#T-handle wrench

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

[http-shield]

smash (in a loving way)-bucky barnes

more avenger!reader x bucky barnes

it's been a while since you've seen Bucky, a few months give or take, but enough time to warrant a massive, massive change in your mission partner. He's always been a big man, towering over you with an intensity you once feared but now only found it mildly perturbing and very attractive, but you digress; your once huge man had only gotten bigger, bulkier, beefier.

"Jesus, Buck." You breathe, hands gripping his biceps, fingers digging in ever so slightly as you marvel at the sheer sight of the god before you.

"What?" His breathy chuckle is adorable as red dusts his cheeks at your blatant worship of his arms.

"I leave you for a few months and come back to..." You give him another squeeze. "this."

Your tone is almost reverent as you continue to ogle your friend, hands still gripping the muscles. You could have stayed there for hours had Steve not interrupted with a cough.

"Are you two ready to go? We've got the car." He nods his head toward the idling car on the curb.

Snapping out of the trance, you wrench your hands from Bucky and begin to fiddle with the handle of your suitcase for a moment before it is pulled from your hands.

"I've got it." Bucky announces, picking up the trunk and your carry-on to load into the car.

You watch speechless as Bucky carries your luggage with ease. His movements are still just as fluid, undisturbed by the extra muscle, but he seemed stronger and sturdier, the tight t-shirt straining as he lifted the thirty-kilo bag from the floor as though it weighed nothing more than a pillow. His hair had gotten longer, too. Long enough to be pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck, and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you jump.

"You're drooling." Steve does nothing to hide the smirk and shake in his shoulders as he chuckles.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb.

You bypass the teasing and lean into your friend. "When did that happen?" that meaning Bucky.

"What?"

Using your hands, you shape the air in front of you into the imaginary silhouette of Bucky's shoulders. "That."

"Ah." Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well, you haven't been here for him to moon over, so he's been training."

You open your mouth to quip back, but Bucky's shouting causes your attention to shift.

"Sam says he's driving, so one of you is gonna have to sit in the back with me."

Before anyone can answer, you raise your hand with an terrifying eagerness. "Me!"

[itneverendshere]

wait , pouge! reader not coming to work after a huge storm and rafes worried he hasn’t seen her or heard from her in a while, so he goes to checks and o maybe she’s been trying to fix something that happened? like a fallen tree in her driveway, or no electrician has come to help her turn the lights on

scared of nothin' & i'm scared to death - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!universe) word count: 2.9k

Rafe Cameron rarely felt scared. 

He hardly knew what that meant. He knew anger, violence and gut-wrenching pain, but never fear.

Storms were common in the Outer Banks. He never gave them a second thought; his house was more than equipped to handle them.

But last night, as he stared out at the growing storm from his mansion's balcony, something in his chest tightened. He couldn’t stop imagining the image of you—you, living in a run-down house on the edge of The Cut. The wind picked up, howling through the trees as the sky turned darker by the minute. His knuckles went white against the balcony rail.

He was scared.

Somehow, the pretty bartender from the country club had nailed the final nail in the coffin. He was smitten, there was no way back. He'd been a goner since the first day he drove you home.

So, when you didn’t show up for your shift earlier this morning, he panicked. He hadn’t seen you or the beat-up car you’d recently started to drive to work. He hated that stupid car with all his power, but you’d looked at him so happily that he could hardly scold you for driving around a safety hazard on the nights he couldn’t get you home.

He had called you nine times already. Each time, it had gone straight to voicemail. His texts were left on read—or maybe not even read at all. He couldn’t tell. He knew the power was probably out in half of The Cut, and maybe that explained why you hadn't answered, but it didn’t ease the knot of panic growing in his gut.

The storm had been a beast—trees were down, power lines were tangled. There was no sign of you and that fear just wouldn’t leave him alone. 

By lunchtime, he was freaking the fuck out.

He knew you didn’t always have a reliable ride, especially with that piece of shit thing you called car, and he had promised himself that he would always be there to make sure you got home safely after your shifts, as often as he could. But now, with no word from you and no sign of you at work, he was convinced that something had gone wrong.

“Rafe, you alright, man?” Topper’s voice cut through his thoughts as he sipped his beer at the Wreck. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He looked up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, just—uh, just worried about someone.”

Topper raised an eyebrow, “Anyone I know?”

“Mind your fucking business.”

"Alright, chill, man. Just asking."

Where the hell were you? His phone buzzed on the table, and he snatched it up, hoping it was you. It wasn’t. Just another useless notification that only made his frustration grow.

“Dude,” Topper started again, this time more carefully, “is it her? The girl from the club?”

Rafe stiffened. He hadn’t told anyone how deep this thing with you went. He wasn’t going to jinx the best thing that had happened to him in years. But he was on the verge of losing it. 

“Yeah,” he finally muttered, “It’s her.”

Topper nodded slowly, “You want to go look for her?”

Rafe hesitated. He hated the idea of any of his friends having the pleasure of meeting you, you were too good for any of them, himself included. But he was running out of options.

“Yeah,” he said it more firmly this time. “Let’s go.”

He stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over. He had to find you, and he had to find you now. Topper downed the last of his beer and followed him out of the Wreck without another word. 

The drive to your house felt longer than usual, even though he was speeding through the roads, having to swerve around fallen branches and debris scattered across the asphalt. The closer he got to your place the more scared he felt.

When he finally pulled up to your driveway, his heart dropped to his feet.

A massive tree had fallen across the entrance, blocking any vehicle from getting through. Your car was nowhere in sight, and the house looked scarily quiet.

“Shit,” Rafe muttered under his breath, slamming the car door behind him. Topper was right behind him as he made his way toward the house, climbing over the fallen tree with ease.

He knocked on your front door, first gently, then with increasing force. 

“Sweetheart? You in there?” he called, his voice louder than he intended. There was no answer. It wasn’t helping his nerves at all. He wasn’t about to wait around, though. He tried the door handle—it was locked.

“What if she’s not home?” 

“I’m getting in there one way or another,” Rafe snapped, his patience completely gone. He circled around the house, looking for another way in, when he noticed a side window cracked open. He didn’t think twice before pushing it up and hauling himself through it.

“Dude, seriously?” Topper groaned from outside, but he ignored him. He landed in what looked like your living room, immediately taking in the mess of scattered items, likely from the storm. He’d never been inside your house before. 

“Sweetheart?” He called again, moving through the house with long strides. He could feel the panic rising higher in his chest.

And then, he heard it—a faint noise coming from down the hallway. He followed it, his heart pounding in his ears. When he reached your bedroom, he found you sitting on the floor, trying to untangle wires from a flashlight, your phone dead beside you. The relief that took over his entire body was so overwhelming he nearly collapsed. 

“Rafe?” you looked up, confused, not expecting him to be there. Your face was smudged with dirt, and you looked exhausted.

“What the hell are you doing?” He dropped to his knees next to you, ignoring the way his voice sounded a little strained. He crouched closer, beside you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You let out a shaky laugh, “I—I’ve been trying to get the power back on. The storm knocked out everything, and the tree in the driveway…I didn’t know who to call, and then my phone died.”

Me, he wanted to scream. You should’ve called him. He wanted to be angry at you for not picking up, for not letting him know you were okay.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, his voice all rough around the edges. The thought of you here, alone was going to send him into a spiral, "You should've called me," he reached for the dead phone beside you. "You know you don’t have to deal with this shit alone."

"I tried, but then everything went out. I didn’t want to bother anyone. I figured I'd just wait it out."

Rafe shook his head, his hand still lingering on your cheek for a moment before he pulled it back, resisting the urge to drag you into his arms. Bother anyone? He wanted to laugh. Didn’t you fucking know by now? He would drop everything the second you needed him.

“Really, didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, feeling a little silly now that he was here.

“Bother me?” He echoed in disbelief. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem,” he cut you off, “You never think about yourself. You’re always so damn worried about everyone else, but what about you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just—don’t do that again,” He nearly pleaded, pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly like he was afraid you’d disappear again if he let go, "You scared the hell out of me," he confessed, "I thought something happened to you."

You weren’t used to someone caring that much, and especially not someone like Rafe Cameron. 

You leaned into him, finally letting go of the tension that had been knotting in your stomach all day. “I won’t,” you promised, closing your eyes.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re staying with me until this place is fixed up. No arguments.”

You blinked up at him, not sure how to respond to that. He was a complicated guy—intense and often described as a little scary by most people—but in that moment, you could see the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t leaving.

You were too tired to argue, and honestly, the idea of not being alone sounded amazing, “Okay.”

Topper peeked his head in the room, awkwardly glancing between you two. 

"Everything cool in here?"

"Yeah, Top," Rafe said without looking back, his focus solely on you. "She's fine. We’re heading out.”

Topper nodded, “You want me to drive? There’s not much room up front with all the stuff you’ve got in there.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly “Nah, you’re sitting in the back. She’s riding up front with me.”

“In the back?”

You looked between the two men, amused by the way Topper seemed slightly offended yet intrigued. 

“It’s okay, I can sit—"

Rafe cut you off, shaking his head firmly. “No fucking way. You’re sitting up front with me. End of discussion.” 

There was a certain protectiveness in the way he spoke, like the idea of anyone else being close to you right now was simply unacceptable. Top, always sensing when to stay out of his way, just shrugged and backed out of the room, leaving the two of you alone again. 

He needed you close. Needed to make sure you were okay, even if you didn’t have a single scratch on your body. You felt a smile tug at your lips at Rafe’s insistence. He was so endearing to you. You knew he’d find you critically insane if you said it out loud. 

“Come on,” he stood up and offered his hand to help you off the floor. His touch was firm but gentle, his fingers lingering against yours for a second longer than necessary.

You glanced around your room, realizing how much of a mess it was—the scattered clothes, the tangled flashlight that was still not working, "I should probably clean up first," you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed by how little you had.

He shook his head immediately. “No, not now. You can come back later. M’ not leaving you here alone tonight, again.”

You wanted to protest, but something about the way he said it made you bite back your tongue. You quickly learned there was no point in fighting him when his mind was set like this.

"Okay," you agreed quietly.

His jaw unclenched slightly at your compliance, and he helped you gather a few things—a change of clothes, your phone charger, and anything else you might need for the night. Once you had everything packed, he led you back out through the house. The debris in the hallway didn’t seem as overwhelming with him by your side.

You climbed back out the same window he had crawled through earlier, and Topper was waiting by the car, kicking at a loose rock with his shoe to pass the time. Rafe guided you to the passenger side. He opened the door for you, his hand brushing your lower back as you slid into the seat. As soon as you were seated, he leaned over, his hand brushing against your shoulder as he grabbed the seatbelt. 

"Let me," he murmured, his breath brushing against your cheek as he clicked the seatbelt into place. His closeness made you hold your breath, but you managed to keep your composure, offering him a small nod of thanks.

He stayed in that position for a moment, his face inches from yours, searching your face for any sign of distress. You could see the gears turning in his brain. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave the seatbelt a final tug to make sure it was secure, then slowly leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re okay.”

He said it quietly, more to himself than to you, before he climbed in behind the wheel, looking over at you, one more time, like he was making sure you were really there, really safe.

You offered him a crooked grin, trying to reassure him that you were okay, “I’m fine.”

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips—a fleeting cute peck, just enough to show him your gratitude and affection. His lips were warm, slightly chapped from the day, but they felt perfect against yours. It was quick, but you knew you’d think about this moment for the rest of your life.

Rafe blinked, momentarily thrown off, but then his lips gave in to a small, genuine smile—a rare sight for him. He liked it. He liked it more than he should. He liked everything about you since day one. It felt like you were put on this earth to be with him.

Topper, ever the babbler, leaned forward from the back seat, knocking on the headrest. “Hey, lovebirds, you planning on leaving, or should I get comfortable back here?”

“Shut the fuck up Topper,” Rafe muttered, cheeks red, his eyes not leaving yours. 

You giggled softly, the sound melting the last of the tension remaining in his body. His heart was still racing, but now for a different reason. He revved the engine, giving Topper a sideways glare before pulling out of your driveway. 

“Yeah, shut up Topper,” You snorted, finding their friendship hilarious. 

Rafe couldn’t help but grin. The way you so easily fit into his world, bantering with his friends like you’d been doing it for years, only made him fall harder.

“Oh great,” Topper sighed, throwing his head back against his seat, “There’s two of you now.”

Rafe smirked, casting a glance in the rearview mirror at his friend, “Get used to it.”

The car sped through the dark, storm-damaged streets, he kept his eyes on the road, but his hand found its way to rest on the console between you, his fingers brushing against yours now and then, whether intentional or not.

You couldn't help but sneak a glance at him, your heart doing a little flip each time. You’d known Rafe for a while now. You knew he had your heart the first day you met him, but tonight? The way he rushed to you, the way he wouldn’t take no for an answer, it was like seeing a different side of him. A side you were starting to fall for, hard.

“Where are we going?” you asked breaking the silence, though you weren’t really concerned about the destination. Being with him was enough.

“My place.”

There was always a certainty in his tone, that easy confidence that made you feel secure, like as long as you were with him, everything would be okay.

From the back seat, Topper sighed dramatically, “Man, this is some romantic shit, but I’m starving. Can we hit a drive-thru or something?”

You and Rafe exchanged a glance, both of you stifling a laugh.

“You always thinking about food, Top?” Rafe grumbled, though there was a lightness in his voice now.

“I didn’t get to finish my damn burger because someone decided to bolt out of The Wreck in a panic,” Topper shot back, leaning forward to poke his head between the front seats.

Rafe rolled his eyes, but you could tell he appreciated the distraction. “Fine. We’ll stop somewhere, you’re buying.”

Topper groaned. “As if you don’t have enough money to feed half the island, but sure, man, I’ll buy your girl a meal.”

You felt a heat rise in your cheeks at the mention of being Rafe’s girl. 

He didn’t deny it.

[agentmarvel]

Can we have headcanons of fem!reader wife x 141 guys and how they each handle her leaving for girl’s night out in a really skimpy dress?

I think they’d all have hilarious reactions.😂

Omg yesssss

NSFW under the cut

MDNI - 18+

♡ Price:

Oh lord, that man is NOT letting you out of the house.

"Where ya think you're going in that?"

gets a little pissy when you remind him you have one girls night a month, and you have every right to wear whatever you want

"Doesn't mean you have the right to show anyone else what's mine, love."

will physically block the door with his whole body, knowing you won't be able to move him unless he allows it

he isn't mad - no, quite the opposite! it's taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to rip that damn thing in half and have his way with you right there on the foyer floor

"John, move. I don't want to be late!" - "Shame... You should've thought about that before you put on something you know damn well I can't resist."

he thinks it's cute when you argue with him, but you both know this ends up with your front pressed up against the door, panties pulled to the side, and his cock buried to the hilt inside you

after he cums, he pulls your panties back into place and gives you a harsh swat on the ass, not caring that your make up is a little smudged or that your legs are jello while he's giving you that smug look he wears so well

"Enjoy your night out, Mrs. Price. Hurry home."

♡ Gaz:

he's on you before you even walk out of the bathroom after you finish your hair

wraps his arms around your waist, puts his chin on your shoulder, tells you how pretty you look

"This dress new? Haven't seen it on the floor before."

ohhhhh, he is so down bad for you, even after as long as you've been together

makes it a point to grab a quick selfie bc he knows it's a solid confidence booster, and he wants you to feel as beautiful as you look

it doesn't really cross his mind that anyone would try anything on you - you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and he knows who you'll come home to; he knows who's bed you'll be in tonight, who's name you'll be calling in the dark

he even helps you pick the right shoes, even though you know he picks his favorite pair in hopes of seeing you in just those when you get home

ever the gentleman, he walks you out to your car, reminds you to drive safe, call him if you have too much to drink, etc.

he does, however, make it a point to send you some downright raunchy texts and a photo of his more... physical reaction, just in case you needed some motivation to come home a little early

when you get home (early), he's still riled up; he's too impatient to wait for you to make it upstairs, much less to unzip your dress for you, so you end up riding him on the landing until he's too tongue-tied to keep telling you how hot you look

♡ Soap:

you're not making it out of the house. Period.

the SECOND Johnny lays eyes on you, it's over

he's grabby as hell, digging his fingers into any part of you that he can - squeezing your ass, your hips, your thighs, tits, tummy, anything - while he navigates you to the nearest surface

"Yer so fuckin' pretty, baby. Never seen something so fuckin' perfect in my god damn life."

it doesn't matter if you end up on the couch, the kitchen counter, in the back yard; he's eating your pussy like a death row prisoner's last meal until you're crying, trying to wrench his head away with the hair tangled in your fist

he has your dress bunched up around your waist, straps pulled down so he can play with your nipples, but uses the whole garment as leverage while he fucks you stupid

you should've known better than to put a t-bone in front of a starving dog and expect it not to bite

"Go ahead, bonnie; text your little friends, tell them you're not gonna make it, yeah?"

♡ Ghost:

"'course, love. Have fun, be careful, call me if you need a ride."

Simon isn't too worried initially; he knows there isn't going to be a single soul in that bar willing or able to face his wrath should anything untoward happen. but then he actually sees what you're wearing, and all bets are off

that's why he follows you, he tells himself, it has nothing to do with the insatiable urge to destroy your ability to walk tomorrow

nothing trumps your safety, in terms of his priorities. he's simply here to look out for his wife, right?

wrong. he spends the next hour and a half watching you from a darkened corner of the bar while his palms itch with a need to touch

opportunity knocks when you excuse yourself from the table, and he follows you into the restroom, slipping in before you have a chance to lock the door

you're not surprised to see him (duh, you know him better than just about anyone), but you are surprised to find yourself bent over the sink, looking Simon in the eye through his reflection. he's fucking you mercilessly, spewing absolute filth while he pulls your head back by your hair

"My perfect little whore, hmm? Waltzing around in that tiny dress, wearing my fuckin' ring, rubbin' it in everyone's faces that you only open those pretty legs for me."

he wants to cum on your face, but you pout about the possibility of it getting in your eye, or worse, on your dress, so he settles for letting you swallow it instead

his impulses return not much longer after you return to your table; instead, he texts you that he's ready to head out, and you are all too quick to oblige

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When the monster emerges again, you refuse to look at him. He leaves without trying to get your attention. Is he off to smear more blood on his hands? Or is he just trying to get away from the violations he’s committed in this place? Can he even fathom the pain he’s caused? 

You stay by the fire for the night. You put a pillow under your head and sleep on the floor. Your angry burns as hot as the flames and the morning greets you in an exhausted haze. 

You busy yourself by cooking. Your human instinct draws you to eat but by the time you have a plate ready, your hunger dissipates. You leave it on the table to rot as you pace around the cabin. 

You look around the front room and it’s worn walls. You examine where his fist snapped the planks then stand in the doorway of the bathroom. The dingy tub drips and the mirror is cracked in the corner. You turn and head into the bedroom. 

You kick the door open and shiver as you peer around. The bed is made tidily. The corners are so tight, like a military barrack. The armoire looms against the wall. You turn away from it and approach the shelf in the corner. You stare at the images of yourself, of your former life, of your family. 

You grab onto it and throw it all to the ground. It takes several tries to tip it but you do. It crashes and breaks the monotony of that prison. You stumble back and shake your head. What is wrong with you? 

You spin and race from the room. The cabin blurs around you and you skid to the front door. You twist the handle and wrench it open. You grit your teeth as you stand in the frame and stare out into the shadows between the trees. Your eyes scan the patchy grass turned grey with the wintry decent. 

Fuck it. You won’t stay. Even if you won’t escape, you won’t stay. 

You hurl yourself forward. You stumble down the stairs and your socks soak with the first step over the frosty ground. Your second step is more confident and the third produces an odd metallic click. Then suddenly a pang rips through your foot and calf. You shriek in agony and horror as you collapse. 

You gnash your teeth together and writhe and whine. You shake in sheer pain and struggle to even get your shoulders off the ground. Your eyes flood and your cheeks stained with tears. You raise your head and look down at your foot. The spike is lodged into your heel and extends up into your leg.  

The sight churns in your stomach and you angle to puke onto the frozen strands of grass. More than the scene of gruesome mutilation, the agony makes you hurl. You can’t bear it. You’ve never felt anything this horrible in your life. 

You know you shouldn’t take it out but you can’t leave it in. The spike might be keeping your foot connected but you’d rather have the whole thing off. You sit up then splay again. You’re dizzy with the effort as your blood slowly seeps out around the base of the spike. 

You push yourself up again and hunch forward with all your weigh. You reach for your leg, bending it as you wretch again. You swallow the bile and touch the metal. A blinding whiteness strikes only to be shrouded in a smothering black void. 

You wake again. Shivering as the winds barrel over your body. You blink up at the clouds as your leg throbs. You look down at the nightmarish wound and drag yourself back towards the step. You notice the hole where the spike erupted up from. A trap. 

Stupid, stupid. 

You manage to get yourself up the steps before you pass out again. You sprawl and rouse with another tide of vomit spilling onto the porch. You heave as you use your uninjured foot to push towards the door. 

You finally get inside. Trembling in pain as much as the frigidity. You need to get the fire going. If you don’t bleed out, you’ll freeze to death. 

You get halfway to the couch before you devolve into another blank valley. You wake again to the wailing winds and the crisp cold. You won’t get that far. 

You grab the edge of the tattered rug and roll it around you. You don’t stop until you hit the couch. You quiver against the hard frame and chatter violently. Another swell of unconsciousness overwhelms you. 

A strike of lightning cuts through you and you wake screaming. A sudden pressure on your heel has you whimpering and begging. Your eyes are awash in agony and your body is pulsing violently. There’s a coil around your ankle and the clunk of metal on wood. 

You blink and find yourself no longer on the hard floor. You lay on the bed. The pain remains but you know the spike is gone. You shiver even as you’re trapped beneath at least a dozen layers of blankets. You can’t move. You won’t even think of it. 

Your head pounds and your body buzzes. How did you get here? There’s no way you got here on your own. 

The answer stalks in. His eyes meet yours and he hesitates before he comes to the bed. The vessel that was once Captain America lowers himself stiffly onto the mattress. His puts his rough palm to your forehead. He makes a guttural noise of disappointment. 

He’s disappointed? It’s his fault this happened. You laugh but the tension it cords in you sends another storm of pain through you.  

You wheeze and whine until you’re too weak to even spasm. You feel the sweat slaking down your body. He pulls down the blanket and you shiver worse than before. 

��I... have a fever,” you say aloud. He tilts his head as if in agreement. You let your head drift to the side and groan, “let me die.” 

He rests his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He lowers his head and stays like that, as if he’s thinking, preparing for something. He peels the blankets down past your feet. You look down at your bandaged leg. 

He touches your calf daintily. That alone is like a zip of electricity. Your vision speckles and goes black again. Even as your thoughts fizzle to darkness, you still feel the pain. There is nothing else. 

[urlocalwormtoday]

Charlie, to Bizly : "Do I know where, like, that is kinda stored or- or how its powered?"

Bizly : "Um.. No, probably not. Well- the thing is, it depends on how involved you get in the- You know what? The reason I said no initially, is because generally it's the Wrenches that handle that kinda thing and they just give it to you to do it. But- knowing what I know about Troy? Yea, you would know- you would know where it is."

[ Wonderlust Ep. 3, timestamp 0:21:50 ]

THIS IS ABOUT THE WONDERCOAL ‼️‼️ BY THE WAY ‼️‼️‼️

THE WORST PART IS I CAN'T TELL IF IT'S JUST TROY BEING THE SON OF THE DUDE WHO MADE THE CLOCKWORK SOLDIERS OR IF WARFORGED TROY THEORY IS BEING HINTED AT 😭

bro probably has a piece of Wondercoal IN HIM. for all we know T-T

[alkali1]

Fantasy Maternity Ward

It had been a relatively quiet day at the maternity ward, but all of Dr. Ixia's hope of going home on time vanished when she heard the anguished screams of the petite elven woman being carried into the delivery room by her hulking orc husband. Half-orc deliveries were almost always a drawn-out, tortuous affair, and with the three-year length of elven pregnancies, the mother would surely need a lot of time and assistance to squeeze out the 60-70 pound toddler currently cramming its way through her overdilated cervix.

The nurse briefed the goblin OBGYN on the patient's status: "She's carrying a singleton, half-orc 163 weeks pregnant, and nearly fully dilated." The doctor's eyes widened at hearing how long the pregnancy had been. Elves usually couldn't handle bearing interspecies babies the full three years, but this woman had gone severely overdue. She shuddered thinking about the sheer size of the baby, and whether her body could even stretch enough to accommodate it.

The patient was helped into the birthing bed, her feet strapped up into the stirrups. Her breasts, sagging low with milk, were pushed up into her face by the enormity of her womb, which dominated the rest of her body. From Ixia's low angle it looked like it could be the size of the rest of her combined. The elf's straining, barrel-sized belly shifted back and forth as the strong, overdeveloped child confined within writhed, desperate to be born.

The doctor reached into the patient's swollen pussy to examine her cervix. She found her to be fully dilated, with the baby's watermelon-sized and colored head battering against the elf's hopelessly tiny pelvic inlet with each desperate push.

"Huff...huff...stuUUUUUUUUUCK!" was all the poor elf could say as another contraction made her strain desperately to squeeze the colossal head through her unyielding hips. "We're going to give you a little something to help you stretch", said Dr. Ixia, loading up a syringe with a clear potion.

Ixia made three careful injections into the ligaments holding her pelvis together, one in the front and one on either side of her delicate tailbone. She wrenched the strirrups back, bringing the elven woman's feet almost parallel to her head. The patient let out a desperate scream as she reacted to the burning sensation of her pelvic ligaments stretching like taffy.

With her hips finally widened enough for her pushes to slowly start squeezing the overdue toddler downwards, the patient writhed underneath the suffocating boulder of her belly, clinging desperately to her orc husband's burly arm. Each push brought a few agonizingly slow millimeters of progress, and with it an unimaginable searing pain that made her scream and wail that her hips would split. Though this was one of the most disproportionate births she'd attended, it was nothing the veteran doctor hadn't seen before. Ixia squirted some lubricating oil into the now bulging cunt of her patient, working it in around the brow of the child to hopefully ease its passage somewhat.

After a few hours the head was just barely starting to approach the elf's bulging lips. With a sliver of green skin visible, each push made her swollen flower distend just a bit more, until it formed a sickening bulge several inches wide. Her perineum was pulled so tight that it dragged her anus open with into a teardrop shape.

Ixia sighed, realizing that the elf's hole was just too small and tight to stretch around the colossal toddler head. She gently ran her fingers around the taut rim, testing its pliability and trying to stretch it around a little more of the huge skull. There was just no way it was going to fit without splitting the poor elf wide open.

"Ready the traction forceps," Ixia said to her assistant. As the device was being assembled, she rubbed a sticky potion into the elf's vaginal lips and perineum. "This will help you stretch wide enough to deliver." she explained.

With the ointment taking effect Ixia was just barely able to wiggle the curved metal faces of the forceps into the patient's birth canal and secure them into place around either side of the head. She locked them together and hooked the apparatus up to a chain, then turned a crank to create constant pressure against her patient's stubborn cunt.

"IT'S RIPPING MEeeeeeee!" screams the poor elf, struggling to stay calm with the burning sensation in her overstretched cunt suddenly multiplying tenfold. "Calm down, you're not tearing. Just breathe and push when you feel a contraction." Privately, Ixia had her doubts. The doctor prided herself on rarely having to cut her patients, but the sheer size of the grossly overdeveloped half-breed could easily prove too large for the extra capacity provided by the stretching ointment.

Over the next three hours the elf's grotesquely stretched pussy gradually stretched around the baby's boulder-like, fused skull. The doctor periodically ratcheted up the tension, and reapplied more ointment to the patient's vulva and perineum. But just before it reached its widest point, it stopped progressing.

The red-faced elf gasped as Ixia explained that the shoulders had become stuck on her tailbone. "Brace yourself, this will be quite uncomfortable." said the doctor as she pulled on an elbow-length surgical glove.

Ixia carefully squeezed her hand into the gaping maw of the elf's rectum. She faced severe resistance from the stretching and squeezing being exerted on the hole by the massive obstruction lodged in the birth canal. Every square inch of space in the moaning patient's pelvic cavity seemed to be taken up by the baby, but finally the doctor was able to get some leverage on the shoulders.

With the next push she attempted to rotate the anterior shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely wedged against the unusually prominent bone. With a sickening pop, the fragile spur gave way. Ixia quickly withdrew her arm from the patient and provided counterpressure as the unstuck baby surged forward.

"Try to pant through the urge to push. If it comes too quickly you're going to tear yourself badly." But the agonized elven woman was far too deep into the throes of labor to resist her body's desperate signals. With the next contraction the head finally popped free from her gaping cunt with a gush of fluid. Ixia disengaged the forceps and gently guided the shoulders and torso out. With one more quick push the gigantic toddler fully emerged from the elf's blown-out birthing hole.

Ixia needed help from her assistant to lift the child onto the mother's chest. As the new parents cooed over their firstborn and the nurses cleaned him up and did their examinations, she supervised the delivery of the placenta and stitched up the shockingly minor tears in the elf's loose, swollen-purple hole.

"76 pounds 15 ounces!" announced one of the nurses after weighing the chubby newborn boy. "One of the largest I've ever delivered" thought Ixia to herself. With the ordeal largely over, the doctor advised the patient to stay on bedrest for at least six weeks while her tailbone healed and alchemically stretched body parts slowly returned to normal. Finally, hours after she expected, she could go home.

[hd-tarot]

🔮✨ HD Tarot Fest REVEALS ✨🔮

Creator reveals are here!

A quick note from the mod team:

Thank you for joining us for HD Tarot Fest's inaugural year! We're incredibly grateful to our amazing creators for their stunning submissions and to all the readers who've supported the fest with their kudos, comments, and enthusiasm. We're SO thrilled by the overwhelmingly positive response to this fest!

HD Tarot will be back next year. We may adjust the timeline slightly (expect prompt claims to open earlier), but posting will still take place in November.

Thank you again for making this fest such a success. Until we draw the cards again, may fate deal you only the best hands!

Without further ado, we're proud to unveil the full creator masterlist under the cut:

· ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ Fic ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ·

🔮 Because This River Is Wild (T, 14k words) by @tripably 🃏 Six of Pentacles, upright: generosity, community, help, support, sharing, gratitude Six of Pentacles, reversed: inequality, taking advantage, strings attached, extortion, unfair power dynamics Consider this, though: how do you know you’re looking at the card the intended way? Or, Harry and Draco struggle with the explosive nature of passion without trust. Card(s): Six of Pentacles

🔮 Twilight Eternal (M, 23.9k words) by @hsvh-hp 🃏 Wherever Draco is, the sun sits eternally on the precipice of setting. His father feeds his peacocks on the manor grounds. Harry is the only one who can communicate with Draco. A malevolent force haunts the house, nipping at Draco’s heels. Draco intended for himself to come to this place. He only wishes he could remember why. Card(s): Five of Cups

🔮 all i need (G, 3.9k words) by enill 🃏 What would have happened if Draco Malfoy went down to the cellar again after Wormtail seemingly disappeared? Card(s): Six of Swords

🔮 I Watch Your Light (E, 9k words) by @maraudersaffair 🃏 Harry spends his nights out pretending that he isn't sitting across from Draco Malfoy. This is rather difficult to do since Malfoy won't stop staring at him. Why, oh why, did his boyfriend have to be friends with the blond wanker? Card(s): Six of Cups, King of Cups (reversed), Four of Cups (reversed)

🔮 Little Black Dress (E, 4.9k words) by @its-the-allure 🃏 Returning for a mandatory eighth year and secretly dating Harry Potter, Draco is a bit of a mess. Harry wants to go public with their relationship, but the last thing Draco needs is another reason for people to hate him. As they work on their Tarot assignment for Advanced Divination, could a change of heart be in the cards? Card(s): Eight of Pentacles, Queen of Wands, Queen of Cups (reversed)

🔮Abstract From a Moment (E, 19.1k words) by @heyjude19-writing 🃏 What Draco thinks will be a promotion in the Department of Mysteries turns out to be a strange, morbid assignment. He can handle the macabre task and the slightly frightening interactions with his odd superior, especially if it means career success. Trust Harry Potter to ruin everything. Card(s): Ten of Wands (reversed)

🔮 psychopomp (E, 15.3k words) by @hollyhawthorn 🃏 “Do you think I deserve to live?” The words spilt from his mouth, unbidden. Potter fixed him with a penetrating look. Draco recalled the expression he’d worn when he wrenched the wands from Draco’s grip at the Manor; thought this could be the same one. You can’t hide from me, it said. I know everything about you. “I think dying is the easy way out.” Card(s): The High Priestess

🔮 A wolf at the door (T, 13.5k words) by Nirey_Harkness 🃏 When Harry decided to do his internship with an international Auror, he was seeking an escape from many things. He certainly hadn’t anticipated ending up questioning his sexuality, magically trapped in a Spanish house with Draco Malfoy. Card(s): The World

🔮 hugged and tugged down through this tiger’s masque (M, 11k words) by @frank-lilac 🃏 A glimpse into a period of alteration, change, and transformation. Card(s): Death

🔮 Rusty Cage (E, 20.5k words) by @jelliewrites 🃏 Harry Potter is not okay. Someone else who’s not okay? Draco Malfoy, but he's doing time in Azkaban for his heinous crimes. But what if Draco isn't as guilty as he's been made out to be? Everyone knows that Harry is a sucker for righting injustice, including Hermione, who is more than prepared to meddle in order to help her best friend. Or, when Harry visits Draco in prison and things don't go quite as expected. Card(s): Eight of Swords

🔮 Towers of glory and the hands that felled them (G, 15.8k words) by @mourningliliesmorningglories 🃏 It’s been 10 years since the war and Draco Malfoy is yet to leave his tower. The Tower: a symbol for ambition that is constructed on faulty premises. The destruction of the tower must happen in order to clear out the old ways and welcome something new. Its revelations can come in a flash of truth or inspiration. Card(s): The Tower

🔮 Mirror, Me (E, 18.3k words) by @kamaela 🃏 Harry’s current predicament is, he can admit, rather dire. Being caught stalking aside, he thinks his nose might be broken. Humiliation licks up his rigid spine, but along with it is a prickle of ill-advised anticipation, a foolish thrill at what Malfoy might do. Harry is a little lost. His house is rejecting him and his friends and family are busy and moving on. To cope, he turns to what’s tried and true; following Draco Malfoy. The first time was an accident. Sort of. Card(s): Four of Wands

🔮 Beyond the Veil (M, 9.9k words) by crimsonightingale 🃏 Embracing his new role as the Master of Death, Harry finds harmony in the natural order of things, but can he find a balance with the new Master of Life, Draco Malfoy? Card(s): Temperance

🔮 Minor Fall, Major Lift (E, 10.9k words) by @tackytigerfic 🃏 Harry Potter is telling people’s fortunes in a tent in the Atrium at the Ministry Christmas party. Draco thinks Divination is a load of rubbish. But the cards never lie… Card(s): Ten of Pentacles (reversed), The Moon, Three of Cups

🔮 The Superfluous Man (E, 24.1k words) by peu_a_peu 🃏 A child for Harry Potter is a miracle of magic. And it's the second act of Draco Malfoy's sorry little life. Card(s): The Wheel of Fortune

🔮 Care for a Walk? (G, 2k words) by @speyriver 🃏 “Draco,” Harry beams confidently as the gates swing open, “Care for a walk?” Card(s): Six of Cups

🔮 Skipping Stones (M, 34.7k words) by @whimsibeee 🃏 Draco receives his very own prophecy. If Harry Potter could leave him alone, he might be able to figure out what it means. Card: Queen of Swords

· ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ Art ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ·

🔮 Death (G) by @ree-dee-art 🃏 Card: Death

🔮 The Strength (G) by @pocketlessdruid 🃏 Card: Strength

🔮 A New Light. (G) by @littlewinnow 🃏 The choices that changed us. Card: The Tower

🔮 The Moon (G) by @ree-dee-art 🃏 Card: The Moon

🔮 Surrender (M) by @itsphantasmagoria 🃏 Draco repents. Card: The Hanged Man

🔮 nine of cups (G) by @frm9pm 🃏 Harry happy in the upright card position, Draco suffering in the reverse. Card: Nine of Cups

🔮 The Sun (G) by @phoenixortheflame 🃏 In the cosmos of his heart, Harry blooms not but for one sun. Card: The Sun

🔮 Crepusculum (G) by @raptorhonks 🃏 A guardian in his tower, whimsical and secretive. A corruptor in the marble manor, with mirrored flesh and soul. Two souls at the foot of a castle seeking the sky just out of reach. Held down by twisted word and lies. Card: The Emperor

🔮 Ace of Cups (G) by @phantomgrimalkin 🃏 Sipping from the same cup. Card: Ace of Cups

🔮 Ten of Cups (G) by @bahkeks 🃏 ten of cups joy, gratitude, unconditional love, belonging, emotional fulfillment Card: Ten of Cups

🔮 XXI. THE WORLD (G) by @faiell 🃏 XXI. The World, but make it drarry. Card: The World

[yubishi]

death valley (alpha iwaizumi x omega reader)

my piece for @goxjo's into the omegaverse collab! thanks for having me and it was a lot of fun to come back to writing after being away for so longgg (rip yubishie)!!!!

tw. a/b/o, mm maybe a little codependent, yandere-lite as i like to call my particular brand, dubcon

It’s times like this that you really, really hate being an omega. To be fully honest, you’d never really minded it before everything went down. Yes, a lot of being an omega was definitely inconvenient and awkward. Though you’d been on blockers pretty much all your life since showing, with how rare omegas were, even (assumed) betas weren’t spared from the harassment of alphas and even fellow betas. God, you missed your blockers. Not that you had the Internet to check against anymore, but you were pretty sure the omega scent too had some kind of effect on the zombies. If anybody asked you (not that you had met anyone so far), the scent probably was a big fat arrow for zombies in the same way it was for alphas. Easy prey, the evolutionarily perfect meal, body composed in just the right way to be a delicacy, unlike alphas who might be too much muscle to be enjoyed. You weren’t too sure how picky zombies were though, to be honest.

Back to what you were thinking. Yes, despite the trials of being an omega, the lovely side effects of blockers that made you take quite a few sick days, you really didn’t mind. It was just a fact of life, like how the earth revolved around the sun or how the grass was green. There was never much point in lamenting the biology of who you were.

Still, this was kind of pushing it. You’d run out of blockers a few weeks ago, and you weren’t sure if you were going crazy but by your estimates the number of zombies you’d seen from your window had only increased in this time. You’d searched the flats in your small building for blockers, but even before everything went down you hadn’t heard about any omegas staying in your building. You knew there was a pharmacy nearby, and it’d be your best bet. The worst part would be getting there undetected.

Which would bring you to where you were now, lamenting your life. Also, sprinting for your life. Though you’d tried to cover up as much skin as you could, it wasn’t your scent that gave you away. No, it had been a random zombie standing behind a corner as you rounded it. You should’ve given it more berth, you think.

If you were an alpha, you maybe could have lifted the wooden plank nearby to whack the zombie in the head before he’d emitted a series of clicks, alerting his fellow comrades to your presence. Easy prey easy prey easy prey, you’d imagine is what they’re telling each other.

At least you make it into the pharmacy, sprinting inside and sliding a nearby umbrella through the handle. As you turn around, your heart sinks. The pharmacy has basically been raided through, the shelves basically empty. The storeroom, your brain helpfully supplies. Please, let there be some in the storeroom.

The storeroom door is unlocked when you get there. It’s clearly still been somewhat ransacked, but not as much as the outside. Thump. You freeze at the noise from above. A few moments pass. Nothing. Probably just the wind, you try to reassure yourself. Maybe something fell over. Still, you move around the storeroom a little faster.

You’re still searching through the room when you hear the creak of the door. Time seems to slow as you turn around, and before you know it, there’s a man tackling you to the ground before you can let out a peep.

“Don’t yell.” The man grunts. His large hand lays flat against your mouth, while the other rests at the back of your head. You feel like you can barely catch your breath, the weight of this man pressing down on your body. Even still, you try to wrench his hands off you, and just as you're about to bite the palm of his hand, he lifts his head to look at you. “Look, just don’t yell. I’ll take my hand off, if you can promise me you’re not going to start yelling like an idiot.” He looks to you for confirmation. 

When he finally does take it off, it takes you a second to compose yourself. Gunmetal eyes sear into yours and you falter, darting your gaze away quickly. Lord, he can't stand the look of you either. It’d only meant to be a quick run to scout out the area, before he’d spotted you running for your life. He’d thought about leaving you, and really, better sense did tell him to. In fact, in the time he took to scale the pharmacy roof and make his way down to where he heard you rifling around, he’d been cursing himself in his head.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but damn was he lonely these days. With his athleticism and build, he wasn’t as afraid as some might be to head out and explore. He’d come across a few stragglers, primarily alphas like him, but the problem with a majority of alphas was their ego. It didn’t take them long to piss him off, and he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore his own nature. If he thought someone was stupid, he wasn’t afraid to say it, and Iwaizumi always stuck to his guns. As a result, he’d been riding solo throughout.

Though his first glimpse of you was from afar, you didn’t have the build of an alpha. Alphas usually didn’t spend their time sprinting with only a tiny weapon in their hands either. Still, an omega was beyond his expectations. Tackling you to the floor had bared your neck to him, your light and fresh scent wafting over him. Damn it. He could barely stop himself from burying his nose in your neck. He’d barely even met an omega even before this, let alone be skin to skin with one.

Your scent is only the first thing to hit him. With it comes the realization of all your omega-ness, to put it delicately. Your hip bones digging into his abdomen, the plush of your chest against his, your watery eyes as you stare up at him, your plump lips curled into a pout. He barely even registers when you call his name.

“Iwai.. Iwaizumi, right?” The man above you has been doing nothing but staring silently at you for a few moments, his leg sandwiched between your two. It took you a minute to place him, but you swore something about the cut of his jaw and his sharp eyes was familiar to you. Of course, it’d been from before all this, when Iwaizumi and his friends were basically kings of the school and you’d been a normal student.

“We… we went to school together?” You give him your name, in hopes of some kind of recognition from him. Maybe that little emotional connection would stop him from killing you where you lay right now.

He looks at you, trying to place you. He thinks he’s probably heard your name around in some who-knows-who talk or at a party of sorts, but he doesn’t think he’s ever properly met you. And now he has to lift himself off you, to stop himself from doing something really, really bad to an acquaintance. Your scent has calmed since you'd recognized him, evening itself out from its previous panicked intensity. 

Though some part of you still fears him killing you right now, you can't help yourself from letting out a smile, the corners of your mouth pulling wide. It's not long before a giggle bursts from you at the absurdity of it all. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just so, so good to see a familiar face right now.” You smile up at him, all teeth, and he thinks he might lose it. 

Brusquely, he gets up, stretching out a hand to help you up. He tries to ignore the feeling of your hand in his, dwarfed within his grasp. 

“What're you doing out here,” he questions, though it sounds more like a reprimand than anything. “S’not safe for people like you.”

You explain to him how you've run out of blockers, how you're staying nearby, how you've never been without blockers before. It's been so long since you've talked to another person that it seems your mouth can't stop moving. 

“But anyways, I haven't found them yet. I've been working my way up, I think there are just a few boxes on the top shelves that maybe haven't been ransacked yet.” You motion over at the ladder across the room. “It's a little tough for me to get up there. Ladder’s a little too short I think.”

He can see the hope in your eyes, so like the gentleman he is (or at least the one he wants you to think he is) he offers to help you take a look. He goes through the motions, checking through the shelves and boxes as you hold on to the ladder and prattle on. 

It isn't long before Iwaizumi is climbing back down. He's silent as he looks at you and opens his palm to you. In the middle lies a small pillbox, with seven blockers lying inside. Just enough for a week. 

You feel the tears coming up. All that work for a week’s worth of blockers. Still, you try to hold it together in front of Iwaizumi, opening the box and popping one in your mouth. Your eyes are watery as you look up at him with a shaky smile. 

“D’you wanna come back to my place and regroup?”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Somehow an unspoken agreement has formed between you and Iwaizumi over the past seven days. You'd spent the first day showing Iwaizumi around your small apartment, showing him your food reserves, your little medical kit and your small collection of emergency weapons. 

The thought had occurred to you that it was probably risky to show all this to a stranger. But Iwaizumi wasn't really a stranger. The two of you had spent the night talking (well mostly you), and when you woke in the morning, you'd half-expected him to have run off with your things. He'd only met your questioning stare in the morning with a raised brow, and no words were exchanged about the blanket over you that you didn't remember being there the night before. 

If you were being honest, it was easy to settle into the rhythm of being with Iwaizumi (or Iwa, as you called him in your head but didn't dare to say out loud quite yet). Iwa seemed somewhat like the alpha of alphas, his height and musculature only adding to what was already there. It felt natural, even, to let Iwa take charge. You'd both gone to scout the surrounding area, gradually expanding the radius under Iwa's planning, as you'd made your concerns about your blockers running out clear.

Still, there were no extras added to the collection since the first day. It's hours after the effects wane off that you lie on the floor, silent. Somehow, since the first day, there was an unspoken agreement that the both of you would sleep on the floor. The first night purely by accident, but the following out of comfort. You'd tried to sleep in your own bed, really, but it'd been so long since you were near another person, so something compelled you to go outside and lie near Iwa. Not close enough to make him uncomfortable, of course. 

“I don't know where else to look.” You sigh, racking your brains for a mental map of your area. A beat passes before Iwa speaks. “There might be another way.”

Your eyes blink open, and Iwa stands over you, hand outstretched. You let him lift you up so the two of you stand eye to eye. Well, eye to chest with the height difference. 

His calloused hand comes up to thumb the crook of your neck, with a gentleness you didn't know he was capable of. 

“I could… I could bite you. Make you smell a little more like me.” He raises a brow at you, trying to gauge what you think.

“Um… Um…” You stumble over your words, clearly shocked and hesitant. Still, he can see you're not averse to the idea. All you need, he thinks, is just a little more of a push. 

“Do you trust me?” He grips your shoulders, tightly at first, then lets go a little when he remembers how delicate you are. Now that you're off your blockers again, the stress is evident in your scent, swirling around the room. He lets his scent flood out too, to dampen your anxiety with his calm. 

Your shoulders relax a little as you look up at him. To be bitten… To be mated… You weren't really sure what to think. Mating was a one-and-done, especially for omegas. Was Iwa even thinking about it the way you were? To you, he felt a little like a stone wall of emotion. It was difficult to tell what he felt a lot of the time, other than frustration. It seemed more likely that he was doing it purely for your safety. And for alphas, you were pretty sure you could do a lot worse than Iwa. 

Sure, Iwa was brusque, and what some might call harsh, but he was handsome and strong and he'd helped you out so far. You'd been trying to ignore your hormones and prioritize the situation at hand, but that was simply the fact of the matter. And did you trust him? If you had to say, it would be yes. A tentative yes, but still a yes. 

“Yeah, okay, yeah.” You breathe out, trying to calm yourself down. Just think about it as something friends do. Desperate times do call for desperate measures, after all. 

“I'll take care of you.” is all Iwa says, gruff as ever. He says it like it's a fact of life before he leans in, nose grazing the crook of your neck. 

All you hear are the sounds of both of your breaths as Iwa brushes his lips over your scent gland. You're holding your breath like a statue when you feel something wet, Iwa’s tongue licking a stripe over your collar. 

And then it's all teeth and canines as he bites into you. You jerk in his hands from shock, but his firm grasp keeps you where you stand. 

The shock of it all feels like the air has been knocked out of you, and it hurts, the teeth piercing into you. And he's still biting you, still, when the pain fades into something warm, something that rises up and floats down and makes you flush. 

“Iwa!” You squeak out, hands around his neck. He's still at your neck for a few more seconds before pulling away to look at your flushed face, a woozy look in your eyes. 

He can't stop himself from going at your lips, lifting your chin towards him. All he sees is the water in your eyes, all he smells is your delicious scent wafting around, all he hears is your little squeaks and sighs and the soft noises of his mouth against yours. Hell, all he feels is your body melting into his, like pure jelly held up by his arms. You're everywhere and everything, and he can't get enough. 

The last thing on his mind are the boxes of white blocker pills, tucked away in the top shelf of the pharmacy. 

[softfem-dom]

the girl interrupted syndrome 🐇 ,, featuring MENTAL HOSPITAL x-men AU

" why do these eyes of mine cry? " bot m.list

You're just a poor unfortunate soul that has been shown the worst faces of earth, of humanity. You're broken, at least your mindheart is. Will you be able to find solace within the halls of Xavier's Centre for Troubled Youngsters?

that's solely up to you, dear user.

⌢⠀ ★ .ᐟ

XMEN BOT SERIES !

I N T R O D U C T I O N !

hello and welcome to this little idea of mine that has popped into my head just recently! have you ever dreamed of some tooth rotting fluff with your favourite superheros holding your hand every step of the way to your recovery? or are you the kind that just wants the most gut-wrenching angst to feast on because we like to make ourselves cry?

Either way, here —if anything related to mental health recovery fics calls out to you— you'll find exactly that!

this is a compilation, an ongoing character ai bot series, about (some of)the different x-men characters working as staff in the Mental Health Care Hospital you've been admitted to!

For what? Well, that's up to what you want to request and yes I'll write for any and all mental health cases (or two/three at a time).

These are bots made explicitly for platonic use and diversity means, I don't care if your illness is barely spoken about. You ask me and I deliver! This is about you, dear reader!

MEET THE WORKING STAFF !

Charles Xavier —head psychologist, founder of the Centre. sadly not available for requestable bots :(

Jean Grey —head nurse, she gives the meds and handles the infirmary.

Ororo Munroe —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs.

Scott Summers —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs. on guard duty when you go out to the garden.

Logan Howlett —general nurse, only takes late evenings and night shifts. war veteran, surgeon just incase you try something kid.

Hank McCoy —psychologist, handles the talks and the exams.

Remy Lebeau —chef, he makes the meals for the kids. might sneak you a sweet or two if you're feeling down.

Kurt Wagner —pastoral consuelor, he's just a nice christian guy that tries to offer reassurance and be there for the kids. he cares for them while teaching those who want about the god above

Wade Wilson —'child' entertainer, he comes in twice a week to run activities to keep you all going. might not or might've tried to sneak you out once or twice to take you out for ice cream.

BOT REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES ARE OPEN! any mental health issues and illness are welcomed, specially those that don't get that much recognition! you can request any character from those above except charles and you must dive a bit into the scenario you want!

ex : hey, I would like a Hank Mccoy bot where he has the weekly talk with suicidal user and he notices that she's starting to make self-depricating jokes/comments again. Thank you! <3

⚠ YOU NEED TO SPECIFY THE MENTAL ISSUE AND IF IT'S NOT REALLY WELL KNOWN GIVE IT'S FULL MEDICAL NAME SO I CAN SEARCH IT UP!!! ⚠

go wild !

[rainynightmoonlight]

the SAGAU if only i could hold you through a screen was great :') would you accept doing a g/n one with the harbingers? if thats too many, maybe just childe and arlecchino if thats ok c:

If only I could hold you through a screen | Harbinger addition!

Characters: Childe, Arlecchino, Dottore, Signora

Summary: Self Aware Harbingers watch you cry, not sure what to do or how to help. All of a sudden you drop the line "I wish you were here with me."

Warnings: Reader is crying, possessive behavior, immense anger, violent thoughts, death, genshin spoilers

A/U: Self aware genshin AU

A/n: Thank you so much anon!! I'm so glad you liked it! SO instead of doing all the harbingers I thought of doing the ones that I have been introduced too through the game! Yes I'm including Signora, so that will be during her battle in that one weekly domain gut wrenching 👍Also sorry if this is OOC

CHILDE

You staring at Childe through the character screen was off-putting enough for him. But then with tears streaming down your face? That was when he became deeply concerned for you. There was this anger bubbling inside him, he wanted to take it out on those that made you cry. He wanted nothing more than to be there with you to comfort you. 

He started to do his idle where his bow shows up, resisting the urge to shoot something around him. You were hyperventilating, the tears overwhelming your eyes. He hated seeing you like this, he wanted to see your smile again. Your broken voice hit his ears as he put his bow away. He stared at you as you muttered to yourself.

“I wish you were with me…”

Your words shattered his heart. He didn’t think that you, an all mighty being, could be so vulnerable. And that fact you were so vulnerable in front of him, call him selfish, but he felt so happy that he was the person you could feel like this with. He just watched you cry, plotting the downfall of those that had harmed you. No one would get away with hurting a god such as yourself. 

He calmed down as he saw you drift off to sleep. His eyes were dark with rage, as his gaze from your sleeping figure didn’t break. Your screen dimmed due to inactivity, and his body was stiff. There was only one thing in his mind. And that thought passed through his lips as you could slightly hear him in your sleep.

“Dry your tears, you will have a wonderful place here in the Fatui. You will be protected within the Tsaritsa’s care and mine too.”

LA SIGNORA

You were crying as you had the pause menu open. You thought you could handle this fight against Signoria again. You never liked killing her over and over again, it was too much to your already aching head and heart. She realized you had stopped fighting her, and she saw your crying state. Signoria wanted to go easy on you, hoping you’d just finish this already. She didn’t like fighting you, much like how you didn’t like fighting her.

She felt so upset that someone could have this power over you. Signoria couldn’t even think that you, an all mighty being, could be so vulnerable. She then felt the battle continue, figuring that you decided to push through your sadness. She admired you for the way you would push though. Then the words you screamed out as you continued the fight with her hurt her so much.

“I wish you were with me!

Her anger couldn’t be contained as flames came out of her dress. It was a lot more intense as you tried to beat her. She let you win, however, with one of your best times in her domain. She just hoped it would have made you feel a little better. She saw you exit, feeling so bad as she wished you stayed. She longed for you, and she watched you as you stood outside her domain. 

And after you fell asleep, standing outside the domain, AFK she could still see you. She could see your sleeping, tear stained face. It hurt her knowing that not only fighting her made you so sad, but someone outside their world made you sad. She brought a hand up to the window as she just stared at the carrier of your actions. She muttered out to herself, hoping you heard her in your resting state.

“Even in death, I will try my best to protect you, all mighty creator…”

DOTTORE

You had been attached to Dottore ever since he was shown in the manga. He could feel your attachment even before the game released, even before his story in the game was shown. He admired you so much, and he hated that he had to turn everyone in Sumeru against you. His cutscene played, but he was intrigued when he saw you crying. He started to think that you were so hurt by his plot, by how the whole story quest was going.

He wasn’t far away after that cut scene. He stayed around, wanting to make sure you were okay. But he could only hear your sobbing, and he got closer, wanting to comfort you. The more you cried, the more he wanted to see you. The more he wanted you to see him and his comforting gaze, and it hurt him when you stuttered out of your tears. 

“I w-wish y-you w-were with m-m-me.”

He found your stuttering crying voice cute, but he wanted to help you so bad. Dottore couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact that someone could make you cry. It hurt him when you said that you needed him when he wasn’t there. He wanted so bad to be with you, to comfort you. His mind went to crazy places.

He noticed you were falling asleep, letting the dialogue pause to let you sleep peacefully. He felt honored to see a god like you, fall asleep and be peaceful. He wanted to kill those that made you sad, made you cry like this. His mind was plotting as the screen dimmed. He muttered to himself, not wanting the others around to notice he was there.

“I will do anything to those that make you cry, wire their brains to worship you like the god you are.”

ARLECCHINO

You were so excited to finally see Arlecchino after the trailers and leaks from the community. But you felt so upset during the quest, you couldn’t handle not crying. As you were listening to her dialogue, you were sobbing. Arlecchino’s ears perked up as she heard your sad sobs. It shocked her that you, the all seeing being, could be this vulnerable.

She became more concerned the longer you stayed on her dialogue screen. She had just met you, but she had heard of you through word of mouth, since you were a popular deity that was worshiped all over Teyvat. But seeing you like this for the first time was new. You had trusted her enough, after one interaction, to cry in front of her. Then your soft sad voice spoke up and she was stunned.

“I wish you were with me.”

Her eyes widened when she heard your soft and sad voice say that. She wanted you with her, too, to be worshiped like the god you are. She had always fantasized of all the children of the House of the Hearth meeting you, as they all admired you. She set up a room for you, and she wanted you there more than ever. But there was this rage that someone did this to you, made you this sad.

She sighed as it seemed she would be stuck in this dialogue for a little bit as you fell asleep. She was content, though, seeing you now calm from your previous crying fit. She broke out of her pose to bring her hand to her chin, as she thought to herself. Her gaze was soft as she stared at your sleeping face. She broke the code once more as she spoke off the script.

“I wish I were with you, to wipe away your tears. Once you come here, you will be worshiped by all in the House of the Hearth.”

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee spat blood at whumper's feet. Their wrists were chained over their head as blood ran down their back.

"I won't t-tell you a-anything, I d-don't care if you kill me..." Whumpee exhaled.

"Oh, but sweetheart..." Whumper hummed as they wrung blood out from the whip. They wrenched whumpee's face up by their chin, tracing their jawline with the whip's handle.

"Who said I had any intentions of killing you?" 

[sadgi]

compiling information about the kineema, because I'm normal

hi. you may remember me from this post talking about how the kineema doesn't have a hood. I've decided to compile all the *other* info I can get on the kineema and comment on it. hopefully this is okay to read

---

let's start with what I could find on fayde

INTERFACING - With its air-cooled, rear-mounted twelve cylinder compression ignition engine driving the rear wheels through a four-speed manual gearbox, the Kineema is able to reach 100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds. And go on to a top speed of 180 kilometres an hour. YOU - Won't it roll over in the first sharp corner? INTERFACING - The high centre of balance is offset by a large battery bank mounted at the bottom of the cabin, feeding all the auxiliary systems and making the Kineema effectively a mobile power plant.

air-cooled: no radiator. I assume this is what those big heat-sink looking things on sides of the engine are for

compression ignition engine: diesel, no spark plugs (diesel engines are named after a guy, rudolph diesel, so I guess in elysium they didn't do that)

rear wheel drive: this is pretty obvious just looking at the thing

100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds: not very fast acceleration compared to modern cars, but the history of cars in elysium is obviously very different to irl

battery bank: this is the only thing keeping the kineema from tipping backwards onto its ass as soon as you accelerate

YOU - "What's it packing there?" (Point to the engine.) KIM KITSURAGI - "Hundred-and-thirty." INTERFACING - I reckon that's a seven-litre V12 there. ENCYCLOPEDIA - Man, that's got to be a major advancement over the KR18GU engine on the old Coupris 40. YOU - "Wait, hundred-and-thirty what?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Kilowatts," the lieutenant replies laconically.

130 kilowatts: ~174 horsepower

YOU - "That's what..." (Rub your chin.) "... a seven-litre V12?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Seven-point-two. Supercharged." The lieutenant is trying to suppress a smug smile. Unsuccessfully. EMPATHY - Saying these words brings him immense joy.

7.2 litre engine: space inside the cylinders. 7.2L/12 = 600cc per cylinder

supercharged: has a supercharger. forces more air into the engine, powered by the crankshaft (as opposed to turbochargers which are powered by the exhaust)

YOU - Run your fingers over one of the steering levers. COUPRIS KINEEMA - The white suede feels luxurious under the touch and the metal clutch handle so very familiar in your palm... INTERFACING - Your fingers waste no time closing around the handle. Clutch disengaged. Release the handle -- clutch drops -- right foot yearns for the familiar touch of the accelerator pedal. You have synced with the machine's mechanical circulation.

YOU - "A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right. And remember that abandoned lorry cabin we found?"

steering levers: instead of a steering wheel. not exactly sure how they'd work. I *really* don't want it to have differential steering like a zero-turn mower looking at this video of kim driving it looks like the front wheels are the ones steering

clutch handle: instead of a pedal, the clutch is a handle on one of the levers. seems that accelerator and (probably) brake are still pedals

accelerator is on the right: does everyone left-foot brake??? I guess if the clutch handle is standard then that would make sense

ABANDONED LORRY - The glass on the side windows is tinted and covered with dust. You can barely make out the shape of a seat and two steering levers. [...] YOU - Check the pedals. ABANDONED LORRY - You wedge yourself under the steering-wheel to get a better look. Seems like the few tools lying around here -- a hammer, a pair of pliers, a rusty wrench -- have been casually thrown there by the disorganized driver. ABANDONED LORRY - But one odd detail does catch your eye: A piece of sandpaper has been glued to the throttle.

STEERING WHEEL TYPO

---

alright, let's actually take a look at this thing

two door: the kineema has a single driver's seat and two seats in the back. looks like you'd need to move the front seat forward to let anyone else in

suspension: the back wheels look like they have some sort of spring (the axle is connected to it, so how are the wheels being driven??? same with the coupris 40). I assume the front arms also act as a spring

rear view mirror: looks like there's no rear view mirror, since you wouldn't see shit

aerodynamics: bad

seat belts:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[bibibbon]

Todoroki Rei doesn't feel like an actual character.

Her children do, Shoto does, Dabi does, Natsuo and Fuyumi do.

However, Rei just doesn't. We learn about how Endeavor DROVE her insane with his abuse, caused what she believed was the death of one of her children, made her grievously injure another, and locked her away from all of her children for a decade.

She should HATE the guy.

Yet when Endeavor sends those stupid manipulative flowers - she sings his praises and defends him to Natsuo. Tell me how that makes sense.

People have suggested Stockholm syndrome or manipulative psychiatry as reasoning for her inane Endeavor simping despite everything. Yet if this is the case, it should be portrayed tragically, like Harley Quinn is - not portrayed "admirably" and like she is "so kind" like some members of the fandom have called her.

There's also everything to do with Dabi, and I thought surely this revelation should stir up Rei's hatred. Yet it doesn't.

She gives Endeavor a stern telling off with the rest of her children in tow (which we were all cheering at because this is the bare fucking minimum. ) The Touya backstory hits (in part from Endeavor's POV because he's so reliable as the abuser and the cause of this mess 😒. Why didn't you let Touya tell his own story, Hori!?) It scapegoats her and Touya largely to take a lot of the heat off of Endeavor. And then... she tells Shoto as the hero of the family to save Touya.

Umm...no. Just no.

Endeavor is the hero parent. This should be his responsibility - but it should never be on Shoto to save the brother who wants him dead.

Then, in the epilogue, we find her being Endeavor's carer, staring up at her dying son, Dabi.

Do we see her talk with her son, Dabi? Do we see her cry at his state here? - Nope, it is all focused on Endeavor and his guilt/ self pity.

All she is allowed to do is pose with a solemn expression behind Endeavor's wheelchair and smile cutely at her abuser when the story demands it.

The injustice at the abuse victim - incarcerated mental patient - carer of her abuser pipeline Rei's story has taken is so disgusting.

I am horrified and appalled under Hori, Rei will never be free of her abuser and neither will the rest of the Todofam (Endeavor paid for thier new house after all - he still has the power over it and them as an extension of that. Abusive bastard.)

All I can think of is how horrible it is to handle an abuse narrative in such a way - uncaring of what real people this hurts.

THIS 👆👆👆

Yes, Rei doesn't truly feel like a real character at all because of the way she is depicted.

Even though all of the todoroki backstories come from either shoto, Touya or enji we still can see and notice the horror of rei's abuse. Even with there being almost litte to no focus on rei we can still how she suffered and get a general view to how she was driven to insanity.

So just imagine if horikoshi actually allowed rei to have her own proper perspective and we see HER STORY FROM HER VIEW! @thr0wnawayy (puts some of it into deeper perspective) imagine how gut wrenching it would of been and tell me that she would somehow be okay with being enji's caretaker in the end like he isn't at fault for what happend to Touya (touya's death is literally stated to be her final straw and that she fully broke down after that). Imagine rei a young women who tried to do everything for her children and failed, she ended up hurting them even though she wanted and tried to do what she can to protect them.

Rei should ultimately despise enji completely heck there is no reason for her to like him or tolerate his existence at all. I wholeheartedly doubt that her relationship with enji can even be good in the slightest and her having Stockholm syndrome or manipulative psychiatry also to me doesn't make sense at all after the guy put her and her children through straight hell. Why is her opinion of enji somehow swayed after flowers? He doesn't do anything except send flowers (and I don't even think he has always done that) it's like she has no one. It's like the narrative is blatantly ignoring fuyumi and natsou who stay with their mother and keep her company. Heck fuyumi and natsou brought their mother clothes but somehow only enji's flowers hold any significance. What about shoto who after everything also started a relationship with his mum?!?!?

Why the actual hell does the narrative frame enji giving rei flowers as somehow more meaningful and symbolic than her children doing the exact same thing and more for her!!!!

How about we talk about how horrible rei's condition must of been if she and the doctor said that she shouldn't see enji even though she hasn't seen the man for a decade?!?!? How about we talk about how Rei literally said that she was scared of seeing enji even though its been 10 years?!?! Why does the narrative seem to ignore this moment and its exactly when this moment is ignored that her making an appearance face to face with enji holding the flowers he gave her in chapter 300 is such an underwhelming scene. I personally felt such mixed emotions with that scene.

This scene and what comes after it all feels weird to me and it fails on so many notes. Rei comes in holding the flowers enji has given her and we are supposed to interpret this as her finally overcoming her fear of enji and stepping up both as a character and parent but it falls apart because

We aren't that emotionally connected to rei (she should of had her individual arc that tied her to the family and allowed us to see her prespective)

We haven't seen the steps that led her to becoming like this

After she doesn't even properly beat or scold enji at all. It all ends up being a pathetic speech where the narrative seems to shun from putting almost majority of the blame on enji and instead she continually says its her fault (the narrative tries to paint it like it's all of her fault when It isn't she is part of the problem but enji never seems to get that much criticism)

All of these reasons are there to show that Rei doesn't feel like an actual character. She starts and ends the same and even when her son, Dabi ends up in the same position as she starts from she doesn't even speak to him in chapter 426. Actually she tries and all she says is that she has a lot to talk to him about but then enji hogs all the screentime and she stands back separated from the conversation.

Rei, unlike her family is also not written in a way to fit the families dynamic. Her character isn't logical in a way where she is supposed to hate enji after all he did. Rei also doesn't have role unlike the other members of the todoroki family.

We clearly see that fuyumi wanted a happy family and tried her best to keep up appearances.

Dabi absolutely despised his family after he learnt about his creation but ultimately even as he tried to run away he still has memories of playing with natsou and even when on the verge of death in the 2nd war arc he instinctively calls out to them.

Natsou is like dabi in hating enji and wanting to run away except he follows and accomplishes this in a different path.

Shoto is completely trapped and is supposed to be the saviour child whether that be for enji wanting him to be his masterpiece or for rei putting the title of family hero onto shoto (which she shouldn't of done at all)

Enji neglected dabi and he is the reason why dabi was made. Rei acknowledges this multiple times that what touya wanted was his father's love and attention and she even goes to blame herself saying that she should of tried harder into convincing enji to talk and spend time with his son (which she already did before but he flat out refused and ignored her)

After this rei also claims that shoto is the families hero and this puts pressure on shoto to save dabi, his brother who wanted to kill him for being enjis favourite ever though he never asked for it and actually ended up suffering for being enjis favourite.

Yes, shoto reaching out to rei was important for both shoto and her. It symbolised shoto starting to heal and reconnect with his mother whom he cared about so much and for rei it was a new hope for her and a new goal to be a good mum to reconnect with her child. However, shoto isn't the families hero. He doesn't need all of the families problems on him and he for sure doesn't need to solve them all especially when enji was the one to cause them specifically the ones to do with dabi.

Ultimately I stand by the choice that enji should of died in the first war arc giving more focus to shoto and the rest of the family members.

Enji would die in the line of duty so you would probably have a lot of people try and excuse his behaviour and this would be a good way to explore how this negatively effects the todoroki family and dabi who grows to have even more resentment and has to learn that shoto's life was full of suffering under being enji's favourite.

Rei should of had an arc that tied her into the jaku hospital arc where she learns about touya and stands up to enji at the same time while coming face to face with a lot of the new information and maybe even learning about genten himura her distant cousin. There is so much that could be done with rei and all we got in Canon was a horrible non existent arc where she is used to prop up her abuser!

In the end enji doesn't face consequences for his actions (being disabled isn't a consequence) and his whole dance in hell with dabi ain't even effective because enji hasn't experienced true hell (not to the extent of dabi). In the end enji still has people and he still has money his hell can be paradise for some people like the villains.

[quintessenceofdust88]

(cause apparently I'm all about Tommy getting desperate Evan Buckley calls today)

Tommy is just waking up when he hears his phone vibrating on his nightstand. He was sleeping off a 48-hour shift and he's not quite sure of himself when he wakes up, so he picks it up without checking the caller ID.

"Go for Kinard" Tommy says, his voice hoarse with sleep, and the only answer he gets is a sob, but it doesn't matter. He'd recognize that voice anywhere in the world. "Evan?!" Tommy's so surprised that he forgets he promised himself to not use that name again, for both of their sakes.

"T-Tommy, I'm sorry, I... I didn't know who else to call, I..."

"What's wrong?" Tommy asks, already halfway out of bad. He's never seen Evan sobbing; crying a little over an emotional movie, maybe, but not like this.

"S-someone took M-Maddie. She was kidnapped" He manages to say, and Tommy's stomach drops.

"What?! How could this happen?!" He's been connected to the grapevine enough to know Maddie's pregnant, and he can't even imagine what both Evan and Howie are going through right now.

"I don't know the details, Athena told me to stay out of it and let the police handle it, and I'm trying, but..." Another heart wrenching sob can be heard, and Tommy's heart feels like it's being squeezed. He hates hearing the man he loves (yes, he's at least smart enough to admit that to himself) sounding so broken. "I need you, Tommy"

Well.

Tommy was strong enough to deny something to Evan Buckley once. He can't do it again, not now.

"I'm on my way"

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xx

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: R's Dad gets wind of the plan. He's less than thrilled.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Mention of sex, mention of violence.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: sorry bbys, i know i've been MIA. just enjoying the summer, but I'm back for a new chapter! as always, thanks for all the love and let me know what you think!!

Several orgasms later - when you’re a sweaty, ruined mess underneath Tara’s body, you hear the murmur of voices and the front door slam closed.

Sam’s finally had enough, you think, a little sleepily. Her indignant request for the two of you to keep quiet had only made Tara fuck you harder. She’s annoying like that. And what had been Sam’s loss had been your gain.

Or so you had thought.

There’s a rumble against the floorboards downstairs. Boots, the owner heavy-footed. Sam’s voice - distant, a little apprehensive. And then you hear your Dad.

Deep, like thunder.

He sounds pissed.

“Tara, get off me,” You murmur, suddenly. She’s pressing you down into the mattress, lips on your neck, fingers wandering somewhere you definitely don’t need right now.

You sit up slightly, pulling her up with you.

“But I’m not done with you yet.” She says, eyes dancing as she pulls away from your neck.

She pushes you back into the bed, hard, taking your hands and pinning them over your head. You resist. Your Dad’s steps hit like lightning against the staircase.

“Babe,” You insist, “I’m serious, my Dad is home.”

She quells your fears with a kiss. Nips at your bottom lip.

“He’ll knock, babe, relax.” She assures.

She tilts your head to her lips, but you withdraw.

Panic surges through you.

You hear your Dad’s footsteps on the staircase. You wrench your hands out of her grip and reach for your t-shirt.

Your Dad doesn’t knock. You’ve known it for eighteen years and he certainly is going to stop it now. You pry your t-shirt over your head.

“Clothes, Tara. Now.” You hiss.

She rolls her eyes, but reaches for her own shirt.

But it’s too late. You hear the door click as the handle turns and then the bedroom door bursts wide open.

Your Dad stands, eyes wild, frightening as he looks over at you.

Tara gasps, and tugs the sheets over her body.

“Ever heard of knocking, dude?” She asks, cheeks red, in a rare moment of embarrassment.

Your Dad blinks.

The anger dissipates; he’s startled, like you in bed with Tara was the last thing he expected.

“What the hell is going on here?” He hisses, eyes wide with indignation. He flits between you trying to tug your shirt over your head and Tara pulling the sheets up to her neck. He looks outraged.

“Are you having sex?” He splutters. His eyes might bulge out of his head.

“No, we’re playing twister,” Tara says, voice dry, “Of course we’re having sex, what does it look like?”

She, as always, knows how to twist the knife.

You’d tell her to shut up, but your words - along with a piece of your soul - have died. Shock, embarrassment flood through you.

Rage explodes across your Dad’s face.

His chest heaves. He looks as though he might tackle her. You grip her hand, looking between them.

“Just give us one sec, Dad, we’ll be dressed in a minute.”

He takes a breath. Swallows hard.

Silence fills the room for a single, brutal second.

And then he’s blinking over at you, the rage simmering into a steady swell.

“Downstairs.” He tells you, his voice low, “One minute.”

He pauses, eyes flickering with disgust.

“And put some god damn clothes on.”

-

You briefly consider escaping out the window.

Taking Tara with you - with any luck you’d never have to look your Dad in the eye again. The thought of him tearing Woodsboro apart to find you again has you reluctantly pulling your jeans back on and helping Tara into hers.

“No talking back,” You say, lip between your teeth as you button her pants, “I mean it Tara. Say as little as possible, please. Let me do the talking.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” She grumbles. Her cheeks are still tinted pink. You kiss her cheek, rub her hip. She’s cute when she’s embarrassed, but you save that thought for later.

Right now you have bigger problems.

Your Dad is wildly pacing when the two of you come downstairs. Sam looks over at the two of you, offers Tara an appraising I told you so glare, but your focus isn’t on her. You chew your lip, settle into the sofa with Tara at your side.

“Sorry, daddy,” You say, voice small, “We thought you’d be at work a little longer.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, you know it the moment it leaves your lips.

Your Dad whirls around, eyebrows knit almost comically. Deep, angry frown lines mar his face.

“Where do I even begin?” He asks, eyes flashing, “The arrest? The murder? Setting up Ghostface? What the hell has been going on and why wasn’t I told?”

“Dad, please, calm down-“ You start but the look in his eyes quietens you.

“Not to mention the sex?” He thunders as if it’s even vaguely comparable to the others. He points a beefy finger at Tara, “You spent the morning in jail for multiple murders.”

The finger turns to you.

“You spent the morning committing manslaughter. And then the two of you decided to come home and what? Celebrate?”

His face turns red, “With underage fornication?”

Tara can’t help herself.

“It’s not underage sex, we’re both eighteen-“

“Quiet.” He snarls, “We’ll start with you - Sheriff Hicks arrested you this morning. For six murders.”

“That was a mistake,” Interjects Sam, “Sheriff Hicks got it wrong. The culprit was caught. He’s…. in custody.”

“In custody?” Your Dad says, “He’s dead. And the Sheriff tells me it was my daughter who did it.”

His fingers flex, menacingly. He’s scary like this. You’ve always been aware of his temper, walked on eggshells to please him, but this is something different.

Something terrifying.

“He attacked us at the school, I had no choice.” You say, voice small. Tara’s arm snakes around your waist. She squeezes your hip, gently.

“You had no choice?” Says your Dad, taking a step closer, “You arranged it. The Sheriff told me everything. The plan. The guns. You walked in there knowing you were going to take his life. It was calculated. And you didn’t tell me a fucking thing. How dare you.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Says Tara. Your Dad isn’t the only one with a temper, but Tara’s is much, much worse. If he invokes The Rage, there isn’t much you can do to stop it.

You grip her hand, trying to signal for her to back down.

“I’ll talk to my own child how I please,” Your Dad sneers, “And as for you? You want to tell me why the Sheriff suspected you so much she had you hauled off in handcuffs?”

“Because she got it wrong,” You say, “Dad, are you even listening?”

He’s quiet a moment. His eyes swell. He looks the way he did like the first time you had told him you didn’t need him to push you on the swings anymore. Or the time he’d found out you’d had your first kiss with Aaron, or when you’d bought Tara home for the first time.

He looks devastated. Betrayed.

“You never told me you were having sex,” He says, voice hoarse.

You swallow.

“Dad, that’s - a little too uncomfortable of a conversation to have, don’t you think?”

“I thought you were a good girl. I thought you had values.” He looks distraught. So much so, that you almost feel bad.

“Dad… I’m eighteen, it’s not like I’m a kid anymore,” you say, voice slow, “And Tara and I have been dating for two years. I figured you just… knew.”

Clearly, he didn’t.

If anything, the sex has wounded him more than the murder you’d just committed.

“You’re a Christian girl,” He says, voice insistent, “We raised you Christian. I thought that would mean something. I thought you were a virgin.”

Tara can’t help herself; she snorts.

You dig a sharp elbow into her side, but it’s too late. Your Dad’s eyes flash with fury and embarrassment and grief and before you can even blink he’s reaching over to grab Tara by the arm.

He yanks at her, hard, pulling her up like she’s a rag doll.

You scream out, trying to draw your body between his and hers but Sam gets there first.

She shoves him back, hard as she can and steps between them, her eyes flashing.

Looking wounded, Tara rubs at her arm, face flashing with aggravation. There’s an angry red handprint blooming on her. You pull her back, behind you, wrapping your arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t touch her, don’t you dare touch her.” Sam snarls.

Your Dad breathes out, chest heaving. He glares at Tara, and if you and Sam weren’t between them, you really think he might try and hit her.

It’s a sobering thought. And suddenly all you need is to get her out of here.

“We’re going to go.” You say, voice a little shaky, “Me, Sam and Tara are going, Dad. Until you calm down.”

His eyes flash.

You grip Tara a little harder.

“You’re not going anywhere,” He growls, “These two - they can go. They’re trouble. I want them out. But you?”

He points a finger at you.

“You’re grounded. You’re not leaving the house, as of now. Mom will home school you, you’re not seeing the rat-pack of delinquents you call friends again. And you’re breaking up with her, right now.”

Your heart thuds.

Your Dad’s face is brazen. Serious.

But so are you.

“No.” You say, drawing your shoulders back.

“No?”

“No. I’m eighteen, I can’t be grounded. You can’t tell me who my friends are and you certainly can’t stop me from seeing Tara.”

Your Dad slams his hand against the table. A cup shatters to the ground. You flinch.

“She’s been arrested for murder, YN.” He says, voice fraught. He blinks at you, desperate for you to understand, “And you might believe that she’s done nothing wrong but the Sheriff arrested her for a reason. Between that and the-”

He shudders.

“The fornicating. No. You’re not seeing her anymore. I won’t allow it.”

Sam stands up, hands raised. She looks furious, but there’s something in her voice. Like she’s trying to be the voice of reason.

“Sir - please. I know you’re upset but trying to stop them from seeing each other isn’t the right way-“

“You will not see her!” Screams your Dad, “The Sheriff thinks there’s something wrong with her. That she was in it with Richie. And I saw it, right from the start. There’s something wrong with her, YN. That girl is-“

“That girl is my sister, and I’d watch what you were saying if I were you.” Sam says, voice sharp.

“We’ll go,” Says Tara, rubbing your back. She stands a little straighter, “But YN is coming with us. I'm not leaving without her." 

“Dad, I’m going.” You say, voice stern, “And if you try to stop me I’ll call the police myself. I’m eighteen, you have no right to keep me here like a hostage.”

There’s a vein on your Father’s forehead that looks like it might burst. You’ve never seen him like this before: bubbling with fury and fear and desperation. He’s acting irrational.

Crazy.

And you don’t want to be here a minute longer.

“We’re going,” Sam repeats for you. She still has her hand raised, as if she’s afraid he might lunge at Tara at any given moment, “Okay?”

It’s not okay, clearly.

But your threat of calling the police seems to work.

He swallows. Face still red.

He swears at you.

Calls you ungrateful. Smashes another glass against the floor.

But then he leaves.

And before he can change his mind, you’re gripping onto Tara for dear life and leading her out the front door.

-

Sam drives.

You sit in the back seat, head against Tara’s shoulder, inspecting the red hand marks on her forearm.

Your Dad got angry sometimes, sure, but he’d never physically hurt anyone before. He could have killed her right there, you could tell by the look in his eyes, if you and Sam hadn’t been there to intervene.

You press your lips to the mark, heart aching at the thought your own Father had been the one to hurt her.

“You couldn’t have waited a couple more hours before you jumped each other?” Sam asks, voice wry.

She peers into the backseat just in time to catch the flash of indignation across Tara’s face.

“Way to victim-blame, Sam,” Tara says, crossing her arms, “We were just fucking. He was acting like we were dissecting live cats together or something.”

“I thought he knew we were having sex,” You say, absent-mindedly, “What kind of couple is together for two years without having sex?”

“Mormons,” Tara says, her nose wrinkled, “Or your parents, maybe.”

You roll your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, now.” You say, a little nervous as Sam pulls into the driveway of hers and Tara’s house, “What matters is we get this place safe and secured before we go to bed tonight.”

Tara squeezes your thigh.

Sam gets to work immediately.

She gets her drill out, installing new locks on each of the doors. Tara hides the knives, holsters a small pistol around her waist.

They both look hot.

You keep that thought to yourself and watch Tara as she leans over and reaches for Sam’s drill. She bites her lip as she drills the hinge into place and then turns and catches your gaze.

“What?” She asks, small smile on her face.

“Nothing,” You say, voice coy as she moves over and snakes her arms around your waist, “You just look sexy doing that, that’s all.”

“I look sexy drilling a hinge into the door?” She teases. She presses a kiss to your lips.

You bite your lip and look over at Sam. She’s picking up the drill and then traipsing off into the next room.

“I want you to drill me into the door.” You say, voice low.

Tara’s eyes spark.

Then you hear Sam groan from the other room.

“Again?”

Your cheeks flush red. Tara laughs.

You smack her gently, then nuzzle your head into her neck.

Tara presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m going to finish up these doors,” She says, voice light, “And then I’ll drill you into anything you want, baby.”

You half consider dragging her up the stairs and taking her up on that promise. The adrenaline from the day is manifesting in some particularly horny ways. You don’t know if it’s the fear, or the shock but all you can think about is Tara and how much you want her.

But before you can so much as kiss her, the doorbell is ringing.

Sam peers back into the room, frown on her face.

“If that’s your Dad-” She begins, but you cut her off, miles ahead of her.

If it is your Dad, the last thing you need is Tara around.

You shake her off, worry overtaking your expression.

“I’ll get rid of him,” You say, hurriedly, “Baby, stay here.”

But when you make your way to the door, and swing it open, it isn’t your Dad standing there.

You frown. Clutch at the door a little tighter.

“Sheriff Hicks?” You ask, a little confused. She’s standing with her hat in her hands, looking nervous. More nervous than you’ve ever seen her.

And this is the third time you’ve seen her today, and in all honesty, you’d rather not see her again for a few weeks, at the very least. 

You’ve had your fill of her.

“YN,” She says, peering behind you. She wrings her hands, “Samantha Carpenter, is she here?”

You frown, a little confused.

You feel Tara come up behind you, press her hands to your hips. You don’t need to look at her to tell she’s less than pleased to see the woman who’d arrested her standing on her doorstep.

“Sheriff,” Tara drawls, shoulders tight, “Here to arrest anymore innocent people?”

The Sheriff ignores her. She looks to you.

“May I come in?” She asks.

“No.” Says Tara, arms crossed.

The Sheriff falls silent. Her eyes flit between yours and Tara’s. She looks grave. Like she’s seen a ghost.

“I’m not here to arrest anyone,” The Sheriff says. She sounds serious, “I just need to speak with Sam. It’s about Richie.”

“Richie?” His name draws Sam out from the kitchen.

The Sheriff nods.

“If I could just come inside-”

“You’re not coming inside my house,” Tara says, voice sharp, “Tell Sam whatever you want about Richie, and then leave. Please.”

The Sheriff looks like she wants to argue. But then her shoulders drop. She takes a deep breath and looks Sam right in the eye.

“He’s gone.”

Sam blinks.

“I know, Sheriff,” She says, voice slow, “I was there, remember?”

The Sheriff shakes her head.

“No, Sam. He’s gone. As in we can't find him anywhere.”