#a visitor to sanctuary

[ladyofspiders]

[id: tags saying #more importantly #he's saying "it's gonna be me"???????? /end id]

YES you uncultured children

Baby, when you finally Get to love somebody Guess what It's gonna be me

[inferencesarchives]

HEY WASSUP ITS 👾 ANON!! YOU BEEN DOIN ALRIGHT? sorry for my disappearance i have been doing alot of different things that weren’t on tumblr— BUT I HOPE YOUVE BEEN DOIN OK!!!

I WAS READING SOME OF YOUR POSTS IVE MISSED and YOUR DOING AN EVENT?? i wanna submit a request if thats alr ofc!!

im thinking about two because 1 with dark cacao SEEMS LIKE IT WOULD BE SO WHOLESOME TO DO,,, the dude with all the anxiety finally gets some peace. but,, 10,, with capsaicin,, IMAGINE HIM GETTING FLOUR EVERYWHERE AHSHEHABSH that scratches my brain,,, YOU CAN DO WHICHEVER ONE YOU WANT I JUST HAD THOSE TWO IDEAS

Comfort in You

dark cacao x gn reader

prompt: your presence makes all my worries disappear.

warnbings: physical touch, bro is on the verge of tears please comfort him

i have so many thoughts abt this omg where do i start

as we all know, he probably doesn't get very much time to himself considering he literally runs a whole ass kingdom

and since he has very little time to rest, his stress tends to build up a lot :((

when he does FINALLY get some time away from working, he goes straight to you.

when he finds you, he literally melts in your arms. he feels like he can finally let out all the emotions he was holding back before

please just keep hugging him and holding onto him,,, your touch is sososo comforting to him

sometimes he'll rant to you about whatever matters are annoying him at the moment to get it all off his mind

pls listen to everything he has to say and hold him and comfort him and everything,,,, he appreciates it so much :,))

your very existence soothes all his worries and anger, and for that he is thankful :]

a/n: OMG 👾 ANON HIIIIIIIIIIII!!! both these prompts scratched my brain so good but i ended up going with cacao since i already wrote the other one with another cookie :,)) i might make another post with that one & capsaicin tho :] lmk if u want it cuz that idea makes me so happy :,)))) also sorry this was shorter than i wanted it to be but i tried,, doing my best to defeat writers block in super smash bros ultimate

thanks for stopping by!

wanna submit a request? see my requesting rules uhhh where was it um oh here it is!

[sshbpodcast]

Character Spotlight: Jake Sisko

By Ames

We’ve talked a bunch of times on A Star to Steer Her By about how Jake Sisko is the best. He’s one of the best child characters in the whole Star Trek franchise, in both writing and acting (second to maybe Mezoti and/or Rok-Tahk). His relationship with his father is depicted so beautifully in so many episodes, as we’ll surely discuss below. And that kid’s personal style bypasses Wesley Crusher’s in every single way.

So this week, we’re picking up a Jake Sisko holonovel to read as your SSHB hosts declare our favorite Jake-O moments and scrape up some bad moments to consider. Our definition of what a Worst Moment is – which was shaky at best to begin with – gets really stretched this week. So enjoy them all below, listen to our chatter this week on the podcast (jump over to 1:01:52), and prepare for Jake Sisko to make a deal for you to have great damn day.

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

“A” is for Apple, “B” is for Best friend ever Jake is just a straight-up good kid. So good that we happily forgive everything on our bad list, and this early moment really established what a pure heart he has. When Rom pulls Nog out of Keiko’s school in “The Nagus” and Sisko is about to get all racist at the Ferengi for corrupting his son, we learn that Jake has been sneaking off to teach Nog to read, squashing all the jumped-to conclusions and being the example that everyone on the station needs right now.

Who wears the lobes in this relationship? Speaking of teaching things to Nog, when the two form the Noh-Jay Consortium in “Progress,” which is adorable enough on its own, Jake somehow schools Nog on the value of owning land when they start trading assets around. How a Ferengi doesn’t understand real estate is beyond me, but Jake knows a good deal when he sees one. Turns out Jake’s got the lobes!

My friend’s real sorry for what he did In our Nog coverage on the podcast, I mistakenly sullied Jake’s name, claiming he started a fight with the Skrrean kids in “Sanctuary.” Well I was dead wrong! Jake, the ever goody-two-shoes, actually tries to prevent the fight and then does one better by patching things up with Tumak in line for the replimat later. How I could think Jake would have a vicious bone in his body was my error.

I need to find what’s me While we gave Nog lots of props for pursuing his dream of being the first Ferengi to join Starfleet, Jake goes the opposite path, and we love him even more for it! You’d think with a father commanding a whole station, Jake would go the Starfleet route too, but in “Shadowplay,” he reveals he’d rather pursue something he’s more passionate about.

First let me get the hang of flying at impulse When the away team gets captured during “The Jem’Hadar,” Jake and Nog sneak aboard the runabout to escape. Despite not knowing how to pilot the thing, Jake is able to elude disaster and invaders long enough to be rescued. Add to that the fact that they were there to ensure Nog got a passing grade, and Jake comes out as the hero of this episode! (Sorry, Quark.)

If I go, you’ll be all alone Even though he wants to spend time with Leanne, Jake decides to accompany his father on the lightship in “Explorers.” This episode gives us some more of those patented lovely father-son moments of the two being honest and supportive of each other, as Jake expresses his interest in writing and also that he’s concerned about Ben coping without him if he went away to school.

Something called “Sliding into Second” An episode later in “Family Business,” Sisko relents to Jake’s insistence that he get a girlfriend by going on a date with Kasidy Yates based on his son’s matchmaking skills. And it turns out Kasidy is perfect for Ben! Now whether Ben is perfect for Kasidy is another matter altogether that we hinted at a little in our Ben Sisko post, but let’s just say Jake has solid taste.

To my father, who’s coming home I cannot overstate how beautiful “The Visitor” is, and at the center of it is Jake’s relationship with Ben, undoubtedly the strongest asset of all of Deep Space Nine. Jake’s love for his missing father is so strong and pure that he dedicates his life to getting him back from the white void. Is it what Ben would have wanted? Absolutely not. But is it perfect for Jake Sisko? Tremendously.

You may be a little rusty, but you’re still the Chief When O’Brien has gone through literal decades of torture after his brain adventure in “Hard Time,” who better than Jake Sisko to help reacclimate him to all his tools? Jake, who apprenticed briefly under the Chief earlier in the series, shows characteristic patience and empathy for the man who is clearly in need of much rehabilitation and therapy.

The line between courage and cowardice Cirroc Lofton gets his time to shine in “...Nor the Battle to the Strong,” providing an understandably terrified face to the front lines. Not only does he scrub up to help Julian and the other combat medics as injured soldiers start pouring in, AND thwart a Klingon siege by blasting out the ceiling, but he also reminds us that war is absolutely horrifying, in case we’ve forgotten.

You can always find something that’ll make you smile Yet another feel-good moment comes from Jake in the entire lovetrip that is “In the Cards.” While trying to cheer up his dad by getting him a baseball card, Jake and Nog find themselves running a series of fetch quests that add up to one thing: finding ways to make everyone have a nice day, even in the middle of the Dominion War. It was a breath of fresh air in a very serious season.

Let people read it and decide for themselves While Nog and the rest of Red Squad were entirely taken in by the opportunity to play war, Jake saw through Watters’s bullshit immediately in “Valiant.” He’s able to scrape Nog and Dorian Collins together and save them from destruction. And I’ve got to give him credit for endeavoring to write both sides of the story, without bias or condemnation, even if Watters deserves it.

—

Worst moments

Watch the wheel, not the girl Boy, that Jake Sisko has a type, and that type is older Bajorans. We first meet Mardah in the flesh in “The Abandoned,” and not only is she a Dabo Girl (whom we know have sex acts with Quark written into their contracts), but she’s also too old for him. I don’t know what age of consent laws are in the future, but when she’s 20 and he’s 16, it just feels on the wrong side of legal.

Stop calling her Nerys When things with Mardah don’t work out, Jake sets his sights on another Bajoran who’s definitely too old for him in “Fascination”: Major Kira. And sure, you could justify this one by saying that everyone on the station is affected by Lwaxana Troi’s Zanthi Fever, but out of all the uncomfortable pairings, it was this one that just felt kinda gross about it.

I guess I just forgot you’re a Ferengi While we blame Nog for his terrible behavior during their double date in “Life Support,” Jake isn’t innocent either. First, how he let Nog weasel in is just a goofy plot device to make the episode happen. But also, Jake shows naivete on his part for not understanding that this is perfectly normal for a Ferengi, and blaming his friend for his upbringing isn’t a good look.

So you’re Jennifer Sisko, but you’re just not my mom Okay, this one’s a little on Ben too for trusting mirror Jennifer to be alone with Jake, like a fool, but Jake’s whole attitude toward his mirror mom in “Shattered Mirror” plays right into her trap. He is so blindsided by her presence that he doesn’t think rationally, even if he’s heard the stories about how nefarious everyone is in the alternate universe. Jake, don’t trust this imposter!

I can spot a creative soul a galaxy away Jake’s weird thing for older women shows up again in “The Muse” when Onaya easily manipulates the poor boy. This is just an episode after “Shattered Mirror,” when his mirror mom took advantage of his trusting nature and eagerness to believe people have good intentions. And this soul-sucker preys on him so easily because he lets himself get taken in.

How much laundry is too much laundry? One last one that’s on both Nog’s and Jake’s list somewhere, since the two are so intertwined: While Nog has become a complete square in “The Ascent,” Jake has turned into a slob so comically disorganized that it stretches credulity. Nog is literally gone for several hours and when he’s returned, Jake’s laundry coats their quarters. How is that even possible?

These visions, they’re not worth dying for This is one of those instances that’s more bad for Jake than bad for us at home. When Ben is catatonic from prophet visions in “Rapture,” it’s Jake’s responsibility as next of kin to decide his fate. He chooses for his father to live, partly selfishly, even though it’s not what Ben would have wanted. But really, I say they should have put this decision on Joe and not a teenage boy.

Just remember, Bashir is spelled with an I Consistently, it’s a running joke on the show that Jake’s spelling is poor. It comes up a couple of times! Nog has to correct all his spelling in “The Ascent.” Sisko points it out when he reads Anslem in “The Muse.” And clearly he spelled Dr. Bashir’s name wrong in his article from “...Nor the Battle to the Strong” because Julian reminds him of the spelling in “Call to Arms.”

This is where I belong After all the Starfleet personnel have abandoned the station in “Call to Arms,” Jake opts to stay behind to do some journalism work, hoping that his status as the Emissary’s son will keep him safe because the Bajorans will revolt if some harm comes to him. So he effectively makes himself a hostage of the Dominion just for a writing gig. Weird flex, Jake-O.

What about freedom of the press? And then the stories Jake writes about the Dominion occupation don’t even go anywhere because Weyoun keeps intercepting them in “A Time to Stand”! Jake, my dude, you can’t go writing clearly biased stories and thinking they’ll make it to your audience. You think Weyoun’s going to let you interview him when he knows your angle? Oh you sweet summer child.

Anything for a story I’ll admit that Jake’s actions and uncharacteristic ability to see through bullshit in “Valiant” were commendable, but his reasons for being there in the first place were thin at best. He weasels into Nog’s trip to Ferenginar to try to get an exclusive interview with the Nagus. Presumptuous much, kid? This after promising to Nog that he wouldn’t be acting as a reporter on his mission.

Please, no more Vic Fontaine! When Nog returns to the station in “It’s Only a Paper Moon” after his leg replacement and clearly suffering from PTSD, the support he gets from friends, family, and professional therapists alike is laughable. Even Jake. It strikes me as out of character that Jake fails at being tolerant of Nog’s wishes during a painful time. Maybe get the guy some comically large headphones instead of kicking him out next time.

—

Send this one off to the presses because we’re done! We’ve still got some more Deep Space Nine characters to spotlight coming up, so keep following along for those. We also hope you’re watching Enterprise along with us over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts. You can play some dot-jot with us over on Facebook and Twitter, and check your spelling before submitting because evidently there’s no Clippy on DS9!

[cosmictapestry]

:((((((

[ladyofspiders]

[image id: a thread of tweets from twitter user GummiPie

"I went to a woman's funeral. Her husband gave a eulogy and spoke mostly about himself. I mean he started from his birth and spent a significant amount of time explaining his life and career before he met her. Her paster said she was the kindest, most helpful person he'd ever met.

Her kids said she was the best most helpful loving mom. Everybody said she never complained. She put everyone first. It was a virtue. She didn't take care of her, she devoted herself to church, husband and kids. They cried so much. An angel on earth! They'd miss her dearly.

I never met this lady. I sobbed. My husband thought I was going to join her in the ground when I bent down to give me rose and spoke to her. I told her I understood why her heart attacked her. She swallowed so many teeth!! A dozen people said she was the best woman on earth and

I ahdn't learned a thing about her personality except that she made it small. I heard about her service and she never complained. I don't even know if she was funny.

That's when I decided to stop putting everyone above me all the time. Stop swallowing my teeth. Because I refuse to let these people kill me and then get up at my funeral and talk about themselves. How I died for them but without saying it. I refuse.

If you hear someone praising you for "never complaining" please get mad. Please take up space. This is your life, not a pageant. Complain. Even if you can only whisper "this hurts me". Complain.

No one can help you if you won't say "this hurts". Maybe you're crazy like me. Maybe little "harmless" comments hurt. So what? Say something. Maybe they get mad and block you. GOOD! You have to find a life that does not hurt. You have to say something. Nothing is too small.

If you think "other people wouldn't be so hurt by this" so you shouldn't speak up, you're wrong. You literally were forced (PUSHED OR PULLED) into life. You didn't ask for your sensitivity. There are people allergic TO WATER. Should they not complain because it's atypical?

Things hurt. Hurt changes your brain. It practices the pain and GETS BETTER/FASTER AT HURTING. You must find peace and practice THAT. The damage of pain is silent and invisible but it's one of the realest, most dangerous things we know."

/end ID]

[marshfeldman31]

Four Goblins Hiding Behind a Rock

Peering over the jagged rocks, the quartet of goblins—each with a countenance twisted in a mix of fear and anger—are unmistakably in the throes of a dire situation. One might surmise they're hiding from an encroaching peril, perhaps the thunderous steps of a wandering giant whose shadow looms as ominously as a storm cloud over their sanctuary. Their eyes, wide with trepidation, tell tales of close encounters with creatures much larger than themselves, encounters in which they were not the hunters, but the hunted.

Alternatively, the fury etched upon their faces could be born of an intrusion, a violation of their sacred grounds by audacious adventurers or plundering bandits. These goblins, known to be fiercely territorial, may well be plotting a defense of their home, their anger fueled by the audacity of uninvited guests.

In the end, whether it's a beast of legend or the all-too-familiar greed of man, these goblins find themselves bound by a common cause: survival. Their expressions are the masks worn by those who live on the edge of a knife, where fear keeps you sharp, and anger keeps you alive.

[thesummerestsolstice]

See one of my favorite Rivendell headcanons is that even though it's a wonderful, peaceful sanctuary, pretty much everyone there could be incredibly dangerous if they wanted to be. Like, let's think about who lives in that valley.

Elrond Peredhel, resident healer and eldritch crime against nature, self-explanatory

Glorfindel, slayer of balrogs, self-explanatory

Erestor, probably Feanorian, definitely dangerous

Old Feanorian diehards, all of whom are probably looking for an excuse to commit morally justified violence

Old Gondolindrim/Iathrim, who, despite what they might tell you, are exactly as dangerous as the Feanorians

Garthaglir the Library Orc, who absolutely remembers how to use the giant battleaxe he keeps behind his desk

A strange, shadowy figure roaming the valley who I'm *sure* isn't Maglor Feanorian, but who is nonetheless a terrifying singer

Elladan and Elrohir, who have spent the last several centuries becoming nightmare fuel for Sauron's forces

Arwen, eldritch, bites

Bilbo Baggins, not to be underestimated, can defeat a grown man with nothing more than his scathingly polite commentary

Dunedain visitors, vaguely feral, highly trained

Aragorn, very feral, highly trained

Lindir, not actually dangerous, but if you upset him you are going to have problems with everyone else on this list

I actually really like the idea that a lot of the people who live in Rivendell are inherently kind of dangerous, because it means that they're actively choosing peace and kindness for themselves and I love that.

[ladyofspiders]

oh i love this

Hey. You there. Do you not want to be mistaken for a bot, but you've also grown attached to the default icon you got when you signed up? Great news! Worry no longer because now you can customize your very own icon!

Examples:

Usage notes: (1) Due to how the website works, it will struggle in mobile portrait mode. Try viewing the page in landscape or stick to desktop. (2) Use the cube option + the color selector to change the shape of your icon. (3) I think legally this counts as fanart, so remember that Tumblr, and all other referential items, belong to their respective creators and very much not me! Non-commercial only.

Thank you so much to the fine folks at @meikerio! Without their platform, this wouldn't be possible!

[plutonianeris]

CHIRON

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

🖤 Chiron in the 1st House: From the beginning, life has left its mark on you, both inside and out. There’s a constant feeling of being seen, but not always in the way you’d like sometimes, it feels like others are looking right at your scars. This awareness of not quite fitting, of always being “too much” or “not enough,” can make it feel like you’re on display, even when you’d rather hide. Self-doubt is a frequent visitor, leading you to question your worth or think you’ll never be as confident as others seem to be. The journey of healing here means stepping out of the shadows and realizing that your uniqueness is your strength, regardless of what others think.

🖤 Chiron in the 2nd House: Your relationship with security, especially around money and self-worth, has been rocky. It often feels like you’re striving for something you can never fully attain. You may have experienced financial instability or felt as though you lacked the foundation others seemed to have. Even when you do achieve success or accumulate wealth, the feeling of “not enough” lingers, and no amount of material gain seems to fill the void. Your journey to healing involves learning to value yourself independently of external measures and understanding that your worth is inherent, not tied to what you have or earn.

🖤 Chiron in the 3rd House: Communication has never felt easy or natural. You might have grown up feeling like no one truly listened, or perhaps you were criticized for what you said, leading you to hold back. Sometimes, it feels like your thoughts get stuck, unable to be fully expressed. This can make interactions exhausting and even painful, as you’re left feeling invisible or overlooked. The healing process here is about realizing that your voice has worth, whether or not others understand or agree. Your words matter, and you don’t have to prove or justify your thoughts for them to be valuable.

🖤 Chiron in the 4th House: Home and family may feel like sources of deep pain rather than comfort. You might have grown up in an environment that lacked warmth or safety, leaving you with a sense of instability. No matter where you go or how much you try to build a safe space, it can feel haunted by old memories and unresolved emotions. This sense of never truly “belonging” can follow you, leading to a feeling of isolation. True healing lies in creating a sanctuary within yourself and letting go of the past, finding peace in a space that is yours, even if it’s just a quiet corner of your mind.

🖤 Chiron in the 5th House: Joy, romance, and creativity feel like distant concepts. While others seem to enjoy life with ease, you may struggle to let go, fearing judgment or disappointment. You might push people away to avoid the potential of being hurt, or find yourself critiquing every creative effort, never allowing yourself to fully enjoy it. There’s an ache here, a longing for the freedom to simply be yourself without overthinking. Healing means allowing yourself the grace to be imperfect, to embrace joy, creativity, and romance without fear of failure or rejection.

🖤 Chiron in the 6th House: Everyday life often feels like a grind, and you may experience constant anxiety about your health, routine, or responsibilities. This can lead to a cycle of burnout, where you push yourself relentlessly, hoping that if you work hard enough, you’ll finally feel “good enough.” Instead, exhaustion becomes a constant companion, and the inner emptiness remains unfilled. Healing for you involves letting go of perfectionism and understanding that your value is not in how much you do or how well you do it. True self-care is more than a concept it’s a necessity for survival.

🖤 Chiron in the 7th House: Relationships bring out some of your deepest wounds. Being alone can feel unbearable, yet being with others brings a different kind of pain often because you’re reminded of past disappointments or fears of abandonment. You might attract people who mirror these insecurities, leaving you feeling incomplete or unworthy. It’s a struggle to find balance, to give without losing yourself and to receive without feeling indebted. Healing here means realizing that no relationship will complete you; only by accepting yourself fully can you find peace in connection.

🖤 Chiron in the 8th House: Intimacy and trust are difficult for you, often tied to painful memories or past betrayals. You may want closeness but fear the vulnerability it demands, keeping others at a distance to protect yourself from potential harm. There’s a deep wound here, a sense that life’s darker sides loss, betrayal, suffering are unavoidable. Until you allow yourself to confront this pain and the protective walls you’ve built, true intimacy will always feel just out of reach. Healing means embracing the idea that vulnerability can coexist with strength and that trusting others doesn’t diminish your power.

🖤 Chiron in the 9th House: You search for meaning in a world that often feels unsteady, leaving you questioning beliefs that others find comforting. This can lead to a sense of isolation, feeling as though the spiritual or philosophical answers you seek are never quite within reach. Traditional beliefs may feel inadequate or insincere, and this constant quest can leave you feeling lost. Healing means accepting that your journey is uniquely yours and finding peace in a path that doesn’t need to align with anyone else’s truth. Embrace the unknown, trusting that not every question needs an answer.

🖤 Chiron in the 10th House: Career and public image are areas where you feel the weight of expectation, often putting immense pressure on yourself to achieve. No matter how much you accomplish, there’s a lingering fear that you’re still not good enough or that others will see through your achievements. You may feel driven to overcompensate, working tirelessly to fill the emptiness left by self-doubt. True healing lies in redefining success according to your own standards, letting go of the need for external applause, and finding fulfillment in growth rather than recognition.

🖤 Chiron in the 11th House: Finding your place in the world often feels like a challenge. You may feel like an outsider, longing for a sense of community but often feeling let down by friendships or social connections. There’s an ache here, a wish to belong while fearing that no one will truly understand or appreciate who you are. Healing means realizing that your path is different, that your uniqueness isn’t a flaw but a strength. You’re here to create a tribe that values the real you, even if it’s only a small circle of genuine connections.

🖤 Chiron in the 12th House: You carry a deep, often unspoken pain, a sense of loneliness that feels beyond words. It’s as if you’re bearing the weight of the world’s sorrow, and while people may recognize your empathy, they rarely understand how heavy it is to carry. You may find it difficult to separate your own pain from that of others, leading to exhaustion and emotional overwhelm. Healing for you is about setting boundaries and learning to distinguish your own emotions from the collective pain around you. Embrace solitude as a place of healing, not isolation, where you can nurture your soul without being consumed by the world’s suffering.

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.6k

part 2 here

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there. 

The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours. 

Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features. 

A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day. 

You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated. 

It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes. 

He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield. 

You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted. 

Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier. 

Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair. 

“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment. 

Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within. 

His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style. 

Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence. 

“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.” 

The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.” 

No laugh but you blaze ahead. 

“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement. 

“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure. 

“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle. 

“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle. 

“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”

The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it, 

“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange. 

The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain. 

Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you. 

You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.

You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.  

Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.

Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh. 

It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless. 

Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor. 

You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin. 

You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice. 

It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself. 

Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time. 

It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.

[sshbpodcast]

Character Spotlight: Nog

By Ames

After some great blogposts on Quark and Rom, we’ve got one Ferengi left to shine the spotlight on, and that’s another of our fan favorites: Nog! Similarly to his father, Nog’s character arc over the seasons of Deep Space Nine is captivating to watch, as he grows from a little punk ne’er-do-well into a fully realized, complex person full of nuance and opportunities to learn. Which is pretty much DS9 in a nutshell.

So get prepared for some character whiplash, as we’ve got both childish pranks and severe post-traumatic stress disorder to explore in our blogpost below as we applaud the impressive versatility and range of the late Aron Eisenberg. Check out what your A Star to Steer Her By hosts have assembled as some of the young Ferengi’s best and worst moments, and check out our discussion on this week’s podcast episode (jump to 1:15:10 for Nog!). And there’ll be no running on the promenade!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

Vulcans stole my homework As usual, we’re starting off with the good moments, and early on in “The Nagus” we see Nog get pulled from Keiko’s school out of Rom’s sheer racism. But what’s most commendable in the young Ferengi is that he sticks with it, secretly learning to read in the cargo bay with Jake and entirely subverting Sisko’s expectations and systematic racism against the Ferengi!

Maybe this isn’t a problem. Maybe it’s an opportunity. While we gripe about how the Ferengi can be cartoonishly one-dimensional at times, there are times when their obsession with profit makes for good character and plot moments. When Nog encourages Varis Sul, Tetrarch of the Paqu, to view her land-rights situation in “The Storyteller” as a business negotiation, she finds a compromise everyone enjoys!

Say that five times fast Speaking of Nog’s business acumen, he’s clearly still learning some of the basics in “Progress” but we still enjoy watching as he and Jake create their own Milo Minderbinder–like syndicate to sell yamok sauce and self-sealing stem bolts for what will turn out to be great running gags for years to come… not to mention tongue-twisters that frequently plague us on the podcast.

Because I don’t want to end up like my father From what we know about Nog by the midpoint of season three (including some of the bad moments you’ll see below), it seems entirely random for him to want to join Starfleet as he says in “Heart of Stone.” But when he exposes to Sisko that he has dreams outside of making profit, of being something greater than his father, you really root for the guy and know he’s really going to do it!

Best friends in subspace When old man Jake Sisko is ready to embark on some outlandish quest to find his father, lost in subspace for decades, in “The Visitor,” there is absolutely no surprise that Nog is right there at his side in the Defiant, ready to do whatever it takes for his old friend. Sure, it’s an alternate future version of Nog, but the connection he has with Jake is as real as ever.

On Wednesday we wear red Of course, Starfleet Academy is a challenge for Nog, who has set his sights on getting into the elite and extremely cliquey Red Squad to make a name for himself. But when it turns out that Red Squad is just a bunch of cadets being used by Admiral Leyton for his coup in “Paradise Lost,” Nog helps Sisko to find the truth of the matter, even if it is reluctantly at first.

Not quite a Vulcan Hello The B-plot in “Blaze of Glory” may not entirely gel with the A-plot of watching Eddington’s sacrifice, but it’s still some cute stuff for Nog. When he stands up to Martok after a whole episode of getting walked all over by the Klingons, you’ve got to respect the guy. As Martok says, “Courage comes in all sizes,” and it’s great to watch Nog tackle his problems head on.

Have a good day! There’s just something about “In the Cards” that makes you feel good. Nog, being the best friend a kid could ask for, agrees to help Jake win his dad a baseball card, going so far as to loan all his money to Jake (I can hear every Ferengi screaming at that). And then the rest of the episode is them going around the station, making everyone have a genuinely nice day. It’s so cute!

Boogie woogie woogie Okay, Nog might only have one line in all of “You Are Cordially Invited,” but I just find him dancing with Jadzia at her bachelorette party just so endearing that I had to include it. Aron Eisenberg came up with the little Ferengi frog dance himself, and when Terry Farrell joins in, I find myself smiling every time. Thank you, Aron, for creating this adorable moment.

Have faith in the Great Material Continuum So the whole Rube Goldberg device that is the chain events of schemes in “Treachery, Faith, and the Great River” may be kind of a repeat of the deals from “Progress” but it’s still very clever. After he joined Starfleet, you could almost forget that Nog is a Ferengi under the ensign uniform, but he pulls off deal after deal after deal to get the chief the stabilizer he needs.

We have a casino to build While it is painful to watch Nog struggle with PTSD in “It’s Only a Paper Moon,” the way he knuckles down to assist Vic with his finances and to work on expanding the lounge into a casino is simply fascinating. It’s helping him cope, so that by the end of a brilliantly acted episode, he doesn’t even realize that he’s put himself on the road to recovery that is right for him.

He’s not just a hologram, he’s my friend Speaking of Vic’s casino, Nog is quick to pay back his holographic crooner friend for helping him recover by participating in the big heist in “Badda-Bing, Badda-Bang.” Nog’s part is to crack the safe in the countroom, and when he learns that it has an auto-relock tumbler that no one was expecting, he keeps his cool, gets to work, and helps the whole crew save the day!

—

Worst moments

You never get a second chance to make a first impression The very first glimpse we get of Nog in “Emissary” is him stealing shit (almost certainly at Quark’s bidding) and getting locked in the brig by Odo. He has all of two lines in the episode – “Hurry up!” and “Now!” –  but he is immediately cemented as a bad seed under the thumb of his uncle. The show literally starts Nog off with such a bad reputation there’s nowhere to go but up!

What this place needs is a school Nog’s delinquent behavior doesn’t stop there. When he and Jake strike up a friendship in “A Man Alone,” it’s by sharing the experience of pranking a couple of civilians on the promenade with some Garanian bolites, which cause them to itch terribly and turn colors in a scene that legitimately looks like torture. It’s no wonder Keiko steps in by starting up her little school.

Buckets of fun! We see another of Nog’s juvenile pranks in “The Storyteller” when he fills Odo’s bucket with oatmeal and dumps it on Jake who, utterly mortified, believes for a second that they’ve somehow killed Odo. It’s a little funny in hindsight, but at the moment it just seems cruel. Jake’s reaction of terror certainly helps that along, cementing Nog’s station status as a nuisance.

No running on the promenade! There’s one more Nog prank to make the list! When he sprays some foul-smelling fluid on Tumak in “Sanctuary,” it causes a big fight to break out with the various Skrrean kids. Nog just can’t help himself. As if these refugee kids haven’t been through enough, they have this short, big-eared, froglike nuisance wreaking havoc for them. What a brat.

No one’s asking you to think, my dear As we’ve discussed in Quark’s and Rom’s respective spotlight posts before, Ferengi culture is garbage, especially how they treat females. We see some of that come through in Nog in “Life Support” when he goes on a double date with Jake and acts like a complete asshole to Riska. He’s demeaning to her, he requests she cuts his food for him, and somehow Jake’s the one apologizing!

I’ve been looking for it for two years Even when Nog has matured and joined Starfleet Academy, we get little reminders of the miscreant that he was from the start. At his coming-of-age yardsale, Kira discovers that Nog has had her lost springball racket all along and was attempting to sell it in “Little Green Men.” Sure, that was two-years-ago Nog, but he could have returned it in all that time!

Could you massage it some more? Across so many of these posts, every time oo-mox comes up it automatically makes the worst moments lists. So when Nog tricks Faith Garland into giving him oo-mox in “Little Green Men,” and not for the first time evidently, I find it abhorrent. Here’s hoping I don’t have to bring up such rapey behavior again for a while (at least until that one Ferengi episode of Enterprise).

Healthy body, healthy mind After a season or so at Starfleet Academy, Nog suddenly becomes a tightass. The conflict with Jake, now his roommate, in “The Ascent” is manufactured and trite – the kind of odd-couple antics of eponymous sitcoms. Nog is now a neatfreak. He constantly works out. He corrects Jake’s stories without permission. It’s like his character has been rewritten to fit a punchline, and an old one at that.

I won’t turn my back on you again This one’s just a little silly peeve. After the events of “Empok Nor” when Garak’s little murder spree on the titular station, Nog vows to never turn his back on Garak when they’re out searching for supplies in “Rocks and Shoals.” But then after they get hostage-handoff’ed, he immediately turns his back on Garak as they cross the levy. Dude! What did you just say?

Red Squad, Red Squad, Red Squad! Nog got tempted by the allure of the corrupt Red Squad in “Homefront” and “Paradise Lost,” but it’s in “Valiant” that he gets thoroughly taken in. Acting Captain Watters offers Nog everything he’s ever wanted: respect, rank, and some semblance of power, in exchange for his unquestioning obedience when the utterly impossible plan goes swiftly sideways. Gee, who’da thunk?

And you find that impressive? The Dominion War sure brings out the worst in a lot of people. Sisko commits some war crimes. O’Brien is typically racist about the Jem’Hadar. And Nog starts to fancy himself a soldier, bent on killing the enemy. In “The Siege of AR-558,” he blatantly admires the Ketracel-white tubes that Reese has collected as war trophies, and Quark is all of us, displaying utter disgust at this.

You don’t come into my club and start hitting customers While we totally get that recovery from the loss of his leg is a struggle, that’s no excuse for how Nog treats his friends in “It’s Only a Paper Moon.” Living in a holodeck starts off as a way to not only avoid the people he thinks are staring at him, but to avoid helping himself get better through therapy and rehabilitation. And when Jake visits, Nog is rude to Jake’s date, and then outright attacks Jake in the middle of Vic’s set. Pally!

— You’ve got a deal! That’s the end of the Ferengi spotlights (for now?), but we’ve got more great DS9 recurring characters to examine for the next couple weeks, so make sure you’re following along here. We’re also still plodding through the Xindi arc over on our watchthrough of Enterprise, so join us on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts, and hail us over on Facebook and Twitter. Now say it with me: self-stealing stem– dammit!

[ladyofspiders]

hate this post my husband walked over and said "gudetama is going to get you" no he isn't he's a little egg he isn't humanoid he doesn't have HANDS and gudetama would never hurt anyone

Add the approximate number in the tags!! If you're wondering if something counts, drop a comment!

[mojogojocasahouse]

unexpected visitor

jiyan x f!reader

Jiyan sneaks home to your bed in desperate need of a soft touch and sleep

c: NSFW 18+ only, smut, oral f-receiving, creampie, tacet marks are sensitive I don't make the rules, not beta'd

He slips in like a whisper, an unexpected secret cradled by the black of night. At first, you mistake him for the rustling of a rabbit outside the window and a burst of wind swirling beneath the clear moon, but then there was the clanking of metal buckles and the rustling of heavy robes falling to the floor. There was only one source of those sounds.

Jiyan.

Two weeks had passed since he’d left, and according to him, he was supposed to have been gone for much longer. Now, the mattress is dipping as he falls into bed behind you, a strong, warm arm circling your middle and pulling you flush against a broad, muscled chest, lips pressing to the curve of your neck.

“You’re home early,” you whisper, reaching back and threading your fingers through long, teal hair.

“Only for tonight,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose to the hollow behind your ear, “No one knows I’m away. I’ll have to leave before first light.”

“And what will you tell them?” you ask with a mischievous lilt.

“That I needed to sleep.”

Those words have you turning, his piercing gold eyes meeting yours and pleading for what only you can give him. He’s always said he can only sleep here, in the sanctuary of your bed. He doesn’t even have a home of his own anymore, it’s a tent on the front lines or this small cottage in the village. He has little in the way of belongings, but he leaves hints of himself around that you find and smile fondly at. Though nothing compares to the sight of him basking in white light, gazing at you as if you hung those very stars in the sky.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you soothe, brushing his bangs from his eyes. You already know the answer, but still, you ask every time in case he changes his mind.

“No.” It’s a polite but curt response, “You need not hear of the troubles of war.”

“But you’re troubles–”

“Are mine to bear.”

That will be the end of that discussion, as it always is. With a sigh, you cup the back of his head and pull him in, his lips so gentle and cautious as you welcome him home even if it is only for a moment. It’s your tongue that asks for entrance first, sliding along his bottom lip slowly, and he opens with a sigh. Large hands pull you in closer, your leg winding around his waist and you can feel his erection pressing against your thinly clothed slit. He’s opted to sleep with nothing on, as usual, and you curse the thin shorts you’d decided to wear. The grip he has on your side is hard enough to bruise, and you hope he has every intention of making sure you feel him tomorrow when you wake up in the bed alone almost as if he’d never come. Like this was all a fever dream. You’re still not sure if it is.

The tips of your fingers gently trace the Tacet Mark on his upper spine, his breath hitching as he flips you to your back. He kisses you like a man starved, nipping and licking into your mouth with greed and gluttony, his hips pulsing into your damp center as he slowly begins to lose that steadfast composure he holds so dear. You want him to lose it, too. He deserves to take for once, and you’ll let him bleed you dry.

As your teeth bite down onto his lower lip, he groans, taking one last parting peck before sliding down your body. The shirt you’re wearing is torn down the middle, and he latches onto one of your stiffened buds, his hands moving to cradle your other breast as if he hasn’t touched anything soft in weeks. His touch is so reverent and desperate that you’re whimpering as his tongue swirls and lips purse, your hands tangled in his locks as he descends lower, pecking a trail down your stomach until he’s pulling your shorts and panties off in one quick tug. 

Mingling moans echo off the walls as he locks onto your clit, your back arching off the bed as he suckles hard, worrying it between his lips before lapping at your soaked slit. You know you’re soaked, your inner thighs wet with what has already leaked free, and he takes it upon himself to not miss a single drop. As he’s tasting the sweetness sticking to your legs, you spread them further, inviting him back to bury his tongue in your cunt. And he does, happily, pulling you so tightly down onto his face you’re not sure he can breathe.

Muffled grunts and hums of bliss rumble deep in his throat, the vibration enough to have you keening in his hold. His talented mouth alternates between teasing your swollen bundle of nerves and enjoying the nectars of his labor, his face smeared and glistening every time he comes up for air. You want more, but you don’t dare stop him. If this is what he needs, this is what he can have, all you can do is scrape your nails soothingly against his scalp and try to quiet the roiling storm building in your belly. 

He’s waiting for you to come, you know that, but still, you try and stop the balloon threatening to burst. The sooner this is the over the sooner he’s gone again. And while you feign bravery and understanding of his long, frequent absences, deep down it breaks you every day to walk around town and see the couples together doing mundane tasks. They’re shopping, enjoying a meal, laughing and walking, and you’re…alone. You sacrifice the one you love so they can have this life, and while you’ve come to peace with this, no part of you has convinced you that you have to like it.

When he adds a finger, then two, you’re pulling his mouth back to your core by his hair, his smile stretched across your skin as the tip of his tongue prods so skillfully.

“That’s it,” he praises, “That’s what I want. Let me have it, baby.”

All he ever has to do is ask. Your orgasm washes over you gently like the waves on the shore, nowhere near as explosive as you’d been expecting, but you assume that was his intention. He knew you well enough to have discovered which of his ministrations caused which reaction and now he was almost tactile. It’s a little unfair.

No time is wasted, you’ve barely registered the end of your descent into the clouds and you can feel the soft head of his cock pushing into your cunt, your slippery walls giving no resistance as he bottoms out. He gives you a moment to adjust, taking advantage of your parted, panting lips to drag you into a messy kiss you can taste yourself on. You’ve missed the way he feels stuffed inside of you, bullying its way into a space too tight to accommodate his length and girth, but the burn subsides quickly and you let him know with a quick roll of your hips to urge him on.

The course hairs at his base are already soaked with your arousal as he begins to snap his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping and breathy moans like a forbidden song drifting off into the night. His forehead is pressed to yours, the only air you can breathe is each other’s, and he entwines his fingers with yours and pins your hands to either side of your head, opening you up to his new, brutal pace. He can’t help himself, he’s long gone, drowning in the way your pussy clamps down around him every time he lets a whine slip out. You’d think he’d have learned by now and let his blissed sounds free, but he hasn’t. Maybe he never will.

“Jiyan,” you mewl, gripping him so tightly your knuckles turn white, “harder.”

It’s like something snaps, with a groan, he pushes himself up to sit on his knees, his hands claiming your waist as his hips begin to piston so hard his hold is the only thing keeping you in place. Your tits bouncing wildly hold his gaze as you cry out loud enough for anyone in the surrounding area to hear.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, regret in his voice because he can’t do it himself, “Come on my cock.”

Your two middle fingers dive to rub frantic circles on your clit, but you’re unable to focus as you dip your touch down to feel where he’s mercilessly thrusting into your hole. You can feel how stretched you are, how swollen, you’re moments away from release.

“Come with me,” you beg, your nails scraping down the firm dips and swells of his stomach, “Come with me, please.”

He looks wrecked as he lets himself lose control. His head falls back, his hair splaying across his shoulders, long enough to have the ends dancing over your skin. The way he glistens with sweat makes him look damn near ethereal, with green markings accentuating his clenched jaw as he tries to draw out what he knows is coming to an end. 

The molten pleasure boiling in your belly finally spills over, running through your veins until every muscle is tensed in anticipation and then released with a shrieking cry, his feral snarl joining you as he spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into your cunt. 

It’s a moment of stillness as you both catch your breath, his grip loosening as he fucks his seed deeper, enjoying how easily his softening cock slips through your channel. You’re so sensitive it almost hurts, but you’re not ready to lose the weight and stretch of him inside of you just yet.

“You need to sleep, my love,” you coo as he pulls out, immediately walking off to get a warm cloth to clean you with.

“Mm,” he hums, wiping what’s leaking from your fucked out hole, “In a moment.”

When he curls up behind you, there’s no stopping how you turn and bury yourself in his chest. It’ll be harder this way when he has to leave, but you haven’t heard the steady beating of his heart in too long. He chuckles as he wraps you up tightly, tucking your head beneath his chin, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your bruised hip. 

It’ll be just a few hours, and as much as you want to stay awake and relish in this rare time, you can’t. Sleep finds you easily swaddled in his arms, the faint arid, earthy smell of him the most comforting scent. When you wake, you’re alone, not that you expected anything different. However, one thing that wasn’t there the night before catches your eye–a single Pecok flower in a vase.

A promise to return home.

[karlachismylife]

The Queen of the Clan Masterlist

When you decide to shake up your life a bit and partake in a trip with a documentary crew, you have no idea that meeting an unnaturally friendly hyena and have it mark your backpack would be only the beginning of weird things to come. Whatever will you do when a leaderless clan of four male hyenas chooses you as their matriarch?

CW: hyena shapeshifters 141 au, fem!reader, written with chubby!reader in mind. Will be adding tags as the story progresses.

Part 1: Spotted Your first big animal encounter goes a little bit wrong. Or does it?

Part 1.5: [redacted] Johnny tells the rest.

Part 2: Tough Spot While trying to get over your things being ruined and get back to work, you find a new human friend. And four non-human ones. Which can save your life though?

Part 3: Blind Spot A respectful ghostly guest guards you through an important mission to pee in the middle of the night.

Part 3.5: [redacted] Simon comes back to the den.

Part 4: A Spot of Lunch You forget about your weird feeling for a moment, when two playful furry babies come visit and bring a gift.

Part 5: Spot on the Mark You have an unexpected visitor on a night stakeout.

Part 6: Local Spot A short procedural delay sends you back to your temporary home at the sanctuary, and a friend shows you around.

Part 6.5: [redacted] Coming soon.

Singular spin-offs/AUs to the AU

Hyena Cerberus!Ghost headcanons

It's a Trap!

Tale of Four Danaës Coming soon.

Taglist: @elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts @terraantarctica @henhouse-horrors @blizzivy @perfectus-in-morte @danielle143 @llavalada @yukichan67 @sleepisfortheweakpooh @ilxina @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @misscaller06 @etherealinthewoods @svnh6021 @pleasedontaskme

If you want to be tagged in each part of the series, comment under this post! Keep in mind that this series will contain NSFW moments, so minors and ageless blogs DNI!

All headers and dividers used in the series by @saradika-graphics

[ladyofspiders]

this game is so much fun- i'm spibe over there!

Santae Kickstarter Making Waves!

The official Santae Kickstarter is underway now, and we are absolutely thrilled at the outpouring of support from our community. Not only was our goal fully funded in 28 Minutes, we’ve also already achieved four of our exciting stretch goals!

We’ve now unlocked 2 new Pet Colors, 5x HTML5 Games, a new Pet Species and Pet Auras and Backgrounds — and our next stretch goal, another brand new pet species, is right around the corner! 

Between all the exciting backer tiers and a rich selection of available add-ons, there’s something for every Adventurer to enjoy. We’ve even recently expanded the Kickstarter add-ons to allow you to select the color of your choice when adding Phasmic, Seamso, or Kyree figurines!

We've also added 3 new stretch goals to bring 4 new pet species to Santae! These have been added in-between our previous Stretch Goals <3 

Equip yourself for adventure in the world of Santae by making your pledge to the official Kickstarter today!

With Love and Gratitude

~The Santae Team

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”