#... at best most of the time but deep down would not want any true harm to come to him.

[star-suh]

The Nastiest

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, reader is a sick pervert, dom top johnny, toxic relationship, enemies to fuck-enemies, knife play, “marking”, blowjob, pain kink(?), breeding, degradation, hair pulling, cum as lube, fingering, choking, dacryphilia.

an: this is in the same universe as this jaehyun mafia fic.

—

the city is dominated by many mafias but only two of them are the best of the best they're the most dangerous and respected by the other gangsters wannabes. in one of them there's a very skilled sick fuck pervert boy, he fucks anyone who passes in front of him… well except for one person, johnny suh.

he is part of the other mafia, a direct rival of the mafia yn belongs to, one thing about him is that he despises yn a lot. he has tried to kill him so many times but in the end he regrets it, arguing that “he does not deserves to be shot by one of his bullets”.

one day johnny was walking down the street when he heard whimpers in a dark alley, as if someone was getting beat up. yes, he was in the mafia but he is still a good person looking out for everyone's well-being, except yn's tho.

“hey what are you two doing” johnny pulled out a gun and pointed it at them, gesturing for them to leave, and they did. he turns around seeing how both guys were running and just when he was going to ask the other person if he was okay, the cold metal of a gun is placed right behind his head. "son of a bitch i was having fun", that voice... that familiar and disgusting voice… "it was you… if i had known, i would have let them kill you" johnny says it without any emotion on his face, hell, yn didn't even deserve his anger. "you say that but i know that deep down you want to do it" a twisted smile making its way onto his face, "you're right" in one smooth move johnny manages to take the gun from yn and hits him with his knee in the stomach leaving him lying on the ground trying to catch air "if you want me to kill you that bad, i’lll do it then” johnny points the gun at yn but sees that it still had the safety on, realizing that yn was only using it to threaten him and not to cause him any harm, but nevertheless he takes it off and is about to pull the trigger.

"wait" yn yells and proceeds to laugh and spit out some blood "didn't you say before that i don't deserve to be killed by one of your bullets?" to which johnny replies "the gun is not mine"; “before you kill me i have one last wish" yn crawls to where johnny is and then kneels, resting his face on top of johnny's bulge, acting as if he were a cat, rubbing his face on the crotch, feeling the heat of johnny's huge cock "i know you get hard in these situations, you're a fucking pervert you know" yn murmurs, "give me some of this and then you can kill me, i would die happily" johnny was disgusted, not because of how yn was acting but because of what he said, although he wished it wasn't true, it is, yn he knew him very well. “shut the fuck up bitch, last time i checked you're the pervert, a sick fuck who gets off on beating and killing people” johnny pushes yn to the ground again, “it’s unbelievable how you're on the verge of being killed but you still manage to think about cocks drilling into your used loose hole, the fuck is wrong with you”.

yn stands up, he turns around to leave but instead he throws himself at johnny and fight to take the gun from him, during the fight the gun falls a few centimeters away from them, yn tried to grab it but johnny was way stronger than him, the taller throws him against a wall, then pushes him against it and pulls out a knife putting it in his throat. “i'm so sick of that goddamn grin on your fucking face i'll have to cut it off”. when johnny made eye contact with yn he saw his red face and hooded eyes “you're face is like the one of a bitch in heat… wait… what the fuh...” johnny looks down watching his bulge rubbing against yn's ass, he then looks towards yn's watching how he was hard already, johnny laughs “that look on your face… i'm starting to think this is why you always want to fight with me.. because i'm the only one who knows how to treat you the way you like it, sick bastard”.

"fine… if you want me to destroy that used hole that bad, i’ll do it, maybe this way you can leave me alone” johnny finally gives in, despite everything he said before, he knew deep down he also wanted to fuck yn, it’s not a secret for everyone that yn is hot but his freaky personality is what makes everyone go away from him, but guess he has finally found someone who matches it.

“go rougher” yn pleads in a soft voice.

the taller one pulls out some zip ties to tie yn's wrist behind his back, “this is your last chance kinky bitch, just say this was all a joke and run”. yn didn't say anything. “on your knees. now”.

johnny pull out his big dick “suck it like the good slut you are” yn hesitated “what? why are you acting shy now?” johnny grabs it and put it to rest on top of yn’s face “open up, it's not gonna suck itself”.

little moans escaped johnny's mouth, yn knows how to use his mouth after all, “i wonder how many dicks have you sucked to know how to do it properly.. fuck.. you're so disgusting” yn was about to stop to talk back but johnny didn't let him and started to mouthfuck him “your throat is such a good fleshlight” he forces yn to deepthroat him, causing a bulge to form there. johnny grunts, pulling the other's hair so he can go deeper. “ooh hahaha your little friend here seems to like this, you're like a pain slut” johnny uses his foot to massage yn's bulge “do you jerk off after every fight we had?” johnny mocks loving how he can say anything without yn talking back at him, “this is a good use for your mouth” he murmurs.

sloppy wet noises coming from yn's mouth filled the dark alley. “look at you gagging on my cock, who would've thought that my neat would be enough to have you under my power”. yn just nods, all he wanted was finally becoming real, the johnny fucking suh is emptying his balls down his throat, something that might be considered a privilege knowing that johnny was known to be someone who doesn't have sex a lot and with anyone that crosses his path, despite having a lot of people lined behind him.

johnny pulls out and came on yn's face, grunting obscenities, “this is so humiliating for you, the cocky bastard yn covered in cum like a useless alley whore” he says in between pants, “maybe if i leave you here someone would find you and have some fun too, bet you would like that”.

“shut your ass up and fu-” a slap interrupts yn, “alley whores don't demand shit, they just accept what they're given, you deserve a punishment”.

johnny uses his knife to make a small cut on yn's cheek “it fucking hurts” yn whimpers. “that's the point dumb bitch, this way you would be reminded who owns you everytime you see yourself in the mirror”. yn was impressed to say the less, he knew johnny was freaky but not that freaky.

a wet spot formed in yn's black pants he tried to hide it but johnny noticed it, “did you just came just for me face fucking you? you're pathetic”...

“get up, i'm not done with you”; “i can't i feel weak, asshole” yn replies, “you're such a loser” johnny blurted out.

johnny pushed yn against the wall again, unzip his pants under and pulled it out along with his underwear, then scooped all the cum in his face to use it as lube, he smeared it in his dick and yn's hole, fingering it a little before putting all his dick inside “i'm gonna fuck you so hard you're not gonna be able to sit for the next week”. he put the tip first and then rammed himself inside, all at once, drawing a loud moan out of yn's mouth. “... fucking tight” johnny keeps pounding, his left hand leaving marks on yn's hip while the other was on his neck choking him. yn was starting to being loud, he was not being able to bear with johnny's powerful thrusts “shut up or i'll slam your head against the wall”; “n-no… no” yn manage to say, “what was that? i thought you were a tough guy ynnie?” the top once again mocks him. the feeling was so unbearable for yn that tears formed in his eyes and started to roll down his face, seeing this makes johnny so horny that he licked them from the other's face, then cupped the bottom's head with his right hand and turn him so they can make eye contact “you're being such a good sex toy, you're not that useless after all” then he kissed him.

right when johnny kissed him yn came hands free, “every time you touch yourself i want you to remember how i fucked you in an alley next to a dumpster like the piece of shit you are” johnny pounds faster “remember who beat you and broke you, now you would think twice after picking a fucking fight with me, you hear me?” after this johnny came inside, his moans were like the ones of a beast, damn he hasn't emptied his balls inside someone for ages. he pulled out and yn just slid down the wall, too weak to stand up.

“you look fucked up and disgusting, the freaky, tough guy ynnie just got obliterated by some cock" he laughs "… imagine if everyone knows about this… stay away from me and keep my name out of your filthy mouth” johnny got ready to go and leave yn there but he saw his face, that was still bleeding for the cut with some traces of seeat and cum, he looked so vulnerable a part he has never seen on him but he goes anyway.

yn was lost, he just got what he wanted but he was too tired to even celebrate it so he just smiled weakly and then fell asleep…

yn woke up in an unfamiliar room, it was a hotel room he got up and went to the bathroom, in the mirror there he saw he was already clean and the cut on his cheek was bandaged already he also took time to appreciate johnny’s marks scattered all over his body, smiling like a psycho when touching every single one of them. but yn doesn't remember how he ended up in a hotel room until he sees a card on the nightstand near the bed that reads *you owe me the money i wasted paying for your hotel room, bitch* it was from johnny. yn saves the card in his pocket murmuring a little “asshole” while leaving the room.

[seastarlily]

Random thought is random, but if Mr. Krabs acts as a father figure to SpongeBob (he outright states that SpongeBob is like a son to him multiple times), and Squidward acts as a younger brother figure to Mr. Krabs (not outright stated, but at least heavily implied with the fact that he's been Mr. Krabs's go-to babysitter for Pearl since she was an infant and the fact she canonically calls him "Uncle Squiddy"), then would that make Squidward and SpongeBob like uncle and nephew?🤔

(Not a shipping post - please don't tag ships of any kind)

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen x daughter reader (platonic)

Reader can either be read as the child of Laenor, Daemon, Criston Harwin or other

-As her only daughter you are especially cherished. The moment they place you on her chest she instantly, unconditionally loves you. While she does not have favorites, you are cherished.

It was with one last agonizing push that Rhaenyras only daughter came screaming into the world. "A daughter, your Grace!" With trembling arms Rhaenyra took her daughter from the midwife. Y/n Velarion's e/c eyes opened and Rhaenyra instantly fell in love. Secretly, she had always harbored hopes of having a girl. She knew the realm prayed for a son, but deep inside Rhaenyra yearned for a girl. A daughter to love and cherish and protect her from all that she herself had suffered.

-You are absolutely doted on my your mother. She makes sure you have the best of everything. She loves to order sweets brought from all over and give them to you in elaborately decorated boxes. She has you all decked out in red and black clothing. Rhaenyra likes to do your hair and make elaborate hairdos. Whether for a special occasion or any normal day she takes great pleasure in showing off how pretty you are!

Y/n squealed in delight as Rhaenyra pulled out a box. Knowing that it held some kind of delight behind its wooden covering you wasted no time in hastily opening it. Tiny hands seized the sugar covered fruits from Dorne. The mother giggled as with great enthusiasm Y/n chomped away at them. "Remember to share them with your brothers!" Rhaenyra called out to her daughters. "Gods I love her." Rhaenyra thought.

-Because of the political situation you are heavily guarded. Your friends/ladies in waiting are carefully picked amongst Rhaenyra's closest allies. From the time you are old enough to walk she hires a personal guard to follow wherever you go. This is especially true if Otto, Alicent or Criston Cole are near. Unlike with her sons I don't see Rhaenyra letting you near your uncles. Partly because it would be seen as inappropriate but also for safety sakes.

-Princess Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, eldest child of Viserys and heir to the throne, ran in great haste down the hall. She payed no heed to the sudden stairs of people. Most of the time she would care, but not now. Not when she noticed her brother Aemond speaking with her baby girl under the Weirwood tree. She did not know his intentions and frankly, did not care. None of Otto Hightowers grandchildren would be in any position to harm her daughter. "Y/n." Rhaenyra hurried down the path to see two children quite peacefully reading a book. Aemond was the first to look up and scowled. Rhaenyra didn't like it. Even something as innocent as this could insight trouble. Gods know Otto might even consider marrying the two if he could get away with it. A perfect way to tether the Princess of Westeros to himself forever. She would never let that happen.

-Obviously you will have a dragon from day one, if there isn't an egg already placed in the cradle. She will likely want you to have a new one rather than an older one. This is mainly because she worries an older one might be too aggressive and large for tiny you to manage. Of course she will take you for flight on Syrax, high in the sky. She uses these times to bond, even going on short daytrips for fun.

If she gives you an egg:

Rhaenyra cradles the large opaque egg in her hands. It was a good size, this dragon would be healthy. It was placed right beside the infant who was roused to the waking world. Her large e/c eyes focused on the egg with such intensity that Rhaenyra could hardly believe it. Her fingers brushed against the thin hairs that had just started to sprout up. Her little Targaryen.

If you claim your own dragon:

She would have preferred Dreamfyre. That dragon was so gentle and lovely, a perfect fir for her gentle daughter. Not fucking Tessarion. Anxiously Rhaenyra waited as Y/n advanced forward. The dragon keepers were on standby. But if Tessarion became volatile then......... The great dragon moved its head. The Valyrian coming out of Y/n's trembling mouth would barely be heard over the beasts rumbling. Horrified, Rhaenyra moved to intercede. But suddenly the dragon lowered its head and Y/n's hand placed itself on its snout. "Look mom! I'm a dragonrider!"

Riding a dragon with her daughter:

At five years old Y/n mounted a dragon for the first of many times. Rhaenyra had been hesitant. Normally Targaryen's took their children on a flight during babyhood. But in her anxiety Rhaenyra waited until her daughter was slightly older. She had a small harness made for the baby and herself. Part of Rhaenyra didn't want to stay on the ground, but Y/n was a Targaryen, a Valyrian ancestry going back thousands of years. The dragons wings expanded and in a great bounding leap Syrax was in the air. Y/n's small form was shaking and Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around her. They stabilized once above the clouds. Y/n finally had calmed down. Soon, she was giggling and enjoying the height. Rhaenyra smiled.

-When it comes to betrothals Rhaenyra will wait until you are grown before any of that comes to fruition. Like her father she will let you chose. That is, up until the events of episode 7 where Vaemond makes his bid for Driftmark. Even though she will not be aggressive about it, your attention will be directed to Cregan Stark. Of course you will get the talk, and what to expect during pregnancy/childbirth. Your also likely to get a new wardrobe. This is even more expected if where your moving to (think Winterfell and Dorne) has a drastic change in weather compared to Kingslanding/Driftmark. If you do end up married then she will make frequent visits to where you live.

Everyone bellow was mingling during the Red Keeps most recent party. Everyone except for Rhaenyra and Y/n. Mother and daughter observed the happenings bellow, talking in low voices. "Have you met anyone who appeals from you?" Rhaenyra closely watched her daughters expression. Y/n's eyes skimmed the handful of eligible bachelors that a Princess of the realm could take. "Hmmmm. Uncle Aemond is looking rather appealing these days." Y/n jested. Rhaenyra snorted. None of Otto's grandchildren would ever taken her daughter to wife. Only last week Alicent had requested a possible betrothal between their two children. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, that would only happen over her dead body. "Who is that?" Rhaenyra's eyes lit up. Now this was a much better match. "That is Cregan Stark."

Extra

What is your fathers relationship with you (excluding non cannon father)

Harwin Strong:

Like with his sons he is very close with you. Your his only daughter and so he is very protective. He will hold you as a baby and try to be there for everything. First words, steps and your progression into adulthood. He likes to carry you on his back during his time off. Even though you are a girl you will likely be taught to fight if you so chose. Although that will be in secret. I think that as the daughter of Rhaenyra and Harwin you will feel like you all are a great big family.

Leanor Velarion:

Your his only biological child. Because of this the family dynamic will change, with Laenor being far more involved with his family.1* Rhaenyra and Rhaenys will push hard for him to be a good father, the best he can be. Its a rocky start. But he gets better and does his best. Your time together is usually one on one with Laenor. Stuff like taking you on dragonrides and going to Driftmark.

Criston Cole:

This one is a doozy because he can't be sure until you are older that your his (given that Rhaenyra's likely got involved with Harwin shortly after marriage). But once he finds out....wow. Because as much as he loathes Rhaenyra he can't bring himself to hate the daughter. He will, very subtly, try to ingratiate himself to you. This will be sneaky and behind Rhaenyra's back. Of course Alicent will get wind of this making Otto aware. He will absolutely try to use this to his advantage. This of course puts Criston in a very difficult position.

Daemon Targaryen:

This pregnancy takes place shortly before the marriage to Laenor, meaning Rhaenyra was pregnant although very early on. I have a feeling Daemon might not even know the baby is his, thinking it is Harwin Strong's. So he as nothing to do with you until the funeral of his second wife. It was there that Rhaenyra reveals he has another daughter. The reason he was not informed earlier is because she was worried someone might get ahold of the note and Daemon was in Pentos all this time. This revelation will be surprised. When your parents marry he will take an interest in your education. You are expected to be an example of pure Valyrian, perfecting Valyrian and being a dragon writer. The two of you will sometimes read together and he likes to tell stories of his adventures.

Note: I'm gonna make one for Alicent and maybe Aemond. If you guys want me to make any more of these then please feel free to requested☺

[cameronspecial]

I wanted to ask if you could write something with rafe where reader does selfharm and he finds out? Maybe with a soft version of rafe

Not Going Anywhere

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SELF-HARM and Talks of DEPRESSION (Please don't read if these are a trigger).

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: If you or anyone you know are experiencing depression, then please know you are not alone and there are people who can help. The internet has information on the best places for you to go to in your country. Not tagging anyone just in case this is a trigger for anyone on my tag list.

Masterlist

It isn’t for attention. That is one assumption most people make whenever they see the scars. It’s the reason why she hides them on her hips. She doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing it because no one sees her naked, not even her boyfriend. The only times the marks see the light of day are when she changes or showers. She makes sure the cuts made can be hidden by her underwear and any panties or bikini bottoms she buys need to pass that test as well. 

No matter how wrong she knows it is, she can’t help but hold the cold sharp blade against the tough skin. It is resting on top of a barely healing scar because she has no other place for it. Her breath hitches as she pulls the Exacto knife across her, going a little farther than the mark already made. Tears are running down her face. Her eyes blur as she repeats the motion below the blooming red line. Her breath is uneven and hitches every time the metal touches her skin. In some sick way, the pain gives her a small relief. It gives her a reason.

Most people wonder why someone would cause harm to themselves. They would guess that the despair is caused by a lack of food, shelter, money, clothes or love. However, Y/N doesn’t have that issue. How could she when she is a kook? No, she has never felt hunger or fear and that is the cause of the turmoil inside of her head. Nonetheless, ever since she entered teenhood, she would experience these months-long periods of extreme sadness. She would do her best to hide them from everyone by pushing herself to get out of bed and go to activities that she would normally enjoy. She would make sure to cry when no one else was at home and to track her family members’ phones to verify she was alone. It was a secret she kept so deep within her that she started to question why she felt this way. That is when the true problems began. She felt guilty for feeling this despair without a reason and it was furthered by the secrets she had to keep, so she began to self-harm as her reason. In her brain, partly because of what society has told her, she needed a reason for why she was melancholy because there are people in the world who were dealt much tougher times in life. 

So, that is how she finds herself standing in front of the mirror, holding down the right side of her underwear and dragging an Exacto knife along her skin. She has fallen into one of her episodes and this time, it is the worst one to date. She has never pressed so hard into her skin with the blade. It has never bled this much. She curses as the blood begins to seep into the cotton of her underwear. Her attention is on stopping the red from staining her clothes, so she doesn’t hear the front door open. 

Rafe whistles whilst he uses his copy of the key to open Y/N’s front door. People thought it was too early when they exchanged house keys after only six months of dating. They didn’t though. It felt like the next step when she told him that she was saving herself for marriage. They found a different way to reach a new level of intimacy and it worked for them. Her house is eerily quiet and dark. Normally, she keeps the hallway lights on when she is home and if she is watching TV/listening to music, it is so loud that it could make a deaf person hear. He doesn’t let the lack of normality stop him from making his way to her bedroom, thinking nothing that her door is closed. He uses the doorknob to push it open and he is surprised to see her standing in front of the mirror with her hands pressing against her hip. It takes him a second to process that blood stains her hand. His shock turns to worry as he rushes to her side. He trips over something in his attempt to get to her and looks down to see a bloody Exacto knife, like the kind she uses to cut things for her art. He kicks it away and removes her hand from her side. He curses at the amount of blood. This needs stitches. 

“My love, what happened?” he asks, hoping the theory he has isn’t true. He sees the tears running down her face and the way her mouth opens and closes. She has no idea how to answer. The hiccups of her crying make it even harder. Instead of waiting for an answer, Rafe washes his hands and gets the first aid kit in her bathroom. He uses the bandage wrap inside it to catch the blood, instructing her to use it to apply pressure whilst he guides her to his car. The drive to the hospital is silent. 

———

Y/N told the medical practitioner the truth as to how she got the cuts and scars. She couldn’t lie with Rafe in the room. He had offered to step out, except she asked him to stay. She was tired of lying. It only added to her exhaustion. Y/N didn’t have to say much before the doctor excused herself to get a hospital psychiatrist. Rafe said nothing as she described the anguish she felt. He felt a sharp stab to his heart at every word she said, criticizing himself for not seeing the mental pain his girlfriend was in. 

With the doctor gone, he speaks up. “Is there anything I can do right now that can help you feel more comfortable?” She appreciates that he doesn’t assume that there is an easy fix to this or that at the moment there is something quick he can do to make her feel better. His focus on her comfort causes a flutter in her stomach. She nods, “Can you just hold me?” He joins her on the hospital bed and pulls her to his side. The buzz of the lights is the sole thing that can be heard for a while. “This isn’t your fault,” she clarifies, concerned that he might think it. He kisses her temple, “I know. Thank you for trusting me enough to be in the room when you told the doctor what happened. This isn’t your fault either and you are so brave for asking for help. If you want, I will be here to help you every step of the way.” A different kind of relief comes over her. She feels a glimmer of hope that she doesn’t have to do this alone. “I want you here,” she whispers, pressing her face into his side. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

[neetily]

Kinktober 2024 — Ghost Kylar

— ✧ pairing: M!Kylar / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 6,988 — ✧ warnings: ghost, ghost sex, yandere, brief depiction of self harm, major character death (duh, he’s a ghost), masochism, blood, dub con, kylar is cringe as fuck, public sex, biting, creampie, knifeplay — ✧ synopsis: it's ironic, isn't it? how the one thing he wants most in this world is the one thing he can't have... his existence does have its advantages though, some that you'll experience intimately!

— ✧ A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! thank you for your patience. enjoy some kylar fun :D...

— ✧ kinktober masterlist

You’d think that dying and being turned into an ignored ghost would be an absolute hindrance, right? The whole… being incorporeal ordeal might present some issues sometimes, for some people, he imagines. Unable to fulfil that terrible itch to touch, to be touched, floating in a relative void of nothingness for all eternity just because of one stupid, rash decision. It’d be a pain for sure, he thinks, if he was completely disallowed to touch at all. But perhaps his excessive yearning for you is like magic, in the sense of being strong enough to bend the rules of existence itself to allow him a little, just enough feeling for him to be satisfied.

For now, at least.

And isn’t that proof enough of his love for you? That he was made to be with you, just as you were for him? Surely, given that every other ghost he’s met thus far has complained about the lack of literally anything, and how he must be so lucky to be allowed the privileged of reaching out to you on any God given occasion, that is proof. It’s certainly not luck that had him end up here, is it? No, it could never be…

Instead, he puts it down to love, plain and simple.

Though he did very little of loving you in his life prior, publicly regarding. Far too afraid of approaching you in fear of scaring you away with his… well, people call him weird for a reason, right? Now at least, he figures it might a good time to catch up on all those missed opportunities he was silly not to take before. It’s what he’s due for his patience, right? For committing the ultimate proclamation of love, undying in his quest to make you his.

He hadn’t intended on dying, to be honest with you. Carving your name into his arm one lonely night to comfort himself— he was just too sloppy with it. But what else could you ever hope to expect from a man who was rock hard at the mere thought of having you brand him forever, self inflicted or not. All the blood rushing to his cock before even grabbing the knife; it’s a wonder he even managed to pass from blood loss due to how hard his cock throbbed for you, blade in his shaky hand and oh so sharp. Sharpened just for this occasion, y’know? Especially for you, nothing but the best would ever do for his girl! And oh, how the slow drag of the pointed tip across his goose-bumped skin felt so good, had his cock all leaky and trembling in excitement just hovering the point above his arm. He hadn’t had much luck catching your attention thus far, regrettably sticking to the shadows in the meantime while you flirt and skirt around the whole school. But surely, with his new permanent tattoo, he’d be able to catch your eye—and hopefully a little more, yeah?

Trouble is, he’s a filthy masochist. A downright depraved mess of a man, erection upright and throbbing in anticipation as he cautiously tilts the tip of the knife against his soft skin. The expectation of it all, giddy with hope that this will once and for all secure his rightful place by your side, proving how only he can be your one and only true love, causes him to miscalculate just how deep he needs to carve his love for you. The strong bite of the knife, hot against his searing flesh, feels so fucking good— enough to have his hips jutting forward in an attempt to fuck the air as well as he’d like to fuck into your pretty princess pussy. It’s immediately dizzying, a horrible misuse of his love for you, but nonetheless a declaration that gets him off like nothing before. Instantly addicting in just how much it hurts, a choked hiss escaping his pouty lips as he digs in, digging as deep as he can with the knife to showcase just how far he’s willing to go for you, even if you aren’t actually present.

And the blood that drips from the first letter of your name should have been the first worrying sign, he knows. But isn’t that what made it all the more exciting in the end? The lack of thought, impulsively seeking more of that red hot high. Gushing from his open wound in waves, turning his arm a sticky red as a permanent stain of just how much he adores you. It’s sickening, really, how the black spots in his vision and the fluttering lashes only coaxed him into continuing, messily dragging the knife across his arm to start the next letter of your name— but alas. He’s always been weaker and smaller than most, and there’s only so much blood one man can lose before death comes for him. It’s not that he was surprised about the outcome given the circumstances, honestly! It’s just… Different. Yeah. Not as bad as the other ghosts he’s came across have claimed— but then again, none can match just how much love he holds for you, he’s certain.

Loves you enough to pester you any and every chance he gets, the one living soul he’s still yet tethered too. He imagines it’s got something to do with the fact that you aren’t fully his yet, and when you are and he inevitably has to leave, he’ll be waiting patiently for your arrival on the other side. But for now, it’s fun to simply exist by your side, to have you be the only one left to notice him; as he’s always ever wanted, really. And, to run his ghostly fingertips up and down your exposed arms, tickling you for attention while you enter the classroom is pleasure enough.

“Kylar—” you whisper shout at him in return, intending to scold, no doubt. But all it does is excited him some more, like the fucking ghoul he truly is, and always has been. A wretched excuse of a man, little fucking pervert, only you get to see his true side now. “Not. Here.”

Though he loathes to be back in this prison, he’s aware that you’ve got grades to keep up on where he doesn’t. And if he’s honest, it’s not so bad being back only because now he can sit besides you every class, every day. Back when he was alive, this was one of his ultimate dreams. And if all it takes is to pass away and to float by your side for eternity to do just that, then he thinks he’d kill himself a million times over just to prolong this dream. Standing by your side through it all, even if all merely consists of keeping you company through your morning math class like the dutiful boyfriend he is.

He always wondered how you did in maths. The school schedule disallowed him from visiting you during such early morning hours, and he always hated sitting anxiously in his own class all alone, eager to get out of it as soon as possible . Not solely because he was regularly bullied in class by his peers, ridiculed to no end for his antsy attitude and twiddling thumbs— stupid, the lot of them. His one regret is not having the time to get back at them some way, somehow. But he was also eager to leave class because that meant he was one step closer to you. Always you, thinking, watching, dreaming, you, you, you. He’d endure the torment of fellow students so long as he survived long enough to simply sit beside you for that one hour during English class together. That, truly, was the highlight of his day. Every fucking day. So much so that he found himself missing the bullying and the shoving and the name calling at the weekends only because he wasn’t in school to see you.

There was always solace in your scent, safety in your stares.

It didn’t so much matter to him that you never really paid him the time of day, always avoiding his wistful looks and deflecting his trembling touch. It didn’t bother him that you’d sneer down at him, spitting those same hurtful words that his bullies so often did, too. It’s okay, he gets it. You were just trying to survive, right? He’d never fault or blame you for that, not when he does the exact same thing. But deep down, you like him, don’t you? You just had to protect yourself, make sure that you didn’t also become a lonely little target like him.

He’d have killed them for you if you asked though, y’know?

Lest his blade get dirtied though, he’s glad that you never. Only so that he could kill himself in such a pure way, untainted by others gross stink and sweat upon his blade. Now, as he watches you sit in math class with hawk eyes, one hand precariously placed upon your shoulder to remind you of his presence, you can rest assured that he’s doing so only with the best, most clean intentions. His tummy filling with butterflies at the way you shiver under his touch, the pencil in your hand wobbling in your unsure grip as his cold courses through your system.

“Sorry,” he whispers to you, though there’s really no need to. Nobody else can see him, he’s almost certain… at least no one else seems to react to him. But old habits die hard or something, and he doesn’t want to get you in trouble for chatting to him during class. “Am I still too cold? I don’t mean to be, I don’t think I can help it, I--”

A shoulder shrug has his hand falling from your body, and he can’t help but to smile wide at the way you continue trying to communicate with him in spite of the orders by River to stay quiet. You’re trying for him, that’s all that matters to his unbeating heart.

“Got it. Too cold, sorry.” He quips, making sure to keep his voice low enough so as to not annoy you, but also so that he has a better chance of hearing your bored little sighs. The huffs of concentration as you do your best to work through the questions presented before you. He always did admire your work ethic, and it’s a genuine joy to be offered the privilege of watching you hard at work this morning. The little tips and taps of your pencil against the old wooden desk, scribbles on your work book, even the slight creaks and squeaks of your school chair from under your bored wiggles. More than anything, he simply adores just watching you. From every angle, behind any shadow. You’re just so perfect to him, even when you ignore his circling attempts, stalking around you like some sort of overbearing teacher— or shark.

He doesn’t mean to be weird, it’s just… Despite not being with you for very long in his more ghostly appearance, he can’t stop wanting to watch you. Creeping around you at every opportunity— you were the first person he thought to haunt when he realised his predicament fully. And now, knowing that not only is his temptation going unnoticed by those around him, but that you specifically are allowed to bear witness to his wanting, is everything he could have ever asked for and more.

Well, besides asking for his touch to return to its normal heated self, for your benefit solely. But coldness has its play reasons too, right? And he’s so sure you’d get used to it eventually, and he doesn’t mind waiting for as long as you take. Because he loves you. And because he doesn’t have anything else worth doing with his boring existence now, too.

Besides continuing to dote upon you.

Which is what he plans on doing, leaning closer in from behind you, intending on playfully distracting you from your work with a quick peck on your cheek; if not for the fact that something, or someone else, steals your attention away from him before his rightful opportunity.

Lamentably, he turns his head with your own snap turn, a scowl present on his face before he even considers the possibility of who might have called your attention before him. Instead, he’s upset merely that he doesn’t get to see your reaction. Surely it’s one of annoyance that you wear, right? How dare you interrupt my studies, leave me and my ghostly boyfriend alone before I report you!

In an ideal world, that’s how he’d like you to react. And, perhaps a little selfishly, that’s how he expects you to react. A quick dismissal, a rude awakening to whatever sap decides to distract you from your hard work, studying so prettily for him...

But he’s dead. And that certainly isn’t ideal, so he doesn’t fully expect your reaction to be perfect either. It’s okay, there’s time to work on it… in this life and in your own after life. But alas, the rude awakening that greets him upon coming face to face with Whitney’s horrible leer rocks him to his core. His fists automatically balling up at his sides in an attempt to protect himself from one of his biggest bullies, ready to fight back if need be— he’s already went ahead and killed himself anyway. But of all people, it just had to be his arch nemesis that threatens to dirty you with that eye fucking, huh? Fucking typical, though he obviously could tell that Whitney sat behind you in math class— not in the least because you’ve complained time and time again about just how much that man bothers you, he had been silently hoping, fucking wishing to be left alone with you. Just this once. Is that too much to ask?

Hasn’t his death been payment enough?

Or better yet, his genuine lifetime of pain and suffering, standing between you and the bullies as much and as often as he could, should be worth at least a look in his direction, right? Not that he’s mad at you, God, never… rather, he’s angered by Whitney’s continued dislike of him, going so far as to bully him in death, too. How Whitney is so wanting, always, of what does not belong to him. The sultry “Got the answers, slut?” That falls from his lips is disgusting, an immediate wave of nausea crawling up Kylar’s throat in response; if only his voice could be heard. Whitney never fails to irk him, and it saddens him to learn that there’s very little escape even after his passing.

Thankfully, though, you tell him to piss off.

“Atta girl!” Kylar commends you, beaming down at you from behind as the words he’s always wanted to say roll off his tongue so easily, now that he’s in constant privacy with just you. And, dare he admit, your refusal to submit to the bully has his cock twitching in his pants. Just a little, like a small warning. It’s hot seeing you fight back, even more so when he’s convinced that you’re doing it in an attempt to be left alone with him some more.

But still, no reaction from you upon his praise. And still, Whitney tries to steal your attention off of his kind words, a sulking huff escaping him at the way you instantly allow the bully the privileged of looking at you, let alone talking to you.

Despair grips his dead heart, dead to all but you, phantom pangs of pain begging to console you when Whitney tugs on your hair so unfairly—he’d never do the same to you, y’know? He’d brush it if you’d let him, wash and dry it all for you in a heartbeat. He’d look after you so well, if only you’d look at him and not—

“What was that, slut?” Whitney glares at you in the same way Kylar has been unfortunate enough to stare back at the barrel of a gun, too. And it upsets him, terribly so. So much so that he finds himself standing between you and Whitney on instinct; though this is immediately ineffective given how translucent and invisible he is to all but you. Quick, he thinks to himself. Something else, something that’ll immediately have you exiting the unfair situation…

He doesn't have much time to think, so he hopes you’ll forgive him for his rash actions of spinning around and pecking your cheek just like he’d originally wanted to do all along… but you should forgive him, because you’re his, after all. And he’s only trying to help you at the end of the day.

“The fuck are you blushing for, freak?” Whitney’s voice continues to ring in his ears, and he can’t stop the creepy smile from tugging on his lips when witnessing the pretty pink that dusts your cheeks in response to his help. See, he knew you’d appreciate it!

“I can, um… Kiss you some more, if you’d like?” Kylar fights for your attention, though meek as he might be. He knows what’s best for you, obviously, but it’s easier for everyone involved if he makes you feel like it’s your decision, right? That’s what he read online, anyway, when researching about how to find a girlfriend…

But perhaps the double attention is a little too much for you to handle, the frown you wear in response is surely distaste borne out of Whitney’s incessant yapping, right?

It couldn’t be anything else. Certainly not because of him, he’s sure. Because he’s helping, isn’t he?

Seconds feel like minutes as you stare at—or is it through?—him. But before he has a chance to double check with you that he made the right decision—which he did, but sometimes you need a little reminding, of course—you steal the opportunity of speech away from him. A quick nod in his general direction, he can’t tell if it’s aimed more at him or Whitney, but what matters is that the glare that soon follows cannot be mistaken for anyone other than him.

So hot… has him tensing up in excitement.

“Excuse me.” You say, voice tense as your lips press into a thin line. “Sir,” You promptly raise your hand, and Kylar is so pleased that you’re standing up for yourself that he claps for you, cringe as it may be. Theres no one but you to witness it anyway. “Can I use the restroom?”

Oh, “Good idea,” Kylar commends you, racing around to the front of your desk in a genuine effort to help you pack up your things, forgetting that he’s a fucking ghost. It’s the one negative that he’s came to experience with his new existence— he wishes he could physically help you out some more. “Escape into the bathroom, a classic—”

River cuts him off with an exhausted: “If you must.” but Kylar can hardly complain. The sight of you collecting your items pairs nicely with the scoff Whitney lets out following your dismissal, and like the lost little puppy he is, Kylar eagerly follows you out of the classroom and into the school hallways with his metaphorical tail wagging happily behind him. Not a single fucking a care in the world, which makes a change in such a setting.

Because he helped. Because that’s the only thing he ever wants to do for the rest of his afterlife; help you. Be with you, be around you, slipping around hallway corners and into the girls bathroom with you— which he’s been inside of on occasions, in particular when stalking you during lunch break. He wonders if you ever noticed? Still, you enter into the same cubicle you always do— second from the left, closest to the wall. And he figures the fact that you slam the door on his face isn’t because you want him to leave you alone, but out of sheer frustration over the situation, over Whitney and his bullying tendencies. He forgives you for the rude action anyway, so it doesn’t really matter the reasons why.

He’s a ghost.

And he’s not so sure why you adopt such a look of surprise upon his passing through the door to be beside you, offering you a lovesick little grin in response.

“What are you— why did you follow me, Kylar?”

The amount of pain in your voice aches him, has him reaching out to tenderly stroke your cheek with a soft coo falling from his pouty lips.

“Wanted to make sure you were okay, mostly…” which is the Gods honest truth! More than anything, he wanted to check that you were doing okay in private, where he could look upon you with stars in his eyes and dote on you to his hearts content. Congratulations resting at the tip of his tongue over just how well you handled that situation, and reassurances caught in his throat over the fact that he’s always more than willing to help you in any situation, utilising his ghostly energy solely in an effort to make your life all the more comfortable. But your scathing tone is quicker than his love, and instead of all those well intentioned thoughts spilling from his anxiously bitten lips, a tut now resides behind his teeth.

You avoid his gaze with another reprimand. “Okay?” is all you initially say, and he wants so badly to beg at your feet, yes, yes, I helped, didn’t I? Didn’t I do so good? But you once again cut him off before he even has a chance of pleading his case. “I was doing fine until, until you—”

Ah. He understands better now, he thinks. It’s true, you were handling yourself so well, better than he ever did when face to face with some scumbag like Whitney. He had to commend you there! But, with his helpful kiss, you had enjoyed it so much so that it ended up distracting you into a flustered state, right? Poor baby… you just need taken care of, right? He can understand why that’d be frustrating, having to escape the classroom and into the bathroom to try and deal with all of those assumed butterflies in your tummy— one cannot easily explain the intricacies of harbouring a ghost boyfriend, right? You— you must have wanted to get him alone in private to playfully scold him or something, a knowing giggle crawling up his throat at how red and cute your little cheeks are when staring back at him.

This is the perfect place to reward you, no doubt. Somewhere hidden, though still in public. He’d have liked to have played with you in proper public, watch you struggle to contain your enjoyment in front of so many others— because what would you even say to them? Oh, don’t worry, my ghost boyfriend is just balls deep in me right now, that’s why I’m moaning so loudly! No, of course not! It’s something to work up to, he concedes to himself. And for now, he doesn’t mind playing with you in secret public… since it’s what you're obviously wanting, after all.

It’s his turn to interrupt you for once, though it pains him to even think about being so rude to you, he thinks you might appreciate his efforts in the end. So long as he’s reading your signals right; there’s no way that he isn’t, his death and subsequent haunting of you has already proven just how strong his connection to you is… he could never be wrong when it comes to you.

“It’s okay, look,” he grabs your attention, one cold hand atop your head to gently push your vision down, until your eyes are in line with his crotch. He wants to show you just how much he appreciates you, how much he loves you and adores when you fight back, standing up for yourself is so attractive to him. And, more selfishly, “Look at what you do to me—” he huffs, wanting to help you understand exactly what your actions have stirred up within him today, so early on, too. You’re just so perfect, such a pretty girl to haunt, he can’t help but to want to express his feelings for you in the most plain way possible, y’know?

Front and centre, under your watchful eye, his cock throbs for you. Hard and heavy even if a little translucent; it still yet pulses with life, hidden under the loose pants he managed to die in. Not his first choice of clothing to be stuck in for eternity, but it gets the job done he supposes. And by that, he means that you can clearly see how it tents in your direction, dribbling precum all over himself simply from looking at that pretty expression you now wear. Brows furrowed and mouth agape, a gasp tumbling from your pretty pouty lips no doubt from his appreciation of you.

In awe, aren’t you? Of his utter dedication, how loyal he is to you, much like a dog. Tugging his bottoms off to wag his cock at you like a treat— “Got me all riled up.” he smiles genuinely, a soft sigh escaping him at the way you run your fingers through your hair, bashfully avoiding the rock hard cock right in front of you. He oh so loves how cute you are when you get all shy, light loving laughter spilling from his lips as he places a cool hand on your shoulder.

“There isn’t much room in here…” he thinks out loud, humming in faux thought for just a moment before surprise swivelling you around so that your back is now facing him. And the elbow you send into his side only turns him on some more, silly. He enjoys it when you fight back, because every punch and kick from you feels so much like a kiss, a reminder of the life he once had as pain courses through him and pools in his cock. “But there’s enough, I think.”

And if there isn’t, well… Perks of having a ghost for a boyfriend— he can just phase through the stall and still fuck into you. Half in and out, it doesn’t matter. You’re the only person, and thing in general, that he can meaningfully interact with.

His cock automatically taps against your ass when you teasingly squirm around with want, hypnotising him with your movements from side to side. Like you’re encouraging him, right? The way your knees buckle from under you as he towers behind you is so cute too, coaxing some more pre to leak from his tip just for him to smear it against your school skirt, a soft cooing tut escaping him as he tugs on the end of it, your panties soon following, and letting them drop just enough to have his cock pressing against your bare ass cheeks. And oh, how warm you are against his cold tip, prompting him to shiver against you when you refuse to let up tempting him with those pretty wiggles.

It only turns him on more seeing how excited you are for him to show his appreciation, those cute little muffles and whimpers you sound as he angles his hips down so that his spectral cock can rub between your soft and squishy thighs is soooo nice, something worth dying for, he thinks to himself.

And there’s so much satisfaction to be had in grabbing your wrists before you know what’s happening to you, pinning them above your head as you’re forced to submit over the toilet below you. There’s nowhere for you to run, nowhere that you can hide from him now that he’s dead— and isn’t that just so fucking exciting? So hot to him, his cock twitching incessantly against your flushed skin with a sweet sigh escaping him. You always have him feeling like a dirty little virgin again every time he dotes on you like this, his hips stuttering against you on instinct; it’s fucking silly how you have him feeling so good from relatively very little already.

Which just proves to him further that not only do you belong to him, but that you want this sort of treatment too. You could never convince him otherwise.

And how could you not want him anyway? With the way your body tenses up for his enjoyment, hands balled into tiny little fists for stability against the wall while he pins you in place. Your pretty pussy—God he’s so in love with her, wants to eat her out forever and ever, mark her all up with his seed, worship and lick and fuck her always, you’ve got no fucking idea the things he’d do for just a smidge of your cunt—leaking all over him, drooling slick up and down his cock for him to gag at; he’d die over and over again for this cunt.

He’s only so riled up because he witnessed your bravery too, but honestly, just being near you is enough to set him off. His grip on your wrists tightening while his other hand passes through the stall wall; sometimes he forgets that he can’t lean on anything but you for support. Which you happily accept, right? His free hand coming down to lock onto your waist, grabbing and pinching as a means to stay somewhat present in the moment, but he always inevitably loses his mind a little when it comes to you. Squeezing at your side from the delight of physical touch, finally. Balls just aching and heavy with seed for you as he rubs one out between your thighs idly, lazy with his strokes in the hopes of warming you up to how cold his spectral body is.

The things he wants to do to you. The things he will do to you.

“Wanna keep you like this forever—” he huffs, wondering if the breath that fans across the back of your neck is hot or cold, though it doesn’t truly matter. You shiver into it regardless, in turn choking his cock a little tighter against the fat of your thighs to have him choking on thin air above you. “So pretty, so proud of you today, God… Wanna praise you forever ‘n ever ‘n—”

He cuts himself off with a moan, his cock tip severely sensitive due to being unable to so much as rut against anything other than you. It’s only natural that he then relies on you a little more, right? He doesn’t mean to, but he simply has to; lest go goes insane and dead. But he hopes that in return for relying on you more than he should, he can make it up to you with how his cock slips and slides between your folds, rock hard and pulsing pleasantly with each knock against your clit. All sloppy with your slick— because duh, you want this reward, right?

Evident from how pitchy and strained your voice is when you regard him with: “Kylar, will you— quit it—!”

A sly smirk tugs on his lips in response. Sneaky and mean, a low sigh crawling up his throat before he gives you exactly what you want. Impatient little girl, it’s like you know that he’d do literally anything for you, whenever for you. Whatever princess wants, princess gets…

Which is exactly why he stops humping, as per your request. Drawing his hips back so that his tip catches perfectly on your cute little hole, the hand on your waist dipping a little further down to spread your ass cheek to the side for his viewing pleasure, before he rather unfairly thrusts his hips forward in one fell swoop and fucks you so full of his ghost cock that you’re left gasping for air. Nice and cooling, right? Especially against such soft and warm squishy insides— yin and yang. You expertly match him, his better half.

All wind is knocked out of him upon entering your sweet heat too, don’t worry. You’re not the only one struggling to take the stretch, carving his size out of your hole as a means of ownership. As if to say: this is my cunt. And he wont lie, part of why he immediately settles into a quick pace of in and out is to prove as much to you too. To prove to Whitney, look, see how much she’s gasping for me? How she tightens up with every pass of his throbbing cock in and out, only pulsing for you, because of you. Nothing else quite literally does it for him, his head thrown back in immediate sheer bliss, his own little personal heaven bent over before him in such a dirty cramped little space…

You deserve better, absolutely. And he’d love to give you just that later tonight when he follows you home, too. But a good boyfriend listens to his girlfriend, even if she doesn’t speak. You may not have voiced your want for him to fuck you raw in the school bathroom today, but he knew. Could pick up on all your little tells and non verbal communication so easily— and he’s pleased to know that he listened well given how your tight cunt just leaks over him. A loud slap surely to be heard from his fucks in and out— if he wasn’t a ghost, that is.

Another point as to why he must be fated to be with you, right? His groans and moans, the way his heavy with seed balls slap against your puffy little slit as you whine and wriggle all pretty for him; it’s all only for you. The sole listener, the only one able to hear and see him. In return, he muses to himself that if anyone were to walk in on this scene, him balls deep in your pretty pussy, hunched over you like a fucking dog in heat… they’d see nothing but your gaping hole struggling to take him. And isn’t that just so fucking hot? How you must stay quiet, lest anyone sees you in such a compromising situation? Nobody would fucking believe you, and he can feel the power he holds over you course through him with every greedy hump forward, and every quick draw back. Slamming his cock into you, fucking the breath right out of you with the weight he throws behind his possessive thrusts.

“Perfect—” spills from his smiling lips, tugged into a cheek aching grin the moment you begged him for more, like a good girl. “You’re so, so perfect, ah—“ his voice is high pitched, cunt rendering him useless, just a moaning mess of a dead man as he loses himself inside of you. Eyes rolled back and jaw slack with open mouthed sighs— he even drools on you. Just a little, in sheer pleasure. All he wants is to make you feel good, praise dripping from the end of his cock to leave your insides all sticky and goopy with precum, but you make it difficult for him to focus on the task at hand when you’re breathing so heavily like that, and tensing up to make it easier for him to thrust into you.

“Never gonna leave you.”

And he’s so happy to hear your muffled whimpers in response to his reassurances, coaxing him into stuttering his hips into you, unable to keep up with the amount of love and devotion pouring from his every greedy grab of your heated skin and wet smack of his cock into your gushing cunt. Like she can tell just how serious he is, loyal to you in life and in death, refusing to let up on showing you his affection with fast enough fucks to have him on his tippy toes for you. It’s silly, how he’s just so easy for you. A simp through and through, strengthening the grip he has on your wrists only to pin them behind your back, using your own body against you as leverage to better fuck into you. And he doesn’t hear you complaining— quite the contrary, actually.

Gently, he hushes you. A soft sound pressed right against the shell of your ear, followed by a greedy groan of his own at the deeper angle he now fucks you in. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you, right?” his whispers against your soft skin, humming in faux thought over the imagined scene of you getting caught. It’s hot, of course, imagining the shocked look on your face upon the stall door swinging opening, his cock throbbing harder when he thinks about how he wouldn’t stop, not even for a single fucking second in the hopes of publicly claiming you as his own. God— he’s so close just from thinking about it.

It’d be the perfect display, he thinks. Pure ownership, indulgence at its finest. He only wishes he had the guts to do so when he was alive, cock balls deep in your tight little angel cunt for all to see just how well you squirm on it, like you were fucking made to take his cock. For him and him only, a ring of cream forming at the base of his cock to prove that he still has life left in him yet.

Even if it feels like he’s fighting for his life, fucking so deep into your cunt that he’s sure his cold tip is rocking against your cervix, kissing her so full of precum that you’re fucked into squelching around him. He’s just so sick for you, completely and utterly down bad in every sense, that he can’t help but to keep going. Ignoring your cries and pleads for something— he’s too busy getting his cock wet to fully listen to your words. Only that you sound good, making his cock tremble with impatience as his balls grow taut and his hips fight to keep up with the speed he wants to fuck you at.

It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen over by now, getting fucked by the ghost of a rabbit behind you.

“Close—” he chokes out for you, inhaling as much air as he possibly can in an attempt to keep up with himself, but his thrusts falter regardless. Failing to fucking you at a consistent speed and rhythm, caring selfishly only for his own enjoyment as he pounds you uncomfortable against the toilet wall. “So close,” he gasps, genuine and fraught with so much need, the tight suck of your cunt coaxing him closer, as if instinctively trying to help get him off faster, proves to be all he needs in the end.

Because it’s you. Because he’s downright obsessed with you, he doesn’t need much else to get off like a filthy pervert but you, to be honest.

And like the slut he is for you, he bends you over some more, chomping down on your clothed shoulder in a feeble attempt to leave more of his mark. The resulting sob you let out at the painful reminder of his existence forever by your side is what really does him in, fat ropes of cum shooting from his tip to surprise him into pained whimpers of enjoyment. Still, his hips don’t stop, fully milking himself to completion inside of your warm and wet cunt, filling her up enough to have some of his seed drip out and down to the bathroom tiles with muted thuds!

You’re so perfect, so fucking pretty and pliant, unable to escape him forever and ever. He wants to fuck you to death, wants to lock you up and keep you in his pocket so that he can praise your cunt whenever he wants— which is always. Let no one else even think about looking at you, breed you forever and always as thanks simply for existing. Making him feel so good, taking his cock so well—

Heavy breaths escape him as he soon slows down, still yet fucking into you at a lazy pace to make sure you get every single drop of seed he has to offer you. It’s what you deserve, after all, for being such a good girl for him. For being his good girl, more specifically. A sadistic smile making its way to his lips when he wonders if his cum will be seen dripping out of you by others, or if that too will be hidden from everyones view but your own. Your own dirty little secret to share with him; how romantic, huh?

“Love you,” he rushes to sputter as soon as he can catch his breath again, idly stroking himself off still while buried deep in your cunt, nuzzling against your neck while you shiver from under him. “Love you so much, ‘m so happy to be with you, you’re so pretty and perfect and— oh—” your cunt distracts him, as always. Squeezing and suckling his tip in his idle state, a breathy laugh escaping him at your lewd display of continued want.

“S’okay,” he reassures you, humming sweetly down your ear when you sniffle back at his lack of thought. Poor thing, it’s a shame you sound so nice when you cry. “Haven’t forgot about you, promise, just— lemme pull out, okay? Will look after you, make you feel good too.”

Anything to keep you by his side, really. It’s only a bonus that break time is soon approaching, and you’re gonna struggle to keep your mouth shut once he has a chance to get his lips on you. Determined to prove his existence through you by way of getting on his knees on the dirty bathroom stall, tongue already poking out in unadulterated excitement to make you feel good. Better than ever before, so that you’ve got no choice but to accept that he’s your fated mate.

So that you’re forced to accept him by your side, forever and ever. Even after death, you can’t and won’t escape him.

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Why You Shouldn't Care About Theme (as a writer)

"Theme" is another word like "worldbuilding" and "plot hole" that writers put way too much stock into without clear definition. It's often thought to be one of the most important things in your story, one of the defining traits of creative writing, but it can be hard to pin down, and some pervasive definitions are actively harmful to the writing process. Let's talk about that.

A common misconception about theme is that it's the story's "message." Under this definition, a theme of The Great Gatsby would be that generation wealth is a hollow substitute for genuine human enrichment, love, etc. A theme of Hamlet would be to not kill yourself. But this idea of a book's message misses the point of why we read at all. Reading is a relationship between the author and the reader; to interpret text, the author puts their experiences in writing, and you bring your experiences to its reading. In other words, you as the reader create meaning from a story. You give the story its messages. The author's only purpose is to transcribe their worldview and experiences, and the best authors can sway the empathy of the reader towards those experiences. Anything greater than this, any book that moralizes, preaches, dictates, is gaudy, emotional propaganda. Imagine a novel where throughout the book, the author is telling you about the toxic environmental effects of unwalkable cities. While true, narrative fiction is a realm of characters and story, not essays. Readers pull meaning from a novel because they think and feel about a character's struggle and relate it to their own. So a message about The Great Gatsby is that generation wealth is hollow because we as readers live in an age of unprecedented wealth disparity; a message about Hamlet is to not kill yourself because we as readers have felt pretty down in the dumps sometimes and have maybe thought about suicide. But our experiences could be different: if we're generationally wealthy, we might read Gatsby as a celebration; if we have an awful stepfather, we might read Hamlet first as a story of revenge than of introspection. Strong authors make you sympathize with the experiences they've gone through--Fitzgerald himself was a wealthy, popular man and saw firsthand the effects of wealth, and Shakespeare probably felt rough around the emotional edges at times--but ultimately, deciding a text's "messages" is up to the reader.

So if we can't control the messages of our writing, what is theme? I like to think of it as "whatever a text is about," and that about word carries some ambiguity. Is Gatsby about money? Yes, but there's more to that. You can think right now about a plot element your WIP is about, but as authors, we want to find that greater depth. That's what we call theme.

Common writing advice tells you to plot out your theme, that greater depth, before drafting the novel. Figure out that Gatsby is a story about generational wealth being a hollow substitute for romance before anything else. But when you think about it, this is crazy advice. Themes like this can only come from our characters and how they interact with the world, and how our characters act is always going to stray in some way away from our plans for them. Writing that deeper theme, then, is impossible to plan (unless you're the most extreme plotter and have found success like that, then keep doing what you're doing. But you reading this almost certainly are not in that camp, let's be honest). So how do we get there?

Before you start drafting, think about the surface-level "abouts." Don't go deep yet. Just think about what's pressing on your mind. If you want to take a very slight moralistic bent here, do so, but be sure not to go into specifics (that's for the characters to do). For my first novel, I wanted to write about friendship responsibilities, family responsibilities, and friendship; for my second novel, church camp, romance, and evangelical culture; for my current novel, the role of story in culture, honor, familial trauma, and cultural perceptions of gender. Some of these took on moral detail--evangelical culture is bad--but most didn't. As you're writing, your characters will discover that deeper meaning. Again, your characters have to and will by nature of being part of the narrative. Your readers interact with the story, not with you.

In my first novel, I came to the thematic conclusion that too many responsibilities degrade individual identity, but too few leave someone empty; in the second novel, I concluded that evangelical culture places restrictive boxes on what romance looks like, and on how to interact with and resolve traumatic events. But I didn't come up with these--my characters did, and I learned from them in the exact same way any reader would. Similarly, a reader might interact with my characters and come to completely different conclusions. This is normal, okay, and encouraged.

You may also find other themes popping up as you write. In my second novel, popularity and social capital became a huge cog in the machine. Let these fresh themes surprise you, and run with them.

Ultimately, you can't control what your readers take away from your story. Your goal as a writer is to create characters so rich and deep and intimate (not in the romantic sense, unless you're into that) that the reader can bring their experiences to the text and find meaning. We cannot worry about this before starting a writing project, because we can't control it, and thinking too much about it will muddy the waters of what actually matters, what we can affect. And when you start to sense those deeper meanings emerging in your story, run with them, flesh them out, and embody them in the struggles of characters.

[nomoreusername]

Not Proud

⚠️ Self harm ⚠️

Pairing:Newt x female reader

Summary:As you're ready to give in again and cut, Newt catches and comforts you.

Requested by @newts-limp

I wasn't proud of it. Not in the slightest bit. If anything, I was ashamed, but I didn't know how to stop. There's just something about the blade that seems to call to me, telling me that it was the only thing that would ever understand me.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’m so addicted to this thing that it truly is the only thing that matters. Maybe it's the only thing that can take the pain away. If I focus on this pain I don't have to think about the other kind. The kind on the inside that makes me want to close my eyes and not wake up.

I’m not suicidal. I don't think so, but I wouldn't exactly mind if something happened to me. I just don't have it in me to care anymore. I don't have it in me to have hope that anything good will happen soon or at all. Getting out and being actually happy and meeting other girls all feels like some dream that I’ll never get to reach.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath as I held it over my waist. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't good for me. It wasn't a solution, but I had to. I needed to do this. I had already gone a week without it, and if I didn't cut soon I was going to go crazy. I was going to lose it. I was going to do something worse than even this.

They itch. The cuts itch the most when they're healing so I just won't let them heal. It's as simple as that. Just like it's so simple to drag a blade across my stomach until I don't want to die.

I was desperate. I was really, really desperate.

I know it's wrong. I know it's an addiction, but I won't quit. I can't, but I don't need to. This isn't going to kill me. This isn't hurting anyone, and it's like I have something to fill the void inside of me. It's fine. It's fine, it's fine, it’s fine.

Taking a breath, as I went to do it my hut door opened. Frozen in disbelief, I stared at Newt who stared at me, holding my shirt up and placing a razor on my stomach. That also meant fresh cuts and old scars were on display, revealing to him just how messed up I actually am. Even though I was the best at hiding it, there was no way to brush this off.

“Hi,”I got out, managing to put my shirt down. Then, before either of us could say another word, I broke down. As I was shaking I heard my razor clank to the floor, gravity taking my biggest curse and worst blessing. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I kept mumbling incoherent apologies.

“It’s okay. It's okay, love. It's okay,”He said quickly, shutting my door and sitting beside me. Shaking my head, I kept wiping my eyes just for more tears to follow.

“It's okay. It’s okay. You're alright,”He repeated. As I buried my face in the crook of his neck the lump in my throat, along with the guilt in my stomach, seemed to get worse as he rubbed my back.

“I’m sorry,”I repeated.

“It's going to be okay. I promise. It’s all going to be fine,”He soothed. With my harsh sobs turning to sniffles, I kept my eyes close as I clung to him. Not even about to speak, I essentially shut down. While this usually happened when I was done feeding my mind and body's demand for pain, I was just so drained from it all. Knowing I had been caught was surreal, but I also knew that some things would probably change. Things I probably didn't want.

“Y/N, let's go to sleep?”He suggested. Not seeing the point in saying no, I nodded my head. I mean it wasn't like I was going to be getting any words out anytime soon. It wasn't like I even wanted to.

Laying down, I kept my head in his neck. With his arm still around me, he traced hearts on my skin, making sure his hands didn't touch my waist.

“I do love you. I will always love you. Nothing anyone says or does, even you, could ever make me stop,”He whispered. Keeping my eyes shut, I took a breath as I accepted that right now was the most peaceful I had felt in a long, long time.

I could never bear to lose him. Ever, ever.

But if I do in the future, I have him right now. He’s with me, and that has to be enough to make everything just a little less terrible.

[nothanksjohnny]

Hello! I saw your post on what if transformers saw as weird like guys who eat living things and hunt their friends.

Which was very fun to read, but do you think would happen if they saw a child’s child tooth fall out? Like Raf came up to Ratchet bloody mouth and holding a tooth up?

Id imagine most cybertronains would range from " get me the fuck of this planet" to " humans are disgusting" with a few in-between emotions and reactions. While I've enjoyed the headcanon that cybertronains shed like reptiles or insects leading to scars slowly fading from their permanent finish as well as adjusting to growth and upgrades that has occurred since the last shedding. Although teeth is a interesting addition to out metallic companions. While I've theorized that denta can aid in crushing raw energon and desperate need of fuel as well as just eating normal snacks on cybertron. Like lead sulfide crystals that are described to be quite the treat. As well as rusk sticks and so fourth.

While in the TFP universe if we consider how the team is a bit new to earth I'd imagine understanding human biology isn't something that was confronted. Even with other instances where cybertronains have resided on earth for a long period of time it seems beyond humans going "squish and crush" when you step on us most cybertronains lack any understanding of us and other organic life. Even decepticons have expressed discomfort at how we work. If taking into knockout looking up how we interface gives any window of how they feel.

When Raf was struck by dark energon it caused a great panic within all the bots. I'd imagine it was more that just seeing their companion ill and hurt. I'd imagine it was a new kind of fear. A hopelessness of not understanding, unable to help because your scared you'll do more harm than good. You don't know what's wrong and you can't help but get angry or shut down. Which is shown by Bumblebee who was quick to want to return the favor to Megatron. Ratchet showing high stress and frustration because for once he truly can't help. He can't help the very child who's helped them to many times. He isn't a medic at this momment. He's a bystander and that hurts him. Prime himself upon first sight of Rafael is scared. Rare to show emotion the widening of optics is a rare sight so deep into the war. While giving aid to Ratchet by assuring him being calm is best it's clearly shown Optimus is frustrated of this situation.

With time I'd imagine some instances of humans being humans occurs. Such as loosing teeth. By age twelve most children have lost their center incisors,lateral incisors, upper and lowered molars. Leaving the upper canines to fall out around age twelve. Knowing how teeth seem to love to fall out at the most random of momments id imagine this would be true with Rafael. Maybe after being picked up from school he got hungry and decided to eat a apple until later in the day where he,jack and Mike would be driven home and eat dinner or whatever they could find as a final meal. To give our senior medic and spark attack I'd find it more hilarious if this happened while he was at the base alone with the children. Muscle( what is the equivalent of muscle for cybertronains?) Memorie of everyday activities playing within the bass until a cruch and " oh just lost my tooth" seems to echo within the base.

Maybe it wouldn't have been as terrifying for the medic if their wasn't so much blood. ( cough exaggeration) Now poor Raf is being grabbed like a kitten who's mother is worried and now is being scanned for what's wrong. All he wanted to do was show his last of his baby teeth. The apple being to dense for his gums to be able to hold onto the tooth when he continued to bite. Now he's forced to sit on the medical birth as Ratchet is cursing in cybertronain. Fumbling with equipment as he once again realizes he doesn't have the right tools to help the child. This brings upon early times in the war when sparkling where harmed. Hurt and weeping for their lost or dead sires and creators. Bleeding and so small that it was difficult to get ones servos on the machines or equipment specifically made for them. So many parished. Reliving when all he could do was hold them and coo soft songs as their sparks dimmed and went out. The days when both decepticon and autobot could see the pain in each other's optics. One of the reasons why some became neutral unable to bare either insignia due to the young deaths.

A hurt sparkling meant death. And currently Rafael is hurt. Now Ratchet is holding child sparkling and cooing in cybertronian. Still scanning but slightly relived when he comes to find the bleeding has slowed and is stopping as time passes. Yet as the show has shown. Timing isn't always on their side. The beeping of the need of a ground bridge. Rafael tucked close to his chassis while the other begins ground bridge. Jack and Miko seeing the grumpy medic being so motherly..certainly has made then scratch their head. The action of losing a baby tooth was normal. All that was needed was a tissue and maybe some ice to help the pain a bit. Not to mention how frighten the medic had gotten upon first realization of Raf losing his tooth.

Once the rest of the team was informed of what had occurred a new found fear and respect was given to their human companions. As well as a brief explains from June on how yes it's normal for children to lose their teeth. No a child's teeth shouldn't just all fall out at once. And yes I'll download some medical books for you to read.

[dannyboy-writes]

Of thrones and dragons

Daenerys x male Dragonrider reader who's from ulthos? I will probably make a part to of this who knows

Ser Jorah had told Daenerys tales of Ulthos’ weather. The thick jungle.

Trees taller than she had ever seen and the murmur of wild creatures bristling her skin. 

Countless thoughts running through her mind. But one most present. She should’ve brought Drogon with her.

Click.

A broken branch? A booby trap? Or something else?

“Nobody move,” she whispered, raising an eyebrow at Greyworm.

A bright orange ray shone above them. Almost like sunlight.

Definitely warmer.

“Maybe he wasn’t a myth,” Missandei spoke softly.

Suddenly the beast dropped in front of them, with the Unsullied unpacking their spears, and Daenerys tensing all her muscles. Bracing herself.

Dark green scales covered the entirety of your dragon. His face stoic and with gritted sharp teeth. 

He was breathing slowly, Daenerys noticed. Calm, deep breaths.

But his eyes were focused on her. 

And not only his’, she realised. 

You dismounted softly from your beast, ignoring completely the army in front of you. Their spears were sharp and in your direction. 

Every soldier was looking at you more menacingly than the last.

Your eyes however, were focused on her.

Long, pale hair, with braids as long as her waist. Falling completely over her back.

Her eyes were inviting, but there was a tint of worry. Of uncertainty.

You shifted your eyes towards your beast, caressing his side slowly until he calmed with you.

“Are you y/n?” She asked.

Quickly your eyebrow raised in your forehead. “Who are you?”

“I’m Daenerys, of house Targaryen. Blood of Old Valyria.”

“And what brings you to the wilds, your majesty,” you mocked.

“I’ve been searching for you for some time. I was starting to believe you were a myth.” She stopped. “Or a ghost.”

“Ah,” you smiled. “And what’s to say I’m not.

“Terrible dangers lie in this land. Untamed beasts and whatmore.” You grinned.

“And tamed ones?” 

“Oh, yes, those tend to be the worst. But don’t worry, Wildfire here won’t do you any harm,” you smiled, patting your beast. “Nor will I.” 

She smiled and called down her army. “I am in search of a dragon rider, some people called him the best and mightiest of them all. I’ve heard tales of the riders of Uthos.”

“Oh, did you? What did you hear if you may?”

“I heard the forests of Uthos had beasts so swift that their scales blended in with the greenery. And their riders had unmatched skills. Like nothing ever seen in the entire world.”

“Yes, that is true. And why would you need a dragon rider with unmatched skills.” You asked, “Blood of old Valyria you said, you’re supposed to have dragons as well. Although your kind faded with time, I assume the dragons remained.” 

“Sadly, no.”

“Whoever told you that is a liar, and you a fool for believing them. Dragons will outlive us all. Just as we outlive birds, and them ants. It’s the way of the world.”

Her face went stoic. “Will you help me in my quest to conquer Westeros, y/n?” She inquired.

You laughed, “Why would I, I don’t give a damn about Westeros. I don’t even know you, for all that.”

“You could have a throne,” she offered.

“I have a throne, or do you see me taking you to speak with someone about this? Why would I want another one? And one so distasteful.” You grabbed a stone from the ground throwing it lazily, “Why do you?” 

[cottoncandybitchfuck]

Neverafter

“Because you were lied to does not mean that everything was a lie. Do not take the crimes of those who have manipulated us and put them at the feet of the world." -Cinderella

“The real friends, the ones that make miracles happen, the ones greater than any treasure you could find on any adventure, they see the wolf in you and love it too.” -Grandma 

“Purpose, true purpose is always down the scarier path through the darker part of the forest.”-Grandma 

"You are seeing something you absolutely should not see, the face of a divinity you do not worship, the smile of a devil you never believed in." -DM Brennan

“The face moves as though no expression of contempt can satisfy it.” -Brennan

“Real? I don’t give a shit. I don’t come from a nice story. I believe in you, and I believe in me, and I think we’re just real enough.” -Scheherazade 

“The thing that’s approaching you, It’s not as vast as what you perceived in the ink, but it’s closer to that than it is to you. And the problem with this thing is that unlike the things in the ink, it’s getting bigger, and it’s getting angrier. And it knows you.” -Brennan

“As the Gander and Goose have their powers within the realms of the Neverafter, times of shadow, times of plenty, the wolf is death which is endings. Which in a land of stories endings are perhaps the most important thing.” -The Fairy with the Turquoise Hair

“I met death, and death wants me to live! I don’t want to go back to my other story where I listen to my fucking elders!” -Ylfa 

“Gerard has already lived his story, and what happens after happily ever after is that more things happen, or I’m just going to be a two dimensional piece of paper.” -Gerard 

“Do you think that you found true love, or do you think you just found the first person that could turn you back into a prince?”-Rosamund

“Don’t learn lessons from my torment.” -The Gander

“Sometimes when you feel like your whole point is to be a helper, you just have to help at any cost, and that’s pretty unhelpful. Sometimes I didn’t have a good answer, and I should have just said that, and I’ll do better to just tell you when I don’t know.” -Cricket

 “You don’t get beginnings without endings, okay?” -Ylfa

“Some things simply are, and in time, all things will end. But if you fear that you have made a pact with something that cannot live within your heart, then what comfort i can offer is this. In no corner of the long ages of all the worlds that i have walked, have I ever for one moment felt the desire to devour everything.” -Big Bad Wolf

“Sometimes things are too late to be rewritten or undone, but there are more blank pages ahead of us, Little Red.” -Big Bad Wolf

“There is no story you can begin without making the promise of its ending, and only strange and very dangerous things try to make a story that never ends.” -Big Bad Wolf

“It is a deep and unsettling dread when you realize that you can, by taking charge, cause harm. It is an even deeper dread when you realize that in taking charge, you will cause harm. You will not make every perfect choice, and the fear that you will make some choice that does some wrong within the world is exactly what your enemies are hoping will stop you. So, we do as best as we can to do as good as we can, but not to let the Neverafter fall into the fate that the faeries intend for it.” -Snow White

“I think the story that’s happening now, I’ve come to learn, will maybe lead to something better. Because you’re right stories don’t just end.” -Gerard

“I don’t think you get love just by deserving it.” -Rosamund

“Everyone you ever knew who told you they would keep you safe as long as you behaved was already hurting you.” -La Bete

“All the finery in the world, is just a mask…” -La Bete

“Live your life without apology, little girl. It is never wrong to tell the truth about what you are.” -La Bete

“It’s never too late to decide who you want to be.” -Tom Thumb

“How convenient that in the moment of learning the lesson, you no longer need to have learned it.” -Brennan

“Because either all the bad things that happened to you were random, just chaos, hundreds and millions of choices of other people that just have nothing to do with you and your own story, or all the bad things that happened to you were destined to happen.” -Cinderella

[contentloadingandstuff]

Patronage For The Worthy - Incubus!Male!Reader x Nilou

A/N: This idea for the reader has been living in my mind rent free for a good chunk of time, and here it is. Hope everyone likes it!

CW: Cervix sex, Male!Reader

NSFW under the cut.

Nilou opens her eyes. Everything is dark around her. A small amount of light falls through her window, illuminating her covered feet a little. She feels a cold gust of air coming from somewhere to her left. She rubs her eyes, yawns, and sits up in bed. 

She looks around. The window is open, letting the cool summer air move the curtains. Nilou, dressed up in her nightgown, gets up and moves to close it. When she stands before the opening, she can’t help but look out at the city. It’s very late, so only a handful of people roam the streets, illuminated by street lanterns. She looks up at the starry sky, and marvels at the full moon. It’s so beautiful, she thinks. 

“Yes indeed. The moon looks incredible today.”

She freezes in sudden horror. Somebody is in her room. Her heart speeds up, and her chest feels heavy with stress. She slowly turns around.

A man is sitting on the edge of her bed. He has short, dark hair. He seems tall, however the way he is sitting, leaning forward while resting his forearms on his thighs make it hard to judge his true height. Small horns are visible through his hair. The pupils of his eyes glow lightly with a red shine. 

Her eyes go wide. She tries to back away, but she is soon stopped by the windowsill. Her breath speeds up.

“W-who are you? What a-are you? W-what do you want from m-me?!” Her voice cracks from fear. The man stands up, revealing his true height. He is much taller than her, and bigger too. His arms are thick and his shoulders are broad. He raises his large hands up slightly.

Nilou would be ready to use her Vision if it wasn’t this late, if his entry wasn’t so sudden, and if only he wasn’t so… huge. Nilou is certain that with a single swing of his powerful arms he could send her flying. She tries to move, but her body refuses. She is frozen as he approaches her.

“S-stay away! Don’t c-come any c-closer!” Her knees tremble, and she slowly lowers herself to the ground.

“Hey, hey. Stay calm. I mean no harm.” The demon’s voice is surprisingly… normal. It’s nothing like she expected. It’s deep, yes, but very human at the same time. But most of all, it’s calm and steady. Its tone is… oddly soothing.

Her heart starts slowing down against all reason. The man’s aura feels… comforting?

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you, alright? Deep breaths, Nilou.” 

With no other choice but to obey, Nilou nods. 

“O-okay… but don’t come any closer. Please.”

The demon crouches down to meet her eye level. In the darkness his eyes give off a faint, red glow. Her visitor shrugs.

“As you wish.”

It takes her a few solid moments to calm down. She takes in the posture of the demon. It’s relaxed and casual, much to her surprise. A soft smile is on his lips all the while. She finds the courage to speak.

“Who are you?”

“Well, as you can see… I’m a demon.” He smiles, revealing two sharp fangs in his mouth. Nilou shivers at how sharp they look.

“And why are you here?”

The demon laughs. “I’m just here to visit you, obviously. See… I have been watching your performances for quite some time now. I must say… they are quite… breathtaking.” His smile widens. Despite how strange this situation is, Nilou can’t help but blush a little at the praise.

“Thank you…”

“...And I believe that great work is to be rewarded properly. So here I am. For this night, you're my mistress. I will do everything you ask of me to the best of my ability.”

What the demon said is still being processed in her mind as he stretches out his left arm towards her. 

“I understand if you don’t trust me. That’s why I will give you my word. And incubi’s words are never empty.”

 Suddenly, his wrist starts glowing. Nilou is taken back by the sizzle and the smell of flesh being burned. The incubus remains still as her constellation is burned into his forearm. The unearthly fire dies down as suddenly as it arose, along with the smell. 

The demon sighs. 

"Now I am not allowed to do anything against your will. As well as this contract, I will provide you with my name. The one thing that allows one to control a demon completely. Call me… Y/N.”

“Y/N…” As she says the word, the demon’s eyes glow blue. “That’s a beautiful name.”

“Yours is as well, Nilou. Or… do you want me to call you anything else tonight?”

Nilou thinks for a moment, before replying. 

“Is it okay if you call me… ‘princess’?”

Y/N chuckles. “Of course, princess. It’s all about you tonight. Whatever you wish. ”

Nilou looks at Y/N again. His face bears a smug smile. She traces down to look at his body. It’s large and muscular, but most of it is covered by the casual gown he is wearing. All of his torso, except for a chest window. Before she can fully take it in, the demon speaks again.

“How about we sit somewhere more comfortable, princess Nilou?”

She gives a small nod. Suddenly, Y/N picks her up with one arm, completely effortlessly. She squeals in surprise. He gently lowers her to the bed, and sits beside her. As he does, the clothing parts, letting her see his entire chest. It’s very muscular, with six firm abs and well toned skin. She looks up and down Y/N, taking in his impressive physique. 

"Hey. My eyes are up here, princess." 

Nilou nearly jumps in surprise. Her eyes move from his face to the bed and to the floor in panic. Her cheeks flush red. 

"S-sorry…" She replies somewhat ashamed of how blatantly she was checking him out. 

The demon laughs. 

"Hey, it's okay. Do you like it?" 

"I… u-um… like it a lot." She is redder still, avoiding his smug gaze. 

He suddenly, but gently, grabs her hand, and pulls it to rest on his stomach. 

"You can touch it if you want to. I don't mind."

Nilou gulps. Despite what the demon said, there's still a little spark of worry lingering inside her mind. What if she makes a misstep, and touches him in a spot he doesn't like? He could do something to her… But she has to admit. It's kind of… exciting. To be able to touch such a beautiful body… 

She gently guides her hand along your stomach, feeling every small bump of your muscle. They are firm and hard, yet your skin is soft and warm. So pleasant to touch. She moves up, resting her hand between the breasts, and finds no heartbeat. 

"You… really are not mortal…" She moves up her other hand to your shoulders, gently parting the clothing even further. "May I…?" 

"Yes, feel free. Do what you want with me." You smile encouragingly. 

She removes your top completely, exposing your forearms. She moves closer to you, hands now guiding alongside your forearms. Nilou traces her fingers along the perfect curve of your biceps, taking in how hard, yet soft your flesh is. Her touch is gentle, almost feather light. 

Nilou looks at your face, and an idea suddenly pops into her mind. She lifts her left hand to rest on your cheek. With a slow and careful movement, she moves her thumb to your lips, gently parting them. Her mouth opens slightly as she caresses the teeth. She drags her digit down towards your tongue, and pushes it in slightly. You obediently suck on it, making her blush. 

Nilou clumsily mounts you, and you lean back. She sits on your stomach, and you can feel the heat radiating from her core. She sighs as you speed up your tongue work. Her other hand draws circles around your breast, gently rubbing against the nipple. You let out a soft moan as you surrender to her touch. 

The heat inside her is growing by the second. Y/N… Such a powerful being, big, strong… with nothing but a light press of his sharp teeth he could bite off her fingers, and yet here he is, worshiping her fingers. Such a beautiful creature, surrendering to her every whim… 

Nilou doesn't notice when her hips start moving up and down your abs. You, however, can feel all the wetness seeping through her pajama bottoms. Your hands move to hold her ass, gently helping her move. She gasps when she feels you move, and a small frown appears on her lips. Pleasure? Extortion? Dissatisfaction? You can't tell. 

She grabs your bigger hands and moves them to rest on the covers, pinning them down by the sides of your head. You let her lips find yours as she leans down. Your tongues intertwine, but you let her take the lead. In no time she is exploring your mouth, hips still bucking back and forth against your stomach. 

When she parts with you, hot, blushing and out of breath, you look down at her hips. Her nightgown bottoms are completely soaked in the crotch area. You purr, looking deep into her eyes. 

"Ah, you love that, princess Nilou, don't you?" 

She lets out a small moan, mouth now agape in hard earned pleasure. "Yes…" 

"Let me lend you a hand then."

Your eyes glow, and suddenly her clothes are gone, turned into black particles. This doesn't surprise or startle her. Instead, she just dives into your lips again, exposed pussy rubbing against your soft skin with twice the intensity now. She is too overcome with lust and desire to care, or feel even an ounce of shame. 

With an especially wide hip move, her core rubs against your bulge. In an instant, a new wave of desire overcomes her. Her nose takes in your beautiful, overwhelmingly hot smell, and she can feel that familiar itch between her legs. But this time, her fingers won't do the trick. 

"I want you, now… please… serve me w-with your body, Y/N…" 

Your eyes glow again, and your pants are completely gone in an instant, allowing your cock to spring free of its confines. Without delay, she grabs it in her hand. She rubs her palm against your head, gathering the slick and precum. Nilou timidly takes a whiff of your musk, and her eyes water at how strong it is. Wasting no time, she places your head against her entrance, and slowly, very slowly, starts pushing it in. 

She whines as your tip stretches her body. You move your hands to support her lower thighs, securing her movement. Her eyes flutter shut as she feels her insides being pushed apart, making space for your overwhelming length. She feels so full, so delightfully filled, and yet it's just the halfway point. She moves her hips up and down a little, sending waves of pleasure through the both of you. She moans lightly, hands gripping your shoulders for support. You can feel her fingers digging deeper and deeper into your skin with every millimeter of depth. 

Nilou runs out of breath for a second, before a sweet, loud yelp reaches your ears. You can feel a firm wall of flesh touching your cock. Her eyes roll back, and she falls on your chest, breathing heavily. Her cervix prevents you from going deeper, so you start moving your hips back. Gently, but firmly, you snap them back forward, striking her wall and earning a gasp from her. She digs her nails into you, drawing blood as you fuck her gently. 

Nilou soon convulses, her walls pulsing, throbbing and clenching around your shaft. With her first orgasm, any sense of boundary or restraint is gone. Despite her orgasm induced exhaustion, she starts moving again. You both moan in unison as Nilou lets go of her desires and rides you for another orgasm. 

And then another, and another until her body gave out on her. You left her there, bruised, covered in hickeys and absolutely spent. 

The sleep she had was the best of her life that night. 

—

Nilou awoke the next morning. Every part of her hurt, from her toes to the top of her head. Lightly stretching, she looked around her room. Even though she remembered it to be more or less trashed, it was cleaned. A new set of pajamas, identical to those she lost during the night, was resting on top of her night stand. 

On shaky, sore legs she moved to the bathroom. Moving to the kitchen after washing herself down with lukewarm water, a silver, covered tray caught her attention. A small piece of paper lay next to it. She glanced over the text, written in beautiful, decorative font. 

"Loved the night. Made you breakfast. See you on the next show, princess~ - Y/N."

Nilou lifted the cover, coming face to face with a steaming hot pile of pancakes. She nearly squealed with joy at the sight. The girl rushed to grab some cutlery, but a flash of pain stopped her in her tracks. Rubbing her sore hips, she chuckled to himself. 

Maybe she really did go too far yesterday. 

Thanks for reading!

[midnightsun-if]

”Its V day and y'all know what that means! Angst! If its okay could you please do the MC is cursed into deep slumber so mated or deep romance ROs tries waking MC up with a true love's kiss but it failed but someone else tried on MC and it worked and how would they feel about not being the true love”?” this but when the mc wakes up they are incredibly angry at the not RO because their body wants them and tries to make us want them but we want the RO. Like “I DONT WANT YOU I WANT THEM I LOVE THEM!!!” And mc hating themselves because of it. How would the ROs react to that?

Koda: He’d be by your side, doing everything in his power to try and get you to understand what’s happening, that nothing could be changed— something that’s made all the more difficult because he barely understands it himself. He just hates seeing you like this, in so much pain because you’re denying yourself of what you truly want. What would clearly be the best for you. “T-This isn’t easy, sunshine, but this is how it’s gotta be, I think.” Koda rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his lap. “It’s not fair, and it’ll hurt for a long time, but it’s how it’s supposed to be. Mama always told me that you don’t go messin’ with the natural order of things.” Whiskey brown eyes look up to meet your own gaze, imploring you to understand. To listen. “I want nothing more than to be yours, and for you to be mine, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be.“

Scarlett: That’d probably make it worse, honestly. It’d absolutely destroy her to see physical proof that your beast wants someone that isn’t her— when all her beast wants, all her beast will ever need, is you. It’d twist the knife so deeply into her heart that it’d become a mere husk of what it once was; the final scar that would never heal. Her anger would only exemplify because it’d also make her realize how hopelessly in love with you she still is. She wouldn’t wish to see you suffer, the love she still has for you making the sight absolutely painful, so she’d make it clear that what was could never be again. “I know you’re fighting, I know that you don’t want this, but you’re only doing yourself more harm. You’re only causing me more harm by spouting such beautiful words that are nothing more than the most ugly of lies.” Pursing her lips, Scarlett takes your hand in hers for, what she knows is, the last time. “We were not meant to be. I was a mere chapter in the book of your life, and I will come to accept that, but you need to accept that this is how it’s meant to be. I’m letting you go, letting you be free.”

Cyrus/Cyra: They’d treat the situation methodically, coldly to some, because they couldn’t bear to let themself open up once more. They don’t even know why they’re torturing themself by continuing to be in your presence, not when your very essence is calling out for someone else. They hope, that with the distance, with the added ice between you both, when there used to be nothing but gentle flames, that you’d begin to understand that nothing could be the same. “You need to stop fighting this. It’s wholly irrational to try and fight the mating bond when it’s been established the way it has.” Their words are hollow, empty of any discerning emotion as they look over what the healers have written down. “You’re only causing yourself more issues in the long run.” They look up then, some gold returning to their crimson gaze. “Only causing me more pain by not letting me go in the same way I’ve had to do so to you.”

Quinn: Their wolf would howl in triumph that their mate is clearly trying to pick the better option, but Quinn would quickly give them a reality check as it’d be clear how much discourse your body would be going through due to the choice. Something that should never be the case when it comes to true mates— it’d be all the proof they needed to truly bring the process of stepping back. Even if their wolf, much tamer now, more subdued, still snarled in the recesses of their mind at the prospect. “Sweetheart,” they murmur, gently taking your hand in theirs. Trying to ignore how right it made them feel— your touch, your scent, the sound of your voice, was home to them. They just had to deal with the fact that they’ve been evicted. “It’s honorable what you’re trying to do. That you’re trying to fight for what we had so hard, but I can’t let you continue on like this. I promised that I’d always protect you, and that means I have to protect you from yourself too. It’s time to stop. For both our sakes.”

Caden: For a brief moment they’d let themself believe that everything was going to be okay— that you’d be able to go back to them, but it’d be only that. A dream. A fantasy borne from a desperate mind. They wouldn’t be able to handle it, wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes as they break the news that this couldn’t go on. They’d be completely retreated into themself because they know if they looked at you, truly looked at you, they’d let themself believe that this could have a happier ending. “I-I sent in my resignation.” They pluck at the end of a knitted scarf, one that you said looked nice on them so long ago. “I think it would be best if I get some space for a while. For the both of us. You need to settle into the new normalcy of your life and I—“ They bite their lip, argent eyes going misty. “I have to deal with the fact that mines been destroyed.”

Sloane: A spark of their former anger would arise due to the situation— about how unfair the situation clearly was to them and to you. But they wouldn’t wish for you to suffer. Wouldn’t wish for you to be anything but happy— even if that happiness could never be with them. It’d take them a bit to truly come to terms with it, meaning to actually come and see you to talk to you, but they’d be firm in their resolve once they do. Even if their heart was cracking open which each moment spent in your presence. “Don’t need to make it a big deal,” they say, flicking their lighter open and close. Wanting nothing more than to smoke, but refraining due to their current location. “You may love me, but that doesn’t mean shit in the long run, does it? Not when you have the person you’re supposed to be bonded to always trying to see you. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a runner up, like an imposter, and I think I deserve to not feel that when being in a relationship.” Hazel eyes raise to meet yours. “I deserve that, right?”

Blake: They’d be stiff the entire time, wouldn’t be able to hold eye contact with you for long, the sense of familiarity between you both would be so strained… Everything and more had shifted and Blake wouldn’t know what to do with that. It’s one thing to lose the love of your life, but to lose your best friend on top of that? It makes everything too real, too painful, and Blake just wants to get away from it all. Meaning, for the first time, they wanted to get away from you. Of what you represented in their loss. “T-“ They clear their throat, ducking their head as they anxiously tug at their pendant. “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is. It’s a shitty situation no matter how prettily we try to wrap it. We’re both going to need some time.” A frazzled hand runs through ash blonde locks. “Don’t know how long that’ll take, but it needs to happen. For both our sakes.”

Reginald/Regina: For a moment, wherein they let every selfish thought run free, they let themself believe that this means everything will be okay, that you’ll fight the clear pull you feel towards someone else, and that you’ll be theirs again like they’re yours, but then they’d see the turmoil you’re in and that would all vanish. How could they say they love you when they let you be in this pain? How could you ever be happy together when you could be happier with someone else? It’s clear what needed to happen… They just wish they could have worn their rose-colored lenses a bit longer. “I don’t want you to think I hate you because I don’t.” A watery smile is sent your way, blue-green eyes shimmering with suppressed tears. “You’ve meant more to me than I ever thought possible. You opened up a whole new world of possibilities to me and I can never thank you enough for that. Even if our story ends here today, I know that’ll I’ll always look back on this chapter fondly. Even if it may take me a while to do so. I hope you’ll be able to do the same.”

[electronicclowncollector]

Levia Essay

(This essay is made because of @dragongodryss 's request and some knowledge was provided by @lilacharbour )

(this is levia ^)

It’s commonly believed by the older generations of Fairy Tail experts that Levia Is a mere brute, who receives absolutely no character development, some even believe that he’s one of the less intelligent characters of Fairy Tail. This is wrong. Levia is an incredibly deep character with a backstory filled with sadness that can be rivalled by no other, a true misunderstood victim if I do say so myself.

Before I can explain my beliefs, I believe some context is required for who exactly Levia is, even some of my own mentors in Fairy Tail knowledge had to use meaningless sources like google or the fairy tail wiki, but of course I knew right off the bat who Levia was, as I have pondered for many hours about the sheer depth of his character. Starting with his name, Levia, likely named after the Leviathan of the Hebrew Bible. The Leviathan is often treated as the embodiment of the sin of envy, which will be important to the analysis later. In Fairy Tail, Levia is the loyal pet of Rogue from the evil timeline (who will be named Revil from now on (a mix between the word rogue and evil)), whos mission was to keep Rogue in place long enough for Revil to steal present Sting and bring him Back to the Future (By Robert Zemekis).

Now that the context has been explained, I shall now explain why most Fairy Tail fans are wrong about him. During his backstory, it was explained that Revil took Levia in when he was at his lowest point, addicted to dragonberries, without a cave over his head, and desperately needing a pile of treasure for a bed (as dragons do in fairy tail). That was when Revil invited him to join the Sabertooth guild, but the sabretooth guild didn’t like that. They didn’t allow dragons into the guild for various reasons, but the true reason is because Sting didn’t want to share rogues heart with yet another creature, this is proven in the following dialogue quoted directly from the manga, starting with revil: “Tell me, why can’t we let Levia join the sabretooth guild? Have you not seen his teeth?” Sting responded saying, “Rogue we have 5 rules in the sabretooth guild”. Sting proceeded to point at the plaque which had all the rules listed (those are unimportant for the time being). But the 5th one had been altered, from “No pet dragonets” to “No dragon in guild”, though it was clear that letters had been crudely crossed out with a very sharp knife (though the person evidently didn’t have a steady hand as it was messy), and the extra letters added to the end were clearly in a different quality to the rest of the text on the plaque. A big part of stings character is also his very poor written grammar. This clearly shows that Sting had an ulterior motive, but this is a Levia essay not a stingue essay, so I will not elaborate further. Anyway, this even led to what many fans considered impossible, the breakup of Sting and Rogue (this was before the dark destinies saga was retconned into being an “evil timeline”.

Anyway, this is what jumpstarted Rogues evil journey, he slowly became evil and manipulative, but Levia remained loyal. Rogue helped him get stronger, and Levia protected rogue any time Sting tried to bring harm to them, showing a clear sense of comradery between Revil and Levia. That’s what I would say if I was WRONG. Levia was clearly being manipulated by Revil into remaining loyal. The spinoff about the dark Destinies saga also shows one of these moments, starting with revil: “Levia, my loyal minion, I have a plan. If I can go back in time to when Sting and I were still best boyfriends forever, I can persuade past sting to come with me to the future.” Levia responded saying “But master? How will we do this without harming any of the past citizens?”. The following line sent a tear down my cheek, “a capture mission doesn't mean you can't break a few bones”. This broke Levias heart. He was always a pacifist, this was his core value, to avoid conflict at all cost. But it was his masters orders, so he was forced to follow along with it.

Of course, the first part of this mission was a success, Revil and Levia went back in time. The first part of the plan shows Revils lack of care for Levia, he had Levia keep Rogue in one place, by any means necessary. And, showing a clear loyalty, he followed his masters orders. While Levia followed the orders, he felt morally conflicted, so he decided to change his heart, and brought rogue back to sting, showing a clear sense of justice. Revil loved past sting too much, so if present Rogue lost sting, it would sting. So the final battle began. Levia was forced to watch as revil fought rogue and sting, until he finally decided to stand up for himself. He was about to step forward to stop Revil, when he was cruelly stopped by present Sting. A clear misunderstanding in intentions. This was the tragic end for Levia, he didn’t mean any harm with his actions, he was merely a product of his manipulation. It was such a shame to see such a deep character be killed off so early into his character arc.

The writer of the Fairy tail manga was incredibly brave with his namesake of Levia, treating it as though he was the embodiment of jealousy, when the true embodiment of jealousy was his master, Revil. I hope this has convinced you of the truth about Levia

[gt-jar]

G/t snippet #1

Word count: >1k

CW: near-death experience? (nothing graphic)

Henry clings to the tree for dear life. He can hear the thundering footsteps in the distance. They are getting louder, which means...

The giant is getting closer.

He bites his lip, keeping himself from sobbing loudly. He needs to stay quiet, needs to stay hidden. He can't run anymore, everything hurts. Hiding is his only chance.

If the giant finds him then...

The boy doesn't want to think about what will happen then. He just hopes that the giant will walk in a different direction, far far away from the tree he's hidding in. His hopes are crushed, when a deep voice calls out.

"Kid, please come out! I swear, I just want to help you!"

Henry flinches, digging his nails deeper into the bark of the tree. The voice is so loud. The giant must be close. Why can't he just leave him alone? Maybe he's lucky, there still is a chance that the giant will just walk by. He looks down to check and pales.

The giant is standing right under him, looking around.

Looking for him.

A whimper escapes him against his will and this is what seals his fate.The giant looks up and their eyes meet. The surprised look on his face turns into something softer.

"Hey, there you are," the giant says softly.

For the first time since spotting the human, he gets a good look at the boy, and god, he looks so frail and tiny. Way too young to be all alone. The fearful look on his face breaks the giant's heart. Knowing he's the cause for the boy's fear just makes him feel worse.

"G-go away!" the child cries, "Leave me alone!"

The giant winces. The child's reaction doesn't surprise him, but it pains him no less.

"I know you're scared, but I can't just leave you here. It's not safe. There's a storm coming up. Please let me help you."

"I don't want your help!"

The little boy sounds like he's close to tears.

All the giant wants is to scoope him up and ease his fears, but he can't reach him while he's up in the tree, and maybe that's for the best. He doubts the child would want to be comforted by him. He has to convince the boy to climb down on his own.

The giant tries a different approach.

"Do you really want to stay here? It gets really cold at night. Don't you want a warm place to sleep and a warm meal?"

This makes Henry falter. As if on cue his stomach starts to growl.

The giant smiles sadly at him.

"You must be so hungry. But you don't have to be, you can have as much food as you want, all you have to do is climb down."

The boy is conflicted. It has been three days since he ate something. Everything is so unfair. The offer sounds too good to be true. He really wants to take it, but...

"How do I know that you don't want to trick me?"

The giant makes a sad sound.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what types of horror storys you were told about me, but I can guarantee they are not true, I don't mean any harm," the giant pauses, "I know you don't believe me, but maybe there's something I can do to prove it?"

"I don't know," Henry sniffles quietly. He is too exhausted to think of something.

"That's okay. I'll just wait here until you come up with something."

The giant sits down and leans against the tree. He doesn't do anything, he just.... waits, like he said.

Henry doesn't know how much time goes by. It has started to rain a while ago. The tree shields him from the rain for the most part, the same can't be said about the giant. He's still sitting under the tree, waiting, getting all wet.

"Why are you doing this?" Henry croaks, not sure if the giant even hears him.

"I just want to make sure you're safe. You can trust me when I'm saying that you don't have to be afraid of me. How about this, you come down and I'll take you to my place. I can make you something to eat, while we wait out the storm. How does this sound?"

'Good' Henry thinks silently. He is tired, cold and so so hungry. Maybe he does need the giant's help. Without thinking about the possible consequences, the boy starts to climb down.

Suddenly a loud clap of thunder echos through the forest, startling him and causing him to slip.

He is falling.

The giant yells something, but he can't understand it over the sound of his own screams.

This is it.

This is how he'll die.

Suddenly, Henry stops falling. He collides with something solid. But it doesn't feel like the ground. He looks around and realizes that he is sitting in a pair of hands. The boy looks up and once again meets the giant's concerned eyes.

They look so warm.

"ARE YOU HURT?"

All at once Henry starts to cry, but not because he's hurt. Right now he's just overwhelmed. The stress of the last few days comes crashing down. 

He's pulled against a warm chest and is rocked back and forth. The giant is hugging him, whispering words of comfort.

"Shh, it's okay, little one. I've got you now. You're safe. Trust me, everything is going to be okay."

And this time Henry believes him.

[misfithive]

Thank you for the way you handled that ask about Wille's and Simon's drama. Because that sentence 'On the other hand, Simon needs to have a bit of more drama thrown at him' made me so furious. It was so insensitive! The fact that he suffers in silence and alone in his room not to bother other people doesn't mean he doesn't suffer enough and needs some more! The fact that he didn't jump on the table or say he feels like dying doesn't make his experience any less traumatic than Wille's. What he needs is to process his trauma rather than brushing it aside, not to get some more.

Once again thank you, you put it all beautifully.

Yes 😭 this is a very common hope for Simon to get pushed to the point of a breakdown but it’s like .. at what cost?😩 He has been thru enough trauma for a lifetime and a half. And the thing is, most people cannot actually stop and process the trauma if they are constantly being hit with more. I think we are more likely to get simon opening up if he is able to find safety which he did not really have. he is expected to be the strong one by everyone in his life. His friends try their best but still, telling him to rebound is the same message him mother gives him of “you are strong”. Bc they dont want him to sit with his feelings and cry (it’s uncomfortable and not the norm for them), they want him to forget about the Prince and move on. Up until s3 he has not had someone to cry to- thats why he writes his songs and holds wille’s sweater. Even when he is talking to Rosh and Ayub in the kitchen if he was actually crying to them i feel they would show it- it appears he probably cried on the way home before they came (this is my hc if yall think he cried to them u can believe that if u want)

i think Simon’s character is very accurate to what a lot of men, people socialized as men, and also people of color experience and how we deal with our emotions. I get that for a lot of people it is cathartic to sob but for many of us, crying like that especially in front of someone else is terrifying. we are conditioned that letting other people see u in that vulnerable state is a weakness (puts you in danger or will be used against you & that anger is safer). I know some men who have not cried since they were children and told me they dont even remember what it feels like to cry or how to actually let the tears fall from their eyes. It is messed up. Is that fair? No. Is it true that it is a weakness? No. But not everyone learns that. The patriarchy sucks and harms us all lol i wish people would understand that and have empathy for the deep sadness that simon is carrying and hiding whether he lets it out or not.

Not to mention everyone deals with their trauma differently and i think it is cool that the show is realistic and shows people dealing with things in different ways. Simons character is relatable bc of this and instead of people saying “it’s not fair that Wille gets to express himself in this way and Simon doesn’t” i want people to think about WHY Simon is not be able to. I know wanting simon to cry comes from a good place but it does upset me a little bit bc even if he doesnt have a breakdown s3, that doesnt mean that the writers hate him and arent doing his story justice which is what people say abt s2. At the same time, if he does have a break down, that would be totally warranted. i'm just saying that if it doesn't happen that's valid too.

THAT BEING SAID. I think s3 is a great opportunity for Simon to hear from Wille that he doesnt always have to be strong and that Wille can be a reliable safe space. I think Wille’s tenderness is something that Simon sees and now that they are on good terms and Wille has worked to rebuild the trust, I hope Simon will turn to Wille for emotional support however that looks.

Ermmmn I’m very sorry that this turned into a dump but i had to get it off my chest.(made a few edits for clarity and spelling mistakes bc i posted this in the middle of the night)

[barbwillbrb]

Snippet Sunday!

Thank yee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! I finally got snippets to share for once thanks to the monstrosity of an RP @faerunsbest and I got going on.

I wanna show various aspects of Mortimer's persona, so here are five snippets showing different sides of him.

Combat Mortimer:

It was too strange, too surreal; faint memories flickered past his troubled mind, the ghost of his past life haunting him. Walking in his childhood footsteps, Mortimer worked his way through the house that was his personal hell, finding his way to the uppermost floors. His senses on high alert, he reached out with his magic, searching for any signs of life, but ultimately seeking one soul in particular– sure enough, Mortimer could feel him, a dark, angry force above him, in the office. Some things never change. 

While most of his father’s forces seemed to convene on the bottom-most levels– the man always, always hated being interrupted during his work, a lesson Mortimer learned all too well as a child, earning the scar on his wrist– a few lingered upstairs, holding fast to their positions as carnage echoed up the stairwells. The distraction proved fruitful; they never heard Mortimer approach, nor had the time to react when the wizard flooded their lungs, water blooming in their chests– the guards dropped dead, drowning where they stood, liquid tinged with red dribbling from their lips.

Hysterical/Sad Mort:

It wasn’t like Mortimer didn’t try, wasn’t like he didn’t want to– the gods themselves knew how much he wanted the man back. 

Fear, however, was an insidious, ugly thing– especially fear wrought from deep-routed traumas and broken memories. 

Mortimer knew damned well it wasn’t Sybyll that hurt him– not really, no. Sybyll wasn’t to blame for any of this. Unfortunately, the harm that befell Mortimer unlocked parts of his mind he kept buried for his own survival: all the very worst moments of his wretched life– the darkest, most vile recollections from his time with the cult, his time imprisoned. He couldn’t sleep without being taken to a dark, awful, choking pit. Nightmares weren’t nightmares when you knew them to be true, their marks buried deep in your skin. 

On the nights he could sleep, he woke in a cold, panicked sweat; Mortimer had taken to relying on potions to maintain any sort of rest. 

Mortimer didn’t just lose Sybyll; he was losing his damned mind, his peace, his sense of self.

More Sad Mort because making him miserable is fun, and he had to break in order to get better. Also, he swears!

It seemed fate would not bring Mortimer a moment’s peace, regardless of his misery. A knock came from the door, followed by Lennox’s voice; of course the wizard forgot something. Mortimer was half tempted to dismiss the werewolf’s concerns, simply wave away the questions or just refuse to open the door… if he didn’t know for a fact that Lennox would simply break it down to figure out what was wrong.

Besides, Mortimer didn’t want him to think something was wrong with the chair, not after everything Lennox had done for him. Gods– all this work to fix himself, and Mortimer was still a mess. Broken… incomplete. Without Sybyll, that’s exactly what he felt like, a puzzle without all the pieces. 

And Mortimer lost him. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Mortimer swore under his breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, his hands balled into fists in his frustration. He did his best to dry his face, pinching at his cheeks, and looked over the mess that was his desk. Hurriedly, he stowed the bottle and glass away, shutting the cupboard drawer. If he delayed any longer, Lennox would surely knock the door off its hinges. “Coming, coming,” he muttered, hating how hoarse his voice sounded; he should have brought water with him. Then again, his plan was to get shitfaced and forget about everything, wasn’t it? Thank Lathander that he only had the one so far. 

Mortimer being a disastrous romantic

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say– quite the opposite; the words came quite freely in regards to his feelings. The difficulty was trying to narrow down the torrent of emotions he felt for Sybyll into something that didn’t come off as the barely coherent, lovestruck ramblings of a madman– or led to him practically begging forgiveness for his stupidity. Although, if Mortimer was honest with himself, the shortest note he scribbled was probably the most accurate: “I am sorry, I am a fucking idiot, and I love you. Please tell me it’s not too late?”

A groan left him and he threw his head in his hands. At least Pinky was not trying to kill the goldish, or Mortimer very well might have lost his mind. Nothing was coming out right. Mortimer looked at the drawer of unsent letters, all pulled from his heart. Each one was a silly mess of fluff, pining, begging– unedited and raw. Why didn’t he send them before? Pride? Worry that it would be too much?

Each letter was nothing but honest. Mortimer needed to be honest– and damn-it-all, he didn’t give a shit anymore about his pride. 

Sybyll thought he was alone. Mortimer was determined to prove he never left his heart. 

He gathered all the letters and placed them in a box, surprised at the weight– he might as well have written a novel– tying it closed with red thread. Whatever Mortimer wanted to say, he would say it in the moment, and if Sybyll needed proof about his feelings– well, here it was, wrapped in a bow.

... aaaaaaand spicy time Mortimer

The vampire yanked his robe's collar free, fangs dragging lightly along his throat; Mortimer hissed in delight, feeling his lover trace an intoxicating path against his skin. The wizard wanted to be patient, to take this slow– but when Sybyll lay back, erection firm against his stomach, looking up at Mortimer with a pleading pout on his pretty red lips– he couldn’t hold back. “By Gods, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much– and I’ll fucking prove it,” Mortimer growled, removing his fingers, snapping into life a mage hand that quickly took on a more appropriate form. 

Working quick but gentle, Mortimer wrapped an arm around the smaller man, flipping their positions in an instant so Sybyll straddled his lap. His hands went to the man's waist, holding him in place as the ghostly cock slid between Mortimer’s legs, beneath his lover’s waiting entrance. Eyes dark with barely contained lust, he pulled the ribbon free from Sybyll’s neck with his teeth, kissing his way up to the vampire's jaw, then lips. Mortimer guided Sybyll down onto the cock, gripping his hips tight. “I’ve longed to do this for months,” he murmured, beginning to move Sybyll, his hold firm.

No pressure tag time: @lemonsrosesandlavender @faerunsbest @kimberbohwrites @commander-krios @savriea