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appocalipse · 3 months

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hello! can I please request "I really, really want to kiss you right now." with steve and our shy!reader friend?!

here you go my love! hope you like it ♥ 1.3 k

The rain catches the two of you by surprise.

It pours down relentlessly, the cold droplets stinging your skin as you and Steve hurry towards his car, sadly parked way too far away from the charming flea market you had somehow dragged him to earlier that afternoon.

Well, not really dragged exactly — Steve himself had volunteered to give you a ride the moment he heard you telling Robin how much you wanted to go and see if you could find some new furniture for your apartment, maybe even some decorations. But you felt as if you had dragged him there because, c'mon, what kind of guy thinks walking around a flea market with a friend is any fun?

And to top it off, the summer rain had come out of nowhere, sending everyone desperately running for shelter somewhere. Some lucky vendors had their tents already set up when it started, others began trying to cover their wares with tarps or whatever else they had at hand. A good number of them simply started to pack up their things to leave though, as did most of the potential customers who had been taking a look around — you and Steve included.

He had left his BMW in the parking lot of a closed store. It had seemed much closer before than it does now, as you and him run through the rain, palms over your heads to try to shield your faces from the relentless water.

You accidentally step into a puddle. Water splashes around your ankle, wetting the bare skin all the way up to your calf. You mutter a curse under your breath, deeply resenting your decision of wearing a summer dress today. "Oh, great."

Steve chuckles, looking over his shoulder to you. Then what you can only assume is instant karma happens, and he slips and falls into a larger puddle, splashing water all over his pants and shoes.

You try to hold back, you really do, but the laughter is already building up inside of you, threatening to come out. And besides, he makes no move to get up, sitting there on the ground all wet, looking up at you like an abandoned puppy.

You giggle, which makes him laugh as well.

"Sure," he says, "go ahead and laugh."

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" you choke out, trying to hold back your laughter as you approach him, offering one hand to help him up. "Are you okay?"

But of course he is. Except for the blow to his ego, that is. And now, in addition to just being wet, his jeans are also partially stained with mud.

And the t-shirt — which is white, no less — starts to stick to his skin, giving you a view you didn't ask for but that's certainly hard to ignore.

Steve accepts your hand, but you use both hands and too much force to pull him up, so he almost collides with you when he finally stands, his face inches from yours. You both laugh, because it was supposed to be funny — his head almost bumps into yours — but he grabs your shoulders and the remnants of the laughter from before slowly die when you realize without a doubt that he's looking at your mouth.

And you at his. In the rain. Doesn't get any more romantic than this.

Except for the fact that Steve is Steve, the former King Steve, the boy who had a pretty girl on his arm every week, while you are...you.

You're not sure who pulls away first, who clears their throat, changes the subject. But before you know it, you're sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car, staring at the dashboard as lightning cuts across the darkened sky in the distance, a storm clearly brewing.

And it's worse. This feeling you have whenever you look at him or he says your name or anyone mentions his…it's somehow worse like this, in this moment, inside this car.

As if that wasn't enough, he offers you a jacket that he takes from the backseat. His jacket.

"Thanks," you murmur, taking the jacket and putting it on. It's warm. You remember the last time you saw him wearing it and resist the urge to close your eyes for a moment, inhaling his scent that still clings to the fabric. It's like a mix of laundry detergent, soap, and something uniquely Steve.

You feel a blush creep up your neck, and you look away, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.

He hasn't started the car yet, you notice. Perhaps he's considering waiting to see if the weather will get a little better? It doesn't look that bad that it's not safe to drive, you think.

“Sorry for dragging you here for nothing,” you say, when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything.

“You didn’t drag me,” Steve assures you, sitting half to the side to look at you. "And what do you mean, for nothing? You wanted to look at the furniture, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we didn't buy anything and now you're all wet."

He chuckles so quietly you almost don't hear. "I didn't come here to buy furniture."

You think about asking what he actually came for, but that would be a stupid question, wouldn't it? A hope of hearing something that he probably won't say. He came so you could buy what you wanted. He's a good friend like that.

Still, when you turn your head to look at him, there's something different in the way he's looking back at you. You smile, hoping to God he doesn't notice the nervous edge behind it, "What?"

Steve opens his mouth. He's pretty sure he didn't give those words permission to come out, and yet they come out anyway, hoarse and low, "I really, really want to kiss you right now."

You watch his lips move as he speaks, but it's like your mind can't process the words.

And once you do, you blink, not quite sure what to say to that. Your heart feels like it's trying to escape your chest, a wild thing thumping against your ribs. But there's something else in there too. Something warm. Something you haven't felt in a long time.

The front seats are close enough, so Steve reaches out, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your lips. "I've wanted to for a while now," he whispers, leaning in closer.

You feel hot all over, the air in the car suddenly too thick to breathe.

Steve's fingers trail down your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip, teasing you. It's a slow, deliberate movement, as if he's memorizing every inch of your face, every second of this moment. "Do you want me to?" he whispers, and the teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flip over.

Your mind is spinning, but somehow you manage to force out the words, "Yes." You mean it. God, you mean it.

Steve's smile grows in that charming, lopsided way he has when he's happy. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leans in closer, closer…and then his lips are there, pressing softly against yours. Feather-light at first, like he's testing the waters, making sure this is what you want. But when you part your lips, letting him in, he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a slow, lazy rhythm, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him.

And then, all too soon, he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. "Was that…was that okay?"

You smile, leaning as close to him as you can without jumping over the gearshift.

"It was more than okay."

[join my 3k followers celebration! ♥]

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

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introcoryo · 5 months

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— au where you’re reaped as sejanus plinth’s tribute from district 2, and he breaks into the arena to get his final goodbyes in.

coriolanus can see the brunette’s jaw tighten in his peripheral vision when highbottom announces that he’ll be mentoring one of the district 2 tributes. that tightness is followed by a deep, deep scowl when the reapings are aired, and your sweet, lamb-like face is shown on the now, sejanus notices, glaring screen. he has half a mind to storm out, but instead swallows thickly to fool his brain into thinking he’s calm and collected.

he remembers you, as if a remnant from a previous life. sejanus knows this is a shameful way of thinking. he’s no capitolite. they can throw as much money as they want at him, keep his stomach full and plump of steak and apple pie, give him the so called luxury of attending the academy, but he knows his name will metaphorically never leave that reaping bowl. for each year the hunger games have commenced, three names were picked from district 2. a boy’s, a girl’s, and sejanus’s. he is in that arena with them, although not physically. and that is what hurts him most. his name, although not verbally chosen and spoken into a microphone, is amongst that litter, and yet he has the privilege, like every capitolite, of leaving the arena every year when the victor is announced, when his fellow district 2 tributes do not have that option.

upon first greeting you at the capitol zoo, a stinging pang shoots through his throat. he has absolutely no idea how he’ll be able to mentor you without completely destroying himself in the process. it’s eating him up inside; this hope that the academy has indirectly forced you to place in him. how that hope, crushed, would leave as you, god forbid, would have to take your final breaths in that arena, with nothing to attach to that despair but sejanus’s face.

you’re timid at first. you too, remembered this familiar face. the big brown eyes, never dull of emotion. long, fluttering eyelashes. he’s much taller now, with curly hair that looks like raw hazelnut under the sun. with the way he’s looking at you, you figured he did not outgrow his tenderness. it was no look of pity, though, but a look of understanding. of sharing your fear, instead of accepting your fate. that made you feel a comfort you haven’t felt since standing in your district’s square.

after a few minutes of silence, of examining each other wordlessly, communicating with shared gazes, sejanus decides to speak up first, albeit everyone knowing it is his heart that speaks for him.

“i am so, so sorry for—”

he begins, but you stop him. there wasn’t a point to this, you think. unless he was the one who picked out your name specifically, why would he even feel the need to apologize? that certainly won’t change anything.

“it’s fine. it’s not your fault. i know, big elephant in the room, i’m behind bars at a zoo. the odds just weren’t in my favor. i’m not sure they will decide they like me later, either.”

sejanus clenches a hand around one of the steel bars at your pessimism, but how can he blame you? he has no hope himself, how could he even possibly think you would? he wishes he could effortlessly bend the barrier separating you two with his palms, grabbing you by the hand and running off somewhere else. somewhere safe. somewhere hopeful. he knows he can’t, and that leaves a shake in his voice as he chooses his next words delicately.

“i just… if there’s any way i could help you, guarantee that you would… walk out of there unharmed…”

“well, i saw the district 12 girl with her supposed mentor in here. inside the zoo. you’re mine, i assume? do what a mentor has to do. mentor me out… and some food won’t hurt, either.”

at the mention of that, sejanus’s face slightly lights up, and he reaches into his scarlet colored blazer pocket, taking out a wrapped napkin and handing it to you. you reach through the bars to take this mysterious item from him, fingers lingering just a bit, and unwrap it to find a sandwich, diagonally cut. you smile wistfully at the simple meal before you, this being the very first act of kindness you’ve been on the receiving end of since coming to the capitol. so much for hosting etiquette.

“thank you, sejanus, really… here,” you say in an unanticipated small voice, holding out one of the pieces.

the brunette freezes. you’re still kind. all of this, and you’re still kind. perhaps that’s all you’ll ever be. perhaps that’s what will be what dooms you in that arena. you will try to speak heart to heart, not sword to sword. he loathes that he’s thinking this way. he absolutely despises that he knows you will not be able to walk away from this without staining your hands red, but what has made a home in his chest is the miserable feeling of not knowing whether you’ll be able to do that. he’s district. he will forever be district, a vow he made at birth. but here he is, standing in front of you, free. here he is, handing you food as though you truly belonged in that zoo. he is everything you wished you could be in that moment, and yet you still decide to share your meal with him, despite the rumbling coming from your stomach. he wants to take it. wants to act like this is a normal picnic that you two are having together, but he knows you need that full sandwich. he knows you should take all you can get.

and so he declines politely. you begin to talk about the changes in district 2 since he’s left, and how life continued, yet everyone was stuck. sejanus emphasizes. he listens. but the dread has not left his system. he starts to think about how he’ll see you in another life if this one wasn’t enough. there’s so much time on the other side, and here it all feels like a constant countdown. never knowing if your time will be cut short. he mentally chastises himself; he needs to be optimistic. he needs to be here for you, now. he needs to think about the life you’ll have when he gets you out, not if. soon enough, you’ll believe it too.

to say that sejanus was a complete wreck watching you enter that arena would be an understatement. the cameras capture your soft features so well that you look displaced. lost. you shouldn’t be there, he thinks. no one should be there. the tears that built up in a split second blur his vision, and when the bell rings, he is there, running as a district 2 tribute.

sejanus watches as you take his advice, as you run and hide immediately, and he is kept at bay through at least that. he can’t lose it now. not when you’ve placed your entire life bare in his hands.

but sejanus is weak, too. he feels too much too often. his thoughts are frantic, and he finds himself in that arena the following night. the thumping in his chest intensifies as the voice at the entrance pleads him to enjoy the show, and he scoffs at that. he checked the cameras before coming, so he knows exactly where you are, and he’s so overwhelmed with the thought of seeing you that it doesn’t register that he has now, momentarily, taken the path he very well could’ve lived if he had not moved to the capitol. sejanus plinth, district 2 tribute.

light footed, he makes his way across the arena, and up the stands. he saw you come out of hiding when it was safe out, when most of the tributes were either asleep or in the tunnels, gathering a weapon or two from the cornucopia then settling on high ground. he figures you were startled once you heard the automatic greeting that played when he walked in, so he whispers your name.

he whispers it again. so delicately. laced with so much sweetness, it feels wrong to say it here.

and then a third time. the syllables now come out desperate. overwrought. he can’t leave without seeing you. touching you. it will break him.

“sejanus?” his ears perk up, and he looks around, frenzied, trying to distinguish the direction your voice came from. you peek out from one of the stands, and when you find those big, brown eyes looking back at you, you pick yourself up entirely and run to hold the man before you. the man who rushed into the possibility of death head on just to wrap his arms around you. he’ll face it all, just for that. oh how he wished you knew how badly he wanted to swap your places.

“you’re… but how? why? it’s dangerous here—” sejanus wastes no time, cupping your cheeks and diving in to kiss you. his hands are holding on to you for dear life, as if his knees will give out without the support. his eyebrows are knit together, focused on the feel of your lips on his. they’re dry, chapped, and cracked, but he doesn’t care. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip to give you some relief, making a mental note to send you some water as soon as he leaves.

he kisses you until it hurts him. until his lips are swollen and red. until the way you’re tightening your hands on his broad shoulders feels as though it’ll leave bruises. when you break the kiss to breathe, he tries to take you all in. to memorize everything. he desperately needs a pen and paper right this moment so he could draw you as accurately as he can, lest his memory fails him later.

the automatic voice sounds again, and only you turn your attention to the entrance. slowly comes coriolanus snow, the district 12 girl’s mentor, and his eyes scan the arena before they land on yours. you nudge sejanus lightly to direct his gaze to his friend, but he wants more. he can’t leave now. he can’t leave you. not like this.

“it’s okay, sejanus. i’ll be okay. help from the outside, and we’ll see each other again in no time.” you whisper, a tiny bit unconvincingly, eyes glossy. “just take care of yourself, okay?”

sejanus’s lips quiver, and he too whispers. you don’t believe it’s because of the other tributes, but because if he were to speak normally, only a sob would come out.

“you are myself. please take care of me.” you glance down and nod at that, tasting the saltwater that came rushing down your cheek. he wipes the trail that settled along your face, and begrudgingly makes his way to the blond.

sejanus is motivated by the thought, the need, to get you out of there. no matter the methods he uses. no matter the consequences he faces. he has the resources to buy you more time, and he finds himself not above exploiting them.

#this was so long omg sorry #it’s 4am and i’m thinking about sejanus plinth #the hunger games #thg #tbosbas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth angst #sejanus plinth fluff #sejanus plinth imagine #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird

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loveinhawkins · 1 month

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class vivisection

ao3 written for @steddiemicrofic March 2024 prompt, “pin,” 388 words. Rated G, Missing Scene, pre season 2, cw: implied/referenced homophobia

They’re all looking at you, Eddie’s brain helpfully suggests as he heads into first period. It’s not like the thought is unfounded; his entrance prompts whispers, mixed up with remnants of the usual student gossip after summer break: so who’s got the best tan?; did you hear Debbie Lyons went to France?; look, it’s true, Eddie Munson is repeating.

When he reaches his usual seat, there’s a bag on top of the desk already, and great, he’s gotta have a whole confrontation before class has even begun.

But Steve Harrington, sat two desks across, tilts precariously in his seat and retrieves the bag; Eddie’s spot is clear again.

Warily, Eddie sits down. “Uh, how’d you know that I—”

“You left your shit in the tray,” Steve says in an unconcerned drawl.

Eddie checks. There’s an old torn up notebook in the tray underneath his desk, barely written in, no helpful study notes from his past self. Bodes well.

“Doesn’t tell me why you put your shit on my desk, Harrington.”

“You think I wanna deal with a whole scene ‘cause someone sat in your precious seat? S’way too early.”

Eddie feels the familiar spike of irritation, like a gnat in his head. “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Whatever, dude.”

And while he certainly seems bored, Eddie’s not gonna be taken for a fool. Yeah, the whole King Steve stuff might be dying, but that doesn’t completely diminish Steve’s social standing, especially now that he’s a senior.

There’s a sharpness in his eyes that suggests he can easily cut through the bullshit, take you down a peg with just one look.

Eddie feels those eyes on him—feels abruptly like a pinned butterfly, every part of him exposed. His palms are sweating.

Maybe there were whispers before he even arrived. Maybe they said more—kept spreading the rumour that started last fall, that he avoids the gym changing rooms because—because—

“Don’t overthink it, Munson,” Steve says. He glances away, eyes flashing with annoyance—but not at him, Eddie realises with faint disbelief. At the whisperers. “I’m just here to pass this damn class.”

He sounds thoroughly done with school already.

Eddie smothers a stab of envy at Steve’s certainty that he’ll pass. Opens his notebook and writes down the date.

#school after summer break: an anxiety cocktail #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficmarch #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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thexianzhoujade · 29 days

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YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HER | genshin impact fanfiction. zhongli x gn!reader — angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, gagging, death, decomposition, dealing with grief and guilt. not proofread or edited.

idle chatter. this is also a reupload from my old blog... i'm such a thief gasp <3 library waiting list. @lovingluxury @dumbificat @starryshinyskies @ryuryuryuyurboat @ainescribe @bfjax @soleillunne @sangoqueenkoko

aventurine's addition. "alexi will forget if i don't remind her - here is the link to 'you're not her,' the first part of this angst."

the scene haunts him vividly. it creeps into every crevice of his mind, every nerve that has harboured all the knowledge he could ever acquire over these past centuries; it affects his psyche. in the darkness behind his eyelids - should he be brave enough to dare let his eyelashes sink shut - he sees every detail left of his beloved - you.

the guilt eats at him, nagging at his bones and tearing at his flesh, leaving only remnants of searing pains when he can't help but blame himself that he let it get this far - that he even let it happen. it was something so simple that he could avoided, at least that's what he tells himself. zhongli isn't stupid, not when he's walked teyvat this long and seeked enough knowledge for his own curiosity - albeit never comparable to that of the dendro archon. he knows it couldn't have been avoided, for that is why the guilt rips him apart so brutally.

but yet there is one simple way it could have been avoided. he should have never fell in love with you. the thought aches his heart and he finds his grip tightening around the tea cup in his hands, paled knuckles concealed by his oh-so-familiar gloves. amber eyes resembling the cor lapis native to his own country close shut and the horrific scenes creep back in.

the man admits to oversleeping that morning, the comfort of familiar bedsheets drowning him in a warmth incomparable to anything else. his routine with you was a simple one; he was always the last to bed but always the first to rise. zhongli used it as an excuse for you to never see his bare skin, the dark tones that cover his large hands and fade up his arms, decorated in veins of golds and oranges. he would get up and dressed, pulling black gloves over his hands before your eyelashes could even flutter open.

that was the way your relationship had ticked for the months it had been ongoing. that was the way zhongli kept his deepest secrets locked away, thinking it was for the best; it wouldn't cause problems if you knew, you was a mortal. zhongli knew he was facing the sandglass of time when it came to your life in the first place. is that what shattered the sandglass so soon? ending your life with a severed tie that happened too early, taking you from him when he was least prepared?

the bed was empty by the time zhongli awoke. the first fleeting thought that crossed the geo archon's mind was his secrets, his hidden gems - had you seen it all? had you left him? the second thought to cross his mind was in regards to your safety. he was certainly no fool, he knew he had enemies even with the lack of people who knew his true identity. you never rose before him and at least he would have expected you to wake him.

zhongli has traced the corridors and winding paths of your shared house many times. he's taken the stairs so much they're worn from the use of you both - and your guests, when the likes of xiao, hu tao or your friends come to visit. in every footstep, the man has memorised every inch of the house; every painting, every vase, every floorboard and in these steps he takes routinely, he knows the house is never this silent however there's no proof of a break-in. there's no distress, no signs of damage or disruption.

the earth has taken your body for its own in the span of a few hours, vines creeping across your body as if to tie you to the ground. celestia forbid someone tried to give you a proper burial, your clothes and skin stained in a dark red as the blood that flooded out of your mouth hours ago begins to oxidise. it paints the grass surrounding you and in the summer heat of the liyue sun, it creates a foul stench that suffocates the garden you'd spent so much of your time in.

there are flowers beginning to bloom on the vines tethering you to the earth, in shades of white so pure, it pales in comparison to the glaze lilies that had damaged your internal organs so ferociously. the sweet floral scents create a bitter tang in the air mixed with the metallic waft of blood and the unforgettable smell of the unavoidable rot your body was going through in the heat. this is what undeniably lead him to find you.

it makes him gag, turning his head away the second he steps outside into what is usually the clean air of liyue's countryside. his eyes fall to the pile of wilted glaze lilies you'd compiled in the far corner, hidden behind an apple tree you'd been growing. it's beginning to finally bear its fruits. zhongli notes that you will never see your apple tree's first harvest.

it feels as if he's stabbed in the chest when he finally musters the courage to look at you - or rather, what he thinks is you. your cheeks are sunken and your skin is beginning to tighten against muscles and bone, this isn't the you he remembers kissing goodnight last night. this isn't the you that would pepper kisses on his face when he expresses how tired he is after his shifts at the wangsheng funeral parlour.

this isn't who he fell in love with. this wasn't the human he should have never fell in love with because by gods, if there was anyone zhongli should have known to trust the least, it should have been celestia. he was a fool for thinking he could ever get away with loving a mortal, even after faking his death and attempting to step away from the title of the geo archon. he was still immortal up until his eventual erosion. he had still seen centuries past and people die around him.

was this celestia's curse upon you for his own regretful actions? the things he shouldn't have done and most certainly shouldn't have said? the sultry whispers and lingering touches that he knew was wrong from the start? but he loved you. he knew he loved you.

the scene of sharp branches coated in blood twisting and turning out of your mouth is unpleasant and the grass surrounding you is a distasteful red as he falls limp to his knees beside your growth - your corpse. his hands, free from their gloves, fumble with leaves and vines, attempting to pull them clear from your face in his shaking grasp as his thumbs gently wipe under your closed eyes, caked with dry blood.

your name falls from his parted lips when bitter tears sting his eyes for the first time in centuries. there's a raw emotion ripping him to the shreds and that was long buried in the depths of his very being - grief. it swallows him, forcing a choked sob from him as he hunches over what was his lover. he closes his eyes, holding his breath to keep from breathing in that sickening, overwhelming stench as he tries to remember your face from last night.

those distinct features he'd fell in love with, the glitter of your eyes and that smile he loved oh so much - he recalls the times hu tao managed to draw that smile onto your face with her mere presence. zhongli gags at the thought of having to tell her and the others about your death. does he lie again? you passed away in your sleep - but where has lying got him in the past? here.

why hadn't you told him? had baizhu been behind this too? after all this time he assumed the doctor could be classed as a loyal friend, zhongli realises that he was wrong. if he hadn't of kept it a secret, could zhongli have saved your life? the archon grimaces. this is not the time to be doubting the security of the relationships he has with the people around him. even as he contemplates the reasons you kept your disease secret from him, he runs over every thought of loving you.

to him, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved you. nothing could ever be comparable to his love for you; not even after all these centuries of aimlessly wandering teyvat and not even for all the future centuries that he would continue to walk, heartbroken and grief-stricken without you by his side for even a few more years.

you should have been her.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

#alexi writes 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 #zhongli x reader #zhongli angst #genshin angst #genshin zhongli #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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imagining-in-the-margins · 10 months

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Extracurriculars (S.R.)

Summary: Reader saves her TA from a frathouse.

Request: gradstudent!Spencer getting dragged to a frat party and hooking up with a girl in her undergrad (someone he's been interested in) A/N: Who wouldn’t want to deflower sweet Spencer? Characters are both around 21. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Virgin!Spencer, frat house, college party, alcohol, drunken sexual activity, heavy petting, kissing, making out, loss of virginity (male) penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), TA/Student relationship Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

When I was younger, my mother taught me a few key lessons about growing up. She had to teach me those things because, while they seemed to come naturally to other kids, they never came to me.

It seemed fundamentally unfair that I could do the quadratic formula before I could tie my shoes. Of course, with that, I could just insist I preferred Velcro. My inability to recognize the socially acceptable way to care for my body, or even recognize the signals it was sending to me, was a little harder to explain. It was even harder to calibrate.

By the time I reached college, I became obsessed with cleanliness to an unhealthy degree. I would avoid any situations where I could find myself fixated on dirt beneath my fingernails or anything that could be even tangentially described as ‘sticky.’

I was petrified of being perceived as anything but pure. I had been that way for long enough that it had basically become my defining character trait.

And then, on one very lonely and poorly planned night in grad school, I decided to challenge the idea that I could only be one thing.

That night, I went to a frat house.

Between the pulsing speakers that measured up to my hips and the remnants of discarded beer bottles, I realized that I had made a number of miscalculations—the kind that my mother had most certainly not prepared me for.

“Come on, man, live a little!” the student beside me shouted over impossibly loud music.

I hadn’t the slightest clue what he was asking me to do, but I could tell from the taunt that my answer would be the same regardless:

“N-No thanks.”

I looked down at the glass bottle still dripping beer from its lip. My stomach churned at the sight. I was so distracted by the thought of spit coating the finish that I had failed to connect the dots to realize that the group was planning to play the aptly named game ‘spin the bottle.’

That was, until the older but somehow less mature man to my side jeered, “Why not? Have you never kissed a girl before?”

My cheeks burned with some mixture of embarrassment and rage. I’d hoped that they would confuse it for drunkenness, if they’d thought about it at all.

I wanted to open my mouth to defend my decision without sounding pathetic, but my lips stayed tightly shut.

Then, just a second before the pause became awkward, a second voice chimed in.

“Piss off, idiot.”

I heard her right before I felt her. Her arm slung around my neck brought with it the comforting scent of jasmine and vanilla. Her heated skin somehow stayed warm but never sticky, and my body quickly corrected its instinct to move closer to her.

She’s my student, I reminded myself.

My favorite student, though.

Although the feeling was shared by the man she was speaking to, he wasn’t so clear about it. He seemed almost sarcastic when he shouted, “Whoa! Careful there (y/n), you might make me think you like me.”

By contrast, she was outright in her apathy when she droned, “No one likes you.”

“Ouch,” he replied with a hand clutching his chest, “You wound me.”

I’d half expected her to respond to him in kind. My mind ran a million confusing calculations to try to determine whether this was just harmless flirting or actual annoyance. All I knew for certain was that my chest burned with jealousy that dissipated within a second of her speaking again.

“Hey cutie, which of these jackasses brought you here?” she asked so sweetly I could taste sugar on my tongue as I tried to answer.

“Huh? Oh, u-uh. No… jackasses.”

Smooth as the cheap liquor we’re drinking.

“Yeah, right,” she chuckled in disbelief before explaining, “That’s all that’s here besides you.”

… Besides me?

“You wanna leave?”

My heart stopped at the mere thought. For a moment, I convinced myself that I had fantasized the question. Perhaps someone had slipped something into my drink that had turned me into a blubbering fool. Perhaps it was something more nefarious.

She wouldn’t.

Wouldn’t what?

“What?” I asked.

Before she could clarify, the now very unwelcome third presence chimed in, “He just got here! Let him stay.”

I watched as she bristled in response. Her fingernails dug slightly into my shoulder and she pulled me closer.

It must have been instinct. There was no way she could have meant it on purpose.

It felt nice, though, to be closer to her.

“I also just got here, and yet, I want to leave,” she sneered.

When he made a motion to touch her shoulder the same way she’d been touching mine, she jumped back with a stern warning.

“Touch me and lose at least one testicle.”

He put his hands up in surrender. She scoffed. Her hand dropped from my shoulder, but I never had time to miss her. She took my hand so quickly that I didn’t have time to think about my response. So, I held hers back.

My heart had finally made up its mind before she spoke.

“Come on, sweetheart. We’re leaving,” she ordered.

I followed.

“W-Where are we going?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Somewhere else.”

She turned to look at me with the utmost skepticism, or, dare I say it, fascination with what she found.

“You have somewhere to be?” she asked.

“Um… no?”

I prayed it had been the right answer.

It was.

“Wanna come back to my place?” she offered with a smile, “It’s not far from here.”

She’d said it so casually that I couldn’t help but feel I’d missed something. Surely, she couldn’t be offering the normal incidental activities typically involved with accompanying someone ‘back to their place.’

I had been so certain of it that I’d even possessed the courage to ask.

“Uh… to do… what?”

She laughed. It wasn’t a painful sound; it was kind and airy. The music of her laughter lined the increasingly quiet streets as the music faded away in the background.

“You’re cute,” she hummed. Then, with a wicked smirk, she purred, “You got something in mind?”

My face filled with what felt like half the blood in my body. The rest went to another, somehow even more embarrassing aspect of my anatomy.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed emboldened and excited by how smitten I seemed. It all felt so idyllic that I didn’t even question when she’d taken my hand in hers again.

“Come on, cutie,” she instructed.

My heart quivered at the compliment. I didn’t even try to convince myself that it had been uttered with condescension or sarcasm. I enjoyed, even just for a moment, the idea that I might be seen as something desirable to her.

I had many reasons not to trust women like her. I had been burned in the past, with ropes and blindfolds that still felt paralyzing. But in that moment, those cruel memories felt worlds away.

She had just seemed so… calm. So happy to flaunt our intertwined fingers no matter how many familiar faces we passed.

“What were you doing in a place like that, anyway?” she asked.

I laughed before I thought not to.

“Did I seem that uncomfortable?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was.”

The admission didn’t seem as humiliating as I’d expected it to. The girl swaying closer with each step seemed pleased at the answer. I realized that she might’ve carried her own concern that perhaps she had overstepped bounds by assuming she was doing me a favor.

“Thanks for saving me,” I reassured her.

“Please,” she sighed, “I was looking for a reason to leave.”

It was a genuine, if not puzzling statement. Although I’d failed to realize in the moment, I would come to learn that we had both arrived at the party with the exact same motivations.

“Why’d you go then?” I asked.

The glitter on her face paled in comparison to her eyes among the streetlights. While she stared at me, I lost myself in the mesmerizing cascade of fluttering incandescence among the backdrop of her irises.

It was not the alcohol in my veins that made my cheeks tinge pink. It was not the bitter heat of the drought, nor the fear of whatever was making my shoes stick to cement.

It was the sound of her sigh and the way she looked at me like I might know the solution to the problem that landed us there together.

“Hell if I know,” she laughed solemnly. “Lonely, I guess.”

That makes two of us, I wanted to say. But it could be zero. If you wanted it to.

I wasn’t drunk enough to say that, though. Just enough to not stop the seemingly rude question from slipping out.

“Do any of those people actually… like each other?”

“Definitely not,” she laughed again.

I wanted to hear it again, but I didn’t know how to make sure of that.

So, instead, I just smiled and said, “Noted.”

By some miracle, she giggled again. Once she finished, she turned to look at me. At first, I met her eyes, but the intensity caused a shiver to spark throughout my entire body. Goosebumps rippled as my heart struggled to make sense of the feelings her eyes stirred inside me.

She laughed again. I wouldn’t care if it was the hundredth time. I savored the sweet sound in each of its iterations.

With her bitten lip and her half-lidded eyes, she swayed closer to me until our bodies bumped. I wondered if she could feel the way I shivered in response.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re cute,” she answered.

It was such a strange thing for her to repeat that the insecurity riding the waves of alcohol bubbled over again.

“You aren’t drunk, right?”

Again, she laughed.

Again, I begged.

“No, silly! I know my limits.”

She certainly hadn’t been shy with sharing the lack of them, either. Her arm wrapped around mine and pulled me even closer. It took every bit of focus I could muster not to trip and bring an end to the most wonderful waking dream.

Of course, that focus vanished almost immediately once I realized what part of her anatomy was now pressed against my arm.

So soft and warm and—

“Why are you worried about it, anyway?” she hummed.

At the same time, she dipped her head down to force me to meet her eyes instead of staring at her chest. Somehow, that wasn’t the most humiliating part of the exchange. No, that honor was reserved for the question that followed.

“Are you sure you don’t have any extracurriculars in mind for when we get to my place?”

“I was just making sure!” I yelped in the most pathetic kind of defense. It took me a moment and her own wayward glances down my body to realize that the tease hadn’t been an accusation.

If anything, it felt more like an offer.

Pride and confusion swelled in my chest. In the chaos, a few words tumbled out of my mouth that I hadn’t pre-prepared.

“I-I mean, you keep calling me cute, so… Sounds like something a drunk girl would say,” I laughed.

She didn’t, though. Instead, she came to a sudden stop and her lips curled into a slightly unnerving curvature. A hungry, stomach turning desire for… something.

Me?

It couldn’t be.

I stopped, too, holding my breath and waiting for some permission or instruction to do anything but wait. Thankfully, she turned and climbed the stairs of what I could now safely assume was her porch.

She threw the door open without further fanfare but a little bit of a tease.

“Get inside, idiot,” she laughed.

I followed her instruction. Of course, I paused at the door and waited for her to show me the way. I nearly passed out when she intertwined our fingers once more and led me through the darkness of her otherwise unoccupied apartment.

My training to hopefully get into the FBI would have had me carefully inspecting her surroundings to learn more about this tantalizing woman. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but I knew there was no way I could focus on anything other than how it felt when she looked at me.

Especially then. Together in the light polluted darkness, she didn’t stray too far. Even when she reached behind me to shut the door to her room, she lingered.

I stumbled backwards, not in fear, but as a horrible overcorrection to what I wanted to do.

To my surprise, it didn’t dissuade her.

In fact, she came even closer. She stepped forward until her chest was pressed against mine and her breath ghosted over my ear.

“Was he right, by the way?”

“Who?”

She let go of my hand and began trailing her fingers softly up my arm until I honestly couldn’t see straight anymore.

I wanted her so badly. Almost on cue, she splayed her hand across my lower back and held my hips against hers.

Again, I whimpered. Again, she giggled.

Her hips rolled forward against my now very prominent erection wedged between us. Just before she spoke, she took a sharp inhale that was released with a shaky breath.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” she asked.

I couldn’t even think to speak, let alone lie.

I shook my head no. Her free hand immediately tangled in my hair, tilting my head to the side just to see whether I would resist.

I didn’t.

“Do you want to?” she asked.

That time, I had to say something. I was too afraid the moment would slip away.

“Um… are you… asking me to kiss you?”

Immediately, she returned the question with a question.

“Are you telling me no?”

“No!”

Her hand in my hair held me steady while she retreated. The room felt hopelessly cold without her body heat.

“No, no, I’m not telling you no,” I babbled while she looked on with that same wicked smile. “As in, I think my answer is… yes?”

Before I could resort to begging, she closed the distance between us. Her hands held my cheeks and pulled me forward until our lips crashed together.

I knew my kissing her was clumsy and naive, but I couldn’t help it. The moment I tasted faded fruit flavored chapstick, my mind gave up on any hope for reason.

Just when I thought she was done with me, she kissed me again. She kept kissing me—the action becoming sloppier and sweeter with every passing second.

Her hands dropped to grip fistfuls of my shirt at the same time mine jumped to cup her face.

She was so soft. The pillowy feeling of her lips made me forget how much I normally hated stickiness on my skin. Because I loved how it felt when her lips lingered.

I would’ve kissed her for hours, forever, but she ended that hope with a firm tug of my shirt before she tossed me towards her bed.

My heart leapt into my throat. It lodged itself just behind the Adam’s apple like it could hide its blatant affection from her somehow.

She stalked closer like she had before. She drew feathery patterns up my goosebump riddled arms before she whispered in my ear.

“You’re fun to kiss.”

“I-Is it bad?” I stammered, for some reason.

“No, it’s fun,” she repeated.

She didn’t dwell for a second on my insecurity and momentary idiocy. Instead, she began lowering her fingers down my stomach and giggling as she felt the muscles tense.

“You wanna do something more fun, Spencer?”

Completely lacking any oxygen, I breathed, “Like what?”

“You’re a genius, right?”

Just like that, she firmly grabbed hold of me through my pants. I responded with a broken, strangled cry that fell away the moment she started to drum her fingers against the burning fabric.

“Do I need to say it?” she teased.

Her tongue peeked out between her teeth when she pulled back to look at me. At the same time, she began palming my erection with such familiarity that I nearly fell apart in her hand.

“Fuck,” I groaned involuntarily.

“Never heard you talk like that before,” she whispered, “Hope it’s a nice word.”

Euphoria flooded my senses that were dangerously heightened by the alcohol I’d consumed to make it through the party. Not enough to be inebriated, but enough to make me stupid.

Even more stupid than I was already made by the blood pooling in the appendage fighting against my pants.

“Fuck, please don’t stop,” I gasped. My hips started bucking against her, and for a moment, I thought she would grant me mercy.

But then her hand slowed to a stop.

“Gonna have to stop if you want to get to the fun part,” she cooed.

Half-joking, I slurred back, “Is this not the fun part?”

Then the world came to a standstill, the universe pausing its incessant tumbling to allow me to hear her next words with a crystal-like clarity.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?”

I nodded without hesitation or shame.

“Use your pretty voice,” she chastised so kindly it made my heart ache.

“Yes,” I pleaded. “Yes, I want to f-fuck you.”

She smiled and it didn’t feel like a mockery, somehow.

“Good,” she chirped. Then, without hesitation, she began steadfastly undoing my pants.

She seemed so skilled at the movements that I doubted whether she’d had any alcohol at all.

I’d been so caught up in the wonder of her that every ounce of fight left my body. I let her undress me and barely managed to help in my stupor.

She still didn’t mind. The smile on her face persisted the entire time.

“Lay down,” she commanded.

I followed. I scrambled back onto her bed without ever taking my eyes off her.

She moved so elegantly, so graceful as she stripped and presented me with the most beautiful sight. My heart was pounding so hard against my rib cage that I was worried it might break free to find her.

Yet when she finally crawled on top of me, my body tried to sink into the mattress. As if to stop me, she wrapped her devilishly warm fingers around my dick.

Still, I’d managed to squeak, “Aren’t you worried that we’re… moving a little fast?”

“Are you worried?” she shot back without judgement.

My mind was caught in two types of fog, however. I tried to breathe through it, tried to think of anything besides how nice it felt when her fingers ghosted over the bare tip, but I couldn’t.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” I laughed again, the words getting caught on soft moans still pouring from my mouth.

“You tell me,” she dared.

Then she kissed me. This time, she didn’t stop at my lips. Her lithe tongue slipped between my teeth and nearly wrapped around my own.

The muffled sounds of pleasure between us were getting harder to bear. That energy, the pent up frustration of almost a full year of wanting her had to come out somehow.

I grabbed her hips harder than I thought I was capable of. My nails dug into soft flesh and it caused her to make the most beautiful sound.

That beautiful girl gasped before she moaned against my cheek. Her hips dug harder into my lap, bucking against the hardness wedged between her thighs.

I dragged my nails down her legs, surprising us both at how much I loved to watch her writhe.

Still, I knew she was the one in control. She looked down at me like a toy that played perfectly along with her fantasies.

I wanted to let her have her way with me. But when she leaned over my body, I couldn’t stop myself. My lips caught her breast the moment she came close enough.

My hands were gentler there, palming at the supple tissue that slipped between my fingers. I lavished the hardened peak at the center for as long as she would let me, suckling at her breast like a man starved.

Eventually, though, she wound a hand through my hair and pulled me back against the pillow.

In my daze, I hardly noticed the condom in her hand until she rolled the latex over my dick.

Suddenly, and without thinking, I sputtered out a confounding command.

“Wait!”

She froze. Her flushed chest heaved, still glistening with evidence of my affection.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice filled with the most genuine concern.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, I just…” I tried to assure her and myself.

The poor girl looked horrified, like she was waiting for me to condemn her for her absolutely delightful enthusiasm up to this point.

It was such a silly worry that it almost made me laugh. It almost made the vulnerability that would follow feel like no risk at all.

“I need to tell you something first,” I explained.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at her. I really looked at her—that dazzling star of a girl. My student, my favorite student that I’d watched and lusted over in every class. My mind simmered with that feeling; the knowing that the thing I coveted most might actually be mine.

“I… like you,” I said.

Less eloquent than I’d hoped.

If her bubbly, wholehearted laugh was any indication, she still didn’t mind.

“Well, I’d sure hope so!” she snickered.

I felt compelled to explain.

“No, I mean, I’ve liked you for a while now. Like, I really like you,” I insisted.

That time when she kissed me, it felt like her own confession. Scooting forward until her heat was pressed against my own, she sighed happily against my lips.

“You’re so sweet, Spencer,” she hummed, “I really like-like you, too.”

Even though my mind tried to deny it, my foolhardy heart recognized the truth in her words. It clung to her the same as my hands drifting over the new marks on her thighs.

“But we don’t have to do this,” she assured me. “Do you want to do this, or do you want to stop?”

“I want you so bad,” I whined without any hesitation. “Please, please—I want you.”

That cruel twist of her lips returned. The sound of my begging urged her on until she lifted herself just above where I wanted her. She leaned forward again, propping herself up above me while her hair tickled my face.

“Kiss me,” she slurred against my lips.

I did. I kissed her even more feverishly than before and used all the air in my chest to worship her.

I was convinced my lungs would collapse when she finally started to ease her way onto my aching cock. Each second of tortuous pleasure, the scorching heat of her enveloping me like flames kissing desiccated wood.

My jaw was dropped open, my mouth losing all moisture as I panted and twitched with pleasure. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I saw her. I watched as she winced at how far her walls had to stretch around me.

Yet I felt her desire dripping at the base of me, glistening the same as my spit spread across her breast.

“That’s it, baby,” she purred as she settled at the base of me.

I looked down at where I’d disappeared inside of her and decided it was better than any magic trick I’d ever hoped to master.

“Does that feel good?” she whispered when she saw the wonder in my eyes.

Involuntarily, my hips bucked into her and made her gasp. Then, still without meaning to, I did it again.

“Yes,” I hissed when she tightened her walls around me.

“My sweet boy,” she cooed between breathy laughter, “You’re so fucking precious. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

As if she hadn’t already.

But I would come to bite my tongue quicker than the words could make it out. Because for all the pleasure her descent had brought, it couldn’t compare to the feeling of her hips subtly rocking throughout her ascent.

My body actually trembled, overcome with the unadulterated pleasure of her careful rolling up and down my dick. It seemed insane for such a simple motion to render me absolutely dumbfounded, but it did.

I didn’t say a word. The only thing spilling from my lips were moans and butchered attempts at her name.

My hands, however, wandered. They traced her silhouette and groped whatever softness it could find. They settled, naturally, at her breasts. Through the motions of curious, clumsy fingers, I felt her heart beating harder against my palm.

As its speed increased, so did that of her hips. She came down harder while the pitch of her moans grew higher and more airy.

“Spencer,” she whined.

It sounded like starlight igniting deep in my chest. I felt that tension growing in my gut, threatening to bring an end to the wonder of loving her.

“Wait,” I grunted. My hands fell to her hips and halted her movements before I begged, “Sl-Slower.”

She obliged me. With her head tipped back and her hands on my chest, she rode me so slowly that I could feel every detail of her twitching muscles.

“You’re so beautiful,” I groaned.

My hips caught me off guard as they started to move. They bucked up into her with increasing intensity until it broke her rhythm.

That beautiful girl fell forward, barely catching herself before she collapsed against my body.

“Fuck me, Spencer,” she mumbled against my neck. She interrupted her own pleas with sloppy kisses against my jugular that lit my body on fire.

That passion was quickly muted by her words, however. Because that was when she growled, “Take me, Spencer. I’m yours.”

I’d never been a particularly strong man, but there was absolutely nothing that would stop me then. My hands splayed over the back of her thighs and lifted her just enough for my hips to move freely.

She clung to me, her arms wrapped around my neck and her whole body rippling with each collision of our hips.

I fucked her harder, my hands carving the memory into her skin and my jaw clenched so tightly I thought I might draw blood from my tongue.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” she purred. “Give it to me.”

Then, just before I found my peak, I felt it. The unmistakable feeling of pulsing muscles as her body seized in my hold.

I gasped, choking on a moan as I felt her body begging me to fill her with the full extent of my desire.

I emptied myself into the condom and wished that it could have been her instead. I felt the warmth dripping back down me and dared to wonder what it would have looked like on her now-marked thighs.

“Good boy,” she snickered like she could read those fantasies raging in my mind. “That’s my good boy.”

She lifted her head just enough to plant one final kiss on my forehead, and then she promptly collapsed against my chest. I welcomed her weight despite the lack of air. Breathing hardly seemed important compared to her comfort.

And it was comfortable for me, too. As I nuzzled against her neck, I found a sense of home that I’d never felt before.

She was sticky with sweat and spit from haphazard kisses, but she was so beautiful that I barely even noticed.

When she got off of my lap, I missed her immediately. My hand chased hers and, to my unending pleasure, she let me hold it. She lingered for as long as she could before she excused herself and left me to clean up the evidence of what we’d done.

Her room was still as quiet as before. The heavy bass from the frat house felt lifetimes away. The alcohol still swirled in my bloodstream, doing little to warm my now freezing body.

When she walked back through the door, my body flooded with relief. I watched as she grabbed all of my clothing she’s tossed around and placed each piece on the nightstand.

There was a strange sadness in her eyes that I would’ve done anything to remedy.

“Hey, uh…” I started, yet my throat closed when she looked at me.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I-I have a question,” I said.

Then paused, again.

She smiled. When that didn’t serve as answer enough, she laughed.

“Yeah?”

That lovely sound granted me the confidence to finally ask the question I’d been pondering since the moment I stepped into her room.

“Are… Are you still lonely?”

I hadn’t thought it possible, but her smile grew even brighter. Abandoning starlight for the full force of the sun that would soon peek over the horizon.

“Not so much anymore,” she answered bashfully.

I smiled, too. With a playful tilt to my shrug, I asked her one more question that begged for an answer.

“Can I stay anyway?”

Again, she giggled.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

“So would I,” I told her.

And so, we did.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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hylianane · 5 months

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I have a feeling that Sanji and Zoro’s death pact will be properly resolved in Elbaf, as it certainly doesn’t feel like we’re done with it. And while Elbaf is gearing up to be very Usopp-centric (and I can not overstate how hyped I am to see him take the spotlight again, finally), let’s not forget that this all ties back to Little Garden, the arc that properly introduced Zoro and Sanji’s rivalry by paralleling them with two rival giants who fought each other every day for over a century, but who also lost themselves in their grief when one thought the other death. The parallel isn’t even subtle, Little Garden’s biggest landmarks are the remnants of Dorry and Brogy’s dinosaur hunting competition. You know. The very same competition Zoro and Sanji posed to each other at the start of the arc?

But here’s the thing. I’m a little worried about how it’s going to be resolved. Because. Despite how readily Zoro agreed to kill Sanji if need be, he must have known that the crew would never forgive him. Zoro is Luffy’s specialest guy but Luffy would not accept any excuse as to why Sanji had to die. Nor anyone else in the crew. But. Does Sanji realize that?

Does he know that killing him would literally be the hardest thing Zoro would ever do, because it would mean literally betraying his Captain and crew? Luffy said he can’t become Pirate King without Sanji, and Zoro and Luffy swore they’d commit fucking ritualistic suicide if they got in the way of each other’s dreams, so does Sanji know where that would leave the swordsman in this case? With no Captain, no crew, and yet another dead rival and best friend (who, mind you, began to live in fear of his own biology betraying him right before dying. but the parallels between Kuina and Sanji and how they relate to Zoro could be a long ass post for another day).

I think he doesn’t know. But he can’t find out how Zoro would mourn him unless the pact actually follows through. But still, I don’t think Oda would kill Sanji, cause that’s no way to resolve this issue. So here’s my speculation about how I think it could potentially play out, following that initial line of thinking of the death pact’s resolution being set in Elbaf, specifically because of Sanji and Zoro’s parallels to Dorry and Brogy.

Like Brogy, Zoro would have to believe that he killed Sanji. That he won their final duel. He’d have to believe that Sanji has fallen and, also like Brogy, have to face that grief and hurt all alone. But in the end, like Dorry, Sanji would survive, having never actually been hurt. Because their edges have dulled after fighting for so long, no longer as capable of landing killing blows as they thought. “Not even the blades of Elbaf could endure two giants fighting for 100 years”? Something of the sort. And maybe this line of speculation is simplistic or optimistic, but the chances of it playing out like this aren’t zero, so just in case, I would want to be able to say that I called it.

#i also cant rlly see the death pact being brought up again anytime before we get to elbaf proper #and any time afterward itd just feel. out of place? like too personal a conflict to be placed into the final arc where the strawhats-#-are supposed to be at their strongest and ready for their final challenges. Infighting at that stage would feel distracting? Melodramatic?#Zoro’s also not gonna finish fighting Mihawk and then go fight Sanji like it’s items on a murder grocery list #specially because it feels weird to place his showdown with his current friend-rival AFTER fulfilling his promise to Kuina? And not before?#like idk idk Oda is very meticulous about fitting all his plotlines together I’m sure he’ll know what to do better than me #but uh. This is my pitch on how and when it could play out #one piece #my post #zosan #??? I MEAN #you cant discuss the death pact without making it a little bit zosan #idk how to tag this tho or how many people i’d like to see this. hn

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blindmagdalena · 5 months

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im so ❤️❤️ for creepy homelander rn! like stalker homelander, panty stealer, watching you sleep vibes.,,,,., my heart is full

he's just so terribly good at it.

who else is going to walk you home at night? it's dangerous out here for a pretty thing like you. it's okay that you can't see him. all that matters is that he can see you.

honestly it's cute how clueless you are. what would you do without him? he's been outside your place countless times and yet not once have you ever noticed him. he starts to feel bold. he wonders if maybe you do know, you just don't mind.

it makes leaving your window open seem like an invitation.

it's surreal to be inside the home he's watched from a distance. everything smells like you, but it doesn't stop him from picking up your shirt and pressing it to his mouth to take a deep huff. soft. everything about you is so damn soft.

especially when you sleep. he cocks his head while he stands there at the edge of your bed, watches you for a long while. your heart is steady, breaths shallow. you must be deep asleep then, dreaming away. dreaming of him, he hopes. he certainly dreams of you.

being so close is too much of a temptation. he wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. he ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. he can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. fuck, it's intoxicating, it's...

he brushes his lips ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. divine. you're divine. so unwittingly perfect. you don't even know. you have no idea.

he means to leave it there, but the pull is too great. he's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his. soft, soft, soft. he knew they would be.

he's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake and declare himself and finally have you.

not yet.

he leaves, but not empty handed. he doesn't think you'll miss that pair of panties. not as much as he'll enjoy them.

#not exactly a fic but i've had major writers block ever since posting my last fic so it felt nice to do something a little experimental #homelander x reader #homelander x you #stalking #yandere #yandere x reader #somnophilia #obsessive yandere #breaking and entering #idk trying to tag this appropriately for the themes involved #ANYWAYS SUFFICE TO SAY I AGREE WITH YOU!#darling anon #ask and you shall receive

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lilacevans · 4 months

Text

༊*·˚ main materlist | pete's place's opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairings & future pairings: pete brenner x female!reader. lloyd hansen x female!reader. ari levinson x female!reader. curtis everett x female!reader. steve rogers x female!reader. jake jensen x female!reader. (and others that will be revealed at a later date.)

word count: 1026 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚

warnings: implied abusive relationship, homelessness, alcohol, general sadness.

this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.

✧.* ೃ⁀➷ notes: the intro is here!! it's here!! i proof read as much as i could, however some mistakes may remain. i was gonna share a little more, but i think this is perfect for setting up the first chapter! i'm so excited to share this with you! please let me know what you think! reblogs save lives! mwah! enjoy!!

A year after you packed brown boxes scrawled with black ink, clothes stuffed into various bags, and the hope of true love, into the back of your car, to move across the country to live with your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself one night in a heart pounding screaming match.

Thrown dishes, broken glass, picture frames on the floor. The remnants of a lost love etched by the sounds of your cries into the tattered walls of the home you shared.

With pleading cries, tear stained cheeks, and heart in your throat, you’re grabbed and shoved out the door in nothing but a pair of sweats, and shirt with a coat being darted at you whilst you laid on the ground. One too many hours were spent afterwards pounding your fists against the front door, begging to at least have your purse so you can get a hotel room.

Just as you were about to leave, looking down at your battered, red hands, your purse was dropped out of a window; the contents spilled onto the grass below. With a sigh, either sadness or relief; you weren't sure which, you bent to pick up your scattered belongings, cursing the man during.

Luckily, you had everything you needed; cash, ID, and your shitty, overused phone.

You called around for a cab, numb fingers shaking as you pressed the blurry numbers, but with it being Friday night, you were looking at a long wait so instead, you decided to cut your losses and walk to find the nearest hotel.

The downside of moving, and being essentially trapped within the same four walls for months on end, is that you quickly found yourself lost– and being lost on Skid Row was the last place you wanted to be.

You willed your tears to not fall after you walked by tent after tent, stranger after stranger, clutching your purse tight, old key’s spread between your fingers, and finally found yourself outside the Hotel Cecil. You laughed to yourself in disbelief of having to head inside and get a room; but nonetheless, you did just that.

Lying on a dingy bedspread, surrounded by more nicotine-stained walls, you muffled your cries behind your hands and slowly fell into a sombre slumber and wondered just how the fuck you had gotten yourself here.

Over the next few days, you walked around, getting to know your surroundings and applying for jobs left and right. You were forced to ration your food while you looked around for cheaper hotel rooms. You were trying your hardest to avoid the sprawls of clubs begging for dancers but after finding yourself downtrodden after applying for yet another job and getting immediately dismissed, and not having any luck finding a cheaper room, you walked back to your grubby hotel and bump— quite literally— into two drunk guys.

‘’Ooh, one of Pete’s girls,’’ The guy slurred while his eyes glazed filthily over your body making you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

‘’I don’t know who that is and I’m certainly not one of anyone's girls,’’ You defend, slowly backing away as the guy then sighs and points behind you.

‘’Well, you’d sure fit in with the rest of ‘em.’’

With that, the men carried on with their drunken journey while you left bewildered.

You shook your head and turned to carry on home when you were suddenly blinded by a huge, purple neon sign:

Pete’s Place.

Underneath a small notice hung from the sign read: Dancers Apply Within.

You looked around and whined quietly while you watched patron after patron enter the club. Two heavily built doormen eyed you. You shook out your bundling nerves, hung your head and followed the thump of the bass into the belly of the seedy club. Red and purple hues guided you into the belly of the club where you found red booths filled with drunk bodies that circled small stages. Girls with perfect form swirled around the pole, capturing the attention of everyone inside.

‘’And who might you be?’’

You turned to find a man staring intensely, glass warm in hand, sharp suit and sea-blue eyes. Your mouth hung, mind blank for a moment before sputtering out,

‘’Oh, I– I’m looking for the owner– I was hoping to… Audition…’’ You trailed off as the man began to circle you, fingers pried away your coat slightly, gaze wandering over your body. Calloused fingers tilted your chin upwards while he inspected your face before a slight smile appeared on his lips.

‘’Yeah, you’ll do,’’ He concluded and began to walk away. ‘’Follow me.’’

‘’I take it you’re the owner,’’ you inquired as you followed the man to the other side of the club and down a dimly lit hallway, smiling back at, what you assumed was, one of his girls. ‘’You’re Pete?’’

‘’That’s me,’’ he confirmed as you’re led into an office. ‘’Gonna need to see ID, need you to sign a couple contracts, and for you to take your clothes off,’’ he quick fired as he sat himself in his chair and threw a small stack of paper across the table.

‘’Excuse me? Contracts?’’

‘’All my girls sign to stay loyal to the club, I don’t need anyone running off and taking my profits with him– helps limit competition, and I need to see what I’m working with here, you’re not exactly gonna be wearing a winter coat out there. Usually you’d come during the day, work the pole but, I got three of my regular girls out tonight, so it’s your lucky day.’’

‘’Oh,’’ You answer simply, pausing before a moment. ‘’Right, yeah, lucky me– Of course,’’ you stumble out as you reach into your pocket and slide your ID on to his desk before peeling your jacket off and taking in a heavy breath before lifting your shirt over your head and sliding down your skirt with shaking hands.

‘’Over here,’’ Pete summoned, fingers tapped at his desk before turning his chair to the side to make use of empty space, relaxing into the chair with parted legs.

‘’Show me what you can do.’’

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riitah · 1 year

Text

[lover's quarrel] - gojo satoru x fem!reader

*sorry, i forgot to tag this: spoilers for jjk 0, but it's only mentioned in like one sentence and it's a very small detail SYNOPSIS: you and gojo got into your first argument as a couple, but you didn't expect him to come forward to apologize first. WORD COUNT: 1.3k HONORABLE MENTION: special thanks to my beta reader “henry rumpelstiltskin III of the nuclear sock kingdom”! :DD AUTHOR'S NOTE: egocentric fictional men who apologize first>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> - (he'd apologize first because I said so) - (he'd also be so embarrassed about it because i said so) - (because y'know. he probably never apologizes first. except this time.) - (holy crap i hope this isn't too ooc like i've never seen him get into an argument with anyone before 😭😭😭)

You. The couch. And the deafening silence.

It wasn't like you and Satoru haven't gotten into arguments before; back in high school, he loved to bother the crap out of you when you were busy doing something that required your full attention, and many of these button-pushing sessions led to full-blown arguments where the two of you hurled insult after insult at each other (though they were more of a one-sided thing, because he just laughed at you and your reddening face, asking if that was all you got). And Shoko and Suguru would watch all the while, one enjoying the entertainment she was getting and the other patiently waiting for a moment where he could calm the both of you down.

But this argument was different. It wasn't some small fight between teenagers that the two of you would forget in a few days. Heck, it might even last a few days instead, now that Suguru wasn't here.

Suguru.

You sighed, remembering that you fought with him, too. Figuratively and literally.

You sunk into the soft seat and leaned your head against the back cushion, letting out a loud groan.

Should I just apologize and get this over with?

After all, knowing your boyfriend, he'd be way too prideful to say sorry first.

Right. Boyfriend. Maybe even soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

You tightly clutched the hem of your shirt at the thought, your heart feeling heavy. The remnants of the feud buried themselves deep into your chest, pulling and clawing at it as if it was trying to rip something out of there. It hurt knowing that the relationship you were once so happy to establish might not last as long as you thought it would.

Your best friend and your boyfriend; two heartbreaks, two people lost.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears. The room gradually grew darker and darker as the sun set in the distance, a painful reminder to you that Satoru had been gone for hours. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rocked back and forth, wondering where he could be this late.

Certainly not at some club, right...?

Your stomach twisted in a way you couldn't explain, and you let out a choked sob.

He can't be. He's not like that.

But Satoru had never been romantically involved with anyone before you. So how did you know what to expect?

You felt your fingernails digging into your skin, hard enough to make it bleed. You hated the way the scenarios were running through your head, the way none of them were him coming home to you without smelling of sickly sweet perfume and without having lipstick stains all over his neck. It was truly a different kind of pain knowing that someone who had declared his love for you merely six hours before could take it all back in an instant.

This is all so, so stupid. Maybe this was a mistake from the start.

Grabbing your coat that was lying right next to you, you stood up to leave.

Maybe a break would serve the both of us some good.

You put it on, not bothering to zip up the front.

I never should've said yes.

You walked towards the door, your footsteps soft, hesitant, and gradually slowing down to a stop when you arrived. You reached for the doorknob, still unsure of your decision. Your hand hovered in midair as you looked down at your feet, warm tears still streaking down your cheeks.

Is this really the right thing to do?

You couldn't think straight, or pinpoint what exactly you felt. Anger? Worry? Dread? The different emotions were all mixed into one, forced down your throat and into the pit of your stomach, with the sole purpose of breaking you from inside out.

You didn't want to think about anything anymore.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before wrapping your hand around the doorknob, and--

The door flew backwards, striking against your palm. Your eyes opened in surprise, darting from the doorknob to the tall man that stood in front of you.

Neither of you said a word.

You were rooted to the spot, your legs frozen. Beads of sweat rolled down your back, tickling you, futilely trying to distract you from the situation at hand. Your hands felt clammy, your breath was stuck uncomfortably in your throat, and a single tear awkwardly slid its way down the side of your face, seemingly not getting the memo.

Satoru stared back at you, his sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked. His blue eyes blinked at you, with a hint of confusion behind them. He was also slightly panting, you realized as you saw his shoulders slightly heave up and down from the corner of your eye.

"...(Y/N)?" His voice was gentle, void of any anger, unlike the tone he had used with you just hours before.

You didn't reply in fear of breaking down in front of him, in fear of coming off as some kind of victim when the fault was yours as much as it was his.

"What are you... Were you leaving? Were you crying?"

He sounded so confused, so worried. He touched your wet cheek, brushing against it with his calloused hand.

"Toru, where were you?" Your voice was barely audible.

One second passed. And then two.

Please tell me that you didn't give up on us.

And then three. And four.

The silence dragged on. And your hope dwindled along with it.

"Toru, I..." you said hoarsely.

Your heart dropped when you finally smelled the faint trace of perfume. The very same sickly-sweet smell you had been afraid of.

It can't be.

Can it?

"Were you...kissing some other girl?" Your voice cracked a little.

"What?! No!" His eyes widened as he frantically shook his head, and then he exhaled and furrowed his brows. "Was that why you were crying?"

You nodded meekly, feeling as though you were about to cry all over again. "I thought you'd want to break up with me."

"I'd never." You felt his lips press against your forehead, the warmth still lingering even after he pulled away. "And..." He dropped his hand to his side and glanced away, preoccupied with something on the floor, his voice quiet, sincere. "I'm...sorry."

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes. Did he just...apologize?

He peeked at you, and then grinned when he saw your expression. "Dumbfounded, aren't you? You should be honored to be the first and only person I've ever apologized t--mmph!"

All of the sadness seemed to have evaporated from your body as you grabbed his face with one hand, bringing it close. "Do that again."

He squinted at you. "I got you flowers," he suggested, squirming in your grasp. "And perfume too, so if you smell that on me, that's probably from the shop." A pause, waiting for you to let go. "And chocolate." Another pause, a smirk forming on his face. "Sexy lingeri--?"

You gave him a deadpan stare before he could finish.

"Kidding, kidding! Obviously." He laughed, the sound filling your stomach with butterflies. "So does that mean you forgive me?"

You sighed, nodding, letting go of him. "I'm really sorry, too. It was a stupid thing to argue over."

"Well, that marks the end of our first lover's quarrel!" He readjusted his glasses and smiled at you before bringing his left hand out from behind his back. "Good thing, because my arm was about to start cramping--"

You didn't register the rest of his words as he showed off the items he bought for you, your mind still trying to process what had just happened.

Toru knows how to apologize...

Surprised? Happy? Maybe giddy? Or all three?

You let a giggle slip, and he turned to you, the bouquet of flowers in his hands raised like a trophy.

"What're you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

You pulled in by the collar for a taste of his soft lips, whispering against them a quiet "I love you."

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #gojo satoru x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #oneshot #this was so anticlimatic holy crap #but i hope you enjoyed

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defectivevillain · 2 months

Text

through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband. He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts. It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers. Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is.

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed.

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once.

“Do you remember who I am?” He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger.

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name.

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband.

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly.

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce.

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness.

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery?

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness?

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air.

“Where are you taking me?” You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears.

“You say you’re my husband,” You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good.

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” You ask.

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest.

“Were you my psychiatrist?” You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important.

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead. Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not.

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers.

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things.

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him.

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost.” You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity.

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly.

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together.

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar.

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration.

“I- just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut.

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be.

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath.

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again.

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss.” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside.

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.”

“I-” You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp.

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked.

“No, I-” You’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.”

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” He implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.”

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap.

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive.” He states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts: luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive.

And that unnerves you.

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

#defectivevillain #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x transmasc reader #male reader #transmasc reader #gn reader #ok I think that's enough

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starsinmylatte · 3 months

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Malum in se

Pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! There's only fluff here :)

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: A lovely anon originally requested this of @pseudowho, but she's asked me to fill it (for those of you not following the saga of Lyria's snow week™️.... I've been completely snowed in and WIPs have kept me sane).

Join my taglist here! (18+ only, this blog is mostly pure filth)

Higuruma Hiromi knew he was truly in love when you successfully convinced him to watch horrifically cheesy reruns of Law and Order while he was the one stuck at home sick. He groaned dramatically at every exaggeration or incorrect legal quote, but he enjoyed how you snuggled into his side too much to actually complain about the situation. After all, you were kind enough to take care of him, and his mild illness had not deterred your affection in the slightest.

He had almost fallen asleep on the couch when you cocked your head at the antics on the television, murmuring under your breath, “Wouldn’t that qualify as Malum in se, though?”

Hiromi blinked once, twice, and then a third time before speaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

You turned to face your boyfriend, tone slightly teasing, “Yeah, Malum in se, right? Things like assault, murder… or wearing white after Labor Day.”

Hiromi arched an eyebrow at you and treated you to the lopsided grin you adored so much. “You’re going to have to tell me how you know what that is.”

He snaked his arms around you, pulling you even closer against his warm chest. Before you could answer, he took the chance to nuzzle his nose against the column of your neck, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Well, pretty girl?” He teased gently, and you dropped your head back against his shoulder, humming contentedly.

“Do you remember when I mentioned I used to do community theatre a few years ago?” You questioned, and you could feel Higuruma's grin grow wider.

“Indeed, I do.”

“Well…. There was one time when I played a character who happened to be a law student.” You pursed your lips, trying to keep laughter from bubbling up.

Hiromi broke into a barking laugh that became a short coughing fit. “You played a law student? What kind of musical involves lawyers?” he wheezed.

“It’s called Legally Blonde, and it’s not just a musical… It’s a masterpiece.” You insisted. “I loved the movie when I was a young girl, and getting to play Elle- the main character- was an absolute dream come true.”

Your eyes lit up as an idea sparked into your brain with the strength of a thunderbolt, “Omigod, you’ve never seen the movie, have you? We absolutely have to watch it.”

Hiromi chuckled weakly, running his hand through your hair, “I’ve got a better idea… There have to be clips of your performance somewhere, right?”

“Oh….” you paused for a moment, “It was a few years ago, and I’m sure it wasn’t my best work, but-”

“There’s nothing I’d rather see than you enjoying yourself and doing what you love,” Hiromi interrupted gently, stroking your hair again.

His lopsided grin turned wolfish, “Besides… I am sick; I think this is exactly what I need to heal.”

“If you insist.” You smacked him gently with a pillow to punctuate your words as you left the couch to rummage through the DVDs on the shelf. You even took the time to make another mug of tea for your boyfriend, but eventually, you were back and snuggled up against Hiromi, who gratefully accepted the mug you offered him.

His nose wrinkled unintentionally as he took a sip, “Thank you… but what is in this stuff?”

“It’s helping your throat, isn’t it? You poked his stomach playfully, and he groaned in response.

“Yes, but at what cost?” Hiromi huffed, but the slight twinkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t being serious.

“It’s throat coat tea, yet another remnant from my musical days,” you giggled. “I never liked the taste either, but it certainly gets the job done.”

With another flourish of the remote, you pulled up the recording of the show, and you swear you could feel Hiromi smiling behind you as he nursed the warm mug. As soon as the video started, he broke out into another laughter-induced coughing fit.

“Dear god, I’ve never seen so much pink in my entire life.”

“Oh, just you wait.” You threatened teasingly, “You haven’t even seen my character yet.”

Hiromi grasped his mug in one hand and used his other arm to pull you back against his chest, wrapping a blanket snugly around your body. You leaned fully against him, partially because you enjoyed the intimacy and partly because you wanted to see his reactions out of the corner of your eye.

His reactions did not disappoint, even though the video was grainy and clearly meant to be viewed through the rose-colored lenses of someone who was in the show. Hiromi grinned widely when you appeared on stage, murmuring almost too quietly for you to hear, “Cute…”

You blushed happily, and the show continued. He had many comments on how the Delta Nus seemed to share a hive mind and how much of a prick Warner was. He also very nearly choked on his tea when your character’s father proudly declared, “Law school is for boring, ugly, serious people!”

Hiromi glanced down at you after that line with a slight pout, and you took the opportunity to cup his cheek and pull him in for a soft kiss, tasting the tea and honey on his lips. “Mmm, don’t worry… You’re not boring, and you’re certainly not ugly. You can be rather serious… but I like that about you.”

Hiromi kissed the top of your head with a low, contented hum, absolutely convinced his heart was full enough to burst. He fell more in love with you with each passing day, and these past few days had only further sealed his fate. Even now, he was watching you sing and dance your heart out, and you were shining in the roll. The sassy, playfully cute, but deceptively intelligent lawyer was such a perfect role for you, and he quickly became frustrated with Warner. Seeing you so upset over such a stupid man hurt his heart, even though he knew you were acting…. and then Emmett was introduced.

“Now, I like that guy. He’s got the right idea, actually treating Elle decently.” Hiromi mused, playfully twirling a strand of your hair.

“Oh, really?” You grinned slyly. “He reminds me of you, you know.”

“It seems we share the same excellent taste in women.”

–

The movie was over a short while later, but Hiromi insisted on letting it play through curtain call so he could properly applaud your work. You rolled over to lay against his chest, peering inquisitively into his dark, beautiful eyes, “So you really liked it?”

“I loved it,” He assured you, pulling you in for another tea-flavored kiss. Suddenly, you could feel him grinning against your lips, “And I may buy you another one of those pink tweed skirt sets… it was cute on you.”

His deep chuckle only grew louder as you smacked him with another pillow.

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @khaleesihavilliard @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @eldritchbeauty @unoriginalidea @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @pseudowho

#higuruma hiromi #hiromi jjk #hiromi higuruma #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you

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yandere-sins · 9 months

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The Orcas' Tale - Give up wanting to leave them (BE 2)

Sooo, finally another bad end, and a really long one at that! Please heed the warnings at always, and I hope you guys enjoy it ♥

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Orca Mermen x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Monsters, Violence (Scratching, Biting, Verbal Abuse, Mention of a tragic birth), Sexual Content (Fingering, Groping, Mention of monster cocks, Non-consensual touches), Pregnancy and Nursing mention, Baby mention, Baby death mention, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Hinting at death, Long Post

Why should you even try?

Slowly, you let your breath slide out through your gritted teeth, the tension being pulled from your body as you exhaled. Until there was nothing. You simply felt nothing. No anxiety, no stress, no panic. The urgency from before was replaced by numbness, your mind turning blank as you stared at the pool, the water gently rippling. It was utterly dark, seemingly endless in its depth. Even with the light of the shining plant climbing along the walls, the only thing that got clearer by the second was that there was nothing you could do.

It was simply a fact. A fact you had tried to deny for so long but that those three had already pointed out to you countless times. You were weak; you were helpless. Without them, you'd still be out there on your little raft. No one would have come to save you. Being indebted to them was one thing, but you couldn't deny it anymore that the chance of going back to your life had already been very slim even before they found you. Of course they wouldn't want to risk their life for someone they barely knew. Make a tedious and dangerous journey for someone they had already saved once before out of the goodness of their hearts.

And you… couldn't swim there. You had no idea where you were, but there was a high chance it wasn't near land. Judging by how little light illuminated the water in the small pool, you'd have to dive and swim quite a bit before you'd reach the surface. And then what? Try to weather the moody waters until you'd either die from exhaustion, heatstroke, or drown in the waves? They already told you they wouldn't come for you if you left on your own, so aside from nature's cruelty, you'd also be subject to predators like the orcas. Not even a trained swimmer would have a chance. You certainly wouldn't make it back to land. Who were you going to fool?

Just like that, you realized the choice you had to make.

"Fine…" you mumbled, catching everyone's attention, Lyr even pried open an eye again to watch you. "I'll stay."

There was a moment of silence. Even your heartbeat was booming when there were no breaths or movements around you in the cave. The expectancy of a joke was loud and clear, even amongst these creatures that weren't supposed to be human enough to understand it. As if you were going to go back on your word any passing second now and throw another tantrum about how you want to leave immediately.

"Human," Nerrocan mumbled, sounding almost like a warning. "Let's sleep over it."

"No." Shaking your head, you cut off the idea. "I am done trying to fight battles I can't win! I don't have the strength to keep going like this. I have to make a decision now and be done worrying and agonizing about all the possibilities and consequences! I… I'll stay here. With you guys. You promised to keep me safe, so you better step up!"

You could feel the tears shooting into your eyes and quickly wiped them away, fed up with crying and too exhausted to care about the warning signs your body sent you. Your throat was clogged up, but you had said your piece, ready to lay the argument to rest. Just like you were ready to finally go to sleep and regain some of the sanity you had lost over the last few hours. Sleep that wasn't induced by panic or violence. Checking the ground behind you for stones or unevenness, you settled down, heaving a deep breath and trying to let go of any remnants of your conflicting feelings. All you wanted were a few hours of not having to think or feel before facing the new reality you chose.

"Human," someone purred to your left, ripping you out of the calm you tried to force yourself into. Opening your eyes, Krill's face hung above yours, his deep red eyes sparkling alongside his widely spread grin. Almost immediately, regret crept back into your conscience as you dragged your arms in front of your body, only for your wrists to be caught in one of Krill's hands.

"So you agree to stay? Give yourself to us?"

Before you knew it, he had brought his head down, his voice sweeter than anything you had ever heard, goosebumps surging on your skin as the sound tingled all over you. You gave a brief but firm nod, wiggling your body beneath him while Krill's body weighed down on you, the merman not wasting a breath to respond to your agreement. Lips crashing into yours, the strange sensation of his kiss reminded you of Nerrocan's when he first pulled you into the water. Domineering, confident, hungry. It didn't soothe the resurfacing anxiety, the thoughts swirling in your mind as you were forced to open your mouth for him, his plump tongue breaking through to lick at your blunt teeth and taste what you had to offer.

You could barely struggle beneath him, trying desperately just to get air. But with your hands pinned down, Krill only relented when he felt every muscle in your body tensing, briefly pulling away for you to breathe while he kissed along your jaw and the side of your neck laid bare before him. This wasn't what you wanted from this deal, but you neither had the strength nor the chance to hide the jerk that went through you when his teeth grazed over the spot between your shoulder and neck, your whine sounding awfully lot like a moan.

The three of them gave you no second to catch your composure as all their hands seemed to appear across your body, claws squeezing into your flesh while the pads of their hands rubbed up on your inner thigh. Their interest in you greatly outweighed their common sense, and they grew more and more eager to explore you with every touch that fell on you, never enough to quench their curiosity. It was then that you realized the full extent of your choice. The consequence of your actions.

"We'll take good care of you," Krill hummed, his voice sending shivers up your spine, causing a tingle deep in your core. You knew he was using his magical siren voice at you, and yet you could not reasonably explain the visceral need you felt to keep hearing it. Your whole body shivered when he added in a honeyed purr, "I promise."

You knew you couldn't trust him, the orcas' promises never actually being fulfilled. But you realized then and there that you didn't have the fight left in you to argue. To really make them promise. There was no time to concentrate on anything other than the sensations running through your body as his hand slipped below, a strong, clawed finger settling between your folds, slowly, rhythmically circling and pressing into your sex. The sensation left you writhing up to the moment when the tip of his claw got caught on the fabric of your wetsuit. You gasped, shooting upwards, only for more hands to grab your shoulders.

As if they coordinated their movements, Krill's body retreated, not out of sight, but out of your thoughts, the sound of water splashing as he sank into the pool, barely able to catch your attention as Lyr took over. With his chest in your back, he kept you seated, a smug grin playing around his lips as he looked down on you from behind.

"Who's a good human?" he asked, your brain fully aware that he was mocking you, turning your expression into a grimace. And yet… at the same time… his voice kept going where Krill left off, your gut churning with the need to hear more of it.

"I'm not your pet!" you hissed back, but the sound was more of a childish complaint than the confident reply you wanted it to be. However, before you two could argue, your focus was diverted, your eyes snapping forward to Krill's hands roaming between your legs, spreading them. With his body demanding space between your thighs, he used his hands to slip beneath the supple flesh of your thighs, lifting them up and out of the way, steading them over his shoulders. "What–!" you tried to argue when your head was forcefully pulled backwards, eyes falling back on Lyr, whose sharp teeth showed in the form of a large grin.

"That's where you're wrong," he chuckled, placing his hand, gently yet firm, around your throat, denying you the chance to look away as he leaned forward to kiss you, tongue swiping over your lips demandingly. You couldn't help but jolt and push your hands into his shoulders above you, but no matter how much of your left-over strength you used, he didn't budge a bit until you relented, letting him in, the merman exploring your mouth with his tongue to his heart's content, letting out little chuckles as he went about having his way with you.

There was no time to comprehend and work through everything that happened. Your clothes didn't last long with their hands clawing through the fabric until they could brandish your skin with their scratches. Tongues turned into teeth, salvia into blood. You gasped when Krill filled you with one of his fingers, moaning into Nerrocan's mouth, who had made it his life mission to ease you into their groping with more kisses, allowing you to breathe through him only. If you had to assess them, he was the only gentle one, and yet, even he couldn't stop himself from squeezing your breast needily when his grabby hands found them.

Even he couldn't hold back biting a bloody, possessive ring of teeth marks around your nipples when the chance presented itself, and neither could his packmates, the hot blood trickling from your shoulder and thighs mixing with your tears and juices while they licked the wounds devotedly. None of them was satisfied with just one bite, marking their territories on your body, their jaws stretching wider, teeth burying deeper, and tongues licking more fervently with every mark.

The claw inside your cunt made you anxious, your walls clenching around the thick finger involuntarily, even as you were distracted from the waves of pleasure and pain. You tried your best to keep yourself controlled and conscious, but you were failing miserably, their muttered voices lulling you into letting yourself fall, giving up your struggles. You hadn't yet loosened up enough when Krill forced another one of his fingers inside, cursing about your tightness.

"How's my cock supposed to fit inside?" he complained to no one in particular while your body jerked, sobs escaping you as he rampaged your pussy. It hurt! It was anything but lovingly! And yet, he fucked joint after joint inside you, triggering all the sweet spots you wished he'd never find. "It's like you want this to hurt! You're so much worse than our females!"

Every tear trickling from your eyes was licked up by the other two, and every complaint was swallowed by another kiss. You had already given in to them once, but letting go completely was harder than you thought. "Relax," Lyr purred into your ear from behind, sounding so damn convincing to your struggling brain and making you breathe out the air you've been holding in. His hand wandered below, teasing your body on its way until it found your cunt, spreading it and flicking his finger unintentionally over your clit.

"Do that again," Krill ordered, perplexed when you moaned out loud, your walls tensing and releasing with a shudder. You could hear the knowing chuckle behind you before Lyr began assaulting your clit with his fingers, twisting and circling over it, his touch so rough and mean, and yet distracting you from the hardship of Krill fucking you with his fingers until it came all together in harmony.

Nerrocan demanded entrance to your mouth once more as he played with your breasts, his claws stimulating and pulling your nipples alongside the pleasure given to you by the other two. That way, you were kept between heaven and hell until you finally caved, your orgasm rattling through your body violently, eyes rolling back as the three pushed you over the edge. Your songs of pleasure ripped through the silent cave, and the three joined in with cocky laughter and adoring whistles.

For a few moments, you were gone from the world, gone from the pain and agony that your decision had already given you. Someone laid you down into the soft fur as you convulsed, fingers popping out of you before you were enveloped in more tongues licking off the remnants of your orgasm, exploring and tasting you, forcing out whines from your throat whenever they teased a sensitive area.

You were doomed. So fucking doomed.

It was nice that you'd go out with a bang, pleasure overweighing pain. Still, you hadn't saved yourself with your decision, only putting you into more misery. It had never been an equal partnership that they offered. You were more of a pet than an accepted member of their squad. But when you focused your gaze, staring into three sparkling pairs of eyes, pearls of cum dripping from their erect cocks onto your body, you knew you were more than even a pet. You were going to be their personal pleasure toy. And outlet for their desires. A broodmare.

Their children's mother.

And your body did the only thing it could do to save you, forcing your conscience to drift away from you, your vision turning black as the sight of them closed in.

"It is so small. Again."

You didn't dare to pry your eyes off the little devil baby in your arms, even when his great aunt spewed her venomous words around you again. Even after baby two—actually three—she still had nothing nice to say about the half-humans you had given birth to for her sons and nephew. She had nothing but snide comments and derogatory words, and though every one of them stung, there was little you could do against her.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, flinching noticeably when your son accidentally bit instead of sucked on your breast, hungry and desperate for milk that you wanted to feed him but couldn't. Even if you were lucky to even produce milk, considering your child wasn't the only one feeding from it and the constant stress you were under, there was never enough for him. Compared to his brethren, your son was small, causing loads of fear and anguish amongst the pack if he'd even make it. Yet he fed like a champion, suffering from your lack of milk to the point of recklessly biting you.

"Come now, Dessi. Cut the human some slack."

Compared to her sister, Thalassa was much gentler when it came to you. Nerrocan's mother couldn't and wouldn't hide the smile on her face as she scooped up her first known grandchild from your arms, one palm enough to hold the little man. Had the three merely told you how massive the females of their pack were, you might not have believed it, but they towered over you, easily trice your size. Once the baby was out of your hands, you clutched your breast, the left-over milk mixing with blood as you winced. Unlike his father, the little rascal didn't leave deep and permanent marks, but your time pregnant and nursing was visible all over alongside the claiming mating bites, especially with the lack of clothes you were given, modesty not needed underwater.

"You're just happy it's your grandchild this time." Desdemona followed the statement with a loud huff, dissatisfied and annoyed as she always was when it came to matters concerning you, while she stared at the little baby in her sister's palm. Danger gleamed in her eyes as she watched Thalassa coo and bubble to the baby, almost looking like a human grandmother despite her statue-esque size and unmistakable skin pattern similar to Nerrocan's. But if you were honest, only a small part of you would try to save your child from her wrath should she decide to unleash it on your son. You knew better than to try and throw a tantrum around the matriarch of the pack, who wished for nothing more than for you to disappear.

"If only these three rascals would get their bums out there and have children with strong and healthy females instead of… that."

Her eyes shifted to you, and you instinctively hung your head in shame, knowing how unwelcome you were. In her eyes, you were a mere plaything of her children, not the respected mother of her grandkids. Your first encounter had been tense, Krill, Lyr, and Nerrocan having decided not to make a secret out of your existence but introduce you to their pack. They received a lot of retaliation from everyone, but when they made it clear through bared fangs and screeching that they would choose you over their family, the matriarch eventually relented.

She cared very little about the new position you gained in the whole pack as the mother of her grandchildren, though. And behind whistles and snarky looks from every merfolk you met in the months you had been here, it was pretty clear that the only reason you were even tolerated was because of your three mates, who wouldn't hear any reason when it came to their choice of partner. Yes, mates.

Another reason she hated you so, as her sons and nephew refused to find—in her opinion—better partners and make children that were worthy of being nurtured and taught the ways of the sirens. Orcas didn't tend to stay monogamous. To learn they actually had a word for it, hearing it the first time uttered in disgust from the matriarch, had been an awful surprise. Desdemona despised you for depriving Krill and Lyr of that possibility, blaming you for their focus ever only being on you. As if you asked them to obsess and impregnate you. As if it was all your fault.

When really, it was just another consequence of your decision years ago.

Being tolerated was better than being dead, at least, even if your body felt like it was dying. Siren-human babies were needy like a human would be, in the body of a mermaid, together with sharp teeth and a tail. The horror of birthing was still stuck in every bone, and you were exhausted from being up all night trying to get your child to calm down. Nerrocan tried his best, taking his son swimming or floating at the surface when he could, but he was duty-bound, away most of the day to hunt. And if it wasn't their child, Krill and Lyr weren't genuinely interested in it, only looking forward to the time you'd be ready to mate again.

"That's right," Thalassa chuckled, playing with the baby that looked like a miniature toy in her hands. It should have alarmed you, but who were you to derive the grandmother of what she enjoyed when she could crush you with one hand? "I am so happy it's my grandson this time. You already have one, Dessi! It's more than fair it was my sweet, little Nerrocan having a child this time. And look how cute it is! You're the cutest little thing in the world, aren't you?"

Your child was happily bubbling while you shrugged away from Desdemona, who seemed to slowly but surely lose her mind over her sister's affection for the little devil spawn she saw in your son. "At least it's a siren this time," she hissed angrily, reminding you of the painful memories you tried to forget.

This child was lucky to be born with all the traits needed to survive below the ocean's surface. Fangs, claws, gills, and a tail were enough to secure its place in the pack, unlike his sister, your second child, who was born human and not a siren. It had been another show of how cruel these creatures were, ripping her away from you the moment you had birthed her, never even allowing you to hold her. A delusional part of you wanted to believe she was still alive, but you had never even once seen her, the sound of her cries turning into gurgles the only thing you remembered.

Your relationship with Lyr had never been the same since then. After all, it was his daughter that just didn't make the cut with the pack. These memories were too painful to remember for both of you, but even when he showed up and slept in the same cave, bringing you food and gifts, you knew he couldn't forget them, either.

The water in the large entrance pool of the community hall—another cave, though larger and wider, with space for thirty or more orcas to assemble and often used by families to chat and linger—rippled before you as a familiar face broke through the surface, smiling politely at you when your eyes crossed. She was young and highly regarded in terms of merfolk's standards, some distant relative of your mates. But you never even learned her name as she only came to collect your children at your mother-in-law's request. She had nursed your first son for you and did it for the newborn now, but not without throwing you a pitiful glance when she thought you weren't looking.

To her, as to everyone else, you were nothing but a minor lifeform, unsuited and better as food than as mother for the children of their strongest warriors. Had she not been family, surely the matriarch had asked her to bear Krill's or Lyr's child, and she'd be the one sitting here with them, nursing and chatting with very happy grandmothers. Envy was not a good look on her pretty face, but could you begrudge her for it?

"Time for food!" Thalassa lilted, ignoring that you had just nursed him, at least to some extent. Lowering her hand towards the pretty mermaid, the latter scooped the tiny child into her arms, giving a well-mannered bow to the matriarch and her sister but sparing only a short glance at you before slipping under. Gone was your hungry baby, and you breathed out, trying not to make your relief known too much.

"Hah…" Desdemona sighed, looking after the younger female with longing in her eyes. "If you could at least produce enough milk for your own child, we wouldn't have to bother our lovely and kind daughters and nieces with providing for it. Do you even do anything but take from us, Human?"

Biting your lip, you knew arguing was pointless. What would you even say? Apologizing would only make her mad, and standing up for yourself had proved useless. No matter how many kills and victories her sons and nephew dedicated to you or how many gold chains and jewels they decorated you with, she'd never see you worthy of anything but her frustration and anger. Changing her opinion was nearly impossible if no one she respected argued for her.

"Now, now, Sister. Leave the poor mother alone. I have nursed your children too when they drained you of all your milk, don't you remember?" Thalassa came to your rescue, and you shot her a brief smile as a thank you that she returned in kind.

"That was something completely different."

"Sure it was, Desdemona. Isn't it more important that our sons are happy? Don't you like seeing them do their best for their beloved and the pack?"

Baring her teeth at her sister, Thalassia finally relented with her gentle scolding, raising her hands conciliatory at the matriarch whose word stood above everyone's, including her sister's.

"Only when the human finally gives Lyr the child he deserves will they truly be happy."

It stung. Hearing her underhanded insults at your lost daughter and yourself hurt exactly like she intended, especially when paired with a glare that could kill. Lowering your head, the tears stung badly in your eyes, even when you tried to hold them back, not wanting her to see your display of weakness. She still noticed, especially with the scowl her sister gave her.

"Everyone makes mistakes," she backpaddled loudly, not as much caring about you as she cared about the image she created of herself to the other few groups of female orcas lingering around but keeping their distance. How would she look in their eyes, making her grandson's mother cry? "Our sons and us included, Thalassia."

"After all, it was the human's choice to stay here."

Unable to hold back your sobs, you covered your face in your hands. You wanted to scream that NO! it wasn't your choice. Well… it was, but what else could you have done? Simply said goodbye to your life? Miserably succumbed to nature or the predators waiting for you? Died while on your journey and killing their sons while at it?

"Ah, the tears again," Desdemona sighed, defeated. As if it was her who was suffering a great ordeal. Knowing you were painting her in the cruel light befitting of her attitude, she resorted to brushing off your feelings, even going as far as to mock you. "What a pitiful creature. Truly pitiful. The only reason you are still alive is because our sons feed and adore you. They might buy into your crying, but I will not humor this any longer, let's go, Thassi."

Slipping into the water, her massive body disappeared into the depths you, too, called your home now, however unwillingly. You knew below you was an elaborate city of deep waters and caves, all belonging to the pack. Nerrocan had shown it to you, albeit over a long, long time, as you couldn't adjust your eyes properly underwater. Without help, you were lost, left to someone's goodwill to be brought from and to the cave you shared with your mates, stranding you wherever you were, oftentimes alone and hurting as no one would reply to your calls.

When she was gone, it was another big stone off your shoulders, her presence nothing but agonizing and dreadful. Thalassa scooted closer, her giant palm settling gently at your back. "It's alright," she soothed you, and you tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears. "She's actually very happy with Krill being a father and her sweet grandson."

Her comforting words were nothing but pretty lies. However, you nodded, the pack's second-in-command still instilling a good heap of fear into you, even if she was pretending to be nice.

"Alas," she sighed, a thoughtful hum escaping her, no less melodic than any word anyone ever spoke to you. She leaned forward, the hand rubbing your back coming to a halt as her fingers wrapped around your body, claws placed against your skin. She didn't hurt you, didn't even press a mark into your flesh, but the sharp claws against your neck and above your heart were threatening enough for you to still, not daring to move and hurt yourself on them.

"You don't really have to give her another grandchild, you know? It would be a waste to strain your body for Lyr again. That boy is no good, not even as a father. How about you give my sweet Nerrocan another child? I don't mind if it's a girl or a boy, but wouldn't it be so nice if we could become a big, happy family? Bigger than Desdemona's. See, I can't have children anymore, but you're still fertile. Wouldn't you like to see me at the head of the pack instead of her? I know I'm asking much, but you could do me this little favor, and maybe I can put in a good word for you with everyone."

You glanced at her from the corner of your eyes, too afraid to turn your head. Her smile was no longer warm and welcoming. There was no kindness and no motherly care left in the calculated, forced expression on her face. Once again, she made you realize you were nothing in this world, their schemes and power struggles just as bad as humans, and if not a pet to her son and nephews, you were a pawn for her to rise to the position of the matriarch.

"Think about how happy Nerrocan would be if you chose him for your next mating cycle. And of course, I'd be so happy too if you'd give me another grandchild. It's your decision, of course. I am sure you'll make the right decision… this time."

You nodded slowly over her claw to prevent yourself from getting hurt. In the end, every kind word and gesture had just been to move her plan into motion, cozying up to you for her own gain. Thalassa was no different from her sister or everyone else, and when she slipped into the pool, the grand cave hall slowly emptying out with the other orcas leaving as well, an awfully familiar feeling of loneliness overcame you.

Looking up at the glowing plant light at the ceiling, silent tears poured from your eyes as you longed for the warmth of a real family and real friends surrounding you. Of any human, really. Of the warm sun and the cozy rain, clouds above your head instead of stone and water. Endless amounts of water. You missed days you were pain-free and cared for. Where someone asked for your thoughts because they liked to hear them. You knew what you signed up for by now, but the cost had been too great, too devastating for you to bear.

The trophies and gold you were adorned with wouldn't make you happy. Being pregnant and raising more children wouldn't make you happy. Being with your mates, not out of love, but because you needed them to survive, didn't make you happy. Being a pawn and popping out kids for some power-hungry orca lady wouldn't make you happy, regardless of her promises. You had a role in this pack, and as such, you were treated well. But just because you were tolerated and respected, you'd never be happy with how you were treated as nothing more than a mother to children no one wants you to have aside from Krill and Nerrocan, maybe Lyr.

Staring into the water, you couldn't see the ground below. It was there, you'd reach it eventually if you sank far enough, but you wouldn't live long enough to ascend from it again. No one would come to save you this time. No one would take you home and tell you they loved you. But if you couldn't be happy… then at least you could be free.

And finally, everyone would be satisfied with your choice.

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