#and by that i mean there should be more content where they’re bottoming

[theduckeminence]

Hot take: More ATLA old men should be cherished and loved.

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[localplaguenurse]

Casper NSFW Headcanons

I am not immune to the grim reaper babygirl even a little bit. These are more "first time" headcanons.

Mentions of male and female anatomy for MC/reader/you, dom reader, oral (giving and receiving), a lot of teasing/praising, and inexperienced Casper, topping and bottoming. Also, this gets fucking LONG. REALLY LONG. Honestly should've just written actual smut but the voices told me to write headcanons...

NSFW CONTENT BELOW CUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, RESPECT THE HONOUR SYSTEM

Since Casper has never fallen for a mortal before and is/was a workaholic, he’s inexperienced in all matters of intimacy, especially physical.

Like, if you’re not his first kiss then you haven’t kissed him yet levels of inexperienced.

The first thing you two do, after you’ve pushed him down on your bed with glee, is kiss. And it’s okay! He has really soft lips, and it’s a simple peck, so not a lot to mess up there.

It’s when you try to do deeper, longer kisses that his inexperience shows.

Should he be tilting his head more? Should he push more against you- oh god there’s your tongue, in his mouth, feeling around, does he do the same? Where does he put his hands? 

You have to really walk him through it and be patient about it. His tongue work is going to be awkward and sloppy, and you’re gonna bump teeth the first couple times, but he’ll eventually get the hang of it. 

You’ll also have to remind him that he’s allowed to pull away so he can breathe. His face is cute when red, but you don’t wanna see if it’s just as cute when it’s blue. (I mean, it’s not like it’ll kill him, but still...)

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think his flushed face, wet lips, and panting were cute though. 

Hickies are fun. It’s super easy to leave teeth marks and suck bruises on his pale skin, and it’ll make him whimper as you do. Tease him about how flustered he is over a couple love bites, and he’ll get pouty and deny it. 

In fact, he’ll wanna mark you up as revenge, but he also just only learned how to kiss like ten minutes ago so he’s gotta learn how to give hickies too. He gets frustrated when he sucks on your skin but not enough to leave a lasting mark. That said, it is fun to do, and your skin is so soft against his tongue and lips, so he’ll keep trying. 

He sits back all smug over finally leaving a bruise, but his neck is covered in teeth marks and bruises. Please, please bully him about that. 

I need to stress this right now: you can tease and bully him as much as you want, do not degrade him.

The harshest name you can call him is a slut, but it has to be wrapped in praise (i.e. “such a good little slut…”). You could probably get away with calling him pathetic in the heat of the moment every now and again, but that is it. He will not react well to degradation. He wants and needs to be praised.

Play with his hair. Pull on it so you can tilt his head back and leave kisses all over his neck and jaw. Kiss up to his ear to tell him what a good boy he’s being, your sweet little reaper. He’ll melt right then and there. 

Constantly feeling you up, it’s both his attempt at teasing you (especially with his cold hands) but mostly just him trying to figure out what he’s doing. If you tell him he’s not allowed to touch you, then he’s gonna be white knuckling the sheets. 

Another easy way to get some really pretty noises out of him? Play with his chest and nipples, they’re very sensitive. 

He’s ashamed at how easy it is to get him hard. You don’t have to do that much. Just straddle him and make out with him for a bit, let him touch your body or play with his hair. You’ll feel him press against you in no time, and he’ll whine at the friction of his pants against his cock.

Just whatever you do, don’t touch it. Don’t feel it, don’t rub it, and absolutely do not grind against it. Not unless you want him to cream his pants immediately. (Let's be honest: you do.)

Actually, you won’t even need to touch him to make him cum. All your teasing, your kissing, touching, the warmth of your skin and smell of your shampoo and your hands running through his hair and the sound of your voice, it’s too much.

You’ll feel his hips jerk and back arch, and he’ll make the prettiest little noise you’ve ever heard. It’ll take you a moment to realize what’s happened, your eyes trailing down to see the wet spot where his cock is pressed up against his pants. 

When you do finally let his cock out, it’s rock hard, dripping precum, flushed a pretty shade of pink and has a patch of white hair at the base. He keeps it well maintained, which you shouldn’t be surprised by considering his thorough skincare routine. 

Any and all bravado is out the window the exact moment you touch his cock. Whatever insult or snarky comment he had on his mind or smug look on his face is immediately gone once he feels your fingers graze it. 

You can tease him as much as you want when he’s like this and he won’t do anything about it. Can’t do anything about it. He’ll be a whiny mess for you whether he wants to be or not, but in the moment, he doesn’t care as long as you touch him. 

It won’t take much to make him cum, just pump your hand up and down while you kiss and bite at his neck, and tell him about how cute he is right now, how good he is, how he can just relax because you’re gonna take such good care of him. 

The only reason he doesn’t immediately cum is because he’s masturbated to the thought of you before so he knows what it feels like, but his “self care” is nothing compared to you yourself actually touching him. 

He will immediately cum if you go down on him. With your hand it was one thing, but your mouth is so warm and wet and your tongue feels so good he can’t hold back. 

His hips will buck up reflexively, shoving himself deeper inside by accident as his cum shoots down your throat. He’ll babble apologies profusely for it but is immediately cut off by his own sobs when you keep going.

God it would be so fun to overstimulate him. He’d be crying, tears in his eyes, babbling about how it’s too much, it feels too good, and his body’s shivering and writhing because it doesn’t know if it wants to get away or if it wants more. 

Edging would also be fun, just to hear him whine and beg for you every time you brought him to the edge, only to slow down and pull back. He’s pleading with you to let him cum, please let him cum, he’ll be good, please. How can you say no to that face?

Since you’ve treated him so nicely, it’s only fair he returns the favour and goes down on you too, right? Right. 

You’ll have to talk him through it, how you like to be touched. Go ahead and grab his hair, use it to really guide him by pulling his face closer to your sex. If he’s not all mushy by that point, he’ll tease you about being needy for him (like he’s one to talk…).

Sucking cock is simple enough, though you can see in his eyes he’s a little nervous about it. He’ll slowly pump his hand up and down as a tester, gauging if you like what he’s doing and if he should go faster. He’ll then stick his tongue out and hesitantly lick the tip, and that surprised look on his face when you moan is to die for.

It’s enough of a push that he’ll take the tip in his mouth and lightly suck on it while stroking you, and every time you groan about how fucking good his mouth feels, it encourages him to take more of you in his mouth.

Be vocal with him, but most of all, be patient. Tell him what he’s doing right and what you want him to do, guide him by his hair if you wanna, but don’t expect him to be ready to deepthroat you yet. He’s still gotta work on that, so just savour the feelings he’s giving you now.

Let him know when you’re going to come, and more importantly, where, because otherwise he won’t know what to do. If you don’t wanna cum in his mouth, he’ll pull himself away and keep jerking you off until you cum. Try not to cum on his face, as tantalizing as the sight is. You can maybe get away with it once on purpose, or if it’s an accident.

Casper’s not a spitter, but he’s not a swallower? He actually doesn’t know what to do when you cum in his mouth. He’ll literally sit there with his mouth full and dick hard just staring at you until you either tell him to swallow or give him something to spit in. Call him a good boy when he swallows. Or if he doesn’t. Just call him a good boy either way.

It takes him some time to figure out how to eat you out right, but luckily for him it still feels really nice when he’s practicing. 

His fingering technique needs a little work, mostly because he’s very unsure of himself. One’s not enough, two looks and certainly sounds good on your end, does he need to add more, or will that hurt? He wants to make sure he’ll fit when he gets to the big finish, but three fingers feels excessive, unless you like that? Is he going too fast, too slow, too deep, not deep enough? Does he curl his fingers here? Oh, you squeezed his fingers just now, that means he’s doing something good, but what’s he doing?

Thank god for the clitoris. Finds it without you having to guide him because it’s literally at the top, it’d be harder not to find it. All you need to tell him is your preferred pace and he’ll rub at it with ease, taking immense pride at how quickly you fall apart with that dumb little smile. (Just ignore him grinding against the bedsheets or stroking his cock, he’s totally in control right now.)

Kinda like with giving head, he starts with little kitten licks to your clit before getting more confident as he listens to your moans and praises. He’ll especially love it if you push his face into you so he can suck and lick harder. He’ll groan against you unintentionally, but when he hears the sound you make at the vibrations of his mouth, he’ll latch onto your clit and start humming and sucking as hard as he can.

Loves the feeling of you cumming on his tongue. The way your hips buck up, the way you tighten your grip on his hair, grinding against his face, your juices slathered all over his lips and tongue, gods he’ll never get over it. He’ll clean you up with his tongue and sit up, trying to look smug, but he’s not fooling anyone with the flushed face, the hearts in his eyes, or the wet patch on the front of his pants.

He’ll think you’re weird if you wanna kiss him after he goes down on you, but quickly shuts up once you plant your lips on his. Your tongue in his mouth is a very compelling argument.

Now comes the part he’s been most excited and nervous for; actually being inside you.

You are taking the lead regardless, because he doesn’t know what to do. Well, he knows, but he’s not fully confident in his abilities.

Just lay him back, tell him all he has to do is relax. You’ll take such good care of him.

He is tense when he feels you straddling him, your bare sex rubbing up against his teasingly. He wants to tell you to get on with it already, but his mind is in a daze and the only thing he can focus on is telling himself not to cum yet, you haven’t even put it in.

He’s gripping your bed sheets or your hips as tight as he can when he feels you finally start to sink down on his cock. He can cover his mouth, grit his teeth, whatever, but you KNOW that boy is whimpering inch by inch.

It’s enough that once you actually make it to the base, he’s reduced to the most pitiful mess of a grim reaper, trying so hard to keep what little composure he has, and the two of you have hardly started?

He will not last long in this state. The feel of your tight warm walls hugging around him so tight, and the way you move up and down his length is too much for him to handle.

He’s sorta sensitive about how quickly he cums, so you have to be careful about how, when, and if you tease him about it. You can tease him when he creams his pants, so long as it’s along the lines of “you feel that good already?” 

When he cums prematurely inside you, be gentle with him, coo in his ear that it’s okay, it happens sometimes, you’re happy you make him feel so good, he’s being such a good boy for you.

And then you milk that poor boy for everything he’s worth. Watch his teary eyes roll back as his hips buck up to meet yours, shooting load after load until you’ve drained him of everything he’s got. He’ll be incoherent, sobbing and muttering “please please please” because it’s the only thing he’s able to say.

Hold his hand.

As if this google doc I’m writing in isn’t long enough, let’s talk pegging.

He’s going to be nervous about bottoming, he won’t even pretend he’s not. He doesn’t really know what he’s getting into, but he’s willing to try so long as you talk him through what you need to do.

In theory it’s all good, until he has your fingers thrusting into his hole, pressing into his sweet spot while you purr in his ear about all the things you’re going to do to him tonight. He really should have seen that coming considering it’s his Sunshine we’re talking about here, but he’s in too much pleasure to complain.

He’ll be too embarrassed to be face to face with you, so you suggest doing it from behind. Again, great in theory, until you have him face down ass up with your chest to his back. This position is arguably more embarrassing, but Casper is also stubborn and at least you can’t see his face.

Kiss all over his neck and shoulder blades and along his spine, it’ll make him shiver.

You have to take it really slow at first, of course. It’s his first time doing something like this, and you don’t wanna hurt him. Once you’ve slowly inched yourself to the base, give him a minute to get used to the fullness.

You’ll start slow and soft, but you don’t have to stay that way. In fact, he’ll love it if you start going faster, harder, deeper. He wants to feel you hit his prostate again and again, making him see stars every time you do.

You don’t even need to touch his cock, he’ll be falling apart anyways with the way you fuck him, but it’s so fun to overstimulate him anyways so go ahead, jerk him off while you do it.

He’ll try to muffle his sounds in the pillows. Sure, you can let him because it’s honestly really cute, but you can also pull him away by either tugging his hair or grabbing him by the jaw and lifting his head up. He’ll be a drooling, teary eyed mess, but he’s your teary eyed mess. Make sure you tell him that.

If you can, don’t be shy filling him up either. When he’s all fucked out, the feeling is absolutely addicting. Will probably get grumpy about the mess once he’s in a clearer headspace, but he’s also not gonna tell you to stop.

Oh, he’ll be nothing but mush when you two are done the deed. Not only is he too tired and blissed out to move, but he’ll be so cuddly and sweet, murmuring about how much he loves you and how good you are to him, for him. (He will vehemently deny he was that sappy once he’s snapped out of it though.)

Cuddles are absolutely mandatory post sex, he needs a little skin on skin time and to relish in the afterglow before the two of you get cleaned up.

It’s as you two are huddled together under the covers, about to fall asleep, that you hear Casper groggily mumble a little “thank you,” for treating him so well for his first time and showing him the ropes.

He’ll smirk at you and say that next time he’s going to use his knowledge against you, but both of you know that it doesn’t matter how experienced he is, it’s not gonna happen. 

You don’t get the chance to poke fun at him about it though, as he’s already fallen asleep. You kiss his forehead and cuddle up closer.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[kikyan]

Confession

CW: Yandere content means yandere content y’all, stalking, dub-con/non-con, masturbation, disgusting themes, panty stealer, fingering, oral (receiving), overstimulation, breeding themes(slightly?), creampie, power bottom Idia, slight masochist Idia, kidnapping, shit ass writing, I think that’s all, etc… 

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland 

Character: Idia Shroud x GN! Reader

Word Count: 7.2K words 

A/N: This is a birthday fic for one of my IRL besties, an Idia simp. Another thing, this is a yandere blog so it’s not canon to their personalities at all but more my interpretation of them if THEY were yanderes. So take that as you will! This is with a GN reader so there is no anatomy assigned or pronouns other than they/them (I did proofread it but lmk if there are any errors!)

‘ Click’ 

‘ Click’ 

Yellow eyes darted across from the screens as he was looking at the contents. Classes were over and his homework was completed quicker than he used to have it done. He was still a housewarden with duties and responsibilities after all, besides he needed the rest of the day free to partake in his favorite hobby. Stalking [Reader] of course. He could access several cameras from different angles as he attempted to track them down. 

‘ Where are they? Their class ends around this time and they usually stay a bit longer in the classroom to wait for the freshman and Grim. They’re taking too long. . .shit! Did I miss them? Did they already leave?’ 

Idia frantically typed away at his computer to try to locate them. After a couple of tries, he found [Reader] and Grim, with the freshman of course, walking out of their classroom. Sighing in relief, he continued to observe as normal. Unfortunately, these cameras were limited as they had no audio but it would do for now. 

‘ So they DID stay longer in the classroom. Phew, good thing nothing has changed so far.’ 

The screens were the only source of light in his room as his lights were turned off. He didn’t have any club activities today so he there was no need to leave his room. He sat on his desk chair while holding his knees to his chest. Raising his thumb to his mouth, he bit down on the tip of his nail. How did it come to this? 

~

“We’re going to be late! Crap, where is the housewarden?”

“Doesn’t he have his club? Do you think we can leave it with Ortho?” 

“Uh maybe. . .man why did Professor Trein dump this on us? If only Idia attended in-person classes, but oh well. Oh, wait-[Reader]!” 

[Reader] was walking through the hallways, but turned when they heard their name was called out. There were two students, from the Ignihyde dorm looking stressed. 

“Yes?” 

“Sorry for this, but could you do us a huge favor? Professor Trein asked if we could drop these papers with Houseward Idia, but we can’t find him! Not to mention, we’re already late for our club activities enough as it is! We’ll make it up to you, promise!” 

“Hm, sure I don’t see why not. Not like I have anything better to do, give them here.” 

Sighing in relief, the students wasted no time in handing the documents over to [Reader]. 

“Gosh, you’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much, both Grim and your meal are on us!” 

The students turned and ran off to their club. Leaving [Reader] alone. 

“Grim would appreciate that, it sure saves me money for one day knowing his appetite. Anyways, just where is Idia?”  

[Reader] debated going over to the hall of mirrors and just entering the Ignihyde dorm but they decided against it. It would be too much work if Idia were still on the main campus grounds and they were in their dorm. Was Idia even in a club? If he was, it would be worth it to check some classrooms in case he was. Thinking back on it, it wouldn’t seem likely but it didn’t hurt to check. [Reader] had been walking for about 20 minutes, popping inside classrooms just to survey the area. To no avail, Idia was not in the classroom. 

“Just where could he be? Maybe I should head over to his dorm. Oh, hey Azul!” 

Azul was walking on the opposite side and [Reader] ran up to meet him. 

“Ah, [Reader]. What a coincidence, I would have figured you had returned to your dorm by now.” 

“Normally I would have, but I’m helping some classmates drop off some documents. Hey, this may be a stretch but by any chance, do you know where Idia might be?” 

“ Idia? Oh why, yes I do. He’s still in the classroom. We just finished up our game board club meeting. He lost to me so he’s staying back to finish cleaning up. Why?” 

“He’s the one I’m dropping the documents off to. So, where is the club room?” 

“ Down the hall, turn right and it’s the second door on your left.” 

“ Thank you, Azul! I’ll see you around, kay?” 

“Of course. If you however require my services sooner, you know where to find me.” 

“Nice try, but at the moment I’m not interested in making a deal right now.  Maybe later if I forget to study for an exam.” 

“But of course, take care.” 

Azul left back to his dorm, leaving [Reader] to seek out his directions to the club room. When they arrived, they opened the door to see Idia sitting at the desk on his phone. 

“Oh hey, Idia-” 

Idia jumped in his desk, whipping his head around to stare at [Reader] in a frazzled state. 

“W-what a-are you doing h-here!?” 

“Calm down Idia, not here to hurt you. Anyways, someone asked me to drop off these papers to you. One of your housemates. Anyways, what are you doing?” 

“You c-can leave them on the t-table.” 

Idia’s eyes avoided [Reader’s] and he ignored their question. [Reader] walked closer, leaving the documents on the table as asked. They turned to look at his screen, looking at all the graphics displayed on the screen. 

“That looks interesting, what’s this about?” 

“It’s a game. . .” 

“Right, I can see that. What is it about?” 

Idia continued to advert his gaze, muttering under his breath under the assumption that [Reader] could not hear him. 

“Like you would care. . .” 

“I would actually.” 

A snarky and slightly offended response left [Readers] unamused face. Idia let out a squeak, he didn’t think [Reader] would hear that. [Reader] let out a huff, pulling a chair out and sitting across from Idia. 

“Idia, you know I’m not from here right? I don’t know much about media and franchises here in Twisted Wonderland, but I was interested in content like this back in my world. So humor me, what is this game about?” 

Though he was still unable to look them in the eye, not that [Reader] minded, he continued to explain the game franchise. 

“It’s an adventure-based role-playing game following an adventure party on a mission to take down the demon king. The party consists of characters that you get to pick, unlike most games where you’re given a party member. This game is different because it relies on your choices to advance as well as you making your combat type distinct. It has an online server where you can complete side quests while the main story updates.” 

He spoke fast, never sparing a glance at [Reader]. He was just waiting for them to become uninterested or to look at him in annoyance. He was waiting for the insults and the questionable glances of ‘you’re weird’ and ‘fucking loser’. 

“Hm, so it’s a fantasy-based combat game. Does this mean that all the party members are different fantasy races? I’d like to see the party members that you can pick, or do you get to customize them as well?” 

“ O-oh u-uh. . .” 

Idia has always seen the negative side of everything, but being realistic he didn’t give you enough credit. Sure, most people stop listening after that initial description but a few brave soldiers still stick around until he continues. He’d surely lose your interest with his extensive knowledge of the game's lore. 

“Well, not exactly. You can make your character, but the other party members are already designed and have a story to go with them. All you do is equip weapons and artifacts to strengthen them.” 

“Oh, I love customizable characters. Can I see yours?” 

Alright, so you’re one of those few brave soldiers who may be interested in a nerdy ramble. Idia began to click and swipe at his screen, eventually passing it to [Reader]. [Reader] began to inspect the character, looking at all the features that Idia placed on them. 

“Woah, they look badass. I like your character’s style, but it looks like they aren’t human-like. Are they fantasy-based characters? What kind?” 

Idia couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but his face softened and went from stoic to a more relaxed one. His eyes began to shine with passion as he began to talk about his character, gaining [Reader’s] undivided attention. [Reader] nodded and paid attention when he spoke, asking questions about the game’s lore and characters. Idia answered all their questions with a more enthusiastic chirp, throwing some jokes here and there. The atmosphere changed from tense to a more comforting one as they continued to speak losing track of time. 

“. . .but you don’t meet this fantasy race until act III in the game, even then they’re an antagonistic species until you clear the next three acts, that’s when it clears up. Eventually, you can add this character to your party or can update the way your character looks after-” 

The sound of the classroom door opening snapped Idia from his daze, and he turned to look at the door. 

“Idia, here you are!” 

“Ortho. . what are you doing here?” 

“Idia, it’s been three hours since you were supposed to be back. I came to see where you were. Don’t you remember, the new update for the game was dropping later tonight?” 

“Three hours. . .?” 

[Reader] and Idia panicked, both scrambling up from their chairs, 

“ Oh my gosh, I had no idea time went by so fast. I need to get home and do my homework!” 

“I forgot about my game! S-sorry, I probably bugged you with my spiel-” 

“Not at all, Idia! Honestly, this game sounds cool I might check it out. Well, I wish I could considering I don’t have a platform to play it. Crowley is very stingy with what he gives out. I don’t even have a phone to use, or else I would have asked for your contact info. I’ll catch you later, hopefully maybe one of these days I can see you in class. Take care, Ortho!” 

[Reader] patted Ortho’s shoulder before leaving the classroom. Ortho nodded enthusiastically, wishing [Reader] the same. He turned around to where Idia was standing. Idia was quiet, his eyes wide, and on his face was a dopey grin. His cheeks were lightly flushed, adding color to his pale skin. 

“ Iida? What’s wrong?” 

“Ortho, I’m going to class tomorrow.” 

~~ 

It had been roughly two months since that encounter. Idia never expected it to get this bad. They kept their promise, and [Reader] continued to talk to him even if it was after class and in private. He knows they didn’t mean anything bad by it, but he loved the idea of being their little secret. Held occasional yet school-related conversations in public, but the moment the class ended [Reader] and he would talk for hours. Sometimes, they would come over to the Ignihyde dorm to play games with him or indulge in certain content and media. Ortho was very excited, not only was he able to see his brother form a friendship with someone so close instead of online, but he could also see his brother having a slightly more positive outlook on life. However, he remained haunted by the grim reminder that he would be head of the S.T.Y.X organization and wouldn’t be able to enjoy the luxuries he was experiencing now. Despite all that, he was smiling a lot softer and looking forward to the next meeting. So in other words, everything was content and alright. There was no need for him to hijack the cameras to stalk [Reader], but he did it anyway. 

“Well, no matter. What’s done is done. Now I need to make sure they get home safely.” 

Idia softly smiled at the cameras, looking at [Reader] talking to Grim. They had a smile on their face as well, no doubt teasing the poor kitty. 

‘ They’re so pretty. . .hopefully they like my surprise.’ 

[Reader] was walking with the freshman to the Ramshackle dorm. They were going to drop off some stuff before heading out to the hall of mirrors. As they arrived at the entrance, they were greeted by a ghost. 

“Good afternoon, [Reader] and Grim! How were your classes?” 

“ Afternoon! Nothing too busy, but we just got assigned a major project.” 

“Man talk about annoying, Riddle kept reminding us how important this project was for the freshman.” 

Ace complained with Deuce sharing a similar face of dismay, clearly stressed about the project itself. 

“Vil was the same, he said that I could not afford to get a low score and tarnish Pomefiore’s reputation. This must be a pretty serious project.” 

Jack rubbed the back of his head, “Leona hasn’t mentioned anything yet. If all your housewardens are saying something no doubt when I get back to Savannaclaw he might mention it.” 

“If the project must be this serious, then I cannot score anything but the highest marks! The pride of Diasomnia, no. . .the pride of Malleus-Sama rests on my shoulders!” 

“Cool, anyways. . .” 

The rest of the group disregarded what Sebek was spouting about. The ghost chuckled, before leaving to the living room and returning with a package in hand. 

“Someone came by to drop this off. We don’t know what it is or from whom. There was no name on the package.” 

“Oh, for us?” 

“Seems like it.” 

Curiosity spread among them as they were all devising in their heads what it could be. 

“You don’t think it’s a. . .no it couldn’t be!” 

“But it might be. . .” 

“It might be a what?” 

Grim turned to Ace and Epel who shared mischievous smiles, “Oh you know. . .” 

“Pay them no mind, Grim. They’re just trying to scare you.” 

Deuce waved the two off and reassured Grim that it was all right. [Reader] examined the box, shaking it a little. It felt heavy, but there was no sound with the shake. It might either take up the whole box or it might be very secure. They walked inside their dorm with the others following suit. They sat on the couch and proceeded to open the package. Ripping open the box, they turned to see that it was a new phone. 

“A phone. . .?” 

“ WOAH! NOT JUST A NEW PHONE, IT’S THE LATEST MODEL!” 

Everyone exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers. 

“It is. . .?” 

“Hm, you don’t suppose Crowley got it for us do you?” 

Grim turned to look at [Reader] who scoffed at the idea, 

“Hell no, since when has that man cared for us?” 

“Fair enough, but who do you think it was from?” 

“ Not sure. .  .” 

“ Well whoever it was, they must be loaded!” 

Ace pointed out, [Reader] looking up at him. 

“Surely it can’t be that much...  could it?” 

“It’s over 200,000 Thaumarks!” 

“THAT MUCH!?” 

Grim and [Reader] turned to each other in shock. There was no way Crowley would cough up that much money for them, surely this was a mistake. 

“ Do you think they maybe got the wrong address?” 

“Nope! The postman that delivered it said the package was addressed to a [Reader].” 

“So who could be this generous patronage?” 

“Who knows, but whoever it is. You better take care of that as your life depended on it!” 

“ Got it, maybe I can ask Idia how to set it up. Surely it can’t be too different than the models back in my world, but if it is that much I can’t risk it. Alright, let us go now.” 

“ Do you guys want to go to Monstro Lounge to eat and talk about the project?” 

Sharing nods, everyone set off to Monstro Lounge. Idia was observing through the cameras, looking to see everyone entering the Octavinelle dorm. The moment he saw [Reader] enter, he stood up and made plans to leave his dorm. He closed off all the cameras and locked his room to be safe. He turned to the door, preparing to enact his plan. He left the Ignihyde dorm, turning to the path to the Ramshackle dorm. He walked at a brisk pace. It was the perfect time, no one was near or around to see him. Upon arriving at the dorm, he turned to peek inside the windows. Luckily, the ghosts that were occupying the house didn’t seem to be near. He pulled out a key and swiftly unlocked the door. He remembered one time when he swiped their keys and made a copy of them. Casually returning them to [Reader]. He climbed up the stairs and entered their room. Looking around, he could see a very plain room. Nothing too out of the ordinary but he didn’t mind, he knew that [Reader] was hardly getting any funds from Crowley. That was why he gave them the phone, something to be able to reach them faster. Though the room was plain, there was something that did manage to catch his eye. [Reader’s] used clothing hamper. His breath hitched, slowly and carefully making his way to it. Fear that the slight movement could alert someone, even though he was alone(or was he?). Once he made it across, he peered inside. Just normal clothing, sleeping garments, and so forth. The one thing that did make him turn red, was the sight of [Reader’s] used undergarments. 

His throat was dry as he debated reaching in and taking. What would they think of him? Would [Reader] look at him in disgust? Here he was, a pervert thinking about taking the used underwear of the one he loved. Who knows what he was going to do with them? Idia shook his head, reaching in swiftly and swiping the used underwear. He shakily raised them to his face, placing the crotch area close to his nose. He inhaled deeply, [Reader’s] scent quickly invading his mind. His pants began to feel tight and his dick was hard. He was lost in a trance until he heard a voice come from the living room. 

“I wonder who could have gifted the phone to [Reader]. Do you think they have a secret admirer?” 

Idia’s eyes widened as his body temperature rose. He was horrified, beyond terrified. Tears began to well, he was going to be caught! Idia quietly scrambled to the hallway but skillfully remained undetected as he peered over the stair railway. All the ghosts were in the living room, but they weren’t near the front door. If he played his cards right, he could make it out of the dorm without bringing too much attention to himself. Idia began to walk down the stairs, luckily the ghosts were too into their conversation to hear the creaky stairs. Idia shoved the used garment into the pocket of his jacket. 

“ If they had a secret admirer, do you think it might be that fae boy who sometimes comes here at night?” 

‘The WHAT!?’ Idia internally screamed. Fae. . did he mean Sebek? Sebek knows better than to appear at night, so was it the devilish third-year Lilia Vanrogue? Sure he was an eccentric one, but even he would have morals. Idia was close to the front of the door.  Idia was so into his thoughts, that he failed to notice the ghost that was standing near the gate. The ghost turned around, with a surprised look asked, 

“Are you here for [Reader]?” 

Idia let out a squeak, holding both his arms in a defensive stance. The ghost noticed this and quickly assured him that he did not mean any harm or to spook him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you, but [Reader] isn’t here right now. They’re at the Monstro Lounge working on a project with some peers.” 

“O-oh. . .I see. . .” 

Idia knew they weren’t here, but couldn’t raise any suspicion. The other ghosts soon came to the front door, staring at Idia. 

“Oh, what’s this? Are you a friend of [Reader]?” 

“I-I u-uh. . .d-did [Reader] get the package?” 

“ The package? Oh! Are you their secret admirer?” 

Way to go Iida, he was digging a deeper hole for himself. 

“A-a friend of mine a-asked me to make sure they got it. . .” 

His gaze was adverted to the side and his fingers were twiddling. 

“They did it! By any chance, can we know the name of your friend? Tell us, do they like [Reader]?” 

“ Y-yeah s-something like that. T-they’re a little shy so. . .well then, that’s good. U-uh, I’m going to leave n-now. . .” 

“ Take care, be safe walking back to your dorm!” 

The ghosts all wished him safe travels. Idia nodded and began to walk slowly, once he was away from the ghost’s sight of vision he scrambled back to his dorm. 

“You don’t think he was. . .?” 

“Maybe, but wait. . . isn’t he the one [Reader] likes?” 

~

Idia managed to make it to his dorm without being spotted. He entered his room and locked the door. Once he caught his breath, he made it to his bed and plopped down. He was tired, hopefully, the ghosts didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and remained still for a brief moment before he turned, feeling the fabric of his pants rub against his hard-on. 

‘Oh’

His cheeks reddened and his hair changed from a blue to a purple shade, close to pink. He reached into his pocket, taking out the used underwear. His other hand went to his pants, slowly freeing his hard cock. His breath hitched, he placed the used underwear up against his nose and inhaled deeply. His eyes rolled back at [Reader’s] scent and his free hand went to his dick, wrapping around it. Pre was already forming at the tip, he rubbed his cock up and down slowly, starting a soft pace. 

“Fuck. . .” 

His lidded and glossy eyes stared on, he slowly opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. He gave a long striped lick, tasting whatever remained on the underwear. Whatever little control he had broke, he began to gradually fist his cock as he inhaled and exhaled. He was constantly giving licks as well, his body was moving on his own. He rolled over and entangled his legs with his bedsheets. He let the underwear fall on the pillow and dove nose-first into it. With his right hand, he began to grip the sheets. He rutted into his fist. His mind wandered to [Reader], how would they feel. If they saw him right now, what would they say? Would they call him a disgusting pervert? How dare he get off on your used underwear. How pathetic he is, rutting into his hand thrusting into his bed trying to find the right pace and friction to get off. Fucking pathetic, look at this loser jerking off to the idea of even being able to touch you. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-oh fuck-!” 

He imagined if [Reader] was into it as well. Would they step on his disgusting dick? Would they tease him, call him all kinds of names? Would they make him fuck himself before he even had the chance to fuck them? Idia was thankful for his pillow, other than being able to rest the used underwear so that he could smell and taste as much as he wanted. He was also able to hide his pathetic moans and whines. He was drooling, eyes rolling back and tears welling up. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna-shit I’m gonna come-” 

How their warm insides would feel. How their hole would clamp and clench around his dirty and pathetic cock. Imagine how it would feel to relentlessly fuck them. 

“W-wanna touch them, w-wanna fuck y-you, [R-reader]!? W-wanna c-come i-inside you-ha fuck!?” 

Would they let them come inside? How it would feel, leaving his warm thick sticky cum inside them. When he’d pull out he’d see the thick glob that left their used and abused hole that was stretched out just for him. 

“C-Cumming!??” 

Idia’s eyes rolled back as his back arched, his right hand gripping the sheets and his knuckles turning white, blowing his load into his hands. His cum shoots out to stain his bedsheets. His cum was warmer than average, how would they feel? Would they feel warm and satisfied? Sweat was coating his skin and he struggled to catch his breath. His left hand released his now limp dick and his right let go of the bedsheets. He lifted his body, getting on his knees and he looked at the pillow and [Reader]’s now soiled underwear. 

“I l-love you so much. . .[Reader].” 

~ 

[Reader] kept true to their word and turned to Idia for help setting up their phone. 

“Oh, okay so I do this right?” 

“You’re no better than a noob finally learning how to use a handheld console.” 

[Reader] sent Idia an unamused look, but let out a laugh. Idia smiled, but changed his face the moment [Reader] turned to look up again at him. 

“It’s standard, it’s similar to most models back in my world though some features are completely new. Hey Idia, can I ask you a question? Is this really the latest model and  worth 200,000 thurmarks?” 

“It’s the latest model and now it’s super rare. Those who preordered one when the sale dropped months ago were 100% guaranteed one with a small percentage that they would be sold in stores. They only released a few in-store ones so if you didn’t get one then, it’ll be months before you get one.” 

“Woah, so it’s that special? Ace was telling me all the new stuff it was supposed to have but I just nodded and went with it.” 

“Here.” 

Idia handed [Reader] their new phone back, stuck on the contact screen. The contact read his name, ‘Idia Shroud’, with his phone number saved on it. 

“So now you can reach me. M-maybe play the game now. . .”

“Thank you Idia, I was going to ask you about that too by the way. Do you mind if I lie on your bed?” 

“Hm, no I don’t-WAIT YES I DO!” 

Idia’s scream rang through his room. [Reader]’s eyes widened as they backed away from his bed. 

“S-sorry, my bed is. . .messy.” 

“Oh, I really don’t mind but if you do that’s fine. I can just sit here unless you don’t want me to?” 

“N-no no, there is fine.” 

Idia calmed down, scooting over to [Reader] to explain how to download the game and how to set it up. 

It was like that, consistently for another two months. Idia wasn’t sure what to do, he had planned on confessing but how. Every time he thought it was the right time, someone just had to take [Reader’s] attention or ruin it for him. They could never understand them the way he did. After months of observing [Reader], playing games with them, and sharing deep meaningful conversations, Idia was the only one who could understand them. That’s what he believed, so why was it so hard to be able to confess them? No one was able to understand them to the capacity that Idia could and certainly, no one was worthy of them. Granted Idia himself didn’t feel worthy, but if he was the worm crawling underneath their shoe the other’s were the smears on the concrete. Idia huffed in annoyance, he was typing along to his online friend, Muscle Red. 

Gloomurai: Can I vent to you about something happening IRL

Muscle Red: Of course, what’s wrong? 

Gloomurai: How do you confess to someone you like? 

Muscle Red: Oh, relationship issues? 

Lilia scratched his head, geez. This was an awkward situation, it’s been a while since Lilia courted someone. He wasn’t sure how to proceed with the conversation but he was young once so it couldn’t be too hard.

Gloomurai: Not really considering there is no relationship yet, it’s more like I like someone but can’t bring myself to confess to them. 

Gloomurai: When I want to, something always happens like the universe doesn’t want us to be together. 

Muscle Red: I don’t think that's the case. I think you may need to set up a scenario where you are completely alone to confess, so you don’t have any interruptions.

Lilia winced a little when he read that back, it didn’t sound okay at first. Hopefully, Gloomurai doesn’t look too into it. 

Gloomurai: It’s a little hard, they’re quite social. Almost everyone wants to talk to them. 

Muscle Red: I’m sure if you asked to speak to them about a personal matter, they might set time aside to hear you out. Maybe that is when you confess? 

Gloomurai: I’d probably stutter over my words to get it out, they’re just too cool. . .

Muscle Red: How did you meet them? Is this a close friend or? 

Gloomurai: You could say that. They like the same stuff I like, we became friends with mutual interests. 

Lilia let out a breath of relief. Unlike back then where you either knew the person from growing up together or being interested in them because of one interaction, common interests bonded people. So this should be easy. 

Muscle Red: Hm, so then they probably know you and will feel more comfortable being near a familiar face. When trying to court someone you may want to start with a small gesture of kindness and trying to find time alone to be able to confess to them. That was how most of the time it worked then, but since this is a close friend they might already be able to pick up signs. [MESSAGE UNABLE TO SEND. TRY AGAIN.] 

Muscle Red: You may have to be bold. Do something that they might never expect from you. Try to get them to see you in a different light than just a friend. If you’re able to do that then surely you can win them over, who knows maybe they’ll fall for you just as much. 

Muscle Red: Do something that still falls within their comfort level to show that you still care and know certain things about them. I think once you’re able to show them how you care for them but also make them see you, I think that helps a lot. They already like spending time with you and enjoy common interests, so really, it shouldn’t be too hard. [MESSAFE UNABLE TO SEND. TRY AGAIN.] 

Gloomurai: So try something bold, something that makes them notice my feelings for them? 

Muscle Red: Exactly. 

Gloomurai: Hm, thank you. I think I know what I should do. Thank you for this, really :)). Thank you for helping me defeat the boss too lol. C U!

Muscle Red: see you! 

Gloomurai left the chat. 

Muscle Red left the chat. 

Lilia looked to the bottom right screen on his PC, looking at the symbol representing the internet. 

“My, of all times it seems that the internet went out. Hopefully, they were able to read my messages and understand what I was trying to say. Oh well, they seemed to understand so hopefully it helps. Ah, young love certainly never fails to move my heart. Now, onto the internet.” 

And so, that is where we find ourselves now. Idia was pacing around his room, biting his nails and muttering to himself. 

‘Shitshitshitshitshitshit, what do I do? What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?’ 

[Reader] was sleeping soundly, snuggling into the bed. Clearly, this wasn’t their room and if they were to wake up, surely they would panic. The last thing [Reader] remembered was resting peacefully in their bed with Grim cuddling next to them. 

“I did use a pretty strong spell, hopefully, they wake up soon. . .” 

Idia peered over to see [Reader] they were still unmoving. He nervously made his way to them, getting on his bed and slowly crawling to them. The bed sank with his added weight, but nonetheless, they did not waver. He eyed their body, their features. Their chest was slowly rising with their steady breathing. Idia swallowed hard, his fearful expression didn’t leave his face either while he shakily extended his hand to touch [Reader]. His hand grazed their skin and his cold fingers met their warm skin. Tracing his finger from this shoulder to their forearm, touching their forehead and caressing their cheeks. He stopped breathing, afraid that it would ruin this soft moment for him. His eyes trailed down, to their chest. He removed his fingers from their cheeks and instead began to trail from their collarbone to their chest. With deep breaths and a flushed face, he started going lower. From their chest to their stomach, to their hips, and eventually, their crotch. 

“You’re so pretty. . .wanna see you more. . .” 

Idia lightly rubbed at their crotch, lazily stroking up and down. He didn’t intend to do anything and he certainly didn’t expect to hit any major pleasure zones. Idia continued to touch, not really doing much. He wondered if they were awake, what would they do if they saw him like this? Surely they would scream, be disgusted, and threaten to hurt him. 

‘Be bold’ 

Idia nervously looked over to [Reader]with their eyes still shut. He looked over at their legs, placing his hands in the middle and prying them open. His head peeked up again, no movement. He got on his knees at the foot of his bed, dragging [Reader’s] legs down too. Idia placed his hand on their bottoms, dragging them agonizingly slow. He managed to take them off without stirring them and he left them in just their undergarments. Idia began to drool at the sight but he knew the surprise was waiting underneath the undergarments. Reaching above, he pulled them down swiftly and looked. [Reader’s] sex was exposed and visibly aroused. His cold fingers went to touch their most sensitive bit, lightly tapping it. Trailing their finger up and down, they noticed their hole clenching around nothing. 

“What I would give for you to think of me touching you in your dreams.” 

Idia shakily moved his face to their sex, giving it an experimental lick. Trailing to their hole, licking around the area. He removed himself and began to such on his fingers, once they were coated with his saliva he moved them to their hole. Inserting his middle finger inside. Idia let out a soft squeal when he felt their hole clench around his finger. 

“F-Fuck. . .y-you’re so tight. . .” 

Inserting his finger in and out, creating a soft pace and causing enough lubrication to insert another finger. Idia let out a small chuckle, 

“It’s like you’re greedy hole is devouring me. . .I wonder what you’re dreaming about, [Reader].” 

As Idia continued fingering [Reader], they turned to their sensitive bits and began to lick up and down, pressing light kisses on them. He continued to do this for a bit, lightly teasing them and pumping his fingers inside them. He began to suck and that’s when he noticed it, their body twitched. Thinking it was from pleasure, he continued to tease and explore their body. Their sensitive bits were being toyed with, sucked, licked, pinched, and stroked while he fucked his fingers into them. He didn’t notice the noises they were making as they were stirring, but his heart dropped when he felt his hands wander into his hair. 

“[REA-]!?” 

“D-don’t stop. . .p-please Idia. .m’feels good.” 

He had to be dreaming! There was no way this could be real, but he didn't care. If it was a dream, then what a lovely dream it was. He nodded and returned to abuse their sex. 

“F-fuck, right there-!” 

Idia was overheating, he was eating them out with such intensity. Drool covers their sex and mixes with their juices. His fingers continued their assault, stretching them out in a scissoring motion while also reaching even areas they couldn’t with their fingers. 

“M’ feels g-good, f-fuck g-gonna cum Idia-!” 

[Reader] was coming undone, the feeling of Idia’s long tongue playing with their sex, sucking and kissing along with his fingers was a pleasure overload. When Idia’s fingers reached that soft and spongey spot inside them, curling his fingers to hit, they came. Grabbing his hair and pushing his face against their sex and bucking their hips, riding out their orgasm as they came on his face. 

“C-Coming!” 

Once they came down from their high, they released his hair. [Reader] raised their forearm to cover their eyes as they worked to catch their breath. Idia got up from the floor and got on the bed, crawling to them. 

“[R-reader]. . .I-I-I-?!” 

[Reader] removed their forearm, looking at him with glossy eyes. Idia could only gaze upon them with such love. Their body was covered in sweat, their skin was warm to the touch and their post-orgasmic face was divine. [Reader] propped themselves on their elbows, struggling to sit up on the bed. When they managed to, they turned to look at him with a dazed-out expression. 

“Idia. . .wanna make you feel good too. . .can I?” 

[Reader] asked in a slightly whiny voice that made Idia’s rock-hard cock strain against his bottoms. His breath hitched, 

“E-EH? I-I N-NO Y-YOU DON’T M-MEA-EEP!” 

Idia shrieked when [Reader] pushed him down on his bed, straddling his hips and rubbing their exposed sex on his clothed crotch. [Reader] raised their arms to remove their shirt, turning to remove his bottoms. [Reader] was able to pull down his bottoms and remove his boxer, exposing his dick. Idia’s hair turned into a pinkish hue with the rest of his skin burning up. He was embarrassed that his crush who he went down on, got to see him in a similar position. [Reader’s] hands were warm to the touch and they began stroking and rubbing his cock, jerking him off. Idia threw his head back, moaning uncontrollably and gasping as he felt their fingers play with his tip, rubbing it back and forth. Their free hand began to fondle his balls, creating a feeling of immense pleasure. Tears began to form and Idia looked at [Reader] with a face that was begging for mercy but at the same time, more. 

“O-Of fuck! F-feels so fucking good! H-having my disgusting cock t-touched by you, [Reader]! F-fuck me, please I want it s-so badly!” 

Before Idia could come, [Reader] let go of their dick. They went to their sex, rubbing their hole and inserting their finger, making sure they were stretched well. They leveled themselves to Idia’s cock and began to lower themselves down. Idia closed his eyes at the feeling of their hole clenching down hard on his dick. [Reader] was struggling themselves too, Idia managed to stretch them out pretty well. After a while, [Reader] began to move, slowly creating a slow pace while riding Idia, Their hands went underneath his shirt and to his nipples, playing with them. Their fingers caught them and began to pinch them. 

“Fuck! H-ha…f-fuck, so tight!” 

“Y-you’re so big, Idia. Feels so f-fucking good!” 

Rolling their hips to meet Idia’s small thrusts to reach that deeper part within their insides. Idia’s hands went to grab and hold their hips, keeping them steady. Idia’s left hand went to touch their sex, rubbing and stroking to make them catch their high. Both their bodies were covered in sweat and their moans echoed throughout the room. [Reader’s] movements were getting sloppy, the feeling of their climax was right around the edge. Idia could feel it too, he wasn’t going to last long but he wanted to. He didn't;’t want this moment to end. 

“I-Idia, hm feel’s so good, feel so full! W-wanna c=come. .-ha!” 

“F-Fuck [Reader]! C-Come, please c-come!” 

Relief was granted when Idia thrust one last time, spilling his seed inside them. [Reader] threw their head back and ended up cumming all over Iida. The room smelled of sweat and sex. Idia and [Reader] were both trying to catch their breath, until Idia began to thrust again. 

“W-wait I-idia! I can’t, it’s t-too much! S-still sensitive-!!” 

[Reader] placed their hands on his stomach, steadying themselves and that’s when they saw it. Idia’s glossy eyes, tears staining his face but his face was red. He looked like he was ready to cry again from the overstimulation. 

“P-please, w-want more of you. W-want to feel you-!” 

Idia began to relentlessly thrust upwards, hitting their deepest spots and continuing to play with their sex. It continued for a while until Idia had his fill, pushing [Reader] until they were no longer able to form coherent words just mindless babbles of their pleasure spilling out. Idia finally finished and managed to release inside them. He let [Reader] lie on the bed to rest, but never pulled out of them. They stayed connected even when Idia was no longer hard. [Reader] looked over at Idia who was avoiding their gaze. [Reader] smiled, breathing out before speaking, 

“I love you, Idia.” 

“H-HUH!? N-no, surely you’re just pulling my leg-” 

“Idia, we just fucked. I’m not pulling anything, you think I don’t know that you were stalking me?” 

Idia let out a whine, diving headfirst into their chest to hide his embarrassment. Wrapping his arms around their waist, pulling him closer to them. 

“I know you’ve been stalking me around. I also know you were the one who got me the phone, the ghosts told me you stopped by my house.” 

Idia peeled himself away enough to look up at [Reader] who looked at him with adoring eyes. 

“ You probably hate me, you must think I’m disgusting aren’t I.” 

“I don’t hate you, but I do think you’re pretty disgusting. I don't mind, I like how disgusting you are about me.” 

Idia gazed into their eyes before shying away, continuing to shove his face in their chest. His pink hair was a dead giveaway that he was completely enamored and not okay with that response. 

“ Oh, and I also know you jerked off to my used underwear.” 

A sob left Idia’s lip. 

Bonus: 

Muscle Red: Hello, it's been a while. So, how did it go with the one you wanted to confess to?” 

Gloomurai: Hello. It went well, I went bold as you said. I kidnapped them and I guess they were into that lol. Thank you for your advice. Now, do you want to do that quest? 

Gloomurai: Muscle Red? [MESSAGE COULD NOT BE SENT. USER MUSCLE RED IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE] 

Gloomurai: Muscle Red? :(( [MESSAGE COULD NOT BE SENT. USER MUSCLE RED IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE] 

A/N: I have no words because I lowkey hate the writing because I split it up into several days of work so it’s not only consistent but I think I cannot write smut to save my life as well I used to and well yeah. Happy birthday IRL bestie. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what I meant by my post about the boys not appreciating Yuu enough is about the trauma they inflicted on them and the lack of compensation we get because trauma=not guilty.

We just let them get away scott free without them facing serious consequences and get little to nothing in return. I got inspired by this post https://rose-tea-and-strawberries.tumblr.com/post/720285231576465408/justiceforyuu

So what are your thoughts on this?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmm… 🤔 While I do think the post linked is an interesting read (and OP does make valid points), I think a lot of it goes back to the nature of TWST’s design vs what the individual desires. It’s very easy to self-insert (meaning everyone’s mileage with the characters and plot will vary greatly), and with it being a mobile gacha game, there are definitely some limitations and design philosophies that must be adhered to in order to keep content flowing and thus keep the game profitable.

However, I don’t agree with some of the points suggested (whether by OP or by Anon), particularly that TWST presents “trauma = not guilty” and that Yuu should somehow be “compensated” or given something in return for the troubles they went through. To the former point, I completely agree that the boys’ punishments are far too light for what they’ve done (in OB form). As for their behavior pre-OB (which is, admittedly, still shitty)… I mean, we came into this game knowing the characters are twisted from villains, of all things. We shouldn’t be expecting them to be Super Nice and Empathetic to begin with, no? (So of course Riddle will be insulting Yuu’s background and lineage, Trey’s a bystander, etc.) It doesn’t excuse the behavior of course (it’s still objectively bad), but I thought we came into TWST expecting it??? Like it’s a major part of the draw…

I also believe TWST does a decent job at explaining the OB boys’ trauma while not excusing them because of their trauma; funnily enough, a major theme in book 1 was Riddle being held accountable for his actions for once. (This isn’t limited to just his OB behavior, but rather extends to prior; he was clearly harming his own dorm members well before Yuu got involved with Heartslabyul.) The OB boys were eventually punished for their actions, but because the sentences are relatively light, that’s perhaps where the “trauma = not guilty” perception of the fandom comes from. As I said before though, I think this can easily be attributed to TWST being constrained by the mobile game format (ie it has to be snappy); the light novel is able to expand on the consequences in greater detail.

The game devs likely don’t want to linger on how badly the OB boys truly acted because that could hamper their bottom line (ie endearing the characters to us enough so we sympathize with them and spend money). If they keep demonizing the boys or continuously bring up their literal murder attempts when they were fully lucid and aware of themselves (Leona almost sanding Ruggie, Vil trying to poison Neige), it looks “too” bad on the characters’ part. We also can’t haul the boys off to serious rehabilitation facilities because they need to be physically present to return for the subsequent book—and, of course. You can say “they didn’t get punished severely enough”, sure. But what exactly would that “more severe punishment” being called for entail, especially without disrupting the current story’s flow and not harming the OB boys further in the process? There are practical real world game design and business reasons for this.

To address the Yuu should somehow be “compensated” part, well… I’m not entirely sure if I understand it?? Thinking about it logically, what “compensation” are we looking for? Firstly, no compensation, in my opinion, is worth the anguish that “earned” it in the first place. Compensation will never make up for the mental scars 😔 Secondly, it implies that people are “owed” something for the general bad attitudes they’re given on a daily basis, which is not in any way how real interactions work. Some people will just be assholes to you, and we have to deal with it and move on. In the cases of the OBs and some events (like being kidnapped and basically held hostage in book 4), yes, those are much more serious and should be treated as such. But again, what exactly are we looking for here as “proper” compensation? Is acknowledging one’s faults and mistakes, and saying sorry for it and working toward being “better” not enough? What about the money Vil gives in book 5; is that also not enough? Where do we draw the line? When is it finally “enough” compensation? It’s so poorly defined and there’s no “blanket” compensation that would satisfy everyone and anyone 💦 I would personally be happy just knowing that the other person is aware they’ve done wrong and are taking that vital first step to changing. That’s very difficult to do, especially considering the pride of the average NRC student, so I commend them for at least doing that.

TWST’s story isn’t one that focuses on condemning people for their flaws and errors, but giving them a chance to recognize their wrongs and to grow from them. Its story promotes restorative justice over punitive justice. Overly punishing measures and reparations have proven to not smooth over “bad behavior” in real life; it’s something people need to consciously and actively work toward, so of course it’s going to be a hard process.

The reaction(s) Yuu has to the events going on around them are only as serious as individual fan interpretation makes them out to be. Official depictions thus far (manga, game, light novel) have not strongly indicated that Yuu has had any extremely adverse thoughts or feelings regarding the treatment they’ve experienced at the hands of their peers or any stress related to not being returned home. It’s also not clear (especially in the game) just how much physical involvement Yuu has in battles. Because TWST itself does not frame or portray these events as having super serious impacts on Yuu, that also informs the fans that absorb this content (so they, in turn, will usually also not take the story’s impact on Yuu all that seriously).

The interactive medium of the game (which is the main form people absorb TWST content by) plays such a crucial role in how Yuu is portrayed. Because Yuu is so inherently tied to being the player’s avatar/self-insert, there are limitations to the overt nastiness Yuu takes and their involvement. The manga and the light novel feature new versions of Yuu, yes, but these interpretations are wholly separate from Yuu (the game one). The manga and light novel Yuus can be treated as their own characters and not self insert vehicles, therefore there is a degree of separation between the player and the manga and light novel Yuus. This is why the manga Yuus are more shown to be more active in the story (most notably getting involved in battles). This is why the light novel Yuu is shown receiving more bullying (from mob students) than is depicted in the game. The manga and light novel are NOT interactive mediums, and they don’t have to worry about potentially alienating or offending players who self insert as the game Yuu. Game Yuu is intentionally kept vague for this reason; we aren’t necessarily meant to interpret that game Yuu gets as involved or is treated as harshly as what other mediums depict.

I really don’t think we (the audience) are meant to interpret most of the things (game) Yuu experiences as being deeply traumatic or scarring. In most instances, Yuu is either ignored or they act very nonchalant about what’s happening (groaning or joking about how “oh, not this again!”). The worst injury I can recall Yuu ever getting is when Grim scratches them at the end of book 5. They barely even ever bring up going home or the worry of not being able to get home (not counting very early and very late in the main story when it is plot relevant, or the occasional event story to shoehorn Yuu’s presence in). The game in particular glosses over any potential negative ramifications on Yuu’s part because endearing the boys (who often are Not Nice) to the player is an important component of the gacha model. You can’t have the players despising the characters because that doesn’t encourage spending money to roll for them on banners or to throw money at merch.

I also want to add that many people make Yuusonas to have fun and to escape into a magical world (which is likely reflected in the nonchalance Yuu demonstrates toward going home for most of the story); it’s far more common to see these lighthearted takes because I can’t imagine many people want to self-insert being deeply traumatized by the same magical boys they’re likely big fans of. If you personally want to make or to see a Yuu that becomes traumatized and jaded from what happens during their time in Twisted Wonderland, then yeah! Go for it! All the more power to you. Just remember that this isn’t a universal take.

All of that being said, we come back to something I’ve said time and time again: since Yuu is such a blank slate, you get out of it what you put into it. This means every person’s individual interpretation of the events and how Yuu engages with and reacts to those events may differ wildly. It’s all in good fun, just try to be cognizant of canon vs fanon, as well as others (who may have very different interpretations of the same events and characters).

[arabaka]

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐗 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐁!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ━☆ *⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚.

(GOJO SATORU X AFAB!READER) - BEHAVE.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CONTENT WARNINGS: GOJO'S A L'IL MEAN. SPANKING. BRIEF CHOKING. UNPROTECTED SEX. CREAMPIE. NO PRONOUNS USED. ゜・。.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ WORD COUNT: 426. ゜・。.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ LOVE NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: this is an unfinished wip that i never got around to fleshing out more. hope you enjoy anyways <3 ゜・。.

"Whadd'ya mean you’re not sorry? Huh?" Every word is punctuated by a harsh slap to your bottom, the sharp thwaps!! stinging your skin while his cock bullies its way inside you, inches at a time to give you no reprieve. He always did have a hard time holding back when it came to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, baby.” Gojo hisses, knuckles a stark white as his digits cuff you by your hips, ensuring your cunt stays snug on the base of his cock– where it should be.

You mewl pitifully into the covers, all the bark and bite fucked right out of you. You could only clamor for fistfulls of sheets, letting the bedspread be the confidant to the tears and drool that flow like rivulets from your wound shut eyes and your slack open lips. You knew Gojo could get mean, you just didn’t know he could get like this. So fully sheathed inside you, your little hole is stretched taut. 

“Gotta remind you who this pussy belongs to. That’s all. Then you’ll be good, won’t you?” Gojo’s words find you once he fully sinks his length all the way inside you, body now over you in the same way a predator takes his prey. You’re left to tremble but not to hide; Gojo’s hand around your neck makes a mockery of any man who’s ever thought he was worthy of touching you. Thumb and fingers giving you a squeeze, he revels in how pliable you are, how meek you look under him with a cunt full of cock. Groaning when your hot and gummy walls flex around his shaft, he can’t help but start the pace up all over again, keen to feel you tighten with some movement.

“‘Mmm sorry!” You try to get the words out before he can rob you of them, finally craning your head back to give Gojo the first good look at your face he’s had in a while.

And you are perfectly ruined.

Your thick eyelashes clumped together by diamond tears, eyes with pupils so large they’re devoid of color and your lips. Oh, your lips.  You’re delectable with how your bottom lip juts out in a pout, swollen from kisses and nibbles from the insatiable man with Sjix Eyes. “Shit, you keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m–” He breaks for an inhale and you feel his need come to a boiling point with a heavy throb in his cock, making your body shudder as he just seems to fill you up more and more.

[onismdaydream]

bro, I've been wanting to read a step brother for a while now and I'm SURE that only you could do something as good as I've been thinking. So, can you do one where Leon (RE2) is fantasizing about his little sister? imagining how he could fuck and abuse his little sister's big breasts 🥺

sorry i made u wait for a month but i finally wrote something :3 i hope u like it!! <3

tags: mdni. 18+. stepcest (siblings). afab/fem reader. masturbating (m). voyuerism (leon watches reader without their knowledge). he's obsessed with your tits obvi. not proofread.

He didn't mean to. Honest.

But he couldn't help but steal a quick peek as he walked by your room, your door open just the slightest bit. He could see your reflection in the standing floor length mirror, the one with those little strings of ivy wrapped around the top. Your room was always so cute.

You were rifling through your closet, the hangers clanging into each other as you pushed past each article, trying to find the perfect outfit. Leon couldn’t wrap his mind around the amount of effort you put into your appearance. You already looked perfect in his opinion, no need to waste all that time getting ready.

Biting on your sparkling lip gloss covered bottom lip, you pulled out a frilly skirt, a pretty shade of pink that you always seemed drawn to. Leon suppressed a groan when you bent down to slide your lounging shorts off, his eyes glued to your panties. They showed off your ass in just the right way, hugging your wide hips and barely covering anything. It’s like you were putting on a show for him, like you knew he was there watching you. Wishful thinking, to say the least. Knowing you, you would slap at his chest, calling him a gross perv for staring at his step sister before you would run off and cry to your daddy. And then he’d get an earful from his mom and that wouldn’t do.

He should really stop, walk away while he was ahead, but then you started to twist your hips to watch the material twirl around you. And he was fucking mesmerized.

It’s not like Leon didn’t know you had a nice rack, he wasn’t blind. Especially when you would wear those tight tank tops or those low cut shirts that you almost burst out of, or god that absolutely not appropriate excuse for a swimsuit you’d sport during the summer. Family trips to the beach would make his mouth dry and he’d have to run to the bathroom to jerk off at the sight of your wet body. He would never admit how quickly he’d cum, his hand covered in sticky white as he tried to catch his breath.

But this was different somehow, more authentic. The lacy bralette didn’t do much to support your tits, the slight movements of your body making them bounce. He wanted to stick his head between them so bad. Suffocate him between those massive things and he’d die a happy man.

You seemed content with your choice, nodding your head with a soft hum before you walked towards your dresser to find a top. Leon could feel his cock straining against his underwear, the tightness becoming too uncomfortable to ignore. Thinking fast, he pulled out his phone and snapped some pictures of you, your full breasts and perky nipples beginning to prod at the thin fabric, a sight too perfect to not capture. His eyes caught your own in the mirror for a split second before he bolted as quietly as he could to his room.

Leon slammed his door shut and immediately fished his aching cock out, gripping at the base as his head tipped back against the wood. He didn’t even need the pictures honestly, the image of your beautiful tits at the forefront of his brain. God, what he wouldn’t give to just feel them in his hands, to grope and squeeze the fat of them. They’re probably so sensitive, you probably cry out when someone tweaks at your nipples. Probably liked them being sucked on, too. He could imagine you pulling at his hair as he licked and bit at those swollen buds, your voice turning whiny as it always does when Leon teases you.

Maybe he could convince you to let him fuck them, let him slide his fat cock between your tits. All you would have to do is push them together a bit, just enough so he could feel your soft warmth surrounding his length. Surely that’s not asking for much, right? It’s not like it’s actual sex so it’s completely fine. Just let him use your body for a bit and he’d make sure you felt good, too. Leon’s a nice guy, after all.

He didn’t even realize how hard he was fucking his fist until he felt the familiar coil tightening in his gut, his mind running rampant with images of you and your fucking tits. It was pathetic, really, how fast you get him all worked up like this. It hadn’t even been five minutes and he’s about to blow his load, his tip practically drooling with precum.

The sound of your voice calling out his name made him tip over the edge, a loud moan slipping past his lips as his jizz coated his hand and dripped to the floor. He could hear your hurried footsteps come closer to his room, your palm banging on his door as you yelled at him. So you did actually see him, huh.

He wipes his dirty hand on his pants, stuffing his twitching cock back inside. He didn’t really care to listen to exactly what you were threatening or what insults you called him, not that it really mattered anyway. Leon had a pretty good idea of what he could do to get you to shut up.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 42

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

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

The baby sleeps in her bassinet. Peaceful. You don’t know the last time you ever felt that. The last time you slept soundly. When you manage to drift off, it’s painful and heavy, and you wake up feeling worse as you face the reality you can’t escape.

Dottie’s flighty tones waft up from the first floor. You can’t make out her words, you don’t care enough to try, but you know by Andy’s deep responses and the subsequent click of the door that she’s sending him off. Good. You can’t face him, not after you ran out covered in bile.

You prop up several pillows behind you and recline against them. You just lay there, staring at the joint of ceiling and wall. You don’t watch anything, you don’t use your phone to scroll, you can’t even listen to music. They’re all just a reminder of what you don’t have and what you’re stuck in. Other people have lives and meaning, you are just an udder to be milked.

Dottie raps on the door but as usual, doesn’t await your permittance. She inches open the door and lets out a long sigh. She disapproves. Of you. She should direct that at her son. You don’t say as much. You tried to before and she was too cowardly to hear you. Must be where he gets it from.

“Andy packed up your leftovers,” she informs you, “such a sweetheart that one.”

“You can have them,” you roll onto your side and cross your arms, “I said, I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, hon–”

“For her or for me? I’m not stupid. The only reason you care is because the baby needs to suck on me like a goddamn juice box. You don’t care how I feel.”

“I know exactly how you feel, dearie, I carried a child too, I fed them, I spent those months with just me and them–”

“Whatever. I don’t fucking want to hear what you went through. It’s not the same.”

“You can’t go on like this. You won’t survive.”

“What do you care?” You snarl. “Because I don’t. I don’t care. Put her on formula and let me die.”

Silence. You hear her near the bassinet and feel her shadow looming near the bed. You almost regret your words. Almost. It would solve a lot of issues if you weren’t here. 

You wouldn’t feel like this. That baby wouldn’t have to feel the flagrant resent radiating off of you at every moment. Dottie wouldn’t have to pretend. And Lloyd, whenever he returns, wouldn’t have to throw you out. You’d do him a favour, quite generously, and free him yourself.

“I’ll take Luna for the night. You get some sleep,” the wheel of bassinet unlocks and rolls softly over the hardwood, “I’ll bring up the pump. I sterilised it earlier. You can use that if you feel… uncomfortable.”

“Fine,” you hiss, “get away from me.”

🍑

You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t see the date stamped at the bottom corner of the television screen. You sit, blankly, watching the scroll of text across the bottom, doing the math in your head. Another week. The living room is quiet but for the tempoed cadence of the newscaster.

You’re consumed in the indifference of your existence. You barely say a word. You barely feel. You take the baby when she fusses or when she’s handed to her, you relieve the pressure in your chest, and give her back. You sit around, sometimes you lay flat on your back, and other times you find yourself standing in doorways, feeling lost.

That day feels different. Dottie, like a hummingbird, is always moving, but she is in a storm of anxiety, edging on anticipation. She’s brought you a measured cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with milk. You’re not very hungry but you drink the coffee first, eating the oatmeal only at her prompt.

She takes the empty dishes after she hands you the baby again. You let her nurse and Dottie comes back to burp her and put her down. The baby, for all your dissonance, is quiet and calm.

You end up on your side, head on a throw pillow, as the news comes to an end and a home show comes on, giving tips on how to reuse old plant potters and repairs bookshelves. You close your eyes as deja vu sweeps over you. Those days you worked nights but found yourself sleepless in the AM, you would put on some channel or another, let the dullness ease you to sleep.

You drift into the memories and feel the tinge beneath your eyelids. When you open your eyes, you expect to be back in the duplex, you expect Colin to walk in and complain about his job, as you get up to make your coffee and make him dinner. You expect to be who you were before all this.

But you’re not.

“Why don’t you have a shower, sweet?” Dottie appears.

You squint as the sunlight streams yellow between the curtains. It’s around noon, you can tell by the height and hue of the day. You nod and let her help you up. The idea doesn’t sound good until she has you under the faucet, the warmth easing your muscles and washing away the days of sweat and negligence.

You get out and your chest aches. You cup your full tits and see your silhouette in the steamy mirror. You reach forward to wipe away the glaze. You see your body, the scar, the stretch marks, the loose skin, the weight still clinging. You want to puke at the sight of yourself.

You cover yourself with a towel and come out. You go to the guest room where you’ve built your nest. Dottie comes to the doorway as you dry yourself off shamelessly. You can’t change it. You can’t undo it.

“Is she hungry?” You ask.

“She’s still asleep.”

“Mm.”

“You hurtin’?” She asks.

You nod. “I’ll pump.”

“Good,” she enters the room and goes to the closet. She pulls out a purplish pink dress with short sleeves and a bit of ruffle around the elastic cuffs and neckline. Not much to it, light and figureless. 

You watch clueless as she lays it out with a pair of panties and a clean nursing bra. You shake your head as you cross your arms around the towel, holding it against your chest as it drapes over your stomach.

“You’ll want to wear something nice for lunch,” she says.

“Lunch?” You scowl.

“Mhmm, a day out of the house, away from the baby, it’ll be nice, won’t it?” She drawls as she turns to you, “Andy will be here soon.”

“Andy?”

“Yep, I told you, hon. Maybe you didn’t hear me, you’ve been a touch distracted,” she touches your shoulder gently, “a mom like you, how can’t you be? Doing so much, giving so much, you deserve a bit of time to get a little, huh?”

You shake your head and give her a frantic look, then glance at the dress.

“Can I wear something else?” You ask, “to hold all this in?”

She seems to sigh in relief. You’re certain she expected an argument but you don’t have that energy. You just do what you’re told, what you have to do. If she wants you out of the house, you’ll gladly leave this prison. 

“If you like,” she puts her hand on her hip, “but will you try this on? You don’t like it and we’ll go with your choice. It’s hot out, dear,  you don’t want to over do it.”

You sniff and shrug, “fine. Whatever.”

And that’s just how it is. You don’t feel much one way or the other. Dress or no dress. It doesn’t matter to you, but the more you let the idea sink in, the more eager you are to get away. Even if Andy will be there.

[quibbs126]

Okay, so I think I have some more ideas for that Transformers au, since that was all my brain let me think about during the second half of my shift

It’s mostly just about Megatron and also the Decepticon cause

Okay so first off, I think if I want to make things the way I do, I’m gonna say that the Decepticons are genuinely fighting for equality for Cybertronians, while the Autobots are fighting to maintain the status quo. It’s not necessarily to say all Autobots want inequality, and some are fighting in hopes to build a better future through more peaceful means, but a lot of them don’t really recognize that the system is or was that bad. And there are still bad Decepticons, either those just wanting to cause mayhem or are just looking for a way to better their own status, but a large portion are fighting for change in Cybertronian government

Part of what makes the Autobots the generally dominant force in this conflict is that they’ve got a lot of propaganda going for them and against the Decepticons, including that being why they’re called “Decepticons”. Not everything said about the Decepticons is untrue, they are willing to do less than savory things to achieve their goals if necessary, but the idea that the Decepticons are evil deceivers is largely propaganda

I think in my head, I want the war to be portrayed as an actual civil war and revolution. When we hear about them in history, yeah there seems to be a relatively obvious good and bad looking back, like with the American Revolution and the Patriots and Loyalists, but in the moment, when they happened, neither side was entirely good or bad, and there’s reasons as to why people stuck to one side or the other, because they were people, not entities with a singular shared ideal

The French Revolution might be a more accurate comparison to the Cybertronian civil war, but also I grew up in America so the AR is my big frame of reference and I don’t know much about the FR other than it being semi inspired by the American one and having a lot of execution. But you get what I’m saying regardless

But also if we want the idea of the Decepticons being “evil”, well you gotta probably add some propaganda to explain why that’s how they’re depicted

Optimus is someone who just wants peace and is genuinely a good person, but he was also raised on Autobot propaganda and was never in a position in life where he would have particularly suffered the system (though he probably did still have hardships, I just don’t know what). Throughout this story he learns to see the truth of the matter more

Meanwhile, back to Megatron, the person I meant to be talking about

Okay so I’m thinking that he’s from a colony or city that was at the bottom rung of Cybertronian society, though I haven’t decided particularly what his job was. It might have been a miner and/or gladiator (I’m debating gladiator to have that be a reason he’s high up in rank), but maybe I should do something else

But anyways, I haven’t worked out the kinks in his backstory, but his birthplace was under control of the Autobots, and he became emboldened by the ideals of the Decepticons and their leader (who at this point I might just make Galvatron), and ended up leading an uprising alongside his fellow bots to overthrow the corrupt leadership in their home, and being successful in this attempt. The Autobots were planning to launch a counterattack to reclaim the area, but the Decepticons caught wind of the uprising and managed to get there first, leading to the place becoming Decepticon territory and being under their protection

While not everyone involved decided to join the Decepticon rebellion afterwards, plenty being content to just have their freedom, Megatron decided to join with them afterwards, wanting to bring their cause to even more places amongst the galaxy

Megatron was a powerful bot, and one with a lot of guts and courage, and he has some skill in leading other bots, which led to him becoming a Decepticon commander. He’s also extremely loyal to those who’ve earned his respect

However his main flaw is that he is deeply emotional, and as such has a tendency to let his emotions overtake his logic and common sense, and that’s when he tends to fail and make the wrong decisions. This tends to particularly be a problem because his main emotion is anger

This is exactly why Starscream ends up getting assigned to Megatron as his second in command; Starscream may not be the most upstanding bot, but he’s very shrewd and very flexible with his circumstances, always looking for a way to come out on top, not letting grudges and emotions get in the way of things. Couple that with his extensive military experience and he was considered a good fit for Megatron, with the idea the two could even each other out

Speaking of Starscream, I’m flirting with the idea he may have at one point been an Autobot, but eventually switched sides alongside his squadron, but that’s neither here nor there

Anyways back to Megatron, he tends to judge people based on their character and direct actions rather than their skills and accomplishments. It’s not to say he can’t work with someone who’s highly skilled but an asshole, he just won’t like them

You’d think this means he’d be able to make peace with the Autobot squadron relatively quickly, but he has a deep hatred for Autobots (probably backstory related but again I don’t know the specifics) that tends to override that idea of judging by their character. Over time he also learns to let this hatred of the Autobots go, particularly because of Optimus as he sees the bot is genuinely good and wants to do what’s right

Also with that, I’m thinking he and Optimus have no prior connection, only meeting now at the time of the story. They probably knew of each other, but had no prior personal relationship

So basically they get enemies to lovers instead of the divorce arc. Well I mean, I’m not sure if they end up together, maybe one or both of them have other people they date. But you get what I mean

And yeah, I think that’s about it. I should probably go do homework now in all honesty

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight ~ Main Route Chapter 7

Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist

Additional Content Warnings: None

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Apparently, the red-haired woman who was almost kidnapped was treated at the hospital and returned home safely.

“A tall, handsome man suddenly appeared and killed all the thugs.”

Even if she told someone, no one would have believed her, Alfons told me that he’d met the woman wrapped around a pipe at the bar.

(Anyway, I’m glad she’s safe.)

(But the incident is over again…)

--However.

Alfons: “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you a special piece of information.”

Alfons: “I heard that Victor recovered the people Ellis killed and was able to discover their identities.”

Alfons: “It seems that all of them were members of a gang.”

(A gang…!?)

Gangs are groups of outlaws who engage in all sorts of misdeeds, from extortion to theft to assault.

Even working for the post office, I’d been warned to be careful.

Alfons: “It would seem that this group has migrated from the north over the past few years.”

Ellis: “Ah… Jude’s fought with that gang before.”

Ellis speaks so casually next to me as I bow my head.

Ellis: “It seems like they were trying to blackmail Jude’s business partners and take proceeds from their sales.”

Ellis: “The executive who meddled with this should have been sent to prison.”

Jude: “…The blokes who attacked you and Ellis the day after ya arrived at the castle were also at the bottom of that gang.”

Kate: “…that’s right, they were.”

Those words made me feel closer to the gang and I gasped.

(But then…)

Kate: “A gang calling themselves a circus? What on earth is that for…?”

Alfons: “Mm? Well, people gather around fun and unusual things, after all.”

Alfons: “If you want to kidnap people, isn’t the ‘circus’ a good bait?”

Alfons: “’The best stage of your life, where you’re the leading role!’”

As he speaks with a passionate tone, Alfons takes my hand.

Alfons: “’It’s a shame that you’re smoldering in a corner of the city!’”

Alfons: “’What would you do if you didn’t make use of your talent, beauty, youth, and passion?’”

Alfons: “…If I approach you and get your consent, it’s ours.”

(You’re good at acting…)

Alfons: “The person who was recruiting her was Captain Jake Grace himself.”

Alfons: “She said she was certain it was him on account of the characteristic scar around his eye that he got from being attacked by a wild beast when he was young.”

Kate: “I see…”

(Captain Jake Grace… I guess that means the ‘captain’ is now in a gang.)

Part 2

(Captain Jake Grace… I guess that means the ‘captain’ is now in a gang.)

Even if you end up in debt and ruin,

(To be the one to take down a fellow worker… I don’t know what to do.)

Alfons: “Well, we’ll find out the truth eventually.”

Alfons: “It seems like William and his friends are cleaning up the gang’s base right now.”

Alfons: “I took advantage of the opportunity and wiped it out. The case is settled, right?”

Kate: “The what can we do now…?”

Ellis: “Maybe I’ll just patrol the town to make sure no more people get kidnapped.”

Jude: “They’re wary after yesterday. They ain’t gonna show their tails like that.”

In other words, this is the end of the investigation of the incident that we were given as a mission.

Kate: “What are the kidnapped people doing?”

I want to rescue them as soon as possible, but I still don’t know where they are.

Alfons: “Usually, they’re sold away… if they’re young orphans, they might become gang members.”

Alfons: “If they disobey, they’re threatened with death, so they’re forced to pickpocket, extort, and do other risky chores.”

Kate: “…”

Even though I knew somewhere in my heart that this was reality--,

Alfons: “Gang members were originally like that, struggling desperately to survive.”

Alfons: “These are people who, at some point, stopped caring even if they commit a crime.”

Alfons: “Once you commit one big sin, you become numb to the hurt caused by small sins.”

The words that came out of Alfons’ mouth so smoothly were so realistic that it made my heart ache.

(The feeling of being hurt is numbing.)

For some reason, the image of Ellis showing no emotion in the pool of blood last night, flashed in my mind.

(I wonder if Ellis became numb while working as a member of Crown…)

(…I can’t leave him alone anymore.)

--

After reporting and sharing the situation, I check the notes in my notebook.

Ellis and Jude work to protect me,

As we worked together, I was able to get a rough idea of their schedules.

(Ellis and Jude are both off from work today.)

(Jude said he had something to do by himself…)

Kate: “Um, Ellis.”

Ellis: “Kate.”

At the same time I called out to Ellis, he also called out to me—

Kate: “I-I’m sorry…”

We couldn’t help but stare at each other, and Ellis smiled softly.

Ellis: “…Go ahead.”

Part 3

Ellis: “…Go ahead.”

Kate: “Um…, would you like to go out into town with me?”

Ellis: “Oh, like the patrol I mentioned earlier?”

Kate: “Yeah. I wanted to do whatever I could… Even if nothing happened, I thought it would be a nice break.”

Ellis: “…You really are a hard worker.”

(It’s the usual Ellis…)

A smile spread across his lips and that alone made me feel relieved.

Ellis: “Alright, patrol. Let’s go.”

Kate: “Ah, but I’m also curious about what you were about to say, Ellis, so please tell me.”

(The fact that Ellis had called out to me means he had something to say to me, right?)

Ellis: “I was about to say ‘It’s nice weather and I don’t have to work, so we should take a nap.’”

(Nap…Oh that was before…)

--Flashback—

Kate: “Hmm… I guess it’s when I’m taking a nap on my bed in the sunlight on my first vacation in a while.”

Ellis: “…I’d like to see that. Would you like to take a nap with me next time?”

--End Flashback—

Kate: “..Did you mean it when you said you wanted to take a nap together?”

Ellis: “Yeah….Why?”

(What should I do…)

(I want you to feel a little lighter today.)

(Doing the patrol… I heard what Ellis wanted to do and wanted to make it come true.)

For Ellis, taking the lives of so many people last night was…

Maybe it’s not something that hurts his heart anymore.

(…Ellis said he wanted to do this himself, so I want to make it come true.)

Kate: “Well then… let’s take a little nap in the park between patrols!”

Ellis: “Really?... In that case, I need to bring a warm blanket.”

(Ah, Ellis looks a little happier? Good.)

Kate: “We should also bring some cranberry jam and the scones that Victor baked this morning.”

Ellis: “It’s a picnic.”

Kate: “Yes!”

Part 4

Ellis and I began hurriedly preparing to go on a picnic.

(I wonder if I should wear clothes like this for a picnic…)

I was dressed up a little more than when I was on a mission.

I waited for Ellis in the entrance hall with the basket of scones in hand.

Roger: “Hello, little lady.”

Kate: “Roger.”

Roger happened to be passing by and when he saw me, the corners of his lips lifted into a grin.

Roger: “Are you meeting Ellis for a date?”

***Choices***

1. We're just going out together +2 +4

2.  Is this a date after all? +4 +2

***3. It's not a date. +4 +4***

Kate: “It’s… It’s not a date. It’s a patrol.”

Roger: “With that excited expression, they’re both the same thing.”

(…I wonder if that’s what I look like.)

However, I am aware that I’m a little more fidgety than usual.

Roger: “I heard you had a tough mission yesterday, so I thought I’d treat Ellis to lunch.”

Roger: “Maybe next time.”

Kate: “Now that you mention it, I heard from Ellis that you treat him to lunch often.”

Ellis told me a lot of stories about the members of Crown.

I heard many stories about Roger taking him out to eat delicious food.

Roger: “Maybe when the guy gets overwhelmed with duties during the busy season and gets distracted.”

Kate: “Hehe, you’re like his older brother.”

Roger: “If I were his brother, the first thing I would do is have him quit his job working for Jude.”

(I thought they seemed to get along well, but it seems like he’s worried about his family.)

Kate: “You care about Ellis, don’t you?”

Roger: “Hmm? Ah, that’s right. It’s as part of my research on curses, though.”

Roger: “In the case of Ellis… it’s simply that I have a personal attachment to that curse.”

Part 5

Roger: “In the case of Ellis… it’s simply that I have a personal attachment to that curse.”

(Speaking of Ellis’ curse…)

Kate: “The curse of thorns?”

Roger: “Yeah. To the point where I can’t sleep well unless he’s properly happy.”

I sensed many layers of meaning in his words.

Kate: “Why is that?”

Roger: “That’s a secret.”

I kind of had that feeling before he said it, but Roger wouldn’t tell me that easily.

As I took a deep breath, Roger gave me a testing look.

Roger: “Everyone has something to hide. To reveal it, you have to pay a certain price, don’t you?”

(Does that mean… I just need to offer something in exchange?)

Kate: “…What would I have to pay in exchange for you to tell me?”

Roger: “Let’s see… What if you could win Ellis’ heart?”

Kate: “Eh!?”

Roger: “I think you guys are a good match, don’t you?”

Roger is smiling and stroking his chin.

Kate: “W-What are you talking about?”

I felt like the topic was going to go in a strange direction if this continued, so I hurriedly look for another topic.

Kate: “…Oh, that’s right. Roger.”

Kate: “Do you know anything that makes Ellis happy, or that he does for fun?”

Kate: “On the other hand, I’d like to know what makes him sad and what he can’t forgive.”

(Judging from out conversation earlier, Roger doesn’t seem to be the type to talk about others much…)

When I glanced up with low expectations, Roger’s shoulders were shaking, making me wonder how he interpreted my words.

Roger: “What, so you’re not too happy with him after all?”

Kate: “That’s not what I meant!”

Roger: “I don’t know what to say, ah, but… There are so many things I want to tell you.”

Kate: “…?”

Roger: “His true thoughts, his honest feelings, his desires… I’m the one who wants to know.”

Kate: “Are you saying it’s something you know nothing about, Roger?”

Roger: “Aah.”

It’s pretty bad that he treats you to food on a regular basis and you don’t even show it to the people who wish you happiness.

Roger: “But, there are no humans without emotions or desires.”

Roger: “Little lady, please reveal his ‘secret’ for me.”

Roger: “I don’t know what I’ll have to offer in return.”

Next Chapter

[mellorine-dreams]

NSFW Alphabet - Mephisto Pheles

Came across this in my old drafts. So, I cleaned them up a bit and thought I’d post them here!

🔞 MINORS, PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG OR LIKE! Please respect these boundaries. 🔞

Content Warnings: Emotional and mental “games”, and also rough kinks that y/n consents to. Master and servant dynamics. I suppose it got kind of dark (it is Mephisto, after all), but none of the games or rough treatment is described in great detail.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

How he treats you after sex largely depends on his mood and your relation to him. I can see him being quite the dear after sex, especially if he likes you. Teasing and cuddling you, rubbing any sore spots from the more than likely rough/brutal sex. I think it would ring hollow most of the time, as he could just be doing it for the theatrics and/or to mock you. He’s moody like that, even with ones he actually likes. If he's in a really mean mood then expect him to straight up taunt you, belittle you, and press your buttons. Though if you’re a servant that he decided to take, with no psychological warfare or foreplay beforehand, he won’t stay. He’ll just take you as he pleases and leave you alone in your bed.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. Mainly because of how they look on you. And he also loves his goatee 💀. On other people though, this man loves curvy and/or elegant bodies. Neither of those are strict requirements since an interesting personality or perceptive mind also interest him. But, he loves groping and teasing flesh, plus he loves the bouncy quality of skin that comes along with that groping and teasing.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Thin and tastes bad. He doesn't come a lot. Slowly spurts, like lava flowing downhill from a volcano. Smells bad, as well. Like bleach. He can’t mark you so well due to this, so where he comes on you depends on his mood. He tends to mark chests and faces the most, though. Sometimes your upper thighs too.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Maybe his secret plans in general LOL. But in regards to sex, he doesn't really have any. He’s tried everything, and he’s open to most things. Mephisto is very confident in chasing after what he desires and shamelessly indulges in what he wants.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's thousands of years old and has been with countless people. He's very perceptive to what makes others hot and bothered, and loves to use that against his partners in the room. Small touches, little grabs, artfully toying with your feelings and mind. He's very physically, emotionally, and mentally motivated like that.

He can tell how to get you off, but that’s not always what he chooses to do. And if he does, there’s going to be mental and emotional games involved. Even if they’re sometimes smaller games and not always so extreme.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I personally think he loves being topped. He sees it as you serving him and him just sitting back and enjoying the show. He’ll tell you what to do, try to control your rhythm and pace. It’s a win-win situation for him, since you’re either serving him, or he gets to playfully punish you for disobeying his commands. A power bottom of sorts. Ultimately, he has the mindset of “Look at my cute toy trying to toy with me! They should know by now that I’m the one in control here~”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think that in most cases, Mephisto won't be offended if you get a little silly. I could see him matching the mood with his own dirty jokes. He'll probably even find your giggles and attempts to make him laugh amusing, cute, maybe even a bit endearing.

If he’s in a bad mood then don’t try that, he’ll more than likely lash out and ruthlessly degrade you with psychological abuse.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Even though he has no good taste, this man is all about his brand of beauty and aesthetics. Even if he dresses like a clown. He’s very well kept. He has a bush and keeps it trimmed. It’s somewhat sparse, not too thick. It’s the same color as his other hair. He keeps it clean and presentable since he cares about hygiene, Mephisto knows that being gross is going to ruin his chances of picking up people. And he’s not a “low class slob” like that, anyway.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can fake intimate connection for sure, he's been on Assiah for ages and is acclimated to it's social customs. Even if you’re a mate, I would see him being temperamental about how genuine the sweet sentiments are. Sometimes they would be a bit genuine, though I think many times he would use them for the theatrics, or to tease and mock you.

If you’re a servant, or he’s in a bad mood, then he’s not gonna care about any of that. In the former case, he will especially use that mocking brand of intimacy to make backhanded comments and psychologically torture you.

He’s also picky about those who call him by Samael so casually, and when or how imo. If he’s fond of you then he might tolerate it sometimes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I can't see him jacking off so much. He’d rather get a partner to relieve himself. He probably sees masturbation as crass and thinks he's above it. He's not. Mephisto will definitely jack off if he's really turned on after harassing you, a heated argument, or messing around with your thoughts and feelings.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Oh boy. He loves mind games, toying with emotions, being found out and called out on his bullshit. He's very mental like that. Otherwise, he's open to almost everything. I wouldn’t call it a kink, but a consistent taste he has is being ridden. Or being beyond rough in the room. To the point of being brutal or even violent. Biting and scratching that breaks skin, really man handling you and throwing you around, leaving dark bruises on you, etc. Mephisto looooovveees to mark people like that. Especially if you cover them up in public so only he can see them, or if they peek out from your clothing and others get the picture. The thought of such a dirty and feral encounter having such a small but obvious hint, that really turns him on.

Fantasy and role play are already big things for him, and he’s a nerd. So he loves it when you cosplay as his waifus in bed.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Depends on how he sees you. If he likes you a lot, then the bedroom. Call him traditional but he's really into the whole ambiance of the bedroom, the cozy bed, warm sheets, the fine decor (and anime merch), and the dim lights. He loves the mood it sets and highly prefers it to other environments, especially if you’re his mate. I do think he’s spontaneous enough to take you anywhere he wants. He’ll tease you about the risks. Otherwise, he couldn’t care less about the location if you’re a servant.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He definitely has his tastes when it comes to bodies, personalities, and people’s history, but he’s very mentally motivated. He'll engage in full on psychological warfare with you before smashing the hell out of you. To him it's the best form of foreplay, as well as a way to test the psychological limits and perception of his partners. So many aspects of mental manipulation and warfare interest him, and that carries over to his sex life.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s only gonna share you or watch you fuck others if he’s commanding that. Also he doesn’t like anything incredibly unsanitary like emeto or scat. Otherwise he's pretty open to anything.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

God tier oral skills. He edges a lot when giving oral, and gets into it, teasing you as your cute yelps and moans drive him to further toy with you. It’s just *chef’s kiss*. He won’t always make you come, though. That’s part of the fun for him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on his mood and relation to you. If you're a servant that is his for the taking, I see him being inclined to having rough and fast encounters more. If he really likes you, or there’s been a psychological battle or argument beforehand, he’s going to be more inclined to drawing out his playful torture by being more slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He would rather have "proper sex", meaning in a room and being able to relish his time with you. I could only see him having a quickie as a way to taunt you about the risk of others walking in.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yeah, he’s down for nearly anything. Not much is new to him but he is open to most ideas you have, and risks don’t bother him so he’s good in that area.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a Demon King! He can last all day and all night. Maybe for days or even weeks, if he really likes the dynamic.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think the question should be more like "What toys doesn’t he use on his partner and himself?” Gags? Check! Dildos? Check! Vibrators, check! Restraints, check. The dude has a whole arsenal of sex toys to use during sexy times.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He teases you so much that you swear you're going to combust sometimes. Either mentally, physically, or both. He's really into edging and teasing you.

He enjoys being edged and toyed with too, but he’s still going to want to "punish" you for toying with him too much. I think he would like gaining the upper hand in even small games like that.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Depends on his mood and the events that led up to the encounter. If there was a lot of winning in fights on his end, he’s going to relish it and be loud. If he’s mad, a sort of cold and angry quiet will reflect his mood. I do think he’s more vocal than not. Grunts, low voices, whispers, shameless moans and groans. If he doesn’t see the need to be composed, then he’s going to let loose.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Not exactly a cuckold, but he will enjoy ordering you to play with others. It’s another way for him to show control.

Also, his body hair is kind of sparse. He doesn’t have much on his chest, legs, arms. His bush is a bit thin.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His bush isn’t too thick, and he keeps it trimmed. He’s 8-9 inches. Long but slim, just like him. Uncut. Pale with a purple head. He's got big, saggy balls too. He shaves them so he can feel what’s going on there better. There’s a reason why he holds on to his vessel and it’s not just because it can hold him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He's one of the horniest characters in the entire series, I don't think I need to elaborate on this.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't get sleepy after sex. If you’re a pet or servant or whatever then he’ll probably just leave you in bed alone. Though he’s open to staying a bit longer if you actually interest him.

[lovebugs-and-snakecharmers]

LBSC Lukanette Month - September 2024

Welcome to LBSC Lukanette Month 2024! If you're in a hurry, skip on down to the prompt list below, but be sure to check out the rest of the post for information about where and how to post for maximum visibility. Just to be clear, even though we call it LBSC Lukanette month, ANYONE can participate. There's no membership card and you don't have to join the discord or follow the blog.

You will notice we have many more than 30 prompts here - because there's no such thing as too many prompts. This way you can pick and choose which ones speak to you. As with all of our events, the rules are quite laid back (although we do have some hard and fast rules at the bottom of the post regarding the type of content). You may fill as many or as few prompts as you like, as often as you like, in whatever order you like, in whatever format you like (sprint, minific, 30 chapter epic, whatever makes you happy). Our official event dates are September 1 through September 30, but if you post outside of those dates, we'll still reblog. If you're inspired to write something that you wouldn't otherwise have written, our goals are met, so don't fret about the rules - unless rules inspire you, in which case, take the first 30 or the last 30 prompts and write one prompt every day.

If you are having trouble finding a prompt that speaks to you, you can also check out the LBSC Smooch Roulette generator or take a look at our past sprint prompts.

Please make sure to tag @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers in the body of your post so that we can be sure to reblog your work and include it in our final summary post!

If you post to AO3 please tag LBSC Lukanette Month 2024 and add your work to our collection here.

Feel free to drop any questions in our ask box or join our discord group.

Blue

Pink

Blackout

Locked In

Getaway/Vacation/Road Trip

Out of Town

Street/Craft Fair

Laundry Snuggles

New Pet

A: says something stupid B: laughing "Shut up. I love you."

Broken chair

Big Changes/Little Changes

City Walks

Streetlamp

Music

Shipwrecked

Memory loss

Bonfire

Thief

Headphone

Escape

Dorm

Myth

Planetarium

Change

Voice

Opposite

Improvise

Complications

Fancy Dress

Silly Costumes

Stars

Scales

Compass

Rhythm

Lightning/Spark

Mischief

Notebook

Melody

Secrets/Surprises

"Do you trust me?"

"I can't believe our first date ended in the emergency room."

"Why do I feel like you enjoy getting yourself into danger?"

"Are you okay?" "That was really attractive."

"You're a terrible liar." "I don't know what you mean." "You're smiling."

"I missed my chance once. I won't miss it again."

Rooftop

Free fall

Fate

Concert

Bridge

Piercing

"It‘s not what it looks like!"

"I already take care of 18 little guys so what‘s one more?"

"Is that my hoodie?"

Ink

Fortune

Famous

Panda

"Love is a choice, and I've made mine."

"Look, I know I don't deserve a second chance. But I'm hoping you'll let me have one anyway."

Unexpected

Stage fright

Nail polish

First tattoo/piercing

Secrets

Promises

Learning to drive/ride a bike

Airport

Luggage

Regret

The Rest of the Rules:

NSFW responses are permitted but characters must be 18 or older and the fic should be tagged accordingly. This is a Lukanette blog and a Lukanette event, so while Lukanette does not need to be the main ship, it needs to at least be included or referenced and considered endgame (in other words, they don’t have to be together by the end of your work, but the intent is that they’re headed in that direction, and if they're not, it's a tragedy, not The Best Thing For Everybody). The decision about what qualifies for reblog rests solely with the LBSC moderators. If a piece hasn’t been reblogged within a couple of days, either the mods felt the piece didn’t meet the criteria or it was simply missed; you are welcome to reach out in the asks to inquire which.

[must4rdmha]

~Mustard’s (fanmade and angsty) backstory~

I have been asked to post this for a very long time,so I’m so sorry for making you guys wait 🙏. I have been really busy this last months so I really haven’t been capable of posting as fast as I did so. So…Maybe this post is my apology and my thanks for the 100 followers! Hope you guys enjoy it.

Related content:

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

⚠️Warning!⚠️

This post has/ has mentions of:

-Child abuse

-Angst

-Swearing

-Trauma

-Abandonment

-Domestic violence

If you feel uncomfortable reading this I recommend you to don’t read any further of this post. But please, don’t leave any negative comment.

6 year old Mustard’s pov/ thoughts:

It’s 3 p.m of the evening, I have already finished school for today and I’m heading home, the only problem is that it’s raining, a lot, so I’m soaked from head to toes. That is making my whole body to feel like it’s freezing.

Except for my hands, they are the only ones warm because of the gloves I wear for helping my quirk to be more controlled. Either way, they are still kinda annoying… With them it is difficult to write,to grab my chopsticks and to read! And I have to clean them every day because if I don’t they start to get sticky, and my books get dirty…

I already arrived home, no one is here, just like always. I leave my shoes at the entrance and I go to the kitchen to see if my mom has left any food for me prepared.

Nothing, just some beers at the top of the fridge’s shelves.

I close the fridge’s door, there’s nothing I can eat that isn’t condiments or a rotten lemon at the bottom of the fridge. I sigh.

I sit on the floor,still soaked, trying to think about what should I do now,until I hear how the door starts to open. I stand up.

It’s my mom. When she gets in she closes the door behind her, I approach to her with curious eyes. She looked tipsy and she was laughing.

I asked her if she brought food.

“Not now” she answered,not noticing I was soaked neither starving, while approaching to the landline phone we had and she started to call someone while lighting a cigarette and starting to smoke it.

I approached to her again,while she talked with some friend,because she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Oh my god, won’t you ever shut up?! I didn’t bring your fucking food, I’m not your maid.”

I stepped away, swallowed after being shouted and went to my room. Grabbed one of the WW1 books I took (lent) from the library and started reading it,while I hear my mom talking noisily with some vocabulary I don’t understand because I don’t know it’s meaning, until I hear how the door opens again.

It’s my dad.

The only good thing I have earned from him is knowing what the WW1 is. Maybe that was the start of my huge fanathism.

The noisy tipsy talk stops, but the fighting begins. The shouts begin, the loud noises begin, the incoherent arguments begin, the bruises on my mom’s skin begin…

This happens 1 time per week minimum, but hey, it’s alright, I’m used to it.

Except when they involve me.

“KID, COME HERE NOW”

Kill me,someone, please.

“Why the fuck didn’t you call me when your mother was drunk?”

And it all starts again

“Oh, shut up”

“Don’t tell me to shut up,you fucking whore!”

It’s like a loop,isn’t it? An exhausting and noisy loop, that will only just finish if you stop it in a nice of in a bad way.

Is this an example?

“…Oh my god”

Or is it not?

“W-What did I d-do?!”

Throwing a plate at your six year’s old child is an example of breaking a loop? Or is it just an easy way of getting rid of a problem?

Maybe it will help you,but it will help your child?

“…I can’t with this anymore”

Will your child be happy after that?

“I don’t want this child”

Will your child have physical bruises after that?

“Are you leaving?”

What about emotional ones?

“I don’t want this child either!!”

And if they end up having, will they have someone to rely on?

“Don’t leave without me,you idiot!”

And what if they don’t?

One day later Mustard woke up. He found himself laying on the floor with his face itching and his body aching. He washed his face and put band-aids on all the wounds he had because of the plate. He picked up every piece of the broken plate and then grabbed the mustard condiment bottle out of the fridge and sat in front of the TV,turned it on and started to watch a ww1 movie.

A week later some police officers found him, they were called by the school because he hasn’t been going to class in a week and no one answered their calls. When the police found him he was sleeping on the couch,while the tv was on and some bottles of condiment finished over the floor. He had his clothes stained and he looked pale because of the lack of healthy food.

After that, he was sent to a hospital,then to an orphanage. He was adopted by a guy that ended up being a child abuser. He adopted kids just for the money that the government provided for the adoption of a child, this money was spent on drugs and beers.

Mustard wasn’t one of the most hurt children, but sometimes he left his house for going to school with his nose bleeding or a black eye.

The teachers didn’t give a shit about this, and he wasn’t really that sociable so he slowly started to talk less and to stay quiet.

Until one of the children of his household was brutally killed by their “father” in front of them.

After that he ran away of everything and everyone.

1 year later (he was currently 13)

“A 34 year old man was arrested because of murdering brutally his adoptive 15 year old children and because of abusing his 7 adoptive children too. Right now 3 of the 7 children are missing. If you have any information,please call at th-“ the reporter’s voice was shut because Mustard turned off his phone with widened eyes. He left his phone aside and laid on the floor,surrounded by 2 corpses of 2 guys that dressed like if they were in a gang. One of them had their stomach opened,the other one it’s chest. Their bodies didn’t start to decompose yet .

The room was small, it had a desk, on top of the desk there were 2 guns and a heart from the gang guy.

His phone started to rang.

— “Hello?”

— “Hi kid! It’s me,Giran”

— “What do you want”

— “Just wanted to tell you that I have talked with Shigaraki about you, he seems interested about you. The only thing that he asked me about is-“ He was interrupted.

— “My age?”

— “Exactly, but I told him you are someone who’s really mature and responsible. He wants to meet you with more other people this weekend. It looks like you’re having your first mission.”

— “…Alright,seems fine. Anymore details?”

— “I can’t tell more, but-“

After hearing that he hung up, but started to smirk while looking at one of the bodies.

“It looks like I’m not that weak,huh?” He said to one of the corpses,before punching it’s face.

~La fin~

(For now)

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

I’m so sorry for it to be that short, but I really didn’t know how to extend it more :,)

I hope you guys liked it, and again, tysm for the 100 followers 🙏.

-🌬️🌪️(ooc)

[zytes]

Question from someone just starting with creating and then posting art to Tumblr, do you think I should be watermarking my pieces?

I’ve always disliked watermarks as they naturally tend to dissuade people from interacting with art in a natural manner; it depends very heavily on the size and placement of the mark, obviously. BUT, often times an artist will overzealously obscure their work with identification and it has a somewhat repulsive effect on the average viewer - a wall has been erected between the viewer and the art, in a sense. Watermarks, to me, exist to prevent very specific situations from unfolding with your work - almost all of those reasons seem to be financially motivated, like preventing strangers from printing your art out at home or reposting without attribution. Situations that could affect your ability to profit off of your work.

Admittedly, much of my perception about this issue was inspired by an article included in the book “Context” by Cory Doctorow, wherein he writes about how he’s benefitted from “thinking like a dandelion”, which is an idea that was inspired by conversation the author had with Neil Gaiman — I’ll try and summarize the parts of the point that are more relevant to visual arts; since portions of the allegory refer more specifically to certain qualities of written media.

He begins with, “Mammals worry about what happens to each and every one of their offspring, but dandelions only care that every crack in every sidewalk has dandelions growing out of it. The former is a good strategy for situations in which reproduction is expensive, but the latter works best when reproduction is practically free — as on the Internet.”

So how do you “think like a dandelion” then?

“Your work needs to be easily copied, to anywhere whence it might find its way into the right hands. That means that the nimble text-file, HTML file, and PDF (the preferred triumvirate of formats) should be distributed without formality — no logins, no e-mail address collections, and with a license that allows your fans to reproduce the work on their own in order to share it with more potential fans. Remember, copying is a cost-center — insisting that all copies must be downloaded from your site and only your site is insisting that you — and only you — will bear the cost of making those copies. Sure, having a single, central repository for your works makes it easier to count copies and figure out where they’re going, but remember: dandelions don’t keep track of their seeds. Once you get past the vanity of knowing exactly how many copies have been made, and find the zen of knowing that the copying will take care of itself, you’ll attain dandelionesque contentment.”

The rest of the allegory more specifically applies to written work, but I’ll link it here for the sake of posterity. Essentially: every wall or pre-requisite that you establish before allowing a fresh set of eyes to fall upon your work actually may deter people from engaging with the work and sharing it with others. Signatures, subtle watermarks that are “baked” into the work, or maybe like.. a well-placed QR code that links people back to you — all of those would be my suggestion for someone who wants to leave a lasting, linking thread between a given work and it’s artist. If the right person sees your art and connects with it, there SHOULD be a way for them to follow that thread back to you and discover more; but if you over-prioritize demonstrating ownership over your work, you’re likely to drive those coveted genuine connections away.

On the other hand, if your primary goal is to sell prints or other products, brazenly watermarking your work will protect your bottom line from the kind of low-level art-scraping that drives all those shady redbubble shops and etsy stores that sell stolen works on cheap t-shirts and hankies. For me, art is a primarily social interest in which I prioritize the sharing of culture and ideas. I don’t want financial factors to take precedence and alter how/why I created something; it feels like I’d have to take much of myself out of my art in order to make it palatable for consumer spaces.

You should determine your priorities and then strive to make art that fulfills those priorities without compromise. I think you’ll find that self-satisfaction manifests readily at different points in the midst of that process.

[bigsnzstanacct]

Fanfic Writing Ideas / Goals

Fandoms I want to write for that you should ask me about or talk to me about or give me ideas for or pester me about writing for (and I’m not putting the slashes and stuff in so if you stumble across this post while not being a part of my niche fetish community, no you didn’t):

Fellow Travelers: thinking in a context where Hawk has the fetish and Tim indulges him with some of the topping from the bottom/role reversal dynamics from the show. And Hawk sneezes really loud. Bc I want him to. Tim meanwhile just has the woooooooorst allergies and get some satisfaction out of someone being turned on rather than turned off by them for once.

Red White and Royal Blue: kinda thinking it would be fun to do a mutual fetish thing, probably changing some details about how they met and their interactions prior to the Cake Incident, but also I can’t work out the timing. I want one or the other (probably Alex bc how would Henry even do this) to have Very Secretly put some sneeze fetish content out into the internet and the other has been getting off to it since that very day, without realizing who it was. Also really trying to decide how much I can convince myself that Henry has a mental block and/or *always* stifles but actually if you get him to let it out he has a surprisingly big/loud/harsh sneeze. I know Alex sneezes loud and proud and uncovered and with a high-pitched upturn at the end, and is the kind of guy who sneezes just kinda randomly all the time, but it isn’t like intense fits unless he encounters one of his few allergies and then it is Intense Fits, you know what I mean?

Check Please: which I have a whole setup for, definitely a mutual fetish situation for Nursey and Dex where like Dex has The Perfect Big Loud Sneeze for Nurse but he always stifles so Nurse has the hots for a Mystery Loud Sneeze Guy who is later revealed to be Dex. Also something involving Holster also having Big Loud Uncovered Epic Dad Sneezes that echo through the Haus and Nursey and Dex both are like SO into, bc that guy just seems like he’d absolutely holler out his sneezes for real. And that he’d get like Epic Man Flu with Epic Dad Sneezes, etc.

Ted Lasso: specifically giant!sneeze Roy, and more specifically: “sex-linked giant sneezes are common and considered hot and Roy’s are EXTRA BIG and therefore considered Extra Hot but he is grumpy about this as he always is about everything” also he’s in some sort of romantic entanglement with Keeley and/or Jamie. And I still haven’t decided what Jamie’s sneezes should be like but he’s definitely going to have some degree of jealousy-of-Roy-and-the-jealousy-is-also-horny situation going on.

9-1-1: Somebody on here suggested Buck as a possible Big Sneezer character and I was like eh maybe that actor’s hot but THEN they made him Canonically Bi on the show and now I’m like fuck yeah make it happen need it yesterday. And I’m trying to decide if I want to go with the whole Buddie thing and have Eddie be a fetishist and maybe they can do a like “well like I’m Not Into Dudes like you are (yes he is stop lying) but I have this weird like… Thing for Sneezes and your sneezes are I dunno they’re like really big and hot and maybe we should make out about that and definitely not about Feelings” or if I want Buck to have the kink, but actually I think I’m leaning towards the former bc I want Buck’s big loud sneezes to be like A Problem somehow bc he’s such a cute golden retriever guy that I kinda want to whump him a little. Gentle whump. And then comfort bc like “I don’t have a problem with your sneezes and actually I kinda think they’re… hot?” Yeah, that sounds fun. I am deciding this now as I’m writing lmao.

Also possibly interested in Disco Elysium, like y’all make that fandom sound really hot and again one of those characters having the fetish could be suuuuuper hot also Harry definitely has the Dad Sneezes of all Dad Sneezes.

Also also I have the whole Dream Daddy setup that I’ve written about before on here. Really want to do the Hugo and Brian dates that I have plotted out especially, but always feel like once I get out of the Dream Daddy world I lose the voice for that fandom and it really requires a very specific voice. Although maybe I’ll just base it on the fics I’ve already written. Like if I just emulate that voice it’ll be close enough and at least it will be internally consistent.

Also also also I have the King’s New Allergy story that I feel I have basically revealed as a BBC Merlin fanfic, for which I want to write a steamy epilogue involving The King and The Mage huddled up in the King’s chambers while he sneezes out the last of the Big Magic Sneezes and they talk about the fetish and they fuck lmao.

I think that’s all I have on my list fanfic wise but if I’ve mentioned something else or you think something else would be a good idea for me to look into hit me up! In particular I think Ted Lasso and the sorta-kinda-Merlin-ish fic are the only ones that include real giant!sneeze (as opposed to my usual ridiculously loud and borderline unrealistically so sneeze) and perhaps I should also think of more fanfiction contexts that could accommodate that too.