#What to do if You Misplace Your Rabbit

[thatsbelievable]

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

literally any romance trope is made better with monsters but unrequited romance specifically... gets me

[merakiui]

thing.

yandere!skully j. graves x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, fear/paranoia, brief mention and description of dead animals note - "he is there—and there again, but you cannot see him plain, for the shadow lies so darkly on the hill."

There is a bundle of black roses propped against your door. Thirteen of them, devoid of thorns, but the threat is still there—nestled within the petals, a foreboding symbolism.

A stupid Halloween prank, you think, gathering the roses and tossing them out.

Come tomorrow, there is a new bouquet waiting for you. These are white, but they have their thorns. A small card accompanies the gift. There’s a message printed in an old typewriter font: No good?

Like before, you discard these flowers. You have no time for secret admirers or daft nonsense.

So the roses stop blooming at your door, tied up with pretty twine and ribbons. Instead, you receive bones and carcasses. A mouse skull. Deer teeth. A mangled bird, its wings snapped and bent at the joints. A rabbit’s foot, warm and still bleeding, the bone jutting out from severed flesh. The roses, you think, were a preview of what was to come—of what you’d soon be mourning.

These macabre presents are wrapped sincerely, shrouded daintily with frilly cloth. They come with their own set of cards, each one typed just like before. 

I can see you.

Good luck on your exam today. Carry this rabbit’s foot with you and you shall know fortune.

This naughty bird is always cawing outside of your window. It wakes you up, so I silenced it for you. It is most beautiful in death, is it not?

Are you going to bring that friend of yours around again? I don’t quite like the scent they leave on your sheets. :(

So you share these morbid anecdotes with your friends over dinner. They don’t believe you.

“You’ve one persistent dog after you,” one of them remarks, eyeing the pictures with a curious, doubtful eye. “A real rotten mutt.”

“But I don’t have a dog,” you reply.

“Well, something’s coming home to you every night.”

“It’s just me. I live alone.”

“Do you? You sure nothing’s following you? You don’t hear the jingle of a collar? The soft padding of paws on tile, loyally trailing after its owner?”

At the time, you thought these were foolish questions.

“The flowers? Definitely a person,” your logical friend suggests. “The dead stuff? Probably a wild animal. A hawk once dropped a mouse in my yard. It’s normal. Someone’s just making a nasty time out of it, leaving those notes to scare you.”

That sounds reasonable. You choose to believe it even when there are inconsistencies and clues that prove otherwise.

You check the locks on your doors and windows. You consider buying cameras, but maybe that’s misplaced paranoia. No one’s inside your house. No person or thing could possibly get in. You’re not sure what would be worse: a tangible human being with human hair, human eyes, and human teeth, or a thing. A thing with claws and a razored maw. A thing with inhuman strength and the eerie quietness of a phantom, plucked right from your nightmares and dropped in reality.

A human being is tangible. A thing could be anything. It could also be nothing.

“I’m not interesting enough to have a stalker,” you tell your logical friend. “Not special enough or rich enough. Not attractive enough.”

“You don’t have to be,” they tell you. “Sometimes all you need to be is alone and vulnerable. Sometimes all you need to do is exist so that they have something to latch onto—something they can covet no matter what.”

“Do you think they’ll kill me?” you ask next, hesitating around that word. Kill. It’s so final and exact. “If they can do such gruesome things to those animals…”

“Or it could be a dog. Dogs don’t kill their owners. They’re loyal.”

“But it’s not a dog. I don’t even think this thing is domesticated.”

“Then what is it?”

“Something.”

It is something malevolent. It is something malicious. It is something you can’t quite fathom—something you can’t picture in your mind because it is always swapping shapes. One minute it’s a nest of mice dwelling within your walls. The next it’s a shadow creature—a demon or a monster. The next it’s a human with strange proportions, too-long legs and too-long arms and a too-long torso. The next it’s a dog with a long, long snout and very human eyes, with human hands for paws, with a curling smile that reveals gaps in its pointed, bloody maw. It feasts on flesh and hunts little, defenseless songbirds, and it’s after you because it wants something you can’t give it.

What does it want? Is this thing even real? Perhaps the anxiety is making a monster out of nothing.

You twist and turn in the dark, wrapped up in sheets that feel more itchy than they do comforting. You’re cold all over, sweating an ocean in your bed. You think your heart might burst out of your chest at any minute. Every creak and groan of the house unsettles nerves that are already pulled impossibly taut. You gaze into the dark doorway, squinting through shadows that look like they’re waltzing in and out of focus.

Or…

Is the door breathing? Is someone there?

You rub your eyes and relief filters in. There’s nothing.

Or…

Your phone cuts a slice of light through your bedroom. You shine it towards the door from where you cower on your bed. There’s nothing.

Your friend—the unfunny one—texts you then, and the vibration scares you more than your imagination. A text is tangible, easily categorized, and yet it’s the scariest thing you’ve just received at this moment, however ghoulishly playful it may be.

u need a leash for ur dog?

You drop your phone. It illuminates the space beneath your bed for a second before the screen shuts off.

You think you hear someone breathing or a heart beating. It’s yours.

Or…

Swallowing thickly, you reach for your phone. You feel soft, fluffy hair. At first, you think it really is a dog when a warm, wet tongue laves over your palm. But you don’t have a dog, and it’s then when you feel the rest of this…thing. Human ears. Human nose. Human mouth. Human teeth. 

Another text brightens your phone. The screen flickers on.

You peek over the edge of your mattress to find a distinctly human face smiling back at you.

might as well get a collar too yeah?

[im-ovulating]

A Jasper kinktober with bloodplay and light choking?

(A/n: Kinktober Day 1/15 LET'S GOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!)

Word Count: 1,774

Summary: Yeah, your trust could have easily been misplaced, he's an apex predator, after all... good thing it wasn't.

Warnings: Blood, light choking, Reader being stupid

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Jasper Whitlock x Fem! Reader: Trust

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

Jasper's weight is solid and comforting on top of you in a stark contrast to the way he is ravishing your mouth.

Your fingers are tangle in his soft curls as you kiss him back with equal fervor. You're dizzy with Jasper - his weight, his taste, his smell. God, his smell... Woodsy but also a bit spicy; it's hard to put an exact name to it, but, if you could drown in it, you would without a first, let alone second, thought.

"Fuck, you taste amazing, darlin'..." Jasper groans, wrapping his arm under you to press you even closer. As he nibbles your bottom lip, he uses a bit too much pressure.

Jasper freezes before you even taste the iron. His once honey-colored eyes now a deep amber as he stares down at you. His chest heaves with unnecessary breaths as he fights to control himself.

Trapped under him, you have no choice but to simply look up at him with wide eyes and bated breath. You're at his mercy; a rabbit trapped in the maw of a hungry wolf.

"Sugar..." His voice is gruff and strained with the effort of fighting his instincts. "Sugar, I need you to get up and leave. I need you to leave the house, get in your car and drive... now." He shifts his weight to free you, giving you a straight shot out of the bedroom.

"But-" "Now!"

You flinch a little at the sudden volume, though you remain rooted in your spot. There's something about the way he's looking at you that makes you unable to move; you're like a deer in headlights or maybe the thought of being so irresistible to him that he has to fight himself is just keeping you thinking clearly. Or you're just insane... Yeah. It's probably that...

"You won't hurt me..." You mumble, barely believing it yourself. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

As you reach up to cup his cheek, your hand is surprisingly steady. You try to bury the hurt that rips through you when he flinches from your touch.

"You don't know that." Jasper grits out. His fingers are fisted in the sheets so hard that his knuckles are impossibly white.

"You haven't hurt me yet..." You reason, knowing that it truly doesn't mean anything. You wipe your bottom lip with your thumb, collecting the red droplets. You ignore the way your stomach flips as his gaze snaps to your hand.

"What are you doing, Sugar?" God, that rasp alone could make you wet.

"I trust you..." Is your whispered response as you lift your thumb to his lips.

"I don't trust me." Jasper retorts. He tries to turn his head, but you don't let him. You swipe your thumb against his bottom lip, smearing the blood on it. it's a taunt - a stupid one - and both of you know it.

You watch with a hammering heart as he subconsciously lets his tongue dart out to taste the liquid. Before you can even react, his eyes go black and his hand closes around your throat as he tilts your head back. His grip doesn't hurt, but it leaves no wiggle room for you to pull away.

"Jas-" You start to say, realizing just how stupid you were. You've known he's a vampire, known that he has trouble controlling himself around blood. Fuck... However, you're cut off as his mouth crashes against yours once more.

Jasper's tongue immediately invades your mouth, tracing the seam of your lips as he laps up more of your blood. A small whimper leaves you, only to be swallowed up by his kiss.

"You're playing with fire darlin'..." his voice is lower than you've ever heard. Hungrier. "You want to play with nature? Toy with your life and my control? Huh?" He lowers his head to trail his nose along your neck, pressing a kiss to your thundering pulse point. "I can smell how wet you are for me... I can feel how aroused you are." You can feel your face grow hotter as he lays the truth out so blatantly. "You like the idea of being so vulnerable, don't you, Sugar?"

All you can do is nod pathetically as he experimentally flexes his hand around your throat.

"Well, consider it done, princess, I'll give you what you want..." He grins against your neck. He gives it a small, harmless nip before pulling back.

He reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off.

"Strip." He orders as he shoves his jeans down.

Apparently, you take too long because before you can even start, he decides to rip your jeans off. The button pops and lands somewhere in the room with a soft *clink* that's drowned out by your startled gasp. Your shirt and panties quickly join them as he trails kisses down your chest.

His hand stays firm around your throat as he draws back to meet your gaze. "Tell me what you want, darlin'... I need to know your mind matches what you're feelin'."

You shiver under Jasper's intense gaze, your heart racing with a potent mixture of fear and arousal. His firm grip on your throat leaves you feeling deliciously powerless, completely at his mercy.

"I want you," you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. "All of you. I trust you, Jasper, even if you don't trust yourself."

Your hands reach up to caress his face, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I know the risks, but I want this. Want you to take me, claim me as yours." You pause, biting your lip nervously. "Please, Jasper…"

Your eyes search his, silently pleading with him to give in to his desires, to let go of his control and give you everything you crave. The hunger burning in his gaze makes your breath catch, anticipation coiling tight within you.

Jasper's grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, making your pulse quicken. His eyes blaze with unbridled desire as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light caress.

"You have no idea what you're asking for, darlin'," he rasps, voice dripping with temptation. "I could snap your neck with barely a thought. Drain you dry in the blink of an eye."

He pauses, letting his words sink in as his free hand trails down your body, eliciting a shiver from you. "But god help me, I want you too. Want to feel you quivering beneath me, hear you moan my name as I fuck you senseless."

His hand drifts lower, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You instinctively part your legs, silently begging him to touch you where you ache for him most.

"Please, Jasper," you plead, fingers digging into his shoulders. "I need you. Take me, claim me, do whatever you want - I trust you."

With a feral growl, Jasper crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your mewls of pleasure. His hand leaves your throat to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him as he grinds his hardness against your slick heat.

"Then you're mine, sugar," he murmurs huskily against your lips. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Jasper's grip on your hips tightens as he lines himself up with your aching core, the tip of his cock teasing your slick folds. You let out a desperate whimper, your nails raking down his back as you try to pull him closer.

"Please, Jasper...I need you," you beg shamelessly, your body thrumming with a depraved, desperate need that you know he can feel.

With a low, guttural groan, Jasper surges forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, welcoming heat. You cry out at the delicious stretch, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock.

He pauses for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his near-black eyes smoldering with barely contained hunger. Then, with a primal growl, he begins to move - hard, fast, relentless thrusts that have you seeing stars.

"Fuck, you feel so good, sugar," he pants, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "So tight, so wet...all for me."

Your back arches as he hits that sweet spot inside you, over and over, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. You're completely at his mercy, your mind hazy with lust and the knowledge that your life hangs by a thread; that you could easily die if he loses even an ounce of the control he's holding on a fraying leash.

Jasper's grip on you tightens as he gathers you close, his lips trailing feather-light kisses along the delicate column of your neck. You shiver at the contrast of his cool skin against your flushed and sensitive skin.

"You're mine, sugar," he rumbles again, the possessiveness in his tone sending a thrill down your spine. His hand caresses your hip, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

You arch into his touch, utterly intoxicated by his nearness. The predatory gleam still lingers in his darkened eyes, but there's a softness there too - a silent promise that he will protect you, even from himself.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, still buried deep inside you. You gasp at the sensation, your body already aching for more. Jasper chuckles, low and delicious, as he watches your reactions.

"So responsive, darlin'," he murmurs, nipping gently at your earlobe. "I could spend all night making you come undone."

His hand trails up your side, skimming the curve of your breast. You arch further into his touch, silently begging for more. Jasper obliges, his thumb caressing your nipple until it hardens into a tight peak.

"Please, Jasper," you whimper, your hips rocking against his in a silent plea.

With a predatory grin, Jasper shifts his weight, pressing you back into the mattress. His thrusts build in intensity, driving you higher and higher until you're trembling on the edge of release.

"That's it, sugar," he growls, his lips ghosting over yours. "Let go for me. Come apart on my cock."

Your vision whites out as the coil of tension within you snaps, your body convulsing around him in ecstasy. Jasper follows soon after, his fangs grazing your neck in a silent reminder of the threat he poses as he spills himself inside you with a guttural groan.

Spent and sated, you cling to him, your heartbeat gradually slowing. Jasper nuzzles your hair affectionately, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

"That was incredibly stupid and reckless of you, darlin'..." Jasper admonishes softly as he settles down.

"I know..." you pant a bit. "But I already told you: I trust you."

[cheriladycl01]

Hi!

Could you please write something for whichever f1 driver you want with a reader who's a children's books illustrator and author? Maybe they get to know each other because his niece is obsessed with her books and he took her to one of her events.

I'd like to see how the grid and the media would react to someone so bubbly, kind, and creative!

Thnx!! <3

My sunshine - Lewis Hamilton x ChildrensAuthor! Reader

Plot: Lewis comes home to find his niece and nephew obsessed with one lady’s books! Little did he know you’d end up being his whole future!

“What you reading there?” Lewis asked as he grabbed some fruit from the fridge and started to cut it up. Babysitting was one of his favourite free time activities.

“MAE THE MAGICIAN” they both yell at him, making him pause cutting the fruit. He knew his niece really enjoyed reading but to see his nephew so excited about this book was odd.

“Mmmm what’s it about?” Lewis asks as he starts to make little snack boxes for the two, ready to take them out to the park.

“This girl called Mae, and she helps Gaia and George using her Magic tricks, she’s funny” the girl describes to her favourite Uncle.

“Woah, what kind of magic tricks does she do?” He asks.

“She makes sure their homework is complete and their beds are made for when their mum gets home!” His nephew explains.

“Oh and then this book is good to. Can we show you our library uncle Lewis” his nephew begs looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes that he couldn’t say no too!

He follows them up, being taken to one of the smaller bedrooms that was being used as as playroom/ library. There was an expanse of books, but what caught his eye was how many of the same author there were.

It was the same one as the book they were reading from earlier. It seemed she had lots of kids books varying in ages from very young, basically just pictures books, to a series of books which reminded him of the Rainbow Magic Series that his brothers girlfriend had read when she was younger.

They all had titles of careers with a matching name. Both boys and girls.

Alex the Astrologist

Bianca the Brain Surgeon

Colin the Conductor

Daisy the Dragon Tamer

Ethan the Ecologist

Freya the F1 Driver

Who?

That intrigued him.

“Have you guys read all of these?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Of course! She’s the best! Our favourite” one of them exclaims as they re-order books that had been misplaced.

“Which ones your favourite?” He asks his nephew.

“She wrote one about me! Called Kaiden the Karate Master” he exclaims making chopping actions with his hands.

“And you?” He asks Willow.

“She wrote one about me to called Willow the Writer” she says shoving the book at him happily to which he looks through looking at all the cute little illustrations to which he later researched that they were actually drawn by the author as well.

Upon doing further research and trying to get some of her latest books on pre-order he went down a rabbit hole, finding her instagram which was incredibly cozy and just what he expected from an author.

There was a few posts of her charity work and what she did around her community. The links led him to her official website where she had her various charities, an about her page that he couldn’t help but browse but he also saw a part where it showed up and coming events.

“Willow? Kaiden? How would you feel about going to meet Y/N Y/L/N, maybe get a few books signed?” He asks the next morning, wondering whether that would be something they were into.

“YES!” They’d both screamed.

He sent you a DM on Instagram explaining that he was planning on bringing his niece and nephew to your book signing in London. You replied immediately which shocked him, explaining you’d be more than happy to do a private signing afterwards for him and his family and how you were a huge fan of his.

At the book signing.

You were pretty exhausted after the public signing and needed to have a break and just grab a drink where your throat was on fire for talking as much as you had.

But within the hour you were ready to see Lewis and his niece and nephew. They were so polite to you when you stood up to greet them and what shocked Lewis even more is how easily you communicated to the younger kids.. It was like second nature to you how you used your hands to basically animate everything you say to make you seem so youthful and energetic.

“Hi I’m Lewis and this is Willow and Kaiden” he introduced and from after that he was insanely smitten with you, everything you did he would watch with wide eyes.

You spent the time interacting with the kids and signing the copious amounts of books that they had bought for you to sign. You also talked to them about upcoming stuff that they would enjoy where they had really liked your career series for young children.

“Hey I know you might think this is a little soon but I’d really like to take you out some time, for dinner” he asked one his sibling had taken the kids outside to the car say that he could ask you some more personal questions. They ranged from what you enjoyed to how you got into writing children’s books specifically.”

“Well, I think I would really like that, I don’t think I’ve ever been out on a proper date” she smiles looking down and blushing lightly at the comment.

”Never been on a proper date, I’ll have to treat you right then?” he smirks looking over you.

“Where would we go?” You ask politely starting to collect the books left over from the signing.

“Out to a restaurant or a movie, maybe a picnic at some point when it’s warmer the weather isn’t great right now” he says stepping closer to her.

After the book signing you and Lewis went on dates, lots of them and to say his niece and nephew were excited was an understatement you would randomly turn up to family events and they’d start to get your books early and not published Waterstones versions that normally were gifted to them.

“Baby I really want you to come to a race with me, I want to show you off to everyone there and how cute you are. I bet the grid will love you just as much as I do. Actually scrap that, that’s impossible” he smiles and you can’t help but giggle.

“Of course I’ll come with you Lew” you smile leaning across him and kissing his check, before gripping his hands and holding them.

“You ready to meet everyone?” He asks with that soft chocolaty voice that could make you melt.

“I think so, I’m just kind of nervous what they’ll think” you say a light blush forming into your face wondering if you’d embarrass yourself on camera, or if they’d ask you questions … it was hard.

“Well, for the record I know they’ll love you. You want a run down?” And you of course nod wanting to know as much as possible.

“Well, there’s my teammate Charles who you’ll probably meet first in the garage. You’ll love his girlfriend Alex she’s a diamond and you’ll talk about fashion no doubt!” He grins and you not trying to take in the names knowing more are to come.

He talks about his ex team-mates George and Valtteri and how you’d get on with both of them pretty well. He also knew Lando and Daniel would love you, as you all had very similar bubbly people personality’s.

He was excited to show you off to not just them but everyone, you weren’t like the other Hollywood Stars and actresses you were just so … normal? NOT that he would ever describe you as that, because that almost felt like an insult to you.

“Are you nervous baby?” He asks looking over to you as he pulls into the paddock.

“A little, I’ve never been around this many people here before” you say looking over to him, grabbing onto his hand on the gear stick.

“You’ll be fine, and you’ll finally get to watch me in my job. I love watching you write and draw but I want you to see what I do” he nods and you smile, loving this side of Lewis.

He had this intimacy that you’d never experienced with anyone else. Little things he appreciated knowing that you’d never had with anyone else.

You walked through the paddock together scanning your little pass on the thing seeing an awful picture of you come up that Lewis must have submitted.

“Lewis what the hell!” You asked gazing at the picture he’d chosen.

“What! I love that photo of you!” He smiles happily gazing at you looking at the picture that slowly disappears.

“Come on, let’s get you to the garage so you can get familiar with everything” he smiles a hand sneaking round your waist as he guides you through the bustling paddock.

When you enter Ferrari Garage your greeted by all the mechanics, a lot of them with young children knowing exactly who you are and wanting pictures to show their kids when they got home.

Charles and Alexandra greeted you only 30 minutes later and you and Alex got along great, taking Roscoe and Leo for walks around the paddock while she tried to help you adjust to all the hustle and bustle of life in motorsport.

“So how long have you and Lewis been together now?” Alex asked with a small polite smile.

“Oh! It feels like forever! He’s only been so sweet and like to me” you grin, your voice getting louder and louder as you talk about Lewis. Alex notices and can’t help but smile at how you’re talking about Lewis.

After meeting Alex and Charles the next people you ended up meeting was Lando and Oscar. Lewis had asked you to grab his water bottle from the car which he’d left behind and you got lost on your way back the two McLaren drivers immediately noticing and recognising you.

They helped you back to the garage just as they were being called for the race and that they needed to get into the car.

Then next thing you knew as you were watching Lewis come round a corner, a little drift as skidded in the gravel but caught himself well enough that it didn’t lessen his time too much.

Then you were casted on the TV screens and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

You gave a polite little wave and grin to the camera before it panned off of you and back onto the race.

“And that’s Y/N Y/L/N she’s the current partner of Lewis Hamilton and she’s a very well known author of children’s books, ones that actually my own children read and I just know they are going to be kicking their feet that I got to meet her today” the commentator offers with a little chuckle.

“Yeah what did you think of her?” The other commentator for Sky Sports asks.

“Ah she’s just so sweet, she wouldn’t stop talking about her writing and I was more than happy to listen and she was so polite and happy and god’s I want her in the paddock more often, she’s such a little ray of sunshine”

After all the excitement, you had this energy around you that you couldn’t describe and it gave you loads of writing juices. You got home to the hotel that night and you wrote down all your ideas, sat in Lewis lap.

You knew for sure you’d be coming back to way more races and you’d been missing out!

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This devotion of yours is misplaced (but this love, perhaps, is not)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.4k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: reader is like vaguely injured, timmy is so in love and sooo crazy abt it, they sorta both are, idk this one's kinda intense guys there's a lot of love in it kinda felt like I was intruding when I wrote it

a/n: I'm so sorry but we're fast-forwarding to established relationship but I promise I'll get back to the pining of the past I just have the intense need to jump around timelines like a rabbit

There's a bulb in the light fixture above your bathroom sink that flickers, the yellow light hazing in and out while the others shine bright. You sit on the counter, leaning your back against your mirror as you cup a hand to your ribs protectively, watching Tim with hooded, lazy eyes. There's a set to his jaw, the muscles clenching as he moves around, pulling your first-aid kit out from under your sink.

You think back to the day he realized you didn't have one, his eyes wide as he spluttered out something about you needing one because what if you get hurt? You'd shot back that you'd always managed without one. He'd accused you of suffering for the sake of it - forsaking softness for the show of it. 

That had cut a bit too deep. He didn't apologize, but you didn't ask him to. The next morning, there was a first-aid kit sitting on your bathroom counter.

Tim's hands ghosting over your sides pulls you from the memory as you suck in a sharp breath. He winces apologetically and hooks a forefinger under your chin, tilting your head to wipe a disinfectant wipe over the cut on your cheek.

"You need to relax," you huff quietly. He shoots you a look.

"I don't like seeing you hurt."

"Then go somewhere else," you shoot back. You feel something that reminds you of a concussion you once had hazing through your mind - maybe if you hadn't, you'd have noticed the way he pulls back from you. You would've kept your mouth shut.

"You know that's not what I mean." There's a strain in Tim's voice that he only gets when he's trying to be good to you - when you're not letting him.

"I never know what you mean," you respond, and there's a tiredness in your voice that shouldn't be there. Tim's shoulders drop, his stance shifting as he looks at you. He's trying, you realize, to let himself be read. But acts of love like that are so often impossible for things like you and him.

"I would rather…" he begins slowly, eyes flitting around while he searches for the words. "I would rather, if you're hurting, that you do it right here where I can help you. I don't want you to do it alone."

"This is part of the job - and I did it alone for a long time," you point out. He fixes you with a frustrated stare.

"But you don't have to now. I'm here now," he insists.

"Are you?" Tim huffs through his nose, fixing a butterfly strip over the cut on your cheek.

"If you'll let me," he says. There's a gentleness there that you're not sure you deserve.

"I don't know if I can." A warble cuts through your voice in a way that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Tim smoothes his hands up your thighs, parting your legs so that he can stand closer to you between them. His thumbs dig into your muscles gently, rubbing circles into your skin.

"Explain that to me," he prompts. You sigh and tilt your head back to lean it against the mirror, eyeing him through your lashes.

"I don't think I'm any good at being helped," you say simply before leaning forward enough to cup his cheek in your hand, smoothing the furrow between his brows out with your thumb. "And I'm not sure you're any good at helping. You're going to give yourself a headache."

"It's worth it," Tim says, but his response is too quick, a jumbled rush of breath leaving his lungs. You fix him with a knowing, warning sort of look as his devotion to you rings through you and thumps against your heart. 

"Careful," you warn, but the hand you use to grip the back of his neck and bring him closer to you betrays you. "You can't lose yourself in this, Red. You can't love me enough that it makes you whole." His fingers tense on your thighs, pressing in, but he lets you pull him closer.

"No calling me that when I'm not wearing the mask," he murmurs, a shoddy sort of diversion. A smile twitches on your lips.

"But you are red," you say, smoothing your thumbs over the blushing apples of his cheeks. "Right here. And there's no one here to hear me… no one but you." Tim gives you a pained sort of look, his shoulders bunching in embarrassment, but you throw him a lazy smile and lean forward to place a quick kiss to his lips. He doesn't miss your wince when you do.

"Let me see your side," he asks gently.

"Nothing's broken," you respond quickly. He shoots you a look and reaches anyway, pulling your shirt up to reveal mottled purple and blue bruising over your ribs. A gentle hand is placed over it as he murmurs for you to breathe deeply. You try to, but the softness of it all is making you dizzy, making your chest ache for an entirely different reason.

"I don't think anything's broken," Tim assures as he pulls your shirt back down, his hands then finding their home on your waist.

"I told you that," you remind him dryly. There's a stubborn set to his jaw.

"I wanted to check."

"You need to have faith in me."

"Do you have faith in me?" He doesn't say it like an accusation, but you pull back like it is. He looks at you hard, the light flickering over his face and the furrow of his brows. It's a determination that you should be used to by now - one that's born of a desperate devotion to you, a need to get on his knees and pray.

You think he might do it now, just for a second, as he tenses to pull away from you. But you make a panicked, needy sort of sound as you reach for him and it's enough to bring him back to you, some kind of innate pull he has that draws him to your aid. His hands cup your face delicately and he smoothes his thumbs over your cheeks as you close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe.

"I'm not a… I'm not a faithful kind of person, Red. There's a devotion in you that's misplaced." You try to say it gently, the words pulling at your vocal cords as you speak, everything coming out painfully. Tim leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

"You don't get to choose who I worship," he offers. Your shoulders tense slightly.

"Do you worship me? Or do you love me?" You ask. He doesn't pull away, keeping his eyes closed as his forehead rests against yours.

"What's the difference?"

"There's a gap there, Tim. The difference between devotion and worship. It's - it's love that separates the two," you explain, squeezing your eyes shut.

"I love you." He says it like it's easy.

"Are you sure?" He pulls away at the question, thumbing over your cheeks until you open your eyes to look at him. He's still close enough that you can feel his breath on yours.

"There is a part of you that knows how to be loved," he says - like it's simple. "I'm going to stay here until you find it."

"And then?"

"And then I'll stay to love you." Your hands reach for him at his words, bunching the front of his shirt in your fingers.

"What if that never happens?" You ask, looking anywhere but him, anywhere but straight into the love shining in his eyes.

"Then I'll pray to you," a kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth. "Like I always have."

"I'm not an idol to obsess over," you protest weakly. More kisses are pressed up your cheek, over your eyelids once they flutter closed, and down the bridge of your nose.

"No," Tim acknowledges easily. "You're someone to be loved. But you haven't figured out how to do that yet, and I… I haven't figured out how to do this yet, either." Your hands move from his shirt to tangle in his hair as you pull him impossibly closer.

"Maybe we'll never learn," your voice is hushed as his lips hover over yours. "Maybe we'll be these things forever."

"Then we'll be them together," is Tim's immediate answer, his lips brushing against your own. "And maybe that's all we need."

[arisewanekosuki]

Genshin White Day 2024

Pictures and messages under cut! 💖

"The weather has been rather sorry of late, and we've had more patients coming in as a consequence. Most have been suffering from wind-cold dampness, presumably because they haven't been looking after themselves properly..." "Thinking of you and your outdoor escapades, I was worried that you might have been neglecting your health too. So, seeing as I had some free time today, I decided to come over and check in on you." "It seems like my concerns were misplaced, though. Despite how long it's been since we last saw one another, you're still looking as healthy and energetic as ever." "...Instead of just rabbiting on like this, will you hurry up and hand it over! I've already fallen asleep and woken up again, but somehow the cake you were planning on giving the Traveler is still in your hand!" (Artwork by カネンゴミ)

"Here, take my hand and look this way. Three, two, one—— Oh, the magic trick worked! Thank you for your outstanding cooperation. Now, sweetie, I'd like to invite you to pick a chocolate and pop it in your mouth. Whichever one you choose, I guarantee you it'll taste better than you can imagine~" (Artwork by DSマイル) (Little fun fact, Lyney in Chinese says"小甜心" (Little sweetheart), and in Japanese "ハニー" (Honey) :3c)

"Judging from your expression... you haven't forgotten me, have you? What do you mean by "Abyss Lectors all look the same, come back in human form"? ...It seems the farewell gift I gave you at our last parting failed to leave a strong enough impression. I even went out of my way to pick some lovely flowers for you this time. But our Highness knows not of my coming, so I can't help you pass on any messages. So, do you think you can forgive me at last? Oh, come now! Lower your weapon and let's talk this over..." (They didn't put name of the artists under this one so I assume it was drew by official artists working for Hoyo)

[frownyalfred]

Question, cause I have an idea I can't shake and I wonder how you think it'd go because your takes are always immaculate, in an injustice style world where Supes goes off the rails and the JL follows him what do you think the Bats would do if Bruce was the one who died?

All of the batkids are alive (none of the kind of weird Damien accidentally killing Dick stuff) and Bruce goes to confront Clark about it and somehow it ends in him dead.

Very distinct scene in my head where Bruce sees it all unfolding and tells the kids he's going to go talk to Clark with very little expectations of success and the next time they see their father it's Kal-el delivering his body to them. Telling them he's sorry, but Bruce didn't understand. He's sure they do though, he's heard them argue with him. They understand sometimes death is necessary.

How do you think they'd react?

(saw some stuff from Suicide Squad Kill the Justice League and was thinking about the Bats and somehow this was born)

Personally I think there would maybe be some murder but you know it's just a little idea

Idk if I'll ever get around to fleshing it out and writing it but it's been plaguing me. I think Alfred deserves to get the final blow, you know if Kal killed his kid. He should be the one with the long range sniper rifle and a clip of kryptonite bullets. He deserves it you know?

I think it all kind of depends on the type of Clark here (is he really Injustice-y yet? is he a straight up dictator when Bruce goes to talk with him, or just warming up?) AND it depends on how Clark explains Bruce's death to the League and the Batkids.

Does Clark kill Bruce out of anger? Is it an unfortunate accident? A little bit of both? If Clark is really falling down the Injustice rabbit hole, he can explain it away as a Joker plot to save face. If he's still Clark, I think he would tell people the truth -- either that it was an accident, or he hit Bruce but didn't mean to kill him, etc.

Sometimes, getting revenge for a loved one's death is about making the person responsible feel your pain and devastation. The Batkids and Alfred will need to evaluate if there's 1) a way to hurt Superman that doesn't end with all of them hurt/dead too and 2) any hope of making Clark feel more guilty/devastated than he already is over Lois, his kid, AND Bruce.

There's nothing like showing up with a big kryptonite blade to kill Superman and him just...agreeing with you? And hating himself for what he did? But a Superman who's falling into that dictator role, who denies responsibility or some responsibility for Bruce's death, who tries to capitalize on it all for his new worldview -- that's a Superman worth fighting against.

If we take the Batkids as Bruce's substitute during the main events of Injustice, then yes. They'll create the insurgency and fight against the regime, in Bruce's memory. But it's an interesting upend of Bruce and Clark's dynamic, since part of their regime/insurgency was always underlaid by the fact that they were/are equals, and once very good friends.

These are Bruce's kids Superman would be hunting down, one by one. Does he restrain himself from killing them, out of some misplaced sense of guilt? Does he want to recruit them away from their insurgency because he knows even one Batkid alive is a huge threat?

All really good questions. Injustice AUs are so much fun, I don't know why there isn't more fic about them!

[adverbally]

The Victims Have Been Bled

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Vampire” | wc: 1,585 | rated: M | cw: canon-typical violence and gore, violent animal death (offscreen but the aftermath is discussed), non-con/rape vibes around a forced biting situation | tags: evil vampire Eddie, psychological torment, obsession, vampire lore in the style of Buffy the Vampire Slayer | title from “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” by Bauhaus

———

It starts small. Misplaced belongings, clothes that he must have left at Robin’s the last time he slept over. Feeling like he’s being watched from the tree line in the backyard. Startling awake from a dead sleep, thinking he heard someone call his name. Just enough to leave him unsettled.

Then the dead animals start appearing around his yard. Rats and birds, at first, making Steve wonder if a stray cat is leaving gifts on his doorstep, until the carcasses get bigger. Rabbits, bobcats, foxes, even a massive buck one memorable morning. As vicious as their wounds are, there’s hardly any blood on them.

“They’re being killed somewhere else,” Robin theorizes, pacing around Steve’s kitchen. “That’s why there’s so little blood, someone is doing the killing somewhere else and bringing the bodies here.”

“Why would anyone do that?” Steve rubs his hands over his face. He’s hardly slept in the past week, jumping at every little noise in the hopes of catching the culprit in the act.

Robin’s face is serious. “To send you a message.”

Hopper seems to agree, since he asks the department to assign a patrol to Steve’s block. “Make sure you’re locking your doors and windows,” he reminds Steve as they walk the perimeter of the house. “People who kill animals for fun don’t always stop there.”

Steve keeps everything locked up, even when he’s staying at someone else’s place more nights than not. Robin’s parents insist it’s safer for him to stay with them than in that big empty house, and Dustin invites him over when his mom has to work the night shift. It would be kind of nice, being fussed over like this, if the circumstances weren’t so alarming.

Being around other people doesn’t stop the dreams, though. Every night it’s the same— someone whispering Steve’s name right behind him, cold fingers tracing over his shoulders and up his neck. Let me in, they encourage, until it feels like the idea was Steve’s to begin with, until teeth (fangs?) sink into his flesh with a sting that radiates red-hot through his body and he’s gripping at the cool limbs holding him in place like they’re the only thing keeping him from floating away…

When Steve wakes up, he’s drenched in sweat and hard in his boxers and shaking with fear.

He’s sick of this game, where he’s not even a player but a pawn to be toyed with. He’s sick of being afraid of every little sound in the dark and sick of wondering how far this is going to go. He’s not waiting around until things get worse or this psycho goes after his friends. This ends tonight.

The sun is just sinking below the horizon when Steve pulls into the driveway. The front yard is clear, from what he can tell, and the house stands dark and silent in the twilight. He grabs his bat from the trunk of his car and heads around to the backyard.

The pool lights are on and steam is rising from the surface into the cool autumn air, though he’s pretty sure he shut everything off before he left. Steve’s sweaty grip tightens, raising the bat so he’s ready to swing at the first sign of trouble.

As he inches past the diving board toward the back door, a dark shape in the water catches his eye.

“Hey,” he calls with a confidence he doesn’t feel, “I’m gonna give you one minute to leave before I call the cops.”

There’s no response, just the gentle splash of the water as the shadow floats around.

Steve takes a step closer. “You hear me?” It’s so hard to see in the fading light and steam coming off the water. He scoots as close as he dares to the edge of the pool and squints for a better look.

It’s a body.

A woman’s body, with long brown hair and suntanned skin and freckles, wearing a yellow sweater and blue jeans and white sneakers. She’s clearly dead, floating with her pale face on display and her vacant stare aimed at the sky.

“Pretty, huh?”

Steve startles at the voice echoing across the water. “Who’s there?” he calls back in the direction of the tall dark figure at the other end of the pool.

“She reminded me of you,” they continue, ambling along the deck toward Steve with a purpose that feels predatory. “Gorgeous hair, all those little beauty marks.” They tilt their head thoughtfully. “You won’t beg like she did at the end, you’re braver than that. I just wish you could’ve been a little braver when it counted. Probably would’ve saved my life.”

The back of Steve’s neck prickles. That’s the voice from his dream, but it sounds familiar now in a way it hadn’t upon waking. His voice shakes when he asks, “Eddie?”

“Steve?” he mimics, pitching it to match Steve’s fear, before he relaxes into his natural voice. “Yeah, did you miss me?”

“You were dead,” Steve insists, trying to hold the bat steady in front of his body as Eddie continues to stalk around the pool, closer and closer. He can make out his shape now, the riot of curls and his lanky frame and the big, piercing eyes peering out of the darkness.

He shrugs. “That’s the first step. Imagine my surprise, waking up alone in the Upside Down, knowing I had died but feeling better than ever. Stronger, faster.” His grin shows a glint of fang. “Deadlier.”

Steve shakes his head uselessly. “The animals, the dreams— that was all you.” It’s not a question but a painful statement of fact.

“I’ve been thinking about you. Even before I died, you know? Popular, gorgeous, noble Steve Harrington, who wouldn’t fall for you? I just wanted to make sure you were thinking of me, too.”

“Yeah, mission accomplished,” Steve spits. “You’ve been tormenting me for months.”

“You think you know torment?” Eddie closes his eyes and tips his head back as he takes in an exaggerated breath through his nose. “Every night, I stand out here and smell you. All spicy and warm. It’s so good, it’s like torture, especially when I know you’re gonna taste even better.” When they open again, his eyes are such a deep red they seem to glow.

“You need to leave,” Steve tells him.

Eddie laughs out loud, that same wicked cackle that was so contagious. Now it just makes Steve’s blood run cold. “Who’s gonna make me?”

Steve doesn’t even think before he’s sprinting for the back door, following some primal corner of his brain that’s telling him to run for his life. He makes it about halfway there before he’s tackled to the deck.

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie croons from above him, “you didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for me.” He mouths at Steve’s jaw, buries his nose just under his ear and sniffs.

Eddie hadn’t been kidding about the enhanced strength; he doesn’t even flinch when Steve pounds his fists against his chest or tries to push his face away.

“I can make it so good for you,” Eddie promises. He licks a thick stripe up Steve’s neck that makes him shiver despite himself. “Just a little taste. Then you’ll be begging me for more.”

“No, Eddie, please,” Steve protests, no longer fighting down the terrified tears springing to his eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”

The scrape of fangs against his skin makes him feel sick. Desperately, he gropes along the deck with one hand, trying to get away from the piercing violation as Eddie bites down—

Steve’s fingers close around the handle of the bat where it had fallen beside him. Without a second thought, he raises it and slams it down into Eddie’s skull.

With a yowl, Eddie pulls away from him, distracted enough by the nails tearing through flesh and bone that Steve can shove him off and stumble to his feet, barely keeping hold of the bat. He darts forward, yanks at the handle on the sliding glass door, and…

It doesn’t budge. Through the glass, Steve can see the mechanism on the inside handle, firmly set to the locked position.

Thank god it’s glass, Steve thinks, and he winds up and swings the bat hard into the door. It shatters immediately and he jumps through the falling shards just as Eddie’s clawed fingers swipe at his jacket collar. From the pile of broken glass on the floor of the sunroom, Steve looks up and sees Eddie slamming his hands into an invisible barrier in the doorway.

So, it’s true that vampires can’t enter a private residence without permission. Steve makes a mental note to tell Dustin.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s head is drenched in his own blood and his eyes are flashing in the moonlight, but his manic grin hasn’t changed. “This is no way to treat a guest. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Steve claps a hand over the bite on his neck, putting pressure on the still-oozing wound. “Go to hell,” he says.

Any warmth that might have lingered in Eddie’s gaze disappears like a switch has been flipped. “I think you’re the one who’s going to be in hell,” he says calmly. “I’ll see you soon. Just let me know when you get tired of letting innocent people die in your place.”

With a little wave of his fingers, Eddie is gone.

Steve sits there among the broken pieces of glass and feels himself break a little, too.

[alyana-luvs-u]

final girl

stu macher x billy loomis x reader

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

word count : 1409

TRIGGER WARNING:

!BLOOD, !GORE, !DEATH, !SWEARING, !DARK

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“shit, shit, shit, shit” you frantically whisper, tears streaming down your face rapidly. The floorboards creak and you pivot on your heel, panic striking you in the chest like a knife. A masked figure tilted his head at you quizzically, studying your frightened expression almost amusedly.

“what’s wrong y/n? Scared?” He taunted, playing with the sharp knife as if it were merely a toy, twirling and spinning it mesmerisingly. You merely scream, yanking a kitchen knife, holding it in front of you in fear-fueled adrenaline. This was not what you had in mind when you agreed to Stu’s Halloween party invitation.

“S-stay back!” you scream, stumbling over your feet. Everything was swimming in your vision, blurred with tears. The killer merely laughed, shaking his head.

“and they said that you were smart y/n.” He clicked his tongue condescendingly, almost basking in your apprehension. Leaning forward, you can hear the smirk in his tone as his cloak sweeps the floor as he studies your trembling body.

“let’s play a game.” You shake your head furiously, backing away into the wall, your face streaked with panic as you hit a dead end. Ghostface strode towards you, his knife teasing you against your neck, tracing the edges of your pulse point.

“PLAY THE GAME OR ELSE I’LL GUT YOU LIKE I DID TO CASEY BECKER!” He roared, his breath hot on your skin through the mask. You shudder again, sobs breaking out from your mouth as you nod again. You go still as a leather glove-covered thumb wipes the salty water off your cheek, bringing his mask up ever so slightly as a pink tongue darts out, ghosting over the tear. You blink in surprise, before his lips curl into a smirk, before disappearing behind the screaming ghost.

“The game’s called Run or Die. You run. If you get caught.” He lets out a psychotic laugh, pulling your body closer to his by the nape of your neck. He’s severely taller than you, and judging by his tight grip on your waist, stronger as well.

“you die.” He purrs into your ear, letting out a maniacal laugh that was underlying with laced venom. He lets you go as you freeze against the stark cold floorboards, rubbing the sore spots on your torso.

“3…2…1.” He counts down before breaking away. You began to run again, your heartbeat and the pounding of your shoes bouncing in your ears. One misplaced step and it was all over. You cry out as you slip, bile rising to your mouth, burning your throat as you realise that you have slipped on a puddle of crimson, metallic-smelling liquid. Organs and different limbs lay mangled in a twisted heap and you realised with a horrific gasp that it was your best friend Tatum. Her blood was cold, and her eyes were wide and unmoving, frozen like that for decades to come. A warped sound came behind you. You swing around quickly, a broken sob escaping your lips, blood splattered on your Mary Janes. Your white lacy-knee-high socks were already coated with the thick substance and when you licked your lips, you almost fainted. Bitter, metal-tasting liquid lay on your tongue. Whose blood? Maybe your deceased best friend, or some other corpse that lay, disturbed around the house. Your h/c was frizzed and knotty, clumps of red speckled in the yellow, your black bow discarded somewhere. You had originally gone as Alice in Wonderland with Tatum as the white rabbit. Now, Tatum’s furry ears were torn and wrecked, her throat to match. Gore was splattered on your tight blue dress, as you hold your breath, knowing it would only anger him more if to run.

“do you like my present?” Ghostface bent down, his finger grazing the rippling surface, covering his pointer finger in the red. He then leant towards your shivering figure, forcing his finger in between your lips.

“swallow!” he shouted at you, and you choked at the intruding digit, forcing yourself to swallow. It seemed to stain your throat as you looked up with tear-stained cheeks and reddened lips. God how pretty you looked, on your knees beneath him. You did crazy things to his brain, and he licked his lips beneath the mask.

“good girl.” He coos, caressing your cheek with such tenderness that you close your eyes, tears burning the lids, at his touch, tracing patterns before the cold metal of the knife replaces his touch. He smirks at your face.

“are you scared doll?” You swallow at the pet name, tears clouding your eyes once more before nodding frantically. He hums in satisfaction, the blade dipping towards your neck again dipping between the joints and carefully, and gently ripping the skin. You jerk in pain before settling down as his gaze lands on you. It is quiet. You can hear his hot breath through the mask, rough and steady. You shiver silently, whimpering and looking down as he tilts his head, studying you. He was going to kill you. You begin to weep pathetically again.

“don’t cry, darling.” He speaks, coming forward and taking off his blood-stained gloves, touching your cheek tenderly. You sniffle.

“p-please. I-if y-you w-want to k-kill me j-just do i-it n-now!” you blubber through the hot tears. You felt pitiful and desperate, crying for mercy at a killer’s blade. You cry out as Randy limps into the room, followed by Stu. You yanked the gun from your pocket that you had stolen from Dewey earlier when you found his body. The masked figure disappeared soundlessly into a dark hallway, hidden from sight.

“P-Please y/n! S-Stu’s the k-killer!” Randy cried out, holding his bleeding side. Stu shot you an incredulous look before crying out.

“For bloody fucks sake it’s Randy!” You looked between the two panic evident in your eyes. Stu caught it, a small smirk curling on his lips before masking it with fear.

“c’mon y/n! It’s me! Stu!” He begged, pouting for dramatic effect. You’re frozen, closing your eyes before shooting blindly. You hear a scream of pain from your right. Haunting and lifeless, loud and sinking its claws into your brain, staining you forever. It’s muffled by a gag, and a body hits the floorboards. You pray to all the gods in the existence of planet earth it is the right one. You open your eyes slowly, and your gaze finds the bloodied body on the floor, motionless and still. Randy. His eyes wide and gasping, his hand going limp on his side as the blood drips over his fingers and gushes onto the wooden planks. You glance to your left and you swear you see a maniacal glint in Stu’s eyes before it is gone.

“y/n/n. Oh my god.” He breathes out, clutching his chest. You trace his fingers and notice red splotches lining his palms and blood it splattered on his boots. You wordlessly point at it. He looks down, surprised before shrugging.

“that’s kinda what you get when everyone around your house is getting murdered.” He says it so nonchalantly that you stifle a gasp. His eyes had reduced from subtle to full-on, and Ghostface stepped out from behind him, but he didn’t flinch. He merely picks up a mask from the corner, holding it up to his face mockingly as you tremble.

“scared y/n?” it’s the same voice from the phone. The remaining Ghostface, slowly but surely takes off his mask too and you scream. It’s Billy. Sweet, loving, caring, kind, funny Billy. Your Billy.

“Surprised?” he seems proud of what he’s accomplished, smirking a cheshire cat grin. You feel like you can’t breathe, and you soon realise why. A veined, ring-clad hand is grasping your neck, blocking your airways.

“y-you” you stutter, tears stinging your eyes as he peers endearingly at you.

“you t-tricked me!” he chuckles, twirling the gun bloodied knife between his fingertips, the familiar action stirring a feeling in your gut.

“we all go a little bit mad sometimes.” He grins wolfishly, ‘booping’ you on the nose manically.

“w-why?! W-why n-not ju-just kill m-me?!” you screech, backing into the wall. Your airways are rapidly closing off your own accord and tears begin to sway your vision.

“oh darling.” Stu chuckles, Billy holding a bit tighter.

“Because you’re our final girl darl.”

And ever so perfectly and hauntingly, your eyes close and your body goes limp, only the remainder of a psychotic chuckle and scream sinking into the abyss with you.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

how deep is your love (i really mean to learn)

A little Deuce box drabble based off of this one TikTok I found:

Reader is female

Masterlist

If there was one thing that Belinda Carlisle got right was that Heaven is a place on Earth (well, at close to Earth that this strange magical world was, anyway) - at least that’s what you thought as you snuggled deeper into your boyfriend’s chest from where you he was cuddling you on the couch, the way his dextrous fingers carded through your hair and the soft thumps of his heartbeat making it all too easy for you to melt against him. Of course, it would be a bit strange to call the creaky, formerly cobweb and dust infested haunted dilapidated building that was oh so graciously bestowed upon you any form of paradise but the sheer euphoric bliss that filled you every time you were with Deuce Spade was better than anything Shangri La had to offer. 

With Grim conked out on a couch pouffe at your periphery, your assignments all completed and no classes, messes or responsibilities to think or even care about, you fully allowed yourself to submerge into the cozy embrace of both your boyfriend and the serenity of Ramshackle’s living room; the lights all off save for the dim glow of the fairy lights you had streamed onto the walls hours prior, the jumper he had given hanging enveloping you as well as the blanket he had lovingly draped over you, and the romcom movie playing on the screen in front of you were all in favour of reminding you that right here and now you weren’t some geographically misplaced teenager in a daunting new world, shouldering burdens far too heavy for any person to bear, you were just a girl cuddling with the boy you loved and living in the moment without a single worry in the world. You felt safe. He made you safe.

“I love you,” you sighed, though you didn’t think ‘love’ truly did justice in encompassing what you felt for him. You felt seen and heard and protected and cherished so adoringly you had no idea what to do. You felt like you were falling deep deep down into a rabbit hole of new territory but you weren’t scared at all, knowing - no, predicting - that he’d be there as your parachute, your safety net - defending as you descend and cushioning you with his embrace before you could even hit the ground. 

You felt his lips curve into that shy smile you’ll forever adore from as he kissed the top of your head. It was so endearing how he still took to dating like a baby duckling waddling towards a lake despite all that you’ve been through together and all the time you shared - such a stark contrast to the baleful attitude that he’d give to anyone that dares to mess with you, the same attitude he’s always so ashamed of despite your plaudits, “Hmm, I love you.”

“Well, I really love you,” you shot back playfully, scrunching up your face cheekily as you looked up at him.

Deuce raised an amused eyebrow, and despite the efforts of the golden glow around him in veiling him etherealness, lacing around his body like an empyrean halo, he looked every bit like the rambunctious teenage boy that finds himself in mischief seven days out of a week, Well I guess I really, truly love you.”

Oh you weren’t going to let him get away with that.

“Well I~,” gleefully drew out the word, half to play up the act and half to buy you time to think, “really, truly, madly love you.”

You didn’t know if he knew that your addition, whilst said in jest, was more true than he could ever even imagine.

Deuce humphed in faux annoyance, “Alright then. Well I, really, truly, madly, deeply love you.”

“Well I really, truly, madly, deeply, passionately love you,” you triumphantly returned, pressing a kiss on his chest, right over the comforting lub dub of his heart, in emphasis.

“Okay. Well I really, truly, madly, deeply, passionately…” his voice was breathier now, trailing off and faltering where you left off as you continued to press kiss after kiss on his chest and you could feel the arm wrapped around you tightening. You looked up at his wide-eyed, flustered expression, the dim lighting doing nothing to hide the flush that spread along his countenance, and gave him an innocent look that did a shoddy job of hiding your giddiness at one-upping him. He collected himself and gulped before shakily continuing, “re-remarkably love you. No-no fair, you’re cheating.”

“Says who?” you quipped back, giggling at the groan you got for yet another kiss, “I’m just showing you how much I love you. Can you really fault me for that? Also, I really, truly, madly, deeply, passionately, remarkably, umm… (you saw the corners of Deuce’s lips lift upwards at your hesitation and your brain began scrambling) deliciously love you.”

At your responding harrumph and the sight of you spiritedly sticking your tongue out, he gave in to your interesting choice of word, shaking his head and chuckling to himself before saying, “Well I really, truly, madly, passionately, remarkably, deliciously...  juicily love you.”

“Deeply!” you exclaimed, pointing a disbelieving finger at his stunned face, “Deeply! You passed on deeply! Which was your word, which means you couldn't have meant it! So you're a fraud, that's it!” 

You shoved at his chest and pushed yourself away from him, fake crying as you clutched a nearby throw pillow and let out your betrayed anguish into it and you could feel him rolling his eyes at your back as you ‘whimpered and sniffled’ about how your one true love turned out to be a lie. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around your middle and brought you back towards him, your back resting snuggly flush against his chest as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. You maneuvered yourself so that you were facing him, straddling his thighs as you hugged him back.

“You're-you’re,” you try to continue your heartbroken ruse even as laughter overtakes you so you soldier on despairingly, “you’re probably just a figment of my imagination…”

Having enough of your antics, your boyfriend pulled you back and kissed you - truly, madly, deeply, passionately kissed you, angling his head and slotting his mouth like the perfect puzzle piece he was. Thoughts of continuing your poor theatrics unravelled into nothingness and you just let your emotions and need for more, more, more. When the unfortunate necessity for air started to become more and more apparent, you reluctantly pulled away by a hair's breadth before he rested his forehead on yours, lovingly gazing at you like you were the only thing worth looking at. He opened his mouth but you interrupted.

“Hang on,” you piped up in confusion, knitting your eyebrows together, “‘juicily’?”

He just groaned before engulfing your mouth with his yet again.

Yeah, you were right. You had reached Nirvana.

[docholligay]

Choose Your own Adventure April 2024

Thank you to everyone who has continued to support this silly project! Your comments mean so much to me and keep me going as i power through some real struggles with writing, thank you!

Fareeha Amari often asked for counsel, she would tell you. There were people with much greater knowledge and skill, and it would be arrogant of her to assume that only she understood every situation as it arose. Fareeha believed that iron sharpened iron, and if one wanted to be sharp, one had to accept that a bit of you was going to get shaved off, now and again. She was perfectly content to accept a bit of humbling, in order to be made keener. 

What had not occurred to her, in taking Doc’s counsel, was that it required her to take Haruka’s, whatever that had been. Even less had it occurred to her that Haruka would not have taken into account the rain and damp, and that they were on a road where someone was sure to come by, whereas Lena was wandering somewhere on the moors like a misplaced Romantic. The van had assured shelter. If Lena had managed to get to the house, there was no guarantee it was occupied. Morning would come soon enough. 

All of these things Fareeha’s mind had assured her Haruka would notice also. 

“I think we should go to the house,” Haruka stated with the broad confidence of the ignorant, “It’ll be smarter to be where there’s maybe, a phone, and something to eat.” 

“I do have MREs in the van, of course.” 

Fareeha stopped herself, took a breath. She, Fareeha, had decided upon this question. In doing that, it was only Fareeha who had decided the answer was acceptable, no matter which it was. Fareeha had decided to allow Haruka to help, and Fareeha had handed her the choices. There was no one to blame but herself, for the error. 

“Yes,” she continued, “I do see the...thought, behind going to the house.” 

Haruka’s thought was the same as Lena’s, that she was tired of sitting still, and wanted to be making some sort of progress. That while sitting was wise, it was not entertaining. The difference being that, whatever Lena’s flaws were, and Fareeha was happy to enumerate them, she was a skilled field officer in excellent physical condition, with above average reflexes and occasionally aggravatingly good instincts. If she found herself in a dangerous situation, the past had shown she could generally find her way back out of it. 

Fareeha did not have the same confidence about a line of inexperienced laymen following her like a herd of baby ducks through the wet and dark. 

But there was no going back on the decision she had made, not without making things much worse and all but guaranteeing that the Kaiohs would in no way fund their work. This was not, as Fareeha saw it, an acceptable cost. The security of the world mattered more than her annoyance and personal pride. 

So she nodded to Haruka and Mina. “We should pack as lightly as we can, but we should pack. The owners could take us to a hotel or inn.” 

Mina looked around into the damp and dark. “Yeah, this place is just teeming with Holiday Inns.” 

Fareeha focused in on her, as an eagle might a rabbit, but Mina only returned her look with a smile. She shook her head, nodded, and turned back to the van, opening the door and sticking her head inside toward Doc and Angela, who were sitting beside each other, chatting awkwardly. 

“Haruka has said we should go to the house. After Lena.” 

Angela gave a small nod and a smile, picking up her puffy coat with one hand. Fareeha put a large black military backpack over one shoulder, and a slightly tattered backpack with a garish flag in the round over the other. She looked to Doc. 

“It would be better to stay here.” 

“Well,” Doc hurriedly shoved things into her own backpack, “I mean…ya didn’t ask me. Is all.” 

Fareeha huffed, and then looked to Angela, her voice softening at the edges. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“Yes,” she put on her coat, and touched Fareeha’s shoulder, “Let me be having that. I can carry it myself.” Fareeha opened her mouth to protest. “Carry for the guests.” 

Doc twisted herself out of the van, keeping a narrow but necessary margin from Fareeha, and shuffled herself over toward where Mina and Haruka were standing. Mina continued to simply look in her direction, occasionally looking out toward the house, as she shuffled the extra bags onto her back. Haruka, it seemed, had a sudden recognition of the masculinity points at play, and hurried over to Fareeha, taking the bags off her and dropping her own duffel bag into the mud in the process. She frowned, but made no eye contact with Fareeha, only flung her and Mina’s bags over her shoulder and walked away. 

Fareeha would say that she often asked for counsel, when it was warranted. As she marched toward the group, ready to lead them to their next location, a hopeful encampment where the evening would somehow turn around, she had a distasteful memory of counsel she had not asked for. 

“It’s just not as I’m sure touring a few posh prats around is an excellent use of resources.” 

“I was unaware you were so concerned over bookkeeping.” 

“Right,” she put the pint glass down with a firm thump, “I should know better than to tell you anything when you’ve decided on it. Lovely! Let’s ‘ave the whole Kaioh family along! I’ll make egg and cress sandwiches and we’ll,” she wriggled her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air, “luncheon in the park, like little bohemians. Oh we WILL be charming, eh?” 

“You are wrong.” Fareeha felt her jaw set. “And I will remember it, when we get the money.” 

“Brilliant! See that you do. See that you remember me when it’s going pear-shaped, as well.” 

Fareeha stopped, closed her eyes, turned around, and opened the van, picking up a blue RAF backpack with a rainbow keychain hanging off one of the zipper pulls.  

___

Stepping through the window, Lena’s foot squeaked against the dark wood of the floor, the shout of a parvenue barrelling into the darkness. It should have echoed, given the wood and plaster, but itsead that squeak from the audacious canvas shoe was swallowed whole, gulped, and never heard from again. 

Lena drew her other foot through the window, and dripped onto that centuries old floor, paused by the confrontation of that deep grey. It might have been easier if it were the absolute dark of a cave, a place people were never meant to live, but this was a house. Wasn’t it? People had lived here for ages, and parties and weddings and dinners must have been had here. Crowds must have gathered under the portico she had climbed. 

That slight light, the one that might have been the moon reflected off the gilt mirrors hung on the wall, was like the mist in a graveyard. 

She shook her head. It wasn’t even that dark. The room was even a nice shade of mint green, with pink soft furnishings accenting the rich tans and golds of the furniture. Yes, now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that this had been a woman’s room, and since when had she felt uncomfortable in a woman’s room? 

Assured of her own silliness, Lena stepped from the wood to the carpet, half-wishing she had removed her shoes. Maybe less than half, since she hadn’t done it. The plush of it sank beneath her, and her eyes drifted up to the figure of a woman with a pair of little dogs, woven into the faded tapestry behind the bed. 

“Sorry about all this,” She tipped her sopping hat with a grin, “‘ate to be a bother.” 

A ripple went through the room, and Lena held her breath. When she was a child, Lena spent endless nights over with her cousins, the lot of them all piled in the same room across a few beds. Some nights, when she had come back from a trip to the bathroom, she had known at least one of them was feigning sleep, lying with their eyes closed but waiting for Lena to walk by so they could grab her ankle, or pinch her, shouting, and then erupt into a pile of giggles. She knew the feeling, before the jump. She knew it like she knew the scar on Oliver’s ankle, or the way Parvati shook her head when she was annoyed. She would bet her life on it. 

Something in this room was pretending to be asleep. 

___

It was a longer walk to the house, barely visible in the storm, than Fareeha had thought it would be. The road, or what could be called a road, was muddy and 

Doc was the most questionable factor. It wasn’t that Fareeha suspected she had sabotaged the van, exactly--for a start, she had not had the opportunity--but there was something about the way she watched the group. On the one hand, she was a researcher, and, apparently specialized in knowing something about Haruka. Probably a tabloid journalist, or something. Hadn’t she told Angela she was writing a book on the Kaioh family? On the other, they had only her word this was true. She knew something about Haruka, of course, but if she were an enemy agent she would have the same sort of information. 

It was not the way she watched Haruka and Minako that gave her pause. It was the way she watched her, and Angela, and Lena. It was the sense of familiarity she seemed to have with them contrasted with the intense discomfort she seemed to be feeling. Of course, if she were an enemy agent, she could be hoped to be better at it, but Fareeha knew less of Talon training pipeline than she would like. 

There was the difficulty that Haruka had asked her along, and so, if Doc was involved with Talon, Haruka was likely compromised as well. Fareeha would take that into consideration at a later time. Now, there was the primary concern. 

As Doc walked a few paces behind her, quiet, looking at the stars and listening oh so carefully to the conversations 

“Why are you acting so nervous?” 

Doc practically jumped back, shaking her head and rubbing a thumb across the strap of her backpack. “What’d’ya mean, nervous? I just don’t know you people from Adam.” 

“Except Haruka, of course.” Fareeha stopped. “As you are an expert in her history.” 

“I guess, in an ancillary sort of way.” Doc shrugged, squaring her shoulders and continuing to walk, not meeting Fareeha’s eye.  “But you get me. It’s like hanging out with a research project. You I don’t know at all. You’re what, some kinda soldier with a god complex? Why wouldn’t I be jumpy?” 

“A God complex?” Fareeha strode alongside her. 

“Yeah I shouldna said that last part out loud.” Doc continued her march, but turned to Fareeha now and then, like a terrier ready to nip. “Judge, jury, executioner, right? Doesnt’ take long to see that. I mean, when someone puts it all out there. Your mom was like that too, yeah? Must run in the family something fierce.” 

Fareeha ground her molars together. “I am nothing like my mother.” 

“If you say so!” Doc gave a wave of her hand and hurried on down the path toward the house. 

Mina looked back to her. “Heh. That was pretty good, actually.” 

Doc scowled into the night, trudging past, biting out the words of many a lesbian before her. 

“Shut up, Minako.” 

___

“‘Ello?” 

Lena called down a long hallway where deep curtains shaded the windows. There was no one here, she knew it. Not a single light had been on in the house, and it was the chilly damp of a house shut up for the winter, and yet the feeling of someone in the place, not watching her, necessarily but listening to her, waiting for her footbal, breathing quietly in the darkness, pushed her onward. 

She went to grab one of the curtains, pull it back to see into the night, but drew her hand back. It felt intimate somehow, like grabbing a skirt and flipping it up, exposing the indecency to the world. Lena couldn’t shame it that way. She was a gentlewoman, in manner if not in birth, wasn’t she? She couldn’t mistreat the place, when it had let her in. 

“But I need to see.” 

Why had she said that out loud? Lena talked to herself all the time, of course. She was just a chatty sort, even when no one else was there. How many times had Emily come upstairs with a smile, saying she didn’t want to interrupt the animated conversation? That was all. 

She took a step forward, and her hand rested on a candleholder with a thick taper. Well. Wouldn’t do her much good, but the thought was nice. She nearly said thank you. 

The drawer. What about the drawer? She wasn’t sure, it had simply entered her head that there was a drawer in the marble-topped desk, and sure enough, there was, and sure enough, there were matches there. Of course there had been. It had been waiting for her. 

“Stop that.” This time, she meant to speak. There was no one here to assume she’d gone looney, so why not? 

The candle was old, and the high flame glowered with the brightness of the tallow types, throwing light into the red velvet curtains, plush red rugs on the floor, edged with small benches, their carved claws digging into the dark floor, backs covered in the same deep, hot red. 

Beautiful. Respectable. Storied and old. Worth looking at. Worth looking after. This was what England was made of, is these resolute buildings of stone, and these resolute families, and these resolute histories, and to be next to that was to be a part of England itself.

Lena jumped back, the flame jumping alongside her. 

“Naw mate, not me.” She flung the curtain open, letting the moon cast her false silver against the false gold. “Place is empty. Nothing ‘ere. Lena, there’s nothing ‘ere. You’re tired, is all. Tired and told yourself too many stories. Fareeha’s going to think you’ve lost it once and for all. Just some ‘ouse for a bunch of poncey--” 

She looked back into the dark behind her. 

“Bunch of poncey little parasites. Outlasted you, didn’t we? Can’t keep me out now, Lady and Lord of whatever!” 

She laughed as she went down the hallway, but could not convince herself it was a joke. ___

Everything would be different once they reached the house. This much was certain. Fareeha would retake control of the situation, and they would quickly find a way to contact someone, and everyone would get a room in some motel. That would give everyone a chance to regroup. That would give everyone a chance to relax. They would see how ridiculous they had all been when their stomachs were full and they were rested. 

Even Fareeha was looking forward to the prospect of resting next to Angela in the quiet. Some tours of duty seemed longer than others. 

As the house came into view, Fareeha could not help but notice that there were no lights inside, nor any other sign of Lena having arrived. Fareeha put up with a fair amount of silliness from Lena, because her talents were invaluable, she would readily admit, and she considered her a good friend, she would admit less readily. But this was irresponsible. Short of lying injured in a ditch, Lena had no excuse for this. 

She marched to the front of the house, along the wide approach, taking the long way along the drive rather than crossing the lawn. Fareeha did not notice the carvings on the door, the depth and detail in them or their flaws of age, and the moon did not blind her as it glinted off the silver knocker, and the house did not whisper to her through those shabby shrubs as she strode toward the door. Fareeha did not hear the opening lines of negotiation as she readied to strike. 

Before Fareeha’s unstoppable fist could meet the immovable wood, the door opened wide with a deep, dark, creak.

Who should we follow next?

[mimisempai]

It's the biter bit

Summary

Aziraphale is looking for a book he promised to lend Muriel and when Crowley finds it, he thanks him in a rather pleasant way, but could there be more behind a story about a misplaced book?

Notes

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

Kiss #35: Playing a trick on the other to get a kiss

Thank you @rins-love-wins for the idea

On Ao3

Rating G -  538 words

"Where did I put that book?"

From the sofa, Crowley watched as Aziraphale paced back and forth, checking all the shelves. Every so often, the angel would stop, take a closer look, shake his head, and resume his search.

The demon couldn't help but tease his lover and said cheekily, "Angel, I find it rather amusing that you talk about putting things away where your books are concerned."

Aziraphale glared darkly before retorting, "I won't stoop to answering that. Besides, instead of watching me and making fun of me, you could help me find it. Didn't you boast that you knew the contents of the bookshop better than I did?"

The angel raised an eyebrow and stared at him challengingly.

Crowley chuckled softly before standing up and asking, "What book are you looking for?"

Aziraphale sighed, "You know, the book I promised Muriel, the one we talked about yesterday, Watership Down."

"Oh yes, the story of the rabbit family?"

"Yes!"

Crowley walked along one of the shelves and a few seconds later exclaimed, "Angel, I think I've found it. Is this the one?"

Aziraphale joined him and, seeing the book in his hands, exclaimed, "Yes, it is! Amazing!"

He added, "I don't know what I'd do without you. You really do know the inside of my bookshop better than I do. How can I ever thank you?"

Though the question was rhetorical, the demon seized the opportunity and, leaning toward the angel, replied with a mischievous gleam in his eye, "I may have an idea.

Aziraphale immediately saw where Crowley was going with this, took the book from his hands, and placed it on a shelf. Then he wrapped his arms around the demon's neck, brought his face close to his and replied in the same tone, "Then let me thank you.

He rose to his tiptoes and pressed his lips to the demon's, capturing them in a kiss that expressed his gratitude far better than words. 

When they parted a little later, the demon who had wrapped his arms around the angel's waist said softly, "You're welcome, Angel. However..."

He suddenly looked embarrassed and continued, "I have to admit, if you didn't find the book easily, it's because I hid it last night."

"Crowley! Why would you do such a thing?!"

The demon raised his hand and, caressing the angel's lips with his thumb, replied, "To be thanked exactly as you just thanked me."

Aziraphale chuckled and then, kissing the demon's thumb still on his lips, replied, "You know, you don't have to use such devious means to be kissed."

"But that was fun, wasn't it?"

The angel nodded, then said mischievously, "It's actually kind of fun, especially considering..."

He paused, nibbling playfully at the demon's thumb before continuing, "...that I knew you'd hidden it there."

"What?!"

"Isn't that a perfect example of the human saying it's the biter bit?"

Crowley removed his finger from Aziraphale's lips and, cupping the angel's face between his hands, said in a falsely threatening tone, "You'll see who's going to bite who!"

Then he captured the angel's lips and worked to wipe away his lover's cheeky smile with his own lips in a kiss that was nothing biting and everything sweet.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable kisses series : here

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

Ineffable Growing Love - Series post S2

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

[mommyghostface28]

‘m real tired Mommy, it’s another long one bc I don’t wanna have to live a normal life no more.

be a shame if you were to snatch me away and make me run for my freedom.

I’m like a skittish rabbit, bolting at every twig snap. I’m a stranger to the environment, but even I know that animals don’t stop when they snap a twig. People do. I’m being hunted down.

You taunt me from beyond the undergrowth. Little encouragements, to go quicker or watch my step. Or the more sinister pondering: if you could just take me from my bed, what makes me think I’m in any state to outrun you?

It’s not pretty. Thorns catch on my legs and clothes, tearing. I can’t afford to fail so whenever I trip I take the hit to my hands and keep going. Knocking my knees against protruding rocks and branches.

But I’m still half asleep, and I can’t run forever.

It all comes to a head when I nearly slip into the river. Stretching for miles in either direction, rushing. Deathly cold. I can swim, and swim well, but one misplaced step across the riverbed could have me swept away.

In the end, the decision is made for me. A hand lands on my neck, and you scruff me like an unruly animal, pulling me back from the water’s edge.

But I’m not out yet.

I manage to wrench myself from your grip. For a moment, all is still. There’s no moon on this starry night and yet I feel I can see you perfectly. We’re both tense, staring, waiting for the other to break the check.

You move to grab me again, but I’m quicker.

This way, I pretend I have control, that I have snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

But that’s not the picture painted when I drop to my sore, bruised knees in the mud, pressed against your legs and nuzzling against your crotch. It’s almost reverent, and I’m surprised you don’t stop me. I don’t know what you had planned for me, but I’m quite certain it didn’t involve me fishing out your cock and choking on it, pulling one of your hands down to feel the bulge in my throat. Moving the other to my head, encouraging you to use me.

But behind the film of tears in my eyes and the grime on my face, you can still sense my hunger. If I can only get your guard down, I get another chance to run. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?

No, a sly thing like me needs to be dumbed down, bred until she’s cockdrunk, all ideas of leaving the woods mere fantasy. Marked and claimed and fucked until I know who feeds me and owns me. Needs to feel you with no restraint, no misunderstandings of where I stand. You’ll just have to snap and take me, feral as we are.

But don’t get too carried away, Mistress… or your prey may just slip through your fingers. So… just what do you intend to do with your conquest?

- ❄️

oh my little snowflake, I heard a bunny roaming through my woods today. I’ve watched you do this quite a few times and this time I simply can’t let you leave. I’ve been hungry for days, for you especially. I let you run ahead of me, I let you make all the noise. Stumbling around so much it almost seems as though you’d like to be caught. Bambi legged and clumsy. I taunt you from a distance. Kneeling down when you grow skittish and look around. I taunt you about your carelessness. You’re simply prolonging the inevitable, my prey.

I catch you by the edge of the river, grab you by the scruff of your neck and pull you back. I can feel your body stiffen, your voice choke. I study all the rips in your clothes now, how they’re revealing skin, imagining where my hands will touch. Unprovoked, you turn around and drop to your knees. I don’t say anything, I watch the way you unzip me and pull my cock out. Your hands quickly working the zipper. Suddenly your warm mouth is surrounding me, tongue swirling.

You sound rabid, the way you’re panting just sucking me off. I do nothing but grin, the way your mouth is working my cock it’s clear you wanted it. Tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Why are you crying hmm? Is it because you’re afraid? You can’t be, I can feel how much that’s not true. When my hand is resting on your head, my fingers tangling themselves in your hair while the only noise echoing through these woods is the sounds of your sloppy gagging and slurping.

Oh pretty thing, you think you can trick me like this? Now that you’ve given me a taste of that mouth of yours, I certainly can’t let you leave now. You were better off trying to run in the first place. I bet you’re hoping I close my eyes, tip my head back so you can bolt. But I’m a selfish creature and I want to watch. I pull your face in one more time, I cum inside your mouth and I don’t give you the chance to pull your head away. You’re mine now, the back of your throat belongs to me and I’ll make sure everything in this forest knows that.

I’m going to keep you mouth bound forever now darling, no more untamed mouth 💋

(Beautifully written as usual lovely 😘) -❄️

[roseapov]

Genshin White Day Artworks! 2024!

Here, take my hand and look this way. Three, two, one—— Oh, the magic trick worked! Thank you for your outstanding cooperation. Now, sweetie, I'd like to invite you to pick a chocolate and pop it in your mouth. Whichever one you choose, I guarantee you it'll taste better than you can imagine~

"The weather has been rather sorry of late, and we've had more patients coming in as a consequence. Most have been suffering from wind-cold dampness, presumably because they haven't been looking after themselves properly..." "Thinking of you and your outdoor escapades, I was worried that you might have been neglecting your health too. So, seeing as I had some free time today, I decided to come over and check in on you." "It seems like my concerns were misplaced, though. Despite how long it's been since we last saw one another, you're still looking as healthy and energetic as ever." "...Instead of just rabbiting on like this, will you hurry up and hand it over! I've already fallen asleep and woken up again, but somehow the cake you were planning on giving the Traveler is still in your hand!"

Judging from your expression... you haven't forgotten me, have you? What do you mean by "Abyss Lectors all look the same, come back in human form"? ...It seems the farewell gift I gave you at our last parting failed to leave a strong enough impression. I even went out of my way to pick some lovely flowers for you this time. But our Highness knows not of my coming, so I can't help you pass on any messages. So, do you think you can forgive me at last? Oh, come now! Lower your weapon and let's talk this over...

[fandaniel]

okkk posting a draft of cherry and fandaniel thing. its not nsfw but like. leading to it. its a scene before sex probably. ive posted a few things from it already.

He prodded at the roasted beef on the plate with his fork, the flesh was overly tender, falling apart at the softest press of his fork. There was an unfamiliar hunger growing in the pit of his stomach that felt misplaced. Things once dead shouldn’t be so tempting.

“I spent the day preparing it for us,” Fandaniel gave him a knowing look across the table, as if tempting him with his eyes. “Please, don’t hurt my feelings by not giving it a honest try. You might come to like it, my dear.”

Cherry gave him a glare for a moment, before straightening his back, he wasn’t here to pick a fight when there was information he could gain, and so much to lose if he didn’t play politics with this ascian. Clearing his throat, “I don’t eat meat is all, sorry to offend.” He twirled the goblet of wine the host across from him had poured for him, fainting interest in the alcohol. “Is this imported?” There was a role to be played before he could pry on intent.

There was a small bit of sourness on the hosts face as he leaned into the velvet backing of the chair, a theatrical sigh left his mouth, all the time with the dramatics. He was the worst ascian Cherry had the displeasure of talking to, nothing seemed genuine, it was hard to tell where he began and where he ended with his acting. “I am a terrible host for not asking a preference for dinner, but it was so hard to get you alone, completely alone.” His voice lowered to a sonorous tone. “Grateful though, the savior of humanity, the hero of this tale, could indulge me with a night. I will hold this memory dearly.”

“Mhm,” Cherry mumbled during a cursory sip after inspecting the wine for any poisons or other methods of foul play. “Why did you invite this get together, again?”

That seemed to spark his interest as he leaned forward and rested his arms on the wood table. “We both want something with this arrangement, Warrior of Light. You want, no, need to know more about me, isn’t that correct? To get an idea of how to stop me?” He smiled like a fox with a rabbit in his teeth. “You were special to a man I share the memories of. Disgustingly special. You don’t remember him, but I remember you, of all your qualities and accomplishments.” Something was mixed in his words there, something bitter, despite the praise. His eyes briefly flickered downwards. “Surely, you want to know more, your mind is magnificently curious, it is simple to see.”

For what little he knew of Fandaniel, this was off kilter for his tightly knitted mask of personality, causing Cherry to stare at him temporarily, scrutinizing every detail. “You seem genuine.” “Oh, you hurt my heart with your words! I have only been genuine.” “Liar.”

There was a pause in Fandaniel’s wit as he let out a cold chuckle, “I am reaching my hand out, Warrior of Light, can’t you see it in your heart to catch me and embrace me?”

That feeling in the pit of his stomach again stirred, Cherry reached for his glass of wine to find it empty, must’ve finished it without thinking. The gnawing sensation that he was going to do something uncharacteristic of a heroic man, to behave on self interest, something he had tried to work out of him over the years.

“At least tell more information than that, I’m not rejecting anything. It’s unfair for you to say such things without explaining.” Not that you have ever explained yourself in a manner that is rational. Cherry reached for the wine bottle in the center, only to be met with Fandaniel’s hand meeting his own.

“No need to drink so hurriedly.” His hand was soft against Cherry’s scarred and battle worn hands, his voice was more off putting to him than usual, it was all too soft. “I want you to remember as well, all the details.” Fingers interlocking each other. “His name was Hermes. You would have liked him, I believe. But he was a dour man, despite living in paradise, but he had you, well, a unsundered you, at his side to ease his disposition.”

He was too fascinated at his tale to take care of their hands interlocking, or that his heart seemed to pick up speed, to pick at his hosts brain was of the most importance. I have heard from other ascians’ something of my soul being familiar. Confirms my suspicions. “Why would you hate living in something you’ve described as a paradise?” “To everyone else, but everyone is blind to truth, suffering, that the only way to remove pain is to remove it at the start.” Fascinating.

“I’ve come to my conclusion.” He chimed in, reassuring his self appointed truth, in that there was no changing.

“I didn’t think I had any foothold to change your mind on the matter so easily.” And Cherry was not a fool to mistake a crack in the door as an opening. “And that, my darling, is why I’ve always liked you so much.” Fandaniel cooed, rubbing his thumb against the back of Cherry’s hand, paying attention to running over healed scars.

“I think I’ve given you a good taste, something to ease some of your endless hunger of knowledge.” Fandaniel lifted Cherry’s hand to hover over his lips with an impish expression. “While I don’t feel a connection to that man, I do feel something special with you, and I know you feel a draw between us. If there was someone I would want to experience pleasure with before ending the world, it would be you.”

A hero shouldn’t act in such a manner, so many of those look at me for guidance in this world, but I never agreed to be looked towards for morals or to be an idealistic person to be. Yet, the hunger he spoke of was identical.

“Don’t muddy my feelings with talking about the world ending.” “My apologies, my prince. I wanted to make my vision clear, a night of pleasure for us both, and then we continue on our paths.”

Fandaniel kissed the knuckle of Cherry’s hand, gesturing for forgiveness. He needed to decide, quickly, either to run away with the information he has gained or to confront his own feelings of neediness. Just a taste. “Then, it’s agreed upon.” Impassively speaking, as if it was business as usual.