? That is the question only I can answer for you...because I am her. Inside her mind, inside her heart." She spoke languidly, baiting him to come closer and make her stop talking for his clenched jaw nearly shattered his teeth and his eyes turned into fire as he glared at her.

"Maybe you can ask your brother? After all, he is currently buried inside her to the hilt. Tasting her warmth, every inch of her skin as she unravels in his arms, moaning his name." She chuckled, enjoying the hurt flashing on his face and in his eyes more even she expected.

"So how does it feel when the one you love decides to fuck someone else?" She raises her right eyebrow, her voice displaying just how happy she is, enthusiastic even.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Hermes sighed, watching Hecate tilt her head ever so slightly, enough to glare at him with those emerald daggers she calls eyes.

"More than you'll ever know." She responds, her voice oddly calm but filled with emotion. He can tell she is still very much hurt, but her anger toward him outweighs her love.

"Even so, I am not lying about your brother fucking her senseless as we speak. I'm sure you could hear them if you just walked up a couple of stairs." She pointed to the stairs, looking above her at the ceiling with her amused madness returning.

Enraged, Hermes stumbled forward, the knife he used to bleed now pointed at Hecate, the tip pressing just under her ribs, enough to kill her if he likes.

"Should I be scared?" She smirked. "Oh, if only the blade wasn't human." She licked her lips, leaning in for a kiss. But before she can connect their lips, Hermes drives the knife into her rib cage and through her heart, sneering at her with amusement taking over his eyes now. She gasped, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as her eyes widened in shock of the pain he caused. Digging her nails into his skin, she drew blood but to no avail, her croaks now coming out with ragged breaths.

"It isn't." He smirks.

And with that, Hermes pulled the blade out to make sure she bleeds out, tossing her onto the ground before walking out. He believed her to disappear as mombie dearest did, seeing her fade as he glanced at her while he cleaned the knife.

Despite wanting to watch the life fade out her eyes and her body return to Underworld, Hermes' rage simmered and grew.

Satisfied with a job well done, Hermes set his sights on a different task now.

Trying not to kill his brother.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @fallinginlove-16 @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid @dinnerwiththedolans @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck @godlydolans @flowery-dolan @dominatedolans @buckysjuicyplums @ethanhes @dolandolll @dolanstwintuesday

If I forgot someone, let me know!

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #dolan twins #ethan dolan x reader #grayson dolan x reader #dolan twins greek god au #dolan twins au #GREEK GOD AU #Greek Mythology #hermes #apollo #ethan dolan series #grayson dolan series #dolan twins fanfic

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tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors · 5 years

Note

How do you reverse telling someone to stop?

theres quite a few ways Patton could wake someone up if he’s told them to “stop.” thats actually the easy part.

Wake up, get up, come back - all of these work, probably others

the problem isnt so much what he has to say as how long it takes him to say it

What “Stop” essentially does is just turn everything off all at once - heart, breathing, consciousness - like a switch.

so Patton’s perfect capable of telling someone to get back up, but the longer it takes him to do so, the more their brain is deprived of oxygen which is obviously Not A Good Time

now to be fair, its been established that Patton’s capable of healing with his voice (he essentially speeds up the body’s natural healing process) but this is an imprecise and very dangerous thing to do.

Patton doesn’t have a medical degree - he could tell your arm to heal if it was broken, but that wont set it first, or remove bits of broken off bone, or make sure the nerves regrow correctly

and if he left someone long enough that they were on the very edge of death, he could still bring them back from the edge - but at that point, he’s violating the natural order and it stops sticking

thats why he had to keep coming back for the rabbit. the rabbit was supposed to die. Patton brought it back just before it did, but it had been so close it got stuck, halfway between.

and why “Go home” makes the rabbit die, rather than him having to say something more concrete like “Die.” It’s not supposed to be alive. It doesnt belong in the world of the living anymore.

Thats also why “Go home” works on Greta.

and also why Greta starts her time as a ghost humanoid but eventually devolves into a monster.

Mortals are not supposed to live forever. Keeping them in the world of the living when they ought to pass on hurts them. Greta goes insane, and she’s clearly unnatural - she’s out of sync with the world around her, she brings this miasma of decay everywhere she goes. the rabbit continues to deteriorate and rot.

A lot of people have mentioned (mostly in the comments of Requiem) that Patton’s powers ought to mean that Roman and Patton can live forever.

I understand why people want that, and if you wanna scrap Requiem/Foundation and have that be your headcanon, i encourage you to do so. It wont hurt my feelings - i would be ecstatic you care enough about the characters and the world to want it to be perfect for you

but the way i was running it, Patton’s powers can only work with what you have. He can heal a body, but only speed up what your body would do naturally. he can force you to try and lift something, but he cant give you super-strength to do it.

He can keep you from dying, but he just cant do it forever, because that’s not the way living works.

#love and other fairytales ask #death tw #Anonymous #ask

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marveloverthinker · 6 years

Text

Space Orcs- The Monster

Gallion wasn’t the sort who believed in tales of monsters or space barbarians. Sure, he’d heard the tales of humanity, the species that had crashed into the Intergalactic scene like an asteroid through the Crystal Spires, but reading between the lines, he saw what the frightened sheep of the Federation had missed... a planet rich in minerals and exotic life, populated by a species that, for the most part, still might as well have been pre-space flight. Ripe for plundering. And if the timidity of the Federation made them slower to acclimate, hey, just more time to do business. He had picked the locale carefully, a particularly backwoods corner of nowhere on the continent the locals referred to as “North America,” delightfully located equidistant from at least five major population centers. People had ignored this place purposefully, which served his own purposes just fine. His crew had been nervous, likely caught up in the stories about humanity that they had heard, but Gallion had no patience for such nonsense. What was real, what mattered, were the scans he was picking up, with insane biodiversity and mineral resources, completely unexploited. The hazards that concerned him were easily dealt with, as well. If the primitives survived here, well, then so could they. The biggest worry was that infernal star, soaking the planet in the same stellar radiation that had likely spurred so many mutations in the first place, but humans had dealt with that, developing lotions and easily applicable salves that could block the worst of it, so long as exposures were kept brief. Discovering a large, run down structure to hide the ship, he’d started the initial foraging, eager to see what there was once he’d sunk his claws in. Near the structure (planetary records indicated it was a “barn,” a container building for ancient agricultural methods) was another, even more dilapidated structure that had likely been an abode once, now a rotting derelict his engineers had deemed unsafe with a single unaided look. His crew had eyed it warily, said it made them nervous. Gallion had laughed off the superstition, and most had dropped the issue, but Rangar, a Soravian who didn’t spook easily, had snapped back. “You only ever see profit, Gallion, but I say that building is wrong. My people are slightly psychic, and the echoes around that place...” Gallion had risked another laugh, trying to keep control of the situation. “Your species barely cracks a 10 on the Suros Continuum. Most Psi Sweeps wouldn’t even read you unless they’d already crawled up your nose. You’re seeing shadows, or whatever the telepath equivalent of that is. Now shut up, and let’s get to work. If the house makes you so damn nervous, focus on getting me some of those squirrels, they may be more your speed.” Rangar had shut up, but the seed had been planted, and the house kept coming up in reports. Odd noises. Lights in the windows. Night watchmen kept reporting odd shadows, or rolling mist, or the crunch of dead foliage behind them. And always from the direction of that house. “FINE!” Gallion had roared when presented with a plan to just level the place, as if that wouldn’t pull attention all over them! “We’ll go. It’s stood this long, it’ll stand a little longer. We’ll go in, enforced, and show you all ONCE AND FOR ALL that there is nothing in there!” He encouraged them to take any weapons they could hold and still fit through the door, and they had, bundling through the cramped quarters looking ready to blast even the smallest mouse to hell if it dared to show its ears. The inside was even more rancid than out, with massive mold growths and scattered burn damage. Then they’d found the bodies. Just a pile of them, mostly skeletons but with the grime of dessication dripping over the whole mass. Human, the lot of them. With smashed, or severed, skulls. “By Tholian...” one of the men had gasped. “What happened here...” Gallion chose an analytical tone. “The deaths of this many sentients. This enough for that psychic noise, Rangar?” The Soravian had nodded, dumbly. “Well, then I owe you an apology. Here’s the culprit. Some maniac killed all these people and dumped the bodies, but this plainly happened a long time ago, and you’ve seen human living quarters. None of them would choose to live...” He frowned. “Where’s Orayan?” Suddenly a croaking scream came from behind them. Before Gallion could say a word, three of his men had opened fire, hot plasma ripping through the walls. There was an alarming creak, and in that moment, Gallion knew that at least one of them had been load bearing. “GET OUT!” He shouted, bursting for the door, but all around him was chaos. In the air and through vox he could hear cries of confusion, pain, and even horror. The floor collapsed and he saw the flailing tentacles of an Athalan rogue desperately trying to find purchase, only to be knocked down it by the mountain of bone crashing into him on it’s way to the basement. And then he saw it, a figure, impossibly huge, holding his twin Croteks by the throats, crushing them together with its bare hands, it’s own skin crisp and smoking from near misses with plasma weapons. “It’s a human!” He shouted, and the panic increased. The ceiling was coming down, and Gallion lunged for a window, grimacing through the pain of piercing shards of glass he picked up along the way, cringing as the roar of the collapsing building precluded all other sound. Slowly, he stood. His readouts showed most of his crew dead. Damn. Still, they had grabbed some good specimens already, certainly worth enough to hire a new, less skittish crew for when he returned. He knew he should have picked the smaller landmass. Australia had sounded so wholesome. As he turned to walk to his ship, he felt something grab his shoulder. “Okay, okay, Rangar, you were right, I’ll buy you a...” Then his eyes focused on the blackened, charred fingers that held him. Humans were frightening, but not immortal. No WAY he had survived... A blade thrust into his sternum, lifting him clear off the ground, and as he looked down at the figure that held him, trying to think of a suitable curse for what it had done, the look in it’s empty, milky white eyes stilled his vocal cords. Gallion had never been superstitious, but eagerly took his chances with whatever lay on the other side of death than look at them for even a second longer. ------------------- Rangar gasped in vain, desperately trying to pull in the oxygen he needed through the sack that had been tied around his head, past the gag that had been shoved between his teeth. There were voices outside, but so desperate was he for air, that calling for help never even occurred to him. Well, the air, and the voice. Always there, whispering in the back of his mind. It had spared him for a reason. For now. “It’s a damn shame, Billy, but frankly I think it’s for the best. Your granny’s house otter have been knocked down decades ago, anyway.” “I s’pose you’re right, officer.” “Federation has already sent a full apology by way of the aliens. These ‘ins weren’t official, as it goes, probably crooks, but they’ve offered some credits to set you up someere’s else, if you like. Better’n your tent, anyway.” “i s’pose you’re right, officer.” “Anyway, lad, they say you get full salvage rights, as well, and the ship looks in fine shape. You take that out, head past jump zero, get you a pilot, you could go anywhere.” “I s’pose you’re right, officer.” A pause. “Ok, Billy, you stay outta trouble, now.” “Bye-bye, officer. Bye-bye.” The voice was frustrated. The officer was meat and bone and blood but had been friends with kin and always played nice, which meant he lived. Granny had always said be good to kin, even if they were race traitors as let filth roam on family land. But now house had burned, and maybe granny would rest with all those Billy had sent her for company. Or maybe she was in the sky, where the smoke had gone. In the sky she could be lonely. Granny hated to be lonely. So more had to burn. The door opened, and Rangar recoiled as best he could from the hatred that roared in his brain as Billy stared at him. This one knew how to fly. Where the others were. And how they best could burn.

#HAW #Humans are Weird #Space Orcs #Change of Pace

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