#AND NOW IN MONSTER HE'S GIVING THAT UP ENTIRELY

[wileys-russo]

christmas showcase II a.russo

lil christmas fic for the maternal instincts universe christmas showcase II a.russo

"what so the state wide budget gets cut, something entirely out of your hands, and now the school expects teachers to pay for the supplies for christmas crafts for the kids?" your girlfriend scoffed in disbelief as you smiled, dumping another armful of stationary into the trolley you'd tasked her to push.

"yeah thats the reality year round love, did you ever have a pizza party in school? teacher funded." you hummed, alessias eyes widening even further as you squatted down, thumbing through the craft paper for the colours you needed.

"what!" "mhm, we've discussed this before less." "well yeah, but-well-" you stood back up and dropped the packs of craft paper onto your ever growing stack of supplies. "butts are for ashtrays, not conversations." you teased, lightly patting her cheek and striding on ahead.

"ugh please don't teacher talk me." alessia groaned pushing the cart after you. "then don't speak like one of my students." you stuck your tongue out at her as the blonde pulled a face.

"hey where's bella? bell!" alessia called out in realisation, head scanning the aisle and not seeing her anywhere. "probably adding more to her list for santa." you chuckled knowingly, and sure enough moments later the five year old came skidding around the corner.

"what did we say about running off?" alessia warned making you smile, the older girl not always having felt comfortable 'parenting' bella, but the last few months she'd really melted into it and taken it in her stride.

"i didn't run! i walked." bella nodded matter of factly, squealing as alessia mocked her and tugged playfully on her ear. "are you nearly done? the monsters hungry again!" bella sighed, patting her stomach dramatically and sagging into alessia's leg as the two of you shared a grin.

"the monster who just insisted you needed an extra two pieces of toast this morning? and who just had a blueberry muffin?" you teased, placing a few more things into the cart as bella huffed.

"no! the muffin was for me, i'm a growing girl who needs her energy to get big and strong, to stay healthy and match ready." bella parroted as you shot your girlfriend a look, the words may have been coming from your daughters mouth but they weren't hers.

"well ronaldo you don't have football for another two months so i am sure we can help you grow another inch or two by then!" you laughed, tugging her beanie down over her eyes as the three of you headed toward the registers.

"thats not funny! daddy said its your fault im so short." bella scowled stomping on ahead. "yeah well your dad didn't hit his growth spurt until he was sixteen!" you called out with a roll of your eyes, tugging the beanie over her eyes again as she stopped to finger her way through the candy display at the front of the store.

"less!" you protested when your girlfriend grabbed the chocolate bar bella was eagerly pointing to, giving her a look. "what? this is for my monster, he's hungry too!" the blonde pointed at her stomach as bella giggled and you sighed shaking your head and beginning to load things onto the conveyor belt.

"thank you." you smiled kindly to the young boy at the register, who you assumed was a football fan given the wide eyed glances he kept shooting your clueless girlfriend, too busy holding the chocolate out of bellas eager reach.

"she doesn't mind when people ask for photos." you whispered to him as his cheeks flushed and you sent him a wink, tugging the trolley forward and loading the last bag, calling out for your daughter who grabbed your outstretched hand.

sure enough alessia hung behind to take a photo with the young boy whose elated grin stretched ear to ear, the blonde jogging to catch up with the two of you as you made your way across the parking lot to the car.

"so, are you and harvey excited for christmas mutant?" alessia questioned as she buckled bella in and you loaded the bags in the back, poking at the teddy bear securely buckled in with her.

"yeah! mummy did you send my letter to santa? did you? did you?" bella asked once you'd arrived home, bouncing up and down on the driveway as you chuckled at her excitement.

"sure did babe, mailed it on friday and put on 4 stamps just like you asked me to." you confirmed, looking down at her with a smile and pinching her cheeks as she squealed and kicked her leg at you.

"mama did you finish your list for santa yet? mummy and i finished ours!" bella accused as alessia grabbed the bags out of the boot, only half listening.

"mama?" "sorry what was that bell?" "your santa list, did you finish it?"

"my...santa list?" alessia glanced at you curiously as you subtly nodded. "oh, yes! yes i did." alessia clarified with a firm nod, bella sighing in relief and racing off to the front door, you and alessia following after and letting her inside.

"so your mums still fine with us coming for christmas?" you asked a little while later, bella not long having gone to bed as you and alessia laid on the sofa watching a film.

"are you joking?" alessia asked seriously, sitting up a little more with a frown as you blushed.

"well its just-you know this is our first christmas together. and i've not been with someone for a christmas since i had bella, i forget how it works." you mumbled, a little embarrassed, groaning and covering your face with your hands.

"it works the same as any other christmas! except this time my family have a beautiful little girl to spoil rotten and i have a gorgeous girlfriend to sit with at dinner." alessia laughed, wrenching your hands away from your face.

"don't laugh! you know i overthink everything." you sighed, playfully hitting her shoulder as she grabbed your legs, tugging you closer so you were practically in her lap.

"well christmas eve we'll be here, and we'll make cookies and watch christmas films and do all the traditions you and bell have for years, which i feel very honoured to learn and participate in." alessia started, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your forehead.

"and make christmas tree shaped pizzas, just like i promised bella." alessia added before you could chime in as you reached up and squeezed her face in your hand which she batted away with a smile.

"then christmas morning we'll go see your mum and dad for brunch. then we'll go to my parents place in the afternoon, have dinner and mums insisting we all stay the night but i told her i had to check that with the boss first." alessia finished with a curt nod, poking your nose with a wink.

"the boss being me?" "no i meant isabella, obviously?" "ha ha ha."

"yes you!" alessia laughed when you attempted to smack her, catching your hand and kissing it a few times before letting it fall back to your side with a thump.

"if she's prepared for a bossy, chatterbox, sugar hyped five year old running around for hours until she passes out then i think that sounds lovely." you smiled as your girlfriend chuckled and leaned down to press her forehead against yours.

"well then we have a plan baby, nothing to overthink now."

~

"-and you're sure you don't mind if they come?!" alessia asked for the tenth time this morning making you laugh. the school you worked at and bella attended having its annual christmas showcase the end of the week and over half the arsenal girls insistent they attend.

"no babe, i already reserved seats for them and they paid for tickets! bella is very very excited they're coming, usually its just nathan and our parents since i'm backstage helping." you assured, pecking her lips a few times as she tried to argue, softening and pulling you back for a proper kiss.

but that ground to an abrupt halt when gagging noises sounded, bella covering her eyes and very loudly demanding the two of you stop 'swapping spit' as she so eloquently put it, still deep in her kissing is gross phase.

"yuck! have you stopped now?" she questioned, peeking out from her hands as alessia cupped your cheeks and pressed her mouth to yours again making you laugh and bella gag loudly again, covering her face with one hand and her teddys face with the other.

"my eyes are burning!" "oh does that mean you can't see this then?" you questioned, grabbing alessia's face right back as the two of you messily kissed as bella dramatically fell to the floor with a thud and a groan.

"oh she was so young, so full of life!" alessia cried out, scooping your daughter up and carrying her into the kitchen fireman style. "i guess we better go downstairs and bury her in the garden, she did love pulling out the weeds every summer." you sighed, moving to open the front door as bella shot up in your girlfriends arms.

"don't bury me the dirt will go up my nose!" "oh my god she lives!" you yelled out, closing the door and throwing your hands into the air. "almost. i think we might have a zombie on our hands!" alessia hummed, skeptically poking at bellas face who giggled.

"i made something at school!" bella wiggled as alessia put her down and she shot off to her room, giving you just enough time to steal a few more kisses before she returned.

"paper chains for the tree and a star!" bella started, waving you and alessia into the living room and practically pushing you both to sit down as she rummaged around in her bag, only having a few more days left before she was done for the year.

"oh very nice mutant, i like that you used a lot of colours." alessia complimented as the two of you shared a look of amusement, everything draped in enough glitter for two pride parades.

"okay now cover your eyes, and no peeking mama!" bella warned as alessia scoffed with offence. "why did you only warn me?" the striker huffed as you grinned. "because you would peek." bella explained patting the girls knee who rolled her eyes but covered her eyes.

you felt something drop into your lap and heard some shuffling before it was announced the two of you could look. you glanced down to see an ornament in your lap, a bright red bauble with mummy scrawled on it in hot pink glitter glue.

"oh bella." you looked to your side to see alessia had one as well, but you couldn't quite make out what it said but it appeared to have more writing on it than yours.

"do you like it? i chose red for arsenal!" bella beamed, puffing her chest out proudly as alessia turned it a little so you could read.

mama's first christmas.

"oh bell, they're beautiful." you smiled softly, picking her up into a tight hug, squeezing your girlfriends knee who seemed lost for words.

"cause its your first one with us! my teacher had to help me with the writing." bella explained, head resting on your shoulder as she reached her other arm out for alessia to join the hug.

"oh less!" you groaned as the blonde practically tackled the pair of you to the sofa in a tight bear hug making bella giggle as alessia kissed all over both of your faces.

"best christmas ever."

~

"does every parent tell their kid they can sing even when they're this horrible?" leah whispered skeptically as alessia shot her a look and lia rammed an elbow in her other side making her wheeze.

"what! just a question." leah grumbled, alessia smiling apologetically to the sharp shush which sounded from a man in the row in front of them. "i think it is sweet." lia defended, the choir finishing their rendetion of santa clause is coming to town as everyone errupted into applause.

"i think leah should shut up." kyra shrugged once they'd sat back down, the blonde shooting her a glare and reaching over alessia to try and smack the young australian.

"stop it! the pair of you." steph chimed in from kyras other side, smacking the blonde as alessia shoved leah and both girls settled back in their seats with a mutter.

"oh this is bell's class!" alessia perked up as K3 was announced and slowly the very nervous looking kindergartens were ushered onto the stage by a few of the year six kids who were helping out.

you peeked out from the curtain and snickered, catching thirteen phones all up and filming before the song had even started, alessia wiggling her fingers at you with a face eating grin.

"you got this!" you gave the kids on stage a thumbs up, moving out of the way so their teacher could stand in the wings, also doing the dance in case anyone forgot as the opening bars of the song began.

"lessi your face is gonna crack in half if you smile any wider." kyra teased, alessia shushing her as she zoomed in on bella who was easily one of the more enthusiastic of the class as they made their way through their dance.

"now see that? thats real talent." leah nodded, putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling as a womans head whipped around to glare at her and she simply pulled a face making her scoff and turn back around.

"oh my god." you couldn't help but chuckle as right as the song finished the entire row of girls were up on their feet, whistling and clapping like they'd just watched someone score the winning game in extra time, a few other parents giving them strange looks as slowly the kids shuffled off stage and they sat back down.

but judging by the shit eating grin on your daughters face and the pride shining in your girlfriends eyes as bella lingered on stage to wave enthusiastically to her cheer squad before being gently shooed off, it was worth it.

alessia had been right, best christmas ever.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 78: Oliver's Awakening

Previous > Masterlist

tw: aftermath of mind control, discussion of abuse

October 1925

Oliver writhed on the ground, his chest as tight as a drum and tears squeezing from his eyes, as all the fear and pain and shame that had been suppressed the past few months flooded him.

He'd been content, so content to give up his own life to become the servant of a vampire, hardly even struggling as he was taken and confined and ensorcelled. He'd enjoyed the vile feedings, looking forward to the vampire drinking away his blood, pleased to slump over in the vampire's arms as his life was drained, satisfied with the twin scars on his neck. He'd cheerfully allowed the vampire to pass him around like a party favor to his lover, to curl up around him as he slept, to dress him up in ball gowns and take him to vampire dens to show off…

But truly, it wasn't the shame that hurt the most -- that was just the easiest of his emotions to understand. No, the worst of it was the profound sense of emptiness. It was if Alexander's music had filled something within him he hadn't known was empty. It had given him a purpose, even if it was to follow the selfish whims of a monster, and now he was devoid. Knowing intellectually that it had never been a real purpose, just enslavement, didn't ease the sting of his heart.

Vivian crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oliver, I know it's a lot to process. It might take days or weeks --"

"You don't know!" Oliver wrenched backwards to get away from her, furious. "You don't know what you just took. You can't!"

"I know it must hurt --"

"If you knew it would hurt like this, then why did you do it against my wishes?" Oliver demanded.

"Oliver!" Emily was standing nearby. "She was just trying to help. It's not fair to yell at her like that."

"It's not fair that I feel like this!"

"Leave him alone," said Vivian. "Let him scream at me if he wants. He's coming out of a much deeper enthrallment than you were in, Emily. It won't be easy."

"That's not true," she said indignantly. "I could barely talk, couldn't remember my past, wasn't even literate any more."

"Yes, and that's relatively easy for a vampire to do. What's been done to Oliver is far more precise and insidious, to keep him so intact on the surface while bending his desires and loyalties completely."

"Do you mind talking about me as though I'm not even here?" Oliver hated how angry he was, how he couldn't control the harshness of his voice. He was never angry, never so much as raised his voice at a difficult customer, not before he was captured. Even then, his anger had been weak, easily plucked out of his head by that damned Miss Lily. He felt sick to think of himself drowsing in her company, letting her rummage through his very mind, throw out anything she didn't like, and replacing his truth with a pretty painted facade.

"I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I know you're upset with me, but this is important. Can you still feel the connection with your former master?"

"No. It's been severed. I can't hear him anymore."

"That's good. With a vampire that powerful, it's likely that your connection is actually only weakened, not entirely destroyed. He may try to enter your head again, draw you under his sway."

Oliver nodded, ashamed that a part of him hoped he would, that Alexander's music would dull the pain. No, he would have to resist somehow. He couldn't go through all of this heartache for no reason, to go merrily skipping back into the arms of a vampire. Vivian's magic had stripped away the illusion, revealed the monster behind the handsome face.

"I'll try to resist," said Oliver shakily.

"Good, that's good. If you hear his voice, you need to tell me immediately, all right? I can help protect you, or wash out his influence again if we need to," she said. "It's my fault for not killing him when I had the chance. I was a coward. And now I'll have to plan to go after him again, before he hunts me down."

"Don't kill him!" Oliver's fervor surprised even him.

"Oliver, you'll never be safe until I do."

"I know that, but -- I don't want him to die. Maybe I should want him to die, maybe I'm still under his spell, but I can't bring myself to want him to die," he said, not understanding why he felt so strongly about this when he knew Alexander's true nature.

"He took you from your bookshop, remember?" said Emily. "The whole time we were in those cages -- at least, before Lily warped our minds -- that's all you could talk about, was your bookshop and how you had to return there. Don't you want to?"

His bookshop, and the tiny apartment above. His little safe haven, where he'd spent his entire life. The antique books locked behind the counter, the sagging shelves of the history section, the ratty armchair with the throw blankets that might still be waiting for him.

"I can't go back there," he said. "Alexander was one of my customers. He'd find me easily."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Vivian.

Mounting horror dawned on Oliver. "But even if you did kill him, it wouldn't do any good, because his sire would find out and hunt us both down. I'm sure of it."

"His sire? A vampire that powerful, and he's still beholden to his sire?"

"He's a terrifying vampire." The fear, which had been acute before, was now so much more sharp without Alexander's soothing influence. He could remember the feel of harsh fangs in his neck all too well, the panic of being unable to open his eyes. "Far more terrifying than Alexander could ever be. Alexander once told me that if we ever tried to escape him, he'd hunt us both down and make sport of it, and I believe him."

"It can't be…" Vivian muttered. "Tell me more about him, your former master's sire."

As much as Oliver didn't care to recall those memories, Vivian might actually be able to help. "I'll tell you whatever information I have. I'd be happy to see him die, and Alexander would, too. I don't know his real name, but they all call him the Maestro --"

"You've met him?" She gripped his shoulders like a madwoman. "You've actually met the Maestro?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You've heard of him?"

"He took my mother. He's the vampire I need to kill more than any other. You must tell me everything you know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "I can tell you everything I've learned about him, if you agree that you won't kill Alexander."

"Even if I were convinced you truly meant that and it wasn't just residual conditioning, I couldn't agree to that. Alexander is likely to come after me for taking you, and if he does, I need to be able to defend myself."

"I suppose that's true," said Oliver reluctantly. He didn't want to admit to himself that it would be ideal if Vivian were to kill the Maestro but spare Alexander, so that he would have the option of returning to the vampire without the threat of his sire hanging over their heads.

No, he must still be under the spell. He shouldn't return to Alexander under any circumstances, not if he wanted to keep a free thought in his head.

"You need to tell me," Vivian insisted. "Revenge on the Maestro is one of the main reasons I became a hunter in the first place. It wasn't just my mother who suffered. He's killed at least twenty hunters, and he's believed to have kidnapped a number of musicians and stage performers. He needs to be stopped."

"He does." Oliver sighed, feeling that tiny bit of leverage slip. "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

He tried to recall everything he could for Vivian's sake -- everything Lex had told him, and especially recounting his own experiences with the cruel vampire. Emily sat nearby, her eyes going wide with horror as Oliver described his blinding and the painful feeding. Vivian, on the other hand, was absorbing all of Oliver's words carefully.

"So when he controlled you -- was there any sort of induction he had to perform? Any conditions he had to meet?"

"I don't think so, or at least I don't remember any. Alexander didn't mention any either. He was able to puppet my body as easily as if I were a toy, and there didn't seem to be any way to resist it."

"Hm. That's going to be trouble," said Vivian, deep in thought. "And when he stopped you from opening your eyes again -- how long did it take for that enthrallment to wear off?"

"It didn't. The next day, Alexander took me to Miss -- to another vampire's home, one that specializes in hypnotizing humans, and she reversed the Maestro's command."

"A specialist in hypnotizing humans? Lily?"

"You know her too?"

"Yes, I'm aware of her."

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

"I really should, considering how many people's minds she's destroyed -- or are you going to defend her as well?"

"…No." Truthfully, he felt more conflicted about it than he should, given that Vivian was objectively correct. How many human minds had she stolen? How many lives had she cut short, selling innocent people off to vampires with nothing more than glee about her profits? She was the one who had twisted his mind, and all those feelings of comfort and warmth as he slept in her chair were nothing more than lies to keep him docile.

"So do have any idea where the Maestro lives?"

"No, I'm sorry. Those are the only two times I encountered him, and Alexander never mentioned where he lives, from what I can recall."

Vivian sighed. "It's a pity. But even so, you've given me far more information than I had yesterday, and I'm grateful for it."

"You know… both you and Alexander want the Maestro dead. Could you ever consider working together?" asked Oliver.

"Working with a vampire?"

"Only this one specific time, only to kill an even worse vampire!"

"I can't do that," said Vivian. "Even if we do have the same goal. Fighting a vampire as formidable as the Maestro would leave me vulnerable, and I can't trust that this Alexander wouldn't simply enthrall me afterwards. In fact, he'd be stupid not to, lest I kill him."

Oliver wanted to protest that Alexander wouldn't do that… except that Alexander might actually do that. After all, he had no qualms at all about buying a human at auction, even a human he previously knew as an equal. Why would he hesitate to enthrall a hunter?

"Come on," said Vivian, helping him off the floor. "We can talk more about this later. You've been through a lot tonight, and need more time to shake off the spell you've been under. We have a room that you can use, but I'm going to have to lock you in, and keep you under surveillance for now, at least until we're sure that your vampire isn't going to try and push himself into your head again."

"Fine," he said, accepting that Vivian didn't trust him. He didn't even trust himself. "Why can he still do that, if you've undone the enthrallment?"

"There's a psychic connection established when a vampire drinks your blood. It's not quite the same thing as enthrallment, and it can be very strong. It fades in days or weeks, but until then, you'll still be vulnerable to the vampire's influence."

"I see." He wondered if that applied to any vampire which had fed from him. If it did, that meant -- "But the Maestro, he…"

"Yes," she said grimly. "Has he ever entered your mind before, when he's not there in person?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"I hope not either. I'm not prepared to fight him just yet. If you sense anything, you need to tell me right away."

"Yes, of course."

Vivian led Oliver out of the attic and into a room little bigger than a closet, with a cot and a small chest of drawers. "You should get some rest," she said, herding Oliver inside. "You'll feel better once you have. Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water, please?" asked Oliver, sitting on the edge of the cot. "And if you have any interesting books…"

"Certainly. I'll see what I can do."

Oliver waited patiently for Vivian to return with the water and a couple of old magazines. As soon as she left the room and he heard the lock click shut, he fell back onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to concentrate on reading, not with all the thoughts crowding his head.

He was free.

Wasn't he?

It was terribly hard to feel free when he was locked into a small room, the threat of his vampiric master and his sire still hanging over his head like an executioner's axe. The confinement was for his own safety, and he understood the reasons, but he wouldn't actually be free until both Alexander and the Maestro had ceased to walk the earth.

He was frustrated with himself. He shouldn't care so much about the well-being of a vampire who had literally purchased him at auction. And yet…

Now that the initial shock and fear had worn off, he was finding himself gripped by a deep and profound sadness. The cot he lay on was hard and cold, and he couldn't suppress his longing for his bed at home -- no, Alexander's bed. It wasn't ever his. He'd been hypnotized to share it, to cuddle up with a monster.

He'd been hypnotized into affection.

And it was really the only affection he'd had since he was a child, wasn't it? He'd lived such a solitary and quiet life, spending almost every night alone in his small apartment with books for company. Even the simple pleasure of curling up to read next to someone else had been foreign to him until he came into Alexander's possession.

And it had all been a fabrication meant to keep him compliant, hadn't it? He shouldn't miss it. He should be glad to be rid of it.

But the thought of returning to his solitary life, of never experiencing actual tenderness, was crushing him inside. He'd been starving for so many years, but it had been bearable when he didn't know what he was missing. Now that he knew that his choice was between actual loneliness and false companionship, he could only be ashamed at the parts of himself which preferred the lie.

No, he had to press on somehow. He couldn't return himself to a monster, no matter how charming. He should be happy to be freed. He could have his own life back. He could sleep during the night and wake during the day, and walk in the sunshine, and choose to go wherever he pleased.

He could take what little money he had stashed in his bookshop and take a train out of town, or a boat overseas, see the new places that he dreamed about but never got around to visiting. He could start his life over, do something else with it. Live a fuller life in the here and now rather than wait in his lonely little bookshop, wait for something to happen to him. Something had happened to him, and it should have taught him a lesson about choosing what he wants before it's chosen for him.

It was exhilarating. But…

For all his newly gained freedom, he still had no idea what he actually wanted. The desire for fangs in his neck was fake, but at least it was a clear desire. What did he want before, apart from books and safety? And who was he now, now that he knew the dangerous world of the supernatural lurked just behind every streetlamp, just waiting to pull him into it?

Previous > Masterlist

Next week: Oliver is not as free as he might have hoped.

I'll also have a Christmas-adjacent self-indulgent vampire story up tomorrow, so please keep an eye out! And vote in the holiday edition of Sedation Vending Machine!

Thanks for reading this story another year, and happy holidays!

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[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Sure about that? Got yourself killed without me around once already, red. Rather not have my efforts in undoing that be in vain. Matter of professional pride."

Eskel's deep, concerted voice returned to Sabrina with morbid amusement in the midst of his flashing, enchanted silver blade severing Necrophage limbs, sending them flying this way and that. They were determined, fearless and relentless, he could give them that much... but even outnumbering them, stood little chance against the pair. Merely delaying the inevitable. Throwing a bomb into a group of them, he blew them apart, before casting an Aard Sign to stagger another group, then dodging, drawing his trophy hook and tearing out the throat of another Necrophage that shrieked and lunged at him. One after another, they all fell in the grime and muck, until, finally, the inevitable came, and the battle ended with the two of them still standing. A relative quiet gathered over the clearing outside and the cavern alike, save the crackling of magical fire cooking some of the dead monsters, and some gurgling of surviving, mortally injured Necrophages. He looked over the battlefield, surveying their handwork, before drawing his crossbow and starting to pace about calmly, firing a steel bolt into the heads of several of the creatures that were severely wounded or bound by his Yrden Sign traps, finishing them off entirely.

By the time he was done cleaning up the gory battlefield of the clearing around them, cloak shifting in the breeze, it began to rain around them, the weather above the forest taking a turn for the worst. At last, tucking his crossbow away, the deathly pale potion toxic Witcher's black, viper eyes returned to the crimson haired and clad Sorceress with a nod in her direction, calm tone washing over her again as he likewise lowered his blood coated silver sword. Not half bad, between the two of them, had been awhile since they fought together, instead of against each other. Plenty of valuable mutagens he would be able to extract from their corpses to sell to the closest alchemist shop as well... while she herself made use of their corpses for whatever purposes the infernal Necronomicon had for them. All in all, assuming her plans didn't get them killed, it was liable to be a profitable contract, between the mutagens and the reward awaiting back in town. It was good to return to hunting as well, between the enjoyment they shared together. Back to what he was best at, had been made for. Especially if demons were likely to escape that book, grisly memory of the Deadites stirring again grimly. Things worse than them as well.

"That's the last of them. Can't sense any more alive within the cavern. Now, go ahead and do what you came here to do. Before I wise up and change my mind."

@fallesto

“Fewer jokes now focus on the immediate challenge ahead. Do not die on me witcher!”

She declared as she stood at the cave's mouth beside him, gazing into the darkness where the Monsters lurked. He had successfully drawn them out, showcasing his impressive skills and expertise in this perilous domain. After all, she was more accustomed to hunting humans, not these fearsome creatures. Dozens of them were there, fangs bared and claws poised, drooling and snapping at the air, eager to consume either of them—or perhaps both—if they faltered even slightly. But she was determined to prevent that from happening. She was a sorceress for a reason, and a highly skilled one at that. While he wielded a sword and possessed vast knowledge, all she had were her hands. Yet, that was more than sufficient; her magic surpassed any blade of steel or silver. It didn’t matter what she could conjure with her powers; her fire was more potent than any weapon in existence, and she was ready to demonstrate it.

As the monstrous horde surged forward, she unleashed a torrent of flames, igniting them one by one. Their flesh crackled and sizzled, the acrid smoke spiraling up the tunnel, thickening the air and heightening the peril. Fortunately, they stood at the cave's entrance, where the smoke couldn't reach them. Deeper within, however, the creatures faced a grim fate—suffocation, a fate some might deem worse than death. Yet, to her, they were merely monsters, each with their own unique skills, adept at hunting on the fly, she was looking forward to opening up any bodies that had not been too badly damaged.

At her side, he swiftly dispatched any threat that dared to approach, a fierce protector despite the tumultuous feelings between them. Their bond was undeniably toxic, a blend of hatred and affection, but in moments like this, they were an unstoppable duo—a witcher and a witch, a partnership forged in fire and danger. She moved with grace, her hands weaving through the air, conjuring flames that erupted forth, engulfing the beasts in an instant. The fire spread like a relentless disease, silencing their cries before they could escape their lips.

Turning to him, she smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I may be a rich girl, but lately, my wealth lies in knowledge. I can handle myself, so you don’t need to shield me. Still, it’s heartening to see you fight so fiercely for little old me.”

[mllemaenad]

To clarify about bringing down the Veil: I did say, and I did mean, that I don't think we should just let Solas do whatever. He's clearly having some sort of Mythal-related nervous breakdown and is intent on going it alone. This is stupid, and we really need to have an actual plan for this.

But.

Primary issue seems to be demons. Demons are often created by being pulled through the Fade, so bringing it down actually solves a problem. Demons can be complex people who aren't necessarily a problem to have around. When demons are problems, we have: the Avvar, the Chasind, the Rivaini, the Nevarrans and whatever spirit allies Solas has as experts who could line up to deal with this. This feels like the same argument the game would make about Circles and possessed mages. I want to get rid of the Veil like I used to want to get rid of Circles.

Secondary issue is Blight. Blight was contained prior to the Veil going up, so we've definitely got methods for doing that. The Veil is clearly not working as Blight-related security because Thedas has been up to its eyeballs in the stuff for centuries. You put a big mysterious city in everyone's dreams and guess what happened.

While Blight is present in the Fade outside the Black City, it is not everywhere in the Fade, and with the presence of eluvians we've got people wandering physically all over the Fade anyway. You can wander into Tainted bits of the Fade and get Blighted just like you can by wandering into Tainted bits of the Deep Roads. Don't do that! Also: make sure the Black City is properly locked up! It's common sense.

Blight, while undeniably still dangerous, seems to be operating on diminishing returns: the First Blight took two centuries to defeat and nearly wiped out civilisation; we just knocked over an Archdemon in a single battle at the cost of a few hundred lives and one fortress. And I'm betting we take out the seventh by the end of the game. Ghilan'nain has apparently been genetically engineering worse darkspawn, and we're still kicking their arses.

We should absolutely have Grey Wardens on cleanup duty in the Fade, though. I really do want to do this sensibly.

Darkspawn are also people, who can be cured of their compulsions by a modified form of the Joining. I'm certainly not wringing my hands over killing darkspawn in self-defence, but I think it's worth remembering that Davrin is wrong: they are not mindless monsters and if we can help them we should.

Tertiary issue is the Titans, who are attached to the Blight problem. The Titans were severed from their dreams in what sounds a lot like a form of Tranquility. This is a practical problem (Blight!) and a moral problem (we've got some mutilated people here!). The thing about Tranquility was that it was this utterly irreversible nightmare condition ... until it turned out that there had always been a cure, and it just involved reaching out to a spirit for some assistance. I'm not suggesting that the situation with the Titans is identical, but I am saying: bring down the Veil, reconnect with magic and spirits and start brainstorming. We can and should fix this.

Quaternary issue is just the Veil itself, which is increasingly tattered and in some places almost entirely absent. It is stupidly easy to thin the Veil and people are going to keep doing it, whether they mean to or not. So if there's, for example, Blight loose in the Veil, there is nothing stopping somebody from accidentally thinning a Blighted bit. And the damn thing will fall apart eventually. I for one would like to know its end date and be prepared for it.

So ... look, unless the game gives some last minute information on this ... Yeah, I think I want the Veil down. Solas can be a pain in the arse, but he's right about this. I've looked at his memories, and the flashbacks in the Fade: I know about the evanuris messing with the Blight, and Mythal's murder, and the ritual to lock up the gods not going as he intended. It's a mess, but it hasn't changed my mind.

Now: again, that does not mean I'm on board with Solas's actual plan. I want to grab him and tell him to sit the fuck down and work this out as a group project. Do it carefully, do it as safely as possible, and be willing to wait another year or two until we're organised.

But yes. BRING. DOWN. THE VEIL.

[murfpersonalblog]

My 2 Cents on the WWDITS Finale - 9/10

I LOVE WWDITS, but ngl I didn't care much for Season 6. I barely laughed, and found most of the eps depressing. I was hoping for more overarching plot threads, and felt disappointed & my expectations were too high. I loved S5, but I think the "plot" ended there, and S6 felt all over the place--which I guess was the point. As such, I LOVED the finale, cuz of this right here:

Jerry's introduction and the 1950s footage cemented that these silly vampires are perfectly fine doing the same thing they've always done for all eternity.

On the one hand, they are stuck in their ways, from their outdated clothes to their accents to their hobbies--even Colin Robinson, the most modern one of them all, is trapped in a perpetual 100-yr loop and never remembers anything that happened in his past lives (unless he checks the archives he's hermetically sealed in his basement vault).

However, the bit about them having learned nothing at all was a red herring. Cuz ALL of these vamps actually HAVE grown & learned a great deal.

Laszlin's Monster--a creature with real emotions & a heart/soul, who is WELCOME in their family--is right there watching footage of Laszlo's previous failed attempts to create life from death. Laszlo AND Nadja are visibly cringing at how disastrous Laszlo's experiments used to be. But S4-S6 gave us the beautiful Laszlo-Colin partnership. Laszlin's Monster says "I LOVE BOTH MY FATHERS, NOW KISS."

Laszlo had been doing everything by himself and failed--it was only once he got off his high horse and finally accepted help from Colin (the person he'd once looked down, then had to RAISE as his father in S4) that he finally achieved a scientific miracle. Laszlo & Colin have been my fave characters this entire series, and it paid off BIG TIME.

Nadja's arc was more of her coming full circle as the only sensible vampire in the room, with very simple yet perfectly effective solutions for all the knots they (AND we the viewers) tangle ourselves in:

She does the exact same quick problem-solving in the pilot--which the finale's end credits even show the vamps watching old footage of--when Nandor's blabbing about hygiene, and Nadja's bored out of her skull (cuz she knows they can just label their corpses with Sharpies):

And ofc the "perfect" solution leads to the elephant in the room: Nandermo.

IMO Guillermo was most interesting as a vampire slayer. His character arc bored/irritated me the most whenever he DID get overly ambitious--trying to lead the Vampiric Council through manipulating Nandor in S3; and working at Canon Capital in S6. I was happy to see him & his cousin team up to save the vamps in 6x9, cuz that's literally what Memo's best at, cuz he IS a killer--of vamps. I actually WANTED a whole season with Nandermo cosplaying as Batman & Robin--it's so effing adorable!

Memo THINKS he wants bigger & better things, and maybe he would've thrived as a full time analyst at Canon Capital--but is that what he REALLY wanted? Ofc not! He's gleeful like a little kid at Xmas when Nandor lets him finally sit in his coffin.

Cuz even though Memo's matured & grown enough to realize that BEING a vampire literally sucks, he still loves the ALLURE of vampires. He's THRILLED to finally be allowed to sit with Nandor in his coffin, and is IMPRESSED/AMAZED that there really is an underground lair. He's STILL that kid from the pilot in love with being Antonio Banderas' Armand from Interview with the Vampire!

Nandor has always been the Marius to Guillermo's Armand. The promise of adventure & excitement is still there in the end. The finale's a whole NEW beginning for Nandermo, and Memo's happy as a clam to follow Nandor's lead on a new series of hijinks in the secret lair. Like he tells Nandor: "You'll ALWAYS be 'Master' to me."

IMO, the one who's MOST stuck on his ways & never changing is Memo. Season after season he leaves & comes back; even in the finale he fakes like he'll never see Nandor again just to give the film crew good "closure" footage. So I reckon he's gonna grow old in that house, cuz he can't ever bring himself to leave for long--he needs them as much as they need him, codependency at its finest. Memo'll probably end up just like Benjy, Nandor's elderly S2 Familiar that Nandor made a vamp in his old decrepit age.

(WWDITS thinks they're SO SLICK with the Benjy-Benji reference!)

It won't be cuz Memo wants to be a vamp, but cuz he's old AF and afraid of dying & leaving the vamps behind to go on without him. Nothing from this season/finale gives me confidence that Memo will actually move on, but I don't think that has to be a bad thing, if moving on is NOT what will make Memo AND Nandor happiest--which is obvs from how sad Nandor was at the prospect of them NOT working together as Batman & Robin.

Nandermo love & need each other, the finale confirmed it, and I'm satisfied.

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

The Silco Saga, Part Two*: Vander and Silco haunt the narrative (and are kinda gay for each other)

*This is the second (well, actually third) post in a series I’ve lovingly dubbed “The Silco Saga, a retrospective after Season 2”. It’s halfway between flow of conscience, meta, headcanon and review, spawned from my Arcane brainrot (and recent S1 rewatch) and vaguely aimed at trying to reevaluate the entirety of Arcane with a focus on my Main Man�� Silco. Here is Part 1 (on how S2 handled Silco and Jinx’s relationship) and Part 1.5 (miscellaneous thoughts regarding timeline issues and Silco’s actions towards the kids in S1ep3).

Please feel free to comment! I love hearing different perspectives on this show.

Also, quick disclaimer (just in case it wasn’t clear from the title of this post): I ship them. Don’t like, don’t read. And I swear to God, if I hear anyone say “but they’re brothers!!!1!”, know that I’m going to curse your entire genome until the thermal death of the Universe. Bye.

——————————————————

Vander’s original sin

The portrayal of Vander that emerges from S1 and S2 is that of a man who is trying to do good by his people, but is plagued by guilt and shame due to the horrific acts of violence he committed in the past. S2 clearly shows us that the events of the Day of Ash and the subsequent attempted murder of his best friend/comrade/homoerotic situationship (I’m looking at you, Brokeback Mountain jackets) were intensely traumatic not just for Silco, but for Vander as well. I’ll admit I didn’t much care for him in S1 (mostly because of his goody-two-shoes aura which most of the fandom seemed to latch on to), but I think the elements S2 added to his backstory turned him into a wonderfully complex and contradictory character. It cements something I already kind of sensed about him in S1: that there’s a distinct layer of hypocrisy in Vander’s strict adherence to pacifism (to the point of inaction), which is not really a byproduct of a deeply held personal belief about the ethics of non-violence, but instead a way to cope with his guilt about Silco and the other victims of the Day of Ash revolt. Vander chooses to “atone” for his sins by suppressing all forms of violence, both internal and external, thus generating a safe but stifling environment in which the Lanes survive, but arguably cannot thrive long-term. And in line with Arcane’s tragic narrative, he gets ultimately punished for it: he’s forced to loose all that he holds dear (Silco, the kids and his peaceful little world) and to ultimately embody what he hates and fears most about himself (being a violent monster only capable of destruction).

During my first watch of S2 I couldn’t really figure out whether I liked or not the fact that Felicia’s death was the reason for Vander’s “betrayal” of Silco (it felt a bit contrived and love-triangle-y), but after giving it much thought I have decided that, in fact, I quite like it. It plays heavily into the theme of guilt being central to Vander’s character, and how this guilt really ends up snowballing into something completely unmanageable. Guilt about Felicia (and probably many others that died on that day) leads him to turn on Silco; and later, guilt about Silco ultimately makes him give up all violent means of revolution because he’s too afraid to harm the people he loves. Guilt also becomes a motivating factor for his adoption of Vi and Powder, since we now know he’s not just selflessly picking up two strays, but acting on a promise done to a dear friend who’s just died because of him. The fact that the details of his “betrayal” of Silco are kept pretty much a secret also reeks of guilt and shame. There’s this layer of selfishness and cowardice to his actions that I find very refreshing for a character that’s introduced to us as the closest thing to a paragon of virtue in all of Arcane.

It’s deeply tragic how his inability to properly deal with his past impacts the rest of the narrative; perhaps, had he told Vi the real reason for his unwillingness to rise against Piltover, and not the wishy-washy “violence bad, be responsible” speech, she would have been less rash and black-and-white in her thinking.

I wish S2 spend more time on the two sisters reflecting on Vander and Silco’s relationship. While it’s natural for us to draw parallels between the dyads Vi-Jinx and Vander-Silco, in reality their situations are quite different. There was no ‘betrayal’ between Vi and Jinx, just two grief-stricken children unable to handle an immensely tragic situation; but, due to the ‘lessons’ imparted to them from their ‘parents’ (lessons which themselves were distorted due to their own inability to deal with their past), they are led to believe their situation is as hopelessly unsolvable as it was for Vander and Silco.

The letter

I still haven’t decided on whether the letter would have worked on Silco or not. I think timing plays a big factor. The Silco we meet in arc 1 of S1 probably wouldn’t have been swayed; he’s already too set in his “rebirth” mentality, and the new man he has become doesn’t care about Vander’s sentimental platitudes. A younger Silco, with less time to crystallize into his new identity… maybe. I think the Best Timeline of S2ep7 (yes, that’s what I’m calling it) sort of implies that Silco got the letter almost immediately, given the state of his wound (and the absence of Shimmer).

I wonder if we are also meant to implicitly understand that his use of Shimmer in the Worst Timeline (a.k.a. Arcane, the Netflix show) had some kind of negative influence on his psyche. After all, Shimmer does seem to impact the emotions of its users; if it did influence Silco’s radicalization, it would make his story doubly tragic. I’ve always found his use of Shimmer an interesting tidbit in S1, and the fact that the show doesn’t explain it very much beyond using it to show the amount of trust between him and Jinx has always been very intriguing to me.

Anyway. I think that, in any case, the letter would have been only the first step in Silco and Vander’s trajectory towards reconciliation. They both have a lot of issues to unpack; I love the headcanon going around that one of Silco’s prerequisites to their “peace treaty” is for Vander to rejoin the political fight for Zaun. It sounds just so… in character for Silco to demand something like that; it acts as both a justification and a shield, preventing him to expose himself too much at the beginning, while ensuring that he and Vander remain close.

I think it was already clear in S1 that they both secretly craved to be close again, especially Silco, given how hard he still tried to convince Vander to work with him in S1ep3. (Which is kind of insane of him, if you think about it, but I guess working closely with the man who tried to murder you — and almost succeeded — kinda fits into his whole “almost dying turned me into an Übermensch” philosophy?) Now, with Vander’s letter in S2, we know for a fact the feeling was mutual. Which is, again, horribly tragic for them both, because they’re both so set in their respective ways that actual reconciliation is made impossible.

And they were miners (oh my God they were miners)

Since we’re already kind of on the topic of whether or not Zaundads is real (or just the fruit of our collective hallucination), let’s give to Caesar wha belongs to Caesar: I don’t think the writers meant for them to turn out that way. Their dialogue doesn’t particularly strike me as hinting to anything beyond a very close friendship.

… The animators, however? Those French fucks (affectionate) knew what they were doing. The imagery of the jackets stored one inside the other cannot be a coincidence. There’s really no other cinematic parallel I can think of that doesn’t ultimately lead back to Brokeback Mountain. They were insane for that, and I’m deeply thankful to their perverted French minds (extremely affectionate) that they had the balls to just… put it there. No further comment. Just a glaring nod to the gayest movie ever.

(Also, Brokeback Mountain’s most iconic quote — “I wish I knew how to quit you” — perfectly applies to Vander and Silco. They just can’t seem to let each other go. Silco is still harping on about Vander years after he died. Vander can’t even bear to mention Silco in S1, and the moment they meet again the first thing he blurts out is “I’m sorry”, right after Silco murdered his friend — RIP king Benzo, you didn’t deserve it — in front of him. They match each other’s freak so well, I tell you.)

And then Silco’s scene in the Best Timeline. Just… the touching. The tenderness. The affection. Benzo going “ack!” at them while they gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. It’s just… chef’s kiss. No further comment. Is it, perhaps, self indulgent? Yes. Is Silco’s line about forgiveness cheesy and a bit out of left field? Yes. Do I wish Ekko had more time to ask him what he meant by that, and get in on their backstory (since it would have been deeply meaningful for him too, given how much he idolizes Vander)? Yes.

(Someone please write me fanfiction of this scene. I beg you. I would do it myself but I lack the talent.)

Would I also watch 10 seasons of them being gay married and doing the most irrelevant domestic nonsense? Shamelessly. My poor blorbos deserve it.

[bananarrlele]

"big love mess" plot: in a world of shifting grounds and endless chaos, a peculiar bond forms between you and mr. hugeface, a towering, enigmatic monster with an unorthodox sense of care. after a devastating earthquake shatters your tiny sanctuary, destroying the delicate creations you hold dear, despair threatens to consume you. but mr. hugeface intervenes in his own clumsy yet heartfelt way. notes: established relationship, sfw, fluffly, mr. hugeface x reader, self-insert, bold writing is the otherworld´s language.

The dwelling of ghosts had never been a particularly stable place. Nothing there remained in the same spot indefinitely, nor were things particularly conventional. In a netherworld of inhuman creatures scattered across an inhospitable and chaotic labyrinth, where walls groaned and the chill wind whistled along with hissing shadows, there was a little box. An improvised refuge, a haven for everything frail and delicate, though it appeared to be a concrete cubicle, with its icy walls and devoid of windows. At the top, a disproportionately gigantic and monolithic figure — Mr. Hugeface — peered inside, his eyes ever vigilant. He did so every day, in a constant longing to see you engrossed in something entirely new.

Mr. Hugeface watches you closely as you work on a dress made of light fabric, in an ethereal pale pink hue. The soft-textured material was a true treasure in that underworld, its acquisition having been quite costly and meaningful, since that weave of threads had been kindly given to you by the ever-cordial Mrs. Bride. You are busy adding some clumsy bows to it, finishing a delicate seam and attaching some beads and colorful buttons for a touch of greater authenticity and life to the dress.

“Something is still missing here,” you murmur to yourself, pursing your lips slightly in subtle consideration. “I know!” — In a burst of enthusiasm, almost vertiginously, you move to a corner of the cubicle where you keep your belongings, grabbing tiny glass eye embellishments to better adorn, perhaps, the bodice of your garment. “Voilà!” — Elated, you examine yourself in the old, scratched mirror, the green and bluish beads gleaming sinisterly, giving the impression that something was peeking out from each of them. The entire ensemble — the delicate pink dress, the eccentric accessories — looked absolutely perfect. Until the ground began to shake.

You emerge from beneath the rubble of your tiny belongings. Everything is destroyed. Your house of felt fabric pets, including the one you were working on to represent Mr. Hugeface — a small, inaccurate monster for the true size of the creature with deep, dark eyes, stitched clumsily yet lovingly, full of imperfections that only made its smile even stranger and more endearing. Also lying shattered was your melancholic music box, a gift from Mr. Masque for your “underworld birthday,” with its bent metal blades and the mirror decorated with ribbons and embroidery, now broken into a thousand pieces, reflecting only emptiness.

The tears you had so stubbornly tried to hold back roll freely down your cheeks. There was no longer a smile capable of camouflaging the enormity of your frustration. You crouch amid the remnants of your creations, sorrowful over them. It was excruciating how everything that mattered to you had collapsed in an instant, as if the universe were mocking you.

It was then that you perceived the presence of a companion, a witness to your immense sadness. An immense shadow was cast over you until you saw him, finally. As silent as a mountain that simply decides to be there, there he was, Mr. Hugeface. He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to understand the reason for the distress displayed on the face of his dear, tiny human.

“Doll. You sad. Not good.” — His hollow eyes fixate on you, his colossal, overwhelming presence suddenly as strange as it is comforting.

You try to stand up, your tears bubbling stronger, as he collects in one of his hands the tiny shards of the mirror, placing them on the ground as if they were pieces of a lost puzzle.

“Leave it, Mr. Hugeface! No fix!” — You murmur, trying to feign indifference. However, it’s evident from how your eyes glisten that it has affected you.

“You cry.” — His voice sounds strangely gentle and concerned as he leans further into the box. “You no cry. I here.”

He continues to gather the shards of the mirror, as if rescuing a collection of undervalued treasures. His movements are imprecise and gradual, as though he doesn’t want to cause more discomfort or exacerbate your inner turmoil.

“No. No good. I change this. You no sad.” — He murmurs to himself, suddenly shifting to get a better look at you. He leans further into the improvised box, the walls of the room trembling with his approach. His colossal hand extends toward you, and before you can protest, he gently picks you up, his giant hand enveloping your tiny body like a protective dome.

“I care you.”— He says, his voice laden with newfound and intoxicating excitement — “I make you pretty. Pretty doll!”

You audibly gasp in surprise, but before you can protest his actions, he is already entirely engrossed in the task of dolling you up. Who knows where the man managed to find so many beauty artifacts, but he was entirely prepared, as if he had awaited his entire monstrous existence for that moment. Sparkling necklaces, multi-colored silk fabrics already worn by time, delicate bows, and frayed ribbons. He grabs everything and arranges the items with an almost childlike joy. His darkened eyes, in their devouring emptiness, seem to hold a distant, slender gleam at that moment as Mr. Hugeface carefully examines each piece.

From an unknown place, the colossal man sets down a large mirror with a golden, worn frame in front of you. He holds it up so you can see yourself, as if silently seeking your approval.

“Look, little doll. Pretty, yes? Like?” — He inquires gently, as he holds up necklaces of various colors in front of you, with beads of striking hues and peculiar trinkets that sway and emit a sound oddly pleasant to your ears. It contrasts with the usual ghostly silence, the unsettling hiss of the cutting wind, or the constant dragging of the man who never walks, obstinate and persistent like crimson entangled in webs of illusion.

Among the singular pieces of jewelry, there is a necklace of large, slightly yellowed pearls that he adjusts around your neck, and you laugh, shaking your head.

“Mr. Hugeface, don’t you think it’s a bit too eccentric? Too much!” — You mutter softly as you run your hands over the necklace, considering removing it since it was heavy and musty.

Despite everything, it was undeniable how the giant with gray hair seemed entirely devoted to the moment and immersed in the mission of making you smile, and it softens your eyes. Your shoulders and jaw, once tense, relax languidly before suddenly shaking in response to his deep voice.

“No!”— He protests, trying to tie the ribbon that secures the necklace in place. — “You need look cute.” — He declares, then picks up a red silk cloth, almost transparent, letting it fall clumsily as if draping a princess’s mantle over you. — “There! Perfect you!” — He chuckles proudly as he observes you, a grin adorning that emptiness where his mouth should be.

You’re not sure whether to laugh in indignation at his ignorance or in delight, as the disaster, in all its entirety, was well-intentioned and touching in its own way. He only wanted you, his cherished little doll, to forget about those troublesome earthquakes and move on smiling and being beautiful for his contentment. But you couldn’t help but laugh about the fact that the pieces were far too big for your size, gradually falling and forming a pile around you. He seems satisfied, though, as if he’s doing the right thing.

“Look! Cute, yes?” — He says, trying to adjust a fabric covering your shoulder. The man couldn’t help but furrow his brow slightly when he notices your vaguely amused expression. — “You laugh. I think good. But you mock I? Dislike clothes?” — He asks, his tone faintly distressed at the possibility of having overestimated his own fashion skills and undervalued your own human’s preferences.

You choke slightly on your own laughter, making a dismissive gesture with your hands to reassure him. He wraps the fabric around your shoulders, but it’s so large it drags along the floor like a cape. “It’s a little too big, Hugeface. Clothes big. Don’t fit.”

He looks at you, confused but determined.

“Ah, yes, big clothes. I forget. This?” — He picks up another cloth, a light pink one smaller than the previous, but still disproportionate to your size, and drapes it over your shoulders. — “This better, yes?”

He begins to arrange the cloth carefully, adjusting here and there, but doesn’t realize that he’s accidentally twisting your hair while doing so.

“Oh, sorry, sorry! Little doll…” — He murmurs, his big fingers slipping away as he tries to smooth out the folds of the cloth.

“This is hurting, Hugeface… Hurt.” — You say, trying to keep your voice gentle, even though his fingers were pressing a bit too hard. Multiple times he neglects the dimension of his own strength. One wrong flick from him and you could fly across the ghost-building, if ever he decided to do so, for some reason.

“I so sorry. I forget strength, yes? Sorry, sorry.” — He says, looking genuinely remorseful. — “I try paint face, yes?”

He picks up an old, huge tube of red lipstick, big as a spear, and approaches, the tip of the tube lightly bumping against your face. — “There, sorry!” — He quickly retracts, eyes wide. — “Understand. Slow.”

With a concentrated expression, he tries again, this time more slowly, moving the lipstick towards your lips. But his fingers are so big that he ends up scraping your lips with the tip of the tube, and then, beyond your lips, paints a third of your face red. Your irritated expression immediately intensifies.

“Hugeface, what are you doing?” — You say, with an irritated grimace while looking at the makeshift mirror. Half of your face was completely smeared with carmine-colored lipstick.

“I wrong, yes? I sorry again. I just want you pretty.” — He grumbles, catching the reprimanding tone you’re using despite him not understanding the words in the human language. His eyes focus on you with a genuinely lost expression, as if he truly wanted to learn the right way to beautify your face, with features so soft and cherished by him.

You sigh, partially defeated, but secretly enjoying that clumsy display of affection from your giant partner. Your eyes soften as he continues to watch you with a concerned expression, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Paint face is hard. Try hair do, yes?” — You try to change the subject before things get worse. — “Clean me face first, and you try hair.”

He nods vigorously, looking relieved to have a simpler task to focus on. — “Yes, yes, we do that. Clean you face first.”

With careful movements, he picks up a soft, wet cloth, trying gently to wipe away the smeared lipstick from your lips and face. His fingers are too big to handle cotton effectively, so he does what he can, helping to remove the makeup smudges.

“Slow, Hugeface. Very slow.” — You warn as he approaches, his giant hands swaying side to side as he tries not to hurt you. — “Careful eyes, yes?”

He responds with a concentrated expression, his eyes focused on his movements. — “I know, I know! Me not hurt you. Promise.” — He continues carefully, wiping away the lipstick from the corners of your mouth, then moving to your cheeks and forehead. Each touch is gentle, though still quite awkward, but you feel the genuine affection in each gesture.

After a while, he sighs, finally satisfied with the result. “Clean face. Now hair, yes?”

“Now hair, yes.” — You smile, giving him a little wink to calm him down. — “Be gentle with the ends.”

He seems more confident now that he’s dealing with something more familiar. — “I be slow. You trust me, little doll?”

“Trust, Hugeface.” — You nod and sit in his palm, allowing him to start arranging your hair. — “Very slow. Like this.”

He begins to gently run the brush through your hair, his big fingers but delicate, as he slides the brush to avoid pulling or snagging the strands. Each touch is like an attempt at care, his movements slow but careful.

“You okay? Mr. Hugeface…” — You ask, seeing that he looks worried about getting everything right.

He stops for a moment, his eyes on yours, as if searching for confirmation. — “Good… good, yes? No hurt?”

“No hurt.”— You smile reassuringly, gently patting his hand as he continues brushing. — “You’re doing very well. Good, big man.” — You gently give his hand two taps as a thank you.

“Almost end.” — You look at the result in a makeshift mirror as he says it, smiling to see your hair finally well-combed.

— “You look pretty.” — He looks more confident now, continuing to brush your hair more easily. — “I do better next time, yes?”

You shake your head dismissively once more, your eyes soft with affection. — “You good already.” — You say tenderly. — “Thank you for the try.”— You bite your lip shyly, suddenly rising from your position, perched in the palm of his hand. You stretch your hands up, bouncing a little to get his attention, silently asking him to lift you closer to him. — “Hey, up me! Please!”

He tilts his head, curious, before nodding. “Yes, yes. Up you, little doll.” — He murmurs, carefully enclosing you between his fingers, like walls of protection, and bringing you closer to his colossal face.

“Just a little more. Stay still, yes?” — You ask, extending your hands to reach his cheek. You smile as he stops, keeping you in front of his cheek. The warmth of his skin and the somewhat rough texture are unmistakable. You lean forward and place a brief but full of affection kiss there. — “Thanks, all done.”

He remains motionless, his eyes shining as you pull away.

“You kiss?” — He asks, with a tone that oscillates between surprise and admiration.

You laugh, shaking your head. — “Of course, yes. You deserve it.”

He smiles shyly, his eyes fixed on you as if you were something precious. — “More kiss?”

You blush but decide to try something bolder, leaning towards his lips. — “Just one more…”

He notices your intention and stays still, but as you approach, you realize it's impossible. His mouth is so big, and you simply can’t reach a specific spot without potentially sinking into the surface of his lips.

You try. First, with a direct kiss, but as you lean in, you lose your balance and hold onto the edge of one of his lips, leaving a tiny smudge of dried red lipstick there. — “Wrong happen.” — You admit, nervously laughing.

He laughs softly, a deep sound that makes the ground tremble slightly. — “Big mouth. You small. Difficult, yes?”

You nod, laughing too. “Yes, hard to do. Cheek, just. Face, better.” — You gesture towards your own cheek, instructing him on your next step, before pointing towards his cheek.

He nods, repositioning you closer to his face, where you place another delicate kiss, this time without incidents.

“Better this way. Thanks, cute, big man.” — You mutter, beamingly.

He gleams wide, satisfied. “Always make you happy. You my little doll.” — He whispers, with a genuine smile that almost breaks your heart with its purity. — “You make me happy, little doll. Very happy.”

“And you make me happy, even when you’re clumsy. Me not sad anymore, you make me laugh.” — You say, laughing softly as you stroke his skin. — “But we try kiss later.”

He nods vigorously, almost shaking you in the process. “Yes, yes! We practice. Kiss very hard, but good.”

You laugh, hugging his giant hand as he keeps it close to his face.

"Very good, Mr. Hugeface. Very good."

"mr. hugeface" art by owenun.

(https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/8567773?q=owenun) ♡ text eligible for review (english is not my first language! original is in portuguese.) hope the 3 mr. hugeface´s fans out there are happy!

[anxietycheesecake]

Piggybacking on one of your recent posts, they did worse than just give The Guide nothing to do and the MAGA speech, they turned her into a prop for the needs of male characters.

That was her entire purpose.

Offering insight about Nandor and his romance struggles and being a love interest for Nandor to underscore that if The Powers That Be wanted Nandor to be physically attracted to Guillermo and making intended, overt romantic statements, he would be acting towards him as he does The Guide, but he doesn't, so get your minds out of the gutter, their love is more profound than that.

Then because the Monster is horny, all of the vampires INCLUDING NADJA are completely okay with decapitating The Guide - A FELLOW SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS OLD VAMPIRE - with or without her consent, and attach it to a frankenbody to be the Monster's sex doll.

Lazslo literally sneaks up on her with an electric saw.

That was it. We never saw her actually working with Jerry, just blink and you miss it moments.

(Also please try to imagine Season 1-2 Nadja, who actually cared about other women who were being shat on enough to turn her into her baby vamp and take her under her wing reacting like this and tell me her character hasn't been assassinated and that this show didn't fly off the rails.)

Wow, never gave the Guide that much thought (mostly BECAUSE THE WRITERS DON'T EITHER) but now I'm so viscerally pissed about it. You're 100% right. I mean, don't quote me on this, but this show got so distasteful regarding women and minorities when SF (a woman of color, btw) became less involved and left. She was still around in season 4 but didn't even write an ep, and mind you, up until that point, her eps were the only ones where Nandor stated the possibility of the love of his life being a man, after being confirmed multisexual for a while.

Marwa should've been a guywife and this is the hill I'm dying on. You can't make a middle eastern man take a middle eastern woman's agency away and ultimately turn her into a white man. The implications are unfortunate to say the least. Like, they were smart enough to have Guillermo be a man even when making him a woman was considered too (can you imagine having a Latina as a mistreated servant to a middle eastern man? The way that would've offended everyone lmao). This is such a gross and easily avoidable oversight, YOU LITERALLY GAVE THE DUDE MALE SPOUSES

Also comparing a brown man to an orc AND NOT SUBVERTING IT in the subversive show (I was so sure they were going to reveal the orcs were actually super hot at the end, because that's what early seasons would do). Just the fat jokes last season and the obsession with making it clear again and again that Guillermo is not wanted sexually by anyone in the horny monster society. I know the fandom thinks everyone's all over him but I genuinely believe this is collective delusion (affectionate) or fanfic brain because I can't remember any of this being backed by canon aside from the Guide's crush (also ftm sexual harassment is funny, I guess). Please correct me if I'm wrong. They changed their tune so many times it's hard to keep track.

Like, not to be that friend that's too woke, but when you have a diverse cast (except for black folks smh, though I'm glad they never went there) you need to be a bit more careful and responsible with what you put in their mouths. Come on!

Went on a bit of a tangent, sorry. My heart breaks for Kristen. Good for that main cast paycheck, but imagine having your character become a regular just for it to... Not be a regular? And be disrespected every second it's around without a satisfying conclusion? They seemed to understand back in the day that seeing a character be exaggeratedly mistreated constantly is only funny for a while, but they forgot, both with her and Guillermo.

I never liked the Guide. I found her entertaining on her first appearances but thought she changed the general feel of the comedy a little too much. To be honest, I always found it hard to care about her and Nadja, because the writers themselves never seemed that interested in them. But this is so annoying and makes me want to write sapphic fixits lmao

[stormbreaker101]

I still can't get over the Circe Saga.

Hermes gives Odysseus a tool to even the playing field. He anticipates and encourages Odysseus to overpower her on a physical, magical, and sexual level. He phrases this help as "us[ing] more than words." He wants Odysseus to give up speech and mercy as much as the other gods do.

But ultimately it's Odysseus's words that save him and his crew. It's him telling Circe about his faith to Penelope that convinces her to help him.

There are other ways of persuasion, indeed.

[kandicon]

Actually I really wanna write a role reversal gerrymichael au and let me be so, so transparent when I say it is literally just bc I wanna fantasize about the tall, gangly blond man beating monsters to death

Everyone else has the same roles. Mary Keay is still Mary Keay in all her abusive and obsessive glory; Gertrude is still the Archivist.

Vaguely spiral aligned Michael who Does Not Like It. Pretends his connection is a hell of a lot looser than it is.

The only benefit (that Michael thinks of the Spiral) is how he can move around the Institute with relatively little interference and watch, after all, it is hard to behold something that is both nothing and everything and never was all at the same time.

Gerry ran away from home really young and actually succeeded. Spent a few years fucking around and learning what kind of benches are best to sleep on before applying to the Magnus Institute because that's what his dad did. He lied to hell and back on the application, but was hired quickly because of how thoroughly touched by the entities he was (thanks Mary) and Gertrude was running low on assistants. Gerry also felt completely justified in faking stuff and that he was perfectly qualified bc he grew up in a bookshop and how much different could it be (very different, as it turns out).

They first meet each other when Michael is prowling through artefact storage like it was a shopping mall, and pocketing everything he saw that didn't immediately mesmerize him. He was nervous and jumpy as all hell, even though this was not the first time he's done something similar and he's fairly certain Gertrude doesn't care, so when Gerry first spotted him from behind, he was immediately suspicious even before he saw Michael try to shove a lamp into his jacket pocket. This led to an altercation that eventually led to the lamp being accidentally turned on, Michael smashing it to pieces with a hammer Gerry had not realized Michael had, and Gerry suddenly being a lot more consciously aware of the supernatural than he was.

Gerry's mother was still obsessive over Lighteners, and she didn't make an effort to hide what she did, but she didn't actively try to educate Gerry on anything to do with the Fears. So he is fairly knowledgeable on the supernatural, but he doesn't know anything concrete about the Fears themselves and their categorization. The role of a stand by sacrifice instead of an errand boy and heir.

Michael still trusts Gertrude, but this time he knows he shouldn't and hates himself for it. Gerry wants to trust Gertrude, and she does hide him from anything Fears related and behaves around him like she did Michael in cannon, but he just feels something off about her and doesn't like it. She's just a bit too much like his mother for him to let his guard down.

Michael gets referred to by "it/its" pronouns once by Gerry as a teasing joke before Gerry fully knows what he is and is absolutely terrified by how happy the pronouns make his feel. (He thinks, maybe, that the Michael of his childhood liked something similar, too, but everything too far back is all twisted and he doesn't know what has been touched by the Spiral and what hasn't, so he doesn't trust any of it). He/it Michael ftw

At one point Michael just started putting black lipstick on himself because some of Gerry's always stuck to him when they kissed anyways n this gave them plausible deniability. Michael will never admit to the little spiral thrill it gives him when people do a double take upon seeing his face, the black lipstick contrasting literally everything else about his style.

Gabriel attempted to track Michael down exactly once, a few years before he joined the institute. He had heard about Michael's unsavory... Hobby... (<- reckless destruction of artefacts and throwing himself at all monsters and avatars he sees with a murderous rage regardless of their affiliation) but spiral avatars capable of holding a conversation are so few and far between and the Great Twisting was almost prepared, so he thought a meeting would be worth it. He showed up at a cafe Michael frequented one day expecting lovely, but tense, conversation, only to promptly lit on fire (mostly) in the back alley behind the cafe after he introduced himself. Gabriel survived, but some of his clay body still hardens unexpectedly or shows signs of firing from time to time.

Occasionally Michael's eyes will change colors and shapes, so he likes to put contacts in (he used to just use tinted glasses, but after one time of Gerry getting lost in his eyes in the far too literal, not at all romantic, sense, he decided to invest in smth a bit harder to take off and forget about). Unfortunately, this sometimes means other, very much not his original eyes will pop up around his body and in his hair as protest when he puts them in. It's not very fun to have to chase off eyes at 6am, but he does it regardless and complains the whole time about how he shouldn't have to deal with eyes when he very clearly isn't of The Eye.

Gerry: Oh hey you were running pretty late. I was starting to get worried.

Michael, not about to admit he spent an extra thirty minutes to get ready yelling and brandishing a lighter at a door that was following him around like a lost puppy: Ummmmmm I forgot my wallet. :((

[quirkle2]

oh nooo that's quite a bummer :( but i'm very glad that i helped brightening up your day :") tbh your writing brightens up my day too (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

AND WAIT I'VE BEEN ACTUALLY QUITE THINKING ABOUT WHETHER ZOMBIE MOB HAS FOUGHT OFF A ZOMBIE WHEN I ASKED IF HE HAS EVER BITTEN SOMEONE and since you brought it up, well, would be okay to ask about the details of how it went 👁️👁️ (also him fighting off a fellow zombie to protect tome got me sobbing)

- 🪻

aww im glad my silly little words brighten ur day!! ur so sweet :]

and yes, it went horribly <3! tome prolly wasn't paying attention as closely as she should've been and got herself surrounded by a crowd. to be clear, that's not Always dangerous, since zombies arent like,, after ur brains in this constantly. but these zombies did look quite hungry, and human or not, she looked like a good meal,,

she had wandered off a bit from mob n ritsu, but mob heard the commotion first. tome has a big fucking baseball bat in this au that she likes to swing around, but a baseball bat can only get u so far in terms of self defense. she thins the horde but there's simply too many of them

mob lets exactly One zombie grab her and yank her toward them before he goes ballistic

watching zombies fight is a lot closer to watching wild animals fight than anything else, and it gets quite horrid sometimes. since their bites aren't rly "dangerous" to each other beyond the typical Oh No a Chunk of Flesh is Gone (not even painful for them, since their nerves r.. less than functional), the fight is a lot more close up and gruesome than a fight against a zombie and a human would be. humans usually back away from zombies immediately and try not to touch them at all in fear of getting bitten; zombies don't need to care abt that

most of the horde realizes that this meal isn't going to be easy and they wander off, but a few more hungry, more desperate ones try to rip into mob's throat at the first sign of defiance. it's not exactly a fair fight; it's like 1 against 4, so he's sorta bound to lose

thankfully ritsu shows up and shoots two of them down (he's Terrified of shooting mob by accident, but either way he'll probably die, so) and tome gets the last one with a good swing to the head. ritsu rushes to mob and is horrified by the amount of blood dripping from his neck and his arm; tome is equally as shocked, but she's mostly thinking, "ive Never seen a zombie defend a human before"

mob's neck is thankfully mostly just scraped up and clawed, but there Is some gruesome punctures where canines sank in and tugged. it's a lot worse along his arm that's bitten and gouged beyond belief. he loses a lot of blood here, but the whole nerves-no-longer-work thing is a blessing in disguise atm; he'd be in a lot of pain otherwise. while ritsu and tome are patching him up w shaky hands he simply glares beyond their shoulders like he thinks he's still in danger, even when they tighten the bandages. it's like he barely notices what they’re doing

his strangely alert behavior makes them think abt the possibility that maybe mob Knows he could've easily been shredded apart there, and he's a little scared and worked up abt it. the only reason he managed to fight as long as he did without dying is prolly bc the other zombies weren't as well-fed as mob—they were kinda weak and shaky from days of no food, but mob has humans taking care of him and keeping him fed 24/7

they're all shaken up by it pretty good.. tome is still reeling from the fact that mob defended her so valiantly, and ritsu is quietly horrified by the idea of another zombie killing mob instead of a human. he doesn't know which is worse

[wawhii]

Morrowind has me fucked up enough after tonight that I need the fucking Skyrim Tavern Music

[carcarrot]

im just going to go off in the tags for my review but last nights concert was crazy, entertaining, and crazily entertaining. while they did not play the rhythm thief clearly my rhythm, if i ever had any, was stolen and ron and russell were easily able to see my lack of clapping and dancing skills. when will those 70+ year old men stop beating me at everything

[tonycries]

Green-eyed Monster

Synopsis. He knows it’s not your fault they’re all over you - but that doesn’t stop him from fúcking you like it is.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, jealous séx, spítting, exhíbitionism, bréeding, chokíng, degradatíon, cúmplay, Nanami’s a bit mean, squírting, overstím, oral (female receiving), semi-public, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.4k

A/N. It’s my birthday month yippeeeee

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Talk to her?”

It takes you a second to even register those words - let alone the phone being pressed against the side of your face - Toji’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful, so utterly relentless as he fucks your sloppy pussy into the mattress. 

“Hellooooo? Anyone there?”

And it takes you even longer to hear that familiar tinny voice. Too familiar. 

“T-Toji- what ngh-” you let out an obscene gasp - one you were sure that Toji drew out of you on purpose. Dragging his thumb all over your throbbing clit, lips curling in a way that already told you who was on the other end of the line.

“C’mon, doll. The mans been blowing up your phone all day.” his words are hot against your lips. Giving your swollen lips a loud peck, once. Twice. “S’rude to keep someone waiting on call.”

He only huffs out a laugh at how cute you looked underneath him, all breathless and fucked dumb. Jaw slack, teary eyes rolling to the back of your head, words slurring and barely coherent.

“Hngh- what-” you squirm, words so heavy as Toji continues his movements. “Oh my god-”

Your boyfriend had you exactly where he wanted you - and since he couldn’t take a hint, Toji was about to let that annoying little ex of yours know too. Knowing that whatever comes out of your pretty lil’ mouth would definitely stop that loser thinking he still had a chance.

“Is she there? Baby, are you there?”

Oh, well, Toji didn’t like that. Not one bit, as he pushes your legs further apart to ram into you even deeper. Unstopping. Unforgiving - like he was taking his irritation out on your poor, ravaged cunt. 

“Yeah, speak up ‘baby’.” he pants into your open mouth, hot tongue licking up the stray tears rolling down your cheeks. “Use those words now.”

And because he was such a shameless bastard, Toji’s rolling your swollen clit between two large fingers. Lips twitching up into a smirk as he drinks in all those cute little whines that startle out of you. 

“Hn-hngh-” you cry, bowing your body deeper into Toji’s. Clawing at his arms - his shoulders - his back to desperately contain your obscene moans. What a shame, they were so pretty too - he wouldn’t mind the entire neighborhood overhearing. “Fuck, Toji…”

“Awww, what? Can’t even speak?” Pulling himself closer to catch your lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss he hopes would ring through the speakers on the other end of the line. “My poor baby’s gettin’ nervous?”

God, that asshat better take a hint now.

And shit if he thought he was going insane because of that bastard interrupting his precious time with you, then he was definitely not ready for the way you get wetter - tighter - as he does. Putting on a sinful little show that had Toji’s hips stuttering, knuckles white on your phone as he fights not to drop it. 

“Oh-” Toji’s head drops into the crook of your neck, fingers bruising on your hips while he fucks you back harder into him. ”Ya like this? Like being so dirty in front of someone else?” Difficult with the way you were squeezing so tightly around his swollen cock. “Actin’ so innocent but you’re such a slut, huh?”

You give him such a delirious little nod of your head, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently and- shit, did you even know what you were doing? How fucking sexy you were being right now? Shit, he was fucked. He was so fucked.

“Is this you playing hard to get?”

Ah, right. Forgot about that bastard.

Droning out into the phone, “Seems m’girl is busy right now.” And as if to prove his point - maybe to that scrub on the other end of the phone, maybe to himself - he’s slamming into your heavenly cunt faster and faster. Making sure to angle the speaker just right to catch all those lewd little squelches as your sweet sweet juices soak Toji’s achingly hard cock. Voice as ragged as his hips as he grunts, “Very busy.”

“I can hear her - let me speak to her!”

Well, what your ex was hearing were probably those fucked-out whines spilling from your lips. Just as out of control as your hips bucking up for more more more- “Ah! Toji, wan’ more- hngh- fuck fuck fuck.” 

It made all the blood in Toji’s body - especially his brain - rush straight down to cock to watch you go from pretending you weren’t affected to being such a good little whore for him. And, hell, that was only for him to hear.

“Wait- that noise-”

So Toji’s snaking up his hand from its relentless abuse on your sensitive clit to shove two fingers into your mouth. Huffing out a dark little chuckle at the way you gag and choke so prettily around him, moaning like you couldn’t help yourself.

Though, that doesn’t mean he’s going to be any nicer to your cunt though. Toned pelvis slamming against yours - so hard he’s sure it would leave some nice little bruises to brag about - maybe even send that asshole ex a few pictures if he still keeps calling.

“What the fuck- is she…?”

“Told ya, she’s busy.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “You deserve it.”

“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?”

You gulp, eyes flitting between his yellow tie wrapped around your wrists pinned above, and the man in-between your legs. Eyes glassy, strands of blond sticking uncharacteristically to his forehead, such a cruel little smirk playing on his lips as he positions himself in-between your legs. 

Smack!

A breathless gasp leaves you as Nanami’s hand comes down on your ass. Hard. 

And he only huffs out a low chuckle at the way you keen, hips bucking wildly in- defiance? Need? You didn’t know, the only thing you were sure of was that you wanted him to do something - anything - right now. 

Because one look at that classmate who you were just a little too close with earlier today, and Nanami’s been so mean ever since then. All but ripping off your clothes as he tied you to the headrest, fucking you over and over until he could see you all bloated with his cum. And even then - Nanami wasn’t done.

“Y’should answer me when I ask something, my love.” he licks a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. Pressing softly on your tummy to watch his seed gush down your legs, so fucking filthy as he pools it on his tongue, tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat. “Or is it that you just listen to what he says now?”

God, he was being so sinfully irrational right now. Teasing. Taunting. 

“No, tha’s not it-” you sob, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks at how you wanted to cum again so badly despite how sensitive your poor pussy was. “J-jus want-”

“Want what?” 

Oh how Nanami loved you like this - that pathetic little whimper leaving your mouth as he teases you with his mouth. Hot tongue going all the way up from your base, just underneath your swollen clit. Not even bothering to fuck into your sloppy hole yet. 

“To make me-” the words die in your throat as he grazes your clit. Ever-so-slightly. You just wished you could free yourself and give in so badly. “Cum! Wan’ you to make me cum.”

Your back arches off the bed, legs wrapping around Nanami’s head to pull him closer to where you needed him the most. Thighs quivering, his cum dribbling out of your sloppy pussy and into a lewd little pool below.

And it seems to work - perhaps temporarily. Because he’s echoing against your glistening lips, “To cum?” smirking against your cunt as he dips his tongue past that first ring of resistance. “You should ask-” Before pulling away completely. “-that friend of yours.”

“Noooo!” you’re letting out a strangled gasp, and if you were in any better state of mind maybe you’d have been embarrassed about how pathetic you were being right now. Tugging uselessly on the tie. “Please, Ken.”

God, how he would love to bully you some more - to have you crying and shaking on just the tip of his tongue until all you could remember was how he couldn’t have you like this. Ruin you like this. 

But, no, Nanami can’t deny that your adorable mewls of his name have him feeling lightheaded.

“You little minx.” he manages out, pulling away mere millimeters. Purposely letting a tense beat pass, one. Two. Before spitting on your fluttering cunt, adding to the absolute mess of cum and slick below. Missing on purpose - of course - to let it splatter all over your thighs. “Usin’ the dirtiest tricks, huh?”

“I didn’t oh-” Nanami doesn’t let you plead your case - he doesn’t want you to. Instead, shoving his face nose-deep in your overfilled pussy. Lapping at all your - and his - sweet sweet juices.

“Asking me to do this.” he hisses into your cunt, trying for the life of him to sound like he isn’t in heaven right now. Murmuring around your throbbing clit, “Shoulda asked that friend. Didn’t need me when he was around.” 

You hiccup, face burning at how mean he was being. “He’s just a c-classmate.”

Smack!

Maybe to shut you up, maybe to stop you from talking about that loser with those pretty lips of yours, Geto’s giving you a quick, sharp smack to your ass. Smoothing his palm over the sting like a little warning. 

“Oh yeah?” he questions, muffled around your dripping cunt. So deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Didn’t seem that way with how he was flirting with my wife. N’ now you wanna cum on my tongue? How needy.”

“M’sorry!” you’re grinding your cunt deeper onto his face, a rapid, sloppy little rhythm to match his own. Geto’s tie now digging into your wrists with how hard you’re pulling. “Shoulda known- m’sorry- hngh, fuck fuck fuck.” 

Rewarded with a gentle smack! and his tongue - hot and deftly massaging all the right spots. So expert in the way he’s teasing and pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his face, tonguefucking you with such reckless abandon. No rhythm or technique - just to show off. To show you.

Close - too close. 

Close enough that you could almost-

Let out a broken whine as Nanami pulls away, delicate strings of cum and spit snapping as he does. So pretty and filthy all over his kiss-bitten lips, ones that curve into a mocking smile at your state. 

“Who said you could cum, gorgeous?” A hand reaching down to fist his swollen fist, pumping up and down. Slowly. “I was jus’ cleaning that pretty pussy up for the real fun.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - See the mess

It was too much - everything was too much. From the way Geto had you shoved into your empty office room, strong arms spreading your legs so shamefully on the desk, to the way he’s stuffing his achingly hard cock in-between them.

Hips so well, and dangerously intent. Like he had something to prove, and didn’t mind whether he would break you in the process. 

And he did - to prove himself to those incessant coworkers of yours that hit on you in front of him. As if they had a chance? To prove that he’s the only one to that can make you cum over and over and- 

Dragging you on his cock, veins throbbing in a maddening thump! thump! thump! Against your walls. Edging you closer to - which number orgasm was this, again? You weren’t in the right state of mind to calculate. 

“Oh, this? Might the seventh.” he murmurs, fingers stuttering on your throbbing clit and- oh shit, had you said that out loud? “Mhm, you did.” Geto grins up at how pretty you were like this - tear-streaked face, lips wobbling, such cute moans leaving them each time he gave a long, languid strokes. “But s’alright, I love it.”

“B-but-” you whine, words slurring together in a way that has all the blood in Geto’s body rushing painfully to this dick. “Someone might-”

“Come?” he circles around your sloppy entrance with a fingertip, stretched so fucking obscenely around his cock. Shifting to flick at your sensitive nub. “Guess you jus’ better hurry up then, my love.”

Your head spins, both from the way Geto was dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his cock - bouncing you like such a slut - and from how mean he was being. Nothing at all like the caring, gentle boyfriend he usually was. Throwing your legs over his shoulders to fuck you even deeper.

“Fuck shit shit shit-” you buck your hips wildly as he bullies his heavy cock faster into your plushy walls. One hand on your hips, keeping you still while he massages every crevice and spot he knew would have you seeing stars. The other, drawing frenzied little circles on your ravaged clit. “S-Sugu, someone’s gonna hear- gonna walk in.”

“Good.”

Mouth dropping into a soft oh! you snap your head up to meet his darkened gaze. Man bun so messy already, brows furrowed, lips swollen and curling ever-so-slightly into a cruel, fucked-out little smile.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, hips getting sloppier. Faster. “Almost like you want someone to come.”

Unconvincingly, “N-noo, hah- I don’t”

“Y’sure about that?” Your sweet sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily from where he tongue-fucked you to insanity right here not to long ago, and if you angled your head just right you could see the way it trickled down his jawline. An even bigger mess at his hips, cock soaked and glistening in the dim lighting. “Don’ want any of those friends to see you all filthy like this?”

Because Geto wasn’t afraid of getting messy - or showing it off. He loved it in fact. 

Loved your slick just smearing dangerously close to the strands of hair framing his face. Loved ruining you because he was the only one that got to - and anyone else can come in and watch if they wanna flirt with you so badly. 

“Fuck them.” you flinch at how uncharacteristically mean he was being. “Fuck them all. Only I can make you feel like this-” Hitting that one spot again and again. “-right?”

“Sugu- f-fuck s’too deep.” you arch off the desk, fingers carding through his locks to pull him even closer. Eyes watering as you feel that familiar knot in your stomach. “I’m hah- shit.”

“Who’s cock are ya gonna cum all over?” Geto questions, muffled around your dripping cunt. So deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Who’s making you- hngh- f-feel this good?”

It’s all you can do to let out such whiny, cockdrunk replies. Ones that only make Geto rock his hips harder, sloppier with each word falling from your lips. “You- Sugu- Shit s’too much.”

 “Yeah? Gonna cum f’me again? All on my cock?” breathing ragged now. 

“I- I don’t- hngh. Know if I can!” You were barely lucid at this point, barely even registering the way you’re so sloppily jerking your hips all over. Using him in exactly the ways Geto wanted. 

“You will.” Pace only picking up, so rough that a little part of Geto almost feels bad - almost. Your entire body is twitching with each flick of his finger on your clit. Cock hitting all the right spots. Making such a mess of slick and precum below you that you can only pray your office isn’t used for a meeting today. “You can- hngh- do it. F’me.”

“For you?”

“Yeah.” he’s pulling you close enough that you can feel his breath hot against your lips. “You can do it, right? Can cum for me? Squirt all over my cock?” Licking at the seam of your mouth - forcing you to taste him and yourself and him- “F’me. Only me.”

It’s sudden - almost violent, and you don’t even realize when you’re cumming at first. Just that, with a strained scream of Geto’s name, nails raking down his sculpted shoulders, leaving pretty red marks for him to remember. 

Juices squirting all over his abs, staining his t-shirt. Glistening against his milky skin, snug cunt squeezing his rock-hard cock while he fucks you over and over and- 

“So messy f’me, my love. So fuckin’ messy.” His eyes darting to the now slightly-ajar door - as expected. “Hope no one else sees the mess too, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - The needy

He knows it’s not your fault that they hover around you - those pathetic losers that think they have a chance - but that still won’t stop him from fucking you like it is. 

“Baby- ngh. Why the f-fuck did you have to look so hah- good, today?” he’s gasping against your lips, hips out of control, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Had so many lookin’ at my girl like ngh- you’re theirs.”

And God - it was so hard to look at Choso too, flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink, stray strands of hair sticking to his forehead - so utterly wrecked already. Though, you weren’t any better. 

“S’for you, Cho.” you whine, jaw dropping at the sudden gush of cum that oozes down your legs as Choso pulls out completely - like a little punishment. Lips curling into a fucked-out little smirk at your adorable pout. “D-did it for you.”

Those simple words break him. You break him. 

And Choso doesn’t even dare to give himself the chance to compose himself before bullying his swollen cock all the way back inside you again. Heavy balls smacking your ass hard enough to leave marks - good, let them leave marks. Milking himself over and over. 

Groaning, “Shit- you don’t know what you do to me, baby.” 

And your eyes flicker down at the hands suddenly all over you - everywhere, anywhere that Choso could reach. So that maybe next time when you wear such a sinful little sundress, everyone else will know to keep their eyes to themselves. Cupping your stomach to press down on where he was right there-

“Hngh- oh my god. So deep, ah-”

“Look s’fuckin’ gorgeous.” he spits into your mouth. Fingers bruising on your hips, your ass, kneading and groping every inch of skin. “Unfair- shit shit- they don’t have the right-” Tweaking your nipples, branding your neck, he runs a thumb under your swollen lower lip. “Don’ have the hah- right to look at what’s mine, right?”

“Y-yes.” you whimper, rutting your hips up pathetically to meet his merciless cadence. Hard abs so painful - maybe even bruising against your skin. 

Choso’s tugging open your lips, and you let him. Way too drunk on his cock - his massive, unforgiving cock - to even think of stopping him. 

Before you know it, he spits in your mouth, once. Twice. And you don’t even realize that this is what you’ve been waiting for - perhaps ever since you put on that slutty little sundress to tease him this morning - because you’re moaning half-lucidly. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let his saliva slide down your throat.

And Choso just looks like he could pass out right then and there. 

He doesn’t know what’s more obscene - this or that little pool of cum spreading all over the sheets right now. Seeping into your skin, dribbling down your legs each time he moves in and out in and-

“Hated their s-stares. Their whispers.” Jaw falling slack, cock twitching wildly inside your tight walls. Words hurried and slurring together as he whispers, “Mine right?” Biting down your neck, licking hotly - almost as sloppy as his hips, “Only mine, yeah? Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You!” you manage to sob out, jolting at the fingers starting up quick, erratic little circles on your poor clit. “Ngh- only you.”

“Mhm? I make you f-feel this hah- way?” he leans closer, cock ramming in and out of you so animalistically. “Only I get to paint this pretty pussy white.” Nibbling on your ear, “To s-stuff you full, hm?”

Honestly, Choso doesn’t even know if he could cum again but he had to - needed to. Balls squeezing while he fights to cum again - once more, to prove to himself, and you that you were his inside and out. And he tells you - a little over twelve times as he babbles into your lips.

“Mine. Shit shit shit- all f’me. Fuck, m’so close” And he could tell by the way you were squeezing so sinfully around him that you were too, moans getting all breathy and incoherent the way it did just before you were about to cum. “Gonna cum? F’me? H-hah- All f’me?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes- m’gonna-”

You don’t get to finish the sentence - Choso doesn’t let you.

Instead, drinking up all your sinful moans while he angles his hips just right to hit that one spot, at the same time he presses down against your clit. Hard. 

You see stars as you cum, toes curling, legs pulling Choso by his toned hips so he could spill into you with an almost-pained grunt. Cock too sensitive, tears springing to his eyes as he cums and cums so hard he thinks he sees the gates of heaven. 

And you, of course, are an angel.

An angel he’s pressing impossibly closer to. Biting up your collarbone, hips so filthy with the way he’s fucking rope after rope of hot seed into you. 

Whispering hoarsely in your ear, “Ya finally know you’re mine or do I hafta ngh- teach you again?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Listen up!

“I could always get you off right here, y’know. Right now.”

And that’s exactly what he does - one look at his underlings sends them running. The door barely even slamming shut before Sukuna has your drenched panties in tatters on the floor, straddling his thick thigh, trying - desperately - to get yourself off with all that he would give.

“Y-you said you hngh- get me off.” you hiccup, bottom lip wobbling so pathetically as you drag your sloppy pussy all over Sukuna’s thigh. 

And oh you sound so betrayed - so needy - that it might just be opening up a whole new realm of possibilities for the man himself. Doing nothing more but watch the way you ride his thigh like such a slut. 

“So what if I said that?” he crosses his arms, intentionally blocking the mouth-watering view you had of his pecs. “Do it yourself. Think m’gonna be intimidated by a whore like you?”

You know he’s doing this to infuriate you, to get you to break and beg him for mercy. And all you can do is let out a soft gasp as Sukuna shifts his leg, the friction so good against your sensitive pussy. Having you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Heh, too fucked out to even deny it?” he coos, making you whine and stutter your hips right where that sinful little thigh tattoo was. Pressing down. Hard. “You really are a whore. Is that why you let my ministers get close with you like that?”

“I-I didn’t-” your hips are out of control now, sliding your throbbing clit on the dips and curves of his leg. Absolutely soaked in your juices. “They jus’ asked me how to get to the-”

“And they think they can talk to their queen that way?”

Irritation is bleeding into Sukuna’s words now, eyes dark and hooded in a way that makes you wonder whether he realizes the iron-hold grip on your hips now. Hard. Nails sharp against your soft skin, rocking you harder on his thigh. Faster.

With a soft whimper, you let him pull you into a desperate desperate kiss. Just a clash of teeth and saliva and pure need. Pure intensity. 

“Fuckin’ vermin.” You flinch as he spits out little profanities into your open mouth. “Should kill ‘em for even looking at you.” One hand digging into your hips, pushing and pulling them like you were too slow, the other shifting his robe. “Gonna kill them all.”

And maybe because you’re too stupid - or too cockdrunk - to think otherwise, because you gasp out little pleas of mercy. Letting Sukuna drink up your delirious little, “D-don’t kill them…”

“Ha?” Sukuna breaks the kiss, immediately stopping your lewd little movements on his leg. Leaning in close enough that his hot breath fans your face. “The fuck did you just say?”

Oh, shit. You were fucked. You were so so fucked.

“Nooo, Kuna I was so-”

“Close?” And oh, you should’ve known that would be a sign. Should’ve gotten an inkling by the way that Sukuna immediately lifts you from his thigh as if you weigh nothing, immediately hovering you right over his achingly hard dick - you won’t be making it out alive. “Who the fuck gave you permission to cum, brat?”

Nothing more is said before he’s making you sit so prettily on his dick - already soaked in precum and so so angry. Not even a hint of care or concern in the way he splits you apart on his swollen cock with barely any preparation. If you were gonna act like such a slut - might as well take it like one.

“I didn’t give ya permission to cum yet.” Sukuna grunt, lacing his fingers on top of your head to push you down, down, down his cock. “Did they?”

You can’t even form proper sentences at this point, the stretch too much. Too good. Letting out incoherent little babbles of what sounded like disagreement, or, that’s what Sukuna took it as anyway.

“Thought so.” Smirking at the feeble resistance, “Was defending you against that trash and you just had to fuck- go stand up f’them.” He fucks up into your tight pussy in quick, methodical grinds just to squeeze his thick cock inside. “S’like you wanted me to fuck you up right here. To have them hear how I fucking ruin this pretty pussy on my cock.”

You’re scrambling to grab at the chair, his bulging biceps, settling for clawing at his shoulders. Too desperate to even think of a better reply other than a teary little, “N-no- don’ wan-”

Which was useless, really, because any pathetic excuse Sukuna cuts off. Unable to help himself from giving one, harsh thrust that finally has your sweet cunt fully wrapped around his dick. Heavy balls smacking against your ass, squeezing him so tightly. 

“Oh? What a shame.” His whisper is hot against your ear, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. Two fingers squishing your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look at the closed door. “Because they’re right outside listening to ya.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - The show-off

The Kyoto exchange event isn’t always fun and games, Gojo thinks - ever since that new prick from Kyoto’s teaching staff started making eyes at you, that is. 

How unprofessional! Conduct between teachers should definitely be reprimanded - no matter that Gojo had you snuck into his room, shirt hitting the floor faster than the door closes. His hands everywhere, throwing his blindfold around your neck, pulling you to bed so you can ride whatever remaining sanity out of him. 

“T-Toru, what are you doing?” you squeal, as he starts bucking his hips wildly underneath you. Reeling his head back to watch the way his thick cock slides in and out of you. In and out in and out in and-

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” he fumbles with his phone, that familiar ping! ringing out over those lewd squelches below you. You and Gojo were no stranger to recording your little trysts - but why did he seem so eager about this one? “Jus’ do what you always do. Take it- fuck take it all f’me.”

And it’s all you can do - thighs shaking with effort as you desperately try to keep up with Gojo’s pace. 

“Yeah- fuck yeah yeah. Feel so good- God I never get used to this.” And it’s true, he thinks - knows, he could never grow used to the heady feeling of wrecking your tight little pussy. Of drawing those cute lil’ whines of his name out of you. “N’ I know no one else would either.”

Gojo’s no stranger to running his mouth when he’s pussydrunk - and the way your plushy walls were squeezing him so tight, body curving into his as you milk the soul out of him - how could he not be?

“C’mon, sweetheart. Make a mess f’me - and him.”

All it takes is for those simple words for you to realize what he’s doing. And Gojo’s long fingers are becoming erratic on your clit, rolling his thumb over the sensitive nub. Hips sloppy like he was trying to fuck any and every rationality out of you. 

It works, probably - because you know you should stop him recording. To tell him to put away that phone and just ruin you how he usually does. 

But no, instead you’re only getting wetter. Knees spread, sopping hole so messy as you rock your hips even harder down Gojo’s throbbing cock. “So th-that’s what this is about.” 

With a throaty groan, Gojo pulls you to him by his blindfold dangling around your neck - easy access, of course. Grip just a little tighter than it should be. 

Looking up at you through his long lashes, eyes hazy - almost glowing in the camera flashlight. You see the way his lips curl into a satisfied grin. 

“C-can you fuck- blame me?” he sounds so wrecked already. Hand growing tighter and tighter with each cute lil’ whine leaving your swollen lips. “Fuckin’ loser thinks he has the ngh- skills to pull you.” Toned pelvis now bruising against your own, words strained and you wonder whether he can remember to breathe - whether you can breathe. “N’ the skills t-to-” Hips jagged, filthy. “-fuck you.”

“Oh- shit shit shit. God, it feels too good-” 

You’re wondering just how useful the video will actually be, because Gojo’s drawing out such slutty, loud moans from you that you’re half-sure most of campus can hear.

“He can never get you this wet.” Bullying his cock into your heavenly cunt like he was fucking addicted on the feeling. Thumb trembling as he tries to get the camera to focus on all the best parts. “This messy.”

The way your glistening pussy is stretched so obscenely around his cock, sucking him up so well. Disappearing into your dripping wet heaven. Your tits bouncing so enticingly in front of his face - marks littering your soft skin like you’d been thrown to the wolves. But, no, it’s just Gojo.

Just him that can ruin you like this, split you apart on his cock, have his blindfold wrapped around your cute neck.

“Jus’ me.” he gasps, blindfold tightening, phone so shaky. “He can’t compare to me. Fuck- fuck he can never compare.” His heavy balls sting your ass, merciless. “Can never be me.” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy, like he was running on pure adrenaline and the need to prove to the camera that he could ruin you like he promised. “Never. You’re mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.” Tightening. “Mine to break.”

“Sh-shit- you’re too much, Toru.”

“You agree, right?” he suddenly sounds so serious. Knuckles whitening against the blindfold. “No one can hngh- do it like m-me?” Blood roaring in your ears, vision getting spotty, like he wouldn’t let up until he hears what he wants. “No one?”

“Hah- fuck, no one-” you wheeze through his grip, “Only you, Toru.”

Then you’re cumming. 

And Gojo’s not far behind as he buries himself deeper to stuff you so full of his seed, chasing peak after peak and the sinful feeling of your gummy walls being so dripping wet - with him. 

And what a view it was - his girl’s poor pussy so overfilled. You catch the way it drips down the side, cum pooling at Gojo’s twitching balls. Such an obscene white, that it makes Gojo him about painting it all over again. Yeah, his favorite view - and the camera’s too.

“Almost too good of a view.” he grins, looking up at you with twinkling eyes that definitely didn’t bode well for your poor, ravaged pussy - or your sanity. “N’ I just exchanged numbers with that new Kyoto teacher…”

A/N. Also happy pride month hehe.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[livelaughlovesubs]

Dom!reader x sub!scarletella

Warning: fictional stuff - stimulation through a separate object (?), inspired by some fanarts (artists are amazing), teasing, degrading pet names

I’m seeing so many fanarts that have this implanted and I HAVE to do something about my horniness that’s holding me back from working so, as far as I understand, for mr. Scarlettela his real body is his umbrella or it’s at least connected to him - anyway, can’t believe I’m writing about homicipher bruh, I feel ashamed T^T

!!Spoiler warning!! This is not canon but has some elements from it

He is a good boy, he really is! Well, maybe not at all times, but he’s trying his best for you. And haven’t you seen just how much he loves and trusts you? He’s basically devoted to you! Like a faithful follower~ Handing the red umbrella he always carries over to you so easily, when he normally would never let anyone touch it, let alone give or lend it. It’s just proof of how much he likes you!

So why were you so mean and destroyed it? You like him, didn’t you know that his umbrella is connected to him? Why were you hurting him. He didn’t understand, he didn’t even know what to do. Because in the end, he still liked you.

Now this over 8 feet tall creature was kneeling in front of you, head lowered in confusion as he stared at the concrete floor. You were still holding the now broken umbrella, scoffing as you stared down at his rather pathetic form. It wasn’t entirely broken, just some bend metal and rough ends, or a little tear here and there. Yet for some reason his clothes were torn and disheveled, hands shaking slightly as he kept mumbling the words ‘I don’t understand’ or ‘I like you’ over and over again. At first he seemed intimidating, but now you didn’t have an ounce of fear left.

There must have been a connection between him and this umbrella. Instead of speculating, best just ask him.

Slowly you pointed the long object in your hand at him, the tip pushed below his chin as you made him look up at you. His round, almost completely dark eyes stared right at you, one side was covered by his crimson hair. There were tears steaming down his cheeks, he was crying, how unexpected. The two of you locked eyes for a few seconds, and you wondered what you should do about this crazed man.

While their language was hard to grasp at first, you were getting the hang of it by now. “This umbrella, is you?” The meaning of the question itself was unbelievable, but since this ghost realm exists, maybe your hypothesis wasn’t that out of place. “Yes. Me body.” Look at that, you were right. That explains why he suddenly got so sad. You groaned internally and pulled your arm back, using the umbrella as a cane instead.

As you were still thinking over your next step, his hands reached out to you hesitantly, and softly tugged at the ends of your coat. After stretching the fabric out a little, he leaned his forehead against it, mumbling almost inaudibly, “please don’t go, I like you.” You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth subconsciously moving upwards as you snickered, “What?” His grip got a little tighter and his hand trembled from tensing his muscles so much, then he said a little louder, “I like you, don’t you like me?”

God you wanted to laugh, this was so sad it was laughable. How in the world did he come to that conclusion? In that moment, you had a lot to say t0 him, but due to the language barrier you couldn’t convey it really well. So you just talked to yourself, needing some time to vent.

“Oh you poor thing.” You chuckled in your own language, the one he didn’t understand. “What am I supposed to do with a perv like you?” He looked up at you again, wanting to ask what you said if not for your shoes that were pressing against his chest. “..what?” The person- or monster asked, but he didn’t resist your touch and leaned back, following your guidance. From earlier up to this point, he has been kneeling, just this time he was also using his arms behind his back to stabilise himself.

Without changing the almost arrogant look in your eyes, you used the gift he gave you to trace some imaginary lines on his body. The tip glided from his jawline to the tip of his chin, and you asked, “your name?” The heavy tension was something he also caught on, and he hesitated, not knowing to what this would lead. He shook his head, forcing out a “don’t know…”

You hummed slowly, showing you understood the message. Nonetheless, you continued to move the tip down his neckline all the way to his toned collarbones, “I’ll give you a name.” His eyes widened even more, it made him look objectively creepier, but you thought he looked like a dumb puppy. All big eyed, bearing a deep need and raw desire in his pupils. “How about,” then, just like drawing with a stick in the mud, you traced the word, “Scarlet,” over his chest, simultaneously voicing out the word.

He shuddered as the hard surface scribbles around his torso, squeezing his lips together while he tried to stay still for you. You weren’t being exactly gentle there. When you stopped to glance at him, he quickly nodded. That wasn’t the end to your little play yet, and you slid the pointy end across his abs and stomach, down to his thighs, making him spread them a little wider, “I gave you a name, so you’ll be my servant from now on. Understood?” This has been said in your language, but you hoped he’ll get the overall meaning.

Again he nodded. In his head, being your servant meant you liked him, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t keep him around! So how could he ever say no.

“Use your mouth.” You ordered, digging the tip into his flesh a little, and he answered shortly after, “I understand, me happy.” Sweat was forming on his forehead, and his previous crying ceased. Instead a faint taint of pink covered his cheeks, and he stared at you almost manically. “Good.” You said, which was basically a praise— right? —and he smiled, a shaky, breathless one.

A little behind you was a chair, and you dragged it closer to the still kneeling man below you. Even you were starting to get tired of standing, so you sat down in a comfortable position. “What now.” You said to yourself, not really paying him any attention anymore. It would be nice if you had a collar, would red or black look better on him? But your resources were limited, and you didn’t exactly have a lot of things with you as well. That’s when you absentmindedly thought over what you did own.

Besides that crowbar you’ve found down here, you really didn’t have a lot. Well, you also had a broken umbrella now— hold up, that’s right, you own him now. A rather sadistic thought came to mind, and you pondered to what limit you could control him with this red, unusual umbrella. Would he feel your presence when you just hold it? You got lost in your thoughts again, fumbling with the torn textile and the handle. This didn’t stop until a strange sound caught your attention.

Your eyes left the red batch of fabric in your hands, and instead wandered to the other red thing in the room. He crawled into a ball, arms folded in front of his body while his head pressed against the ground. It looked like he was in pain again, though you weren’t sure if these noises were whimpers of pain or pleasure. “You okay?” You eventually asked, and he whispered in a higher pitch, “me okay..!”

Once again your gaze returned to the umbrella. He must be in this state due to something you did, and so you tightened your grip around the handle while mindlessly drawing a line with your index finger on the panel. As expected, his shoulder jerked upwards even more, and he rolled more together, as if he wanted to take up as little space as possible. His entire body was twitching, also for some reason his coat was only hanging off his arms now.

“You are into it.” You commented, not even too shocked to learn this rather unnecessary fact. At least you can have your fill of fun with this. “What about this?” Suddenly you started moving your hand up and down the handle, rubbing the umbrella panel with the other hand. It was a truly humbling experience to do something implied sexual to a literal object, but your eyes were glued to the ghost before you, so you didn’t even notice how weird it must have looked.

And sure enough, there was a change in his behaviour, he got louder. Your smile widened involuntarily, and your pace also got quicker and rougher. Oh fucking hell, if he was really feeling that kind of sensations, you won’t be able to stop yourself. It was like you were hypnotised, concentrated on nothing but his expressions. On the different ways his face twisted into one of ecstasy.

A big, dark, lunatic grin, paired with fanatic eyes that were ripped wide open. Some hints of a scarlet blush covering his face while sweat rolled down his face. Those perverse sounds he made were proof of the probably internal pleasure he felt, and he quivered all over, still bend down on the floor. Now that you’ve got a better grasp of what was happening, you realized he was crawled together to hide something.

“Ngh, hgGnn- ah..! Please…♥︎～” he whined at your feet, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth and landing on the floor. You’ve been fumbling with the handle for some time, so you’ve gotten bored again and was curious about if the textile was a part of his being as well. Without a second thought, you simply stuck two fingers between the folds, and you were met with a heavily muffled moan.

“Arghhh-…MmmHFfffF～ ♡♡♥︎” Once he felt your touch, he bit into his own palm to quiet himself down. At some point he started crying again, glistening tears decorating his already ruined face. You didn’t think his reaction would be this good, this lewd, whatever you did, he must have liked it a lot. Which is why, despite the absurdity of your actions, you moved your fingers in and out of the holes or just randomly caressed whatever part you felt like touching.

Out of nowhere you felt something tugging at your coat again, it gave off a sense of Deja vu. Of course it was him, who was only pinching the corner of it with a shaky hand. His grip had lost any strength compared to before, and you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. “What?” You asked him, though you didn’t stop your administrations. He cried out when he opened his mouth to speak, breaking down in front of you, for your entertainment only.

“Haaaa-HnnGh… wait, p-please wait-!♡” Was he telling you it was too much? It’s making you want to overstimulated him even more. He was being so pathetic it was cute. Without wasting a single second, you went as fast as you could, blatantly ignoring his pleads. Based on your own observations, he must have been close, if he was similar to a real person. “Feels good?” You asked, to make sure he was alright. He didn’t reply again and only nodded all weakly, but you’ll let it slide this time.

He felt so hot and strange, it was a nice but unfamiliar feeling. Not only that, he felt something burning building up inside him and it was threatening to spill. That’s why he wanted you to slow down. Poor thing was confused, absolutely baffled what this warm feeling was. Is it love? It must be love. He loved you and you loved him after all. All in all it wasn’t a bad feeling, and since you seemed happy, he is too!

Another sudden wave of pleasure coursed through him, his eyes were clouded with lust and bliss, and the dirty whimpers that slipped past his lips got more erotic by the second. How desperate and lovesick he sounded, begging, pleading, squirming and trashing around on the spot. Thighs pressed together while his toes curled, back arched as a last moan ripped from his throat, “nnNgGHhh ♡♥︎ ♡～” Just as you predicted, that must have been his climax. Now’s the question, did he came in his pants? Did such things still have a reproductive system?

My my, it seems that is the case, whatever it was it seeped through the dark fabric of his trousers, causing an even darker spot to appear.

You only caught glimpses of it since he was hiding his own body so much, but you were content nevertheless. Since he was so obedient the entire time, you decided to be nice to him with the limited vocabulary you had. “Cute.” His kneeling figure was still shuddering and twitching, ragged gasps and pants were also coming from him. But for him, the only thing he could hear was your voice ringing and echoing in his mind, as well as the awfully loud beats of his own heart.

After all this time, you finally praised him! Well you did before but this time he was sure of it! And you found him cute! He was so happy he couldn’t stop grinning. That’s when you said, “do you want anything?” It was to kind of make up for making a fool out of him, or maybe for breaking his umbrella. He didn’t even think before quickly turning his head up, slurring out, “g-give me you name?” You blinked, that wouldn’t have been what you wished for but oh well. Right before you simply told him the answer you stopped yourself, and responded teasingly, “call me master.”

You weren’t sure if he knew the meaning behind it, but it didn’t matter. He had a blank look for a few seconds, mumbling to himself, most likely repeating that word a thousand times. While he did that, he let his head hang low again, facing the floor. His hair hid his face really well, and you couldn’t read his expression. “You alright?” You asked once the silence started to make you feel uneasy.

He placed both his hand on the floor and leaned down, until his face was hovering centimetres above your shoe, and he whispered eagerly, excessively so, “I’m happy, master. I love you.” Before kissing the tip of your shoe. You stared down in disbelief, a shiver running down your spine. He was more of a freak than you thought.

The moment he was done, you grabbed a fistful of his hair, proceeding to yank on it, making him face you on eye-level while he gasped in surprise. Your other hand clutched the umbrella more tightly, causing him to groan slightly. “Stupid dog.” You chuckled with a sinister smile spread across your face, watching as hearts appeared in the middle of his pupils.