#I can’t help it I love fantasizing about such dark themes at night

[alenachelk]

Felix loving Adrien and wanting the best for him is certainly sweet, but what if he shows him sadistic love? wanting to take everything from Adrien, destroy his life, point out his insignificance and break him. Reduce his self-esteem to zero. Make Adrien dependent on him.

Watching his suffering, his pain, his tears causes great awe and excitement in him.

This way he seems even more beautiful. Even more exciting, forcing him to go further, take more, appropriate it all. To experience those facets that were previously inaccessible to others. No one but him. Felix likes to take the best, take it and break it. Felix loves his cousin very much and he will never let him go.

[mizading]

UPPER MOON YANDERE HEADCANONS~ PT.2

Characters: Muzan, Gyutaro, Sekido, Urogi, Karaku, Gyokko, Kaigaku.

A/N:  I would like to thank Yoshinohirmet for the request! I thoroughly enjoyed adding to my Yandere Upper Moon series. As for my readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the love. Take care of yourselves and enjoy <3

Warnings : Verbal abuse, Physical abuse, violence, obsession, Yandere themes, etc. 

Muzan ・❥・

Muzan, a man with a twisted secret.

You’re the one chosen to take on the role of the demon's wife.

Muzan's obsession won’t be known.

As far as you know, you’re only here to maintain his facade of a perfect family.

Your only job is to help him live a "normal" life and keep his true identity hidden.

Deep down, a twisted spiral of obsession consumes Muzan slowly but entirely.

Although you serve a purpose that benefits Muzan, it’s merely an appropriate excuse for Muzan to get close to you.

Something about you is as intoxicating as his desire for the blue spider lily.

He himself can’t explain his unhealthy attraction to you.

Each day, he loses more and more control over this dark passion that burns inside.

Muzan needs you entirely. He’ll tell you lies until his last breath, just to keep you dependent.

You need him; you’re merely nothing without Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his.

Muzan prefers to silently watch and stalk.

Seeing you exist and your movements, untainted by the presence of another, satisfies his desire ever so slightly.

Muzan just loves the way you exist naturally when nobody is around. Everything about you is fascinating. The way your eyebrows furrow while reading, the way you bite your lip when focusing, how your right eye is a bit wider when you smile—he loves it all.

In your eyes, you disgust Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his "wife". He barely speaks to you, let alone acknowledges your presence.

At least, that is what you believe.

Muzan will slip one day. He can’t keep pretending that his body doesn’t yearn for you. He’s slowly losing control.

Muzan's spiral of hidden obsession will eventually engulf you both.

Gyutaro ・❥・

You’re the only thing that Gyutaro has—the only possession of his that is worth anything.

If Gyutaro doesn’t have you, he has less than nothing.

Nights would be spent with him obsessively touching and admiring you.

Over-the-top praise would be whispered in your ear as his fingers shakily traced your supple skin.

Gyutaro has a meal schedule set in place for you.

He desperately needs to see you in the best condition possible; he knows more than anyone what it’s like to almost die from starvation.

Gyutaro treats you as a trophy to show off, his little pretty lover.

Although he doesn’t take well to other men or women staring at or touching you.

One gaze that lasts too long from another sends Gyutaro into a blinding rage.

Gyutaro has a lingering fear that you'll see someone who meets your unattainable level.

He won’t ever have the only thing that he has in his pathetic life taken from him.

Gyutaro secretly craves your acceptance—just a small reassurance that he isn’t the scum of the earth.

Deep down, he fantasizes about being attractive and finally being able to proudly call himself your lover without utter shame and embarrassment.

Gyutaros strength is the only thing he has an ounce of confidence in.

He may never be able to compare to something as small as your hand when it comes to looks, but he can protect you proudly.

Gyutaro will gladly give up his life for you over and over again.

Sekido ・❥・

Not a soul was safe from Sekido’s wrath, but you were somehow the exception?

You were on a mission with other demon-slayers when you first met him.

Your existence hypnotized Sekido; every movement of yours made his own existence worthless to him.

All that mattered in the moment was you.

Your comrades were killed in no time; as for you? He didn’t lay a single hand on you.

All attempts to hurt Sekido were futile.

Sekido doesn’t want to take you by force, but he will if he has to.

Sekido would take you into hiding. For now, he wants you to himself with nobody to interfere.

Months would be spent with him in the forest.

Days consist of him admiring you, trying to figure out what's so special about you.

Why do you make him feel this way?

Sekido wouldn’t force physical contact until his emotions were too much to bear; he'd hold out for as long as possible.

Once he actually gets his hands on you, it’s hard for him to control himself.

Sekido isn’t exactly gentle with you; he has too much pent-up anger, but he tries.

Disobeying in any form earns you verbal abuse or physical restraint.

Don’t test Sekido; he can’t always control himself.

Urogi ・❥・

You make excitement run its course through Urogi’s body.

Such a beautiful specimen you were through his eyes.

Urogis feathers can’t help but ruffle at the thought of you belonging to him.

His sizable wings would wrap around you tightly, preventing you from leaving as he dragged you to a new location.

Somewhere, the two of you could stay together for as long as you both live.

Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing your screams, and watching your hopeless attempts to escape makes his fire of excitement burn brighter.

Urogi knows that such a smart and beautiful person as you would soon understand that he is what's best for you.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever come close to his love.

Attempt to escape, and you’re wrapped in his soft but chilling wings again.

"Can’t you see how good I am for you? Keep up this bad behavior; you’re making things much more exciting."

Urogi wouldn’t use any of his abilities on you; he doesn’t need to.

His physical strength alone is enough to keep you his. It’s much more entertaining this way.

The way Urogi scans your body using his blinding yellow eyes with a soft but chilling smile on his face makes you weak in the knees.

He’s expresses nothing but joy and excitement, no matter what you attempt to do.

There is something awfully off about Urogi; he knows this, and you know this.

Karaku ・❥・

Karakus's obsessiveness is only natural; it goes hand in hand with pleasure.

There have been many that Karaku has been fond of, but nobody could dare touch your level.

The way your little face scrunches up with determination while you swing useless slashes at him drives Karaku crazy.

Your hopelessness is so precious to him.

Karaku pays an awful amount of attention to your body; the way you maneuver fascinates him.

Karaku thoroughly enjoys touching you unexpectedly; he simply does it to see the way your body reacts.

You’re basically Karaku's doll, his new porcelain doll wrapped in plastic.

He’ll do anything in his power to make you completely dependent on him and him alone.

Karaku breaking and molding you into his little dependent doll is only a cover-up for how much he needs you.

If you need him, he won’t ever have to worry about the one thing he needs most escaping from his grasp.

It takes much effort to make Karaku the slightest bit unhappy.

Throw a tantrum? He thinks it's cute.

Hurt him? He enjoys pinning you down, Karaku will put up with all of your antics.

The only thing that can manage to set off Karaku is trying to escape.

Attempting to escape his grasp drives him mad; why would you ever try to leave him?

Karaku will hunt you down until the second he takes his last breath.

Gyokko ・❥・

You were the first thing to make Gyokko pause in awe, besides his own vases.

A mere human with beauty that puts one of his vases to shame? Gyokko couldn’t wrap his mind around the phenomenon.

Gyokko spent a couple of weeks stalking you from the shadows.

He needed to capture your beauty somewhere, and that somewhere was on a vase.

Gyokko spends hours studying your features, painting out every little detail of your existence on an empty vase.

Your essence needed to be captured permanently.

Gyokko wants nothing more than to show you his work—just something, anything that’ll impress you.

All he wants is your validation—to make you pause in awe just as much as he did when he first laid eyes on you.

Deep down, Gyokko knows better; he shouldn’t dare show himself.

He has just enough sense left to acknowledge his form, half of his body encapsulated in a vase, and a terrifying face as a cherry on top.

Gyokko only has enough confidence to watch you silently from the depths of the night.

By now, there are at least fifty vases, all in your name.

Gyokko quenches his heart's desire for you by admiring you on his vases; it’s almost as if you’re really there.

Somehow, someday Gyokko will have you posing right before his eyes as he paints every inch of you.

Kaigaku ・❥・

On the outside, Kaigaku is seen as an arrogant narcissist.

What lies inside is someone insecure, who craves your acceptance more than anything.

Kaigaku ingrained your low worth compared to him into your head.

This is the only way he knows how to keep you by his side for as long as you live.

If you continue to stray, Kaigaku will resort to physical violence.

He knows no better; this is the only way in his clouded mind.

There are moments where Kaigaku gets slightly vulnerable.

This typically only happens after a battle.

Kaigaku will spend hours on end begging for your acceptance.

The demon only wants to hear that he still has a purpose, even if it's minor.

His vulnerability is hidden once more the next day.

Kaigaku will return to his verbally abusive ways, denying anything that happened the night before.

Kaigaku's only worry is that you'll see through his facade.

He can’t bear the thought of you seeing him for who he truly is.

Until that day comes, Kaigaku will force you to be by his side.

With him, you are nothing more than his puppet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

[icycoldninja]

So the idea. is for a male yandere….i think it would work better as a one shot than a head canon

yandere has joined Neros little group as an expert on the occult to help him fight demons and understand any weaknesses they might have ….but he’s fallen desperately in love with Nero and are scarily jealous of pretty much everyone in his life especially kyrie….for obvious reasons. They just don’t understand why he’s wasting time on her and why he can’t see what’s in front of him….with his help Nero could very well become the next sparda….if this simpering leech wasn’t draining him of his potential

So they do the only thing they can do….summon some demons…..a small group to lure Nero away from her…and then yandere siccs some more on Kyrie…to get her out the way..,.and then comfort him in his greif I imagine it ends with an absolutely destroyed Nero being comforted by his good freind…who’s going to help him through the pain

A few more terrible tradgies and it will just be two of them…forever

hehehehe evil yandere time. Enjoy.

Just a few more tragedies (Nero x Yandere!Male!Reader)

Warning: Blood, death, and yandere behavior ahead. If you are uncomfortable with these themes, DNI.

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

You'd joined the Devil May Cry team a few months ago as an expert on the occult. Though the devil hunters were skilled, demons were a unique, diverse species, making it necessary to bring in someone who studied them; someone who knew all their strengths and weaknesses. Since you were the best in the business, it only made sense that they would pick you.

That's all this was supposed to be: business. So why did you develop such intense feelings for the young devil hunter Nero? Why was it that every little thing he did captivated you? Why could you never stop thinking about him; fantasizing about him, imagining wild scenarios and all the things you wanted to do to him?

Simple, it was because you were a yandere, but your fanaticism had been dormant until now.

Yanderes like you wish for nothing more than to make their obsession belong to them, these desires soon growing so dark and uncontrollable, the yandere essentially becomes a demon themselves.

This was the way it was with you; every night, as you sunk into sweet dreams consisting of nothing but Nero, your heart became more and more encased in darkness. Before long, this darkness had tainted your emotions and thinking, causing you to develop unwarranted bitterness towards all those who were present in Nero's life.

Specifically, that simpering bitch Kyrie, Nero's "one and only true love". You'd seen them together multiple times, quickly growing jealous of how happy they looked together. Why did Nero settle for that homely, exaggeratedly optimistic and cheerful fool who would most likely age to become a nagging old hag? Why didn't he see you? Surely, you were more attractive; surely you had more to offer him than her. Not only that, but he was letting this bland, boring girl dim his potential, ruining his future! He could become the next demon king, stronger than even Sparda himself, if only he could get past this annoying, fleshy hurdle, which he would never do, because she had conditioned him over the years to rely on her for emotional stability.

Not to mention, that girl took up nearly all his time, stealing him away from you! You felt so upset, so tired, so lonely and lost without him. Why couldn't Kyrie just get out of the way?! Why couldn't Nero get rid of her and be with you instead? Just the thought of Nero spending the rest of his life with someone else made you so angry, you could feel your temperature rise, your blood boil, and your head ache. You'd wrap your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to comfort yourself, but it was meaningless. You needed Nero--and only Nero's touch to calm down.

After many nights of tossing and turning restlessly in your sleep, you decided that in order to get your beloved to notice you, you would have to remove Kyrie from the picture entirely. Of course, simply scaring her away wouldn't work, since she was so pathetically loyal and practically guaranteed to come trotting back like a lost puppy. No, in order to get Nero all to yourself, you'd have to take extreme measures.

While that sounds clichéd, it really wasn't, because your methods of removal exceeded that of any yandere that might have preceeded you because you decided to enlist the aid of the very creatures you specialized in destroying.

In the wee hours of the night, you left your home and headed out into the woods, bringing a long, sharp knife and pistol for protection. You ventured deep into the woods, ignoring the various glowing eyes that glared out at you. The beasts lurking all around knew better than to mess with you--you were a man on a mission, someone who should not be trifled with.

You continued into the woods until you came to a large clearing where various symbols and images had been burnt into the ground. This was a ritual site commonly used by fanatics and cult members, all for the same purpose as you were about to use it for: summoning demons.

After laying your supplies in order, drawing the proper runes, and whispering the incantation, you couldn't help but ponder the nature of your current predicament. Most of the time, people who did this were maniacal psychopaths who belonged in mental institutions, so did that make you one of them? Of course not. You were an exception to the rule. You were definitely not crazy.

A few moments passed before a growling demon emerged from the circle of runes, followed by an army of Empusas, among other creatures. They glared at you menacingly, but since you were the one who brought them here, they did not attack--yet.

"Go," You said, pointing to the forest exit. "Some of you find the devil hunter Nero--but don't kill him. Just distract him. The others, go after Kyrie, his pathetic girlfriend. Oh, and don't just kill her, don't even leave a corpse behind."

The demons nodded and scampered off, vanishing into the night, as was natural, since it was their home, in a sense. Feeling immensely proud of yourself, you jaunted out of the forest, more than eager to locate Nero so you could watch the chaos unfold.

This wasn't a sign of insanity--absolutely not--you weren't crazy.

A few minutes later, you arrived at Nero's house, where the carnage was on full display. Nero was about 80 feet from the front door, fending off the demons encroaching on the house, while Kyrie cowered in the kitchen in fear. You could see her through the window; saw the horrified expression on her face, and smiled. The bitch was getting her just desserts. Good.

A group of Empusas shattered the window and clambered in, followed by a Hell Caina, who, with some difficulty, managed to clamber in through the window. One good swing of its scythe was all it took to kill the useless girl; her lifeless, bloody corpse collapsing to the ground after uttering one final scream.

That scream resonated throughout the air, echoing in your ears, bringing an even wider smile to your face. That's it. Now all you had to do was swoop in like the great and benevolent friend you were and ease poor Nero's aching heart.

Nero heard Kyrie's distressed scream, and in a fit of panic, demolished all the demons that remained before racing back into the house at light speed. When he saw the body, a guttural, truly pained cry left his mouth, reverberating in the air twice as loud as Kyrie's death screech. After hearing this, you felt genuinely troubled. While you hated Kyrie, and everyone else who got between you and Nero, you really did love that white haired devil hunter and hated seeing him sad.

Naturally, you decided to convienently arrive on the scene, surprising and relieving Nero all at once. He was shocked that you were here, since you had no reason to be, but was glad nonetheless because he'd just suffered a serious loss.

"Hey, Y/N," He said, voice brittle and eyes wet. "What-what are you doing here?"

"I happened to be in the area," You answered, gently. "Just...gathering materials for my research."

"Ah, ok," Nero muttered, covering his mouth with his hand. "I-I'm glad you're here...this...is crazy." He gestured sadly to the dead girl in the corner, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

"I can imagine," You responded, kneeling next to him and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "And...well...if it helps...I'm here."

These words weren't fake; you truly loved and cared about him, even if your methods for expressing this love were out of pocket. You were sorry things had to be this way, but hey, sometimes, certain actions need to be taken.

Nero was grieving, deeply so, and since a good friend of his whom he happened to find rather attractive was offering a shoulder to cry on, it would be a crime not to seize this opportunity.

"Thank you, Y/N," He mumbled tearfully, burying his face in your shoulder. "You're an angel."

Ironic, wasn't it? Thankfully, the young man couldn't see the maniacal grin as your arms wrapped around his torso, holding him close to you, or your true nature would have been exposed, but that didnt matter now.

Everything was coming together perfectly, exactly as you wanted.

Just a few more heartbreaking tragedies, and Nero would be yours forever.

[atomicchopshopbread]

Rafe Becoming Obsessed With a High End Escort Head-canons

Inspired by the time I sent this detailed ask to @softcoreparadise about Rafe and a high end prostitute 🤣

Gif by @euphoriarph

WARNING: THIS IS DARK! MATERIAL! THESE HEADCANONS CONTAINS HEAVY THEMES INCLUDING NON-CON, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR AND PROSTITUTION (protect sex workers.) PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS BOTHERS YOU. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Rafe has never been good at relationships.

He’s too controlling and very particular about what he wants.

So it’s honestly just easier when he turns his “romantic” life into something transactional.

The expensive women the clandestine agency sends can be anything he wants them to be and are willing to say and do whatever he wants them to. And at the end of the night, he doesn’t have to worry about not being “emotionally stable” enough for them.

He only goes through the escort service a couple times before he meets you.

He hires you to be his date to a business cocktail party and from the moment he sees you he believes your worth every penny of the exorbitant rate you’re charging.

He thinks you’re a fucking smoke show and you ooze class in a way that makes him wonder if your normal clients are politicians and the like. You certainly look the part.

You can’t help but be happily surprised by his boyish good looks and lean frame. You’ve certainly had way worse.

He doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes slide over you, approving every inch of your figure. After all, he paid for it?

He does try to be what he considers a gentleman during your time together. He talks to you more than he had the other women and he’s genuinely entertained by your presence. You seem worldly and smart and he’s grinning at you a lot throughout your conversations.

You notice the way he talks to the waiter and you’re reminded that he’s a rich asshole like all the rest. He orders you wine even though you tell him water is fine, a furrow on his brow to match the happy twist of his mouth.

“Nah, nah, c’mon babe, drink with me.”

And for some reason you do and maybe it has to do with the heat from his palm trailing up your thigh making you lose a bit of control of your senses.

He takes you back to the hotel and his tongue is in your mouth before the elevator leaves the lobby. One hand on your ass and one in your hair.

He surprises you by eating you out like he’s not the one paying for pleasure.

The words “beautiful” and “perfect” fall off his lips when he’s inside you but you pay it no mind. It’s not that unusual. Some guys are just like that. You’ve even had guys pay you for a night of conversation.

The sex is hot and intense and he loves the way you take it, letting him bend you and position you however he wants, never telling him to slow down or let up.

Afterwards he pulls you down on his chest and you talk some more while you wait for room service.

It’s not the last time you hear from rafe. He becomes a regular and you don’t really mind it. He pays plenty and he fucks you like he’s trying to prove something.

He starts introducing you to his business associates as his girlfriend. Again, this isn’t too uncommon so you don’t let it bother you. As long as he knows the true nature of your relationship everything is fine.

He has your cell number now so he doesn’t have to go through the agency and he pays you personally. He texts and calls you regularly and when he wants to meet up you’ve started going to his place. The only thing that distinguishes that he’s a client is that he still pays you before every meet up.

You think maybe he likes to fantasize the two of you are in a relationship so you let him. You know he’s deep into the finance world so he probably doesn’t have the time or energy to put towards a real girlfriend. You don’t mind, as long as he keeps sending the money to your venmo.

It all goes south one night when he sees you at a club on the arm of a guy atleast 20 years older than you or himself. You’re laughing and smiling like you’re having the time of your life, your hand resting on the older man’s chest as he shows you off to his associates. Rafe grits his teeth and feels sick to his stomach.

It gets worse when your company and his company mingle together, mutual business aquantainces among both parties bringing them together.

You finally notice Rafe and have the decency to look ashamed for a moment.

But you still stay glued to your client’s side, smiling brightly at his words as you try to ignore Rafe’s burning stare.

Rafe has ground his jaw until his head aches and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at you in disgust.

When the night is over your client leads you out to his expensive car and you can’t help but glance back at Rafe. He looks like he wants to tear you apart with his eyes.

Surprisingly you don’t hear from Rafe for two days, not even a call or text. You almost want to be the first to contact him for once but you almost laugh at the ludicrousness of that thought. Why the fuck would you do that?

A knock on your door wakes you up in the middle of the night and you startle before rushing to the door. The peephole is blocked so, dumbly and sleepily, you crack open your door, leaving the chain in place.

As soon as you meet his crazed bloodshot eyes you try to slam the door in a panic but he’s already shoved his foot in the open space. Two harsh shoves from his shoulder and the chain snaps pitifully.

You run to grab your phone from the bedroom but his arms are already wrapping around your robed waist and he’s shushing you in your ear.

“Babe, babe. It’s just me,” he drawls. He laughs meanly at your struggle before turning you around. “What? Not happy to see me?”

“Why the fuck are you here Rafe!?”

Rafe shouldn’t even know where you live.

He pushes you backwards to your dining room table, taking you by your throat as he makes your back bend flush against it.

“Ya know, I tried to treat you nice. More than you fucking deserved.” He fumbles with his belt buckle as he holds you down and you quit slapping at him when he gives your throat a squeeze that makes you choke and gasp. You know you’ll probably just get hurt more if you try to fight the inevitable.

“I thought you were different, just maybe a girl that had had to do some things to survive. Maybe you just needed some help. And I was more than willing to help you.”

He swirls his fingers over your clit, like it will be even more humiliating for you if you’re turned on after he forces his way into your house. Like it will prove him right.

“But I think you fucking enjoy it.” He shoves into you punishingly and even wet it makes you gasp.

He leans down and bites at your neck, breathing into your ear.

“Whore.”

He slaps your tits as they bounce and pulls your face back by your hair when you turn away.

“Say it.”

You bite your lip as he pounds into you, forcing a moan to rise in your throat.

He holds your jaw and you feel flecks of saliva as he spits directly in your face, cackling as your eyes roll back in your head.

“Say it, slut.”

“I’m a whore,” you whine and then your orgasm hits and you can barely feel the way he still kisses you tenderly when he reaches his own peak.

In the morning when he leaves, he tosses a wad of cash over your worn out body twisted in the sheets.

It’s the most you’ve ever made in one night.

[katsukisriot]

Kirishima, F reader

content warnings | 18+, nsfw, sexual thoughts, dubcon ?, thoughts of abduction, yandere themes

Just thinking about Kirishima who’s built an amazing friendship with you over the years and wouldn’t give up the bond you share for anything.

Kirishima who goes out of his way to protect you and made it his mission to ensure that harm never crosses your path. Whether it’s holding doors open for you, spending hours repairing your car for free or walking you home on dark nights. I mean he’s a hero and he’s just being a good friend — it’s what he’s supposed to do .. right?

Kirishima who can’t quite remember when his intentions towards you became so ill willed. How it took him this long to realize how short the skirts you’d aimlessly saunter around in public were. Those low cut tops that managed to perfectly showcase your chest, if he didn’t know better he’d think you were trying to provoke him on purpose.

Kirishima who stares in awe when you drop your purse and before he could extend a hand to grab it, you bend over to do it yourself. Mini skirt riding up and allowing light blue panties to display themselves right in his face. At times like this, Kiri wonders what you want from him? Sometimes It’s feels as if you’re begging him to imagine all the different positions he could manhandle you into, the oh so beautiful moans you’d let out as he dominated you (gently of course). He wonders if you’ve ever been taken by a real man and if you’d let him be the first.

Kirishima who knows thinking about you like this is wrong. Knows that it’s unmanly to lose himself so quickly all due to a flash of panties. Knows you’d dismiss of him the second you learned of his disgusting, perverted train of thoughts.

Kirishima who’s submerged with guilt, unwanted lewd thoughts about you invading every aspect of his psychic. He quickly learns how difficult it is to go through an entire day with a raging hard on — it’s unbearable really. You’re just so oblivious to everything, it’s when you rub his thigh with the warmest smile he’s ever seen to thank him for his minuscule acts of kindness. That means you want him right?

When you struggle to move furniture in your house around and mewl in frustration, sweat dripping from your forehead. Kiri can’t take his eyes off you, the sight leaving his cock throbbing in his sweats. But it’s okay, he’s here, your big strong hero can help.

Kirishima who wishes he could help you in other ways. Wishes he could help relieve you of the stress you must be feeling. Wishes he could take you far away from society, where all you’ll ever know is him and him only. And when he finally has you all to himself, he’d lay you down on his bed and slowly strip you of your garments. Until the only thing separating him from what he wanted — what you both wanted, were your cute little lace panties. And If he wasn’t so generous, Kiri would probably make you beg for his tongue, his fingers, his cock, for him to do anything.

But there’s no time for all that, not when he’d be seconds away from robbing you of any thoughts circling inside your pretty little head. Not when he planned to fuck you so good the only thing you’ll be thinking about is him and how he’s splitting you completely apart on his cock.

Kirishima who grudgingly acknowledges how twisted his mindset is. But it’s not like he means any harm, he just wants what’s best for you. And that’s him. Why can’t you see that? As much as he loved you, you could be so clueless sometimes. Which is exactly why you needed him — you don’t know how to make the right decisions for yourself but Kiri does.

You’re lucky he isn’t actually crazy or you would’ve been long gone by now, absent from the world and tucked away where only he could reach you. But he’ll admit, it’s challenging not to fantasize about how easy it would be to snatch you, take you somewhere in the back of beyond.

Don’t get him wrong, Kiri would never act on these ideas but you’d trust him right?

Trust him to take good care of you, provide for you, love you, and take care of your more sensual needs when the time comes.

Truthfully, Kirishima was the only man you deserved and he was willing to do anything for you to see things his way.

masterlist

[bunnykawa]

hungry (osamu miya x f. reader)

summary: You have a big crush on the handsome owner of an onigiri shop. He thinks it’s annoying. Or does he?

a/n: eh idk what this is. timeskip love haha. but this might be a triggering so please keep that in mind and read the warnings

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, noncon/dubcon/rape, raw sex, kinda public sex?, some degradation, little bit of spanking and hairpulling, abusive language, violence, stalking, mentions of past sexual abuse, you vomit but it's not sexualized it's trauma-induced, timeskip!osamu :)

The energy of the restaurant is oddly calm tonight. Nights are almost never tranquil at Onigiri Miya with the constant parade of people coming in, so you hum in satisfaction when you scan the restaurant and there's barely anyone here. You stare down at your half-eaten onigiri and the loyalty stamp card that you filled up from how often you come here. After nine visits, you get a free onigiri on your tenth one as long as you show them your stamp card. 

This is your hundredth visit—you remember because the first time you entered Onigiri Miya was ten stamp cards ago. The staff already know your name, if not by your face and your timid behavior that makes you stutter when ordering the same thing every time they see you. As peculiar as they think you are (for coming to Onigiri Miya at the same time on Fridays and Saturdays for the past six months and sitting alone quietly until they close), they warmly welcome you.

It's only you in the dining area tonight. The few employees that Onigri Miya has must have left earlier than usual. You suddenly tense up in your seat and grip onto your cup of freshly-poured hot tea tightly between tremulous fingers. The familiar male figure, standing at over six feet tall with beautiful broad shoulders, passes by the front counter, disappearing as he makes his way to the back. 

After you let out a harsh breath, you adjust your phone from behind your purse on the table. Your phone is propped up behind it, the camera lens slightly peeking over the faux leather. Butterflies form in your stomach when you see that you were still recording and you caught him on camera. 

Yes, you go to Onigiri Miya because the food is amazing. Somehow, they make a dish as simple as a rice ball so delectable and appetizing and you adore them because of it. But hyperfixation is a fucking bitch, your thought process is a little flawed, and the real reason why you frequent the establishment is because Osamu Miya is absolutely gorgeous. Every time you see him, you're left wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through his dark hair or how his lips feel pressed against yours. Your thoughts run wild. How does he like his eggs in the morning? What's his family like? Does he sleep on the right side of the bed? Left side? In the middle? Does he have space for you on his bed? 

How does it feel to be loved by Osamu Miya?

Every time you visit the restaurant, visibly nervous with anxiety beating in your chest and your throat closing as you try to speak, you feel that you're one step close to finding out. And maybe you did feel it once. Just once. You're unsure if that one special moment you shared with Osamu was genuine from his heart with good intentions, but you would do anything for that feeling to last forever. And if that made your whole being feel as if you were floating, then why wouldn't it be the same for him?

So, that's why you're here. To relive that special moment in the way that you fantasized about—something that can become a fond memory instead of a dream deep inside your head that leaves you yearning for physicality. Desire is the only sensation that you've felt for the past six months and it's torture to watch the man that you've fallen in love with barely acknowledge you as a person even if he's seen your face in his restaurant consistently every week since you first met. Since he saved you. 

Six months later. Six months to move on. Six months to get help and yet you're still digging your hands into your panties and biting onto your sheets to gag yourself because of one man after every visit to his restaurant.

"Hey."

Oh, that voice makes your thighs tremble every time you hear it. As stoic and impassive as it is, it's the same voice that gave you solace when you were beaten down in the dark to bleed on concrete. You're gritting your teeth—nearly moaning at the sweet sound—as that voice almost breaks you out of your thoughts. Almost. 

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Osamu asks in a deadpan tone from his place behind the counter. You jolt suddenly. For someone who's so obsessive with small details, you sure don't pay much attention to your surroundings. You quickly shake your head when you realize that he's talking to you. 

"Y-yes. I'm...I'm fine, O...samu," you squeak in embarrassment. You don't realize it, but you're clutching onto your stamp card with white knuckles. His gray hooded eyes seem to be staring right through you, as if he knows why you're here tonight, what you're looking for. But whatever he does notice, he doesn't mention. His eyes dart down to your purse before he maintains eye contact with you. 

He places his hand on the counter to lean on it. The small action makes your mouth dry. He's so fucking beautiful. "It's almost ten-o'clock. I'm gonna close up. You should leave soon." 

But you don't want to leave yet. Tonight was supposed to be the night that you finally made your dreams come true. It's only him and you in the restaurant tonight, so it must mean something.

"Where...where's the rest of the c-crew?" you ask shakily. Fuck, get yourself together. You just need an excuse not to leave. And he might know your name, but he doesn't know you. Not yet.

He raises a thick eyebrow at your question before answering, "Left early tonight. Just me taking care of the shop." You should have noticed. This is why you leave your phone recording while you're there—you don't want to miss anything in case you get distracted.

But does he want you to leave? Your heart aches at the thought of him not wanting your presence when you've been craving his for so long. "I see," you mutter awkwardly.

What do I do now?

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. You haven't moved from your seat and neither has Osamu moved from his spot to "close up" as he said he would. You wonder if the door is already locked.

"What do you mean?" Your heart is thumping more now than it has in the past three hours you've been here. Osamu lives in your brain rent-free yet you can barely breathe around him. Now he's speaking to you. Actually speaking to you.

"You know exactly what I mean," he calmly accuses you. The unexpected shift in his tone makes your blood run cold. "Wonder if your phone has run out of storage yet. Funny you go out of your way to come here twice a week just to record me."

"What?!" you cry out, suddenly shooting up from your seat. Your chair skids a few inches across the floor behind you before it tilts and hits the ground with a crash. The quick movement causes the table in front of you to shake and make your phone to fall back as well, the screen smashing against the wood and the camera lens facing up towards the ceiling. You feel like you're about to have a heart attack. Your vision goes blurry from tears suddenly threatening to overflow because were you that obvious?

"I noticed. A long time ago. Remember you from that night back in the alley. Very unique face you got there," Osamu hums. He steps around the counter to make his way towards you. You cower into the wall beside your table, your eyes darting from your phone and Osamu's threatening figure.

Back in the alley. The image of the back alley behind Onigiri Miya flashes in your mind. Dark, wet, and sadly gray. That's where you first met him.

"Didn't expect to see you back here. Thought you might've developed PTSD or something with how you were crying. Now you're stalking me." 

"No," you loudly plead, shaking your head side to side, "I don't know what you're talking about!" You're lying straight through your teeth. That's funny—you've been coming to his restaurant for a chance to see him again, but he's coming closer and closer and you're terrified instead of happy. Your knees buckle as you press your back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as the memories come flooding back into your system in vivid detail. 

He continues on, "Don't even lie to me. Stalking me like a crazy bitch. I wasn't sure what I should do about you. I felt bad for you and let you continue doing this, even thought about calling the police for a little bit, but…"

Osamu almost never talks to you, maybe a few times where he's handling the register and the orders and he has to talk to you, but he's always in the open kitchen where you can freely admire him when you want to, always an arm's length away. When you would think about what your first conversation together would be like, you always imagined his words to be kind. Sweet. Maybe he'd say he admired you—

"...you're a little fucked up in the head, huh?" 

His tone is hostile. There's no love laced in any of the syllables falling from his tongue. He's annoyed. He hates the fact that you want him—it's that obvious but you don't want to believe it, especially when you think you worked so hard. It's not fair.

Your mind is hazy as he's coming closer and closer to your trembling form. You see his lips moving and the calm expression on his face turn into hard evil, but your ears can't decipher what he's saying. His words have faded into white noise. And you've seen him multiple times, traced his face through the screen of your phone, admired him from afar at the same spot in his restaurant for months, but his face is sharper, harsher, and almost unrecognizable. Is this really the man that saved you? Is this really Osamu Miya?

Your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. It's the only sound that you can make out other than your heavy breathing. God, if he gets any closer...

Then, the adrenaline kicks in and you're lunging at him with your arms outstretched towards his large frame. You don't know what you're going to do and sure as hell you're no match for him, but your body is screaming at you. Your senses are running wild, like the aura that Osamu is emitting is lighting you on fire and making you act on primal instinct. It's telling you to fight. 

To fight him. To bash your tiny fists against his handsome face because he should have fallen in love with you the moment that you fell in love with him, but he has the audacity to leave you hanging for half a year and call you a stalker.

And it's painful. You're not sure which hurts more, but at this moment, the physical pain is excruciating. You can't breathe anymore, not when his calloused hands (from years of training on the court, which you found out from the internet, and in the kitchen) are wrapped around your throat. You can't think straight either—your head hit the ground a little too hard and the world is spinning. Osamu's face is contorted in anger and even if your world is spinning, his features are as clear as day. 

Your memories start crashing down inside your brain in fragments. The pain, frustration, and sadness hit you all at once—it’s nauseating. It’s as if Osamu can sense this, too, because as soon as he notices your sick expression, he flips you over to force you on your knees with one arm around your waist, his hand in your scalp to hold your head in place towards the floor and then you’re heaving and gagging out the rice balls you consumed earlier. Your throat is on fire and you're still coughing up pieces of rice.

“You gross bitch,” he mutters.

You gross bitch.

It's bouncing around in your ear drum until it fades into cotton, a familiar set of words that cut you deep that you were able to pick up on easily among the other curses he's been throwing at you. The same words from six months ago. A trigger? Yeah, that's what the internet calls it. You almost died, or at least that's what it felt like. That's the only way you can describe it, the only way you were able to make sense of what happened, because you feel that you might as well have. 

It was from someone else's mouth—a disgusting, grimy man whose face haunted your dreams for months, a man with greasy fingers that put his hands on you, who beat you until you were nearly unconscious with blood dripping down your chin, who ripped you away of your pride and worth until you were nothing. The concrete was wet and cold, scraping against your sensitive skin and breaking through layers as he rutted into you. His breath fucking stunk and for fuck's sake, you don't know if you've seen anyone uglier, but as fucked up as it is, he made you feel ugly. 

You thought you saw an angel that day. The backdoor to Onigiri Miya opened up and when you finally opened your eyes and looked up, there he was—with blank gray eyes that stared down at the scene before him in slight disgust, and then he ripped the repulsive body off of your half-naked form. You were too weak. 

While you were weak and scared and incoherent, Osamu saw you and didn't hesitate to protect you. At the end of every dream you've had since then, Osamu always came to help you. 

And that should've been the end of it. That should've been the last time. You can't go through that again. No, no, no. You don't deserve to go through that again. 

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You're more responsive and awake once Osamu bends you over the table you were sitting at, then your senses are overloading, telling you to resist, to keep fighting. You're so tired, at this point you're completely heartbroken, but you can't—you can't just give up yet. He's holding you down, restraining your wrists with one hand while his other hand is at your waistband pulling your shorts down your thighs. You're kicking at him with whatever strength you have left even if the taste in your mouth is vile, he's much stronger than you, and your head is pounding from the anxiety. You're grateful that you can even breathe.

But it feels like your body has failed you, once again, and for a second you think that you do deserve it. The adrenaline is almost gone, you can barely lift a finger, you feel like passing out, and—fuck—you're so stupid, so dependent on one person to make you feel high. With Osamu...you don't even know what to think. The image you dreamed of is long gone. It's sad that reality can crash over you so easily and ruin everything. 

"Get off of me!" you scream. Over and over again. Until your voice cracks and your throat is on the brink of bleeding, coughing out your poor lungs. Until it's nothing but the essence of your torment. Your cup of tea, now warm, has spilled all over the table and is slowly seeping into your hair as your cheek rubs against the wood. And there's nothing else you can do, because Osamu is still behind you with your hands trapped by his. Your shorts and your panties are around your ankles. His jeans are unbuttoned and it's out. 

You don't want to fight anymore, you're fucking terrified. So terrified that you can't bring yourself to move. As soon as you stop fighting, his breathing becomes steady and he's using less force on you. Sobs rack through your body hysterically when you feel it.

It's throbbing against your thigh—warm, leaking precum, long, and thick. The skin-to-skin contact in such an intimate area is making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. That tiny voice inside of your head is telling you to look back at it to see if his dick matches the image you made up in your head. Is it exactly how you pictured it? Is it as pretty?

He's wiping his precum against your tense skin. When you flinch at the tip of his cock rubbing against you, he bites his lip and kneads one of your ass cheeks with his free hand, spreading your holes open and ever so gently brushing his thumb over your pussy. 

"You're...wet," he comments. You hear it. He dips his thumb between your folds and swipes it up and down and you hear the squelching of your cunt over your heavy breathing. That's—that's not right. No, you shouldn't be feeling this way. He pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt and slowly pulls it back out. You flinch and arch your back slightly at the sudden sensation, making you push your ass towards him. He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction. 

His thumb disappears for a second but it's instantly replaced with his dick probing at your entrance. With a roll of his hips, he breaks through your squishy flesh with some difficulty. 

A loud yelp and a slurry of protests falls from your wet desperate lips. You wriggle your bottom, trying to create space between your two bodies, jerking away from him with whatever strength you have left. However, Osamu keeps going until he's completely bottomed out, filling you up until his tip is flush against your cervix. He lets go of your wrists so he could keep a firm grip on your hips instead. Whenever you moved, it burned.

Stop.

The stretch is unbearable—it's been half a year since you've had someone else inside you. The burn of having your hole forcefully split open wide again against your will has your head going delirious with so many mixed emotions. Fuck's sake, this isn't right and it's been heavily engraved in your brain for months that you have every right to fight back. Although you haven't been thinking straight for a long time, you're still lucid enough for your ears to work and soak up information like a sponge. He's moving, rutting his hips into your hot cunt cruelly. You can still fight him off, maybe you'd win if you tried again. 

But this is Osamu. Your heart fucking aches for him and you want to get away, but it's Osamu drilling into your heat and it's just not fair. It's not fair because your body is still responding to his malicious touch. It's not fair because even if it hurts—and fuck, it hurts so damn much—you're involuntarily grinding your ass into him. It's not fucking fair because you can't hate him.

Why is life never fair?

"No," you sob, "No, no, no. It hurts. It hurts. Please stop." Your hot tears are mixing with the puddle of tea that's pooling underneath your cheek and your tongue still tastes foul from your little episode. You’re scared you might start gagging again.

"Stop?" he muses, "Haven't you been loitering in my restaurant because you've been craving my cock? You wanted this for months and the one time I give it to you, you're telling me to stop?" Osamu slams into your poor little cunt despite your pained cries and babbling. Your pussy is clamping around him, your body trying to accommodate his length and girth breaking into you so suddenly.

"Osamu." His name would've tasted so good if the situation was different. Little did you know that you pushed him passed his breaking point a long time ago. But Osamu knew that you were beyond yours ever since he met you. If only you weren't so fucking weird, maybe then he would've pitied you—maybe he would've genuinely felt something for you. 

What a shame that you fell in love with a man who wouldn't be able to understand you. 

"I'm tired of you coming into my restaurant," he grunts, snapping his hips against yours roughly, "-and treating me like I'm some kind of animal. Do I look like a fucking animal to you?"

You choke, “No. You don’t—that’s not why—please. You don’t understand.” 

“Then tell me," he coaxes. But how do you tell him? Are you supposed to be honest? You're afraid that if you are honest, Osamu will treat you just as badly as he is now. It's also hard for you to collect your thoughts and find a sincere explanation that he could listen to—you're too focused on the many sensations pulsing through you. He raises a bulky arm only bring it down instantly to smack your ass with rough hands. The sudden impact forces you forward for a split second. Then he brings his hand down a few more times, until he's satisfied with the dark red hand print with tiny splotches dotted across your skin. 

Is this a punishment for everything that you've done within the last six months? Punishment for admiring him through sneaky videos and pictures? Punishment for thinking about him all the time? You feel like a criminal, caught red-handed and forced to go through torture and suffer for your ungodly sins. Each time he hits you, you're twitching from the painful sting and praying for forgiveness. 

"Stop it!" you beg through tears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It hurts so much." Apologies start spilling from your sore throat impulsively. 

I'm sorry, Osamu. 

Please stop, Osamu.

It really hurts, Osamu.

But nothing that comes out of your mouth convinces him, and after awhile it's more like you're trying to convince yourself more. Suddenly the burning in your sensitive cunt is replaced with the inebriating desire and hunger for more friction between your two bodies and it leaves a shameful tint to bloom over you. You're salivating over his dick—you wanna see it so bad even if you're scared—and the guilt is eating at you on the inside. It feels good, actually enough to have you gripping onto the edge of the table and sucking Osamu into your cunt so that he doesn't pull back too far. 

"Don't tell me that it hurts," he groans, "Your pussy is creaming all over me. You can't lie to me anymore."

He's right. You're lying more to yourself than him, though. You don't tell him to stop anymore, settling with swear words and a chorus of Osamu! Osamu! Osamu! It's amazing, intoxicating, and it also makes you feel disgusting. The way his cock fills up your tight pussy perfectly and how his balls are consistently smacking your clit and stimulating it—you're drooling from the pleasure.

"Does it feel good?" he huffs, "Is this what you wanted? To be a cockwhore for me?" 

Your body betrays you and you're left moaning and crying at the same time with breathy words that Osamu can't decipher because you're a complete mess, but he swears he can hear you agree without hesitation. "Y-yes, fuck yes! Your cock is s-so amazing," you cry out, "Hurts so good, Osamu!"

It's not enough. Although you're gradually submitting to him, it's still not enough for the sadistic side of him. He wants to hear more of you, to push you until you're braindead and nothing more than a hole to stretch and tear apart just for the hell of it. He leans over you just to grab you by the disheveled hair on your scalp. Another scream leaves you as he pulls you up to be able to growl in your ear.

"Tell me everything, you whore," he breathes, softly yet maliciously. You try to answer him but the angle he has your neck at from the grip on your hair is choking you. 

"Why'd you keep coming here? Obsessive little bitch. Why're you still here?" It's like he's laughing in your face even if his voice and expression say otherwise. He's mocking your pain, making you relive your trauma as if it was all a fucking joke. As if you’re incapable of feeling pain.

This isn't even supposed to feel as good as it does, yet it does. The way he calls you an obsessive little bitch has your stomach doing flips and your cheeks to flush even more. Then you're confused. You're enjoying his cock forced inside you and it's damn confusing. 

Fuck, it’s enough to further damage your overstimulated psyche and turn you into someone you never thought you would be. An empty shell of the person you used to be because your body doesn’t even fucking feel like your body anymore. Nothing feels real anymore, like you're shifting through universes and living lifetimes but you're stuck in one place at the same time. Why do you always come back here? 

You turn your head to the side, enough for you to see his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, probably from concentration on your slick pussy, and then he notices you staring at him. You don't utter another word, you might just choke and spew if you even open your mouth to attempt to (and holy shit, you don't want to embarrass yourself anymore), but your eyes—they answer his question in heavy silence. It’s enough for him to understand and see right through you. Loud and clear although you don't speak. 

Because you saved me.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another sob, but this cry is full of guilty pleasure instead with barely any tears. It has you nearly passing out and feeling sick to your stomach and just please—make it stop hurting. But it feels so damn good at the same time, to have the tip of his swelling cock kissing your cervix every time he slams into you, grinding his hips against your sweet cunt. Your body contracts violently as you release your liquids all around Osamu's cock, pushing your ass against his pelvis and knocking your empty tea cup and purse off the table. Intitially, the loud crash makes you jolt but it's nothing compared to how your orgasm crashing over you has you screaming and thrashing around pathetically. 

You're cumming. You're cumming. You can't believe you're fucking cumming. You've never felt this way before and you always believed that sex was painful but you're still cumming long and hard on Osamu's cock. Your juices are being forced out of you.

And you didn't even want it.

You're embarrassed and oddly satisfied at the same time. Your cum is dribbling down your legs and there's no doubt that it's dripping down Osamu's pelvis and thighs, too. He lets go of your hair and your head drops forward onto the table with a thump. You wince at the contact, but you don't move.

After a few silent minutes (silent other than your audible panting) exhaustion finally hits you, and with a heavy breath you completely collapse against the table. You finally stop your death grip on the sides of the table to let them dangle off the edge. Your scalp is sore, it makes your head pound when you move your head even slightly. 

A soft tired gasp escapes your throat in surprise; you feel little pecks going up your back and across your shoulders.

Then there’s feather-light kisses tickling your shoulder that leaves an agitated tingle in your nerves and—why? Why bother being gentle at this point? But the fluttering in your pelvis doesn't stop. He slips out of you just to turn your weak body over so you're laying on your back. You instantly move your eyes further down and—

It's pretty. Prettier than you imagined. His cock is fucking pretty. It's hypnotizing as you scan the vein running underneath the skin and the pink swollen head oozing clear liquid. It's glistening, dripping, with juices. 

Holy shit, those are your juices. 

It dawns on you that you both connected. Although not in the way that you had hoped, definitely not, but...you connected in the most physically intimate way possible. You felt him, his warmth, his damp skin, everything. Your eyes drift upwards. He's breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving. He has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you in place—you're not going anywhere. You don't want to go anywhere. Examining his face, you can see everything, every single detail. His lips, his lidded eyes, his cute nose, the shape of his face, and—wow—Osamu is pretty. So pretty. He's nearly angelic when you take a closer look. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

You hope you're not imagining it, because you see something different behind his blank stare as if he's in as much of an awe as you are while you look up at him lovingly, like he didn't just hurt you. He took you against your will and yet you're staring at him like he just told you that you were his world. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you delusional?

"Do you love me?"

The question leaves him before he realizes his lips are forming the words. Osamu looks down at you, no other emotion laced in any of his handsome features except for distaste and...curiosity? With parted puffy lips and despair etched onto your cheeks, you slowly nod. The glazed look in your eyes draws him closer to your face, scrutinizing every part of your soft skin. He braces his hands on both sides of your trembling form. One part of your cheek is still wet from the tea that spilled earlier and your hair is disgustingly moist from a mixture of sweat and earl grey and you feel anxious again. 

"Okay," he says, voice as monotonous and dead as usual, but also worn out and accompanied with heavy breathing. You tense when he leans even closer, but quickly relax when you feel him kiss your forehead. It's a delicate kiss that makes your heart flutter. Then he trails further and connects your lips. It's short, but wet and sweet. He hadn't kissed you on your mouth the whole night, it probably would have been too weird for him to kiss a sad stalker he didn't know, especially when you vomited on his otherwise spotless floor. The taste of him is lingering on your skin—you're almost afraid to lick your lips in case this'll be the last time you ever have his against yours.

He pulls you into his chest. Your heart might just jump out of yours. His cock is brushing against your shuddering core, hard and sticky, but he doesn't enter you. Osamu simply holds you close, one of his hands in your hair and the other flat against your back. You weakly bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders and dig your face into the crook of his neck. 

Then you cry. You let out a harsh breath and let yourself cry again, shoulders violently shaking and your chest tightening uncomfortably, for the thousandth time tonight even if you're tired and yearning for the comfort of your bed. Slowly, wet tears seep into his t-shirt. Osamu smells good—musky, sweaty, like a man. You don't understand what just happened—it brought you back to six months ago yet it feels entirely indifferent. He smells like a man, but he doesn't smell dirty like the last one who destroyed you.

He continues to hold you as you break down. Osamu thinks he understands, but you—you're more confused now more than ever.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Keep Away

Yandere!Bakugou x reader

It’s a special occasion, so Bakugou decides to wine and dine you. It’s too bad for him that you’re intent on ignoring him.

Warnings: yandere, dark themes, lime, forced orgasm, minor food kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, light violence

A/N: I woke up at like three in the morning and decided to finish this. I saw a bad ending to a certain cyberpunk bl dating sim, and thought “would be kinda cool to be force fed cake,” but then it didn’t really turn into all that much cake feeding which is probably for the best. Who’s to say. It’s just kinda fun to say “it came to me during a cyberpunk bl dating sim bad end,” rather than, “it came to me in a dream.” Also, I’m so sorry if you read this and go “ew strawberry cake isn’t my jam. Belgium chocolate 5evah!!!!1!!” but if you do happen to like strawberry cake, I got you fam. 

“So you’re not talkin’ to me now, is that it?”

You keep your gaze low, careful not to even lock eyes with your captor—because no, you’re not talking to him, you’re not looking at him, you’re not even going to acknowledge his existence. It’s your verbal keep away. You’ve decided that it’s the worst possible punishment for Bakugou—ignoring him. You’ve tried just about everything: screaming at him, hitting him, crying to him, begging for your release, and it’s all given you nothing. You figure, why be anymore of a source for his entertainment?

“You should at least thank me for cookin’ you a proper meal.”

From across the candlelit table, Bakugou uncrosses his arms, glaring from the admittedly very well-made plate, to you. He clicks his tongue when you don’t respond, then moans around a mouthful of pad-see-ew, just like he knows you can’t stand.

“It’s so good, baby. Practically melts on my tongue…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at that. It would be different if it wasn’t his food he complimented, but that’s Bakugou for you. Insolent, prideful, and terrible.

Bakugou stabs his chopsticks into his plate. “You’re not wearing the dress I bought. Not good enough for you?”

You didn’t even try it on. You want to tell him, but that would only spur him on. Bakugou likes it when you challenge him. He always gets that stupid smirk on his face, that daring look in his eye—always like he’s ready to bend you over and fuck you into submission. More often than not, that’s what ends up happening.

“Your ass would look great in it,” he says before taking another mouthful. You can feel his crimson glower scorching your skin, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You can wear whatever you want, though. I want your ass even in those sweats.”

You exhale and lean back back in your chair. He really has to be so vulgar, doesn’t he? Well, that’s not gonna make you crack.

“Yeah, I won’t force you in it. Not yet, at least.” Bakugou grins at the thought, chewing loudly. “I wouldn’t mind playing a little dress up with my doll.”

Your lip twitches, and you hope he doesn’t see. You have to squeeze your thighs together and ignore impending thoughts of Bakugou’s hands on you—first tearing your clothes off, then slowly, sensually zipping that tight, black dress up. You can’t keep from imagining his lips grazing your back, hands running through your hair, him pressing into your backside…

“Need some water, babe? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Your eyes snap to Bakugou’s and your cheeks warm even more when you realize he’s just caught you fantasizing. At least he doesn’t know what you were thinking about. Christ, you could only imagine the field day he’d have with you if he found out you ever thought about him like that.

After you’ve spent plenty of time hating yourself for having these thoughts, you’ve come to the conclusion that it has to be natural. In a psyche class you’ve taken, you learned a bit about Stockholm syndrome, and though you’re sure you’re definitely not falling in love with your captor, it’s perfectly fine that you occasionally think about him in the lusty kinda way. Admittedly, he’s earned it with the amount of orgasms he’s given you since you’ve been taken. But he hasn’t earned your love. Definitely not.

Bakugou stands, folding his napkin onto the table, and walks over to the ice chest he has on standby. He’s wearing his red dress shirt, paired with that white floral vest and nice slacks. You want to know what the occasion is for, but you won’t ask. You’re definitely underdressed, and a part of you wishes you had put on that dress he picked out for you.

You close your eyes and empty your mind of such stupid thoughts.

“How about some champagne?” Bakugou flips a knife out and cuts the cork off with a pop!, making you jump a little bit. He glides over to you, puts his hand on your shoulder, leans in, and fills the crystalline flute sitting on the table. He smells like spice and that natural burnt toffee aroma he has. It’s so nice that you can’t help but lean into him just a teeny bit. And he notices.

“You’re gonna eat somethin’ for me, yeah?” he whispers lowly into your hair before kissing your temple. You freeze while he moves down your neck, brushing a finger along the opposing side of your face, coaxing your head to turn. “Or are you not in the mood for Thai? We can always skip straight to dessert.”  

Bakugou dips down to kiss you, but you turn so he misses and kisses your ear. He growls out a sigh and you clench your hands into fists. You’re waiting for it—for him to lose his cool. You don’t know why he’s trying to act kindly to you, but that’s sure to end at any moment, and when it does, he’s going to feel guilty. You’re planning on exposing him as the monster you’re always accusing him of being.

“I’m serious, I made cake,” he says, a slight edge in his voice. He twirls a finger around a strand of your hair, tugging it so you face him. “Your favorite. Strawberry cream frosting, and it tastes fucking fantastic.”

Bakugou’s gaze drops down to your lips before finding your eyes. “I could feed it to you—have you lick that sweet cream right off the tips of my fingers.”

Your scowl tightens on him. He smirks.

“Your lips always look the prettiest when they’re wrapped around something. I’m startin’ to really like that idea.”

“Why?” you bite out, because you can’t take it anymore. You’re either going to die from curiosity or die from embarrassment when he inevitably undresses you and finds out just how much his teasing gets to you, and you won’t let him have that.

Even still, Bakugou looks as triumphant as ever because you gave him what he wants: your attention.

“Why what, huh?”

“Why the dress!” You bark, resolve out the damn window. “The meal, the champagne, the cake?! Why are you trying to be so nice to me all of a sudden?”

“I’m not trying to be nice. I am nice.” Bakugou rolls his eyes as if he’s explaining something simple to a child.

“No, you’re not!” You insist. “You’re...you’re…” Shock sets in and your shoulders grow rigid. He couldn’t possibly be...but if he is...he’d be absolutely daft to think you’ll say yes. “You’re not proposing to me, are you?”

“Hah?” Bakugou’s eyes widen. You definitely caught him off guard, and you could melt from the steaming blaze in your cheeks. “You want me to put a rock on those pretty fingers of yours? Make an honest man out of me?”

“No! No!” You exclaim on a head shake. “I just thought...with the whole atmosphere-“

“Princess,” he interrupts, taking your hand into his. He brings the back of your wrist to his lips, and for a moment, you think you could be right about him proposing after all. At least, until he speaks again. “We ain’t gonna get hitched ‘til you’re good and knocked up—at least four months in, too. That way, there won’t be a chance in hell you can skip out on me.”

There won’t be a chance in hell he will knock you up with your IUD in, so good luck to him on that endeavor. It’s not like he doesn’t know about it, either. There’s a reason why he’s never been hesitant to enter you unwrapped. Although, considering what he just said, you don’t believe he’d be any different if the circumstances were different.

Your lips curl into a snarl. “Then what’s going on?!”

“You seriously don’t know?” He scoffs, then leads your hand to your champagne flute. Once you take it, Bakugou tells you he’ll be right back, and you down the drink. You let the bubbles wash down your throat and quickly take a bite of noodles before he sees. You sigh. They really do melt on your tongue. Bastard.

Before you know it, the faint smell of burning wics envelope your space, and all the lights in the room besides the candles on the table dim. Then, there’s a cake placed in front of you—pink, with intricate, white designs lining its frosted edges. You count the candles and there are exactly the same amount of years you’ve been on this earth, plus one—no, not plus one.

You look up to Bakugou for an explanation. He’s simply grinning down at you, looking proud.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Bakugou kisses the top of your head. “Make a wish.”

Absently, you blow the candles out, but you don’t make a wish, because your brain is too busy doing mental math. On your last birthday, you’d gone on a date with Hitoshi Shinsou. He took you to a cute, little café, bought you a coffee and a tiny cake. He’d ended the night with one of the shyest, sweetest kisses you’ve ever received. Not even four days later, Bakugou took you. You never got to thank Shinsou for that perfect day.

The hair on the back of your neck rises with the sudden realization that you’ve been with Bakugou for nearly an entire year. That’s one year of your life ripped away from you. One year where you haven’t made any progress achieving your dreams. One year that you’ll never get back.

“What’d ya wish for?” Bakugou asks, but you hardly hear him due to the scathing fury that rings in your ears and burns your back. You’re unsure of what you should say or how you should react; you already pulled the silent treatment and you think you’re far too livid to go zipping your lips again.

There’s only one thing you can do: go absolutely batshit crazy.

“I hate you!”

With a quick shuffle, the cake is splattered on the table, your plate flies across the room, and chopsticks are in your hand, aiming for Bakugou’s eyes. It’s too bad for you that Bakugou either expects it, or his reflexes are just so good that he catches you by the wrist before you can stab him. You’re immediately twisted around, chest on the table, arm pinned to your back, and his erection pressing into your ass.

“Yeah? You hate me?” Bakugou’s voice is erratic, husky, dripping with lust. He climbs on top of you, grinds into your behind, and hisses, “wanna say that again?”

“Let me go, asshole!” You below and try to buck him off of you, which only encourages him to pull your arm tighter, forcing you into paralysis. You grit your teeth while tears sting your lower lashes. The only weapon you have is your voice, and that’s always proven ineffective against him in the past. Still, you can’t stop yourself from yelling. “It’s been a goddamn year! I’m sick of being your prisoner!”

“Is that right?” Bakugou shifts, and you hear the sounds of metal clanking. You know instantly that he’s taking off his belt. You writhe as much as you possibly can, fearing a lashing. He hasn’t ever really hit you before, and though getting him to the point had been your end goal, taking the belt is a whole other level of pain you’re not willing to endure.

“Katsuki,” you pant, desperate. “Please, no. Please don’t. It’s...it’s my birthday!”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Bakugou releases your wrist, and goes for your hair instead. He yanks you back so that his chest presses against your back. His lips are against the junction of your shoulder and neck as he growls, “after everything I’ve fuckin’ done for you? Ungrateful little slut.”

He pulls your sweats down, cupping your ass roughly with his large, calloused hands. They feel good—his rough touch against your soft cheeks—and despite feeling fearful for the state of your ass, you can feel yourself getting aroused. “I really gotta put you in your place today of all days?” He squeezes your ass tight and possessive, like he owns it, and in the moment, you can’t really say that he doesn’t.

“No,” you cry and god you’re pathetic. You had this entire plan set up and now it’s barreling out of your control. As his lips graze your shoulder, you let out a sigh and say, “the cake was really, really pretty, Katsuki. I’m sure I would’ve loved it. I’m sorry I did that. I just…”

“Just what?” He rasps against your neck before his hot tongue draws a long line across your skin, making you shiver in response.

“I was just...overwhelmed,” you admit. “Our anniversary-“ you choke out, the words sour on your tongue, but you manage to make it sound sweet-“is just around the corner. I wasn’t prepared...I don’t have a whole lot of resources to do something special for you…”

Katsuki Bakugou sure is a lot of things, but he’s not a moron. You’re positive he can read your facade like a book and he’s certainly not one to play along. .

“Oh yeah? You wanna do something for me?” He sucks in your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling playfully. You mewl as Bakugou reaches around your body, large fingers moving down the front of you and sliding down your pubic bone. He dips two fingers between your lips, swiping smugly at the traitorous puddling at your core. “Is this really what gets you off, sweetheart? Lying to me just so I get a little rough with you?”

“N-no.” You try to sound stern, sure of yourself, but Bakugou is light to the touch, fingers barely teasing your sensitivity. You catch yourself grinding into them, directly resulting in your ass moving against his erection. You can feel him pulse against you, and it only makes your pussy throb in direct result, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just admit you want me,” he seethes, pressing more firmly against you while his middle finger teases your entrance. “You like me like this. You don’t want sweet—you want me to be a hard ass, don't you? Why else would you act like such a slutty little brat? Good girls don’t get wet after shit like this, baby. Good girls don’t like to be thrown around.”

“Katsuki,” you say on a sigh while bringing a hand to his arm, hoping to direct him to break through your surface.

“Put your hands on the table,” he growls.

“Please.” You ignore him, pulling his arm more insistently, needing him to deepen his touch.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you; put your hands on the table, or I won’t hesitate to use this belt against your bare fuckin’ ass. I’ll lick you so good, you’ll have bruises for months. You’ll need to sit on a fuckin’ ice pack the next time I’m courteous enough to have you dine with me at my table.”

Shuddering, you obey him, planting your palms against the flat of the table, away from the splattered cake. Bakugou lets out a contemptuous scoff, brings your wrists together, and easily wraps his belt around them, tight and with no leeway.

He then pushes your shirt up so that it’s around your wrist with the belt, and pulls your sweats down all the way off of your legs. You’re virtually naked in front of him, with the exception of your bra and panties, helpless to do anything about it. Just like he likes it. He always wants you to bite back until he gets you to submit. He was probably enjoying your little silent treatment show, too; it was just another kind of rebellion, another barbel that he’s fought and won.

A tingle runs down your spine as he traces it with calloused fingers. You feel your stomach tighten from anticipation when he reaches your tailbone and his touch leaves your body. You hear him chuckle as he pulls at a strap of your thong, snapping it back into place. “At least I know you like the panties I got you.”

Pain bursts on your right cheek as the sound of his sharp slap ricochets around the dining room. You have to bite your lip to keep from crying out—even still, you’re trembling when he rubs the sore spot.

“Awww,” he coos, snickering. “You gonna try and act tough?”

You exhale, trying and failing to keep a steady breath, but it’s all wrong and you’re already panting.

“Show me how much you hate me, baby, I wanna hear you sing it.”

The next lick comes without any precursor, no warning, no time for you to brace yourself, so when he slaps your ass, you can’t help but cry out—ecstatic or indignant—it’s not your place to decide.

“Katsuki!” You fall forward, forehead on the table, inches away from the ruined cake.

He chuckles at your position, petting the back of your hair. “If you want me to stop, you’re gonna have to lick it up, Princess.”

Your eyes narrow and you shoot a sideways glare back at him. “I’m not a dog.”

His lips tilt sideways, cocky and annoyingly hot, cheeks red, brow raised provocatively. “You sure look like a bitch to me.”

He spanks you a third and fourth time, and your mouth hangs open with unspoken yelps, a familiar, shameful feeling traveling down your stomach to your throbbing heat.

Taking a second, Bakugou dips his fingers into the pink frosted mess in front of your eyes, and brings it to your mouth. “Taste it for me. I worked hard to get the flavor right,” he commands, smearing the cream over your bottom lip. You’re helpless to oblige. Only, when you stick your tongue out, he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

“Bite me, and I’ll have you tied up for the entire night. I’ll make you scream until you’re on the edge of passing out, then I’ll fuck you awake. I’ll use you—fill every hole you’ve got ‘til you’re nothing but a leaky drainpipe full of my cum. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mhmm…” Not wanting to test to see if he was just making empty promises, because he never makes empty promises, you glide your tongue around his fingers, aiming to please. You let out a soft, appreciative hum when you taste the sweet, strawberry flavored frosting, and suck his fingers clean.

“Good girl,” he says, his fingers leaving your mouth, only to dip back into the cake. He brings them back to your lips and you take him in willingly. “Now, I don’t want to hear another word out of that pretty little mouth, until I tell you to speak. Understand?”

You look at him with affirmation. He spanks you again.

Your body jolts, spit and cream drooling out of your mouth as you moan, trying not to utter a comprehensive word. The vibrations from the impact sends waves of pleasure dancing across your clenching heat. He hasn’t even really touched your sex, and yet, you feel the coils of an approaching orgasm winding up in the pit of your stomach.

The sixth and seventh spank has tears falling down your cheeks. The heat is too much to bear and you can feel sweat sliding down your back. You want to warn him—to request that he takes a break, because the oncoming shame that’s making your toes tingle and your heart race might be a little more humiliating than having him torture you for the entire night. But you say nothing, your curiosity besting your dignity. The next spank does you in. Your body shakes as you wail, your coils breaking while you pool out, thighs sheened with your arousal. There’s absolutely no hiding yourself, and Bakugou is going to be all too smug about this. You simply cannot believe yourself.

“No way,” Bakugou husks, fingers leaving your mouth. You’re panting again when he brings his fingers to your fluttering pussy. He pushes them in and all you can offer is a sigh when he’s up to his digits in you.

“Aww...oh no.” You can’t tell if his concern is genuine or not, but it doesn’t matter to you. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, and defeated. He’s never going to let you live this down. You can already hear his future taunts buzzing around in your head. ‘You can’t pretend like you don’t like me when I’ve made you cum just by spanking your perfect little ass.’

God-fucking-damn it.

He has all the merit to tease you for it now, and you’re expecting him to—hell, you’re practically bracing yourself for it, but instead, he pulls his fingers back and pushes your bottom over, so you face him.

“Ah~Ow!” You wince when your butt hits the table.

“Ah. C’mere.”  He frowns and pulls you up by the belt at your wrist. You don’t stop yourself from falling into his embrace. He might be the source of all of your dread, but he’s also your only means of comfort. You let your tears roll onto his chest, muffling your sobs into his shirt. He hushes you, nails tickling your back as he kisses your hair. “S’okay, princess. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you cry, and though your wrists are still bound, you manage to clutch onto his shirt. You pull him into you, shamelessly reveling in the familiarity of his scent.

“Hmm?” He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What for?”

Your lips tremble and you shake your head, unable to voice exactly what you’re sorry for. Climaxing? Telling him that you hate him? Treating him so poorly when all he does is take care of you? You shake your head again when the actualization of your situation sets into the forefront of your mind. There’s practically a river of tears streaming down your face now and you wish for nothing more than to do disappear, because you’re a stupid girl, there’s cake in your hair, and Stockholm syndrome is bullshit!

“What is it?” He insists, he is tone low, caring.

Dumb. You’re so dumb. Your brain is screaming at you to not say anything, but your skin still buzzes from the thrill of your orgasm. Despite loathing yourself more than ever, you’re practically high, both from catharsis and euphoria.

“I don’t...hate you.” It’s small but it’s there—your voice. There’s a lot to decode from your confession, and by the way Bakugou’s eyes soften just the tiniest bit, you know that he knows what you will not say..

His thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth, wiping away at some residual frosting, then brings it up to where your lips part.

“I know,” he says as you take him in again, swirling your tongue around his thumb, now enjoying the taste of the cake. “Of course I know.”

Your heart swells when he doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t even look all that proud of himself. He simply gazes at you with adoration and amazement—and, of course, lust because you have your lips wrapped around something. Prick.  

“That was very hot, babe,” he says before kissing your forehead. “I really didn’t think that you could be so responsive to me.” He chuckles darkly, but it lacks his familiar malicious undertone. “Don’t really feel like I earned it, either.”

His thumb leaves your mouth, slides against your bottom lip, and is abruptly replaced with a kiss. Bakugou’s tongue teases your mouth open, then caresses yours with his. “Mmm,” he hums, the reverberations of his voice sending sensational buzzes down your neck. He nips at your bottom lip, then smirks against you. “Tastes good.”

He kisses you again, molding his lips perfectly to yours, and you feel his arousal poke at your bound hands. Not quite lucid enough to think it through, but feeling a bit mischievous yourself, you cup his girth through his trousers, rubbing his hard length up and down. You run your tongue against his, wanting to taste the power he has over you.

“You want me, baby?” Bakugou asks, pressing himself more firmly into your hands. “You wanna feel me slide inside that wet pussy of yours?”

Still not willing to give him a verbal confirmation, you squeeze his cock, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him closer to you. He growls when you have him grinding against your heat, a dark stain appearing on the prominent bulge he rubs against you. When he pulls away, you see that his pupils are blown, barely a sliver of his crimson iris to be seen. He looks moonstruck, predatory, and beautiful.

“Naughty girl,” he scolds, a tick in his jaw. He pushes you lightly, easing so that your back is on the table, your legs spread out for him. He groans when he runs a finger up your damp, clothed slit.

“I asked you a question,” he continues, playing with your core. He gets a dreamy look in his eye when he pulls your panties to the side, and feels exactly how wet you are for him. Then, he shoots a scathing glower your way. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Fuck. You?”

“Yes,” you say with a nod. “I want you to fuck me, Katsuki.”

“That’s really too bad.” He snickers arrogantly and your heart falls into your stomach. Didn’t you just have a soft moment?! “Only good girls get fucked, pretty baby. You can’t confess your undying love for me and expect that gets you out of your punishment.”

“I did not!” You argue which earns you a dangerous look.

“You and I both know what the hell you meant,” he says with a threateningly sexy lilt. “You can’t take something like that back at the drop of a hat.”

”I think you’ve punished me enough already,” you bite out defensively, quick to change the subject, because you‘re bitterly aware that he’s right.

“And who are you to decide that?” He smirks, brushing a thumb across your pubic bone. “Thought you were my prisoner.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“No?” Bakugou gets down to his knees, leveling his face with your center. “Actions speak louder than words, angelface.” He kisses your clit, making the same noise he does when he’s trying to bother you while eating, only when he does it on your cunt, all of your nerve endings catch flame and you’re spiraling back to needy senselessness. “Prove to me that you’ve earned my cock by riding my tongue.”

He’s nothing if not altruistic when he’s between your legs. He’s always been generous and dedicated to getting you off, but there’s something different about how he’s moving now. He uses the flat of his tongue and draws languid strokes up your entrance, taking his time while he swirls around your clit. He groans into you, and if the vibrations of his voice weren’t enough to finish you off then and there, his fingers sure as hell do it for you. He pushes them into you, reveling in the feel of your spongy walls hugging him tightly. He traces intricate patterns across your skin, mapping out the places that make you moan the loudest, just to be keen on teasing you for harrowing minutes. He’s going about this agonizing slow, but there’s something about him taking his time, rather than completely ravaging you to prove just how good he is at eating you out, that already has your walls clamping down around his fingers, your back arching, whimpers and pleas tumbling out of your mouth.

It hits you like a brisk wave crashing against the oceanic shoreline. First it was one liquescent sensation, then a pandemonium of your nerves roaring to life. Your thighs close against his head, locking him into place while your fingers twine with his hair. He moans into you, multiplying the excruciating thrill tenfold. You rock against his tongue, savoring this magnificently prolonged ecstatic escapade.

When your nerves cool down and you’re no longer twitching too much, Bakugou offers you a wry grin before licking his lips.

“Look at what a mess you’ve become,” he coos , kissing your shaking thighs, eyes locked on yours. “Was that all because of me, princess.”

“I...don’t think I’ve come so hard in my life.” You breathe, disoriented by the fact. “Oh my god.”

“That so?” He asks as his tongue travels up your thigh.

Bakugou fervently laps up your post-orgasmic juices all the way back up to your drenched cunt. He groans dramatically while his tongue dives back into you. You’re far too sensitive now, and he doesn’t stop—he likes having you squirm around, bucking your hips this was and that, all attempts at finding an escape for his erotic torture futile. Soon he has you spasming out of control for the third time this night, and he rides the waves of your grudging pleasure with delight.

“K-katsukiiii, pleeease!” You’re breathless, hot, and irrational. He has a large hand gripped tightly on your side while three fingers continue to curl inside of you. “I can’t t-take it anymore! It’s t-too much!”

“What? You don’t think you’ve got another one in you?” He keeps your eyes locked on his as his hands push your thighs farther apart, his tongue slowly gliding across your throbbing clit.

You shake your head, practically sputtering your pleas. “I will do whatever you want, so please-“

‘’S that right?” Bakugou grins up at you, smug and triumphant. He pushes you farther up on the table and climbs over you, one hand at the side of your head, holding him up—the other reaching out to grab a coin-sized piece of cake. He presses it against your mouth as he prompts you with an, “ahh.”

“Ah,” you mimic and he pushes the cake into your mouth. The moment you swallow is the moment his lips latch onto yours. You taste your headiness mixing in with the creamy texture of the cake and you can’t help but moan openly into his mouth.

Bakugou ends the kiss too soon, catching you out of breath and wanting more.

“You can be a good girl, can’t you?” His voice is raspy, thick with need, and you know he’s close to falling apart. You want him to. You need him to. He’s broken you, so it’s only just that he breaks sometimes too.

You nod, cautious to see what he’ll be doing next. He’s certainly not taking off his pants, which was the only thing he should be doing.

He moves your arms over his shoulders and leans down low, breath hot on your ear. “You’ll do anything for my cock?”

“Yes,” you sigh and wish more than anything for your hands to be free so tear his shirt off.

“Because you don’t hate me at all. In fact, you fuckin’ love me. You love everything I do to you, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. That right?”

You scowl ahead, teeth clenched. “Yes.”

He draws a line with his tongue against the most sensitive part of your neck, making you shudder, and asks, “yes, what, princess?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes, I am stubborn.”

With a “teh!” Bakugou kisses your cheek and leads you up so that you’re sitting straight, and guides you both carefully off the table, sweeping you up to carry you so that you don’t step in any of the food you’ve tossed around. He cradles you in his arms, you half-naked, him fully dressed, and smiles sardonically.

“I’m not gonna make you say it, because it is your birthday, but I will have you know that your punishment is not over.”

“You’re kidding me!” You bark back, leaning away to look him in the eyes to see if he’s serious.

“Sorry, baby.” He laughs. “But I had a romantic evening planned out for the two of us and you just had to throw your little bratty tantrums.”

“What do I have to do—?”

“—to get me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re going to take a shower, put on that fuckin’ dress, then we’re gonna do this whole dinner thing over again. If you can behave, then maybe—maybe you’ll get my cock. If not—well princess, history tends to repeat itself, but I was hoping we could act like a normal couple just for one night. Thought maybe you’d be into it too, but that’s not what you want at all, is it?”

“I...want to be a normal couple,” you say unenthusiastically. You’re not sure if you meant you wanted to be a normal couple with Bakugou or if you wanted to be free and normal with somebody else entirely.

Bakugou snickers, as if you said something childish. “No you don’t.”

“Because you think I don’t want to be with you.”

“Nah...I know you want to be with me. But you don’t want to be a normal couple. You want this, babe. You want what we have. You want the chaos. You revel in it.”

“Well, I—“ you begin, desperate to find an argument point that doesn’t make you sound dumb. Is he right? Do you enjoy this? Everyday is like a game with him, and it drives you up the fucking wall, but what would you be without it?

“I hope you can keep your self-control,” you retort flippantly, abandoning the argument. “Hope your dick didn’t burst your buttons, Katsuki.” Your gaze drops down to the tent in his pants, then snaps pointedly back at his face.

He’s absolutely unfazed. In fact, he’s more chipper than you’ve ever seen him—like he’s the cat who caught the mouse. “Just for that, I’m gonna join you in the shower. Keep my belt around those wrists and have you watch me wash myself—see all that you’re missing out on.”

You groan, head falling into his chest as he begins walking towards the stairs. “I really do fucking hate you.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he says back, a smile in his voice. “Just as long as you know that you’re not the only person here that knows how to play keep away.”

[too-kinky-to-live]

taste

happy vo.re day everyone!!! here’s my cringe fic to commemorate :-) 

(no ao3 link this time im too self conscious) 

this idea came about while talking to the lovely @chili-kinks and they made this in conjunction with my fic so please check them out!!

anyway this fic features pre.game oum.asai and soft, same size vo.re, you have been warned. also bad words

“IIIIT’S PUNISHMENT TIME!!!”

The screen cut to a large Monokuma towering over the latest blackened, a small blonde girl with a long pigtail. The demonic bear picked up the girl and began to lick all over as she struggled in his grasp. Slowly lifting her above his head, Monokuma bent his head back and opened the gates of hell: his half-fanged mouth, with drool beginning to form around it. The girl was screaming and flailing about as she was lowered further down to her demise. Monokuma’s fist released her without effort, the blackened dropping right into his gaping maw. It slammed shut with a metal clang, and the bear gave a loud, deafening gulp. 

Saihara’s eyes were glued to the T.V., in a more intense manner than usual. What a cruel way to go, even for Danganronpa standards. He had many ideas about his own execution someday, but this… this was definitely one to consider. He could only imagine how she felt wriggling around in his large belly, put to an eternal sleep with a comforting blanket of warmth. His shaky hands moved to text his boyfriend Ouma, who sadly couldn’t make it to their weekly Danganronpa viewing because of heaps of school projects. He knew Ouma was more into the mystery aspect of the show than the gruesome killings, but he simply couldn’t resist. 

Saihara: omgomgomg did you see the latest episode???

Ouma: I did. I had it on in the background so I could work. 

Saihara: what did you think of the execution? :D

Ouma: It was… something. Unexpected, definitely. 

It was difficult for the taller boy to contain his fantasizing, to say the least. 

Saihara: i love the way she was screaming for dear life,,, it was soooo satisfying in the end! god i wish i were monokuma… tasting a victim would be so worth ittt

Ouma: Uh, Saihara?

Saihara: yea?

Ouma: I think you should go to bed. You have school tomorrow. And… you’re scaring me a little. 

Saihara: sorry kichi… but fiiiine ill see you tomorrow.

The last thing he wanted was to make Ouma uncomfortable. And he was a man of his word, he’d take his advice and get to bed. However, there was one thing he wanted to try first. Rummaging around in his snack drawer, he found a small bag of Monokuma-themed gummy bears. He couldn’t stop thinking about having something whole run down his throat… and what better way to do it than try on a small candy? He frantically opened the bag and plucked out a red gummy. Dangling it above his drooling maw, he licked his lips. 

“My first victim… down the hatch!” 

He shoved the gummy in his mouth and had to stop himself from chewing. Positioning it for swallowing, he let it slide down his throat with a hard gulp. Saihara traced a hand over his chest to feel it going down to his stomach, shivering slightly. What an amazing feeling… he couldn’t chew these ever again! He happily shoved more in his mouth and gulped them down, pretending they were meek little prey against his predatory might. 

Saihara tossed the bag aside and rubbed his belly blissfully. One day, maybe he could have a person inside him. Despite his affinity for Danganronpa, he could never bring himself to kill someone. He was going to rely on Team Danganronpa’s directors to change that for him. No, he merely wanted someone in his belly for a while, just to feel what it’s like. 

Surely a normal human like him couldn’t achieve that, right? 

Only one way to find out. 

Ouma looked on nervously as Saihara effortlessly swallowed half a sandwich whole. His previous victims included sushi, apple slices, candy, cookies, and brownies. It was almost inhuman how the taller boy could open his mouth to fit a seemingly endless array of food. 

"Saihara, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Saihara simply chuckled. "I'll be fine, 'Kichi." 

The smaller boy knew Saihara had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Danganronpa, but he never would have imagined it would affect him this much. Despite how unnatural it was, Ouma couldn't help his morbid curiosity. He couldn't deny how interesting the latest execution was (no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise), and a small part of him absolutely loved watching Saihara scarf down food and seeing it travel down his throat. 

Nope, he definitely didn't enjoy this. 

Every so often, the taller boy would lift his food above him and slowly ease it into his mouth, as if to simulate eating a person. Ouma was immensely thankful the other patrons of the cafe were ignoring them. Maybe this sudden fascination would fade once the next Danganronpa episode came out; but with Saihara, anything was possible. 

Saihara: hey could you come over today? i wanna try something. 

Two weeks later, Ouma received a rather unceremonious text from Saihara one night. 

Ouma: Sure. What is it you want to try? 

Saihara: i don't think i can say over text

Ouma furrowed his brow, his mind racing to the absolute worst possible scenarios. Did something happen between him and his uncle again? 

Ouma: ...why not? 

Saihara: i just can't i'm sorry 

Saihara: pls come over asap 

Ouma: Alright.

It was unsettling how vague his friend was being, and that made him all the more worried. He hurriedly packed his things and ran to Saihara's house. 

The two sat across from each other on the floor in Saihara’s room, neither saying a word. The taller boy had his eyes cast down, deep in thought with Ouma left to wonder just what the hell happened to him. The air was unnerving, and Ouma couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you okay, Saihara?”

The boy in question took a second to look up at him, meeting his eyes with an emotionless face Ouma had not seen in him before. 

“Do you remember the episode where the girl got eaten alive?”

Oh.

“I… I want to try it out. I’ve been practicing so I could make it happen.”

Oh.

Saihara couldn’t possibly think this would work, right? Humans aren’t capable of eating each other without… killing the other. Ouma shuddered. 

“Saihara,” he spoke slowly. “Do you really think you can do this? I mean, Danganronpa is just fiction after all… and one of us wouldn’t s-survive,” his voice began to quiver. 

The taller boy sat up slightly and looked at Ouma with soft eyes. “I won’t let that happen. I’ve been looking stuff up. I’ve been training myself. And… you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

Part of Ouma didn’t want to. That part was constantly pushing the fact that this could end up very bad. However, another part slowly began to rise up - the feeling of being the closest he can to the one he has a crush on. And of course, there was that naughty side of him thrilled at the idea. 

“...I’ll do it.”

Saihara’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“I trust you. And, well, I’m kinda curious too.” 

Hearing Ouma have mutual feelings to this weird activity made Saihara’s heart race. The smaller boy began to remove his clothing, too embarrassed to make eye contact with his crush. Saihara finally noticed how bony Ouma was. He’d make sure to get him a proper meal later. Ouma removed everything but his boxers, feeling somewhat self-conscious and looking away with a blush. 

“Could you uh, close your eyes while I do this? I don’t think I could make eye contact with you.”

“S-Sure.”

Ouma complied and Saihara inched his way towards him, shaking slightly. Ouma trusted him. He wasn’t about to let that be for nothing. Raising himself above Ouma’s head, Saihara opened his maw until it became unhinged. He gently bit down on the smaller boy’s head of hair. The flavor was a sweet grape with a bit of lavender, which made Saihara drool slightly. He couldn’t help but smile in bliss as he took more of the boy in. He felt Ouma flinch a bit, so he brought his hands to Ouma’s arms and rubbed for reassurance. The smaller boy calmed down and Saihara reached his shoulders. 

Perhaps it was Ouma’s smaller stature, but this was going a lot easier than Saihara had anticipated. He wanted to lick at him to get more of his sweet flavor, but he didn’t want to gross him out. He also wished he could ask how Ouma was holding up, but, well… he was a bit preoccupied. As Saihara reached the smaller boy’s torso, he realized the boy had entered his stomach. He was already feeling full, but there was no going back now. He took a hand off of Ouma to rub his belly, his hand gliding over the dent created in it. Reaching Ouma’s boxers wasn’t nearly as thrilling of a milestone, since his taste was interrupted by bland fabric. 

He picked up the pace and shoved the covered part of Ouma’s body down his gullet. He mentally apologized for being so rough. Resuming the wonderful taste of Ouma, he slid down his spindly legs. All that remained was below the knees, and those were consumed just as quickly. Saihara could feel Ouma squirming a bit to get comfortable, and that’s when the true euphoria started. 

It felt fucking amazing. 

It was everything he hoped it would be. He leaned back and let an arm support him from behind, using the other to support the massive weight added to him. His stomach stretched past his knees with many bumps protruding from it. Red-faced, Saihara panted heavily with his tongue lavishly hanging out. God, this was so worth it. He rubbed around to feel for Ouma, who was surprisingly calm during the whole ordeal. 

He opened his mouth to ask Ouma how he was doing, but a massive belch burst from his lips instead. The smaller boy, meanwhile, was fumbling around trying to make out his surroundings in the dark. His body was drenched in saliva; but strangely, no stomach acid was present. The world quaked around him as Saihara let out a loud burp, and Ouma found it hard to be grossed out given his current circumstances. 

“Are you *urp* okay, ‘Kichi?” 

Saihara’s hand found Ouma’s head between the fleshy wall separating them, and Ouma couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He never saw himself in the stomach of his crush, yet here he was. 

“I’m okay. It feels… really nice,” he blushed, accentuated with a small rub to the stomach walls. He was amazed at how elastic Saihara’s stomach was, he hoped he wasn’t putting too much strain on it. 

“Haah… I’m great, ‘Kichi! The best I’ve ever felt, actually! You tasted incredible,” he grinned, licking his lips. 

Suddenly, the buttons on his dress shirt holding on for dear life relented and popped right off, exposing his large belly. That was… pretty hot, Saihara realized. Ouma started to rub more of the walls surrounding him, causing Saihara to moan rather loudly. He was a complete mess around his crush, but it was just too difficult to contain his bliss. 

“Saihara, why aren’t there any stomach acids yet?” 

The taller boy gave his belly a gentle pat. “I found recipes online for drinks that *hic* could subdue stomach acids for a bit. It looks *hic* like they worked pretty *hic* well, huh?” 

Ouma smiled and let himself lean back into the warm stomach walls. 

“You’ll let me out when I’m ready, right?” he asked tiredly. 

“Of course,” Saihara whispered, rubbing Ouma’s head.

“Thank you, Saihara.”

[inscribeddiatribes]

Steve Rogers Yandere Alphabet (Part 1)

—

Only for readers 18+

Warnings: Mentions of Yandere behaviors/elements, violence, manipulation, and other dark themes. NONE of the violent or invasive acts depicted in this work should be done or encouraged in real life. I don’t personally condone or support Yandere/dark behavior in real life — it’s not normal and shouldn’t be tolerated.

A/N: This is my fifth work for my first follower milestone! I’ve never wrote a Yandere alphabet before, but I wanted to do something different. I hope you enjoy! This template is by @dear-yandere

Part 1 (A-L)

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Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Steve mainly shows his love through physical affection and acts of service. Steve is usually understanding of your boundaries, but if he’s in a bad mood... you’re both going to be cuddling whether you want to or not.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Very messy. Steve’s obsession with you causes him to do things completely outside of his character. He’s quick to threaten or harm anyone he feels like may ruin his relationship with you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Steve isn’t really the mocking type. Steve would want you to behave as if you actually like being with him because he wants to experience the traditional life he missed out on. If you don’t do that, he might try to force you into submission.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Steve would force you into many things like cuddling, hugging, and kissing, but he’s somewhat patient when it comes to intercourse because he fantasizes about you saving yourself for your marriage with him.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He doesn’t really make his affection for you known to the media because he fears you may get hurt. However, he’s always an open book in private. He literally tells you everything about him (whether you’ve asked or not).

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Steve would be extremely irritated. You and him can’t be a “happy couple” if you’re fighting him. So, he’ll give you two warnings before he punishes you. You’ll be wishing you stayed silent by the end of your punishment.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It’s not a game to Steve. He hates watching you attempt to leave because he truly believes that you two are meant to be together. He’ll immediately put a stop to your plan.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Either a forced marriage/family or punishment for not giving in.

Steve is going to marry you — no matter what. He doesn’t care whether you adopt or have biological children, but you two will definitely be having children one way or another. You can’t even attempt to get help from social services. They’re willing to turn a blind eye to your suffering because of their desire to please Captain America.

Steve really doesn’t like to punish you, but it’s never stopped him before. Steve is okay with you verbalizing your doubts about having children, but if he ever hears you say you don’t want to get married to him... you’re in for a rough night.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

After only a couple of dates, he’s decided that you’re going to get married within a year. Kids, pets, white picket fence, the whole nine yards. He’s certain that you and him will have a perfect family.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Steve gets very jealous. Steve tends to be the confrontational type (never towards you in this case). He’ll step in between you and whoever you’re talking to and glare at them until they leave.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

If you’re not fighting with him or trying to escape, Steve’s sweet and considerate. Taking you on dates, buying you gifts, cuddling, offering to give you massages, the list goes on.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Steve would definitely try to impress you by playing into his role as Captain America. Stopping to give a kid his autograph, helping someone with their bags, basically anything to get you to form a positive opinion of you. If you didn’t pay attention to him, he’d resort to asking you random questions just to get you to notice him.

After Steve’s gotten your interest, he’d tone down his behavior a little to get to know you better. Steve loves taking you on picnics, to animal shelters, private gardens, and his apartment. Mainly so he can have a little privacy to ask you questions about what you want to do with your life. Once he finds out that you have a shared dream, you can say goodbye to life without Steve.

—

Masterlist

Check out my masterlist, you might find something you like! Reblogs are welcome! Follow for more :)

I don’t own these characters, songs, or lyrics, nor did I create any of them. This work is strictly for fair use/ entertainment purposes. No money has been received from this work.

—

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[p1harmonyofficial]

[📰] Get to Know the Members of K-Pop Group P1Harmony With These 10 Fun Facts! (Exclusive)

P1Harmony is a rising global K-Pop troupe, but we wanted Just Jared readers to get an exclusive chance to know them a little better!

The talented six-member boy group first arrived on the scene back in October of 2020, embarking on their international music career with the release of their first mini album DISHARMONY: STAND OUT and feature film, P1H: A New World Begins, which positioned the group as a force to be reckoned with in the music scene.

Amid the pandemic, the group continued to make new music for their fans with the release of their second mini album, DISHARMONY: BREAK OUT, including their slamming, hip-hop infused title track “Scared,”” along with an accompanying music video full of street-style dancing and intense visual effects.

Watch “Scared” and check out these 10 Fun Facts about P1Harmony inside!

INTAK

1. I have more eyelashes on my right eye than my left. Right after my debut, I didn’t really know how to remove eye makeup, so for a while, I used to just rub my eyes really hard with soap and now, I have more eyelashes on my right eye than my left. 2. I used to love oysters, but now I cannot eat it. I was an oyster fanatic, until very recently. I ordered raw oysters after watching a TV show at night with JONGSEOB, and after one bite, I couldn’t eat it anymore. The taste of the “sea” was so pungent. Now, I’m too traumatized! 3. I saved a man’s life. I went chestnut picking with my dad, and found a guy hanging on a cliff and struggling to get back up. We immediately helped him get up. He was really grateful and I remember feeling so proud to have saved someone’s life! 4. I have a small horizontal scar on the right side of my face, and I kind of like it. I got this scar when I was about four or five, and although it’s not that visible now, sometimes I like it because it makes me feel like a charismatic, bad guy! 5. I love dogs. I love dogs, so I have been watching a lot of dog-related videos but I’m terribly allergic. I can’t stop myself from petting them when I see them on the street, and always regret it afterwards because I turn all puffy and itchy! 6. I fantasize a lot about time travel. I even tried and feel like it can really happen one day! I lie down in my bed, put my blanket over my entire body and focus really hard on the idea, but this brings me nowhere but to the future. [Laughs] 7. I have a gold tooth. 8. I have a brown spot (mole) on my middle finger. 9. I love my Crayon Shin-chan character earphones. I get happy just looking at it. 10. I go to the convenient store so much that there isn’t anything I have not tried!

THEO

1. My right shoulder is more developed than my left. I used to play volleyball and would strike with my right arm, so my right shoulder is more developed than my left. 2. I have a red mole. I recently got a red mole on the side of my right neck, but I have no idea where it came from and why but it’s not going away! 3. I can’t burp, literally. I don’t know how to burp and have never burped in my life 4. I only drink carbonated drinks. I rarely drink anything that is NOT carbonated. 5. I don’t like lettuce and tomatoes in my burgers. 6. I had a burst appendix and didn’t know it for a while. I was hospitalized for two months, because they couldn’t find my appendix. Apparently, my organs are shaped and structured differently. 7. I love slippers. Unless I am going to an official engagement or doing promos, I am always in slippers, (even during winter)! 8. I have never cried in front of people until I turned 20. I was watching a very emotional episode of “Animal Farm,” and got caught crying in front of KEEHO, SOUL and JIUNG. Since then, I think I’ve gotten more emotional. I once cried watching JONGSEOB cry, too. 9. I can’t stay still when I’m on the phone. I have to walk around or do something when I’m on the phone. 10. I love singing songs to my friends over the phone.

JIUNG

1. I love Tonkatsu (pork cutlet). I have been addicted to tonkatsu these days and have been eating it almost every day for the last few months. 2. I have the same birthday as my younger brother. My younger brother and I share the same birthday, which is Oct. 7. We were also born around the same time. 3. My younger brother and I have a similar birth time as well. I think he was born like 8 minutes before me or after! 4. I love raw garlic and don’t like kimchi. 5. I only drink flat coca-cola. I purposely decarbonate my coke by shaking it and letting the air out multiple times until the bottle doesn’t expand anymore and the coke is completely flat. 6. I still fit into my hats from my adolescent years. My head is so small that I still fit into all my hats from elementary school. 7. I think too much. I make daily memos and write down almost everything to organize my thoughts. 8. I like to dance and sing when the streets are empty. When no one is around and I’m in a good mood. I love walking down the empty street thinking I’m shooting a music video. I sing, dance and act. Last time, I bumped into someone and I ran away in full embarrassment! [Laughs]. 9. I have a scar on my eye. 10. I may look picky, but I’m not a picky eater! I love trying a lot of different cuisines.

KEEHO

1. I love collecting sunglasses and glasses although my eyesight is near perfect. I love wearing glasses even though I don’t need them to see. I also have been collecting a lot of sunglasses lately. 2. I talk during my sleep, apparently! According to my members, I sleep-talk a lot (almost every night), but I don’t remember any of it and I never have dreams. 3. I have the same birthday as my dad! 4. I can eat salads all day. I love salads! I love eating vegetables, especially celery and carrots, and prefer dressings like ranch and oriental. 5. I am not good at smiling. I have a hard time smiling so I’m still in the process of learning how to smile naturally! I have to make sounds out loud to smile [during photo shoots]. 6. I used to hate wearing sweatpants. I don’t know why but I hated sweatpants and never wore them when I was younger― even if I had to wear something more uncomfortable like slacks or jeans.. Now, I wear them all the time! 7. I rarely cry alone or in front of people. The only person who has seen me cry is INTAK. I was going through something heavy and was alone at a park by myself when INTAK came to pick me up. He started crying as soon as he saw me, and that made me cry. 8. I used to pull all my loose baby teeth. I hated having something loose in my mouth, so instead of waiting to go to the dentist, I used to pull them out on my own. 9. I have a light (barely noticeable) mole on my big toe. 10. I have curly hair, so unless I blow dry it, it goes wild.

SOUL

1. I used to collect beetles. I think I had up to 30 beetles in one big box. 2. I only wear Air Jordans. I only wear Jordans and my favorite design is the Air Jordan 1s. 3. I love dolls! I love buying and collecting dolls. I like anything that is cute and fuzzy. 4. I don’t like taking pictures of humans except KEEHO. I only take pictures of nature, architecture or like a beautiful scenery. The only time I would take a picture of a human is of KEEHO. 5. Me and my younger sister found an important historical stone artifact. We were just digging stuff up and found a stone artifact. We later learned it was a historically valuable artifact, so we donated it to a museum. 6. I wear my pants backwards. 7. I don’t like electric fans. I don’t like when wind blows in my face 8. I once had the same dream three times in a row. I had the same dream three times in a row, but every ending changed depending on the choices I made [in my dream]. 9. A bird pooped on my head while I was on my way to school. Without having much reaction, I just walked to school and waited until I had to go to the bathroom to wash. 10. I don’t get scared or surprised easily. I used to get yelled at for bowing down and saying hi to all the actors playing zombies, monsters or ghosts at haunted houses in theme parks.

JONGSEOB

1. I like books that are thick and with small letters for no particular reason. I tend to buy books that are thick, whatever the genre is. I think it’s because I’m a fast reader. 2. I never had cavities! I love eating sweets like jellies and candies. I can go through a whole pack in one sitting, but I’ve never had cavities! 3. I have something called a “knee hyperextension and/or back knee. My knee bends backwards in a straightened position unlike many people. 4 I love the dark. I usually don’t turn on the lights unless I really have to. 5. I could sleep for long periods of time. I once slept up to 16 straight hours, and I barely have dreams. Maybe like five times a year?! 6. I don’t like/eat seaweed or seagrass. 7. I love walking into a room that is super cold. I turn on the A/C and close the door for about 30 minutes so it can be ice cold before I walk in. 8. I want to learn how to play bass guitar one day! I watch random videos of jam sessions, and one day would really like to play bass guitar. 9. My eyesight is different on both eyes. I am near-sighted on one, and far-sighted on the other. 10. I am pretty good at playing games on my phone.

[selkiewife]

Another perspective of the Sansa and Sweetrobin Dynamic

cw: contains mentions of rape, abuse, and sexual assault

@rhaenyra-snow I said I would tag you when I got my thoughts together. I am responding to your meta but also some of the comments and discourse I saw surrounding it. So if I get something wrong, let me know. But like I said, a large part of this is a response to the general discourse about Sansa and Sweetrobin. Obviously, you don’t have to read this, if it doesn’t interest you. It did get kind of long lol. And it’s primarily a Sansa meta. But I wanted to tag you, since you wrote the meta I am referring to. I am honestly not here to stir up any more drama, just offer another perspective of Sansa’s arc in regards to motherhood and her relationship with Sweetrobin.

First off, I completely unequivocally agree that Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne exhibit excellent maternal skills and I loved the parts of the meta that described those scenes. They were so lovely and I agree that it is a deconstruction of the typical “gnc character who isn’t maternal” trope. And I am totally here for that! For Arya specifically, as she is so compassionate and sweet and mature in the books!

And while I do think that it would be perfectly fine- and even very interesting for Sansa not to be maternal, I think it is too soon to tell that because of her age, the abusive situation she is in, and because I actually think that GRRM is doing something different in Sansa’s arc with motherhood than he is doing with Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne’s arcs. 

I think that Sansa’s situation with Sweetrobin is arguably more fucked up than the situations with Arya, Daenerys, and Pod- not their entire arcs (those are incredibly fucked up, poor children!)- just the specific “tasked with caring for a child” situation. Because even though Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne have been sexually assaulted or threatened with sexual assault, Sansa is still currently being sexually assaulted by Baelish while trying to care for her cousin, who she was almost betrothed to, who was breastfed until eight years old by Sansa’s Aunt, who Baelish murdered because she was trying to throw Sansa through the moon door... there are just a lot of fucked up levels to deal with here. There is a lot to unpack.

That being said, I am not blaming Sweetrobin at all for that. I agree that he is also dealing with PTSD. However, in real life, I would never expect a thirteen year old who is currently being sexually assaulted and groomed to be able to competently care for another child who is also dealing with PTSD, grief, etc. And I wouldn’t expect Arya, Daenerys, or Brienne to deal with it well either. If they do, that’s wonderful, but again, I wouldn’t expect it.    

The way I read it, the reason she doesn’t want Sweetrobin in her bed is because he nuzzles her breasts, trying to breastfeed- which is not his fault of course, he is seeking comfort after the death of his mother- but Sansa has a specific trigger because that is where she was groped on her forced wedding night. In the discourse, some fans were saying that Arya would let Sweetrobin sleep with her without any problems. That might be true. But whether or not Arya would allow Sweetrobin to nuzzle her in the same way isn’t really a fair measure of maternal capability because, though she is also an abuse survivor, she may have different triggers than Sansa. Recovery is different for everyone and I would never expect one abuse victim to be okay with a situation just because another abuse victim is.

That being said, I saw in a lot of the comments that people thought Sansa defenders were trying to sexualize breastfeeding. I don’t think that is true. They were saying that Sansa is being triggered. Sexual assault victims can be triggered by things that were not intended to be sexual assault. That’s what sucks about PTSD- it doesn’t care about intent. In fact, even though statistically many mothers who are survivors of molestation and sexual abuse do want to breastfeed in larger numbers than those who don’t- it still can be incredibly difficult and there are support groups and lactation therapy interventions set up specifically to offer support with this issue. That being said, she still allowed him in her room for many nights until she couldn’t take it anymore. And that is because she is compassionate to his situation. 

But even if she did not have that specific trigger, everyone has the right not to be touched if they don’t want to be- even if it is to make another person feel better. I know most people agreed with that. However, even though most fans agree with that, a lot of people were critical of the way Sansa handled getting away from her trigger- saying the way she handled the situation is proof that she is not maternal. 

I also saw people saying that Sansa was being deliberately cruel to Sweetrobin when she had his door locked. I am not going to try to defend that choice. I don’t think it was the right thing to do objectively. However, I can totally empathize with the fact that she is completely out of her depth here and does not know how to handle the situation. And like most people her age, I do not think she thought it through completely. And even then, she does let him back in her room after this incident and he sleeps with her multiple times afterwards:

He cuddled close and laid his head between her breasts. "Alayne? Are you my mother now?""I suppose I am," she said. If a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it.

Would Arya have made the same mistake? I agree that she would probably have been more direct. But like I said, I do think that Sweetrobin is a more difficult situation that Weasel, Missandei, or Pod. I can’t imagine any of those three children wanting to be breastfed by Arya, Daenerys, or Brienne. I also don’t remember anything described about them having horrible temper tantrums where they throw porridge bowls at people or threaten to execute people by throwing them down the moon door. I’m not saying that it is Sweetrobin’s fault- it is a result of how he was raised and how frightened and grief stricken he is- But that does make it a bit more difficult for Sansa to do the perfect motherly thing all the time in this situation. It would be hard for an adult woman to be perfect as well. Even though it is more difficult to care for Sweetrobin (through no fault of his own) Sansa is the only person that is able to do it- and people call on her to do so all the time when they can’t manage him- which I think does show that she is maternal:

"If m'lady can talk him out of bed nice," the knight said, "I won't have to drag him out." We can't have that, she told herself. 

and

"Be careful," Alayne told her. "He can hurt you, flailing. You wouldn't think so, but he can." They found a place for him, a cleft in the rock to keep him out of the cold wind. Alayne tended him until the shaking passed, whilst Mya went back to help the others cross.

This shows that she has compassion and understands that it is not his fault he has seizures. It shows that she is willing to stay and tend to him when others back off. She is also able to get him down the mountain when he is understandably terrified. 

He is afraid, she thought, and with good reason. Since his lady mother had fallen, the boy would not even stand upon a balcony, and the way from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon was perilous enough to daunt anyone.

"Mya will keep the mules from biting," Alayne said, "and I'll be riding just behind you. I'm only a girl, not as brave or strong as you. If I can do it, I know you can, Sweetrobin."

Alayne took Robert’s gloved hand in her own to stop his shaking.

“Sweetrobin,” she said, “I’m scared. Hold my hand, and help me get across. I know you’re not afraid.”

He looked at her, his pupils small dark pinpricks in eyes as big and white as eggs. “I’m not?”

“Not you. You’re my winged knight, Ser Sweetrobin.”

“The Winged Knight could fly,” Robert whispered. 

“Higher than the mountains.” She gave his hand a squeeze.

She makes him feel safe and she makes him feel capable. This in and of itself is an example of good mothering skills.

I said before that I think GRRM is doing something different with the maternal motifs in Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne versus Sansa. I think that in Arya, Daenerys and Brienne’s chapters the motherhood themes are there to reveal their characters- to show the readers how compassionate they are and establish them as protectors- on this we completely agree. 

I think where we disagree is that I don’t think that the motherhood theme in Sansa’s chapters are there to deconstruct her mothering skills as an individual but more to deconstruct mothering itself. Sansa is a learning character- her arc has a lot to do with unlearning the patriarchal lies she has been raised with while also learning how to survive within those constraints. She fantasized about knights and princes. So she learns the hard way that knights are not always virtuous, that handsome princes can be horrifically cruel, etc. She also fantasized about motherhood. And now she is learning that motherhood is harder than she thought. Yes mothering instinct is one thing- and Sansa’s instinct is to be compassionate to Sweetrobin. But what happens when the child is dealing with grief or has special needs, or you have no real help or you are dealing with traumatic stress yourself? Motherhood is hard as hell even for adult women who chose it, not to mention how hard it must be for girls who are Arya and Sansa’s ages. In spite of that, I do think that Sansa is rising to the occasion- not as immediately as Arya, Daenerys, or Brienne perhaps. But steadily- and I think that fits her arc since her motherhood themes are character development ones instead of character illuminating ones.

Because of this, it kind of reminds me of when people wrongly call Daenerys a bad ruler based on her ruling of Mereen. That pisses me off so much! Because Daenerys is given the most difficult ruling arc in the series. I agree wholeheartedly with the metas I have read that she is the answer to GRRM’s original question about the knitty grittiness of ruling instead of “and he ruled wisely and well.” She is an excellent ruler but her chapters are showing that ruling is fucking hard, even when you are excellent. Just as Daenerys is the answer to “he ruled wisely and well,” I think Sansa and Sweetrobin is the answer to, “she took the child under her wing and was a perfect mother to him.” Given the incredibly difficult circumstances, she is learning to be a truly excellent caretaker of him.

And look, I am not saying that Sansa is perfect! I’m not saying she is not mean spirited or petty at times. I’m also not saying that locking Sweetrobin in his room was the correct way to deal with the situation. I’m not saying any of those things. But what is compelling to me (and what I personally love about Sansa) is that she has done mean spirited things, but also extremely kind things. She is capable of sass and meanness and also true compassion. I’m genuinely not trying to erase her flaws. I know some fans do that. But fans do that with literally all the characters. I personally love her, flaws and all. I mean, I am a Theon fan first and foremost so... it doesn’t bother me when I read about her frustrations with Sweetrobin. I think it’s a realistic reaction and understandable.

And we do see that she is frustrated as hell with Sweetrobin at times, but she never lets it show- she is always sweet and soothing to him after Lysa dies. Real mothers also get extremely frustrated with their children sometimes and they strive to keep the same kind of patience that Sansa does. 

Perhaps we should view her locking him in his room as a thirteen year old abuse victim’s way of dealing with the fact that she didn’t trust herself to be sweet while voicing her frustrations with him. It was the wrong move, but she’s thirteen. Perhaps one of the actual adults in the situation could have stepped in at that point. But they don’t. And in spite of that incident, she does let him sleep with her again. She puts her own feelings aside for his. Which means that she lets him nuzzle her, even though it triggers her. It also means she gets up at night after he has a seizure to change the bed and to clean him up. This shows me that she is striving to overcome her own feelings in order to help this defenseless child. She even says here:

Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave.

This shows that she is continuing to let him sleep with her and also thinking about ways to protect him and give him a sense of security after he has fallen asleep. Which is incredibly maternal. Sansa is truly rising to the occasion of being motherly to Sweetrobin in spite of her triggers and her own current traumatic stress. But what is so heartbreaking is- she shouldn’t have to! And neither should Arya. They are both abused children that desperately need their own mother. So when they make mistakes with child care, I think we can view those mistakes with compassion. 

Now, I know that all I just wrote might sound ridiculous if you believe that Sansa is knowingly poisoning Sweetrobin. I personally do not take that view. I think it is just as unfounded as people who think that Daenerys will burn Kings Landing. 

I actually think that Sansa is going to eventually break out from Baelish’s manipulation and abuse and save Sweetrobin or at least try to. I think that Little Finger constantly making her an accomplice is similar to Theon with Ramsay and how he eventually saves Jeyne- but that is another meta for another time (which I do intend to write lol) and this has gotten way too long already.

Now, I could be totally wrong about all of this. As I said, this is just my interpretation- but who knows when it comes to GRRM? My faith in him has been significantly shaken based on the end of the TV series and the way he writes the sexual scenes in the books... Perhaps he is trying to say that Sansa is not maternal because she reacts the way she does to being triggered as a thirteen year old, while living in the same household as one of her abusers. But if that is the case, it is deeply misogynistic of him. 

It’s also odd that we even have to have this discussion about children caring for other children as if they were adults. Is it really fair to judge any of these characters about their maternal instincts or how they rise to the occasion of being motherly when they are all children themselves and put in such horrible situations that would be daunting for adult women? This seems to be largely on GRRM’s writing. Also the fact that we never debate how “fatherly” Jon, Robb, Theon, or Bran are, which again, possibly has to do with the writing itself. So perhaps instead of fighting each other over whose interpretation is more misogynistic, we should take a hard look at how misogynistic the writing is in and of itself. Hopefully GRRM can tie this up so that it is not as misogynistic as I fear it might be. (I truly hope so.) But that is a larger conversation to be had. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

A fun, potentially spooky prompt for Halloween season based on something you wrote in “Amnesty Records”: “Like the monster under the bed came to life, turned out to be hot, and really wants to fuck you.” Something to the theme of Little Monsters from 1989? Indruck and NSFW if you please?

This is indeed NSFW, and also came to me all in one burst.

Duck pulls the Captain Planet comforter up to his chin, sighing as he lays down. He turned seven today, and has been spoiled and fussed over. Mama Newton isn’t much of an entertainer, but she knows how to throw a birthday party. 

 A scrape  of nails on the floor and the rustle of something under his bed makes him freeze. 

“Taco, that you?”

When the cat doesn't appear, he sinks further under the covers.

“Mom?”

“No”  soft voice with a bit of hiss drifts up from under the bed.

He swallows, “Who’re you?”

“My name is Indrid. I live under your bed.”

“No you don’t, you weren’t there last night.”

“How do you know?”

“Just do. So go away.”

“No.”

“I’m gonna call my dad.”

“He won’t believe you” the bed frame rattles, “he will tell you to be a big boy.”

The monster is right, just yesterday dad was saying how proud he was of Duck being brave at the doctor. Fine, maybe if he pretends it’s not there, it’ll go away. 

“....aren't you going to cry?”

“No.” He sets his shoulders, glares at his wall.

“....not even a little?”

“No.”

“Oh.” A sigh, “I am not very good at this.”

Duck didn’t know monsters could be sad.

“Are, uh, are you a grown-up monster?”

“No. I am young and little, like you. They would not send a grown-up monster to a child, they send them to grown-up humans.”

“Grown ups don’t have monsters under their beds.”

“They do. They may not know it, but they do.”

Indrid doesn’t say anything else and Duck falls asleep. He’s hoping the monster won’t come back, but the instant his mom turns out the light, he knows he’s there. 

“I’m n-not scared.” He whispers to the ceiling.

“Yes you are. I can taste it.”

“You can't hurt me. You ain’t real.”

 A hand closes around his ankle and he yelps. The monster laughs, then hisses when Duck kicks his wrist. 

“That was not nice.”

“Neither was grabbing me”

There’s a huff, but nothing else. The third night, Duck is ready, sticking a fake sword under the bed as soon as Indrid says something. 

The sword is yanked from his hands. 

“Why is it this color?”

“Suppose to be from the future. Ain’t you seen space rangers?”

“No. That is not a movie we have down here.”

Duck is only now starting to recognize awkward pauses, but he’s pretty sure this is one.

“Will you tell me about it?” Indrid slides the sword back onto the floor by his dresser. 

He rolls onto his back. He’s not all that tired, and Juno is sick of hearing about it.

“Okay, so there’s this guy who’s a space farmer….”

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

It’s been a year and Indrid is under his bed almost every night, but Duck isn’t afraid of him anymore. Which is why he’s determined to finally get a look at him. How scary can a monster that wants to talk about T.V or trees or whatever else Duck has been up to really be?

When his mom turns off the light, Duck slips out of bed and lays on his stomach, staring into the darkness beneath it. 

Four red eyes appear, but nothing else. 

“Hey ‘Drid.”

“Hello. Why are you down here? Did you lose that action figure again?”

“Nah. Wanted to see you. Where’s the rest?”

“Hidden in shadows. I am not supposed to let humans see me. It can be dangerous.”

“Oh, uh, sorry?”

Indrid hurriedly adds, “But we can stay like this, this is okay. I think. I do not really care, I like being able to see you. You're like the baby multibear my friend has.”

“I ain't a bear.”

“No. But you are, ah, cute.”

Only Iris, Juno’s friend, has ever called him cute, and he only knows that because Juno told him. He understood he was supposed to think that was good. But he likes it much better when Indrid says it.

“What should we talk about tonight?”

Duck rests his chin on his hands, “You wanna play go fish?”

“You have a fish?” The red eyes tip to the right. 

He snickers, “No, it’s a game. Here, lemme show you…”

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

“You better give that one back.” Duck grumbles as he looks down from the bed to see his new Spiderman comic missing. 

“I have given all of them back.” He can hear the smile, the one he’s glimpsed in darkness while whispering secrets under the bed; it’s wide, and there are definitely fangs, but Indrid only ever shows it when he’s happy. He never has a mean smile like the jerks at school. 

“Where’s my Black Panther?”

“...........I dropped it in the stream when I was reading.”

“‘Drid!”

“I got excited!!”

“You owe me a new one.” There’s no anger in his words. It’s just a comic book, not nearly as special as Indrid. 

“Can I give you something from here instead?”

Duck closes the new Iron Man, holds it down to the space beneath the bed, “deal.”

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

He wakes up with a cry, too quiet to be a scream but with tremendous force behind it. As the nightmare fades, something rolls off the bed behind him. 

“‘D-Drid? Please, please say that was you or Taco.”

“It was me, Duck. I, I am sorry, you were whimpering in your sleep and I could taste more and more fear and I did not want you to be afraid. I, ah, I thought if I held you, it would make you feel better.”

“Thanks.” He shivers, the dream reaching out from all sides, threatening more horror if he falls asleep.

“Can, uh, can you come back up? Just for a little bit?” 

“I should not. It was already risky to do it how I did.”

Duck nods, forgetting Indrid can't see him. That's fine. He’ll be okay. He can handle-

A tree branch scrapes the window and he throws the covers over his head. 

“Put your hand over the edge of the bed.”

Duck slips his hand out from the blanket and lets it hang in the air. Fingers link around it, and then Indrid is holding it full on. It doesn’t feel like holding Janes hand when he’s helping her cross the street; it’s cold, smooth, and the nails are sharp. He sneaks a glance, sees red claws wrapped around his wrist, and feels safe enough to sleep. 

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

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah, don’t know why I’m so worried about startin’ high school. I mean, it’s fucking Kepler, the high school ain’t any bigger than the middle school. “

“I always get nervous for new lessons. Even with some ability to see the future, I am worried I will do something wrong. Maybe it is that?”

“Yeh.” Duck rolls onto his side, hoping for a glimpse of a hand. He wishes he knew what Indrid looked like, wishes he was coming to school with him tomorrow. 

“I am sure you will be fine. You are intelligent, and funny, and charming.”

He smiles at the wall, “Thanks, ‘Drid.”

“Any time, Duck.”

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

His roommate is snoring, which is not what he was hoping for from his first night in the dorms. Class tomorrow is going to fucking suck if he hasn't slept. 

“Congratulations on the successful move.” A familiar voice slinks up to his ear. 

“‘Drid? Holy shit, did you follow me?”

“I am your monster, I go where you go. Sort of. It is complicated. What is not complicated however, is this.” The clawed hand pops up to the edge of the bed, placing a wrapped package near Duck’s head. Stealthily removing the paper shows it’s the bright orange truffles that come from Indrid’s home. Duck loves them.  

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“It is traditional in both human and monster culture to give a gift when one moves to a new home. And I like bringing you things. Are you feeling well? Excited to learn about the forest?”

“Yep. Just wish I could get to sleep.”

“One moment.”

He feels Indrid leave. Then his roommate's bed shakes and shudders, the other guy jolting awake in fright. He doesn’t look like he’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon. 

Duck shifts onto his side, facing the wall, and whispers down the stucco, “Thanks.”

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

A perk of his roommate getting a girlfriend is that Duck gets more nights alone. He’s soaked the pillow with sweat, and is so wrung out from cumming he hasn't wiped his hands yet. 

“Are you done?”

“JESUSFUCK”

“I'm taking that as a yes.”

“Please tell me you ain’t been there this whole time.”

“No, I always leave if you are doing that. It is private.”

“Thank fuck.”

Relief is followed by disappointment, which he decides he won’t think too hard about. 

It only takes another night before he does, imagining Indrid listening to him fuck himself, whispering instructions for how Duck should do it, even touching himself at the same time, getting off on the sound of Ducks pleasure before holding his hand all night. 

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

It’s fall, and the apartment he and Juno share is close to campus, cheap, and fucking freezing.

Duck knows just how to warm up. Sliding his hand down his sweats, he starts picturing Rich, but the thought of jerking it to an ex is a boner-kill waiting to happen. So, he switches to his trusty fallback, selecting a blonde, fresh-faced yet kind of punk body for the voice under the bed. 

He wants to draw it out, but fantasizing about Indrid always sets his hand flying, too many nights like this seeding a deep desire in his veins that he has to purge fast for fear of what will happen if it lingers. The monsters name drops from his lips, breathy and urgent, and he’s too caught up to care  

“Indrid, fuck, please.”

“Please what?”

Gasping, he sits up. A figure is standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him with red eyes. In the dark room, he can’t make much out beside their glow and two short horns on the top of his head. Duck’s mind spins so fast it hurls out the first sentence that comes.

“‘Drid’s got four eyes, not tw-”

Another pair of eyes open just below the first.

“They are a secondary pair, so I can keep them shut and see just fine. I thought the sight of them might be too much combined with the rest of me.” Indrid murmurs.

“Th-though I ain’t allowed to see the rest.”

A shrug, “You aren’t. But I cannot bring myself to care right now. Not when you say my name like that.”

Summoning his courage, Duck locks his gaze onto Indrid’s own and slowly drags a hand up his dick, “You gonna show me the rest or not?”

A hissing growl curls around him as Indrid leans forward, clawed hands leading the crawl onto the bed. In the moonlight coming through the window, Duck sets eyes on the whole of him for the first time. 

His face is angular, sporting his wide toothy grin and framed by silver hair falling just past his chin. Past the claws, his arms are a mixture of tan skin and black and red scales, twining up his arms. The same combination is clear on his chest, visible above the neckline of the white tank-top. Flashes of color appear under the fabric, racing down Indrid’s spine, and Duck would ask what they are if Indrids face had not just come level with his. Standing up, the monster can't be much taller than him. But here, pinned against his headboard like a scientific specimen, Indrid bracketing him, he feels frighteningly small. 

“What happened to not spying on me when  I did this?” The words stick in his dry mouth. 

“It was accidental. I only stayed when I heard you call for me.”

“Wasn't callin.” Heat rises in his face. 

The grin widens, “Oh no?” A long tongue drags down Duck’s cheek, “You did not have even the smallest hint of hope I would her? That I would lay in the shadows, savoring the sounds of you, ah, taking yourself in hand?”

He’s so strange looking, every sensible part of Duck is screaming for him to run, to banish him under the bed and go back to his normal life. 

Duck inches his face forward, closing his teeth round the lobe of a pointed ear, “Maybe.”

Indrid chuckles, “Then maybe I have been hoping for the same. Maybe I have been touching myself and dreaming it was your hand instead of mine. Maybe” he brushes their noses together, “I have wanted this for as long as you have?”

“Least a year, more if I’m bein honest with myself.”

“Several years, but then again, I had the pleasure of being able to see your face. It made you all the more appealing.”

Duck reaches out a shaking hand, stroking silver hair. He means to say some platitude about Indrid being handsome because the affection in Duck’s heart means he couldn’t see him any other way. While that may be true,  a second, more surprising truth comes out in its place. 

“Thinkin if you’d let me see you, we woulda gotten here a lot sooner. “

There’s another growl and then he’s yelping out a laugh as Indrid yanks him flat on his back and unceremoniously rips his shirt off. His monster brings their lips together, tongue sliding between Duck’s lips as the human shoves both hands into Indrid’s hair. When he teases his tongue against Indrid’s, the monster whines, pressing closer and pawing his sides. 

“‘Drid” He mumbles. 

Another whine, higher and morphing into a chirr as Indrid grinds their hips together.

“‘Drid, you gotta let me breathe.”

The monster breaks the kiss, but coats his face in pecks as he catches his breath, chirping all the while. Something solid ripples beneath the fabric of his black pants where they rub against Duck’s thigh. 

“Holy fuck what, what exactly are you packin down there?”

“Would you like to see?”

“Hell yeah.” 

The pants and Duck’s sweats hit the ground in quick succession, Indrid’s shirt landing atop them a moment later when Duck pulls it off to kiss along the scaled swirls of his chest. 

“Well, what do you think?”

“Guh, uh, jesus, uh, ‘Drid, what’s it doin?”

Indrid looks down to where four short tendris are unfurling to reveal a ridged cock.

“Getting ready to fuck you?”

“Uh, how exactly?”

Indrid licks his lips, “Lay back and I will demonstrate. Do not worry, as much as it pains me to focus on anything but your face, I will use my foresight to be certain nothing I do leads to trouble. 

Duck rests his head on the pillow as Indrid settles between his legs, claws pricking his thighs when the monster pushes them apart. 

“Does the whole thing goOH, oh fuck.” He wiggles his hips, “fuck, ‘Drid, that feels so fuckin weird.”

‘That is not surprising. It is one of the tendrils which, unless I'm very wrong about human anatomy, none of your previous partners had.”

“Nnnnnnfuck, fuck you’re gonna fuckin ruin me, god fuckin damn that feels nice.”

“Wonderful.” Indrid bends down, hands gliding to rest by Ducks biceps. He kisses him slowly s the tendril continues stretching him open, slick and pulsing in time with the careful movements of Indrid’s hips. 

His monster noses down his throat, drgs his tongue back up it with a purr, “You taste divine.”

“If you,re fuck gonna eat me, do me a favor and do it after I cum?” Duck teases, stroking Indrid’s shoulder blades. 

Indrid laughs, “A fair request. But I have zero interest in eating you; how could I? I would lose my best friend and my new favorite past time.” The tendril thickens, making Duck moan and throw his forearm over his eyes. 

“Fuuuck, are all monsters this fuckin sappy?”

“Only yours. And it is not as if you're not that way. I remember those love notes you asked me to help with.”

“Okay okay, we’re both big fuckin marshmallows. Now, AAHnn, are you gonna help me break this bed or not?”

Indrid pulls out with another growl, kneading Duck’s ass as he lines up his cock, “Yes, yes I am.”

“FUCK, ohfuckohfuck, yeah, fuck yeah.” Duck digs his fingers into Indrid’s back as he shoves in, “‘Drid, tht’s so fuckin goodohshit, what, what’s it doin now?” The tendrils have spread, one curling around his dick, two teasing his balls, and the fourth twining up Indrid’s shaft, meaning Duck’s toes curl with new sensations on the next thrust.

Indrid grins against his neck, “Taking care of you.”

“Ain’t that, that thoughtful.”

“All for you my sweet, goodness, you’re so warm and your ass is delightful.” His lips find Duck’s cheeks, “I’ve wanted this so long, sweetheart, so very longAHhnnnn.” His head hits the pillow as Duck scratches down his back. Not only do colors flash in his wake; spikes emerge along the ridge of his spine, flickering red to purple to black.

“Is that-”

“-okay yes very, o-okay. You can touch them, they will not hurt.”

Duck runs his finger up one. It’s feathery and smooth, rising and lowering with the undulations of Indrid’s body. Tugging it makes Indrid snap his hips with a chirring growl.

“Yes, yes do that again, more, please ohahnnnnisJunohome?

“No?”

“Good.”

The words Duck meant to say give way to shouts of pleasure as Indrid slams into him over and over, sinking his teeth into his shoulder and clawing at his sides. Duck scratches his scales and skin, strokes and pulls the feathery spines, Indrid trilling when he does. His hips quicken, Duck struggling to keep pace as the monster pins him more firmly to the bed. When he cums the tendrils tighten, sending Duck over the edge right after him. Indrid kisses him again, nipping long his lips as he whimpers the monsters name. 

As his whole body spasms and relaxes, Indrid rolls him over, panting. 

“More, I want more, again, mine, you are all mine.”

Duck looks over his shoulder, grinning fondly, “Uh huh.”

“What is so funny?”

“Nothin. Just, uh, realized there's a plant your dick reminds me of.”

Indrid blinks so intently his second set of eyes join in the expression. Then he cackles, draping himself over Duck to kiss him again. 

“You can tell me all about it after we are done with the extremely pressing matter of me fucking you again.”

“Go wild, darlin.”

This time the pillow takes the brunt of the noise, Duck grunting and moaning into it as Indrid fucks him from behind, switching between slow, gentle thrusts and grabbing Duck’s hips to drive into him hard enough to set off fireworks in his brain. He’s overstimulated to the point of tears, but his whole system floods with pleasure at the intensity of Indrid’s desire, the feeling of being so utterly used and wanted all at once. When the monster pulls out, he’s cum enough that it drips down Duck’s thigh, tingling as it goes. 

“Now” Indrid flops onto the mattress, wriggling into Duck’s waiting arms, “tell me about this plant.”

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

When Juno gets home Sunday morning, Duck is in the kitchen humming long with a playlist on his phone. 

“Holy fuck man, what happened to you.” She stares at the bitemarks and bruises all around his neck and shoulders and the scratches on his legs. 

“Had a real nice weekend.”

“You got all that from a hook-up?”

Duck shakes his head with a secretive smile, “Nah. Just had a sleepover with my new boyfriend.”

[ickeyandmian]

On Ian’s Reading Choices and His State of Mind in Prison

Okay so I don’t know if this has been covered already but I was curious about what books Ian was reading in prison and how this relates to his character so I’ve spent more time than I probably should have trying to compile a list based on one blurry screenshot.

This information serves no purpose really and idk most of these books were probably randomly picked up by the props department but it’s still fun to read into!

I think it’s safe to say that the prison library probably hasn’t had any new material for a while so we’ll assume that these aren’t all necessarily books that Ian would choose to read in normal circumstances and has picked them up simply to pass the time (but who knows, maybe the guy’s super into romantic fantasy).

I have not read any of these so I’m literally reading multiple books by their covers but whatever. Here’s some pointless half thought out meta based on what Ian read in prison, enjoy!

Detailed thoughts at the end but from top to bottom, left to right we have:

1. Knight of Darkness - Kinley MacGregor (2006)

This is volume 2 of a fantasy romance series (have you read vol. 1 Ian? U following the story okay?)

2. Circumpolar! - Richard A. Lupoff (1985)

Pulp Fiction sci-fi fantasy action fun according to google!

3. Fifth Planet - Fred Hoyle & Geoffrey Hoyle (1963)

4. A for Andromena - Fred Hoyle & John Elliot (1962)

Some 60s science fiction thrown into the mix

5. The Bard of Sorcery - Gerard Houarner (1986)

Another Fantasy novel. Well who can blame him, dude’s in prison.

6. Demon 4 - David Mace (1986)

Set in a fictitious WWIII, dealing with disarming a nuclear bomb. Maybe it appealed to Ian’s old military leanings.

7. Damiano’s Lute - R. A. Macavoy (1984)

Another romantic fantasy sequel. How likely is it for prisons to have complete series’? Did Ian read the first volume and like it so much he picked up the sequel? Questions that haunt me at night.

Interestingly, in the synopsis we learn that ‘Damiano Delstrego has forsaken his magical heritage to live as a mortal man’ and I may be reaching but you can tie links between that and Mickey giving up his freedom to be with Ian in prison...

8. A Lonely Planet Travel guide for Cambodia (1992)

I have no idea what the significance of Cambodia is. Maybe Ian is simply fantasizing of being able to go on vacation with Mickey 😭. Perhaps ties into the whole escapism theme there seems to be with this selection of books

9. Out to Canaan - Jan Karon (1997)

This seems like a kind of slice of life, easy read type book. A bit of realism in amongst all the fantasy and sci-fi.

10. Science and Human Behavior - B. F. Skinner (1953)

This is an interesting one. Maybe Ian was trying to understand why Mickey shits at the same time everyday who knows.

Jokes aside, there’s some interesting excepts, notably on severe punishment and it’s effects on human behaviour, possibly a very interesting read for someone serving time.

11. Prisoners of Our Thoughts - Alex Pattakos (2008)

Another non fiction and another fascinating addition in terms of Ian’s character. This book takes the teachings of Victor Frankl and deals with the psychology of finding meaning in your life (something which Ian has often struggled with).

A significant quote being ‘everything can be taken from a man but the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances’

Let’s remember that in season 6, Ian lost his purpose for being entirely, he had no ambitions, no career, no Mickey (😔) but he found his purpose again when he became an EMT, a job which is perfect for someone like Ian who has proven time and time again that all he really wants is to help people. Now, significantly, he’s lost that job and with it that sense of purpose he’d gained. As someone with bipolar disorder, this could have potentially affected him significantly, so for him to choose to read a book like this is a nice insight to his character and I love to see evidence of him doing something positive to take care of his mental well being while in prison.

12. The Holy Bible

Such a minuscule reference to Ian’s Gay Jesus phase, I actually love that they included this though. So by now Ian probably recognizes that he went a little out of control but, idk he went full ham on the bible stuff, and maybe he got some comfort out of some of the verses in there, so it’s cool that he keeps a bible around as part of that storyline.

13. Another bible

(Ian, u good?)

14. Peace like a River - Leif Enger (2001)

The synopsis describes an ‘unusual family’ in search of their ‘fugitive older brother’. I imagine the actual story itself probably has no parallels with Ian’s story but that line stuck out for me.

Also ‘peace like a river’ is a phrase taken from the bible, so that ties in with Ian’s spirituality again. Maybe he recognised the phrase from memorising verses so the book caught his eye.

15. The very last one I’m struggling to decipher, it looks old, probably a classic from the style of the binding. It might be Othello but I can’t get a clear shot to read the title, hopefully someone else might have some clue.

*

So what does it all mean? I hear no one asking.

While they might seem random, I think we see a lot of Ian’s character in these books.

The sheer amount of fantasy and sci-fi here is quite telling. I think it’s clearly a form of escapism for Ian, he’s trapped in a tiny cell (albeit with the love his life but it’s still fucking tiny in there okay) he’s gonna need some light-hearted adventure somehow.

He’s a guy with a lot of energy, a huge savior complex who just wants to do good. He’s tough, he’s a fighter, but he also has a softer side to him, a gentle nature so I think the romantic fantasy genre is a perfect fit for his character. Maybe there’s a bit of wish fulfillment there as well since watching your bf use the bathroom every night is hardly the most romantic scenario (sorry Mickey).

The non fiction choices are probably my favourite indicators of Ian’s character. I think we learn a lot about him from those choices there; his remaining spirituality, his state of mind, his hopes for the future, his curiosity. I just love the thought of Ian reading travel guides, hoping to one day see more of the world idk. And him reading books on psychology in the hopes of understanding himself and his mind better? We love to see it 👏👏👏

All in all, I think they’re a good fit for him, and I hope he enjoyed reading them!

I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts on this!

[boogiewrites]

Rosie & the Road Less Traveled

Characters: Declan Harp x Rosie Anderson (OFC)

Summary: Declan Harp 1970s Hippy/Roadtrip AU Rosie has made a bold decision and decided to leave her monotonous life. She sets out to create her own with a group of misfits traveling  across America, post-Vietnam during the 1970s. She breaks out of her shy and insecure, sheltered shelf to have an adventure where she learns the realities of life outside her former cookie-cutter existence. She experiences, a year of sex, drugs, and rock and roll as the group of ex-soldiers and free spirits change her worldview and show her another way. She meets the charming but damaged Declan who takes her under his wing. Will a budding romance for this blossoming Rose prove to be her gift from the universe for making the hard decision to be her own woman? 

Warnings/Tags: Talk of emotional abuse by family. 

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

Rosie awoke in the same pink and frill filled bedroom she had every day of her life so far. She could smell the same coffee she wasn’t allowed to have. The scent filled up their Better Homes and Gardens modeled modest family home settled in a suburb full of pastel houses with the same pastel cars in their driveway. It was polished and performative, just like Rosie’s mother who was standing in her doorway looking like a copy of June Cleaver.

“You’ll be late for John to pick you up! Don’t keep a man waiting! A wife must be preemptive and pretty dear.” She exits as quickly as she’d entered. Rosie is left looking to her favorite childhood toy and only friend, Booger Bear, with a sigh before starting her day. Not much had changed in Rose Anderson’s life since she was a child. She was raised by older parents, very strict and traditional. Which would explain why they’d agreed to her engagement so fervently. She was 24 and unmarried and being a spinster was not an option according to them. So she was having yet another huge life decision made for her by someone else. She couldn’t remember the last time she had held her own opinion or made up her own mind. She had fear instilled within her from a young age that she was less than and this was used to keep her under control. Being different as she was with her ghostly white skin and pale blonde hair, her albinism stood out among her peers. She wore glasses and a constantly apologetic look on her face. Her childlike treatment was clear on her face as her features were baby round. A button nose and large light blue eyes with cheeks that always had a flush to them showed her softness unwillingly. She truly did look like a baby animal, naive, and easy prey.

This was a common theme among the treatment she’d had from men so far in her life. She didn’t expect any different. Her mother had cried tears of relief when George had asked for her hand. She would finally be able to tell her bridge club that her daughter had at least something normal going on about her. The cruel and belittling words she’d heard her whole life only made sense to continue hearing from this new person that would now be in charge of her she was told. If nothing had changed in her life up to this point, why would it ever?

The fact that George never showed didn’t surprise her. So when she went into town to run wedding errands on her own she wasn’t surprised. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. He usually disappears at night and not in the morning so that was unusual but she went through her day with the same polite smile she always did. A smile that said sorry for existing. She called her home from the library, offering to see if her mother needed anything for supper. She hadn’t but she had heard from George’s mother, and she hadn’t seen him either. So it was now Rosie’s job to find him, as they’d be married soon.

She sat defeated on a bench to rest as the sun started to set. She’d asked at the stores on the square and no one had seen him. Luckily for her, she’d sat down in front of the Beauty Parlour and it being a small town, everyone knows everyone, one of the ladies there knew who sweet little odd Rosie was and took pity on her.

“I know it’s not my place to say so baby but that man of yours is no count. You know that right?”

“I’m sorry ma'am?”

“You were in town all day today alone, doin' your dress and all that right? For the wedding?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And he’s been across county lines getting drunk as a skunk.” She shakes her head. “Again.”

“Oh.” Rosie sighs and looks to the ground. “Do you know where he is?” She asks reluctantly.

“No where no sweet thing like you needs to be goin'.”

“I need to get him home. His mother’s worried.”

“She should be. Ain't your mama worried about you out here alone?”

“She said I have to do real women’s work and take care of George as best I can. He’s mine now and I better start acting like it and go… find him.”

The kind woman sighs and feels bad for the poor thing. But it wasn’t an uncommon story. “He’s out at the bar past the county line. Neon sign, bikes out front, can’t miss it. It’s on the right.” She says with a groan.

“Up 25E?” She asks already getting to her feet.

“Yes, baby now be careful. I’m only telling you this because someone’s gotta help you out, honey. Maybe it’s time you helped yourself huh?”

“I’m doing what any good wife and daughter would do ma'am.”

“Life’s not about being good for other people. You have to think about what’s good for you. What do you want? Do you want to marry George?”

“Ma'am what a silly question.”

“That’s not the enthusiastic YES I should be hearing from a bride to be is it?”

Rosie doesn’t know how to reply and just looks worried for a moment with her wide eyes.

“Go before it gets darker baby. Be careful. Take care of yourself.” She says as Rosie scurries across the square to the car.

She did love getting to drive around. Something she’d not been allowed to do until recently. So a trip out of town on a lovely evening was something that got her very excited.

She had held onto that moment of happiness as she drove out of town. A perfect evening with a chill after the sun went down. She could hear frogs and crickets as she left the roads full of cookie-cutter homes and drove into a more forested area.

She had a comfortable smile on her face until the trees cleared for a patch and showed a roadhouse. This had to be the place. She pulled in with a mix match of very nice and very beat down cars. Some buses and small caravans lined along the perimeter. She could hear music coming from inside the metal and wood walls. There were men three times her size all around. They were an odd mix of trendy sleazy men with feathered hair and grizzly biker men and they were all chain-smoking. Everyone looked as confused as she did as she entered the building. If she was polite and direct there was no reason these gentlemen had to give her any trouble. She’d heard about these sorts from her mother. Bikers, greasers, all sinners, and a dirty lot to associate with.

But Rosie had always seen glimpses of people in the magazines. The intense men on their bikes with a scantily clad woman who looked both elated and aroused clutched to his back as they rode through the great American Route 66. They looked like they were having fun, she thought. She thought they looked free and those were things she longed to know how they felt. But there was no room for these things in her life. So although she should be afraid to be around these people, she was actually quite excited. She fantasized with already blushed shy cheeks about striking up a conversation with one of them and finding out what they were really like.

“You lost sweetheart?” The man in glasses with his arms crossed at the door asks her.

“I’m here to fetch my husband- my fiancé.” She corrects herself.

“You with a man that comes to a place like this?”

“His name is George. He is a fan of a strong drink and a cigar. And apparently, his frequenting of this place is something everyone in the town knew about but me.” she admits freely as she wasn’t one to have any reason to hide bits of herself. Everyone could be a friend in her eyes. She entered every interaction with a genuine curiosity it was honestly a bit hard to be rude to her.

“Ah.” He nods and understands. “Go on in, sweetheart” he holds open the door for her and watches her stand and take it all in for a moment. He chuckles and then sighs, “Poor little thing.” he mutters.

Through an old western saloon style inner door she enters with a delighted smile. “How charming!” She says to herself. She walked into a rather large room full of gambling tables. A bar on one end and a stage on the other. Panning over to meet the stage last, she’s hit with a thump of bass in her chest by way of her feet. It rumbled into the floor as she tentatively approached. She’d never seen live music before. She supposed choir and church and talent shows didn’t really count. There were electric guitars and men with no shirts and girls without bras and she was enthralled. She had heard a few rock songs by way of sneaking into a poor reception radio station when she was left alone in the car. She loved it. But it was something only classless people were apart of. Or so she was told. But these people looked the same as those in the magazines. A very tall and dark man played the instrument causing her to experience a very pleasant vibration through her body. He was shirtless and sweating and had a large tattoo on his arm. A chain from his worn dark jeans that bounced with every pluck of his long fingers. Next to him a smaller man, pale and singing with delightfully large blonde curly hair. He sang beautifully she thought. He wore a shirt unbuttoned and tucked into pants so tight she could see a bulge that ripped her from her fantasy of being as cool and free as they were. She turns around quickly and moves towards the bar.

She finds George in his work clothes, the navy not being blotched by black oils and spills told her he also hadn’t been to work. She wears her disappointment in her face clearly for a moment before trying to put on that mask her mother taught her to wear. Never show him that you’re upset. Anger is unseemly on a lady. But this did make her angry. Her red face made it obvious she was holding in red hot emotion. Her smile was hollow and her eyes gave her away.

“Hello, George. I believe it’s time we got home.” She says with a hand to his shoulder.

“How’d you find me here?” He asks with a dramatic turn on his bar stool, and he was in true skunk form.

“A person in town suggested it. Your mother is worried about you. Can we please go home?”

“You can. I’m staying here.”

“Please George I have to get you home. Both our parents expect me to take care of you and that’s what I’m doing.”

“What if I don’t want you to take care of me? Huh? What if I don’t want anything to do with you?”

Her throat felt tight. She was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a way since she was bullied when she was young. The eyes she could feel on her from a growing audience he was causing made her feel all tingly and nervous. He looked at her with disgust and the shame she usually felt was quickly turning into anger in this new over-stimulating environment.

“Do you think I want to be here?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I wanted to run all the errands myself today for my own wedding? And make excuses for your absence all day and have people look at me with pity. Because they knew you were here. Again from the looks of you.”

“Well, I’m only here because of YOU.” He spits back.

“Me?” She squeaks with growing confidence that makes her take a deep breath and steady herself. “I have been nothing but an ideal fiancé from the beginning of this. YOU asked for this. Not me.”

“I didn’t ask for it! You did!”

They both looked at each other confused. “I was told you asked for my hand.”

“Hell no my parents told me I had to say yes to your parents offer or they’d cut me off and send me to the army.”

They both blink at each other for a moment. “This is…” she takes a shaker breath. “I’m in an arranged marriage.” She whispers and feels a betrayal deep in her chest. She’d been lied to. Her parents lied, her fiancé lied, the whole town and only one person has the decency to tell her where George was. It hurt like a knife might she thought as her hands held fast to her stomach.

“Are you like...retarded too? Ugh geez. Of course, it is! Why would I want to be with a freak like you?”

It’s as if he’d culminated every fear she’d ever had into a single sentence. All her thoughts of not fitting in, of something being wrong with her. She’d been right all along. “Well, I don’t want to be with a mean drunk like you!” She says back with a face that showed her first real emotion in years.

“I am not a drunk.”

“Yes you are! The whole town gossips about it behind your back. Your parents threaten to send you off if you don’t start acting like an adult. You try to take advantage of ME when I’ve never been anything but nice to you! You are MEAN and you are a DRUNK!”

He moves fast and grabs hold of her arms tightly. Enough to make her cry out and wince. “You listen here you little freak of nature. If you’re gonna be with me you’re gonna respect me as a good wife would.”

“Is there a problem here?” The same tall man from the stage asks, towering over George.

“Buzz off bud. This is between me and my girl.”

“It’s not when you talk to her like that, loud enough for whole damn bar to hear and then put your hands on her.

“Why don’t you go and fuck your cousin, you dirty ass hippies.”

The man meets eyes with Rosie and he immediately knew he had to help her. She looked defeated, but a shine of hope that someone, anyone would ever help her out. He knew one of their kind when he saw that look. Just like the group of outcasts he’d gathered over the years since returning home.

“You’re a…” he glances to Rosie who beams innocence in such a way a man like him is forced to protect it. “Jerk.” He decides instead of saying words that might make the victim feel embarrassed.

“He’s an… asshole.” She spits out and feels a wave of rush over her as she curses.

George flinches to hit her and that was enough for the tall stranger. “Alright, you’re killing the vibe, man.” He wraps his neck in a headlock and drags him out of the bar with a shocked Rosie froze for a moment.

“‘Ello there, love.” The singer from before came in. With gentle hands to her shoulders. “You alright? Hurt?”

“N-no.” She stutters.

“Ya sure you’ve gone all rosy in the face.” He fans her with his hand.

“I always am.” She excuses quickly. “Sorry..I-“

“No apologies, let’s get you into the fresh air eh? Don’t worry I’m with the big guy what dragged off that unpleasant twat you were dealing with.”

“Okay.” She says breathily and a little dazed. “Thank you.”

——-

“Well, he’s gone.” The tall one says proudly, clapping his hands.

Rosie stands and looks at the spot where her car had sat. Now empty. “Did he take that yellow car?” She points to the space.

“Yeah, he headed right for it, had the keys.”

She nods and sighs. “I’m afraid that was my car he took.” She looks down the ground to figure out her next move from here, now stranded.

“Oh shit. Oh no, I’m sorry.” The tall man says putting his hands to his mouth. “Ah. Well fuck, honey I really screwed you there didn’t I “

She blinks with her large pale blue eyes at him with tears withheld. A cherub round face that struck a deep nerve as she tried to hide her upset. “You didn’t mean it. You were trying to help.” She says with a slow nod and inhales.

“Bad luck innit.” The other rubs her back comfortingly and she didn’t mind it. He seemed like such a nice man. They both were.

“Can you get a ride home? Call your parents or… something? Or did he just... steal your car?” He towers over her but she doesn’t feel afraid. He rubs his head in thought as he bit his lip.

“I’ll have to call my mother. He’ll go home to his mother I presume.” She nods. “I can retrieve my car tomorrow. Unless he crashes it.” She sighs. “He was terribly drunk.” Her shoulders sink in disappointment.

“Look, we’ll get ya home...what’s your name love?”

“Rose.”

“Oh, that’s a beautiful name innit? For a beautiful girl.” He holds no ill will as he says it and the compliment hits her hard in her emotionally unstable state. Tears well up for someone, a man, a nice man to be so kind to her to say such a nice thing. “Oh no, don’t cry. We'll get you a cab home. It’s no trouble love. Don’t worry ya pretty little head about it eh?”

“You’re so nice.” The tears fall fat over her flushed cheeks.

“Now there’s a good girl.” He brings her in for a hug. “Go call her a car, mate.” He nods away the other fellow.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not usually like this. I’ve had such a bad day.”

“Now let’s sit down here and you can tell Danny all about it now little Rosie.” He shoos some men off a nearby bench to sit her down.

“That your name?” She sniffles

“It is. I’m Danny and that big man was Declan. You’ll be safe with us. Don’t worry. We are protectors of the oppressed.” He chuckles as he puts an arm on her shoulder as she hides her face from the eyes watching.

“Oppressed?”

“Yeah. You know, women… people that are... various beautiful shades of brown, black yellow..." he spoke dramatically with an outstretched hand that captivated her " … homosexuals. You know how it goes, the bad ones yeah? The rebels, the outcasts,  lost children who come across our path.”

“You’re making us sound like a cult man. Don’t scare her.” Declan laughs and stands guard at her other side. “Taxi’ll be here within the hour.” He gives her a warm smile that crinkles around his eyes. Half of it coverd in a beard that was pointed and a bit fuzzy. His hair was like a dark lions mane around his face and shoulders.

Rosie contemplated as she looked up at him and wondered if she’d ever seen a man so tall before.

“He only looks scary,” Danny assures her. “Declan this is Rosie.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He gives a gentle nod down at her.

“Almost exactly what I told her.” Danny beams.

“Hey Rosie, I’m Declan. Nice to meet you.” He spoke softly and gently as if she might startle if he spoke too loudly at her. “We’re in a band. We travel around. Play music and just...living life y’know. Being free with the life we’ve got.” He spoke proudly as he explained. “We’ve heard a lot of stories. So you aren’t going to tell us anything we’ll judge you for.” He laughs.

“We’ve all done far worse than whatever spot you’ve got yourself in angel.” Danny joins in the laugh.

“I’m sorry to cry I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.” She wipes her cheeks. “As I was telling Danny I’ve had a very bad day.”

“Tells us about it then love. Let the evil out.” He motions with his hands as if he were vomiting and it makes her have a soft little giggle. “There she is.” He pushes her chin up gently. “Go on then…”

Her blubbering story hurt them both as she told of isolation and now betrayal and forced marriage to a terrible man. They’d seen it and heard it before, many in their group had a similar past.

“You deserve so much better Rosie love,” Danny says with a broadly shaking head. “You are clearly such a bright and lovely girl with a pure heart and you deserve the same given back to you.”

“I do!” She whines.

“You can change it all. You’ve got the power. They tell us we don’t. That we can’t. But it’s because they’re afraid of us. Afraid that if we knew what power we had as a collective, as they’ve made us all feel so isolated you see? You can have whatever sort of life you want Rosie. You just have to take it.” Dany speaks intently to her with unwavering eye contact.

“Take it?” she sniffles.

“Make the hard choices. You want things to stay like this forever or you want to take a chance and be your own person?” Declan asks with high brows. He had the tougher approach and Danny handled the whimsy of things, it suited their personalities.

“Like...refuse to marry him?”

“Not just that. You can refuse to stay with your parents.”

Rosie laughs as if he’s joking.

“I’m serious. You could go and live anywhere you wanted. Did you even know that?”

“No. I thought….”

“You can make your own choices Rosie,” Declan says as he sees the cab arrive. “You could see the world. Meet anyone. Do anything. ”

“That… sounds too good to be true.” she looks down at the ground as they walk her towards the car.

“It’s what we did,” Declan turns to face her. “We didn’t like our lives so we just...changed them. I wanted music and freedom and to be around people who understood me.”

“We eventually found each other. And our little family has grown ever since.” Danny holds his home like an adoring mum seeing away their daughter on the bus.

“Family?”

“We’re just a bunch of misfits that are trying to find our place in this crazy world.” Danny shrugs. “Some of us play music and some just follow us in the summertime to escape their lives. Some just like life on the road. We’ve got all sorts. Certainly had a few girls with stories like yours.”

“Really?” she rubs her cheeks.

“We aren’t saying you have to join us. We’re just saying you can make your own choices... have whatever sort of life you want. That’s all. You seemed like you could use the help.”

“I could.” she lets out a heavy, thoughtful sigh. “Thank you. Both. You were very helpful. I can’t really repay you.”

“Start making YOURSELF happy Rosie. That’ll be payment enough. You deserve it, pet.” Danny waves her goodbye.

“Don’t let the man get you down little Rosie.” Declan Nods her way as she gets in the cab to head home.

—————

The cab drive home was the most peace she was going to know for the next 24 hours. It started with the cops being at her house when she got there. George had been arrested after being taken to the hospital for injuries from wrecking her car. He was being held and charged and poor Rosie thought she might pass out.

George’s mother paced and shouted in their house late into the night. Wailing about her “poor” son. What did she do to him to make him behave in such a way? Denial was not just a river she'd read about in the encyclopedias she'd gotten for Christmas.

Her own mother joined in, what did she do? How was she going to fix this? Why didn’t she have the money to bail him out? She raised her better than this.

Rosie sat and took it. But each biting remark only made that funny feeling in her stomach grow as each verbally slapped her over and over.

“Did you ever consider you’re yelling at the wrong person?” She finally says back quietly.

“For god's sake girl don’t mumble and slouch! It’s ugly!”

She had been told she was pretty tonight and told she could be and do whatever she wanted. Things she’d never heard before. There were people out there that wouldn’t treat her like this. This isn’t what she wanted. She wouldn’t survive a life like this, it would hollow her out into a shell of who she really was.

“I said, Did you ever consider you’re yelling at the wrong person?” Her brow was now creased and a rare sight it was. “Did you ever consider your son is a drunk? A hateful loser who has been breastfed too long by his mother?!” She sass’s with balled fists in the meanest and most insulting thing she’d ever said came out of her mouth confidently. “And you! I don’t have any money because you won’t let me work! You won’t let me leave! Or even LIVE!” She throws her arms up in the air. “You’re being bullies when I’m the ONLY one that tried to DO something and HELP him. And this is what I get? No. No more. I don’t have to put up with this...this… BOLOGNA!” She yells and stomps to her room, slamming the door and leaving a room of shocked faces behind. Her father in the kitchen almost choked on the beer he was trying to secretly down to deal with the situation. It was beer and not even liquor what was he becoming?

Rosie falls to her bed and cries and hits the pillows as her door is quickly bombarded with screeches on the other side. Demands of her to come out and apologize and she just kept shouting “NO!” Over and over to their requests. She took all of her suitcases and laid them on the bed, the voices on the other side growing tired and falling quieter and they tried to listen to what she was doing. She threw her life into those cases. All her favorite things, things she might need, she stuffed them full and sat on them to get them to shut. She angrily pens a letter. Telling them she was tired of being oppressed and lied to and she was going to make herself happy and never see them again. She still signed it with a heart.

She gets out of her bedroom window and makes her way to the car with the dented fender and busted windows the cops had returned to them. She throws in her bags and whispers a prayer it will start. Someone was looking out for her. She could see the sources of the yelling running out of the house behind her as she headed out of the subdivision. She’d never felt more alive.

She practically drifted into the gravel parking lot at the roadhouse and held tears of joy from her escape and the fact that the buses and vans were still in sight. The bus was headed out of the parking lot. She leaves the car with the keys in the ignition and straps her bags and suitcases up and runs as fast as her feet will carry her toward the van left in the line.

“WAIT!” She shouts and pants. “PLEASE WAIT!!” She lets out a scream she didn’t know she had in her. Her lungs burned and her blood pumped faster than it ever had as the van door rolled open. “I’m coming with you!”

“Is that?” Declan snorts out an amused sound

“Well fuck me it’s that little girl again.” Danny muses as he looks out the door. “Slow down mate, we got a castaway.”

“Being. Chased. Keep going.”

“Chased?” Danny laughs. “By who?” The thought of someone being in pursuit of this tiny white field mouse amused him to no end.

“I RAN AWAY!” she laughs as she throws her bags to the filled van and is ran full force as the van gets to the highway and she’s yanked inside. The door slams shut behind her and she’s left wheezing and trying to fix her dress and hair.

“Come now little bird, have a seat.” Danny pulls her down on the bean bag he’s sat on.

“I. Ran.” She pants out and Danny and Declan laugh but the other eyes in the van are looking at her confused.

“From the cops?” Someone asks concerned

“No.” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath as she calms down. “From my house.”

“Was it as bad as you thought it was gonna be?” Danny pushes back her hair.

“Worse.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “I can... I can come with you guys right?” She says with puppy eyes.

“Welcome to our merry little crew Rosie bug.” Danny beams.

“I ran away too.” Another girl with long beautiful wavy hair says from her spot in the open-backed van, now crowded full. “Husband? Parents?”

“Both.” Rosie nods and they share a sympathetic nod of understanding.

“I’m glad you came Rosie.” the girl's eyes showed strong empathy and it made Rosie certain she'd made the right decision.

“I am too.” She finally catches her breath. “So…” she primps for a moment to gather herself. “Where are we off to first?”

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness  @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​

[magicmoontea]

Illuminated Fantasies (1/2)

Characters: Beckett Harrington x f!MC (Iris Atwood), Pend Pals

Rating: M, Language and sexual themes, topics of mental health

Word Count: 5760 ~Less than 20 min read (A bit longer, I couldn’t help myself!)

Summary: It’s the Summer Solstice and Iris and the Pend Pals are celebrating! Feeling her Sun magick growing on this day, Iris struggles within herself to keep a balance between her unchecked fears and fantasies from bursting out.

Notes: This takes place after book 2, and ignores Winter’s past. Beckett and Iris (f!MC) remained friends throughout their time at Penderghast and never pushed it further than harmless flirting. I wanted to make Iris feel more relatable as I felt like they gave her too much power, so I ran with it. If angsty reads aren’t your thing, this might not be for you. This is my very first fic posted online, so I’d love to hear what you thought  <3

Part two coming soon!

Created for @choicesaprilchallenge​ - Fantasy day 28

Everything inside of the brilliant Sun-Att hummed beautifully and yet unmistakably powerful and intense at the same time. She could sense the strength of her Sun magick growing stronger and radiating powerfully as it was the early morning of the Summer Solstice. Iris felt the weight of her immense pure Sun magick.

She had woken up before the sunrise, drenched in sweat, even with her air magick spells flowing around her bedroom, and could feel her heart racing against her chest. To Iris’ surprise, she was also glowing a warm golden hue without any effort making light rays dance across the walls. She sat up and wiped the wild platinum blonde strands that clung to her forehead and clutched her heart and tried to slow her breath. The glow eventually faded and ultimately the pressure in her chest went along with it. If she was being honest with herself, it was all starting to wear her thin.

Iris had been spending her time nurturing her newfound relationship with her mom/not intimidating at all Sun Source. There was so much to unpack with all information she was given the last few weeks of her second year at Penderghast. It was overwhelming at times to remember that not that long ago she had no idea magick truly existed, and she built her reality, thought patterns, and idea of herself around the idea that she was unordinary, powerless to change her situation and truly doesn’t belong.

She’d be lying if she said all those feelings disappeared when she found her magick within her, practiced and came to the powerful place she is today. It was incredibly hard for Iris to shake certain thoughts she had about herself since childhood and what her role to other people was supposed to be.

Being half Sun source didn’t change the fact that for a long time she struggled with dark thoughts about herself that shadowed her mind. Sun will bring shade, and her heart definitely carried that darkness that she buried with positivity and hope for a safe place for her to truly belong one day. Her caretakers were good people but she had spent many nights alone in her room in a whole other world in her mind.

Iris grew up a lonely only child, and she couldn’t talk to anyone about how she just felt different and that it kept her up at night. That her emotions were so strong at times that she felt she was going to burst, and that she went through such high and lows with them. She was told consistently that it was part of growing up, and she learned to accept that true happiness and belonging happened to other people, not her. It was just the cards she was dealt in life.

After meeting and finding out about Atlas and developing a quick bond with her to fill the years they were apart made Iris feel truly happy for a while. However, after a while, she clung to the idea that this was her family and so this must be who she really is, and it fed into Iris' terrible habit of codependency. It was so much easier in her head to have people tell you who you are and how to respond because you were never allowed to explore those options on your own.

So needless to say, she was freaking the hell out with the information that she and Atlas were half Source. What did that mean for her future? How did being half Source change the paths she took in life and how her magick looks like in the future? When Iris allowed herself to be truly honest with herself, there were times she felt terrified of the power she possessed.

For a while, she didn’t feel worthy of her magick after finding out she was Attuned to an extremely rare attunement as people have gone their whole lives knowing and practicing magick and not having half the power she does. She didn't feel like she deserved the praises from teachers that either taught her or didn't as she easily combined her natural talent and years of being a tuneless scholar, let alone deserving of or being even capable of being a half Source.

She knew she had no choice but to accept who she was, but it was a difficult journey that caused so much doubt and fear. Iris was still just getting a good grip and control on her refractionary magick’s effect on her body let alone have enough energy to deal with the heavy fact that she was half Source, the responsibility of having Kane's tether, and having every single person looking at your every move wondering what the great Sun-Att will do next when in reality she has no fucking idea what she's doing.

Tonight, she guessed she was only getting 3 hours of sleep as her body was full of adrenaline from it being the most powerful day to be a Sun-Att. Annoyed that she wasn’t able to enjoy the comfort of her own bed as long as she’d like, Iris decided to make the most of her extra Sun magick energy and practice her prescience. She hoped she’d be able to burn some energy off as she wouldn’t be able to sit still with that much magick that wanted to pour out.

Sitting up and crossing her legs in the lotus position, Iris took calming breaths. It didn’t take long to feel the connection to the sun, even as the sun was just starting the early stages of sunrise. Her magick was powerful and strong and she knew from previous prescience practices, that it really isn’t practice at all, prescience will do what it wants when it wants. The more you work with it, the more it becomes more than a gut feeling, but you can’t just pull it whenever you please.

That’s why she was trying to use her prescience this morning of the Summer Solstice to invite that heightened connection and welcome prescience to happen freely to continue a vision she has earlier that week. She had been minding her own business a few days ago prior and felt her entire body flush with goosebumps like she was just exiting a cold movie theater into a warm summer day. With all the advanced practices with her mom, Theia, and Dean Swan, she knew that she was getting a vision.

It wasn’t a long vision, but she was floored with how genuinely happy she felt in it, and how that effect lasted throughout the waking hours. She spent the rest of the day fantasizing about it and being terrified to dissect it further because that would mean thinking about something, she pushed down first year: how she truly felt about her best friend Beckett. And she wasn't sure if she could handle that.

In her vision was Beckett, illuminated by the glow of a magical fire, beamed at her with such tenderness he reserves just for her and brushed her hair behind her ears. Then it faded away no matter how hard she tried to stay with it and focus.

With each thought that took over Iris’ mind over those next days, one thing was becoming more and more clear to her: that she was lying to herself about how she felt about him. She never took the time to challenge the butterflies in her stomach when her fingers grazed his when he handed her an ingredient for a potion or how his freckles dancing on his cheeks when he smiled at her made behind her knees sweaty, or that she felt like he was one of the only people who truly listened to her, and didn’t put any expectation of what she should be regardless of magick potential.

There was a time early in her time at Penderghast that she knew that she was attracted to him and spent many nights allowing herself to fantasize about him and what it would be like to hear him moan and make him feel like he can lose control for one night of ecstasy with her. She always came quickly on her soaking fingers then, biting her lip from crying out his name and as if that would make the situation less awkward tomorrow when she saw him in class. As she learned that she needed him to be there for her emotionally and in her life more than she could have ever guessed, she stopped any thoughts or impulse based on pure lust that would risk losing him.

She knew part of the reason they had such a good bond was that they both had similar struggles. No, Harrington’s wealthy upscale lifestyle and his ability to be such a prick in the beginning definitely didn’t help, but as time went on it became more obvious that he was running from something in himself, too: constant perfection.

If Iris traced back to when she no longer could deny the surge of pure emotion she got when she was by Beckett, it was when he ended up in the hospital creating a ward to save her from Kane. She would have without a doubt died without him. She was beyond grateful. The look he gave her when he asked her if she was okay made her realize that this amazing man truly cared about her.

Even after she put him through a fight with a psychopath killer Raife, cried on his shoulders numerous times and suffered massive panic attacks in front of him before fighting for her life at 19, beat him in magickal competitions revolving topics she just heard about, or after he saw the dustiest parts of her soul and stared back unflinchingly, he still cared.

Iris never thought that Beckett could actually care about her in that way though. She never saw any signs besides his blushing inexperienced geek self-antics whenever she teased him, but always pushed that away so she wouldn’t get hurt. Deep down she had a terrible fear that she would never be good enough for someone as smart and well established as him as she still viewed herself as someone who ungracefully barged herself into a world she knew nothing about and was given a substantial amount of the magickal powers without deserving them.

Pulling herself back into the present moment, Iris took another breath feeling the connection to the sun growing stronger as the sun started to rise more. She desperately wanted to see more of a vision of tonight, as she deduced that the magickal fire she saw in the earlier vision was going to be the ritual Summer Solstice fire from the get together Shreya was having later.

She then focused her attention on thoughts of the party this afternoon, Beckett, and herself. Having a good feeling plus the power of the sun on Summer Solstice sparked that extra confidence Iris needed to make it work.

Then it started to happen. Feeling like she just received amazing news, she felt her whole-body spark with energy. Her body began to hum and tingle as goosebumps danced their way across her freckles and skin. White lights appeared at the corners of her eyes as a vision was starting to come through.

When the vision played out in Iris’ head, her toes curled underneath her legs on the bed and she audibly gasped. Her body temperature rose greatly at what she just saw, and she felt her body become flushed. She has no idea what she has to do to make that vision come true, but she will do whatever it takes.

For starters, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to change her outfit tonight to the black sundress with the mini golden suns, and flowers that she saw laying on the floor of the vision.

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

“Okay, so now who is going to clean this up?” Shreya asked jokingly as she looked around her large kitchen and the mess the Pend Pals had made while baking traditional ginger and cinnamon Summer Solstice cookies. There was more flour on the ground than in the cookies themself, but they couldn’t help but throwing some flour in the air and having each one take turns running their magick through it to create different effects. All for healthy competition of course.

“Oh, I know of an excellent cleaning spell that can clean this mess easily.” Beckett offered to help as he looked around at their mess as well as Atlas currently making a snow flour angel on the ground. Not being in the best mood today since it was the hardest day to be a Moon-Att, Iris smiled at her sister enjoying herself.

“Don’t be silly. My parents said not to worry about cleanup at all after my party. They just wanted me to have fun celebrating with my BFF Sun-Att’s favorite day!” Shreya said happily, feeling the many toasts to the sun, she made the group do earlier.

Iris smiled sheepishly. “I’m glad you’re fine with sharing the day. I know being a Fire-Att gets your magick all pumped up today as well, so it’s about you, too. Besides, I had plenty of time practicing my sun Magick with my Sun Source mom earlier. Which is still so weird to say by the way.”

“She’s the best!!!” Atlas sang from the ground, and everyone gave each other a knowing look and smirk, Atlas was quickly feeling her drinks as well as all ofer energy was used to muster any magick. She got up and waited for Iris to cast an Air spell to clean her off like she had earlier since “Atlas’ energy needed to be saved at all costs”.

Her energy is saved for more drinking, Iris thought. Plus, she was sure she loved having her to boss around.

“I still can’t believe you can hang out with Sources all day!” Zeph proclaimed and Griffin agreed in and expressed their well-known feelings again making Iris’ stomach do flip flops. She didn’t like the kind of attention it brought.

“It’s not all that great, really. Nome and my mom are the ones I see the most and they barely can remember what it’s like to be in a human form half the time. It’s bizarre. But, I appreciate it. I do say though, they are working me to death with training and skill enhancing.” Iris rolled her eyes and welcomed the fresh air as they made their way back outside into the now summer night.

Shreya had really outdone herself with decorating her large, luscious backyard for just her friends to come over. Shreya never did anything half-assed, and of course had magickal snacks, foods, and drinks that cost more than Iris wanted to think about. She had asked for Iris’ help, however, on the finishing decorating touches: hundreds of warm orbs flowing and glowing throughout the air to create the mood.

“You’re planning on sharing that knowledge with me, correct?” Beckett asked with terror clear on his features. Iris couldn’t help but smile at him and for the hundredth time that night already, get flustered by the things she never allowed herself to before. Blaming the extra Sun Magick, her prescience vision, or just her unchecked desires, Iris decided to go with it.

“Of course. Atlas is way too good at the Moon spells already obviously, so I’m going to need someone to compete with. And win against of course.” She bumped her shoulder into his playfully, and she could see the tips of his ears turning pink. Just like the good ole days.

Her vision from this morning came crashing back to her: Beckett kissing in her underwear like his life depended on it, with her sundress on the ground. She knew that not every vision comes true, and that not every vision necessarily is what the future holds. She could have very well thrown off her prescience with her evolving attraction to Beckett that was at the forefront of her mind for the past couple days. But she was going to try to look for any sign that it may happen, and more importantly that he wanted it to happen.

“I actually have a really fun spell for us to try with the fire we make tonight?” Iris spoke and looked at Atlas knowing that she would be for it.

“Are you talking about the spell we were just taught?” Atlas actually looked excited. “I think I should have enough energy for that. But I don’t know, Iris, you might have to be my personal magickal assistant for a bit longer though.”

Iris stuck out her tongue as a response to her twin and continued to the others, “It’s a really fun spell that uses the emotional nature of the Moon and the affirmative nature of the Sun and it actually shows what you fantasize most. So you cast intention onto something gets thrown into water, fire, over a cliff or whatever as long as it disappears and so it can come back to you with what your heart fantasizes.”

“Or you don’t cast intention and the spell only shows you that you fantasize a really good sandwich.” Atlas retorts back laughing on her past experiences.

“That is true.” Iris smiled remembering her first experience. “I didn’t really want to think about anything major the first time, and focused on just practicing the spell, too. It showed me a nice bed with the window open for a slight breeze. I guess my body just needed sleep.” Iris shrugged and continued a bit softer as she spoke, “Then I tried it when I was in a shitty mood, and I fantasized a day where no one knew my name or who I’ve fought and had any expectations of me.”

The group got a little quiet after Iris’ statement and she could feel a pair of grey eyes on her as she sat next to him. She smiled to lighten up the mood scolding herself for being a damper. “So let’s make sure we have a lot of fun before hand, and knowing us that won’t be a problem.”

Shreya’s mouth dropped open in shock and spoke, “A spell that plays out your fantasy in front of you? Um yes! Sign me up. I’ve been thinking about this eye candy that shops near one of my favorite boutiques a lot lately.”

She wiggled her eyes up and down, and Beckett and Zeph sighed poking fun at their friend at the same time, looked at each other and high fived each other laughing.

“I’m SO happy that I won’t be able to see that play before me. I’m already weak as is tonight.” Atlas retorted taking her seat around the bonfire area as well.

Everyone did their part to contribute to the bonfire, and they could feel the warm magickal effect flowing through each of them as it began to blaze brightly.  Shreya used her Fire magick to make the fire have beautiful color changing effects, casting a vibrant glow on everyone’s faces.

The group began to bond quickly over the time they hadn’t seen each other and laughed over stupid things each other has done and drank plenty of drinks mixed magickal mood enhancers as the night wore on. They were playing a game of blind enhancements: where basically you take a magickal drink not knowing the magickal effects. Shreya ensured the frantic Beckett multiple times that she wouldn’t put an enhancement in there that ‘wasn’t fun’. Not feeling super comforted with that answer, Beckett still played and even found himself sitting there blazer off, sleeves rolled up and laughing until his stomach hurt at the different situations that arose.  

Aster began to speak a different language for a whole turn, Zeph’s skin turned green for 20 minutes, Griffin felt a strong urge to sing loudly and Shreya went through a fit of hysterical laughter. Atlas was even a good sport when her drink made her want to dance wildly and hiccup every other word.

There was one particular drink that Beckett had taken and remained suspiciously quiet for a while after. Iris couldn’t help but notice the fidgeting Attuned next to her and his blushing ear tips when she had pressed her thigh against his for a brief moment. She wouldn’t call him on it until later when they were alone, but she knew that he didn’t get a “bashful” one.

They switched over to playing ‘Never Have I Ever’ and enjoyed embarrassing one another. They had started with easy questions, but leave it to Atlas to break the seal with, “Never have I had sex with the lights on. Having sex in the day doesn’t count”.

Zeph laughed and said, “It’s never been better to be asexual”.  

Aster blushed furiously at the topic but didn’t take a drink. Shreya and Griffin took a drink quickly.  Iris snuck a quick drink to avoid attention to her and conversations about her sex life, but noticed that Beckett didn’t take a drink.

Iris mind began to wonder again to Beckett’s sex life. A topic they never talked about. Was he a virgin and if not how experienced was he? How many people has he been with? What does he enjoy in bed?

Beckett cleared his throat indicating he has asked a question, and she noticed that everyone stopped talking. Blushing furiously, she realized she hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on.

“I’m sorry, I missed what you said.” She blushed harder even though she tried not to as Beckett looked at her in the eyes.

Then it happened. Her vision came to life. He smiled so wide that his eyes were smiling, too. He showed her such tenderness in his smile that it felt so much better than her vision to be on the receiving end. He leaned forward and tucked the wild strand behind her hair.

“That’s okay. You obviously were having a very important thought. I tend to know a thing or two about those.” His eyes held a little mischief like he knew, and she was worried that he could somehow read her mind. “What I had asked before was, do you think it’s the right time to successfully implement the fantasy spell?”

“Yeah, no time like the present.” Iris felt herself beaming at him and looking at him with her heart on her sleeve, not caring that her intuitive twin would definitely be asking about why she was looking at him like that later. Beckett’s blush reached his cheek at the same time the magickal fire glowed a beautiful magenta hue, illuminating his face  and highlighting his blush in a stunning way. She felt her heart skip a beat.

Shreya who was getting more drunk by the minute, spoke loudly interrupting their moment. “I’M SO READY!”  

Iris smiled at her best friend enjoying the night and complimenting herself on how great the party she threw was going. Iris wasn’t feeling anything more than buzzed as her Sun Magick was working her energy and metabolism quickly, but she didn’t mind. If she was going to have any part of her vision come true tonight, she wanted to be clear headed.

“Okay, everyone have their stick they’re going to cast their intentions with?” Everyone nodded and grabbed their twig they picked out earlier. “Okay, now take a moment to take a couple deep breaths before I cast the spell to ground yourself.” As everyone closed their eyes, Iris couldn’t help but peek at Beckett before taking her own grounding breaths.

Standing up with Atlas who stood on the other end of the fire, they began to recite the powerful spell.  Everyone’s stick began to illuminate a bright magickal golden hue and rise by the energy of the spell. Then each stick flew into the fire one by one, casting a puff of colorful smoke.

Iris felt the corners of her eyes grow blindingly bright as she was pulled into her spell’s fantasy. The vision began to unfold. She found herself sleeping in bed, breeze blowing through a quiet bedroom. The peace and quiet was soon challenged as vision Iris sat straight up in bed gasping, waking from a night terror.

Stirring next to her was another body and to her heart’s pleasure sat up Beckett, tousled hair from sleep, rubbing her shoulders kissing them lazily and softly.

“Bad dream, baby?” His voice thick with sleep asked vision Iris as she leaned into his touch and nodded. He enveloped her into a large hug and slowly brought her back to lay down in bed. She rested her head on his heart, and he stroked her hair.

“I’m here. No one will hurt you as long as I’m here. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” His gentle voice and soft kisses to her head pulled her back to sleep.

Iris was pulled back to reality gasping trying to get a bearings of her surroundings again. She looked around to her friends who were wearing excited faces and started to chatter about what they saw in their own fantasties. Aster was giddy with delight seeing her excel in Attuned Magick and Zeph had fantasies about being the new Thief captain.

Shreya then began to talk about the love story that folded into her fantasy and that racy novelists should just contact her now, she has a best seller. Iris felt herself fading away more and more from the group as her mind began to unravel.

She felt the ringing in her ears getting louder as a toxic thought kept repeating over and over: “you’ll never be good enough for that fantasy to be real. That happens to other people. Not you. He could never care about someone like you. Someone who doesn’t even deserve to have this immense power circulating through you right now. Someone who can’t even control it properly. Who has no idea what they are doing. You can’t do this.”

Iris stood up abruptly then Sun magick bursting through her as her magick and mind threatened to spiral, shocking her friends slightly at the sudden movement and bright light that briefly casted them.

“I….I...I don’t feel well.” Was the best Iris could make out. Her breaths were becoming staggered and shallow, and she felt the continuous intense rolling pressure in her chest and body that her anxiety brought. “Bathroom.” She bolted her way away from her friends, and could faintly hear Griffin laugh and say, “TMI” as she made her way into Shreya’s house.

She didn’t want anyone to follow her, and she wasn’t particularly sure where anything was in Shreya’s large house. So she just continued to walk down the gorgeous marble hallway down to the other end of the house hoping that the walk will calm her and her mind.

She rounded the corner and made her way down a second hallway to the back of the house. Stopping by the luxurious sunroom, Iris decided that this was a good place to hide and recoup. She admired the bright furniture and enchanted ceiling to have vines and other beautiful floral hanging below gracefully. Her Water magick hummed with delight when she saw the fountain and magickal rain that occurred for the plants every so often. Running her fingers in the fountain and casting little light orbs to follow her magickally started to make her feel at ease already.

Feeling foolish for how she left and having the fantasy affect her this much, Iris chastised herself again. She just wanted to be normal. Funny, she long hated her life before magick, but she envied the simplicity of just wanting to belong. She still didn’t feel like she belonged and now had a world of responsibility and power and everyone telling her where they think she belongs and watching her every move. Maybe she wasn’t able to handle this, and she didn’t know if she could let everyone down. She began to cry softly.

“I’m sorry.” Iris stated out loud to no one in particular feeling pathetic.

“Hey, no need for that.” Beckett spoke softly startling Iris at his entrance to the room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You had been gone for a bit, and I could tell something was wrong, so I wanted to find you. Don’t worry, the others think I’m admiring the flora in the front garden.”

“How did you find me?” Iris said sniffling and wiping her eyes to compose herself in front of someone who always looked so well kempt.

“It’s funny how you don’t even have to try, but it’s as if you are my magnet. I find myself being able to feel your energy and magick quite easily.” Beckett explained and made his way to sit next to her on the large couch.

“You’re being too sweet because I freaked out back there. You don’t have to baby me. I know I’m crazy.” Iris spoke and hated how self deprecating she sounded. He shifted his body to look at her face forcing her to meet him in the eyes.

“Don’t ever say that about yourself. You’re not crazy. You just spend so much time taking care of others, that when you take care of yourself it feels strange.” He said matter of factly, and she cursed his brilliant brain for being right all the time.

“I hate the attention being on me. I can’t stand the pressure anymore, Beck. It’s all getting to me. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. Atlas wants to go head first into the whole half-Source life, and I’m sitting here fucking terrified! I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve all this power.” Iris broke her facade that she was strong and doing well and began to sob into Beckett’s arms.

He took her into his arms and tightened the hug holding her like he was the glue keeping her together. He stroked her hair and let her cry and let out her emotions she desperately needed to release. He gave comforting noises but didn’t try to stop her from feeling. He made her feel validated for being upset.

After she her crying slowed down, she stayed for a while breathing in Beckett’s scent and just feeling his warm strong hand caressing her back soothingly. She reluctantly pulled back after a while, and she was so close to him that she could count all his freckles.

“I’m so-” Iris began to apologize and Beckett gently put his finger to her mouth to silence her. She couldn’t help but feel the electricity that sparked through her as he touched her lips.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. I want to be here for you, through thick and thin.” He stared at her face as if he was having a long conversation with himself before he continued speaking.

“You deserve everything that makes you happy. It pains me greatly to see you like this. To think that you don’t feel the way you brighten everyone’s lives. That you can’t see that your warmth stays with people for hours and how no one forgets all the times you’ve been there for them. You take on every challenge with everything you have, Iris. You’ve been through terrible situations no one should ever be in, but yet you’re in them again and again with people asking too much of you. And you give to them! You give everything you have to every person, and you’re still able to find the spark in the darkest room because that’s how incredible you are! You’re there for Atlas but she can’t be there for you emotionally. You’re there for Shreya but there is always going to be that distance between you guys because you can’t relate. Iris, when the hell are you there for yourself?”

Knowing that Iris wasn’t actually going to answer that question, Beckett’s cheeks blushed as he spoke, “No matter. I will be there for you whenever you aren’t there for yourself to remind you how amazing you are.”

Iris just stared at her friend in shock that not only did someone think of her that way, but that Beckett thought of her that way. Her lip started to quiver as she was overcome with intense emotion and Beckett cupped her face. They had never shared such an intimate and raw moment, and Iris felt her heart and soul fall even more head over heels in love with the man in front of her. The man who wanted to be her light for her when she couldn’t find her own.

“Thank you.” Was all she could croak out as she took an audible gulp.  After a moment of comfortable silence and steadying her breath she continued, “You know, Beck. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. I’m so grateful to have you in my life. You make me feel like I can figure out who I am and be allowed to fail, and I can’t even begin to tell you how amazing that feels.”

She smiled at him and allowed herself to show the person she cared for most just how much she cared in her eyes. She rested her hands against his thigh, and she could hear his breath hitch. She didn’t want to be afraid of rejection and losing him anymore. His thumb brushed against her cheek lightly, and he didn’t make any moves to move apart. She could feel his breath hitting her lips and she enjoyed the way his aroma began to engulf her as well.

“I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. It’s crazy but I’d do just about anything to keep you safe. I can’t pull myself away from you, and I don't think I want to try anymore” Beckett spoke softly blushing lightly at his confession. She felt her chest tighten and her mind wanted to tell her that is was a lie, but a part of her that she was so tired of fighting, wanted it to be true.

“Beckett…” Iris breathed and found herself lost at words, feeling her magick drawing herself even closer to him. He was intoxicating.

“Can you tell me something, Iris?” Beckett asked her and she would just about give him anything he wanted now.

“Of course.”

“Obviously something you saw in the fantasy made you a bit upset. Do you mind telling me what it was?” He sheepishly asked and she could tell this flustered him a bit instantly making her wonder what his was. She tried to control her body temperature, so she didn’t give anything anyway.

“It wasn’t a bad fantasy or vision. It just made me a bit sad because I desperately wanted it to be my future, but I have a terrible fear that it would never happen. It hurts too much to think about that.” Iris took a deep breath and looked down at her lap and thanked all the energy the Summer Solstice brought to give her the courage she needed to say what she wanted out loud.

“What was it, Iris?” The vulnerability in his voice made her tear her gaze from her lap and look into his grey eyes that were heavy with emotion.

“Beckett…” Iris felt her face getting warmer as she spoke, “My fantasy was that you loved me.”

[melyaliz]

Past Loves and Future babies pt.  4

Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel / MCU  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC 

Summary: After realizing Peggy has moved on Steve comes back to the present to take on his biggest mission ever. Have a baby that will save the world

(Play avatar theme music) 

Notes: This whole story was inspired by the idea of that annoying thing where people over fantasize a situation. (I’m super guilty of it) 

I like to think of Dixie as a broken dreamer. 

And Steve as a guilty idealist 

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive​

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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Soft warmth. That was what Dixie felt as her mind slowly slid from her deep slumber to consciousness. Her eyes slowly drew open, The warmth of the morning light falling across her face filling the rest of the room. Well by the morning light filling the room it was probably more like the noonday sun. Dixie had never been much of an awake before noon kind of gal. 

Slowly she moved the sheets next to her were slightly cold. Empty. confused she sat up rubbing her head running her fingers through her hair. Her groggy brain trying to piece together what was off. 

She was not a morning person. 

Then it hit her. 

She was alone. 

Looking around Steve was nowhere to be seen. 

It shouldn’t bother her. It was late. A normal person would be up and out around now. And it wasn’t like he owned her anything. He literally couldn’t even have sex with her. 

Not that that meant anything but… 

Letting out a long groan Dixie lay back in the bed. For a moment she wondered if she just closed her eyes maybe she would wake up in her shitty bed back in Arizona. Mac typing away from being up all night ready to turn in while she was considering breakfast burritos or just going back to sleep. 

Simpler times. 

Times before she had to get a baby pumped into her to save the world by a man who couldn’t even bother to stay the night with her.

Pulling a pillow around her head she tried to close out those unfair thoughts. This was for the better. The less he was around the less she would be attached. The less she was endanger of falling in love. 

Dixie had known going into this that it would be like this. She would NOT let dark thoughts about a man who had no reason to be in love with her acting rationally about this whole situation. Yes, it was hard not to play the fantasy game of destiny and soulmate lovers but this was the real world. And it wasn’t unfair to put those unrealistic expectations on Steve. 

Things like falling in love with her. 

So rolling over onto her side Dixie sighed looking out the large window. The light shining through the thing curtain that hung over it. This was her home now. This was her life. She mine as well make the best of it. 

Even if her bed just felt so lonely. 

--------

It was warm that morning. For a moment Steve wasn’t sure where he was. It was so soft and comfortable. The calmness seemed to be envelop him. Slowly he opened his eyes his body shifting to realize there was an arm around his chest. A small delicate hand resting on his torso.

It all came rushing back. Last night, the day before.  

Dixie. 

She was buried into his back, and for a moment he wondered if she was breathing. Taking her small hand in his large one he gently pried her away from his back. Then turing he lay on his side facing her so he could make sure she was still asleep. She mumbled for a moment brows knitting together before she peacefully went back to sleep burying herself in the blankets. Her soft round face was so peaceful as she rested, her breath gently blew a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face.   

Gingerly he brushed her hair away pulling the blanket up around her before kissing her forehead. 

Everything that had happened. He couldn’t blame her for it. Like she had said last night. They were in this together. 

“Well look at you all bright and early” Sam laughed as Steve walked up to him and Bucky stretched on the lawn getting ready for their daily run. 

“I thought you would want to sleep in today” Bucky smirked and Sam laughed. However, catching Steve’s rather tense stance, Bucky's smirk flattered. Sam on the other hand, didn’t pick up on the subtle tension on their friend’s shoulders. 

“No rest for Captain America?” 

“Not Captain anymore” Steve reminded Sam. After coming back from delivering the stones he had given his shield to Sam. even if he couldn’t get the girl he was going to hang up his colors. Help in the background. 

Be just Steve Rogers. 

“Whatever you say,” Sam said.

“Also you owe me” Bucky shouted hitting Sam on the chest before taking off leading their morning run. Steve trailing closely with Sam several paces behind shaking his head muttering something about “damn super soldiers” 

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

Dixie yawned scratching her head as she slowly walked into the living room, still in her pjs just dragging her bare feet through the plush carpet. Blinking owlishly she looked around the room, the large window that overlooked the beautiful landscape was filling the room with warm sunlight giving the whole room a very happy feeling. 

This place really was beautiful. 

It made her skin itch slightly. Like when you eat something too sweet or smell something that is just… too clean. 

Curling up on the couch Dixie pulled a soft white blanket around herself. What to do, what to do. Pulling out her phone she looked it over for a moment before pressing the call button. 

She shouldn't but… 

“Am I an uncle yet?”

Just the sound of his voice made her want to cry. Her chest twisting uncomfortably. A deep thick feeling building in her stomach. As if her chest was bleeding into her body. 

“Hey Mac.” her voice was light and airy. A bit of a giggle added for effect. 

“That bad huh?” 

Fuck him. There was no lying to her older brother. Years of them relying on the other meant they always knew when something was wrong. 

It was a blessing and a curse. 

“No babies yet” Dixie said doging the second question as she picked at her red toe nail polish that was peeling. “We didn’t really do much last night. He was… really awkward.”

“Oh really?” Mac paused, “You think maybe they got the wrong sibling?” 

Dixic laughed, a real laugh this time. Lodging whatever was ripping into her chest lose slightly. Causing her to feel lighter. 

“I mean I do love me a blonde.” Mac continued. 

“I’m not sure how the whole pregnancy thing would work though.” 

“I mean anything is possible at this point. Gods are real and literally half of all living things were gone for 5 years only to come back as if nothing had happened.” 

“You have a point.” 

“Well I am the smarter one” 

“Can’t argue with you there.” Dixie looked over her even more chipped red nails, she was going to have to repaint them soon. Vaguely she hoped she hadn’t forgotten to pack that color. It was her favorite. It had that Warden Walker feel to it. And if Dixie wanted to channel anyone at the moment it was a woman who wore snake venom on her nails.     

“How are things on your end?” she asked changing the subject from her not so baby daddy to her brother. 

“Eh, not much. The forms have been pretty quiet and I’m waiting on that program you… acquired. It’s still hot so I can’t trade it for another two weeks at least.” 

“Oh yeah I totally forgot about that.” Dixie mumbled digging around her bag looking for her nail polish. “How much longer will you be in Arizona?” 

“Probably not much longer. I’m thinking maybe Denver for a while? Or maybe North Carolina? At least then I’ll be on the same coast as you.” 

“Same coast is nice.” Dixie said, even if he wasn’t in the same state the thought of having him just a bit closer made her feel better. She knew she was being a baby about all this but… as tough as she acted he was the one constant in her life and she missed him. 

“So how’s the new place.”

“Better than anything we could afford.” 

“Please send me pictures.”

“Oh I forgot to tell you,” Dixie smiled as she found the police at the bottom on her bad, “Steve didn’t decorate because he wanted to make sure I had a say.”

“Poor guy, he doesn’t know how shit your taste is.” 

“Yeah, I should have warmed him but now… I feel like maybe he should suffer for his mistake.” 

Mac’s laugh echoed from the other end and for a moment Dixie felt like he was right next to her. The two of them as kids sneaking out when their dad was in one of his moods. Escaping into the night to buy ice pops from the mart down the street and sit on the hill by their house and watch the star trying to figure out the constellations. Just the two of them making plans on when they were going to escape this stupid town and never look back. 

No matter how bad it got they always had each other. 

It didn’t matter how far he was. Dixie knew he would always be there. Just like she would always be there for him. 

---------

“So how was the first day?” Bucky asked as he ran alongside Steve. His blue eyes studying his best friend. He had seen the way Steve had been acting since he got the news about his “destiny” It was like a dark cloud had slowly started to loom over him. It only got worse as time went on until Bucky rarely recognized the man next to him as the car pulled up with the young woman. 

Bucky was the only one who had known what Steve’s plans had been. About going back to Peggy. To start a real life. He had told Bucky the night before he had left. Determination written on his face knowing that this was what he wanted. That he was going to finally do the thing he had been fighting toward. 

A real life. 

Then he came back. Heartbroken. More defeated than Bucky had ever seen him before. If it hadn’t been Steve Bucky had been worried. But he knew that no matter what Steve could handle it. 

Or that was what he had told himself until this. It had happened so quickly after Steve had realized he could never have the one thing he wanted. It was as if he really was going to have to give his whole life to the world. Every bit of him, not just his body but his heart as well. 

Never be able to have anything for himself. 

Which was now, as Steve ran next to him, so focused on just moving. Bucky truly worried. The look on his best friend’s face was so placid Bucky couldn't read him at all. 

Which was rare. 

Turning Steve shrugged, “We just fell asleep. I… I don’t know Bucky.” 

“Yeah I could tell how you kept tip toeing around her all night.” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Yeah Steve it really is. She’s not china, she’s not going to break.” 

“It’s just…” Steve sighed trying to find the right words. Trying to explain what it was like to force some woman he didn’t know anything about into his life. And not just his life. His bed, his life, his future.

“She’s a stranger Steve, you both are.” 

“That’s what I keep thinking. I don’t know this woman at all.” 

“Well that’s why she’s here so you can get to know her.”

“There is just so much pressure” 

Bucky nodded, this wasn’t something they could just punch their way out of. In fact there really wasn’t much he could do to help his friend really. It wasn’t like he could just go into the bedroom guns blazing and make sure this woman got pregnant by his friend.

“Now I don’t know her but she’s probably feeling the same way you are. You both just need to take the time to get to know each other.” Bucky thought back to his days when they were both younger. All the women he would take out. They had all been strangers once too. “You just need to romance her, treat her like any other dame. Just take the whole destiny out of it.” 

Steve sighed chuckling as he looked over at Bucky, “I don’t know if you have forgotten in your old age Buck but… I was never very good at romancing a woman.” 

“Well why not start with my tried and true” Bucky said smiling. Steve frowned studying his friend unsure what he was going to say.   

“Take her dancing” 

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