#you only ever get half the picture it's maddening

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

it's the way you never know what exactly himmel was thinking, but you know without a shadow of doubt that he was so in love with frieren....... when his feelings get conveyed in silent moments and no words at all. when no words are needed for you to understand them but also, because no words were used, there will always be a gap in your understanding of them

#sousou no frieren #mimin watches frieren #same allure as when tesilid is silently miserable #idk if im making sense but like #precisely the reason why i rotate him in my head sm is bc he never fucking talks #you only ever get half the picture it's maddening #it's a victorian ankle #like oh my god what else is there #do i make sense..... #altho w himmel it's less umm idk the word... peverse? more just melancholic? #im just a bit. like this about tesilid. #mimin voice so this is how this is about tesilid argente

[nouvxllev]

the girl across your street || p3

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were only someone she met in her neighborhood, and she became someone unreachable. You were someone she only knew for half a year, and yet, the countless smiles she’d give you when you were around, the moments she looked you in the eyes where you thought you finally meant something to her, the times she’d say you were someone special to her—those became nothing but everything. You start to ponder on who could ever truly stay with you? Maybe it’s inevitable you’d go along with your life without someone special to you, someone who cherishes you like their dying wish.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: angst, yipee!

part 4 || masterlist

You've found yourself spending a lot more time with Jenna than expected—so much so that you could almost consider yourselves roommates, having explored and learned the backstory of every picture in her living room. You knew quite a bit about Jenna, maybe not everything, but you knew her down to her music taste. Which is, maybe not a lot to some, but it was deep for you. Learning about each other's music tastes felt like exchanging wedding vows.

The two of you frequently dined at fancy restaurants or strolled through nearby supermarkets around the corner from your neighborhood. Making you wonder on where the hell is Jenna getting reservations from at the most luxurious restaurants out of town. These outings became the go-to whether you both were feeling ecstatic or just wanted to unwind after a bad day. And your meetings with eachother started occurring later in the day rather than in the early mornings.

You were slowly falling head over heals, over and over again until you went mad with her. It had reached a point where not hearing Jenna's voice or feeling her presence beside you felt wrong.

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"There's my favorite actress!" You ran towards her, a broad smile on your face that reached up to your ears. In your hands, you held a DSLR camera, not too large but not too small either.

Jenna, seated in her usual spot on the bench in front of her house, responded, "Not an actress," blocking her face with the camera you had pointed at her.

"—Yet," you grinned, "Don't you want to be in my special first video vlog?" Turning around, you gave the camera a chance to capture the changing scenery of the year, with leaves transforming into warm shades of orange and red.

You had big dreams of becoming a director, a career choice you had clung to since childhood. Piles of files filled with DVDs you had created when you were young. It didn't matter if you didn't have a deep story to tell, your videos were filled to the brim with stupid and idiotic stuff you used to do as kids and overall you were happy.

"Where'd you get that from?" Jenna asked, standing up to examine your camera's display. "Ooh… The quality's top-notch," she nodded approvingly.

"It was a very late Christmas gift from my friend I go to film school with. She saw me literally struggling with my phone, so she finally got me a camera for professionals only." You emphasized the word "professionals," feeling proud to have your very own camera instead of one borrowed from someone else.

She chuckled at your comment, "I've always wanted to film something on a camera," she whispered, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.

You gently set the camera down, your heart trying to calm down due to how close she was to you.

"I… I have this project for my film class," you began, turning to face her. "We have to vlog something in our lives that we could watch a few years later in time. It's supposed to be something bittersweet, my prof would say." You laughed, hoping to gain Jenna's approval.

You noticed her eyes twinkling, her eyebrows raising in excitement, and her lips forming a big smile that revealed her dimples. Fuck, you were so in love, it was maddening.

"Then let this be the short film of a lifetime."

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The 'short film of a lifetime' became a series of short films of a life time. Capturing your daily talks and strolls with Jenna, hoping that one day, the two of you could meet up again and watch these videos, laughing to your hearts' content. It was a sweet memory you'd hopefully make, really.

The alarm failed to wake you up because you didn't even sleep. It was Jenna's 17th birthday, and being even a millisecond late was not an option. You hadn't been able to celebrate her 16th birthday since she had just moved to town weeks after that, you knew after months of talking to her. And now, you were determined to give her the best party yet.

You stepped outside in the outfit Jenna had picked for you during one of your shopping trips—a comfortable ensemble that solidified your opinion of Jenna's excellent fashion taste.

You had your gift ready for Jenna, all those months of saving up money and even starving yourself finally paid off as you bought headphones that she always wanted and was always ranting to you about how expensive it is, a pair of brand-new Sony Headphones to replace her old ones.

You turned on your DSLR camera, ready to record and all, until you looked up and see people loading boxes into a truck.

Your heart raced as you ran towards the truck, hoping against hope. 'Fuck, fuck fuck... Please, not today,' you repeated to yourself, breath ragged as you tried to calm down.

Spotting Jenna's sister Aliyah, you called out to her, "Aliyah! Aliyah, wait!"

Aliyah turned, a smile on her face. "Y/n! Hey…"

You exhaled, "Where's—Where's Jenna? Is she going back to your house for her birthday?" You set your camera down, your voice shaky as you released the gift bag you held.

"Didn't she tell you? She's going across the country; she just got cast for a character in a film!"

You dropped your camera, confusion and shock hitting you like a truck.

"What?"

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

"There's my favorite actress!"

"Not an actress...

"—Yet."

The video played on and on, a retro sound mixed with sratches from the old camera you once cherished. You lay quietly down on your bed, your eyes starting to form eyebags, and the air starting to sound like a certain song you'd play when you're at your darkest times.

It's been half a decade since your last interaction with Jenna. Countless of sleepless nights, meals skipped, and relationships with others destroyed all because she moved across the country to pursue her acting career. Not once did she think to send you even a single letter, expressing how much she missed you or offering a simple greeting. But who were you to expect so much from her?

You get that she was busy, and you get that she has other matters to attend to. You knew for a fact the harsh reality of the entertainment industry demanded constant attention, and slipping up even once could mean being left behind. But a dark void in your soul could only want to ask of her a simple hi. You’ve watched Jenna through her films, her interviews, her Instagram stories, witnessing how she became a star. You were happy for her, there was no denying it, you were so happy for her she got to achieve the dream she was dying to succeed, but you couldn’t help but wish to celebrate it beside her, even for just one moment, rather from a distance like this.

You were only someone she met in her neighborhood, and she became someone unreachable. You were someone she only knew for two years, and yet, the countless smiles she’d give you when you were around, the moments she looked you in the eyes where you thought you finally meant something to her, the times she’d say you were someone special to her—those became nothing but everything. You start to ponder on who could ever truly stay with you. Maybe it’s inevitable you’d go along with your life without someone who’s special to you, someone who cherishes you like their dying wish.

When she left, your soul left with her. Now you were never the same. You never looked at things the same, walking down that street being something you’d regret, watching a film you’d think she would love could only make you breakdown into tears—missing her touch like you miss the warmth of the sun on a cold day. The world, once vibrant when Jenna entered your life, now appeared through somber lens, your simplest pleasures turned into tortures you would never wish on an empire.

You couldn’t be mad at her, no, you didn’t have the right to. How could you be so instantly attached to one person that they became your entire world? You spent your whole life creating memories you cherished with everyone around you. You had worlds to see, you had symphonies to hear from the beat of your headphones, you had comforting scents to smell whenever you walk into a familiar place, you had delicacies your mom once had made you when she was still in your life to taste, you had humans to touch—people that were close to your heart. Everything you had in the palm of your hands, taken away by a single glance from Jenna. It’s like your life suddenly meant nothing without her.

While you’re all smiles and laughs, trying to hide the fact you’re missing that one person who made you who you are now, thoughts of her still linger at night. You would find yourself after a grueling day, scrolling through the accounts Jenna had created, even reaching out to her closest friends or family members for any updates on her well-being. You still hope one day you’ll take that street yet again, reminiscing about the days when you were delighted to wake up on a cool winter morning and eagerly anticipate seeing someone, and that someone eagerly awaiting for you as well.

You sighed as you took a step on the street you were always walking on. It was already noon, and the feeling of not walking this road without the morning sun will always be so weird to you. The wind of the road reaches out to you like something of a horror film, your headphones you initially bought for Jennas birthday being the only escape to the reality you've sentenced yourself to, as if she was still there with you. If only you had known for what was about to strike you, maybe you would've confessed.

Like Jenna, you too achieved your dream job as a movie director. While you didn't work on big films, you were just happy you got to help bring stories to life, stories that Jenna often liked to read, hoping one day she'd maybe take interest in the films you directed.

As you walked, you find your eyes flickering to the bench Jenna used to sit down, a part of you wishing she would magically reappear and surprise you as if nothing had happened and it was all just a dream.

Then, someone was there—a brunette with the same hairstyle, engrossed in a book, much like the ones Jenna always loved.

"Jenna?" You called out, eyes widening.

The brunette started to stand up, book still in hand that was obscuring her face.

"Jen—! Fuck— Sorry…" You bumped into numerous people who seemed to have materialized on the street that wasn't crowded a moment ago.

“Jenna! Jenna, why didn’t you—" You extended your hand, wanting to touch her shoulder, feeling on the verge of breaking down into tears, desperate for an explanation, screaming whys and hows.

A car suddenly passed by you, the wind knocking you out of your senses.

Shit, it wasn't Jenna. It was never Jenna.

You were going insane. Why were you still grieving for something so alive, but so gone?

You were on your way to the location where your co-director, Emma Myers, had instructed the rest of the actors to shoot for your new film, Finest Kind. It was the first movie ever where you felt a bit uncertain, but you took it anyway. Emma was a friend you had made during your lowest days in film school, always there for your rants and providing a comforting presence that made you feel better about yourself.

Due to a morning that almost got you killed, you arrived 20 minutes late, earning applause from everyone when you finally reached the spot, Emma in the background shouting a rowdy 'Finally!' as the rest burst into laughter. It brought a genuine smile to your face, finally.

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

You didn't know of the casting, since that was you, your technique. You enjoyed a bit of surprise in your approach to movie directing, a quirk Emma took note of, and so, everyone introduced themselves to you and the rest of the crew, forming bonds for the months ahead.

You sat in your chair with your last name written on the back, reviewing a script that the writers had printed out, it was fairly nice. You were already envisioning how you wanted it to go, and now you were standing up to take the affirmative with Emma, until, a certain voice caught your attention.

"Excuse me, could I…" A voice murmured behind you—a familiar voice you knew and loved from the very beginning. However, for some reason, your heart dropped, and you wished more than anything to erase yourself.

"Jenna?"

"Y/n."

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a/n: yikes!!

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

[blue-rose-soul]

For hazbin hotel au: what would happen she found out at first meeting with alastor and kept it a secret because she didn't know how to process it?

By 'she' I'm guessing you mean Charlie?

I don't think she'd end up keeping the secret for all that long, to be honest. We know how she feels about keeping secrets from loved ones, although she's not nearly as close with Alastor so it's somewhat excusable. I feel like Charlie would still believe she had an obligation to tell the truth though.

I'm also not sure what scenario would allow Charlie to know but not Alastor OR Lucifer. The reason I decided Lucifer was wasted when he hooked up with Nicaise is because Vivienne described Lucifer and Lilith as being deeply in love. Even if some things have changed, I don't think Lucifer would ever intentionally cheat on Lilith. Even if their relationship was an open one, I doubt Lucifer would have knowingly abandoned any kid of his.

So if Lucifer didn't know, I don't see how Charlie would.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut...

Let's say she does figure it out. Not right off the bat, but over time she pieces together some clues from things she's heard Alastor mention offhand and stories Lucifer told her when she was a bit younger, before they stopped talking regularly. She doesn't know what to say to Alastor, so she goes to Vaggie, who doesn't really know how to handle the situation either. But there's one guy who has to have answers, right?

Charlie ends up calling Lucifer earlier than in canon, inviting him to the hotel to talk about 'something important.' Sometime after episode 4 but before the months-long time skip between then and episode 5. Lucifer comes running over, eager to see Charlie for the first time in ages.

He meets Alastor... aaaaaand does NOT make a good first impression. You've seen Dad Beat Dad.

There's no Mimzy to break up the argument this time (she won't show up for another 4-5 months) so Charlie has to stop things before they escalate. Fortunately, reminding Lucifer that she had something important to talk to him about is enough to get him to drop his sniping match with Alastor.

Unfortunately, trying to extract the truth from Lucifer is like pulling a tooth. Charlie keeps trying to subtly poke and prod but Lucifer's only half-listening, distracted, or he gets wrapped up cooing over his 'little girl.' Vaggie's not around to provide backup, since Charlie wanted to speak with Lucifer alone.

Eventually Charlie gets fed up with Lucifer's rambling and snaps, "DAD! Did you cheat on Mom?"

It takes Lucifer a hot minute to process the question.

When he does he's shocked and hurt... and a little afraid.

"Why would you ask that?" he wonders, and Charlie walks him through her mental math. Once in a moment of drunken vulnerability, Alastor let slip that he was conceived at Mardi Gras in New Orleans, in the same year that Lucifer snuck to Earth. And that his father was never in the picture. Lucifer is embarrassed as he admits he doesn't remember the entirety of that night. But surely it's just a coincidence, right? Lots of kids were conceived that night, at that parade.

Charlie tells him that Alastor's mom apparently referred to his father as an 'angel' and suddenly Lucifer's not so sure.

They don't bring it up to Alastor yet. It's still not 100% certain, and Charlie doesn't want to drop that on Alastor's lap in case she turns out to be wrong. But she keeps wondering, picking out the little things she and Alastor and her father have in common. It's MADDENING. On top of which, now Charlie's daddy issues are exacerbated by the revelation that, whether or not Alastor actually is her brother, Lucifer might have strayed when he went up to Earth. She asks him to leave and Alastor's all too happy to sneer at Lucifer on the way out.

The next few months pass as they would have in canon, with Charlie mainly focusing on trying to redeem Angel Dust and Sir Pentious, BUT with one difference. She also spends her time trying to talk to Alastor more about his family and life on Earth. He's not entirely receptive to her questioning. Ultimately he'd rather just forget who he was as a human and embrace being the Radio Demon. But, from time to time, he feeds her tidbits of information that can't really be used against him. After all, if she feels like they're 'close' then he can use that to his advantage. Over time, though, Alastor starts doing his own math, and picks up some hints as to what Charlie's weird behavior is really about.

Lucifer, meanwhile, spends the time doing some digging and trying to figure out whatever became of Nicaise after Mardi Gras, 190x. His research pretty much confirms what he and Charlie had begun to suspect. One solace; it seems like Nicaise went up to Heaven. But Lucifer is devastated to learn that she left behind a 10-12 year old child when she did.

#ask #anonymous #Hazbin Hotel #the Devil's Bastard AU #Charlie Morningstar #Lucifer Morningstar #Alastor #yes I am taking this opportunity to inject more angst into this AU

[nanabrainrot]

Perversion, Immersion [Pervert!Roman Roy]

Roman Roy discovers the magic of deepfakes, filtering through more and more images of you. He’s lucky you’re an entertainer at heart.

Warning! This piece is NSFW! It contains a dominating female reader and a perverted Roman. Dub-con due to nonconsensual use of her face in deepfake pornography. Praise kink, humiliation kink, and mixed signals.

WC: 1599

Part I | You are reading Part II | Part III

Part II

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The industrial revolution and its consequences have been a disaster for mankind. The advancement of technology served as a grim reminder that Roman would not be increasing in his addiction and obscenity since you had found out about it: the existence of deepfakes had only exacerbated this progression in depravity. Masturbation is natural, occurring in all facets of life where self-pleasure can set off dopamine receptors; the problem in humanity is the structure of manufactured morality. Ignorance is bliss reigns true but the lingering feeling of adrenaline as his camera roll started to become full of the public images of you.

LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram, your youth had led you to being tech savvy and your beauty had led you to indulging in regularly posting pictures of yourself. Classy, but suggestive. Most photos of you were perfectly posed, half-lidded eyes and a little grin but not too big. Feeding them into the websites provided him this constant pleasure: your face projected on the porn star.

Enough angles fed made it seamless. It was no longer the porn star’s face, but yours. The mouth ajar and knit brows but the voice - the voice was too far off. It was maddening. What did you sound like moaning? Not that he would likely ever be able to get that comical assembly of moans and grunts that were restricted to the world of porn for the sake of theatrics. And everyday the collection grows, the number of porn stars with a body like yours are not in short supply. The amateur videos really add to the authenticity of it as he downloads it to his phone, sending the file in his emails before trying to delete the evidence. Or not. You really didn’t seem give a damn that he was basically fantasizing about you.

You don’t seem bothered now too.

“What’re you staring at like that for?”

His skin goes cold, pores erupting into goosebumps and hairs standing on end. No fear, just adrenaline.

It’s you.

Your face edited with that stupid website. Face covered in a load of cum as you looked up at the camera with lips wrapped around the bulbous tip of a dick. Silence.

Quiet. Stillness.

Until the first noise rips out of you: a real authentic snorting laugh. You stumble back with your head back - like a hyena - snorting and trying to breathe as tears well from the lack of air as you wheeze at Roman fumbling over his words and trying to rectify the frozen screen yet again. A vein pulses in his head as he starts to randomly pound buttons and mutter a string of curses at the frozen screen before you regain your composure with a grin.

“You’re a photoshop pro, Roman? Or did you master it to beat it to this pic of me?” you scoff smiling as you leaned back against the wall.

“No - just, you fuckin’ uh - this is a chick who just kind of, um - oh my god, y’know what? Fuck is your issue it’s just a pic as a joke and you literally fell for it -“

“A joke? Me sucking dick is a funny joke?” you snort, struggling to hold back a laugh as the vein pulsed in his head harder.

“Hysterical. You don’t get comedy and it’s not even you - just some uh chick who looks like you. You think you’re only chick who looks like that in the world?”

“Roman, I don’t have any nudes out there. Camera shy,” you start, drawing closer to him with little clicks of your heels, “and that ‘chick’ has the mole near my eye.”

He glances back at the screen before immediately drawing back to whip back and view your face - over and over. He looked like he’d break his neck like that.

“What? If you wanna see me suck dick you can just ask me.” His face simultaneously drains of blood and flushes all at once, dick confused if it should get hard or stay shy and soft in his trousers.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? I know you heard me,” you drawl, “do you not want me to suck it?”

“I do! I mean, uh,” he coughs leaning back to look cool and collected, “I do… but not, um, today. Y’know, I like to test the waters? I’m a verbal guy you just keep that chatting and it’ll be your dick audition. Since you’re literally craving it if you’re offering like that -“

“Then take out your dick.”

Quiet.

“I don’t uh - want you to watch me,” he choked, “talk to me, c’mon, start that dirty shit since you’re so horny like that-“

“Take out your dick. You stupid or something? Why do I need to walk you through unzipping and taking your dick out?” You rolled your eyes but seemed to oblige, walking toward the door where your phone was on a table by. Back to him, you leaned over - round ass taunting him in the tight fabric of your skirt. Garters on display.

“I’m not even gonna look at you, since you wanna be a baby about it… probably don’t wanna see your nasty dick,” you scoff and start scrolling through your phone as your knees lightly shifted weight to weight to make your ass move a bit. It’s enough to spark the little shame that he loved to make him start palming himself through the trousers.

“Tch, you stroking your dick to my ass? Good,”

Hard breaths. Harsh huffs. Fiddling with the flesh to reach orgasm at a sight. Because you couldn’t be bothered to let him touch you. Too good to be soiled by a disgusting, sorry man like himself.

“You wish you could touch me, don’t you?”

A huff.

“Yeah…”

“Don’t even fuckin’ try. You’ve been a creep,” you huff, “stuffing pics of me into some website to jack off to.” Your ass taunted him, probably fleshy under the tight pencil skirt. Untouched by him, undeserving of touching it.

“Say it. Say you’re a creep,” you scoff.

Breath hitching, the way you play him like a fiddle, has the veins of his cock throbbing and his balls tightening uncomfortably. If he came too fast, you’d laugh. If he didn’t come at all, he’s a brick with a dick. Takes too long to cum? Roman can’t cum off a pretty broad and you could scoot off and tell everyone Roman’s as close to gay as an old Rome orgy. The way you suddenly stand straight has him anxious - reeling at fast movements and change as he always had.

You turn on your heel, that stone face meeting his eyes. The statuesque positioning only serves to make him reel more internally, softening just a little at the way your face returning to its natural stoic expression; he was starting to miss that coy girlish giggle you did when you saw his screen frozen again in the grim series of misfortunes called his life.

He gets hard again as you draw closer, slow strides and the sound of your kitten heels scraping the floor as you come closer with your hands fiddling with the buttons of your professional workwear that always screamed “office minx” with the way the buttons were always a little spread and trying to free your tits from its confines.

“You’re cute. Do me a favor since I’m being so nice to a creep like you,” you coo sweetly like glazing your malicious half-hearted words in icing to make it palatable. If you’d called him a simmering piece of dog shit and stepped on his balls, he’d probably harden the same anyway.

Two pieces of clothing sit on his desk, ragdolled by gravity and no longer clinging to the owner but still reeking of your perfume. Something halfway between girlish and womanly, it has a floral note that Roman breathes in clearly from where he is now: suckling at your tit.

Your eyes closed, soft huffs of minty breath from those puffy peppermints on your desk, cooing and petting his head like a puppy. Those nails scratching at the back of his neck; it’s a gentle movement that leaves him reeling, leaves his cock twitching and balls tightening drawing closer and closer and closer -

“Good boy, good boy… not so creepy, you’re so good… you can cum, baby boy,” you coo.

The sensation is different. Used to his ejaculations being spurred by the feeling of being talked down to, when he spills to you pressing soft kisses to his hairline it feels too close to intimacy.

And intimacy was debilitating.

The spent on his hands is warm and he is naming 4 things he can touch as just: cum, cum, cum, and cum. You slip back on your bra and button-up (a tad more wrinkled than it was earlier) and the wafting scent of your perfume is contaminated by the musk of his cologne.

Your eyes are stone again and your face unchanged. Mellowed with time and that time was only seconds. The sweet sugar of your voice spills through his hands like sand and he wishes it was more solid, like a horse wanting a sugar cube after a subpar trick. You stink of him as you mutter goodnight, grabbing the bag and leaving once you had your fill, and your silhouette lost in the hallway as his office door clanks shut.

The only evidence that you were here at all is the bit of chapstick, strawberry and $3 and generic, still sticky on his hairline.

The taste of sugar depletes and his mouth feels dry. Can tomorrow come any quicker? Any quicker than him?

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THANKS FOR READINGGH FOLLOW FOR PART 3 THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED AT NOON ON THE DOT BUT HAD TO BE POSTED LATER BC MY WIFI BLEW OUT NO ONE GET MAD 😭

EDIT 9/9/23: PART 3 IS UP N LINKED THANK YOU MY FELLOW AMERICANS

#nana writes succession #succession x reader #succession fanfic #roman roy x y/n smut #roman roy x you #roman roy x y/n #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you smut

[wndaswife]

needy

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

tags: somnophilia, fingering (r giving), smut, smut & fluff, mommy kink, mommy wanda maximoff, dom wanda maximoff, sub reader, praise kink, degradation kink. MINORS DNI.

word count: 2664

summary: mommy's been missing her little girl.

gif is not mine; credit to the creator.

Ever since the Maximoff realtor firm lost several employees to Stark Industries two weeks ago, Wanda had been staying late nights at work to supplement her company’s loss of workers. She spent hasty maddened hours in her office missing her little girl who was home alone for a majority of the day.

All she had of you from the fifteen hours between waking up with her arms around you and crawling into bed with her sleeping angel was racy pictures and sweet conversations over the phone. Because you couldn’t do big girl things without mommy’s help, you and Wanda called each other several times throughout the day while you made yourself meals or went grocery shopping or did anything on your own, which was scarcely enough of your company. But after a few days, not being able to touch you with Wanda’s own hands for more than half of the day became overbearing.

As much as you wanted to see mommy after work, to cuddle into her chest and have her kiss your face all over as soon as possible, Wanda forced you to sleep early. Even at the expense of not having you run into her arms at the front door after her shifts, she wanted you to get enough sleep. Good girls needed their sleep, and if you could act on your own volition, you’d stay up all night to see her, and Wanda just couldn’t have that.

Most nights, Wanda would creep into the bedroom in a careful attempt not to wake you up. She would slip out of her work clothes, get ready for bed, and get into a loose camisole and matching shorts. You loved when mommy dressed up for your eyes only. Even in just her pyjamas, you were infatuated with how she looked, always. Wanda would slip into bed and wrap her arms around your soft and delicate body, her heart swelling at the little sounds you would make as you awoke just enough to cuddle into mommy’s body and hug her tight.

Tonight was no different, although things had been particularly difficult for Wanda tonight.

Tony Stark visited the firm without any prior notice, which, of course, called for a meeting with the company’s founder. What Wanda initially imagined would be a conference that lasted no more than several minutes turned into several hours. He had come to gloat, Wanda was sure, about his industry’s influx of employees, most of whom had come from her own firm. Stark discussed everything from the Maximoff Firm’s loss of employees to his daughter, Morgan.

Wanda sat still, patiently, at the conference table across from the tragically suave man for nearly three hours with her chin in the palm of her hand, and after that, had her hands tied with mounds of unfinished paperwork that sat atop her desk tauntingly.

Then, finally, at around one in the morning, Wanda finished her work, locked the building up, and drove home. Home to you.

You were buried under a thick duvet, balled up in bed with your face nuzzled into a pillow. Locks of your hair fanned messily around your head like a halo, down the valley of your breasts and across your face. Wanda smiled and melted at the sight. She laid hand by your head and leaned over the bed to press a kiss to your forehead. As she straightened, she brushed your hair from your face before heading further into the bedroom to get ready for bed. 

By the time Wanda left the washroom, she was in a skimpy little silk nightgown that she knew you loved. Her hair was brushed through and her face was free of makeup. Despite what she had to work through throughout the day, the people she had to meet and the paperwork she had to fill out, it was always you she came home to, and that made everything worth it.

Even as Wanda slipped into bed, pulling the duvet over her shoulder and pulling you into her chest, you remained fast asleep. She pulled back to watch your relaxed expression in your deep slumber. The further down her eyes trailed down your body, the loose camisole around your torso became clearer, your erect buds prominent. You were wearing nothing but the thin garment and your lacy pink panties that mommy loved. The camisole was hers, and Wanda knew you had meant for that to please her when she came home from work, seeing her pretty doll in her favourite pair of panties and her own clothes. You always knew just how to make her happy. 

Throbbing formed between Wanda’s thighs the longer she watched you sleep; the tiny noises that escaped you as you dreamt, the warm exhales from your nose that gusted warm down Wanda’s cleavage. You were so innocent, sleeping soundly as mommy raised a hand to your breast, kneading softly as your erect nipple brushed against her palm. Her compliant little girl. So corruptible. 

Wanda took her bottom lip between her teeth and pulled herself closer to you, her breasts pressing flush against yours. She kissed your neck and took your hand with hers, her other hand still groping you. You stirred in your sleep as Wanda started running her tongue up your neck, humming at the smooth plain of your skin and the way the column of your throat buzzed with your soft moans. Wet sounds of soft suckling travelled to your ears, but you stayed asleep still, even as Wanda started to move your hand.

“I need this, baby,” Wanda muttered out against your wet skin. She led your hand between her thighs and pressed the length of your fingers against her clothed cunt. The fabric of her panties stuck to your fingers as her sticky mess coated your digits, even through her underwear. With her fingers leading yours, she added pressure to her needy pussy with your fingers and Wanda began to grind her hips down against your hand.

Her moans came out in tiny whimpers, her nose buried in your neck as she tried her hardest not to wake you up. You being used like a stupid little to help her get off whilst you had no idea made her so wet. Your fingers were grinding against Wanda’s sticky soaked-through panties, and you were still fast asleep. Her lips trembled against your skin as she continued to kiss your neck, running her tongue up to your jaw in attempts to take you for her own in every way she could.

She was terribly obsessed with you, captivated with every curve of your body, every inch of your smooth skin. Licking your neck, sucking at your skin, grinding against your hand. She was so needy for you, so greedy in having her little girl close, all hers, even when you were completely unaware. 

Wanda raised her head to press her cheek against yours, whispering dirty words into your ear as she nipped and sucked at your lobe. With her finger, Wanda pulled her panties to the side and moved your hand up against her bare sticky pussy. A long moan escaped her at the way your cold fingers were pressed against her cunt’s warm folds. 

The squelching of her pussy and the way her juices coated your fingers was too much to sleep through. Your eyes fluttered open to the sight of Wanda’s red hair in your face, evening moonlight peeking from the curtains making her ruby strands glisten. Hot exhales were being blown down your neck as desperate moans reverberated against the shell of your ear. A bruising rough hand was groping your breast. Wanda was humping her cunt down wildly against your hand, ragged pants escaping her. You could feel the neediness of her arousal, the heat of her noisy pussy and the slickness of your coated fingers. 

Through your hazy state, your fingers twitched upwards and teased Wanda’s hole, making her groan. Sensing exactly what she needed, you arched your fingers upwards purposefully, pushing your fingers beyond her opening and slowly inching yourself through her tight walls. Now fully aware of your rousing, Wanda’s fingers slipped from around the heel of your hand and she wrapped her fingers around your wrist, quickening the speed of your stiffened digits. Your knuckles slammed against her outer lips harshly.

“Mommy…” you mumbled against the side of her face.

You heard Wanda inhale sharply. “I’m so sorry for waking you, puppy, but I’m-”

A shaky whine cut her off before she forced her words out, “Mommy needs you so badly, baby. I’m so wet for my little girl.” She lifted her head to capture your lips with hers, kissing you with passionate fervour. Your fingers pick up speed at the sound of mommy’s yearn for you. All for her little girl. All for you. Wanda’s tongue slipped into your mouth and you let her without a moment’s thought. She moaned into your mouth, her tongue darting across the roof of it, down against your tongue, over the top row of your teeth, then the bottom.

Her slick dripped down to your knuckles, making it easier for your knuckles to rub against her cunt as your fingers slipped out of her before slamming back in. Wanda pulled her tongue out of your mouth, but not before you take it between your lips, sucking covetously. A grin pulled at her lips at your desperate gesture and she kissed you again. Wanda’s hips started moving again, and you knew she needed more friction. “Another finger, puppy,” she demanded before running her tongue up your parted lips.

When you slid your ring and middle finger out of Wanda, you entered your index finger into her pussy along with the other two, causing her to moan out against your jaw, her teeth scraping harshly against your chin. “That’s right, baby,” she purred, raising her head to ghost her lips over yours teasingly. “Making mommy feel so good, my beautiful princess.”

You reached up to kiss her, but Wanda pulled back, making you pout.

“Not yet,” Wanda tutted. Her tongue rolled forward in her mouth before she leaned down and spat on your cheek. You couldn’t restrain the aroused hum that left you, and it was not lost on Wanda how you arched your fingers deep in her cunt. You had always loved being mommy’s pathetic, mindless little fuckdoll. She cupped your cheek, running her thumb over your cheekbone and rubbing her saliva over your soft skin. “Make me cum first, slut,” she told you before she pushed her wet thumb into your mouth.

Your soft lips wrapped around her thumb obediently, cheeks hollowing in and your tongue swirling around the digit. Once she was pleased, Wanda pulled her thumb out of your mouth and hooked her fingers around the neckline of her nightgown. She pulled it down so a full perky breast was exposed for you.

“Suck like a good girl while you fuck mommy’s pussy with your perfect fingers.”

You oblige instantly, moving your body forward to nestle your head against mommy’s chest. With a hand cupped under her breast, Wanda helped you latch onto her. Your lips wrapped around her erect rosy nipple, closing your eyes as you continue to fuck your fingers into her. When you flattened the heel of your palm against her clit, it wasn’t long until you got mommy to reach her peak.

“I love your pussy, mommy,” you mumbled out, your lips still wrapped around Wanda’s bud.

“I know you do, puppy. I know you love my pussy.” Wanda wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against her until your bodies were pressed flush against each other. Her other hand went to the back of your head, entangling her slender fingers within your hair. She pulled your face against her so you were buried securely between her breasts. Wanda pressed a kiss on the top of your head, breathing in your sweet scent. “My baby is such a little whore, hm?” Wanda cooed condescendingly. “Faster, puppy.”

You nodded absently as you continued to suckle on her breast, your fingers quickening their rapid speed as the heel of your hand continued to grind against Wanda’s clit. Your wrist was tired, but your desire to please Wanda was greater than any pain you’d ever feel. You switched breasts, your teeth grazing against her other nipple, highly sensitive from its stiffness. Wanda’s back arched into you and her head fell back, a sharp needy moan coming from her. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, burying your face further into her cleavage as she groaned out, “My pretty, pretty doll. Make mommy cum, bunny.”

She breathed out a low groan as your arched fingers made contact with mommy’s favourite spot. Wanda jerked forward against you at the contact, indavertedly making your teeth scrape down on her nipple. Her head was thrown back as her moans found a hasty rhythm with the thrusting of your fingers.

“Cum for your little girl, mommy," you pleaded, looking up at her with doe eyes. Wanda leaned down to the side of your head, moaning close into your ear to let you hear just how good you made her feel. Her hips began grinding down wildly and your moves down to draw hasty circles against her clit, your other hand focusing all its might into fucking into her. 

“Eto khorosho, zaya!” Wanda cried out. Ever since you had starting dating, you'd been able to learn on some of Wanda's most common Russian phrases, but that still didn't lessen how sexy it was when she spoke to you in her first language. “Moya gryaznaya printsessa- Ah!” She reached her summit, crying out against the shell of your ear as her hips' speed straggled and her thighs squeezed around your forearm. Her body arched against yours, twitching forward as you began to slow the thrusts of your fingers, helping mommy fall from her peak.

A shaky hand was placed on your cheek, pulling you up and detaching you from Wanda’s breasts. She kissed you, her arm tight around your waist as she drew shapes against your midriff with her hand, your camisole having hiked up your waist. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she uttered against your lips as your fingers slipped out of Wanda’s cunt. “You always give mommy exactly what she needs.” She peppered gentle kisses against your face. “I’ve missed you so much today, puppy.” Wanda ran her fingers down your cheek soothingly, her eyes meeting yours adoringly. "My little girl," she hummed proudly.

“I wish you didn’t have to work, mommy.” You prodded your head into the crook of her neck.

Wanda scratched at your scalp soothingly, pulling you into her. “I know, baby.” She kissed your forehead. “How about I take the week off? We can go somewhere, just the two of us. Or we can stay home. Whatever you’d like.”

You rose from her shoulder, eyes beaming as you looked up at her. “Really?”

She laughed at your optimism and nodded. “Yes, really, doll.”

You cheered with a wide smile and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, nuzzling your nose into her cheek.

Wanda ran her fingers through your hair, leaning her cheek against yours as she kissed the corner of your jaw. “Now, good girls need their sleep,” she reminded you, a sweet tune to her voice. She pulled back to kiss you before bringing you close to her chest. You buried yourself against her, an arm wrapped tightly around her hips.

“Mommy, can we go to the park tomorrow?” you asked, fingers fiddling with the lace neckline of Wanda's nightgown.

“We can, sweetheart.”

“And ice cream?”

“Only if you’re a good girl and get some sleep tonight.” Wanda pinched your nose, making you giggle.

“I love you, mommy.”

“I love you too, puppy. So, so much. Now, close your eyes, baby. Mommy’s right here.”

Wanda watched as you stuck your fingers coated thickly in mommy’s sweet cum, suckling sleepily at them. She buried her nose in your hair, taking your scent in as the two of you fell asleep in each other's tight and ever present holds.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff smut #marvel smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #mommy wanda maximoff

[whumpitisthen]

If you ever feel so fancy as to do a part 2 or similar drabble to instincts i will be available to tattoo it on the entire landscape of my back and/or worship it throughly 👀🙏🙏

i dont usually write second parts, but i do also like that one a lot, and you asked very politely......

first part

Lonely...

"Wh-Why do you do this?"

He's been sitting there for a solid ten minutes in complete silence, enduring the maddening, constant scrutiny glaring from his left side. The tea he has prepared is swiftly growing lukewarm, no longer steaming languidly on the coffee table. He hadn't dared to move an inch once it perched next to him, weighing heavily on his mind and on the sofa cushions as its presence grew and materialised so close, so dangerous.

He hoped it would leave him alone today. It hadn't visited for a few days, — not in a physical way, only as an ever unnerving pressure on his body that wouldn't go away. Yet, that hadn't stopped the nightmares worming their way into his brain each time he tried resting while it was around. He is tired, and weary, and weak. That is why he planned on a serene little movie night spent in front of the mind numbing screen, on his own; to hopefully distract him, or even put him in a mercifully dreamless sleep. He desperately wished it would leave him just a little longer.

However, it seems it knew just the worst time to 'come see him' — as it so likes to put it. More like break into his home, harass him, question him and then torture him, only to leave him in a state barely sufficient to let him patch himself up for next time. Or stay and do it itself, making the healing stage into another opportunity to learn about humans as it messily fixes him up like one would a machine.

'Why? Why do you feel the need to do these things to me?'

He can feel it blink at him, can see its head tilt to the side, and can almost hear the phrase come before it murmurs, — "I do not understand."

Of course it doesn’t, this is perfectly normal for it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nevermind,” — he tries, already knowing that it’s too late.

As expected, it growls impatiently, yet somehow, he can’t find it in himself to do more than squeeze his eyes shut and sigh, instead of flinching and curling into himself.

“I do not like when you don’t answer me. What do I do that awakens your curiosity?”

That’s one way to put it. Curiosity.

“You just, just stare at me all the time. I know you do, eve-, even when you’re not, when I can’t see you.”

“I am here to learn from you. That’s all I ever want,” — it replies matter-of-factly.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” — he murmurs, voice full of a hopelessness that only a severe lack of sleep and a terrifyingly inescapable situation can bring.

“I do not. There is nothing better for me to do. I enjoy this the most,” — it exclaims happily, unaware of the offending tone he used. Sometimes, it’s fortunate that it doesn’t get how parts of the human speech works, such as sarcasm, or expressions.

He doesn’t say anything, and that confuses it. He simply stares at the moving pictures on the television blankly. It feels his nerves lit on fire, yet it's a much fainter feeling, and his reactions are wholly uninteresting. In turn, that almost makes them more interesting to the creature. It wants to know what’s wrong with the human today.

“You are boring. Why are you boring,” — it asks, though the sentence ends in more of a period than a question mark. It’s quite funny, the way it asks things sometimes. He smiles to himself, knowing full well delirium must be hitting him hard for him to find the courage to smile in the presence of this monstrosity, fully capable of tearing him in half in a split second if he doesn’t supply it with entertainment and learning opportunities. It would find joy in it as well.

“Why am I boring?” — he asks, holding back a giggle. He still doesn’t look at it. He would quickly lose his humour if he did.

“Yes.”

“What do you mean? Why am I boring?”

It falls quiet for a moment, glancing at the TV again.

“You do not care that I am here.”

He knows he should not, but his mind only finds the situation more hilarious with every word.

“What, are you, y-you getting lonely now? Should I grab a blanket and cuddle close, so you feel loved?” — he chortles.

It finds his tone unnatural. It doesn’t understand it, but it makes it feel wrong. Small. It feels small.

“Am I lonely? Explain, please.”

He only taught it pleasantries like please and thank you some number of weeks ago — it still feels entirely unnatural to hear it say the word he has said to it so many times before, to no avail. It says it like it couldn’t just pull an answer out of him with no issue. It has learned to be more patient, at least.

“Do you not know what loneliness is?”

“I asked you so. Why do you sound like that? You sound wrong,” — it remarks, certainly perplexed by his relatively calm demeanour. It is so used to watching him panicking and stuttering up a storm, flinching at every little movement, that hearing any amount of confidence or joy, and feeling any amount of serenity emanating off of him is throwing it off. It must feel very wrong to be looked at with anything more than wild fear to it.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, loneliness is like… It has to do with being alone, obviously.”

“It’s not very obvious to me,” — it grumbles.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I-It’s… kind of hard to explain, honestly. Um… It’s when you feel sad, when you are alone. Like when you’re on your own and there’s no-one to talk to. It’s depressing. So most people find someone else to, to help with that feeling, so they are no longer alone. That’s loneliness.”

“Hm…” — It thinks for a while. He can see it struggling with the concept, already trying to think of another way to explain before it asks. What it says next surprises him however, — “being alone doesn’t feel bad. I am always alone. You said when something feels bad it is because whatever is happening should not be happening. It’s not unnatural, therefore it isn’t bad.”

His smile disappears. Of course. Humans are social creatures, surviving by building relationships and helping each other out. It isn’t a human. He doesn’t know how it feels about being around another one of its kind. Is there another one of it? He doesn’t dare think about that.

“W-Well… It’s a human thing, I guess. We survived so long, and got to um, where we are by being there for each other, but I g-guess you don’t need that, do you?”

“I have noticed there are many humans near each other. It is rare to find one all alone. I assumed it was like how it is with ants or bees. Is that not right?” — it wonders.

“Not really. It’s more, um… familial? Like a pack of wolves or something. I don’t think bees take care of each other, only their queen and larvae.”

“I see. So what does it feel like? Being lonely?”

He bites back a yawn, swallowing it down. He reaches for the popcorn on the coffee table, deciding he might as well snack before it ultimately decides to hurt him at some point tonight. He hasn’t found the motivation to eat much all day.

What does loneliness feel like? How is he supposed to explain that to a thing that might not even have another one of its kind?

“Uhm… It’s a bad feeling. For us, at least. You feel like… You need to be around someone. Depending on how bad it is, you, uh, might even feel the need to be around strangers. It feels like you are going mad. Like, uhm… I don’t know, like crushing? Hopeless? This one’s… hard to explain,” — he finished, throwing some more popcorn into his mouth. He is watching the movie on the screen, but his brain is not picking up on anything that’s going on around him besides the creature next to him.

“Hm…”

It doesn’t say anything for a long time. So long, in fact, that he would almost forget about it entirely if it didn't shuffle closer to him, watching him intently for a reaction. Even through the thick haze of fog engulfing his brain, he tenses and shuffles away on instinct.

"You are not lonely," — it decides. It doesn't understand still what loneliness is; otherwise it would know that he is lonely enough to crave human interaction of absolutely any kind, enough that he sometimes dreams that the creature that follows him around wherever he goes isn't such a horrid being, that he managed to teach it how to be human and no longer hurt him and to care for him like another person would. He hallucinates, sometimes, because he's just that lonely. Or maybe it's just the sleep deprivation. Both.

"Why do you think that?" — he inquires, half-caring about the answer.

"Because I accompany you. You are never truly alone. You do not crave my touch. You are not lonely."

"And you are not a person. Why would I care about any of that?" — he snaps suddenly.

It goes silent again, and his very soul is trembling. He knows he messed up, he shouldn't have said that, even it isn't dense enough to miss a direct insult. The glare coming from the side is burning him, and he subconsciously apologises in his mind, almost certain it can hear it. He's so tired, he just wants to pass out already.

When it finally chirps up again, he fully expects a claw to tear at his face, — "I am not a human. But I am a person still." — He only now realises that it isn't looking at him anymore. It's an awfully unusual feeling, to feel its presence but not its gaze, — "is that not right? Can I not be a person if I am not a human?"

Now it's his turn to think. He never thought about it like that. When he says person, he immediately thinks of a human, but if that's how it is — does that mean that another intelligent alien race, for example, would not be considered people? A member of them wouldn't be a person? That doesn't sound right.

Why is he thinking about this like he's afraid to hurt this monster? Why did it sound like it was hurt by his words? It didn't, he just has empathy and assumed he had hurt it. Like a person. Or a human would, at least. Then again, there are shitty humans out there too.

"I'm… sorry," — he says, unsure how to answer in a way as to not dig himself into a deeper hole, — "I just never thought of anyone to be a person if they aren't, um, human. But you're not like, an a-animal or something, are you? So you are still a person. I think."

"What does being a person mean to humans? I thought being a person meant having higher intelligence than animals, but that doesn't seem to be true. You are not answering me straight," — it accuses him curiously. Its gaze is back on him, watching him again. Its voice is a little deeper, and he assumes it's because he has angered him. He wishes it would just get it over with and attack already.

"I-It-, I'm n-not sure! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, i-it was an honest mistake — I just never really thought about you that way…"

"If you do not see me as a person, then what do you see me as? Am I really an animal to you?" — it questions relentlessly, leering down at him with an intensity that feels like a physical weight is crushing his body into the sofa, curling into itself, — "you see me as a critter."

"No, no, no I don't! I-I just don't know what you are! You're not a human, nor an animal, but I have no idea what to f-, call you! Pl-ease, I swear I d-didn't mean it!" — he clambers to apologise, already gathering tears behind eyes squeezed shut, lifting his arms to shield his head from claws flying through the air. To his surprise — and relief — none comes.

“...Am I lonely?” — it asks itself, all animosity gone from its voice, — “I do not know. I have always been alone.”

When nothing else is said for long enough, he uncurls his arms from over him and finally summons the courage to look at the creature next to him. It is once again deep in thought, trying to figure out if it feels lonely or not. No matter how many times he is forced to gaze upon it, his skin crawls all the same. An inky blackness of eyes and claws, long thin limbs appearing and disappearing at its will. Sometimes it has long, dripping hair, other times horns or antlers. He can only guess it changes its form depending on its mood that day. It barely looks humanoid, some demon of hell — he had to learn how to sense its emotions through its rough cover of shadows himself through trial and error, and still he has trouble understanding it fully. He doesn’t get a chance, most times, as he is the one being questioned, or tormented. This time is different. Unusual.

He releases a shaky exhale and swallows, feeling his tired heart beat an almost painful rhythm against his chest. It’s dizzying, to be so stressed when his brain is barely functioning from lack of sleep. He finds it hard to sit, and leans to the side instead, catching himself on the arm of the couch. Though curious, even if he dared to say anything more to it, he is having trouble getting his thoughts in order long enough for his brain to sew together a sentence.

“If I was lonely, that would mean I would want to be around other people. Interact with them. I interact with you a lot. Maybe I am lonely.” — It goes quiet periodically, trying to decide for itself, but it doesn’t seem very successful at doing so. — “I don’t understand,” — it comes to say finally, turning to him again for more answers. It seems unbothered by his state.

“Uh-uhm… Mm… Maybe I said it wrong. I don’t think it’s um, only your own kind you want to be around. Wh-When you’re lonely, I mean. Sometimes, when I’m lonely, it helps to just hang out with some of the, uh, stray cats that w-wander up to my windows, sometimes. I, I um, like petting them. And their purring. They’re very nice to, to me…” — he mumbles, hoping that no more questions come, as he is having more and more trouble resisting the ever gentler pull of unconsciousness.

"You crave affection from animals?" — it coos at him, almost mocking, but not for long, suddenly growing silent again. It makes a groan, a sound akin to some kind of wild raccoon, and he has no idea what it means — yet, upon looking at it, it's clear it is growing restless. — "...Affection from less intelligent beings. Helps with loneliness. Am I lonely? Am I lonely?" — It repeats the question for the hundredth time, asking itself more so than him by now. It seems frustrated. The clawed ends of its slender fingers flex around a pillow. On one hand, he finds it humorous, the act reminding him of kitties making biscuits — on the other, he is so relieved those sharp things aren't digging into his abdomen yet.

"If you have to, t-to think about it this long, you probably are. You just, d-don't wanna ad-admit to it," — comes his wavering voice, supplying it with more confusion. It retaliates by placing one of its hands around his closest ankle, sending a harsh shiver all the way up to the nape of his neck. The way it closes those frigid digits around his leg wakes him right back up — a familiar feeling, to be woken up so ruthlessly by it. It tilts its head at him again, clearly bothered by his accusations.

"How could I admit to something I don't understand? That sounds moronic. You are stupid," — it growls triumphantly, reminding him of his sister. So quick to anger, and just as stubborn. Except he isn't quite as afraid of his little baby sister as he is of this cosmic horror gripping at him with its ice cold sharpened appendages. The horror that is probably trying to grin, and instead only succeeds at showing off all of its terrifying sets of teeth in a horrid snarl. He had not realised until this moment that it has a mouth on its torso, cleaving it in half as it opens. He has acquired a new fear.

His mind is overrun with images of the thing pulling him towards its horrifying torso-mouth by the ankle in its grasp, chewing him up bit by bit as it keeps pulling him deeper and deeper into its disgusting, black, tar body, mauling him completely. If he managed to survive the mutilation, the rest of him would be tossed into a vat of acid that is its stomach, digested agonisingly slowly. His wide, purple-black, terrified eyes are stuck on it, and it notices his staring, unfortunately, before he could.

"Wh-, y… yes, y-y-you're right. Maybe I am. Please stop touching me now."

He can't help noticing its eyes crinkle in amusement, thoroughly enjoying bullying him into submission as it always does, — "You were being very brave today, all the way up until now. What's wrong?" — Its grip tightens, those blades it has the gall to call 'nails' already making paper cuts all along his exposed skin. One finger — a thumb, if it has any — is caressing the length of flesh slowly, back and forth, distressing him greatly. Its eyes glow unnaturally, glinting in the dark, and it hurts, it physically hurts his body to be so scared right now. His heart beats much too fast all too sudden, his breaths come quicker than he feels capable of, his skin crawls with the cold sweat covering the entirety of his back pressed against the armrest of the sofa. It watches him tense in its clutches with utmost glee, considering pulling him a little closer by the little red lines it already caused, just to hear him whimper at the burning pain. — "Don't tell me you've lost all conviction already?"

He barely remembers to reply, utterly lost in those intense eyes and rows upon rows of teeth grinning at him, — "Ih-, it was just, a joke! I wasn't being serious — p-please let go of me, I can't — "

"I am only joking too. Why are you so upset?" — It's laughing at him, it's mocking him, but he doesn't have the brainpower to even try pulling away, too wound up in his fear.

"I get it, I get it, just please, please just let go, I don't want to, I c-can't, I can't…"

It is so proud of itself, but he can't even be mad at it. All he notices is a glint in its eyes, a horrible sign he has learned to fear as much as the arrival of the abomination itself — it has got an idea.

It giggles to itself, and that sound feels like a promise of pain, — "I would let go, but, you see…" — It is leaning down over him once more, but it doesn't stop there. It comes closer and closer, grabbing hold of the back of the couch and another leg for balance, climbing on top of him, and his brain finally activates, much too late, to force him to struggle away. He can't anymore, not that it would have helped. — "I am just so lonely. So very lonely I am. I need interaction with other beings! I need to be very, very close to another person so I can feel their warmth. I need to touch them and keep them close. I need it, you see. I am very lonely."

"Ah-, wait n-, no, stop!"

Something is dripping onto him. Saliva, blood, who knows what it is.

"I'm so lonely…" — it muses, forcing his head back so it can bury its head under his chin.

It is breathing on him. He can feel its ice cold exhales right on his neck.

"Get off of me!" — he yells out in desperation, no longer caring to please it — he is positive he will scream if it starts nibbling on him.

"Huuu-mannn..." — it drawls lazily, draping itself over him. He can feel at least three pairs of limbs enveloping him and it's suffocating.

"God, just, just stop it already, please! I-I said I'm sorry," — his own voice quivers, suspiciously close to crying. He's certain it can feel him shivering.

"Mmm… No." — Its voice is reverberating through his entire chest. He gasps when a finger slides over a fresh enough bruise from their last meeting, the expulsion of air forming into a rather pathetic sound as he tries to choke it down.

He squirms under it, gasping for air, until he finally stops, grasping how truly futile it is to fight it. He lets out a defeated keen of misery, and sobs. He cries under it, no longer having the energy to care about what it thinks of him. Whether it finds him pathetic or amusing, whether it mocks him or hurts him. He wants to be anywhere but here.

It says nothing, for a while. It doesn't move, however. It must just be listening to him weeping, enjoying it as much as it was enjoying mocking him, just like it was enjoying going through with its devilish plan to get him to this point. That's all it ever wants; to watch him upset and hurt.

When it talks, it is so sudden he jumps in surprise, — "You are the lonely one here, truly. Unable to handle even this much affection."

He doesn't find it in himself to answer. He wishes it wasn't so good at hitting where it hurts. It snorts out something of a chuckle.

"If you ask me sweetly enough, I will consider purring for you. Like your stray cats."

No answer, not even a small sound of disdain aimed at it. It tries again.

"Would you like that?"

Nothing. Only calm breaths, long and peaceful.

It lifts its head to look at him, confused by the sudden change, and finds him passed out like a light. It hadn't known he was so tired. Maybe another effect of loneliness? It is unsure.

It hums in thought, watching him sleep like it always does. It's interesting to it; the concept of sleep. It loves the way its human looks while he is unconscious — it rarely sees him so content. It tried to sleep a couple times, but it doesn't think it succeeded.

"Lonely little human…. My lonely little human…" — it hums.

A haunting melody. Its voice sounds so unnatural and guttural, like a broken radio playing a broken record. It doesn't fully understand music yet either, so all it does is repeat the same tune and the same words. To it, it's comforting, while the human described it as a horror movie soundtrack. It doesn't matter to it; it likes humming.

"I like your company," — it murmurs, — "perhaps I am lonely too…"

It isn't sure, but what it is sure about, is that it likes comforting its human an awful lot. It doesn't think it comforted anyone before. It isn't even sure it's doing it right.

It feels right, at least, it thinks before clicking off the TV with a rush of static, and the darkness.

< Masterlist

#whump #my writing #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #fear #nonhuman whumper #sadistic whumper #cuts #dehumanisation #dehumanizing language #suffocation #mentioned eating of whumpee #mentioned gore #it took a while i know #in my defense i was releasing a book #ask #sordayciega

[julianthompson]

name: julian bentley thompson

nickname: jules, j

faceclaim: richard madden

gender & pronouns: cis man, he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

age: thirty3

birthday: february 16, 1991

place of birth: wilmington, north carolina

occupation: entrepreneur...?

neighborhood: wrightsville beach

time in wilmington: born in wilmington, left in 2016, returned christmas 2023.

family: robert thompson (father, deceased), evangeline ashford (mother), rhys bradley (half-brother)

character inspo: roman roy (succession), phillip altman (this is where i leave you), tj hammond (political animals)

— biography.

trigger warnings: death, drugs.

it was sort of an open secret that, despite strained efforts keep up the picture perfect, picket fence image of an all-american family, robert and his wife evangeline had a more transactional type of relationship. robert was the ambitious type, a self-made man with a real rags-to-riches story and a nose for politics, whose apprenticeship to a vastly wealthy businessman had ended in a betrothal to said businessman's youngest daughter who, in saying her ghost-written vows to this smug-looking orphan from new england, had forever resigned herself to a life of bearing his children and believing his lies.

where julian figures in all of this is that he was, in fact, your classic 'last ditch effort to save a loveless marriage' baby, and the ironic part was that it wasn't really an effort so much as it was an accident. postpartum illnesses would render the child in the care of the nannies, not unlike those that came before, and it wasn't long after that evangeline would undergo a procedure that would deprive robert of any more children. from her, at least, though not that it mattered much in the grand scheme of things; she would find her husband dead in their too-large and seemingly always empty home when julian was only three.

it was difficult, growing up in the shadow of your late father; many expected robert thompson's children to follow in his footsteps, or to at least take a shred of his brilliance towards something great, something worth writing in the front-page columns about. once he was able to gain consciousness of what kinds of standards his own family had set for itself, julian strove to become something his mother could at least mention in her country club meetings, though he knew early on that he would always fall short, that he had no innate talents to show off, no skills he could master. he would always find everything too interesting and none of it within his reach. he developed a habit of constantly comparing himself to everybody, especially his siblings, which fed the hungry desperation to be noticed, for better or for worse.

void of any direction in his life, julian often floated into random hobbies and interests, casting a wide net into his future and hoping that something would stick. his endless curiosity and stubborn nature had him discovering weed at the age of thirteen, which would spark the entrepreneurial spirit within the high schooler, enough to pursue it as a part-time means of making some extra cash. upon getting caught, he would immediately be shipped out to boarding school, which wasn't of much help, but it did clear the streets of wilmington from any unsightly deeds and dispel terrible rumors from the late mayor's son.

he was twenty-two and barely just out of college when he made the grand announcement that he wanted to go to law school. in spite of his lackluster collegiate career, he managed to weasel his way into an institution not above accepting a little tip, as it were, from a family friend. unsurprisingly, he would drop out of law school (not that anyone ever expected him to finish, let alone make it to his second year) to purchase a mediterranean food truck in partnership with a friend, and that was only the first of many bold business decisions he would make in his adult life.

he'd been living in los angeles since he was twenty-five, gambling his trust fund into a variety of enterprises with his 'business partner' and none of them ever making any real profit. eight years later, it would take going bankrupt, his property in silver lake seized, and his business partner vanishing into thin air, for him to move back to his hometown, into a more modest place in wrightsville beach (temporarily financially assisted by his grandmother, much to his mother's chagrin) where he hopes to find a new adventure, one that does not require confronting the past thirty-something years of his life.

— headcanons.

julian is a jack of all trades and master of none. no one, not even himself, knows what he's actually good at; he passes for so-so at pretty much everything. he doesn't suck, but he's certainly not good.

he's a people person, and meeting new people, getting to talk to them, pick their brains, see what makes them tick, are probably some of his favorite things about being an 'entrepreneur'.

he's an avid gamer, plays a variety of games, from team-based fps games to sim racing to more casual titles.

since discovering weed at the age of thirteen, julian's had a pretty rough relationship with drugs, developing a nasty coke habit and pill dependence throughout his adulthood. a lot of the projects and businesses he'd ventured into (and consequently failed at) could actually be attributed to his persistent drug use. he's only ever been in rehab once after nearly ODing the day after his 28th birthday. he stayed in an in-patient facility for 1 month and called it quits. he still uses, he's just gotten a lot better at not overdoing it.

absolutely loves animals and volunteers at the shelter as much as he can during his free time (of which he has a lot) but just doesn't trust himself nor does he think he's ready to be a furparent at the moment.

#wnc.intro

[digital-corruption]

Unrecognisable Part 54

A familiar, but incredibly annoying musical tone cut through the peaceful silence of my sleep. It was jarring and maddening, but it wouldn’t go away. No, it kept repeating, piercing my head like daggers to my brain. I had to get rid of it, but my entire body felt like a dead weight. I tried to move, but my body would not respond. The sound continued. It took me several moments to realise it was my ringtone. It took all of my strength to lift my hand and grab my phone. Squinting at the screen I saw Lilly’s profile picture on my lock screen and adrenaline took over. In my rush to answer the phone, I nearly dropped it to the floor, but I managed to catch it at the last second and answered the call.

“Hi Lilly,” I said rubbing my forehead. “What’s up?”

“I know you said to avoid making contact with you, but this… this is kind of an emergency. Or at least I think so, even if the others don’t necessarily agree with me,” Lilly rambled.

“Hang on, when did I ever say don’t contact us? I never said that,” I frowned. “You’re always free to contact us.”

“You said so last week? Or was it the week before?” Lilly thought out loud. “Oh I know, it was when I sent you the message about Richy’s parole approval!”

“Wait, what? I know I am still half asleep, but did you say Richy received parole?” I sat up as I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You said his parole was denied!”

“Uh, no, it was most definitely approved,” Lilly insisted. “I know we all wish it wasn’t, but no amount of denying that is going to change it.”

“No, but you sent me a message saying it was denied! I know you did!” I exclaimed.

I lowered my phone and put Lilly on speakerphone so I could go check the message history, but anything prior to my new phone was gone.

“Shit, new phone. I can’t even double check!” I rolled my eyes.

“Really? Weird, when I got a new phone my old chat history was still there,” Lilly commented. “Let me take a screenshot of my history and send it to you.”

After a minute or so of waiting, I received an image file from Lilly. I opened it and my blood ran cold.

Lilly: MC… they approved his parole! 😞

Lilly: How could they do that?

MC: What?

Lilly: I know! Dan’s here losing his mind! 😩

Lilly: Why Richy and not Hannah!?

MC: The system has failed us. The truly guilty never receive adequate punishment.

Lilly: Will you let Jake know? I don’t think I can bring myself to tell him.

MC: I will handle it.

MC: Lilly, I have to ask that you limit contact with us for a while. It is currently too dangerous.

Lilly: No contact at all?

MC: Only in case of an emergency.

Lilly: Got it 👍

Lilly: Well, give my big brother a hug for me will you? And stay safe!

MC: You too, Lilly.

“Lilly…” my voice trembled. “That wasn’t me.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t you? Oh God, was it one of your pursuers?” Lilly gasped. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

“No, Lilly, it’s worse than that,” my breathing became erratic. “That was Jake.”

“Huh? Why didn’t he tell me he was using your phone?” Lilly pondered.

“Because he wasn’t,” I bit my lip. “I had my phone the entire time. He hacked my phone to filter my messages and respond to you.”

“Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense!” Lilly pondered.

“The bigger question is why did he impersonate you and tell me the parole was denied? Why didn’t he want me to know Richy was getting out?” I tried to search my mind for an explanation.

“Oh, um, that brings me to reason for my call,” Lilly said nervously. “The thing is, Richy got out three days ago. He chose to stay with his cousin in Colville rather than return to Duskwood. I couldn’t blame him really. Anyway, his cousin says Richy went out to buy some drinks two nights ago and he didn’t return.”

“He’s missing?” I stood up as the pieces started to come together.

“He is. Alan called me. He called everyone. He wanted to make sure we hadn’t seen or heard of him. The cops think he might have… ended things somewhere. They said he had taken the parole hearing very poorly and his cousin was meant to be watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything destructive… Oh, MC, the others don’t think he’s worth worrying about, but I don’t know. Something about it feels very wrong to me,” Lilly explained.

“Lilly,” I paused as I almost mentioned we were still in Colville. “This is worth worrying about. But I’ll need to get back to you, ok? There’s some things I need to check into.”

“You don’t think…” Lilly began.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I said rather hypocritically. Jumping to conclusions was exactly what I was doing. “I’ll call you back later when I have more information.”

“Ok,” she said hesitantly. “Please stay safe, MC.”

“You too, Lilly,” I nodded, then ended the call.

I suddenly started to feel woozy so I sat back down on the couch. I know I was woken up abruptly, but I shouldn’t be feeling so lightheaded. While I waited for the feeling of vertigo to pass, I checked my other notifications on my phone. There were two emails from Dr. Cumming.

<<I am sorry to hear you are not well and couldn’t make it tonight, but please call me. I have the name and address of a clinic where you can receive treatment anonymously. It is dangerous to be on the street this time of year without proper treatment.>>

<<Even if you’re unwell, please come to tonight’s session. I will arrange for some general antibiotics that you can pick up from my office. If there is anything else I can help you with, please let me know.>>

What was the doctor talking about? We had seen him just last night! I marked the emails unread to respond to later, then went back to the home screen to swap to the browser to check the local news. That’s when I saw it…

<<Saturday>>

Saturday!? What the fuck happened to Friday!? Nausea quickly built up in my stomach and I fought the urge to hurl. Not that it mattered. There was nothing to vomit up. I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours.

I glanced over and noticed a bottle of water sitting on the desk. I picked it up and left the office. Of course Jake wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but that didn’t even surprise me anymore. I went straight for the kitchenette downstairs and dumped the “water” into the sink. After rinsing the bottle out several times, I then refilled it with fresh, untainted water from the tap. As I started to drink it, I suddenly became aware of just how dehydrated I was and ended up gulping the entire bottle in one go. I refilled it again and drank some more. Slowly I could feel the fog in my head lifting.

I grabbed the box of muesli and ate it straight out of the box while I wracked my brain on what to do next. Some voices in my head tried to reason a plausible explanation for all of this, while others could only see one possibility. Jake enacted revenge on Richy. Killed him even. No, I was jumping to conclusions again. One wasn’t necessarily connected to the other. It could all just be a coincidence. A weird, crazy coincidence.

Fuck, who was I kidding?

There was only one way to find out for sure. Where was Jake now? I checked my phone and sure enough he hadn’t renabled the tracking on his phone. That would have been too simple, right? Let’s not forget I didn’t have access to the CCTV anymore. I literally had no idea where he was now or where he had been for these past few days. I was at a complete loss. I needed answers and I couldn’t trust anyone, not even Jake, to give me them. If only I could somehow follow Jake and see what he was up to.

I paced around the room, trying to figure out how to follow someone who not only didn’t want to be followed, but he drugged me to make sure I couldn’t get involved. Did I really sleep through an entire day? Surely the drug had its limits. It couldn’t have kept me asleep all that time. I closed my eyes and tried to recall my last memory. I remember him pouring the glass of wine and talking with him in this very room, but then everything became cloudy. Why couldn’t I remember anything after that? Suddenly, I recalled his voice speaking calmly to me.

“Did I wake you?” he said gently.

“Mmh,” I tried to open my eyes, but the light was too bright.

“Drink, angel,” he cooed. “It’s full of vitamins to keep you going.”

A warm, somewhat sweet but also bitter liquid entered my mouth. Swallowing was challenging at first, but became easier slowly. My eyelids fluttered open and saw Jake holding my head up lovingly.

“I just need a bit more time,” he assured me.

I finished the drink, but I was confused as to what was happening. “Jake, I’m still so tired.”

“I know, angel. Let the sleep take you softly again,” he leant down and kissed my lips softly. “You’re safe here.”

My skin crawled and my stomach churned again, but that memory did reveal one truth. He had returned to make sure I stayed asleep. He probably thought he knew exactly when the drug would wear out and I would wake again, but he made a miscalculation. My ringtone acted as an alarm and woke me up prematurely.

I had one of two options. Either I could pretend I was I still asleep, but then I would somehow have to feign drinking the next dose under his watchful eye. Or somehow get my hands on some sort of anti-sleep drug to counteract the one I was being given. No, that was far too risky. It was better to stick with the truth. I had woken up early. He didn’t need to know how or why. He also didn’t need to know that I was aware of what was happening. It would be easier to pretend to consume a contaminated drink and feign sleep from there. Once he was confident I was asleep, he would leave again, none the wiser. Then I could follow him and find out what he was up to. To pull it off though, I had to convince him my wake up was genuine and natural.

MC: Hey, where are you? I only just woke up and it’s already 4. 😱

Jake: Sorry, I had a few things that I needed to look after. It’s taken longer than I had expected. You were so beautifully sound asleep that I didn’t want to wake you.

MC: Thank you, I guess I needed it!

Jake: I would say you did. I hope you are feeling better.

MC: I am definitely well rested now 😊

MC: Will you be back soon or should I call Dr. Cumming to say we won’t be visiting tonight?

Jake: No, I will be back soon.

Jake: I promise, it won’t be much longer.

MC: You’re going to have to make it up to me!

Jake: Will I?

MC: Yes! 😤

Jake: And how do you propose I make it up to you?

MC: Well you could start with dinner! 😏

Jake: Got it. ;)

It was nearly dark when Jake finally returned with Chinese food and a bottle of Baijiu, Chinese liquor.

“So sorry I am late,” he gave me his best puppy-eyed expression.

“Wow, that smells delicious!” I faked my best smile.

“And I’m told this liquor goes great with it,” he beamed.

“Jake, not before the appointment,” I frowned.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he pressured.

It was apparent that he had no intention of making that session tonight. He would feed me and put me back to sleep. And who knew what happened after that.

“Ugh, you’re so bad,” I rolled my eyes. “Fine! You’ve convinced me!”

Jake smirked and placed the bottle on the table, then went over to grab glasses from the drying rack. He filled one glass with water from the tap, then returned to the table. Meanwhile after I spread the takeout containers out on the table, I went to the drying rack to grab cutlery and plates, watching Jake from the corner of my eye. He opened the bottle and poured the liquor into the second glass, but he had conveniently turned his back to me, hiding the glass from my view. There was no doubt in my mind that he laced it. Now the moment of truth was approaching, would I be able to convince him that I drank it?

Returning to the table with the clean plates and cutlery, I set the table in front of Jake then proceeded to serve out the food from the trays. Jake waited for me to finish before sitting down at the table with me.

“So, what were you doing today?” I asked as I started to pick at my dinner.

“I was meeting an old friend,” he answered vaguely.

“We could’ve gone together,” I said innocently.

“It wasn’t a social call,” he glanced up at me.

“Oh, that kind of a visit, huh? Did, uh, anyone get hurt?” I asked sincerely.

“No one that didn’t deserve it,” his face twitched ever so slightly. “How do you like it?”

“Hmm?” I looked at him confused, then he gestured to my plate of food. “Oh, it’s really good! You made an excellent choice tonight.”

Jake smiled, “I thought you would like it.”

We ate our dinners in silence, exchanging brief looks at each other. I don’t know if Jake was starting to pick up on my discomfort. The glass of liquor on the table was like an awkward elephant in the room. I was still unsure if I could successfully fool him, but time was running out. I had to at least made it look like I drank it before he got too suspicious of me. About three-quarters into the food on my plate I decided it was time if I was going to make this at least look convincing.

Putting my fork down for a second, I picked up my glass trying my best to feign interest. I gave the liquor a quick swirl and sniffed it.

“Oh, that’s strong,” I commented honestly.

Jake put down his fork and picked up his glass as well, “It had a lot of positive reviews online so I hope it is good.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I raised my glass in a small toast. Jake met mine with a small clink. “To us.”

“To us,” Jake smiled.

I lifted my glass to my lips mirroring with Jake. I could taste the liquor on my lips, but I didn’t dare let it into my mouth. Instead, I swallowed my saliva slowly in small, calculated gulps, then dramatically lowered the glass back down on the table, imitating my best whiskey face.

“Wow, that’s real good,” I laughed and returned to my dinner.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jake smirked.

“Oh, before I forget, my computer has been acting a bit weird today,” I lied.

“Weird how?” Jake narrowed his eyes, concerned.

“I don’t know. Sluggish? Glitchy? Like I swear it opened up some applications on its own,” I shrugged.

Jake paused for a moment, then his expression went sour, “You didn’t leave it running, did you?”

“Um, I might’ve?” I tilted my head innocently. “I honestly can’t remember.”

Jake abruptly got up from the table, “We should leave it disconnected from the internet for now.”

In a haste Jake left the cafeteria and went upstairs. As soon as I heard his first footstep on the stairs, I quickly got up and ran over to the sink with my glass, dumping its contents down the sink. I shifted an unwashed plate to cover the drain to hide the faint smell. Jake never washed up anyway so I didn’t need to worry about it. Then just as quickly, I ran back to the table and continued eating. My heart raced so I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths until I heard the heavy footsteps of Jake descending the stairs.

“No, you had it closed, but I removed the battery just to be safe. I’ll have a look at later after the appointment,” he assured me as he sat back down at the table. “Oh, that was fast.”

“You know how it is with me and alcohol,” I joked.

“I would offer you more, but we need to leave soon,” Jake casually moved the bottle closer to his end of the table. He didn’t want me drinking too much with the sleeping drug. How considerate of him.

“Nah, I’m fine,” I yawned. “I think it’s making me a bit sleepy actually. Though I have no idea how I could possibly sleep more.”

“You shouldn’t have drunk it so fast,” Jake commented with a slight undertone. I glanced up and saw a darkness wash over him.

“Maybe I should go upstairs,” I tried my hardest to sound groggy.

“Let me help you. I don’t want you to slip on the stairs,” Jake stood up and walked around to my side of the table. Like a gentleman, he pulled back my chair and helped me to my feet.

I faked a stumble into him and giggled, “My hero! Catching me so I won’t fall!”

“Always,” he stroked my cheek gently with his fingers, then leant down and kissed my lips softly.

“Mmmh,” I broke the kiss before he would notice the lack of alcohol on my breath. “I had the strangest dream last night.”

“Did you?” he smiled.

“What was it again?” I pretended to be trying to recall a dream. “Oh yes! I was travelling through the forest trying to find you. I swear I could hear your voice, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find you.”

“You’re scared of losing me again?” he questioned. I nodded and leant my head against his chest. “You shouldn’t worry about that. I will always find my way back to you.”

Jake wrapped one arm around my waist, keeping me against him, while his other hand rubbed circles on my temple. I couldn’t help but inhale his scent. Normally I would find it reassuring, but there was a faint chemical smell on him, which was disconcerting.

“Let’s get you upstairs before you get too sleepy,” Jake whispered.

Jake lifted my arm and wrapped it around his shoulders so he could support my weight as he led me towards the stairs. It was as if he anticipated me to lose my balance.

“But your appointment,” I mumbled.

“You needn’t worry about that,” he insisted firmly.

I let my eyelids get heavy and lowered my head as we went up the stairs. I made sure to drag my feet lazily to try to make it look convincing. I wasn’t looking to win an Academy Award or anything, but I figured every detail counted. My toes got caught on the last step, which was actually real because I was trying so hard to fake it.

“Careful,” Jake reached out and caught me. “I don’t want you to get hurt, angel.”

“Stop calling me that, I’m no angel,” I shook my head with a chuckle.

He smiled, “It’s what you are to me. My beautiful, perfect angel from up high.”

“I don’t think angels trip on stairs,” I mused.

“Ok, my clumsy, little angel,” he laughed as he opened the door to the manager’s office. “Still every bit beautiful though.”

I blushed at Jake’s sudden behaviour while he helped me over to the couch. I nearly forgot what I was doing, but managed to fake slumping down on the couch just in time. Jake knelt down in front of me while I pretended to start nodding off. He took my hand and held my palm to his cheek. I had to resist the urge to ‘wake up’.

“Sleep well, angel. It won’t be much longer,” he spoke so quietly I barely heard him.

Jake stood up again and helped me to lie down on the couch, then took one his spare hoodies and draped it over me. Softly he kissed my forehead. Quietly I hoped he wouldn’t notice the goosebumps on my skin from the chills he gave me while he gently caressed my cheek. He was still waiting for me to fall asleep. With all of my energy, I slowed my breathing right down to a soft, gentle pace, trying my hardest not to lose my cool while I felt his eyes on me. I nearly lost it when I felt his thumb run over my lips. I started to panic internally that he might try to kiss me again. I wouldn’t be able to react or prevent him from finding out I didn’t actually drink any of the alcohol. I felt his fingers trail down my neck, over my shoulder, down my arm and then pull up the hoodie to better cover me.

Why did he still have to be so sweet on me? Why couldn’t he make it easier for me to hate him? Just what the hell were you up to, Jake? What didn’t you want me to know?

At last, the light turned off and the door quietly closed behind him. Still, I didn’t dare move and lied in wait.

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake #unrecognisable fanfic

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Tonight was a night of firsts with the FWB. My legs are weak and trembling, plus he took the only picture I've EVER liked of my ass tonight.

Him: face the wall, bend all the way over, and look back at me.

Me: That's not a flattering angle!

Him: you wanna bet?

Me: ....wow, okay, I'm so glad we didn't bet.

I'd shake my head 'no' and he would kiss my temple and say sweetly, "no? Oh, well, we just have to try harder, don't we?"

His dirty talk is next level.

He cracked his belt across my ass a few times and then grabbed my hair and slowly pulled my hair to tilt my head back so he could whisper in my ear, "Did we get all the bad girl out yet, princess?"

Rinse and repeat.

I literally stomped my foot and screamed multiple times because it was so hot it was maddening.

This man can literally go from golden retriever jokster giving me a strip tease to 'Pony' in the kitchen to sex god fucking me with my lacy panties wrapped around his fingers?? The duality of man.

When he asked me the third time, he had cracked his belt across my pussy, I all but sobbed 'yes' and nodded. He threw this belt to the ground and yanked me to my feet and threw me on his bed (I'm a big girl, I've never been THROWN any where) and fucked me with my legs over his shoulders and bent in half.

We proceeded to get high as fuck and laugh for a bit before we went for round two and 69'ed.

ALSO He spanked me with a WHISK in the kitchen and it FUCKING hurt. Don't use whisks! Lol

I'm so freaking high and in goddess mode.

#katryns sub adventures #he got me cookies to get the c*m taste out of my mouth lmao he is the only man who has rights 🤣

[autolovecraft]

Perhaps he screamed.

He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was.

He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. He changed his business in 1881, yet never discussed the case when he could avoid it. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he vaguely wished it would stop. I still think he was not an evil man. Birch decided he could get through the transom. Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. Birch? Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. The skull turned my stomach, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. Birch decided that he would begin the next day with little old Matthew Fenner, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th. Davis died. As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. That he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. I suppose one should start in the cold December of 1880, when the ground froze and the cemetery delvers found they could dig no more graves till spring. Why did you do it, Birch? He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

Great heavens, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man. It may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities. Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. Clutching the edges of the aperture. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. God, what a rage! At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. I am no practiced teller of tales.

Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. Perhaps he screamed. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. Birch. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales.

I'd hate to have it aimed at me! Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb. That he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside.

Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that.

[musiconanironingboard]

7 May 2022: Tuscaloosa, Neil Young + Stray Gators. (2019 Reprise release of 1973 recordings)

This copy of Tuscaloosa, My eight billionth Neil Young purchase, “#04″ in his “Archives Performance Series” (that’s fourth based on recording chronology, not release chronology) is actually my third copy of the album. I seem to gravitate toward CD first with Neil Young, and then pick up vinyl copies of things I really like (or that are available for cheap). In 2019 I bought this album on standalone CD, and then earlier this year I started listening to his 2021 box Archives Vol. II (1972-1976), which also includes a copy of Tuscaloosa. One of the many maddening things about collecting Neil Young is he’ll release an archival album, you’ll go buy it, and then a year later he comes out with an Archives box that contains half a dozen things you’ve already bought, but half a dozen other things exclusive to the box, so you end up double-dipping. My brother came up with a good scheme for this: buy Young’s archival standalones on vinyl, and that way when the next Archives set comes out, which are always CD-only, you at least aren’t buying the same format twice.

One of the many refrains among Neil Young collectors is that he seems to have released so many albums containing live material from the early ’70s. It is true that he does, but sometimes one of them will really stand out. For instance, the last three discs of Archives Vol. II that I’ve played are this (1973), a freaky and spooky alternative version of his album Tonight’s the Night (1973), and then one called Roxy: Tonight’s the Night Live (1973). That’s three albums of material from the same year, with a fair amount of overlap. You’d expect a person would get tired of it all, but I don’t. When I can buy a 32-disc set of a single Bob Dylan tour featuring the same songs on every disc, I can certainly handle a small stack of 1973 Neil Young material. However, favorites do rise to the top. The Roxy set, for instance, I think I also own three copies of, but it’s not one I particularly groove to. That alternate Tonight’s the Night I groove to immensely; if that existed on vinyl, I’d be buying it in a second. Tuscaloosa is sort of alternate version of his album Time Fades Away that actually came out in 1973; I haven’t heard Time Fades Away in a while so I can’t tell you off the cuff exactly how they stack up against each other, but even though it hadn’t been that long since I spent time with my standalone CD of Tuscaloosa, during its Archives II stint I enjoyed it so much that I wanted to keep going with it. It never hurts to find a copy of a Neil Young vinyl release for under $20; that’s an instant purchase.

The Stray Gators was one of Young’s many fluctuating bands, and its members will be familiar to anyone who has perused Neil Young credit sheets: Ben Keith, Jack Nitzsche, Tim Drummond, and Johnny Barbata. Everyone but Barbata continued to work with Young periodically well beyond 1973; he had already served as drummer for the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young group.

Above we have the front and back covers of Tuscaloosa.

Below is the opened gatefold.

Next we see both sides of the first inner sleeve (this is a 2-LP set).

The second inner sleeve also has a nearly blank back, so I’m showing only the front side.

Here is side one’s label. They’re all the same.

There’s only music on the first three sides, and on side four they’ve done an etching, which every record company seems to love to do. It’s hard to capture photos of these, but it’s got the band name and album title in a font that looks like nothing Neil Young would ever use, and then a drawing of a gator. Anyone who knows anything about Neil Young album design would know they should have used his handwriting, and a picture of an alligator is just typical record-company foolishness and looks like it came from someone who knows nothing about the artist.

[scaramouche-bully]

can i req fem!sub / if you want gender neutral is ok, about being brat on the bed? and (seperate) kaeya, diluc ,xiao &childe respond on it?

— ☆ Bratty Sub headcanons 

Includes: Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, and Childe

[ Sub ] Gender-neutral reader

Contains: Bratty sub, riding, dacryphilia, humiliation, rough sex, switching, coming untouched, dirty talk, degradation, choking, slut shaming, stomach bulge, masocism, minor blood, drooling + dumfication. 

— ☆ Wrecking headcanons - Childe 🐏 [ Female ]

[ masterlist ]

Apologies for the long delay. It’s been busy. 

I’ve updated my rules to limit requests to two or fewer characters as to not overwhelm myself. But since this request was before the change, I will write all four. For future requesters, please stick to two characters. 

— ☆ Kaeya

As soon as you talk back to him, he gives you most amused but pitiful look you’ve ever seen. He takes a moment to chuckle under his breath before he’s hoisting you up onto his lap, leaning his cheek on his hand, and gestures for you to continue. 

You must think you’re so cute right now. Suddenly thinking that you’re in charge? Alright, if you want to be on top then go. He won’t do anything. Let’s see how long it’ll take for you to start whining. 

He loves the flustered look you get when he suddenly gives into your demands. The brave face you try and put on as you slowly ease onto his thick cock and the frustrated whimpers you try and hide. 

It’s only when you start apologizing that he disapprovingly sighs as he grips your hips, so hard that bruises will appear the next day, and slams you down on his cock. 

“Talking back to me when you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock properly. What am I going to do with you?” he grunts out as your walls tighten around him and you scrabble to hold onto him, “You’re going to take every drop of my cum until your hole is stuffed got it? Aren’t I kind? Go on, thank me.” 

“T-Thank..mm! Yo-You -ahh! More, ah! ” you stammer out as you claw at Kaeya’s back as he forcefully lifts you and drops you on his cock. The heavy drag of his dick against your sensitive spots is maddening that muddle your head. Every time Kaeya thrusts in you feel the breath get punched out of your lungs, the skin of your abdomen stretch and burn as you try and make room for his cock. You don’t realize that you’re crying out to him as you sob into his shoulder. 

“Look at you, does that hurt? Too bad. Maybe if you didn’t act like such  a brat I would be a lot nicer,” he laughs as he viciously grabs your hair and lifts your tear stained face up “Maybe I should take a picture so I can show everyone in Mondstadt what a slut you are?”

He drops your face harshly as he grips your wrists and pulls your hands behind you before he flips you both over so he’s on top of you. Your arms are at an awkward angle that strain them but when he suddenly starts pounding into you with the new leverage, whatever complaints you have are quickly replaced with moans. You mewl at the idea, your friends and family seeing how much of a wreck Kaeya can make you. It makes you burn in humiliation at the idea and you know that Kaeya would do it in a heartbeat. It’s that thought that has you cumming as Kaeya curses and buries himself as deep as he can go, painting your insides with his cum. While you’re catching your breath, Kaeya swipes at the cum that leaked out of your hole as he brings his cum stained fingers to your mouth.

“Open up,” he says, his voice sweet even as he pry’s your mouth open for you. You, naturally, bite his fingers but also lick him clean. It makes his star pupils dilate as he takes in the image before shoving his fingers into the back of your throat so you choke, “You’re so cute. It seems I have a lot to teach you about manners brat.”

— ☆ Diluc

Diluc has to deal with too many problematic issues given to him by incompetent people. It’s weeks like these when his patience runs extremely thin, even when he tries to suppress his temper. 

Naturally, these are your favourite weeks to irk the man. To see just how much you can get away with and how far you can push his limits. From walking around with barely any clothes to flirting with the Knights that attend Angel Share.

Diluc is used to your...mannerisms. That is until Kaeya appears and he’s already glaring at you before you can make a move. Don’t you dare even try it unless you don’t want to walk the next day. 

It takes one touch on your waist from Kaeya for Diluc to snap. He’s closing the bar early and even the drunkards can tell Diluc is pissed. Kaeya blows you a kiss and a wave over the shoulder to Diluc as he locks the door behind him. 

Diluc manhandles you to the bar counter until you’re bent over with your wrists pinned behind your back. You can feel the anger radiate off Diluc as you peer over your shoulder at him. While he has a calm face, his eyes are feral as he adjusts his glove. That’s the only warning you get before he slips his hand to the front of your neck and squeezes with a vice grip. 

“D-Dil-” you cough out before you’re cut with a yelp by Diluc forcefully shoving your pants down as he shoves his fingers in, gloves still on, and stretch's your hole out. 

“Pathetic, you’re already this wet and I haven’t even done anything. Are you going to make a mess over my floors? You know what’ll happen if you do,” Diluc sneers as he arches your back and brings your face next to his, “Do you like being choked? Is that it? You filthy whore getting off on being used like this.”

“Hah..haha...Ka-Kaeya is nn-- oh is rough-er!” you manage to wheeze out as you stick your tongue out at Diluc. He still wears that same neutral expression but you can see something dark swirl in his eyes. He mumbles out, is that so? Before he slams you back down onto the counter top. You’re a bit dazed from the impact that you don’t hear the rustle of clothes, a belt unbuckling, before you’re being rammed into by Diluc’s cock. Your hands are scrabbling onto the countertop for some type of purchase as Diluc wastes no time and abuses your sensitive walls. 

“You’re. Mine.” Each word is punctuated by a deep thrust into you, “No one can fuck you like I can. Not those useless knights. Not Kaeya. Not anyone. Got it?”

You’re dumb on the pleasure of his cock rearranging your insides that you don’t respond that Diluc clicks his tongue, bends down, and sinks his teeth into your neck. An area he knows you can’t hide with your clothes and it’s too hot to be wearing a scarf without making it obvious to what’s happening now. The burst of pain is enough to send you over the edge and orgasm on his cock. Diluc curses under his breath at your walls tightening around him as he cum inside you as he catches his breath. 

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Y-Yes sir...you’re the only one. Only you. Always you...” 

Your words manage to sooth him a little bit but it irks him that you’re drooling all over his countertop that he just cleaned. It’s fine, he thinks, he can make you lick it up later. 

— ☆ Xiao

He's a puppy that wants to impress you, but everyone has a breaking point. The constant taunting of how, despite being a powerful adepti, he can’t even pleasure a mortal in bed sends something feral inside him ablaze. 

He doesn’t want to hurt you so he focuses his efforts into fucking you so good that you end up babbling praises instead. It makes him feel so warm inside when he sees your normally smug face turn dumb as you tell him he’s doing so well. 

It’s the only time you can ask Xiao to be more rough with you without him worrying about breaking you. It’s so cute to you that he tries so hard that you can’t help but tease him a bit. 

“Good boy Xiao. You’re doing so well,” you whisper against Xiao’s lips as you softy kiss him. You’re finally seated on his cock with his fingers are digging into your sides, strong enough to leave marks. It took a bit of coaxing from you to get Xiao to release the death grip he had on the sheets and to move his hands to your waist. If you didn’t see hand prints or bruises the next day, you were going to make this man cry. You slowly rock back and forth as you softly moan at the feeling of his cock inside you as you make small bounces. 

“Don’t you feel good?” you ask as you take one of his hands off your waist and lead his fingers to your hole where you’re both connected. Lacing your fingers together as you force him to jerk off the small length of his cock that appears every bonce you make, “Come on. Go faster. Show me what an adeptus can do.”

“A-Are you sure?” Xiao stammers out as he looks up at you worried. His grip on your body slackens considerably as you sigh before cupping his cheeks. 

“Xiao. Are you saying you can’t? Is it too much for someone of the adepti? What a let down you are, if you can’t do it then I’ll go find someone that cAN-!” you choke on your words as Xiao suddenly slams you on your back and drives his cock to the hilt. This time he’s taking your hand in his as he places your linked hands onto your stomach so you can feel his cock wrecking your insides through your stomach. 

“W-Wait! Xiao! Ah-!”

He pulls out harshly only to slam back in desperately as he rutts against you. His cock is practically gushing pre-come as he slowly loses his sense of rhythm. A deep feral part inside him relishes in the fact that it’s his cock that makes you like this. Pupils blown wide, head thrown back, tongue lolling out. As much as it makes your entire body tremble at the onslaught of pleasure, you can’t help but let a small delirious smile appear on your face. You reach out and cling onto him, digging your nails in so deep that he bleeds, and tell him to fuck you stupid. That he’s doing such a good job and to not stop. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you” he chants as he grinds his cock into you as he cums inside and fills you with his cum. The rush of warmth has you orgasming with him. Your linked hands still on your stomach where his cum paints your walls. 

— ☆ Childe

He really likes switching half way during your fucking. As soon as you’ve had your fill being on top, he’s switching the roles. He might have been crying and begging you to let him cum a few seconds ago but now it’s his time to payback. 

Due to the abrupt switch, you’re still high on your ride and refuse to let his child take control. He loves how feral you both get in your attempts to dominate the other. 

When he finally manages to pin you down, the blood of the scratches and bite marks are still stinging but the pain get’s him rock hard. It’s like any other fight and the feeling of victory gives him a rush. 

He wastes no time in pounding into you, watching you scream as you curse him out as him laughing, leaning over to kiss you as he proceeds to rail you.  

He knows as soon as he kisses you, you’re biting his lips raw. The taste of blood makes him smirk against your own mouth and he feels your exasperated sigh at his kinks. It’s a small moment of respite as you both make out without trying to claw each other’s eyes out. When you finally separate for air, there’s a red line of saliva linking your mouths together that breaks when Childe sits up and wipes his mouth. 

“A bit eager are we?” he taunts as his fingers run over your skin, covered in his hand prints as marks, before settling on your hip. He doesn’t need to look to know his body isn’t any different. He better hope that he doesn’t need to change his shirt in front of the anyone or else they’ll suspect he went and fought a bear again. A cruel laugh escapes you as you reach up and drag him back down to your level as you whisper in his ear.

“It’s a pity fuck Tartaglia.” 

There’s a pause as Childe registers what you said before a switch flips off in his head. He lets out a low growl as he flips you onto your stomach and rams his cock into you. He relishes in the wail you let out as he grips your neck to pin your head onto the bed as he rails you into the mattress. You’re so tight around him that he has to forcefully drag his cock out just to thrust back in. He doesn’t understand how you can stay so tight even after all the rounds you both had previously. 

“You, ngh--ah! b...hah...bastard!” you gasp out and you claw at the sheets as his cock fucks you so well. He slams in so deep that has you spasming with each and every thrust. 

“Behave now,” he hisses out as he bites down on the back of neck as he muffles his moans as he cums inside you. Feeling him spill inside you sends a shudder of pleasure through your body that has your withering on his cock as you cum alongside him. When you’ve both caught your breath is when you elbow him in the stomach and knock him backwards so you’re back on top. He can tell you’re pissed and he’s never felt more excited. 

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact kaeya #genshin kaeya x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya smut #genshin impact diluc #genshin diluc x reader #diluc x reader #diluc smut #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao x reader #xiao x reader #xiao smut #genshin impact childe #genshin childe x reader #childe x reader #childe smut

[yandere-wishes]

A Story Told In Maybes  {Part #1}

🗡️Yandere! Enma Yuuken x reader

🗡️Summary: Enma Yuuken lives on the fine line between "Hero" and "Villain" but his story will never end in a "happily ever after" or a "tragically ever after" it will only end in Maybe...

🗡 Edited by the amazing @tealyjade-libran

🗡️ Alternative title: How many times can Genie use "Damn" in a story...

Maybe in some other world, they could have been lovers

Imagine that...

picture it as vividly as a fresh stab wound to your heart. Sketch the vision of a red waterfall carrying away your life. 

Now picture two people. A young man and woman, sitting on a park bench, holding hands and laughing, inching closer and closer. 

Imagine love, happiness, tranquility...

But those things only exist in fairy tales. And his life was most certainly not a fairy tale. 

They were foreigners, outsiders, aliens. Banished into a strange land were twisted fairy tales, roamed the earth. Where magic and mischief came as naturally to the inhabitants as breathing. Where nothing mattered, because nothing was. Everything is and thus it isn't. Nothing made sense, and sometimes, in some rare moments of stolen repose, Enma Yuuken was scared that nothing would ever make sense again. 

All of it, every microscopic thing about this 'new world' was wrong, abnormal, twisted. 

Everything except his traveling companion. Another lost soul as disjointed and out of place as he was. Another ghost trying to survive in this matrix of a so-called reality. 

There was no shock initially, no surprise in not being the only normal creature to be transported to this bizarre world. Enma knew full well that he wasn't special in any way. Another foreigner being here was one of the few things that actually made sense. 

But as the old expression goes, everything comes at a price. 

Someone else just like him being here, being stuck in this nightmare, made sense. Yet the price of logic was a thread of hysteria that had woven itself deep within his battered heart. A maddening sense that gripped his lungs, robbing them of breath. That picked off pieces from his tattered mind, replacing them with clear cutout thoughts of her. It was always only her.

His companion in this broken world just had to be you. A frail, naïve little girl with no sense about her. Some pretty-girl protagonist straight out of the pages of Shojo Beats. The kind of girl who finds her happily ever after no matter where the hell she is. 

Yet he did not have that luxury, his life was dictated by a series of maybes and could bes. He was a secondary character at best, a background shadow at worst. With no purpose other than smiling and waving. And listening to the protagonist weep about their love-driven woes.

Some days, when the dreary bell chimed for the last time, when the students marched back to the solitude of their dorms, Enma would wander around the halls, squirming in his own misery. Pondering why, oh why of all the people, in all the towns, in all the worlds, did you have to be the one to wind up in this grim land along with him. 

Why fate always had to be so cruel, so domineering, thinking it knew better than the people whose miserable lives it toyed with. He wanted to be your lover, your prince, yours. But what would a guy, who doesn’t even belong in this backward world, have to offer some heroine-type sweetheart? 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The Ramshackle’s flickering porch light glows in the distance. Like a dying star beckoning him to a destroyed paradise. He knows what's waiting for him behind the worn door. He knows you'll be there standing by the cracked dinner table, laying out days-old sandwiches for dinner, while Grimm rangles with an expired can of tuna. He knows you'll smile with tears in your doe-like eyes as you retell the fables of your endeavors. Telling him in great detail how the so-called king of beasts overpowered you in the school garden. How the King of poisons stole yet another kiss. The tales go on and on. Never-ending, never stopping, never giving him the chance to scavenge the fragments of his shattered heart.

You play your role so damn well. You know how to be the damsel in distress, the poor thing in need of saving. It's repulsive, disgusting...but only because he doesn't know how to be the hero that you need. 

If he was being honest -something he rarely did nowadays- Those "prefects" were the root of all his problems. They were the evil that made this dark world an endless horror. They'd been the ones to drive him into the "caring older brother" role. They had twisted his hand, leading him to the role of the "side-hero" like a lamb to the slaughter. Made him into a prince charming in a world that ate princes alive and spat them out once more. 

They had sealed his fate with a few insults and loaded threats. With just a few longing stares overflowing with lust and envy. They were villains, in a world that celebrated sinners. A world that cheered when the dragon steals the princess and rejoices when the evil king sits upon his skeleton throne. They were villains in every dreadful sense of the damn word. 

It's hard to be in love when all odds are against you. 

When your fate binds you into one role with no way out.

Like a rabbit hole made of quicksand. It dragged him deeper and deeper into intimate madness.

Maybe in some fair world, those leeching villains could keep their greedy blood-drenched hands off of you.

Maybe in a world where the sun never dies, you could bring yourself to love him.

Maybe he could have been the love interest, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's always only MAYBE!

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Welcome home Nii-san," 

It's a sweet greeting that ties his guts into ribbons. His hands grow damp as his heavy eyes stare into yours. His lips curl into a painted smile, shielding you from the pain that's clawing in his stomach.

"Hi..(Y/n)"

His voice cracks and croaks like a dying frog. His lips feel abnormally dry and his eyes sting as if they've been pierced by diamond daggers. His steps are heavy as he plops down in his seat. The weight of his worries pulled him down harder than gravity ever could. He watches you through tried, restless orbs. Watches as you waltz over to your seat and sit down with the half grace of some future queen to be. It's bitter, dreadful, leaving a sickly toxin-like taste in his mouth. The mere thought that someday one of those, sinners, will take your hand and drag you to some kingdom far far away makes Enma want to claw his brain out with his bare nails. 

Enma's focus shifts over from his traveling companion to the silver-coated fireball licking his paws. Grimm's teal eyes scan him nervously before he offers a nervous smile, a rarity for the narcissistic cat. He's usually so talkative, so boasting, there was never a moment of tranquility with that cat around...

It takes a moment. A steel coated moment before the gears in Enma's head begin to turn. Before he can place his finger on the heavy abnormality weighing down the atmosphere. His nerves jolt to life, leaving a freezing sweat behind their trail. The room is spinning like a ballroom floor. Something's off, something big and obvious and hidden and...

Maybe...

"So..."

It's your sweet voice that breaks the tension creeping into the air. Melodic and luscious just like the sensation of a blissful dream. The room freezes in its tracks. The heavy atmosphere melts away like a cube of ice. Normality has one foot through the door. Behind it, hope and tranquility peek their heads through the tiny gap.

 Maybe just maybe everything is alright. Maybe it's just him, his stress and anxiety are starting to play cruel jokes on his wonder mind. Maybe he's just going mad. Yeah, that's the sanest conclusion to draw from all this. 

Enma cranes his neck to the side to get a better view of your face. Distress is scribbled all over your skin, like pristine razor cuts. You shift around in your seat, clawing at your uniform skirt as if the midnight black fabric is cutting off your circulation. Your fingers nudge the entrance to your pocket fiddling with something he can't quite make out. 

His voice is low, shaky, as he replies. The unusualness of the situation has him on edge. Nervous to the bitter bone. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his nerves were right to be wary of whatever this was. This uncertainty permeated the air-tight room. 

"What is it?" 

Slowly you drag out a white envelope flooded seven times over from your pocket. You stretch out your hand placing it in between his fingers. Enma throws a passive look at the note, his nose wrinkled up at the familiar scent that pervaded from the paper. 

"What's this?" 

It was rhetorical, asked out of dull, morbid courtesy. This time he didn't bother looking at you, in fear of seeing you look -lord forbids- gleeful. 

"A love letter, Grimm found it in our locker after class." 

There was a pause, lengthy, nerve-wracking, heart wrenching. Yuuken could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat, he could almost feel the excitement radiate off your body. 

"Can you believe it Nii-san? Someone actually left me a love letter!"

It hurt it really did, this time his heart didn't shatter. It simply broke, in two or three or maybe four. Who knows, who cares.  They had escalated from simple harassment and unsightly displays of public affection to leaving you love letters. How ungodly, how absurd, how brave...

He laments, eyes tracing over the fog of his breath as it wafts through the musty room. He wants to rip that damned piece of paper, shred it into millions so the words become ineligible, so you'll never read those horrible words again. So you'll forget that some damn fool other than him can actually love you. But he doesn't, he has too much self restraint and too much respect for his dear "little sister" to actually do it. 

His arm stretches over the table, skin illuminated by the dying candle on the center. He places the letter back safely in between your fingers. His eyes meet yours for only the second time that night. He takes in your face, Committing every piece of it to his miserable memory. The heartily glow in your crystal eyes, the faint schoolgirl smile dancing across your lips, the rose blush kissing your cheeks, the way the candle illuminates your skin, wrapping in a sparkling glow like the princess from those tales of old. You're mesmerizing in every way, it would be reasonable for other men to notice your elegance. No wonder those "prefects" were drawn to you so naturally like moths to a golden flame. 

"Who sent it?" 

His voice comes out like a block of ice, shielding away any and all his stray emotions. He doesn't want to know how doleful he is, he just can't have you taking pity on him. 

Your smile fades ever so slightly, your brows draw closer. Confusion is etched on your face. You haven't got a clue. 

"Well...I'm not sure, but they did say to meet them at the school gates when the clock chimes twelve."

Oh, joy, another fairy tale reference. It's comedic how fairy tales have begun to dictate his life. Everywhere he turns there's a grim tale awaiting him. Yuuken spares a quick glance at the crooked clock hanging by a loose thread. It’s a minute to midnight. 

"I should come with you" 

It's not a request but you take it as so. 

"No need to bother, I'll take Grimm, he could use the walk. He's starting to bulk up a bit"

"HEY! The great Grimm-Sama doesn't "Bulk up" He only gets more powerful!" 

Before the older male can protest, you're already halfway out the door. Grimm scurrying to follow you on all fours like a pesky rat. The door slams on your way out, leaving Yuuken alone with his morbid screeching thoughts. 

There goes the only good thing in his life. Into the arms of another. 

For a second he contemplates leaving you to fate, after all, who's he to disobey fate, go against whoever orchestrates this universe. But it's only a second, short lived and quickly died. 

Maybe he's a hero.

Maybe he's a Prince Charming.

Maybe he's a villain.

Maybe he's just some honorary older brother looking out for his kid sister.

Maybe, just maybe, he's your future lover;

and he'll be damned if he lets you slip out of hands. 

Enma's quick to grab his old practice blade from the overstuffed closet. It's not much, but it's all he has from the normal world, from his world. 

The door grates for the last time that night as he steps out into the cold midnight air. The stars blink in some sort of secret tongue, either warning him or encouraging him, he doesn't know. Nor does he truly care, for Enma Yuuken is done letting life and fate and villains decree his meaningless life. Here and now that's where he'll make his stand, he'll save you. Kiss you. Love you. Marry you. You, You, YOU

But there's still one nagging thought that screams inside his head as he dashes for the school gates. This world worships villains, prays at their feet, and hands them death and destruction on golden plates. And he's no villains, he's some sort of upside-down, in-between. Rotting alone in the border between Hero and Villain. By law of society, he's a reject, a useless foreigner, an alien, an outsider. 

and MAYBE he's already too late...

Who wrote the love letter? Was it the head of the savanaclaw dorm or maybe the head of the heartslabyul dorm ? Maybe it’s the ever mysterious  Tsunotarou... 

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #enma yuuken #enma yuuken x reader #yandere enma yuuken #yandere x reader #yandere x you #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland enma yuuken x reader #twisted wonderland enma yuuken #twisted wonderland enma yuuken x you #enma yuuken x you #yandere enma yuuken x you #yandere #yancore #yanderecore #yandere imagines #Yandere aesthetic #yandere scenerios #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst x reader #yandere twst x reader #twst yuu #yandere twst x you #twst

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this.  and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind.  i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another.  a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif​ who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos.  and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning.  He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks.  He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration.  Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head.  Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

*********************

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed.  She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul.  So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times.  But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.  

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.  

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes.  She’s struggling a bit.”  

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line.  The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.  “I’m certain they were quite detailed.  It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”  

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes.  Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*************************

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen.  Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk.  “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response.  “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it.  She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest.  Yet again, you exceed expectations.  

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs.  “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do.  So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next.  “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have.  You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

*************************

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.  

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her.  Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.  

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting.  But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit.  Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city.  Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike.  Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.  

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page.  Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.  

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home.  You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

***************************

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.  

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair.  Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this.  You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand.  You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.  

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking.  You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back.  There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.  

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.  

You fight back tears of frustration.  You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.  

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.  

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours.  “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.  

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense.  You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop.  You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.  

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

*************************

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.  

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self.  But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation.  You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon.  Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog.  You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.  

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face.  Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother.  They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.  

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile.  “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees.  “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me.  You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation.  She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well?  Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit.  “He replaced me not long ago.  But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.  

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors.  She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

****************************

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.  

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom.  It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed.  She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest.  “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you?  And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway.  “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed.  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?  

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead.  She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.  

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl.  She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot.  The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon.  “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods.  “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it.  For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.”  You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her.  She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why.  I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear.  I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own.  “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.  

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all.  Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know.  Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.  

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are.  She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear.  I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook.  You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away.  “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**********************

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.  

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them.  Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick.  And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.  

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.  

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too.  You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit.  It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.  

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity.  You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed.  Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.  

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur.  “Tell me the truth.  Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits.  “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother.  Making plans to send Jinjoo.  Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly.  You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face.  Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story.  You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly.  “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now.  I need to know all of it.  Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser.  You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant.  You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.  

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work.  Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

***************************

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife.  And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home.  No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours.  The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch.  But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.  

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest.  Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly.  “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits.  “But there are different kinds of risk.  Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement.  Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts.  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything.  Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly.  “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.  

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud.  He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway.  He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away.  You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.  

“The late nights and the extra hours.  Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.  “Did you do that for your boss?  Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk.  Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it.  “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face.  The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch.  “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly.  You lean into the touch of his hand.  “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm.  “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.  

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation.  He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment.  “Go home,” he pleads.  “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

************************

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#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #ficswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub

[batwritings]

15 minutes of your time, dearest Bat, if I may. I'm studying to be a photographer, I really like taking pictures. A lot of the little jobs I do are taking graduation pictures for family friends. I got the idea of being the photographer of one of the boys, but in the nude....so I'm going to share it with you.

Model Gogy, because let's be honest he is so pretty and very photogenic. Filters are not needed for this man.

So you are hired to take photos of him on a regular because his agent likes the way your shoots come out. They have been the most flattering and it's all because you've got a crush on the British man. George is nothing but nice to you. The banter is easy and boarder line flirtatious at times. You are professional though.

Well one day you get an email from his agent, but it doesn't sound like them. 'Hey can we set up a shoot soon.' was the subject. The rest of the email was weird too. Not much information was shared and the dates were going to be in 2 days. Usually you got a week to prepare and plan things. But your Schedule was clear and to be honest you can say no.

So in the two days you scramble to get ready and made sure all your other projects were cleared out. You arrive at the address with probably more gear then you needed. It's just George there though he is awkwardly sitting at a table in the middle of the nearly empty studio waiting for you. He lights up when he sees you and even helps you with equipment. You ask him what the shoot was about and he blushes.

"I understand if you don't feel comfortable doing this. Honestly I wish my agent would have told you right from the start but I need nude pictures taken." He chews his lip nervous. The instant though of naked George with his dick out makes brain.exe stop working. The little longer you just stare at him the more nervous he gets, laughing weakly and rambling about something.

"I can...do the job." You blink back when he starts saying something about 'not worrying about it he can get someone else to do it but he trusts you'. He pauses and smiles relaxing some and smiling relieved at you.

"cool, thank you," he sounded like he wanted to say more but instead just fidgeted.

Clearing your throat you ask how he wanted to do this. He left it up to you. Again you couldn't think properly. Your own blush was surely visible. You look around at the sparse furniture. The large couch would have to work because it was the only thing besides the blankets and the floor. So you tell him the plan and proceed to set up. Usually you wouldn't, a scene would already be ready but this was different. George waited not wanting to get in your way. When it was ready you smiled at him.

"We can start when you are ready, okay?" He nods at you and plops down on the couch shifting a little awkwardly. Your camera was raised as you figured out the best angles for lighting. He was stiff and looked for once so uncomfortable.

"Do you want to do some normal shots to help you relax?" You ask giving him a warm smile trying to help him. He nods pulling off his jacket though.

"Maybe I can take of layers as we go." He says seeming to melt into his usual confidence. It was a good idea. He lounges across the sofa in his short, jeans, and shoes. Looking aloof and kinda reminding you of a cat.

He removed his shoes next, falling into another pose. Legs tucked against him and sprawled over a pillow. He looked so soft even in the slightly tight jeans. Which were the next things removed. George sat crisscross with the giant pillow him his lap and a daring look in his eyes. The light looked amazing spilling over his eyes and pale skin. There was hesitation on the next article of clothing. He settling on the socks instead. Crossing his ankles and popping his knees over the arm of the couch laying back with his shirt riding up his torso. A light whisper of a happy trail peaking out. It took longer for the next piece to so. A blush painted his cheeks. By now you were so focused on actually taking pictures you didn't even think about the situation anymore. His shirt was gone. His hands hiding parts of his chest and his eyes searched out yours. You pause for a moment taking in his figure. There before you was the nearly naked figure of the most attractive person you have ever seen. His lips were bitten red and his dark eyes looking up at you through thick lashes. The pretty pink looked like pastel chalk dusting his body. The pale skin seemed to glow in the bright lights and the many windows letting the natural sun in. Your breath catches when he give you a look that screams come here.

You don't move for a moment frozen just staring. He leans back spreading his legs and leaning back into the couch. His arms flexing as he holds them over his head and back. He is wide open and looked so damn good. You snapped a picture on accident your finger having been playing with the button. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Pushing your attention to the job. You take some pictures working hard not to drool over how god damn sexy he looked and inviting. Oh so inviting.

His hands slide down his body and stop around his waist band of his boxers smirking at you. Teasing the edges down. You gulp watching was the fabric slowly slides down his legs and pools in front of the couch. He is completely naked and standing in front of you. And the first thing you couldn't help but look at was his half hard cock. It twitched before your eyes. The muscles of his thighs flexing as he shifted into a better position on the sofa. Slouched back and looking like a lazy king. His hands gliding over his hips and dancing down his thighs. His eyes staring at you hard. One hand raised and he gave a come here gesture with one finger. Those dark eyes blown wide with the teasing lust. Your throat his dry and your camera is heavy in your hands.

Bitting your lip you move forward. He leans forward and takes the camera pulling you closer by the strap until you were nearly filling into his lap. He smirks and whispers, "wanna have some fun?" You shiver, slipping the strap off and nodding. He set the device down gently on the ground and takes your hips in his hands. He guilds you onto his lap. Your knees on each his of his hips. Those hands of his rubbing your thighs, looking up at your slightly and pressing your foreheads together. His breath smells so good, fresh and sweet like bubblegum.

He captures your lips in a hot kiss. His soft tongue dancing with yours.

While you kiss and relax more pieces of your wardrobe is removed allowing for George to touch you all over. The last thing to go was your underwear. He teases you firm hands pressing your ass and slapping it. You whine on his lap writhing excitedly. Your sex grinds against his and he moans too. The controlled ride of your hips into his was intoxicating. Your lips met and he leans you back to lay on the couch. Dipping between your spread thighs and licking your heat. The brunette sucks and licks at you for a long while your hands tangling in his hair. His slim fingers toying with your entrance. Using his own spit he presses in. A cry left your lips, stars dancing in your eyes and he continued. Your brains as become more empty the more time passed. An eternity later and you felt so fucked out you wanted to cum so badly. He kissed up your body settling between your legs. His hand that had prepped you smeared on the couch. His other hand tapping against your lips. You take them sucking hard and whining when he rubs the pads of his fingers over your tongue. When he removed them the next saliva was used to prep his cock.

The head was pressed into you slowly. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you leaned back moaning the further he pushed in. He wasn't very big but he did fill you perfectly. Tucking his hands under your thighs he lifts you off the couch some and draw his hips back before thrusting them forwards again. Grunting with he force he continues to build up his speed. You grab his thighs rolling your hips into him bouncing off his body as you meet in a slap of skin. The pleasure was maddening, the swell of release was just out of touch but this felt so perfectly good you didn't want to ever stop.

He stopped panted hard and moving you to lay with him, throwing your leg over his hip and the other straight tangled with his. This position hit something new for you cause you to cry out and grab hold of his hands on your hips. He speed up fucking hard and fast. You quivered and called out his name as you felt the swell spill over into creamy release. He followed soon after stilling deep inside and filling you up with a new pressure.

Needless to say you didn't get the pictures you needed.

📷

.......bat.exe has stopped working. HOLY FUCK CAMERA!!! THAT WAS FRIGGIN' AMAZING!!! AND THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE EVERYTHING IN SUCH DETAIL IS IMMACULATE! LIKE I CAN SEE IT IN MY HEAD AND FFFFFFU--

rebooting in progress, please wait. . .

#bat squeaks #anon response #📷anon #bat is a simp

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Day 7: Free Day / AUs - Lies

To her left was Jade, and to her right was Crowley. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Awkward “family” dinner time~

jnjadaafiabasd I was not built to do timed prompts... Everything felt rushed or not fully proofread, but I tried my best with what little time I had! 🎉 This last week was a bit of a struggle, but I’m proud of myself for pulling through in the end!

A flurry of footsteps reverberated through the Crowley household. Raven hurtled down a stairwell and practically threw herself at the front door, flinging it open. Beyond the door, a masked man and his suitcases awaited.

“Uncle!! You’re back!!” she cried breathily—tired from the dash from the attic to the front porch.

“Hohoh.” Crowley lowered the golden key in his hand. “You’ve beaten me to the punch, it seems.”

“It helps when I’ve got a big window to spy from.” Raven grimaced as talons wove themselves into her hair and raked along her scalp. Her head was left a mess, hair sticking up at odd angles. “How was your trip?”

“There will be plenty of time for stories—you do so love those, don’t you? Just give me a moment to get settled back and have a bite first, little black bird.”

“Okay!” Raven chirped. She eagerly reached for a suitcase. “Here, I’ll he—”

“Please, allow me.”

Her fingers met only air, for the suitcase was snatched up before she could make contact. The other was claimed just as quickly, ending up in the hands of a slimy, smiling eel.

“... Jade Leech-kun.”

“Headmaster.” Jade lowered his head in mock deference. “It is a pleasure to have you back with us. I do hope your conference fared well.”

Crowley’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “You’ll not hear a single peep from me!”

“My, my. You’ve entrusted me with handling your home and your niece in your absence, but not with casual conversation? Truly, I am hurt.”

(Raven shot Jade a warning look, but it went ignored.)

“Leave my bags, and leave us be. Your services are no longer required,” the headmaster crowed. He dug into his pockets and produced a (wrinkled) checkbook and gold-plated fountain pen. “Name your price.”

“I believe that is a value that would be best negotiated with Azul—but worry not, I am not personally interested in your madol.”

... That’s obviously a sketchy thing to say, especially for Octavinelle. They always collect what they’re owed, Raven noted. What does he have up his sleeve now?

Jade’s shoulders suddenly sagged, and a sad smile made its way onto his face. “It is a shame, though... to be chased out before I was able to share my cooking with our esteemed headmaster. It brings a tear to my eye.”

Crowley’s ears perked up—while Raven’s stomach sank.

“Cooking, you say?”

“U-Uncle, don’t fall for it...! He’s baiting you!!” Raven hissed, tugging harshly on his cape.

“I had plans to prepare an extravagant feast, too,” Jade continued, “to welcome you home. A hearty wild game stew, garnished with garden herbs. Fresh baked bread, with a thick crust, perfect for mopping up excess stew. Braised duck in a bright citrus sauce, so succulent and tender that the meat falls off at the bone. Mint gelée on the side—”

“I’m listening...” Crowley’s beady eyes narrowed with vague suspicion. “And just how much would this hypothetical feast cost me?”

“Don’t listen to him, Uncle!!”

“Fufu. There is no need to concern yourself with such trivial matters. Consider it a gift from myself to you.”

“UNCLE!!” Raven screeched—but her frantic calls no longer reached him.

The headmaster was far gone, lured to the water’s edge by a siren’s song. Plastering a wide grin on his face, Crowley spread his arms.

“Jade Leech-kun, why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Raven slowly lowered her face into her hands.

To her left was Jade, and to her right was Crowley. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Raven glared into her platter of food, refusing to look at either of them. She poked at a slab of meat with her fork, watching the shine of fat dance. Did that glisten belong to a tasteless poison, or to a savory glaze?

Well, the other meals he prepared were safe. This should be fine too... right? Raven carefully inserted a corner into her mouth and tore off a chunk.

Crowley let out a delighted laugh from his seat. “Delicious! Simply delicious!! You’ve outdone yourself with this meal.”

“I am glad to hear that you enjoy it, headmaster.” Jade was handling his silverware a little too deftly for Raven’s liking, driving a knife into his steak with the skill and precision of a predator digging its teeth into vital arteries. And still, that polite smile remained.

She stared—and it did not go unnoticed.

While the headmaster continued to gush, Jade lifted his eyes to meet Raven’s. His smile turned decidedly less kind for a few moments, taunting her. How easily he had infiltrated the home and gotten her guardian wrapped around his finger. It was maddening.

“Miss Raven, you haven’t touched your food,” Jade pointed out.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I am merely advising that you look after your own health and wellbeing,” Jade insisted. “And to think you were so eager to consume my cooking when it was just the two of us...”

“Sh-Shut up...!! I... I can’t help that I’m not used to unwanted guests at the table!”

“Now, now, Raven-kun!” Crowley waved his fork at his niece. “Jade Leech-kun has provided a number of useful services during my absence. We should be more grateful to to have such a helpful young man with us!”

“Do I need to remind you that this same ‘helpful’ young man also ‘helped’ Azul enslave over 200 students?”

“That was then, this is now!”

... You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Yes, I do believe the headmaster is correct. Let us leave the past in the past.”

“As soon as you leave, I’ll gladly purge the events of last week from my mind.” Raven turned to Crowley. “Uncle! I’m no longer a child. The next time you need to leave, you needn’t call for a babysitter—I can take care of myself!”

“Hmm...” The headmaster glanced helplessly between his half-eaten dinner and his niece’s pleasing eyes. “We shall see what comes, given the circumstances.”

Raven sighed—still not fully satisfied with the answer, but unable to wean anything better out of him.

She jabbed her fork into a cherry tomato and chomped down hard on it. Her fangs pierced the red skin, sending some juice squirting onto her cheek. Raven wiped at it with a napkin, then continued to angrily munch on the tomato to vent her frustration.

The clinking of silverware filled the dining room. The air, stiff as stale bread. Crowley coughed—attempting to alleviate the tense atmosphere, but to little success.

“So,” the headmaster began, “did anything interesting happen while I was at the conference?”

“... We argued a lot,” Raven replied flatly. She tactfully left out several details, knowing that she would turn as red as the cherry tomato if she elaborated.

“I did learn quite a few interesting facts during my stay.”

Crowley glanced up from his plate, arching an eyebrow at the eel. “Such as...?”

“Oh, a great many things. For example, how a glittering object catches Miss Raven’s eye, the messiness of her quarters, her midnight musings, the odd manner in which she sleeps...”

Crowley (who had been peacefully inhaling his dinner up until that point) almost choked on a piece of bread. “E-EXCUSE ME?! I don’t recall granting you permission to enter the attic—”

“Wait, you didn’t?” Raven’s brows furrowed. “Then why...”

... Oh.

Another lie.

All along, it had been a lie.

Crowley’s panic, Raven’s confusion—neither seemed to faze Jade. He simply smiled, as collected as ever. Like he had planned this all along, she realized.

“I’m afraid that Miss Raven allowed me in of her own accord. Fufu. I am pleased that she has grown to trust my presence within her private quarters.”

“Is this true, Raven-kun?!”

“Er...” She shrunk back into her seat, wishing she could vanish into her feathered shawl. “I-It was an honest mistake... I didn’t mean to...”

“You know better than that, young lady!!” Crowley chided. “How many times must I warn you to keep shady characters out of your room?!”

“But Jade said--”

“Headmaster, you cannot blame her entirely,” the eel cut in smoothly. “Part of the fault lies with me, as well.”

He’s... confessing? That’s weird.

“I had to deliver her meal, since she refused to eat at the dining room table. Once I saw the state that the attic was in, I sought to return in the subsequent days to assist with cleaning it up. There were also times when I came to check in on Miss Raven, as she has a habit of staying up late into the night. They were all measures I took to ensure her health and comfort, at the cost of breaking a rule--and for that, I must apologize.”

“Oh?” Crowley rested his chin in a taloned hand. “Rule breaking aside, I must commend you for taking action. Putting others’ wellbeing above your own... Perhaps I initially misjudged your character, Jade Leech-kun!”

“I live to serve.”

“How very admirable of you! Yes, yes,” Crowley nodded enthusiastically, “I can rely on such a responsible youth to look after you in the future, Raven-kun!”

“H-Huh? No, no!! He’s definitely still every bit as shady as you thought he was!!” she protested, leaping to her feet and thrusting an accusing finger at Jade. “He’s just lying again...!! He always lies!!”

“Oya, Miss Raven... It’s not healthy for you to become so worked up.” Jade hid his mouth behind his hand--no doubt that his teeth would otherwise be on full display in a cruel grin. “Here, have some more mashed potatoes--I’ve infused them with garlic. This should help temper your blood pressure.”

“I don’t want your stupid mashed potatoes...!!”

Oblivious to the tension in the room, Crowley lifted his glass up and laughed. “Hohoh! It’s nice to see Raven-kun socializing with her peers.”

#twst #Dire Crowley #Jade Leech #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #disney twisted wonderland #twst oc week #Raven Crowley #my art