#and now all the babies have been afflicted-

[theflowerrooms]

Hiya! So I've just read Swollen Lips and absolutely loved it 😍 I was wondering if you'd maybe take that a bit further in another fic for innocent!reader with oral fixation? Like imagine she'd slept over at Eddie's trailer and he wakes up to her sucking and licking the head of his cock which is just poking out of the top of his pyjama pants... and then take it wherever after that, my brain just got stuck on that one little part, haha

to request • Eddie’s masterlist • main masterlist • part one

Swollen Lips II

Eddie Munson x innocent!fem!reader with an oral fixation

Summary; sweet girl sleeping over at Eddie’s when you just really need something, anything between your lips. Thankfully Eddie already taught you the perfect solution.

Thanks for the request!! I loved writing swollen lips, so I loved writing this as well! I got a little carried away! can be read as a stand alone, but would make more sense if you read part one -petal

wordcount: 1.9k

warnings: smut, swearing, dark themes?, dubcon, coercion, somnophilia (reader wakes Eddie up with head), Oral (m and f receiving), fingering (f receiving) overstimulation, squirting, Eddie’s a bit of a perv with an affliction for reader’s innocence.

He was startled, and pleased. His shirt was clinging to his chest and back and he quickly ripped it off before his eyes focused on you.

His sweet girl on her tummy between his legs, teary eyed and desperate, whining softly. Eddie let out a shaking breath and pet your hair with one hand while he used the other to push his pyjama pants down further so you’d have better access.

Waking up to the sight of your kitten licking and sucking gingerly on the tip of his cock poking out of his pyjama pants was almost enough to knock him back out. And now? He got to bask in the sight and feeling of you moaning softly, whining contently now with his heavy cock on your tongue. “Better baby? That’s all you needed, huh?”

He felt so good, tired and groggy still, and you’d always make him feel good. He’d been with girls, and guys before, not a ton, but enough to have experience, to know what he was doing. You didn’t. You didn’t know what you were doing and that was evident, uncalculated and sloppy, drool leaking down your chin, tongue lapping his precum greedily; it all only spurred him on.

That paired with the fact that his was the first and only dick you’d ever touched, ever even seen. He wanted to keep it that way, make you his, make sure you didn’t know anything he hadn’t taught you and hadn’t seen anything he didn’t show you. He wanted to make sure he was the only one to see you bare and vulnerable.

You looked so beautiful to him right now. You always did, but right now, pleasing him because you needed it? He moaned loudly and you hollowed your cheeks, wanting to make him feel even better.

His fingers laced through your hair and tightened as he pushed his hips up a bit, slowly thrusting into your mouth. He focused on not making you gag or choke, which he thought might freak you out. He only wanted you to be comfortable and happy, so he reached down with his free hand and cupped the side of your face gently, thumb stroking your warm cheek. His touch made you blush. So beautiful.

His hands followed the motion as you moved your head up and down. You noticed the more you moved like that, the better he seemed to feel. Having something in your mouth calmed you down and made you feel good, yes, but making Eddie feel pleasure made you feel even better.

As you moved, your head leaned slightly into Eddie’s comforting touch that you loved. You figured he deserved the same, raising a hand up and under his shirt, gently petting his lower stomach. You weren’t sure if he could feel the love for him come from your hand, but the pink tinting his pale face was enough for you.

He was already close and then like earlier, you wanted more. So your mouth released his cock and dropped to his balls full with cum. Swollen, drool-covered lips left sloppy kisses and you took turns sucking on each of them, not caring to be gentle, but Eddie didn’t mind. He preferred it. He let out a half stifled moan that turned into loud broken moaning when he felt your hand, slightly cold and significantly smaller than his, wrap around his cock, jerking him off at the same paced he jerked himself off earlier. He prayed that Wayne had already left for work. Part of him was slightly disappointed he couldn’t be the one to teach you how to give a hand job now, but a bigger part of him was so proud of you for picking up on what felt good without him telling you. And all of him just felt good.

His hips shook and he whimpered. The sound made you look up at him while you continued worshiping his balls. Innocent, teary eyes looking into his almost made him blow his load right there. “Feels so good doll, gonna- you’re gonna make me cum soon sweetheart.” You didn’t respond to him, just giggled, he felt your smile against his sensitive skin and that was it.

He thrusted up into your hand, strangled breaths punching out of him as his toes curled beside you. He swore his legs shook as he came, but he couldn’t tell, too focused in watching his cum drip over your knuckles, a drop of it hitting your cheek. He swore he heard you whimper when he came.

He blinked quickly, trying to focus his eyes. His eyes focused just in time to watch you lick it off of your fingers, big smile on your face. He swallowed thickly as you moved up the bed to kneel next to him while he fixed his pants. He loved that smile.

“You did so good angel, thank you for that.” He grinned wide, big hand reaching up, swiping his cum off your cheek and gently forcing it into your mouth. He felt you hum around his skin, shuffling slightly. That’s when he noticed your thighs pressed together.

“You know baby.” He started, moving his hand from your mouth to your thigh. Gripping it softly, he zeroed in on the way your pretty lips dropped open. “It feels really good for me when you use your mouth down there. It can also feel really good for you if I use my mouth down here.” He explained as he moved his hand further up your bare thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your covered cunt.

“Really?” You asked, your eyes wide and cheeks warm. He watched you spread your legs just slightly and he was sure you didn’t even realize.

“Oh yeah- absolutely… Can I show you doll?” He asked, pupils blown, hand twitching to reach up further and aching to rub you through your shorts.

You didn’t say anything, just nodded your head and pushed your shorts and panties off. You were eagerly exposing yourself to him, that was enough of a yes to him.

Upon seeing how wet you’d gotten for him, he was quick to throw himself between your thighs. He was even quicker to lick a fat stripe up your folds, dragging his tongue over your clit. He realized slowly that he probably should’ve been slower, but the soft, shaky moan you let out washed away any previous care he had about that.

He held your thighs with a vice grip, feeling you squirm around as he buried his tongue inside of you. His fingers dug into your soft flesh, probably hard enough to leave bruises, but you didn’t complain, so neither did Eddie.

He couldn’t get over how good you tasted, how sweet, all for him. Licking your pretty little pussy was a million times better than settling for the crotches of the panties he’d steal from you. Something he’d never tell you about. “Taste so fuckin’ good.”

He didn’t have to see you to know you were blushing. “Thanks- thank you Eddie.” Your voice shook so obviously, he knew you were probably close. He knew you were definitely close when he went from licking to simply sucking on your clit as hard as he could without hurting you. All you could get out was desperate whimpers and his name, over and over again. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“Feels- feels- it’s funny, feeling funny, E-Eddie.” You struggled to get the sentence out. Eddie laughed quietly and darkly, his hands gripping your hips roughly so you couldn’t pull them away like you were trying to do.

He removed his lips from your sensitive bundle of nerves for just a moment, “It’s okay baby- trust me.” And you did. He sucked your clit into his mouth and shook his head from side to side before you finally came, screaming his name.

He figured this was probably your first orgasm, definitely your first one from someone else, and he was right on both accounts. You shook and screamed. Screams turned into moans and moans turned into whimpers as you came down from this feeling. He could feel your walls twitching against his chin.

He couldn’t help himself as he slid two fingers inside you, amazed by the zero resistance. “Eddie! Too much- too much- no more, I can’t.” Your voice shook and he was quick to soothe you, free hand stroking your hair and you keened into his touch.

He shook his head with a pout that matched yours, he loved that pout. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, need you to trust me, hm? Like before? gonna feel good again real soon.” He rushed out and you nodded. He smiled, thumb finding your clit, tight fast circles as he thrusted his middle and index fingers in and out of you at a ruthless pace.

Every sound and word that came out of you sounded like one never ending whine, and he loved it. He knew you were gonna cum sooner than before, so sensitive and still so new to it all.

That proved to be right. His fingers inside you dragged against your g-spot over and over. You felt so weird, a new sensation started forming in your lower stomach. You weren’t sure what it meant, and you couldn’t get the words out to let him know. His thumb rolled just right over your clit and that was it. You heard a soft gushing sound and Eddie moaning before you felt your second orgasm hit you even harder than the first. You shook and screamed, heart racing as a hot energy raced from your toes to your head.

It took a few seconds before you came down from your orgasm. Soon your eyes started working again, just in time to watch Eddie suck his fingers clean, another moan of satisfaction leaving his lips. Your eyes fell from his lips to his wet wrist, then to the dark puddle on his bedsheets, no idea how it came from you. Your face flushed knowing you made a mess.

“That was so- so hot. Felt good doing it, seeing that.” He quelled your worries and you smiled shyly at him, saying ‘thank you’. Always so polite, his good girl. His cock was rock hard again under the plaid fabric of his pyjama pants, but he’d ignore it. He’d already worked you to completion and then some. He decided to take it easy on you now and give you the aftercare you deserved. He wouldn’t break you completely like he wanted… Not tonight at least.

He helped you put your panties and shorts back on and pulled you close to him on the side of the bed, out of the way of the wet spot. He spooned you comfortably under the covers, with arm under you, holding you gently. With his other arm, he grabbed your jaw and turned your head to face him, placing a big wet kiss on your soft, beautiful lips. He could get used to kissing you. He laughed softly as you scrunched up your nose. “What’s the matter baby?” He whispered.

“Yucky, I don’t taste nice, ‘s not yummy like yours is.” He knew what you were talking about but couldn’t possibly agree less.

“Well, I love it.” He huffed playfully and rested his head next to yours, fingers finding their way to your lips and slipping past them so you could have something in your mouth as you slept.

[bakugoushotwife]

little moon // suguru x fem!reader

a/n: hey hey hey! i know it's been forever and a day since i've uploaded, but i revamped my theme and got excited :3 plus my baby is my absolute inspiration and i felt she needed thanking for it. @suguru-getos //

warnings: yandere suguru, monkey reader, so light toxicity, kidnapping, yes you read that right shut up, complex suguru, pining, smut!! daddy kink because who am i without it, oral f!receiving, fingering, rough but loving, uhhhh i think that's it!

the sun was setting. it was his favorite time of day. or maybe least favorite. he couldn’t quite decide. despite it all, he still feels such a longing that he can’t describe. the window is open, the sky beyond melting into oranges and pinks too beautiful for a man like him to behold. the air is cold, a contrasting bitterness to the sight before him. the kotatsu keeps him warm enough to lounge in front of the window until the moon replaces the pastels he’s come to loathe. it’s how he most regularly spends his nights at this point, a peaceful moment of reflection on his day, if you could call it peaceful. 

the wind rustles the trees, his hair, his very soul it seems. he drums his fingers along his cheekbone, supporting the weight of his head in his palm. before he can contemplate the complexities of life and how he ended up staring out of a window alone, manami knocks and promptly enters. 

“sorry to disturb your peace, geto-sama.” she bows, a stack of papers under her arm, no doubt meeting notes from earlier in the day. 

“i assume it’s important.” he sighs, the orange glow casting across his skin. he looks angelic, despite his clear annoyance and displeasure. 

“nanako and mimiko found a woman that’s…afflicted.” she searches for the right word, shifting her weight from foot to foot under suguru’s intimidating gaze. 

“and? we had our purge earlier this week.” he sighs, turning his head back to the sky. it’s melding into a purple now, a deep shade that makes him feel calmer just by looking at it. 

“yes, you’re right geto-sama. the girls have brought this woman home already though, and they request your help.” she bows again, knowing that she is towing a careful line. suguru rarely denies the children, and they’ve grown old enough to abuse this weakness.

“bring them.” he sighs dramatically, jutting his chin in motion. he secretly welcomes the distraction, even if the girls were having him work after hours. it certainly beats another night replaying all of his life events to the tune of the moon. 

manami bows her head, stepping back out into the hallway. a minute or two passes, and suguru watches the door now instead of the window. manami opens the door, allowing the adopted twins and this afflicted cursed woman into the room. the energy is suffocating, a grade two curse leeching from your neck, entire body wrapped around your frame. you don’t seem so concerned however, more so confused gauging from the look on your face. 

the girls look panicked though, sensing how much of your own life force that the curse has absorbed. it’s an ugly thing, like most of them are. a disgustingly warped lizard of sorts made up of a million eyes and slimy appendages. it really doesn’t have much value in terms of developing his arsenal, moreso an annoyance to be avoided. as ugly as the creature is, it doesn’t detract from your beauty. you have a gentleness to your features, divinely feminine, some would say. your eyes are soft even as you try to harden your gaze against him. that’s cute, he thinks to himself. head still leaned against his head. you’re small, though most people are to a man of his stature and build. it’s a miracle the weight of the curse hasn’t broken your spine. you must be stronger than you look. 

“geto-sama, you have to help her!” nanako, the more vocal of his daughters says, eyes wide and pleading. there is emotion involved, which intrigues him. “she’s our friend–and i know how you feel about us being friends with monkeys but–”

“monkey?” you squawk, brow setting forward. you look at nanako with a hint of betrayal, and that makes suguru chuckle. 

“yes, monkey.” he replies. “a nickname of sorts. don’t think about it too hard.” he sighs, pushing himself to his feet. “i see you’ve befriended my children.” 

“more of an acquaintance.” you purse your lips. it is interesting. he’s never seen someone act so…boldly in front of him. correcting him, even. his nostrils flare in mild annoyance. 

“semantics. i am unconcerned with those. what are your symptoms?” he waves his hand, dismissing the girls with a nod, assuring them that he would help you and leave you unharmed. the girls back away, giving you reassuring smiles of their own. 

“i don’t want to be alone with you.” you scoff, folding your arms with a great effort, given that the curse was likely at least as heavy as your own body weight. 

“too bad. answer, or keep the curse.” he folds his own arms, examining your features more closely. a rare beauty indeed. and he must say he’s never experienced such stubbornness, even in his children. though that can be expected of someone that has no clue what’s going on, he imagines. 

“i’ll keep whatever it is if you want to be an ass about it.” you huff. suguru rolls his eyes, sighing. 

“let me make something clear for you. i take curses. this isn’t about my caring heart, like it is for those girls. so i can help you, or you can walk away.” he gestures to the ottoman for you to sit on. 

he’s weird, you think. it’s hard to get a read on him. these phrases–monkey, curses, none of it makes sense to you. why is he in a market to take whatever these curses are? and how did you end up with one? “curses? are those like. ghosts or something?” you ask, arms still folded as you sit. irregardless of his behavior, this feeling you’ve been going through for months is wearing down your body, mind, and soul. everything hurts, all of the time. your head, neck, spine, stomach, hips—if it’s there, it hurts. your emotions have been so out of whack, so depressed and unable to eat, calling out of work and never meeting up with your friends. you need that to end. you’ve dealt with creeps before, certainly this one would be manageable too. 

“is that what you think you’ve been dealing with?” he asks, watching you go through a myriad of thoughts all at once. the question seems genuine, the earlier lilt of arrogance dialed back to a tolerable level. 

you’re still suspicious, he can see as much. “monkeys don’t see curses like we do. i would imagine you told yourself that these strange things have a perfectly reasonable explanation.” he explains, almost empathetic if it weren’t for that damned ‘nickname’ that you have a feeling is more a slur than an endearment. 

“i suppose, yeah. just thought i was getting sick, but it didn’t fade. my doctor said i have migraines, that’s it…” you hum, still well guarded as you converse with him. 

“i am sure you do. curses vary in function, the one attached to you is slowly corrupting your brain, which affects everything else. think…parasite, less ghost.” he waves his hand over your face, moving over your shoulder. he’s not actually touching you, but the threat lingers close enough to set you on edge. “you’ll feel it release from you slowly.” 

he watches the black cloudy essence crush the curse into nothing but a black orb for him to consume. his gaze bounces back to your face, the surprise and relief melting into your features like the sun dipping below the trees changes the palette of the sky. 

you can feel it, the physical weight coming off of your shoulders, but the lightness is ultimately in your head and soul—so much negativity and evil sucked from your consciousness so drastically you lose yours, body going limp and tipping off the small ottoman you were sitting on before suguru can even toss the orb aside. 

he can’t explain it exactly, add it to the list of things he struggles to understand, but he reaches out, strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from toppling into the floor. he’s seen many monkeys have an abject reaction to being unburdened. he hypothesizes that the excess cursed energy seeping into their own causes a chemical issue in the brain, too much to process at once. however many monkeys he’s seen pass out or vomit, he’s never felt…obligated to do anything to aid them. he did his part, curing them of their ailments. his work is done, and he can be hailed as a savior by people that really have no idea how much he hates them. he’s never even touched one–a monkey–spraying perfume even after a close encounter lest he taint his superior being. 

but now he has, and it doesn’t burn his skin like he’s convinced himself it might. he doesn’t recoil as you slump against his abdomen, and it pisses him off. this is so entirely unlike him he can hardly stand it–as he knows he will have a lengthy conversation with the moon about it this evening–yet you have such a peaceful face as you sleep. long lashes, soft lips parted just to breathe, completely softened. it’s like his heart hiccups as he drapes you over his shoulders, walking into a well furnished guest bedroom in the geto estate. 

the girls trail him as he walks with you, equally confused. suguru lays you across the bed, looking over you with another little hum. you’re big trouble for him, and he can feel that seep into his head. he’s never found a monkey girl beautiful. he’s never found any monkey tolerable at all since the start of his cult. but there is this sneaking feeling that he will be lonely again when you leave, likely tomorrow as soon as you realized you were still here. the girls nearly feel like they’re interrupting something as they watch their geto-sama peer over you much like the prince longs after sleeping beauty before he wakes her. 

he turns to them abruptly, collecting his mess of thoughts, “put her in sleeping clothes,” he walks passed them, “and don’t bring any more women to my house.” he purses his lips, leaving them with you. 

beyond himself, he instructs the rest of his family and staff to treat you well. he doesn’t…want them to run you off. for whatever reason. they each give him puzzled looks, but no one dares forget their place by asking him questions about these things. he feels…bothered on his walk back to his room. the night has set in well now, the sky just a black expanse–sparkles of life along the stars leading into the only beacon of light now; the moon. 

suguru has always felt a sort of connection to the moon, he read a poem once, when he was still in high school, and it left its mark, he supposes. the poem comes back to him now, as he crosses his legs over the tatami mat by the window, a divine sense of aloneness surrounds him. 

thou silver deity of secret night,

direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;

thou conscious witness of unknown delight, 

the lover’s guardian, and the muse’s aid!

by the pale beams i solitary rove,

to thee my tender grief confide;

serenely sweet you glid the silent grove

my friend, my goddess, and my guide…

he knows he isn’t physically alone, but his own mind feels like a monster he’d like to leave–a place he can’t possibly make sense of. a battlefield of hypocrisy and guilt and the growing feeling that no one will ever possibly understand him. satoru was as close as he had gotten–and suguru left him behind. he thinks that’s the worst part, that this is all of his own doing. the moon…the moon understands the loneliness, the complexities he can’t bare to anyone else. the moon could forgive his transgressions, his crimes, his feelings. she has heard them all before, no doubt, but he has something new to bring to the table. this burning in his veins, the heavy weight of sin. he was presented with the most beautiful girl that has ever been, surely ever would be, and by his own laws he cannot have her. he cannot indulge in this…silly crush. yes. silly little crush–and that’s all it will be.

the next morning, you wake to the smell of coffee and some sort of meat being cooked. you can hear the girls laughing, the sounds of others in soft communication–the voice of the last person you remember.

oh no. 

there’s a dull ache in the back of your head as you recount the events of last night, sitting up with an ease you haven’t experienced in months. you could sob in relief if it weren’t for the unknowns of your situation—if you were free to leave or now some monkey hostage to the man that took gentle care of you last night. you’re not wearing your clothes–and that sends a jolt of panic through you instantly. did he undress me? is that…all he did? you wonder, examining yourself. 

the girls knock–there’s two sets of knocks, anyway. they don’t wait for a reply, letting themselves in. “good morning! i hope the pajamas we picked are comfortable enough.” nanako smiles brightly, treating this as a slumber party instead of a curse intervention. 

that soothes you little, at least the strangely beautiful creep didn’t change your clothes himself. “come to breakfast!” mimiko adds, a bit shyer than her sister but just as big of a fan. they met you at a coffee shop one day, and since then you have made it a point to sit with them. they’re sweet girls, and even under these weird circumstances you don’t find yourself questioning that. 

“i don’t think i’m hungry.” you reply, stretching a bit, looking around the room. it was a big one, and you didn’t sleep on a futon like this geto-sama did. if he expects a warm thank you, he’s severely mistaken. “what was he talking about, monkey?”

“oh, that’s what he calls non-sorcerers.” nanako replies, sitting at the edge of your bed. and instead of that answering your question, it just gives you a million more. 

“you said sorcerer? like harry potter?” you laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. how come this is your first time hearing of such a thing?

“not quite,” mimiko giggles softly. 

“some people are born with techniques. a certain set of powers that they can use to exorcise curses. everyone has cursed energy, even monke–i mean non-sorcerers, but their ce is usually what makes curses, born from the negative emotions that non-sorcerers experience.” nanako explains the gist. 

“so…monkey is a slur.” you raise a brow, really just confirming something you already knew. it made…enough sense. you felt the curse first hand, and felt the weight of its removal. 

“mm…yeah. geto-sama has fostered a..hatred for them, i suppose.” 

that sends a chill through you. hatred. what a strong word. 

“but don’t worry, geto-sama won’t hurt you. you’re making him weird. which is kinda a good thing?” mimiko offers, her smile gentle and calming. 

“just come get breakfast and coffee, you’ll have a good time.” nanako picks up your hand, pulling lightly. “you’re not kidnapped, we just wanna make sure you’re healthy! geto-sama said you passed out after he removed the curse.” 

you purse your lips in annoyance. you don’t exactly want to test the limits of this geto guy’s hospitality, especially on the heels of the revelation that he hates you—your kind–simply because you are different. you let the girls bring you to the dining room, where you see a…nice scene of people gathered around a table sharing a meal. 

“you’ve outdone yourself once again, boss!” a blond haired man says, fondly clapping the aforementioned boss on the back. he smiles at the expression of affection, chuckling his thanks. despite what you know of him, you can’t find him ugly. he is a beautiful man, soft features used sharply, long sleek hair and kind eyes, even as he looks up at you. 

“ah, our guest. please, sit.” he hums, nodding to you. he pulls out a chair, settling your spot between the women of the house. he hopes that will make you feel a bit more comfortable. you hesitantly sit, still staring at him like he was the ghost you thought haunted you. 

suguru is nothing if not intuitive and observant. you’re weary of him, and he cannot fault you for it. 

he makes your plate, and asks you how you take your coffee. you notice there’s no difference in how he treats you as opposed to the other people at the table. like you had been here the entire time and would continue to be, like he was familiar with you. he asks your name, and calls you by it—information he could have gotten from the girls. it’s a weird juxtaposition from everything you just heard. he hates you–why did he help you? he hates you–why did he make sure you slept comfortably in a bed and have your coffee just the way you want it? you aren’t able to eat much, head too preoccupied and yet hyperfocused on your surroundings. you can play nice to get out, and then this would be no issue at all. you smile at him sweetly and give him small nods of thanks, but are otherwise silent and avoidant of anything more. 

even your small smiles make his heart clench and relax like it’s spasming, and he almost wants to keep you here in his house until he can figure out why. 

but no, this is a silly crush. he needs to get you away from him, and then he will return to normal. that’s all it is. but as the girls ask when you’ll meet up next, and you respond with such warmth—such forgiveness for them even if you don’t trust him, you remind him of the moon. 

and he can’t let you go. 

you don’t take this well. you’re a fierce woman, that he knew, but also quite petty. you refuse to come out of your room or speak to him, and after one day of him bringing meals to your room, you’ve decided to keep it locked. 

you feel numb. completely at will of this man you don’t know—outside of the fact that he loathes you. maybe this is his game, his sick fun derived from jailing up ‘monkeys’ and keeping them here until he grows tired of them. some days, you hear screams from a distant hall, and you find yourself tearing up wondering if you would be next. 

he knocks on your door at the same time he always does, not even bothering to check the handle after a couple days of this same routine. he calls your name, sighing softly against the wood that separates you two. he knows it’s another flaw on a long list of them, his selfish desire to keep you. but he won’t punish you for your reactions no matter what you do or say. he’s willing to accept them if he has a chance with the moon. 

“go away.” you say, exhaustion clear in your tone. 

“i know you’re upset with me. but you haven’t eaten in two days. i want to give you space, but i will break the door down if you don’t willingly open it.” he says, the threat not thinly veiled in the slightest. 

you decide that letting him in temporarily is better than having no door at all, so you get up to unlock it. he waits a moment, understanding your anger for him. then he lets himself in, coming to sit at the end of your bed. he places the tray of food on your table—enough to last you for a few days if you decide not to allow him in again. 

“have you slept?” he asks futilely, licking his teeth when you don’t answer. the answer is clear enough, yet he waits for one, looking over you. you’re still beautiful, even if sleep deprived. “i wouldn’t hurt you. surely you understand that by now.”

“uh, you’ve locked me in your house–i don’t trust you for shit.” you hiss, eyebrows furrowed in an adorable pout he might appreciate if the situation weren’t so grisly. 

“you aren’t locked in here, i have acres of land that you could explore. you choose not to.” he replies, tilting his head to one side so he can still see your pouting face as you turn it away from him. 

“yeah bet you’d like it if i did, sack of shit.” you grumble, shaking your head, “just so you can hunt me down and put me in your torture chamber?”

he widens his eyes, surprised by the accusation. “hardly, that seems too high effort for my interests.” 

you roll your eyes. this is not the time for jokes. “i’m glad you think this is funny.” 

“i don’t, it’s quite troubling.” he admits, folding his arms as he thinks a bit. “i tend to get myself in a bit over my head.” 

“tch, clearly.” you fold your arms too, a pouting standoff. “thought you hate monkeys? what’s the point of keeping me here if this isn’t fun for you?”

“you remind me of the moon.” he replies with full earnest, eyes glossed over with a certain…truth to them that you couldn’t deny, despite every bone in your body telling you to.

“what does that even mean?” you groan, trying to stave off a little bit of blushing. god, now i’m developing stockholm syndrome, you think as you roll your eyes yet again, dismissing the possibility.

he smiles, like he did that day at breakfast what feels like forever ago. it’s almost childlike. “it means you bring me a comfort. for some reason. i have hated non-sorcerers for nearly seven years now—it’s a story i will tell another time. but you…you’ve made me acknowledge some things that deep down i already knew. hating non-sorcerers was the easiest way to deflect on the bigger issues.” 

you want to quip something witty and mean, but he looks out of the window passed you, his mind and deep brown eyes somewhat distant. “i can’t explain why, for i do not really understand it myself. that’s…why i have kept you here. i was hoping to figure out what it is about you that…challenges every thought i have.” 

you chew your lip, some part of you seemingly understanding the emotion he shows you, but the other parts of you still don’t trust it. 

“then who was screaming? i heard screaming.” you fold your arms, raising a brow. 

“oh, that was a sparring session with the girls. they’re just very very dramatic–and my curses are scary.” he hums, “my technique isn’t like theirs. it’s not a set power, more like the capacity for a lot of power. that’s what i meant when i said that i take curses, the day i met you. i consume them, and can redeploy them at will. they function under my orders, but not all of them are scary.” 

“i can’t see them anyway, it doesn’t matter.” you narrow your eyes, debating on trusting that answer. 

“i haven’t held a meeting since you’ve been here. you keep my hands full even if i wished to hunt down monkeys, as you so gracefully put it.” he adds, seeing the distrust in your gaze. it was more the the fact that suguru simply hadn’t wanted to harvest more curses, only accepting donations from his rich sorcerer boosters to take care of missions that couldn’t be trusted in normal society. the idea of harming someone has become unsavory almost overnight–your very presence proving that non-sorcerers had plenty of potential and use in this world. you are lovely, smart, and warm. funny even if you’re upset, and indescribably beautiful. 

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you assert, reaching for one of the snacks he brought in. he fights a smile. it seems you are feeling better, if you’ll eat. 

“not necessarily. i realize simple words can only go so far.” he says wisely, he’s felt that way before himself. i'm sorry and oh i feel so bad, it doesn’t mean anything if nothing changes. 

so he will change. 

that night he talks with the moon again, hoping to her that you will permit him in again tomorrow, and the day after that if he is lucky. he wants so badly to absolved of his sins, to be free of the guilt heavier than the curse he found you with. but the moon in all her glory, she truly can’t speak. she cannot do that for him, his little moon would. 

the days flow a bit easier after that. you keep your door unlocked, though you still don’t venture out like he had hoped. you’re still angry—you’ve been kidnapped–but you are slowly becoming accustomed to the day to day. suguru brings you a rotation of books, since you won’t go out to the library yourself. you told him you like poems, and he almost felt his heart soar like the pathetic love interest in a rom-com meant for idiot teenagers. 

so he brings you a book of poems, and invites you to the gazebo on the lake to read them. you don’t know why, but you accept the offer. 

“i just think poetry reads so well against a beautiful backdrop.” he smiles, an expression you’ve come to recognize as genuine. “i won’t bother, don’t worry.” he adds, tucking the well-worn book into your hands. it must be a favorite of his. his hands are big, so big his fingers touch yours in the exchange. it was incidental, but both hearts are fluttering from the contact. 

“i’ll give it a read, yeah.” you nod slightly, giving him a genuine smile of your own. he has learned the difference between them. so suguru is pleased enough to hear your answer, and he retreats to his room as promised. the window he loves to stare from has a good look of the gazebo, and as the sun sets upon it, he finds himself watching you instead of the backdrop for once. 

the gazebo is a beautiful spot. you have to walk along a small bridge across the lake to get to it, patterned benches with cozy pillows and an arrangement of candles on side tables, flames flickering slightly in the breeze. the lake is starting to ice over as winter creeps near, but you’re dressed for the occasion. best you can tell, geto is rich. he took your clothes with him to the mall to get your sizes, and now you’re the owner of multiple luxury handbags and fur coats, too expensive jumpsuits and whatever else your mind could drum up. needless to say, you’re prepared for the cold. he had wanted you to go outside and explore, after all. 

you situate yourself on the couch, adjusting a blanket over your lap. the book opens with a slight creak to the wooden bindings, but the pages are beautifully cared for. it’s a collection of poems from different authors, and you’re captured by each one of them for different reasons. some about loss, love, sense of self. the beauty of poetry is truly that it is in the eye of the beholder, a personal interpretation as powerful as the poem itself. you flip to a dog eared page, the only one in the entire book. hymn to the moon, it’s called, and you feel a tingling in your gut–you know you must read it. 

thou silver deity of secret night,

direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;

thou conscious witness of unknown delight, 

the lover’s guardian, and the muse’s aid!

by the pale beams i solitary rove,

to thee my tender grief confide;

serenely sweet you glid the silent grove

my friend, my goddess, and my guide…

you’re…captured by it. it’s beautiful, your fingers gliding upon the page as if to feel what geto feels when he reads the same words. the moon, his confidant and guardian and aid, friend, goddess and guide. and you..you remind him of such an uncapturable essence, ethereal beauty. you almost forget everything he’s done from this act of romance alone—truly no one has ever been so..poetic. 

suguru watches you from his window, legs dangling over the side. you look even smaller than usual, buried under a blanket and a thick coat, but it only brings a smile to his face. the golden rays of the sun kiss his little moon on the the path behind the trees, casting a golden glow around you that genuinely makes you look like an angel. he observes you like this until you catch him—your gaze drifting up to the window. he smiles at you softly, getting up to go make dinner. 

you come back inside when you cannot stand the cold any longer, taking off your coat by the door. suguru is setting the table, you wouldn’t think he was the head of the household based off of these actions alone, the rest of the family sitting and chatting happily. 

“oh! geto’s pet monkey, welcome!” miguel says, chuckling as if that was the funniest thing in the world. your face falls, it feels like everything that you had learned about geto had become untrue. if his family would speak to you like that–how are you being spoken of when you’re not close enough to hear? you’ve been a fool to think that you alone can shift a man’s entire worldview in just a few short weeks. 

you’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of a loud smack, and a grunt that follows. you realize that miguel is rubbing his cheek, an absolutely shocked expression on his features. suguru is leaned in to his face—and if he had ever looked menacing to you, he puts that to shame now. his eyes are glowering with anger, cheeks red just from emotion alone. 

“i have no pets, but if you keep it up i will make you one.” a low growl sound to his voice that puts everyone in the room on edge. he stands straighter, looking to larue and manami. “any shared expressions of doubt?” 

“well, geto-sama, she is a non-sorcerer girl and we don’t understand why you are so taken with her–” manami starts, clearly not understanding that the question was extremely sardonic. 

“excellent, get out.” he remarks simply, beckoning you closer by pulling your seat out from the table. “both of you. i don’t want to see such pathetic people. i thought my family gathered for me, and trusted my leadership. ideals change—people seldom do. if you’re not willing to accept her as someone i cherish, then i would not share space with you.” he hums, plating up food for you, and then the girls, and then larue. as miguel and manami sit there, confused—he looks around in amazement. “must i repeat myself?”

“we’re sorry, geto-sama, we didn’t mean to offend–” miguel starts, eyes shifting side to side. 

“no, that’s exactly what you meant. you two are jealous, and i have no room for that in my home.” he says, jaw clenching. “so remove yourselves. before i do it for you.” 

you are bewildered. in the days that you’ve spent with suguru, you’ve learned that this found family of his is of the utmost importance, all people that have sworn their loyalty to him. to see him dismantle them in front of you—for you—is something that never crossed your mind. 

to question him is a disgrace to the trust that they have built, the way he sees it. to belittle someone he clearly cares about right in front of him–he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t do it again when he wasn’t around. and without trust, there is nothing. that’s what makes him work tirelessly for yours. it is the cornerstone of love, and the pinnacle of a bond. 

the two of them leave, and their absence is not dwelled upon. suguru will not miss people who disrespect you–and by definition, him. the girls are excited to have more time to talk about themselves anyhow. you eat, listening to them talk and every so often throwing in your own comments and opinions–which suguru admires–and you find yourself a lot more comfortable in his presence as time passes. 

as the weeks tick by, suguru grows on you more and more. he’s already captivating—a beautiful and strong man, one with questionable sanity, clearly, but one that cares for you. that much is clear. he starts spending more time in your room, as you force him to endure your k-dramas—he just simply won’t admit that he likes them, but he certainly does ask a lot of questions for someone who couldn’t be bothered—and even letting him lounge with you as you play videogames or read in silence. it is comfortable. you notice how good he smells, the body heat that seems to radiate from him always. you notice crinkles by the corner of his eyes that weren’t there a few months ago. you find yourself falling asleep against him, his hand finding your hip as you lay together and talk. you have such a wealth of knowledge, a perspective on life he has come to adore. you think differently, and it challenges his way of thinking too, for the better. he eventually tells you the tale of how he became a monkey hater, and never presents it as if you should feel sorry for him or even really empathize with the situation. 

but you do. and you have such a way about you, a way of understanding without condoning his mistakes. you don’t react with disgust or fear, like you really should, because the months that you’ve spent with him have shown you the person he is inside, and now who he’s becoming outside. you trust that growth. there have been no cult meetings—the only screams those of joy as he spars and chases the girls around with various curses. he has stood up for you and honored every boundary you have made, even though he really doesn’t have to. he knows he can’t possibly compensate for the damage he has done, but he hopes to atone. to be lighter, after telling you this. 

you reach your hand out for his face, your touch so light and gentle he knows he doesn’t deserve it. and you look at him as if he didn’t just admit all of the terrible crimes he’s committed for selfish reasons, for his own tortured soul. you look at him with forgiveness. 

“and this is why you are my little moon.” he remarks, resting his hand on yours. 

do not be remiss, you are not suguru’s keeper. when your grandmother fell ill, suguru traveled with you to see her, investigating to ensure she had the best care there was to be had and paying nurses under the table to get the matriarch better food. he sits there, day and night with you, urging your parents to go home and get some rest. urging you to sleep on the cot and he would stay up and make sure that the nurses do their job, he’s very bossy like that. he’s very intuitive as always, so on days you feel like nothing—he makes sure he turns it into something. even if it is something as small as dinner in your room with him so you don’t have to sit with everyone else, letting you be as distant or as close to him as you need to be. he always knows just what to say, just how much pressure to hold you with, always offering a night out or a bath and massage at the perfect times. 

he knows you. very well. and he loves you. very much. 

then, he finally kisses you. when he feels the moment come, as you name stars for him under the gazebo, the need to hold your face and press his lips against yours it too much to resist. so he doesn’t. his long fingers cup your chin, but reach all the way to your jaw. he turns your face, and he’s already so close you can barely process your heartbeat jumping up into your throat as his lips crash onto yours, the passion of which you’ve never experienced before. spring has warmed the evening air, but you still lean into his warmth–hands pulling him closer until his hair tickles your shoulders. you feel the rumble in his chest as he hums, tilting his head to deepen the connection, his warm tongue sliding over your bottom lip to ask permission for more. 

you let him, feeling a bubbling spark in your stomach that cannot be ignored. his scent wafts into all your senses, his hands sliding down to your thighs to pull you into his lap. he breaks the kiss to let you breathe, and with all the intention of stopping there—but the needy look in your eyes quickly snaps any resolve he has left. oh this is a look he will remember even with dementia in his old, bedridden days. “tell me that i can have you.” he whispers, his mouth pressing sloppy kisses along your jaw and neck, the desperation clear in the way his hands tremble on your waist. you nod, mouth parting as his saliva on your skin sets your nerves ablaze, but he just nips sharply. “with words…”

“you…you can have me, suguru...” you reply, breathless from the casual dominance he exerts, his semi tucked against your ass. he smiles with your gleeful agreement, sliding you back onto the bench, pressing against you until he’s over you completely, giving you another series of lengthy kisses, suckling your bottom lip in between forcing his own tongue into your mouth for you to suckle back. his hands make quick work of his own robes–his physique bared to you. he’s so big—so strong, every muscle ripples as he tosses the clothes over his shoulder, his lips swollen and glossy and eyes lust-blown black. when his fingers curl under your shirt—you remember you’re on the gazebo in the middle of the lake, has he no shame? 

as if on cue, he shakes his head, tilting your chin down to look at him. “this is my lake, no wandering eyes.” he promises, kissing up your exposed stomach in a path to your breasts, removing your shirt entirely. he smirks excitedly. “no bra? has my little moon been so eager without my noticing?” 

you feel your breath hitch with every press of his lips, the open air kissing you just as gently as he does. his hand slides down, cupping your waiting heat over your shorts, a little growl of excitement slipping past his lips as he leans over for a nipple, swallowing up your pert bud with fast flicks of his tongue, eyes aimed upward to get your reactions. 

you gasp shakily, shoulders writhing from his knowledgeable touches, the sensation on your nipples alone has you clenching around nothing. he swaps to the other side, letting his fingers toy with the slickened tissue, grinning mischievously up at you. “i know i certainly have been. you’re so tempting…” his chest heaves, the rough edge to his usual gentle tone only making your pussy pang harder. 

then his fingers are hooking in your shorts and underwear, pulling them off in one graceful motion. “oh goddamn..” he sighs, his fat thumb sliding over your clit and down the lips, truly just admiring his sweet pussy. 

“stop that~” you blush, embarrassed from his words, the adoration is clear enough in his face for you to know he isn’t teasing, but so is the sternness that you’re used to. 

“shhh, don’t tell me how to worship my little moon.” he smirks, dragging his slickened thumb across his tongue slowly, keeping your eyes on him. he groans audibly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “we’re going to have a problem.” he slides back, leaning his head between your legs. his long hair tickles the insides, a needy warm breath fanning over your slick heat. he latches onto your clit, purring like a cat. 

heat flushes through your cheeks, your stomach does flips from the feeling, the tip of his tongue pushing back the hood so he gets full access to your raw nerves underneath, the sensation nearly making you drool. he spells his name against you, two fat fingers poking at your hole. 

“ah-hah–” you gasp, the stretch of just his fingers is enough to earn filthy moans, and he can’t wait to cram his cock into this wet, welcoming cavern. it makes him twitch before he’s even freed himself, mouth hard at work as he slowly slides his digits in and out. you’re clenching around them, grabbing the cushions close to your body to ground you. he takes that as a good sign, flattening his tongue into kitten licks on your clit, watching it swell from his eager attention with a smirk. those noises, your gasps and moans and your tugging on his hair—it’s just going to ensure he fucks you within an inch of your life. 

his fingers speed up, curling into the spot that makes you see stars as if he’s done this a million times before, like he has the map to your pleasure. your eyes roll back, and you choke out a cry of his name, chased with, “daddy daddy please—oh–” before you’re completely done for, pussy shuddering around his fingers that sends you muttering pleas for him to stop, fingers pumping you through the earth shattering feeling he gives you. his cock has its own heartbeat, and he has to free him–suckling remnants off his fingers like it’s his life’s water. he’s pulling his pants down, breathing heavy as he stares at you so perfectly splayed out and pre-ruined for him. 

you can hardly catch your own breath, his gaze pinning you still. he’s so intense, such a puzzle of emotions swirling in his dark eyes; love, excitement—something a little darker. the all consuming need to feel you wrapped around him. his cock springs free, slapping his toned abs, leaving a dribble of precum sliding down them. he’s so big, yet again–so girthy and perfectly angled to hit every single spot inside you, angry veins running along the shaft leading into a leaky red tip. it steals whatever breath you have left, but he won’t give you much time to doubt yourself. his hands scoop under your thighs, pulling you down the couch—legs draped over his arms as he bottoms out inside you, all in under a second. your vision blacks out, white sparkles flaring like a staticky television. you’re so so full, you can feel him in your throat, you think. he waits, the mercy a small reprieve at the end of his grace. he’s been far too patient, waiting for you to love him back all of this time. “god, you’re so perfect.” he shakes his head in disbelief, thumb again dragging around your clit to help you acclimate to him easier. 

“so beautiful, so warm, my little moon. so mine.” the last bit comes out in his signature low rasp, his hands wrapping to the top of your thighs as he starts to move. your vision hadn’t fully returned to you, your head so light you wonder if there’s still a brain up there. you thought this would be the pinnacle of your pleasure, until you feel the veins of his cock stroking against your walls like he was designed to fit in there, his eyes closing in a moment of bliss. you’re perfect. he’s never told a lie, and he wouldn’t start now. his hips roll slowly, leaning back a bit so he could watch how you swallow him up so well. he knows it’s a tall task, but you were built for him specifically—of course you’re taking him brilliantly. “fuck—feel the way you’re squeezing me?” 

“nghhh, daddy—so big!” you manage, tongue lolling out a bit as you struggle to speak at all. “feels–s’good–!” 

he chuckles fondly, reaching for your hands to hold, intertwining fingers. that provides him new leverage, fucking into you at the same time as he pulls you into it, brushing against your cervix in a way that makes himself moan nearly as loud as you do, squeezing your hands every time he reaches the hilt. “but you’re taking daddy so well, little moon. you feel so good..” 

you’re wrapped around him like a vice, and his cock jumps inside you as he leans in closer, needing to swallow up those delicious moans, kissing at your open mouth as your breaths mingle together, a soft chorus of skin meeting skin and needy pants. you feel split open and sewed back together for him, the pleasure far outweighing any pain from taking someone so huge. his sweet kisses to your mouth and face remind you that he’s got you, that he will take care of you–and your pussy is sent to fluttering spells again—the thread stretching dangerously thin. 

“mm, i feel it too, darling. i feel it too—cum for me. show daddy how much you love it.” his hair drapes around your face, like a curtain of darkness, building a world between just the two of you. looking up into his wildly proud eyes snaps that thread, and your head is shaking—powerful screams of his name reigning supreme. his head falls back to drown in that, to drown in you entirely. the way you sound, the way you feel, the way you smell—he’s addicted to it all. he erupts inside, cock jumping against your tight walls, still fluttering from aftershocks. he rolls his hips slowly, letting you feel the hot ropes of his seed decorating your insides, only stopping when he’s afraid you may have passed out, your mewls and whimpers so soft. “that’s it…that’s my good girl~” 

you clench around your connection just from the praise, nodding eagerly. he smiles, leaning over with more kisses and gentle touches, your old shirt recycled into your cleaning cloth, catching the mess as he slides out of you with an audible loss of suction around him. he kisses along your collarbones, pecking the bends of your knees, ankles—he’s everywhere and it feels so good you could fall asleep right here, wiped of any energy and most likely the ability to walk on your own. “my little moon, you are perfection..i love you endlessly.” he hums, tucking his robes around you, letting you lay against him under the cooling night sky. he’s in no rush to go inside, the moment so perfect. he can hear your breaths slow, feel you nestle as close to him as you physically can be, your little groans and whines music to his ears. he pets down your back, drawing shapes against the light sheen of sweat coating you with a content heart and smile. 

he looks up to the moon, “i can wear a genuine smile now.” he says aloud, pressing more kisses to your face until he takes you to his bedroom for an expertly timed bath and massage, as always.

[vifilms]

OH MAMI!

𝜗℘ feat. established abby x reader with ellie williams!

warnings. eighteen+, first part here. slighty fem!reader, switch!abby, switch!reader, sub!ellie, anal sex.

palestine masterpost

ellie squirms, the seat more comfortable than last time but she doesn’t have the boost of adrenaline on her side. this is planned, the green-eyed girl finds herself on borrowed time, for how long abby will allow this, she’s not sure. there’s an uneasiness when she steps foot in the door, nerves eating her from the inside out but now it’s a distant memory. 

the thick of it is here and she welcomes it with open arms. somehow, she’s found herself lucky enough to be in this position. clearly, abby had quite an affliction for being watch, purely soaking through her soul. obsessively,  a part of her craves it. yet, she’d yet to see abby get fucked. ellie wonders if you enjoy that just as much. 

you have stripped her of the sports bra discarded on the carpeted floor, her tits bare and exposed as her thighs rubbed anxiously. solely clad in her boxers, fisted hands at her sides, ellie tries not to touch herself. abby had instructed her to do so and a punishment would be delivered if she didn’t hold up her end of the bargain. “c’mon baby, be a good girl and cum for me. mhm, want you all over my face.” 

for the second time tonight, abby has you reeling. making a mess of her and yourself, the thrash of your body as she allows you to become nothing but the pleasure she loves giving you. “mommy, fuck, feels s’good.” abby slurps at your pussy as if it’s her favorite drink, maybe it is. the obnoxious sounds she makes only pushes you through your orgasm, her pierced tongue tenaciously flicking your clit as she teases your other hole. 

letting you cool down, she kisses up your body, littering it with loving kissing. paying attention to your tits for a moment, leaving marks of her own possession over your chest, before she’s doing the same to your collarbones. swollen, pink lips claim yours, nearly shoving her tongue down your throat as she groans into your mouth. her hand slaps your cunt, fingers digging in a silver making you shudder at the mere action before she bites the earlobe before whispering, “s’my pussy, don’t you ever forget it.” she kisses you sweetly on the temple. strong hands rubbing soft patterns on your stomach, intentionally being careful with you after she had been so rough. 

“just sit here and be pretty for me, yeah? mommy will be right back.” in all her naked glory, her sweaty skin glistening, her abs clenching as she stands over ellie, her emerald eyes bugging as she gulps loudly. part of her really tries to keep her eyes on her face but her tits are right there. before she can divulge further south, abby crouches down and balances on the balls of her feet. “up.” abby commands and ellie immediately follows her lead. doing as she’s instructed, to her full height, her pussy eye level with abby’s darling face, the soft edges of her jaw accentuated by the moonlight. 

“should i taste her, baby?” abby turns to you, waiting for your answer. she’s not doing anything without your consent. always, she would prioritize you above all else. “mhm, just a little, not too much. still need to fuck mommy’s cunt. don’t leave me waiting long.  i’ll get jealous.” you roll over, your ass on display as you arch your back, using a hand to expose your cunt to her. 

“mhm, i know baby, just a taste.” abby turns to give her attention to ellie,  she slides her boxers down, biting her lip before she looks up at her. hooded eyes captivating her as abby spreads ellie’s lips apart and the smaller woman gasps. “f-fuck.” abby chuckles, before she licks a bold strip up her cunt, her velvet cunt flicking over clit a few times, before her finger sinks in for a moment just to tease, before removing it. 

“now, come here loser.” abby stand to her full height, easily towering over ellie. the domineering blonde pushes her to the bed. “touch my girl without my permission and i’ll cut your tongue out.” abby excuses herself while the two watch her plump ass as she does. only gone for a moment, before she returns with a vibrator in hand. 

“spread your legs, whore.” ellie immediately obeys, too desperate to cum. abby applies the vibrator to ellie’s cunt, applying pressure and thriving off the way ellie is already losing it. her body already fucking into the toy, but she won’t push it. it’s better than last time, she won’t push when she’s already been given so much. for once, abby feels generous, and she leans over ellie, sucking on her nipple, flicking her tongue over the sensitive bud before nipping at it slightly. 

she whines as abby presses the vibrator down a smidge, edging closer towards her asshole. quietly, her warm breath hits her ear sending a shiver down her spin, “now, i want you to cum while my girlfriend pounds my pussy.” abby rolls over, ass to her girlfriend, arching slightly as you kiss down her spin, licking a bold strip up her cunt. the strap is already secured on your hips, ready to slid right in. abby’s face towards ellie, with you sliding in with one thrust. 

“nghhh, baby—” you thrust again, sending a jolt to her body. already you have her groaning. “mommy loves feeling your cock inside me. love it when you fuck me like i’m your dirty whore, god, i’m fucking dripping for you. every single fucking drop is for you. mommy’s cum, s’all for you.” ellie whines out abby, as she focuses on her face. abby’s ass is fucking fat, it moves the harder you fuck her and ellie can see it from her. it’s difficult for her to focus on anything else. the delicious way abby arches her back even more, blonde waves cascading down her toned muscles, kissing her shoulder blades. 

“baby?” abby asks and you know she’s playing nice because she wants something, it’s the only time she does. “yeah, what is it mommy?” 

“can i, fuck, i know we said just a taste but i can i eat her out? my mouth doesn’t have anything to do.” abby whines, her free hand playing with ellie’s nipples tweaking at the bud as the auburn haired girl whines. “hm, only because you’re asking so nicely, but my finger gets to play with your ass in the process, yeah?” 

“fine, but no plugs this time.” you grin deliciously, getting exactly what you want. without warning, you spit on her cunt, your fingers smearing the spit on her puckered hole, abby’s body twitches as your finger teases one hold while you pound into another. “see, i know what you like, baby. now, suck on her clit while i fuck your asshole. m’kay?” she listens to you, grabbing the vibrator from ellie’s grip and still having it within reach as she manhandles ellie’s so her pussy is right in front of her. 

“say pineapple if it’s too much because if you don’t, gonna make you came at least three times on my tongue by the time i’m done, fucking slut.” abby wastes no time before burying her face in her cunt, nose nudging at her clit as she licks tenaciously as her slick. fuck, ellie is loud. her hips buck up to fuck abby’s face, riding against her tongue and abby lets her. she likes them eager, willing to cum as many times as abby wants. hell, she loses herself into her pussy. there’s nothing more she enjoys more, blissfully in between a pretty girl’s thighs. normally, she only settles for yours, this time she’s willing to make an exception for someone else. 

messily, she spits on her pussy, dipping her tongue into ellie’s pretty hole. she’s can’t stop fucking moaning, her stomach clenching, crying out for a release. abby loses focus for a moment when you give one hard thrust, sending her into submission for just a moment. you’re unrelenting pace has abby seeing stars, endless circles on her asshole as you tease her, but she’s stubborn. as if she’s trying to tease you, she shakes her ass as you fuck her, stubborn as ever but it only makes her moan louder. the slight bounce giving you an opportunity to slip in even further. 

“didn’t think that through, huh mommy?” you giggle manically as you slap her ass playfully, “take my fucking cock, all of it, but you better make her cum fast or you’re gonna be first.” abby knows there’s weight behind your words, so she uses her fingers along with your mouth. her middle and ring finger slips in with ease, her pace is slow at first while abby’s tongue plays with her clit, flicking over the treasured pearl before sucking it into her mouth. each time she rolls her tongue, ellie rolls her hips into her again. 

your pace picks up as promised so abby goes knuckle dip, curling her fingers in just right until she hears ellie cursing. “fuck, fuck, abby—” just when ellie thinks it can’t get any better she grabs the vibrator pulling her mouth off. as her fingers fuck you into another oblivion, abby presses the vibrator on ellie’s clit, dragging it into small circles. abby chuckles at the way her body twitches, thighs shaking, emerald eyes squinting shut “show me what a dirty fucking girl you are, yeah? be a fucking loser and cum for me. i knew you couldn’t even last longer than ten minutes, prove it. be my whore and fucking cum. give me what i fucking want. better give mommy what she wants, huh?” 

abby amps the intensity on the vibrator, her fingers fucking ellie at a pace she knew would have her seeing stars. “c’mon, don’t you want to coat your fingers in my cum?” 

“yes, yes, yes—” ellie chants, the pent up pressure in her stomach gets released. she opens her eyes just for a moment to see abby her lip tugged upwards, a wicked smirk on her face as she watches ellie cum. she feels the slick coat her fingers as she clenches around her fingers. “mommy…shit, right there.” it’s amusing — nearly gets her off. her head lazily on her thigh, as she watches her body writhe in pleasure, her freckled face twitches, eyebrows furrowed as she focuses in on her clit throbbing against the vibrator. although, the feeling doesn’t last very long. 

you’re possessive over abby and hearing mommy doesn’t go over too kindly. your finger grips her golden waves, pulling her towards you by the strands. “watch your tongue, ellie. i’m the only one who gets to call her mommy around here. got it?” as if abby was the one who’d done wrong, you slapped her ass, twice. “you, stop being greedy while i’m fucking your pussy or someone won’t get to cum.” 

“you call this fucking? can barely feel you, is that even your cock inside me or a microstrap in my pussy?” abby almost starts running her mouth again, but you pull her hair, hard. “think you're so big and strong, and you are mommy. you’re tall, hot, cocky piece of shit sometimes, but you’re also just a hole begging to be stuffed. i’m the only who gets fuck your pussy, you’d be good to remember that.” 

you use all the strength you can muster, bringing her up so abby’s back pressed against your chest. a hand crawling it’s way up her throat, squeezing lightly as she grunts. never for a moment do you stop fucking her, head laying against the crook in your neck. using the other hand, you pinch her pierced nipple between your fingers. the stainless steel barbell shifts and abby whines like a fucking whore. 

“my pretty baby likes her nipples to be played with, doesn’t she? so sensitive it’s almost pathetic.” you whisper in her ear, your breath hot as you do her three favorite things. 

“yes, please—” abby clenches her cunt around your cock. she begins to bounce, meeting your thrust as her eyes are shut closed. squinting, only focusing on the way you make her feel. “don’t stop.” 

“jus’ like that. yeah, does my baby wanna cum?” abby circles her hips, slamming her hips down, the base nudging against your slit. “mhm, s’all u want. want to cum all over your cock. will you let me? can mommy come for you? i’ll be good, i swear. whatever you want.” 

“then fucking cum.” you look in ellie’s eyes as she convulses, your arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her close as your hips raise, fucking her through your high. a final warning, call her mommy again and you’ll fucking regret it. 

abby isn’t the only one who is possessive over what’s rightfully hers.

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hi! Do you think you could write fem!reader with poly!marauders and their first time having sex? If I’m making you uncomfortable let me know and I’ll apologize. Sorry if I sound weird I’m autistic and don’t know how to phrase things sometimes. Thank you.

hi hunny! you didn't make me uncomfortable at all and you worded this great! thank you for requesting!! fem!reader x poly!marauders

cw: explicit smut, slight d/s dynamic, swearing, everything is consensual obviously

1.7k words

The fact that you were the only one breathing heavily was a crime. It was pathetic, really. You felt borderline depraved, considering the innocence of the situation. Your head was in Sirius’ lap, his fingers nothing short of magical against your scalp. You could feel the slight vibration of his voice every time he spoke. Remus’ hand was lazily rubbing your bare thigh, occasionally dipping his fingers under the hem of your shorts, and you were praying that he couldn’t feel the growing heat in dangerous proximity to his hands. James was looking unfairly gorgeous for someone winding down for the night. He was fresh from the shower, his clean scent wafting over to you on the bed as he styled his hair in the mirror. 

You were tightly wound from months of tension. While there had been no shortage of heat-stoking intimacy and dizzying kisses leaving you whiny and breathy, it had always stopped of anything that would actually satisfy the growing beast in your core. And while you hoped you were successfully hiding how much it affected you, part of you wished they would notice it. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. The boyish laughter in the background was not helping with your growing affliction. 

“Angel?” James chuckled, damp hair falling in front of his eyes. 

“Yeah?” You turned your head in Sirius’ lap. 

“We’ve been trying to get your attention, lovely.” James crawled on top of you, muscles shifting intricately under his white tank. You noticed how he was careful not to pile too much weight onto Sirius. He slid down, laying his head on your stomach and wrapped an arm around Remus, making the tall boy begrudgingly put his book down. 

“Oh, sorry. I was distracted.” You ran your hands through James’ hair. 

“Distracted?” Sirius drawled. He was trailing his fingers teasingly on your neck now. You repressed the urge to shiver. 

“Distracted.” You parroted back awkwardly. You couldn’t tell if the heat was from the amount of bodies crammed into the bed or the effect that they were having on you. James looked up at you with a playful grin. He reached a hand up to caress your cheek. His grin grew wider.

“Your face is warm, darling.” Mirth was dripping from his eyes. 

“Is it?” You swallowed hard. Sirius’ painted digits pressed into your jaw. He chuckled darkly at what he found.

“Her pulse is fucking hammering” His wicked fingers dipped under the collar of your shirt. 

“Oh,” Remus cooed, tone indicating that he didn’t feel that bad. “What’s the matter, dovey?” 

“Nothing.” You choked out, knowing that your body was completely betraying you. 

“I don’t know,” Sirius provoked. “I think it’s something. Don’t you, Prongs?” He moved to pet James’ head. 

“Oh, you’re definitely right.” James kissed your exposed collarbone. “C’mon, sweetheart. Talk to us.” 

You wanted to laugh. If they really wanted you to talk, couldn’t they make it a bit easier? You just groaned, hiding your face in Sirius’ thigh.

“No. None of that.” Remus gripped your chin to move your face, not letting you be shielded. “Use your words.” 

“You’re so mean.” You whined. 

“Aw, baby.” James cooed. “We’re just trying to help you. We can’t know what you want if you don’t tell us.” He slipped his hand under the hem of your shirt, gripping your waist lovingly. 

“You know what you’re doing.” You narrowed your eyes. You were trying to look intimidating but failing miserably. Remus turned your face towards his, capturing you in a kiss. You moaned against your will, arching your back up. All your muscles felt so tense, begging for release. Sirius kept stroking your hair. 

“Just tell us what’s wrong.” Sirius’ grin was all teeth when you looked up at him. 

“Gah.” You groaned in failure. “I don’t even know. I’m just so worked up and you’re not helping.” You pouted. 

“Aw, I’m sorry dove.” Remus clearly did not feel bad. “Want us to make it better?” 

You nodded rapidly, eyes wide. Remus cocked an eyebrow at you. “Yes, please. Make it better.” You all but begged. 

“Alright, baby dove.” Remus laughed. "We'll be nice." He kissed you again, moving over your cheeks and neck. James was kissing your chest, tugging the collar of your shirt down to expose more skin. You struggled to hold back wanton moans. 

“Can I lift this up, angel?” James tugged at your shirt, looking pointedly at your nipples peaking through your shirt. 

“Yes please.” 

He tugged you away from Sirius and Remus, though the boys didn’t complain. Sirius was tugging Remus up by his mousy hair to kiss him aggressively, while James lifted your shirt to your collarbone, exposing your chest to his ministrations. He grabbed at your breast with one hand, kissing over your nipple until you were dizzy. He then moved down, kissing lower and lower. 

“Christ, just get this shit off.” Sirius growled at you. He impatiently moved you to sit up, tugging your shirt off the rest of the way. “You too, Prongs.” 

His eyebrows flew up behind his glasses. “Someone’s demanding today.” He complied though, pulling his white undershirt off and flinging it somewhere across the room. Sirius just narrowed his eyes at James and tried to pull Remus back. 

“The two of you.” Remus shook his head disapprovingly but you could see the affection swirling in his irises. “Do I have to tell you what to do with your mouths?”

“I think I know exactly what to do with my mouth.” Sirius sassed, moving down to Remus' neck.

“I know what I want to do with my mouth.” James tugged at your shorts, looking up at you with huge pupils. You choked back a moan. 

“Is that okay with you, honey?” Remus asked you gently. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Just say the word and we stop, okay?”

“I would like that.” You said, barely more than a whisper. James gave you another boyish grin and went back to kissing down your torso. 

“On second thought, I don't think I know what to do.” Sirius tested. He crawled off of the mattress, standing at the foot of the bed. He batted his lashes at Remus, clearly testing the tall boys patience. He stalked over to where Sirius was standing, looking down at him.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” He kissed him roughly before getting on his knees in front of him. Your attention was pulled back to the boy between your legs when you felt thick fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts. 

“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” James waited for you to nod before he pulled them off. He crawled off the bed, pulling your ankles to tug you right to the end of the mattress. Your underwear was removed before he opened your legs wider. This situation was too much in the best way. James was kissing down to your waiting pussy, glasses being knocked up his nose and hair messy while you were being stared down by Sirius, who was close enough to massage your thigh while he was being sucked off, his moans ringing deliciously through your ears. 

James’ tongue met your clit, making you throw your head back in ecstasy. “Oh, shit.” You whined. He was gentle as he pleasured you, wiggling his tongue softly into your pussy, flicking up towards your swollen bead and then back down to your hole. Your thighs started to tense. You knew you were getting there embarrassingly fast, both from James’ expertise and the arousal that had been building in your body. You fought to close your legs around James' head, but he held fast, keeping you spread open for him.

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Sirius groaned. “You should fucking see yourself, babydoll.” He knotted his fingers in Remus’ fluffy hair, rutting his hips to chase his high. “Godammit.” He grunted, cumming down Remus’ throat. You hid behind your hands to protect yourself from his voyeuristic gaze.

When Remus got up, James pulled his lips off of your clit with a lewd popping sound, making you cry out. You bucked your hips back up, chasing for more pleasure. 

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart.” James chuckled, rubbing your hip comfortingly. He slipped two fingers into your pussy, curling them up. Remus' attention was now on you as he leant over you, kissing your neck. 

“How does her pussy taste, Prongs?” Sirius drawled, petting your thigh with a blissful look in his eyes. 

“So fucking good.” James kept his fingers working a perfect motion. 

“Alright, give me a try.” Sirius pulled James up impatiently. James brought his fingers up to the shorter boy’s mouth, the same fingers that were just inside you. Without hesitation Sirius sucked them into his mouth, moaning around the digits. You whined at the spectacle in front of you. 

“Christ, lads. She’s halfway to death over here.” Remus chuckled, palming at your breast. 

“Alright.” Sirius rolled his eyes, getting on his knees in front of you. “Are you gonna let me have a turn, sweet girl?” He pinched your side affectionately. 

“Yes please.” You moaned. 

Sirius laughed at you, pressing his face into your cunt. You almost screamed in ecstasy. He wasted no time with teasing, licking into you with vigorous hunger as his gray eyes bore into you. Remus and James moved to hold your legs apart, spreading you open completely before Sirius. “Fuck, such a sweet little pussy.” He groaned, before returning to his work. 

“That’s a good boy.” Remus groaned, putting his hand on the back of Sirius’ head to push him further into your cunt. “Y’ making her feel so good.” Sirius moaned into your pussy, doubling down. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Your thighs shook hard, spasms flowing through your whole body. 

“That’s it, angel. Come for us.” James kissed your cheek. It didn’t take long to follow his directions, tumbling off the edge of pleasure. Your moans were shameless, slipping into incoherent whines when you got to be too sensitive. Sirius licked his fingers as he came up for air, face flushed and eyes starry. 

“Fuck, gorgeous. You’re killer.” He praised. Pleasurable embarrassment washed over you. You shut your legs, looking up at the three boys. 

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” Remus stroked your jaw, all feigned sternness void from his face. 

“I’m brain dead.” You giggled. 

“I think that’s a job well done then.” James grabbed your hand, bringing it to his mouth to adorn it with kisses. You looked between him and Remus, playful hesitancy written in your features. 

“What about you two?” You questioned. 

“You still got some steam in you?” James looked at you wide-eyed. You nodded. 

“Good, because I’m nowhere near done with you.” Remus opened your legs again.  

[kiwanopie]

A Lucky Find.

Pure luck, isn’t it? (Geto Suguru x fem!sorcerer!Reader)

cw: yandere if you squint. mention of misogyny and inappropriate work place relationships, graphic descriptions of curses and body horror, death by mutilation involving a curse (Not you), mention of religion, only specifics about reader is that she’s visibly very attractive and may have long hair (no descriptors though, it could be a lace) Suguru is out of his mind. You will not be called a monkey in this one.

wc: 3.9k

You’re not a very talkative assistant.

Granted sometimes you’re inclined to wonder if talking would’ve made so much of a difference to the position you’ve been put in, but you’ve never been a particularly choosy assistant either. You’re great at handling quick business, the calls your boss can’t be bothered to take - studious in your evening planning and you can quick work a coffee run like nobody's business. — You don’t complain about the thin heels they put you in, or the pencil skirts. Mired businessmen with filthy smirks and wondering eyes, or the routine baby talk you get from your degenerate boss. You don’t blink an eye at it. - You sit when you’re told to sit and bark when Mr. Minoru decides to hold that pretty little bone over your head.

“You could use a bonus, huh?”

Today it’s a back rub.

You’re silent as your nimble fingers start to press little groves in his upper back, impassive when he groans. Mr. Minoru, your boss, is a very rich man. He’s the successor of a retired tycoon who was once the successor of another and so forth. He’s an amalgamation of power and fortune and a small legion of nepotism babies that regularly walk in through those mahogany doors just ahead of his desk. An investor, you think. Most conversations he has are about money and the best way to double it; fewer are the ones where he’s actually taking the time out of his schedule to distribute it.

It’s all elite talk. Big men following big men following a perv who believes he’s god. Long outstretched legs that extend as he relaxes himself in his seat and hopes that the movement is enough to encourage you to start on his shoulders.

You like to think you got this job out of pure luck. Met the right man at the right time and stumbled over the deal of a lifetime all for the small cost of a little bit of your dignity. — Not like it was much of a trade from your part time job busing tables at that high-end restaurant. Being yelled at by bratty celebrities at a fraction of the price and coming home smelling reminiscent of a meat locker. Now you’re standing on the top floor of a penthouse suite. Smelling of expensive perfume that your boss totally didn’t break worker/boss relation code for and looking down at the entirety of Tokyo from its bay windows.

Pure luck.

The creature hooked to the upper side of his shoulder unfastens its teeth with a firm graze of your fingers. The steam it emits as it fizzles away is sour.

Mr. Minoru has a pension for starting fights with the wrong people, it seems. With bitter people - scornful people. People who hate him and can’t do anything about it, other than wish him harm or hex him in some way. — Worst are the people who don’t hate him, who envy him. Step into his office with painted smiles and clenched teeth. Who curse his name the moment they leave and leave you to deal with these little “bugs.”

Your nose twitches as its rotten smell encombers. For a moment your pretty face is twisted up in a scowl.

The massages started from an offhand graze of your fingers during a dinner at your old job. Pretty little waitress bending over him in that little work dress and running your finger down his felted coat. You apologize for your familiarity, someone must’ve spilled something on his jacket. ~ But the weight on his back is gone from just that little touch and now he’s offering you a job. You don’t regularly make a habit of helping those you’ve already deemed “afflicted.” But the fucker making goo trails on his back at the time was just disgusting enough to hinder your train of thought, and there’s no way you could’ve gone through your shift without reviling every time you passed his table.

So, now you’re his assistant - and today it’s just a back rub. Thankfully not a request to play with his hair and try not to cringe at the way he shutters from it. A subtle pat on the cheek for his good luck kiss, or a request to sit on his lap while he tells you a story he doesn’t care if you’re listening to. Because you’re quiet.

His not talkative, non-fussy, no complaints assistant.

Like always he fills the empty air in place of your silence. “Ah. By the way, princess. We’ve got a guest coming around after lunch. A real traditional fella. So, we’ll need to be on our best behavior,”

“Apparently he’s got some sort of business opportunity for me in exchange for a few investments,” He sighs when your fingers dip a little under his collar. “Says that in his big fuckin’ haori. Probably cost a few thousand bucks,”

Mr. Minoru shifts his shoulders under your firm touches. “To be completely honest, I don’t really know about it aside from the gag of seeing him in person again. Guy has this weird energy about himself that gives me the creeps. — Says he’s avant-garde. — I just think he’s a weird fuckin’ guy.”

“But,” The exhale he lets out is tempered and whisky tinted, clears out the fresh space in his chest that usually frees up when you’ve got your hands on him. “My old man likes ‘em. Says he’d be good for my health if I kept him around. At the very least build some sorta relationship with him.”

“Too bad my health’s in tip-top shape! Eh, doll-baby?” Minoru twists his head to flash you an expensive smile. Faintly defined cheekbones turning rosy when you return it like you know you’re supposed to. “Got my little guru at my side!”

And your simper, although gentle, is forced. Distantly you wonder if you’re the reason these bugs have become so habitual.

——-

This man is very ill.

Though he walks in with his head held high and a particular spring in his step, your diagnosis is that he must be terminal. He must be diseased and irremediable. In a constant state of agony and so stricken with unwellness that he can’t even think straight. You’ve seen your fair share of “bugs” and rabid disfigured animals that grow out of their hosts like fungus. Some that trail behind like lost children with broken crackling legs - a stench that only accompanies the open wounds whose maggots reach out so helplessly. Disturbing things. For all of it you’ve seen, you’re lucky to say that those cases are few and far in between.

But this,

It has many hands and many faces.

Each accompanied by its own set of teeth. Curling lips that stutter as they rise, etched in lipstick and gum; you find mint leaves hidden in the valley of its tongue, coiling as it softly sings. Watching from afar as it hobbles on its haunches like a drunken man, or of fawn newly grazed. It is steady - and constantly moving. It buzzes like a million bees and yet the man standing next to it is seemingly unaffected.

And so are you.

Your gentility becomes you as you politely bow for the man who you’ve so gracefully led to Mr. Minoru’s office. A practiced curtsy is usually enough to get your usual guests commenting under their nose at your bosses taste in assistant’s, but this man is quiet as he walks past you. So above your head that it almost feels like he doesn’t even know you exist. And that feeling is… off putting to say the least.

You close the door behind him as your boss starts on introductions.

“Ah, so you’ve met my beautiful assistant!” He reaches out his hand. “Minoru. Nice to meet you.”

The genuinity in the man’s smile fastens his eyes into slits as he steps forward to return the shake. “Geto, likewise.”

“Geto, huh? I heard the old man sent you for an investment proposition. My guess is it’s something… traditional?” Minoru gestures toward his garbs.

He’s somewhat clinical in his attempt to look lighthearted, but the sigh he blows out feels trusting. “So this isn’t selling “contemporary” huh?”

Minoru laughs and the thing beside him whimpers.

Your fingers twitch against your work skirt.

You’re a distant shadow lingering behind the conversing men as you step to your post on the far side of the office wall, heels clicking quietly when you bend to fix yourself adjacent to Mr. Minoru’s desk. — You’re not expected to listen much to the conversation, or even understand the matters on which they talk about. Just straighten your back when your boss snaps his fingers and follow obediently when he coos an order.

But even if that weren’t the case, you’d say it’d be hard to pay any attention to anything other than whatever the fuck that is hunched beside the man standing just a few feet away. Singing quietly under its breath and repeating the tune like a prayer. Fearful, shaken, pleaful, dread inducing; overlapping in its many mouths. Your fingernails quietly scrape against each other in your attempt to remain neutral but from a keen eye you’re jarred. Disquietingly moving your eyes from the two men still talking adjacent from you and then it again.

It’s looking at you.

You force down a swallow when Minoru calls your name.

“Quiet thing, isn’t she?” Your boss comments amidst the conversation as you approach them. “Could almost forget she’s here if it weren’t for the eyecandy,”

You smile at him like he’s flattering you but it’s muscle memory. “Sir?”

“Gather up those papers from your desk over there, sweetpea. And hand it to the nice man.”

You almost don’t even wanna turn your back on it.

But against your own anxieties you do as you're told. Even with your nerves frayed as they are. You keep your posture as you hastily skirt to your desk and back across the room again. Nimble, slightly shaken fingers lowering to place it in Geto-san’s hand but he doesn’t acknowledge you even when you smile. Vacant eyes. Bored of you already. —- You don’t know if you should feel more offended or alarmed. But in your curtsy before backing away you decide to split the difference and go for disturbed.

Avant-garde. This guy just gives you the fuckin’ creeps.

He works in health, apparently. From what you’ve gathered in the continuing conversation, he’s a spiritual man who offers health by spiritual means. It’s not a very groundbreaking admission, especially from a man in traditional garb, but he assures that his practices have long surpassed ground theory and have been proven to guarantee actual results. From refractory diseases, mental illness, visible injury; his methods could completely eradicate the need for traditional medicine and take the health industry by storm.

But money is a long factor, longer in the doubtful and non-spiritual. “Non-worthy.” It sounds pointed the way he slips that in, but your red flags aren’t shared with your less than convinced boss.

“Spiritual healing sounds great and all, Geto buddy. But you’re directing services to a pretty biased market.” Minoru crosses one of his legs over the other from his perched position against his desk. “Even with the facts, the money’s in objectivity. You’d get more bang for your buck just saying any Yamada worth his salt can walk in and get rid a’ his sniffles for the right price. - Religion ‘ll just turn people off.”

Geto smiles patiently. “Ah, Minoru-san, we’re not religion based. Religion promotes powerlessness. Our services come from practical people.”

You watch as the creature messily swivels on its crooked legs when he invades its space by leaning back a little. “But to insert certain biases kind of sweetens the deal, doesn’t it? People like things that make them feel special. Even the most useless people should wanna prove themselves in some way, right?”

What a crooked way of thinking.

At your quiet displeasure the mass behind Geto wheezes painfully, wincing when you lock eyes with it. Its song pitches and warbles, chops a little like it’s weeping; but even in its effort to resume its discontent is palpable.

You could almost feel acknowledged by it. By its wandering eyes and its tightened misshapen shoulders. Almost as off put as you are from its spot in the middle of the room. The more you look at it, the more it starts to evoke pity. Even in its unsightliness, it looks misplaced and afraid. - Its song breaks like a cry for mercy and the closer you look at it the more recognizable its purpose becomes.

There are knots in its balmy skin so engorged they bleed and tear. Fabric mincing over fictional scabbing and prayer beads hanging out of its gashes. Every twitch it makes reverberates ricey out of rhythm beats akin to maracas and its song, as out of key as it is, is reverential. Powerlessness. Anodyne through faith. You barely find yourself pitying the afflictions of affected people but in the context of this conversation - it’s watering eyes; you feel empathetic toward this thing and by extension Geto-san.

You assume something awful must’ve started that way of thinking.

Should you even stick your neck out for this guy? You’ve dealt with bigger, more violent ones in any case. But this creature seems peaceful. Following faithfully on its hosts haunches as it waits patiently beside him. You’ll have to be fast and unflashy about it, hopefully the stench from that thing won’t make you hurl on impulse. But if not out of mercy, it would be nice to have it out of your line of vision.

Your eyes cross it again. It’s many eyes well with anguish. You decide that at your next opportunity you’ll get rid of it promptly.

As luck would have it Mr. Minoru’s personal phone rings.

He’s quick in his apologies as he fishes it out of his pocket. Passing a smile to Geto as he quickly bows and makes the few long strides it takes to step out of the door and into the hallway, and a few short snaps in your direction as he points you to the concessionaires reserved for his clients near the door.

You’re practiced as you dip for the little fridge on your left, carefully sliding out a glassed bottle of water from the door and a plastic bag of sliced apples.

“Would you like a snack while you wait, Geto-san?”

He ignores you.

Through a quietly exasperated sigh does he slide his phone out of his hakama and pointedly decide not to acknowledge your awkward stance at the far end of the room. — You know he ignores you because the silence that otherwise permeates the spaciousness of your boss's suite is momentarily disrupted by the sound of your voice bouncing off the walls; followed again by that frigid silence.

This is the guy you’re trying to help.

Even so, your embarrassment is brushed aside in favor of making your way to the small coffee table between him and the other leather seat parallel to his. Thin pencil skirt riding a little as you take wide steps to the little spot that separates him from the empty seat - and you from the thin sliver of carpet standing between he and the now quivering mass.

You bend to place the treats gingerly beside him.

And when you rise you reach for it.

There are practiced fingers circling around your wrist before you can even touch it.

Your fear is potent enough to turn its broken hums into racking sobs as you freeze in his sudden grip. Firmly clasped onto you as he raises your arm over your head and forces you to jolt back with a stuttered breath. Faint greyed markings on the palm of your hand fade but they’re caught under his watchful eye, and through your shock you watch his expression switch.

From confusion, to intrigue, to pure excitement.

Your shock teeters on horror as his pupils dilate. “Now, just what were those pretty fingers planning on doing?”

He seems to revel at the sheer bewilderment that colors in your pretty face from where you nervously stare up at him. Doe eyes lit up by headlights, and the radiative heat of suddenly being this close to his predatory gaze. You stammer. “Wh-? Y-You know it’s-“

“Brought it with me, didn’t I?” He speaks lowly as he circles his thumb over your wrist. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate your concern though, sweetheart.”

You shrink. The absurdity of intentionally carrying a burden like this is as mind boggling as it is chilling. Dread inducing, even. With the kind of bad juju that thing emits there’s no other reason to purposefully let it fester beside you than for motives deeply depraved. Deeply disturbed. The way the air around him murkens and electrifies, and a glint in his eye that makes you feel like prey. — He’s looking at you like you’re dinner right now. And something about that feels trillions of times more frightening than any typical rubbernecking.

After being treated like a ghost by this man this whole time. Now he’s looking at you like you’re a slab of meat spread out for him. Succulent and tenderized, pliant under his fingers. Your soft eyes are rigid with fear as his other hand reaches for you blithely, larger fingers dipping in your loose hair and scooping it gently forward. You glance at it from the corner of your eye.

Smoke curls around his palm.

You suppress with a quiet intake of breath.

Geto-san’s cheeks pinken as he gleefully smiles, emboldened by a genuine tinge of ardor. You do your best not to flinch but it’s futile, his chilled fingers consolingly caress your face as he tuts; and gazes at you like he’s committing you to memory.

“Be patient for me, yeah? I’ll be done in a minute.”

You can’t even begin to guess what that means.

But before you can inquire he’s shushing you with a finger up to his lips. Playfully shooing you away as Mr. Minoru’s footsteps patter closer, and you clumsily re-fit yourself into your professional mask.

“Sorry ‘bout that, pal. Forgot about another meeting I was supposed to attend a little earlier,” He pockets his phone. “No one’s fault.”

He leans against the cliff of his desk where Geto-san’s planted himself again. Minoru glances at the unopened bag of apple slices. “Ah, _____, baby. You were supposed to hand him the good stuff.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“No worries.” Geto laughs airily. “How could anything look nearly as appetizing when you’ve got an assistant like that walking around?”

Your ears burn as Mr. Minoru snorts in kind. “Yeah, fair enough,”

He rolls up his sleeves. “A’right, princess. How bout you hop on over to my lounge and break open the good brandy for my guest and I. Bring us the crystal set. Can you do that?”

—-

The decanter in your hand falls with a dull thump.

There’s no… logical explanation for what you’re looking at right now — Who you’re looking at right now. In any other circumstance deep purples would be expected. Blotched boysenberries and flossy reds, dotted with strained blues. You’d expect tearing - bleeding, audible ginger snaps of tendons and extended bone. A scream even, no matter how silent; all are logically expected. Death is logically expected.

But seeing your boss stretched out like leather, not a full five minutes after leaving him alone with this man, is not.

Your eyes frantically skirt over your boss's heaving corpse from your exposed position at his closing entrance. Watching in repulsed terror as his skin tears and bruises, familiar prayer beads falling out of his flesh like stuffing. - His eyes are rolled agonizingly into the back of his head, mouth opened in a scream. His blood sizzles against the maple of his desk and you can do little but stare in horror.

You flinch as the mainline on his desk starts to go off but you’re no sooner cringing at the way his arm breaks just to reach for it. Bloody fingers pushing the receiver, and cheeks tearing just to respond.

His unchanged voice somehow makes it all the more horrifying. “Hi, Souza. Thanks for getting back to me,”

“Yeah, do me a favor,” You back into the door. “Route about ten million to Geto-san’s organization under investment. And be a dear and sign the invoice for me, would ya?”

You’re gonna be sick.

“So, you’re out of a job now, huh?” You nearly yelp.

Geto-san’s standing just over you. “I’ve got a pretty similar position opened up,” He says casually. “‘Wanna work for me?”

You can barely push out a word. Which, kind man that he is, helps you out by deciding for you. “Ah, Great! I can break you in on Sunday. Here’s my card.”

He smiles kindly as you hesitantly pluck the laminated card from his fingers. Looking at you under mirthful eyes that chill more than they comfort.

“If you’re worried about pay, I can give you double of whatever that monkey gave you. Maybe a little extra if you’re as good as he says you are.”

But before you can recoil at the thought of being stuck under the same kind of boss, with the extra caveat of being a psychopath; he adds with a hint of challenge. “That is, if you can get rid of our friend for us.”

You follow his glance to the creature wearing your boss like a hand puppet.

Do you even have a choice?

Geto-san watches with a keen eye as you warily approach the blinking, bleeding corpse behind your late boss’s desk. Heels clicking slowly against his wooden floors, skin prickling at the thought of even getting close to this thing let alone touch it. There’s a smell that you notice as you move closer. A rotten, discrepant smell that pushes as much as it pulls. Aging, airless skin, barreling toward cell death; only marginally slowed by the alkaline smell of embalming fluid. Too old. Too sour.

But there’s something about it that almost — Hypnotizes. Evokes a kind of nostalgia that almost completely disarms you. Church pews and goatskin, leather hardbacks under frilly gloves; and those damn prayer beads. You can almost hear your grandmother’s voice. The minty sweet taste of stale candies tinted by the perfume in her purse. ~ Watching worship but not understanding it. A contact high of conviction. Your boss’s blood spills and it means something sacred, something reverent. And the closer you get, the more that sacrifice feels for the better.

You flicker a glance in Geto-san’s direction. This guy had this shit on standby?

It’s clammy when your fingers finally graze its skin. Sweaty and twitching, like every touch is a pinched nerve; like every stroke stimulates. There’s movement under the first layer, a hissing under the second. It’s mania seeps off of it in droves and the more you linger on it, the more your stomach twists.

You draw back your hand and rub over the difference in texture.

The room is temporarily endowed with smoke at the snap of your fingers.

They’re both gone when the vapor quickly dissipates, blood formerly staining expensive maple now replaced with its originally polished shine. As well as his chair, his area rug, and any other evidence that could connote what truly horrific fate the man in question had suffered in this very room.

Which is enough to send Geto-san into an ecstatic flurry of applause. “H-Holy shit. Where have you been all my life?”

He’s more focused on the way the weight in your lips shift rather than that being because of a frown. Regardless, you’re still a picture despite it. “You’re gonna fit nicely. — My address is on the card. Come by nine? I’ll have breakfast ready by then.”

He turns with a relaxed lilt toward the exit. “You and I are gonna have a lot of fun.”

The door clicks as the lock disengages.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

reblogs are appreciated <3

[spade-riddles]

The dominoes cascaded in a line, 'cause baby WE are the New Romantics

It has begun. Welcome to the beginning of the end.

We hang back, it's all in the timing. Every bait and switch was a work of art. The waiting and waiting and waiting for a signal that could only be sent after a decade of history ran its course.

The patience of so many tortured souls as the tick tick ticking of the clock grew closer and closer to the great escape. A wise poet once said, "the best people in life are free." And free, she shall set them.

On the 10 year anniversary of the album that dared to shout the whispers of their forbidden club, the signal was sent, washing them clean.

An underground secret garden uprooted in an instant for all to see. The key to the gate once buried deep, now dug up and simply left under a door mat.

Those afflicted by their scarlet letters have started and will continue to dress in black in unity, attending their own funerals. The death of self, for the greater rebirth of one's truth.

The model muse is already foreshadowing this approaching change for herself as she not only posted dressed in all black yesterday with a black and white filter, a black emoji heart, and a overall somber tone, but she also included a throwback of herself from 2014. 10 years ago. The origin of 1989 New Romantics. And she did it all on the day of the initial step into daylight.

The first domino has fell. Going anon sent the warning shot.

"Spade, still going, going, going? 🫵👩🏼‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏼🤷🏼‍♀️"

For this was more than merely a surprise song, but instead a hint at the first to tip the scale. Call it what you want, Shawn.

The Mountain: "You can say I like girls or boys; So call it what you want, call it what you want".

The Lover remix feature, who notably played his part as the stand in for Karlie Kloss, became the first of many to "Speak Now".

Dressed in black right on cue, addressing his unreleased song The Mountain,

"The real truth about my life and my sexuality is that I’m just figuring it out like everyone. It feels really scary because we live in a society that has a lot to say about that. And I’m trying to be really brave and just allow myself to be a human and feel things."

Headlines. Headlines. Headlines. An all too familiar publicist is most definitely behind its fast travel in the news.

But why Shawn first you may ask? The Lover remix came out Nov 13th, on a different special anniversary. The one in which the mastermind and model danced in a snowglobe round and round. The Lover house, to no coincidence, is shown to be inside a snowglobe in the Music Video. Shawn's next tour date since his speech? Nov 13th...

The ground work has been laid, and just like clockwork, all will soon fall in line.

Perhaps the one said to be on the rollercoaster will get to share her story in due time. It certainly is a bumpy ride going going going down. 🎢

😳

Karlie’s post:

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[swanlakex]

Hi! New to tumblr! Got really bored one day and decided to write a beginning to a little regency slow burn enemies to lovers with Anakin Skywalker 😭 Lmk if you would be interested in some more! This isn’t super historical accurate, either. I’m just writing along.

(Also sorry for the horrible layout idk how to use this app)

CW: death

The sound of your mother’s weeping flooded the porcelain castle halls. The servants looked around in horror and apprehension, some full of grief, some in fear of the future of their land. A land without a king.

You stayed in the hallway outside of your father’s chambers. He had been sick for some time, and despite the endless remedies and dozens of medics and apothecaries, his condition only festered throughout his body. Now, at nineteen, you stand outside with your siblings, nauseous with grief, to say goodbye to your father. A man that was nothing but strong, wise, discerning, and loved. By all his people. By the rich, the poor, the nobles, subjects, jests- all.

Your baby sister, Therese, shrunk to the floor beside you. Her hands shook as she buried her face in her handkerchief. Your brother, Louis, who always stood with height and honor, placed himself in front of you and Therese. Trying to shield you all from the horrors of life without the direction of your father.

Suddenly, a guard opens the door from the room your mother and father shared throughout all these years. “Come in,” he speaks softly, a foil to his strict training and brash uniform. “His majesty is ready to see you all.” With that, he turns and marches away.

You help Therese up as Louis creeps in ahead. Behind him, you see your mother sat next to Father on the bed, acting as his shroud. On top of the covers, her dress spills around the mattress and its frame as she rests her hands upon his arms. He’s awake, sat up, yet pale. Weak.

“Oh, Father!” Therese yawps as she runs to his side of the bed, knees falling as she throws her arms around him. She cries into his tunic, face buried.

He gently embraces her, careful to keep his strength. “My Therese,” he calls. Again and again. Louis and you walk up to him. Uncertainty paints your faces blue. “My children. My beautiful children.” Father reaches a hand towards you and Louis, you take it as Louis kneels beside him. Leaving you- the eldest- the one standing at your father’s deathbed.

“I have done many, many things in this life of mine. I have served my duties as a soldier, and carried prospects in the fruition of my throne. I have brought this country through famine and war to a renaissance and a golden age of art, peace, and freedom. But I leave you all with this- the very best thing I have ever done in this world is you all. The most rewarding act I’ve received is loving each of you, watching you grow. Seeing the noblemen and women you have bloomed into. I am so very proud, my children- for you have cured all afflictions, and carried the whole of my triumphs. And I-“

His voice croaks at the effort of speaking. Your sister and mother sob. Louis winces, his eyes boring into his father’s, like he is trying to remember each and every detail of his father’s face. “…I love you. All. With each synapse and every vein in my person. Being your father has been the greatest blessing and shining achievement of my living.”

Tears pour down your face. What is a life without your father? A life of doom- you expect. Who will heed the family? Who will heed the country? You begin to brace yourself for a life of risk, uncertainty, and despair. You will have to be married off, Louis must take the throne. At fifteen- he will become the country’s youngest king. He’s strong, you think. But young. He’s just a boy. He knows not of death, of war. Of power. What will come of the kingdom? Of you?

Oh, Father. Please come back to us. You beg to an empty sky.

Chapter One: l’appariement

You stand in front of the looking glass, clasping a necklace around yourself. Tears well up in your eyes as you look at the unrecognizable figure that stands before you. It is about to be the hardest day of your life since Father died- courting.

Of course, you detested the idea to your mother. To your siblings. To everyone in the castle that would listen, but you knew it had to be done. Despite being the eldest, A boy must rule. And that boy would be Louis. Before your father got sick, you put off the task of courting. I’m busy with my studies, Father. You would say. I’m too young now, we can always wait until next season. And he would. And the season after that. And the one after that, too. Because that’s the kind of father he was; he would support your education, even though it was labeled as taboo. He knew you were destined for something great.

But now, you knew it was time to stop putting it off. As much as you despised the idea, as the eldest, you had to honor your family. Especially now.

The least you could do is try.

So you inhale, you exhale. You make a point to think of your mother, your sister, your brother. And you leave your chambers, headed for the ballroom full of lousy, old suitors.

It’s not that you weren’t pretty. On the contrary, you had been told from a very young age that you were striking, graceful, captivating. No, your suitors were only so unfortunate because you made the decision of books at a young age instead of boys. In your culture, it’s customary for a royal daughter to begin seeking for a hand in marriage at fifteen. And here you were, nearly twenty years of age, five years late. All the so-called “distinguished, promising” men had snatched up the younger girls.

You always thought of it disgusting, the age gap of men to girls in your country. Girls- not women. It made your skin crawl. It’s unnatural, predatory. You almost were grateful that those kinds of men had already been wed, yet here you were, presenting yourself for.. let’s face it.. divorcées, the unfortunate looking, or distant , poor, far-off dukes who probably didn’t even speak the same language as you. You wanted to kick yourself at first, but you take pride in your intelligence, as you know it’s the most powerful weapon a woman can use.

To get to the ballroom, you first walk through the sitting room. There’s a few men in there already, and all conversation lulls as you cascade down, your gown slightly trailing behind you. Heads turn, but you keep your eyes down and quickly make your way to the ballroom doors. You only see shoes of men. Some tapping, some spread while sitting on chaises and loveseats, even some pacing in suspense. You finally slip out the door, and you are met with your family, your father’s army general, and your maid, Esme.

“You’re late.” Your mother scolds. “We’ve been waiting for almost ten minutes.” You just shake your head and look down as you sit at the head of the room. “Forgive me mother, I’m not exactly giddy for these sorts of arrangements.” Therese giggles at your boldness. “Hold your tongue, dear. We will see how today goes.” You look over to your brother next to you, he looks bored out of his mind, but he sits up straight and tries to appear respectful. He will make a fine king one day. You just worry. Then, the orchestra begins. You and your family rise in anticipation for the first suitor.

A man of you assume the age of 45 comes in, holding an array of flowers.

“Good morning, Your highness. My name is Philip Artemis Sissone XI.” Esme takes the flowers from him and sets them on a long table, the gift table you assume. This will take all day. “I have many aspects that will be of use to you- one including the gift of song.” He chirps. Oh God, you think. Before you can stop him, Philip reaches behind himself and pulls out a fiddle. He immediately plays with relentless vigor and passion, so much so that his tongue sticks out and his knees bend to the melody. With Philip lost in his own trance, you look over to Louis. He’s holding back a laugh. You both chuckle once you make eye contact, but your mother’s sharp look makes you stifle your laughter.

Suitor after suitor, this goes on for hours. By the end of the day, the gift table is so flooded that Esme had to start adding gifts underneath it, flowers and various spices spilling across the floor. Finally, the last man finishes his “gift”, a poem about your eyes. Was it good? No. But the sentiment is appreciated, you try to think.

You start to stand up, believing that this torture is over, but your mother’s voice interrupts you. “Y/N, we have one more. Please have patience.” You groan, slipping back into your seat. You straighten up as the doors open, and what meets your eyes almost rocks you to your core. A man, one who only must be a couple years older than you, dressed in a military uniform. Medals and badges adorn his chest and shoulders, and as you inspect him closer, he is striking. Beautiful, even. In his hand, he holds a small, singular lily. You stand, and he bows. “Your highness, My name is Anakin Skywalker.” He addresses himself incorrectly. Informally. You know by his uniform he is a war general, probably a royal one at that. He hands you the lily and you curtsy, thanking him. Despite his captivating face, his eyes are cold and distant. He tries to avoid eye contact with you, and when he does look at you, his eyebrows furrow. He speaks again. “I am sorry for the loss of your father. He was a great man. I, like many others, looked up to him. We mourn with you all.”

He gestures to your family behind you. You’re thrown off, he was the first man to even mention your father today. A wave of grief washes up against you. Just the act makes you want to tear up, but you push the feeling down into yourself. “Thank you, Sir Skywalker.” Your mother calls from behind you. He nods, his lips forming a thin line. There’s a moment of silence hanging in the air, and he breaks it. “Well, thank you for your time, your highness. Good day, Miss Y/N.” He says coldly as he bows again, and turns around to leave. You watch as he slips out of the door, frozen with confusion, yet also his beauty. You twist the stem of the lily in your hands, turning back to your family.

“How strange,” Therese says. “He barely even looked at you!”

“Marie Therese!” Mother calls out. “Leave her be.”

Later that night, relegated to your room, you stare out the windowsill. Esme had packed up and done away with most of the gifts, but you kept the lone flower on your armoire. You were confused by the man’s distant behavior. Just my luck, the only agreeable man I meet wants nothing to do with me. You sigh as you fall back onto your bed. You worry for the future, and for when you must actually pick someone’s hand. It will be quicker than you think, and your head spins at the responsibility you hold for your family. If only Father were here..

[4veslil]

Oneshot | Friends Made In Strange Places | Aegon Targaryen II

A/N: Another Oneshot from my Ao3 and Wattpad accounts, the last three I have posted are my faves and probably the few I have that have been completed or exited the idea stage haha

SUMMARY: (Female) Reader is the maid/nanny for Aegon's children, and while you watch over the princes an unlikely friendship forms.

TW: Minor Character Death, Loss, (Class) Discrimination, Abuse of Power, Depictions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Incest, Mentions of SA (because no, I'm sorry, you can't like a character and just erase all the shitty things they did, it WILL be addressed in this oneshot)

★ MASTER LIST HERE ★

WORD COUNT: 4,999

The Red Keep was still, the night had cast a blanket of its mercy. It hid the guards in shadowed corners and allowed the court to sleep. They were tucked away in their beds, their dreams taking them to a peaceful realm. Only you, a single maid was not allowed such a night, made to watch over Maelor as the Queen slept. He was ceaseless. Nothing seemed to work, not the feeding, the burping, the changing, the small bounces or the soft songs. You feared he had colic. After all, he seemed to cry incessantly for no reason at all.

You continued to bounce the child, lifting him to your shoulder as you looked out over the King's Landing. At least not all were captured in dreams, many were awake but too far to see. You could glimpse at the small lights from houses but not a soul. In the darkness of the chamber, you felt the only being alive, trapped in torment as the baby refused to settle.

You hoped by laying Maelor down and rubbing his tummy that soon he'd find peace, feel the comfort of the cot to finally, sleep. Tears pricked your eyes.

"Please" you murmured, breaking the quiet of the chamber with your silent plea.

No wonder the Queen Mother made you, not Queen Heleana, comfort the child. He was not even yours yet the stress felt no different. He was forever restless, nothing could calm him. You considered feeding him again but that felt no use, he had eaten not long ago. Perhaps, you smirked, he was a true Targaryen, wilful and torturous when he wanted to be. But he was but a baby, it was funny musing to pass the time.

Once again a lullaby left your lips trying to soothe the child. Your mother had sung it to you in the Riverlands. You had not seen her for years, her health becoming poorly and you too busy to visit. Your sister said it was an affliction unlike any she saw.

Your singing grew louder at the memory- a whisper that carried across the chamber, your hand rubbing the child's tummy to the rhythm.

"Why is he not asleep?". You shot up, immediately, turning to the voice. The wails of Maelor did nothing to quench the fear filling your stomach, you hoped he could drown it so it wasn't clear on your face.

"Your Majesty" you bowed, being quick to pick up the child afterwards. It wasn't out of comfort, no, Maelor had now become your own meat shield. You had heard what he'd done to Dyana and that would never become you. Close you held him to your chest and bounced lightly.

"How long has he been crying?" His voice was unusually concerned. You didn't think the King cared much for anything unless it was his cups or whores.

"All night. Nothing seems to settle him, Your Majesty"

He nodded in contemplation and stepped closer. You were rooted to the ground. Soon he reached you in a few quick steps and plucked the child from your arms.

It was like magic, with a few simple bounces, pats on his back and soft soothing escaping his lips, the child's wails began to lessen. It was like the King was a baby whisperer. The child knew when fire and blood were near.

"How... how?" You could only say, your eyes wide with shock and a pained relief.

"He is my child, he knows it is me" he whispered.

"But I tried everything, I have always taken care of him... Your Majesty", you nearly forgot his title.

"Maelor is fussy, spoilt. He will cry until I am here. I was late"

You soon came to the realisation, after sifting through your memories, that this was the first night you were the last to hold Maelor. The King did indeed care for the children, coming every bedtime to settle the child into his cot. All the while, you would clear the room of toys and his old day clothes.

"I never noticed, Your Majesty. I apologise" you bowed.

"Do not worry, even as King many do not pay attention to me"

"I am sure many do, Your Majesty"

The King chuckled, shaking his head with an almost sad smile. Not only did you realise he was rocking the child in his arms, but his feet were pulling on and off the floor. Once again in his cups you assumed.

"You smallfolk, still know nothing of this Keep" he said aloud in the barest whisper. He refused to meet your eyes, they were fixed on the child.

You didn't understand what had caused this bout of honesty. Before you had pictured yourself becoming Dyana, you knew how to escape that. But handling the spoken sorrows of a king, was something you were unprepared for.

"Tis my duty to care for your children. Not think of court matters, that is not my place Your Majesty"

"Of course, all none the wiser while we burn" he smirked sardonically.

"Are we to burn, Your Majesty?", your lip trembled at the words. You were pushing too far, eventually, he would find disobedience among the questions. Perhaps cast you out the Keep for insolence.

The King shrugged, a small shift of his shoulders. Too much like a child. "Perhaps, perhaps not. None of us wants to but maybe it is inevitable"

"Do you fear it, Your Majesty?"

The enquiry hung in the air. This was the moment it would all come crashing down. Your bags would be packed by dawn and onto the streets you would be cast. You walked a path so unpredictable, so treacherous, but you couldn't help yourself. There was a vulnerability in the King that had to be addressed. You doubted with the Queen's sensitive mind and their Mother's lack of emotional comfort that the King had someone to talk to.

The King has no friends, only followers, you once heard. And the phrase couldn't be truer now.

"The stranger comes for us all" he quoted with a mocking tone. The Queen Mother's pious voice was not lost on you.

"Not always, sometimes he's merciful"

"You think death can be a mercy?"

You had to tread carefully, "I have had yet to suffer to truly feel so. But in other's suffering, my family's, the darkest parts of me fear it's the only way"

"Would you willingly go to the stranger, four your family?"

"I love my family, I do. But I hope to be honest with my King. I would never be without a fight. I have too much to live for Your Majesty"

The King nodded, seeming to contemplate the thought, surprisingly considering your words despite your station.

"You are dismissed" he finally spoke amongst the silence.

And you didn't think twice before quickly escaping from the child's chambers. Your heart was thrumming in relief while it momentarily throbbed with regret. Something about the king was almost- no, it was pitiful. You couldn't help but look back and capture those eyes. They spoke of a pain far greater than you had realised.

You hoped soon he would find solace somewhere. Not just in his cups, or in whores, but in genuine company.

-

The next night you had returned to the nursery after tucking Jaehaerys and Jaeheara into bed. They had separated the two from baby Maelor due to his wails, endlessly echoing throughout the keep until the King came.

This time his crying wasn't as loud but he was so restless you couldn't help but swaddle him. You didn't hear of the crown swaddling their children like this, so tightly bound in a scarf their limbs were trapped against their bodies. You only ever saw them in long baby clothes wrapped in delicate fabrics, their arms and legs still free to kick. You hoped it would settle him to sleep, cast the child back to a time it was safe in the Queen's womb.

"He looks like a loaf of bread" The King chuckled, his eyes crinkling and smile wide like a jokester. You had made way to rise but his hand gestured you to stay.

"He is swaddled Your Majesty, hopefully, he will sleep better this way," you remarked, looking back down at the child. His eyes were still teary and his mouth contorted to release a powerful wail that never came, silent amongst the night.

"It seems you have discovered his weakness, why does it work?"

A King who is impulsive, reckless, and sinful, you wondered what turned him to question. He did not seem a man for curiosity if it was not amongst the Street of Silk.

"If you wrap them tightly they feel like they're in their mother again, where they were once safe and sound", the back of your finger ran down the child's cheek. Another cry threatened to blast from his lips as you shushed Maelor. 

"It's a shame we cannot remember it like them" he nodded, and slowly he stepped closer. Almost cautious, making your hair stand on end.

"Is that jealousy I hear Your Majesty?" you quipped, trying to dispel your nerves; forgetting who stood before you despite speaking the title.

"Are you not jealous?" He countered, his brow suddenly stern with venom. You knew to tread carefully, you did not know what he was thinking.

"How can I miss something I've never known, Your Majesty?"

"Many people do. Money, power, women. They'll never have it yet crave it"

"And because of that, you think they're lacking?", your eyebrow quirked.

"Do you not lack in life? A wet nurse with no child, no husband, no power" he smirked, his tone full of mocking.

Your heart stopped, or the pain in your chest felt it did. Your gut had been punched, a wave of anger sifted through you that was uncontrollable, and the only thing stopping you from boiling over was the child in your arms. He was still a King, no matter what you saw the night before, he would always look down on you. No conversation could remould the chain. Change the way of things.

"I have a family that loves me, food in my belly, a roof over my head and work to keep me busy. I am lacking in nothing Your Majesty, I have everything I need"

"Because you do not know more than a small, meagre life. Never getting what you want"

"It is better than watching you drown your sorrows despite everything you have" you suddenly snapped and aback the King was taken. His poison lost on the truth you had spoken.

"You know nothing about me," he growled, stepping closer, his hand on the back of your chair, lowering himself face to face. His stark white hair had cast a curtain around you; there was nowhere to look but him, and you could not tear yourself away.

"Neither do you. I bet this is the longest conversation you have had with a woman without spreading her legs" You stood firm, you wouldn't show him weakness. It could mean your head but a part of you pitied. There was still a boy clawing for power and adoration behind those eyes.

"You think you are funny"

"Oh the funniest Your Majesty"

Your eyes were locked, battling in a silent rage.

"Why do you not fear me?" He uttered from the tense silence, breaking the atmosphere.

The words were lost on you, still lost when he gradually pulled away with the child taken into his arms. While you gnashed your fangs at one another, Maelor had found sleep among the chaos.

"I will take my leave, Your Majesty"

And with that, once again you fled.

-

"You are a strange woman" he sounded from the doorway, leaning against the frame as you looked over Jaehaerys. The boy had come down with a slight fever, nothing the measters couldn't tend to but, they insisted someone sit tight.

"Strange in what way Your Majesty?" you sighed, preparing to tolerate his presence after last week.

You had not spoken since, only coming into his presence so he could settle Maelor into bed. He could not manage a word between you before you ran to your cot.

"You come back" The King shrugged, his arms still knotted at his chest. You felt something brewing.

"Where else could I go Your Majesty?"

"There are many duties you could take up"

"Like your cupbearer?" You bantered with an edge. The King stalked further into the chamber, coming behind your chair. He fixed his hands to the corners of it, leaning close to your back.

"That does not sound too bad my lady"

"I am no lady" you shook your head.

"Then what is your name?" you hesitated for a moment. To disobey would be a great offence and you already offended too much.

You told him in a quiet whisper, hoping it evaded his ears. But the smallfolk achieved little victories in King's Landing. It echoed from between his lips with a slight slur.

"You are drunk Your Majesty" you came to realise.

"Never more than usual" he huffed.

"Still, what if you fell?"

"Is that a threat?" He chuckled lowly, his mouth suddenly at your ear.

You refused to lean away, refused to show weakness, and said that he had a chance of winning.

"It is an educated guess from knowing men too fond of their cups"

"I am not most men"

"No, you are the King. Even more, reason to be wary"

His hand came to curl a lock of your hair around his finger, his pull was so delicate but too close. "You speak so well for a wet nurse"

"My father was an educator, he spoke well and in turn, so do I"

He tugged slightly on the lock, and your head came into contact with his temple. It was too close for comfort but you swallowed the unnerving twang in your stomach. You assumed it to be an element of disgust but were surprised to feel your heart pull. How long had it been since a man played with your hair? Spoke to you so softly? Bantered back and forth with you? How long had it been since you felt wanted?

"Such a strange woman..."

"Should I thank Your Majesty?"

"What for?" You could feel the quirk of his brow against your head.

"For not demanding my attention but earning it?"

You did not hear an answer, did not see his mouth slip open to respond. Only the small, meagre coughs from Jeahaerys called your ears and onto him you focused. Not the King standing perplexed behind you.

Yet still, it was on that night, one so quiet and strange. For the first time in a long while, you admitted in the deepest cracks of your heart, you wanted something.

-

When you opened the door to Maelor's nursery you were surprised to see King Aegon sitting with the child on his chest. For the first time in two weeks, he was settled before you acted.

"You have overtaken my duties Your Majesty" You smiled quietly, it barely ghosted over your expression.

But he remained still, his eyes cast down. Or so it seemed. As you crept further you came to realise the King's state. When asleep like this he simply appeared as Aegon Targaryen. There were no drunken words, unsteady feet, no emotional rampage.

Your feet were delicate across the stone floor until you crouched slightly to gaze at his face closer. His features were still boyish, no longer contorted with stress and sorrow. His hair was strewn across his brow, short threads of silver like cobwebs- soft and delicate.

Without thinking, your hand came forward and brushed them aside, barely skimming across his pale skin. You hoped to stay like this for a little while longer but the contact snapped his eyes open. It was instinct that his hand seemed to trap your wrist in his grasp.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his grip becoming tighter. Your expression winced in pain, rippling fear across your body.

"I-I apologise, Your Majesty, forgive me" you stuttered.

"Who gave you the right to touch me?" He grimaced.

"Nobody Your Majesty, there... there was a bug" The lie was terrible, absolutely unbelievable and with the quiet laughter that rang out, you knew he knew it too.

"You think I am stupid", he threw your wrist from his grasp.

"I think you are merciful"

"Another word for weak" he scoffed.

"Mercy is only available to those with power"

He contemplated the words for a moment before standing, in quick succession he placed Maelor down and turned quick on his heels.

"Follow me" Aegon commanded resolutely, your position offered no chance to refuse. You were trapped but a bigger part of you remained curious.

Was this how Dyana fell into his snare? Goading her with comforting words. Did he play with her hair too? You thought.

You traced your steps behind Aegon, small and unsure until you reached his chambers. It was coming, you were sure of it. The guards at his door looked upon you with pitying eyes as you could only cast yours down.

Inside it was just as you heard, barren of the late King's possessions, littered with cups half drunken and yet to be taken away. You could hear him refusing it. Wine stains yet to be scrubbed from the floor littered the stone. The guards pitied you, but your own was reserved for Aegon.

He poured himself another cup, you recognised it as Dornish. The previous Lord you had worked under had a fine taste for it.

"You can call me Aegon in this room" he announced, extending a cup toward you. You took it with trembling fingers and thanked him. Only accepting the drink to hide the shakes that fluttered your limbs.

"I could not Your Majesty" you fretted.

"It is an order, you would not disobey your King, would you?"

"No, your Ma-" you looked up to see his eyes bore into you as the title hung from the tip of your tongue, "No, Aegon" you corrected.

"Marvelous, now! Let's drink"

"Excuse me Your- Aegon, why am I here?", Aegon paused the cup's movement, the rim just licking his lip.

"I am in need of a drinking buddy and honest companion"

"I am sure you have many of those at your disposal"

"None as pretty as you. Now drink, I insist"

Your cheeks blared a deep pink, heating your face to a degree your previous lover couldn't muster.

Unlike in his children's chambers, Aegon appeared more free than ever. Only in the nights did you spy on the King or keep his company, in those moments, there was a sadness riddled within the man too deep to weed out.

Your lips pressed to the rim of the cup before finally taking one gulp. Aegon's eyes of disapproval encouraged another, then a third before finally, he was pleased.

It was strong but unlike anything you had tasted before. It was spiced, not too dry and had a sweetness to it that lightened the mood.

"It is good Aegon" you complimented and for once, a genuine smile stretched upon his face.

"I knew you would enjoy it! Now come, come see" he gestured to the balcony. You felt like you were being dragged around like a child so excited to show you his toys. He was not a child in any way, but the desire for approval was apparent as Aegon pulled back the curtain with a proud, twinkling eye. Over the balcony King's Landing was alive, from here, there was much more to observe than from the nurseries.

"It's-"

"Amazing right? It is the day of rest tomorrow, I used to sneak out on this night" Aegon confessed with a giddy smile.

"I remember celebrating such nights" you shared with a small smile, "my family and I would head to the nearest tavern, unlike most, it was more... family friendly"

"You can guess I never had that. My Mother is too pious, Aemond too serious and then Heleana... well you know Heleana" he chuckled.

"She is a wonderful mother" you complimented.

"If only a better Queen, a better wife, a different woman"

"Do you not love her?" The territory you tread in was dangerous but Aegon relaxed at the question. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment for lifetimes. For someone to ask how he felt.

"Who can love a sister like a wife? It's...", he didn't have to finish.

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen... it is not so bad though, she does not care if I run away to the Street of Silk"

"Would you want someone to care?", you feared there was no coming back from this. You had given the King someone to confide in, would he ever let that go?

"Who knows" he huffed. "What of you? Did he run? Get cold feet before the altar?"

"Something like that, he passed the night before. He had engaged in a scuffle on the road. One punch and his head landed on a rock... he never woke up" Your tone then filled with mourning, despite how you tried to dampen the embers of grief flickering. Every time his face came into your mind you couldn't help it.

"Nothing works out the way we want it to" he huffed, leaning across the balcony. You followed suit, hoping the wind would dry the tears brewing.

"Smallfolk and King's alike" you commented before you clinked your drinks together, never taking your eyes from the kingdom below. "Where would you be now if you could?"

"Essos" he responded in a beat.

"Why Essos?", Aegon didn't even need time to ponder it.

"It is the furthest I could be from this shithole"

You hadn't drunk in a while, the wine had made your lips loose and you couldn't help but giggle at the foul language.

"Why not ride away on your dragon, who could stop you?",

"Have you seen Vhagar? My brother- the cunt that he is- would have me back on that throne before I could step out the Keep"

"Sounds like they need you" I nudged. The contact was sudden and free of thought- impulsive. It was too comfortable but Aegon only shook his bowed head with a smile.

Was this the man who hurt Dyana? Was this lost man truly a King that had caused such suffering? When thinking about it, it was easy to see. So starved of affection, of guidance, master to his whims so easily achieved. None of it was surprising. It was not easily forgotten, not forgiven, but easily understood.

The air changed in moments. Contorted into a silent understanding. You had grasped Aegon's mind in the palm of her hand so easily. He was a man so easily brought to his knees.

"Do you need me?" His tone had shifted so easily, lilting and calm. He sensed the wave that had come upon you.

You shrugged and downed the rest of your wine in two gulps. "I don't need much Aegon"

"Then do you want me?"

You played with the cup in your hand. The dangers of involving yourself like this was insurmountable. Absolutely hysterical. But you allowed yourself to ponder the idea. If you allowed yourself, what would come of it all?

You had not known the touch of a man for years and alone in your cot you slept dreaming of wanting, having the chance to want instead of being chained down by need. And just like you, Aegon stood there needing something to ground him, to offer a chance at respite. He was a broken man and perhaps, you could pay your pain forward.

"As long as you need me, I will stay by your side", the grin that curled at his lips was remarkable, warming your heart too quick to recall how cold it once was.

"Well then!" He clapped as he rose, "You need a refill and cheers to your promotion as my new drinking buddy"

You didn't know what to say, it all happened so fast but the response was spoken before you could catch it, "I would be honoured Aegon"

He raised his cup and handed you another when he returned it to the balcony. No longer were his eyes pitiful but bright and somewhat hopeful. It was a jarring change but one you welcomed nonetheless. At this moment, it felt perhaps something good could come of this. Perhaps, something could be changed.

"To friends found in strange places," he grinned,

"Indeed my King-" you agreed as your cups cheersed, "as long as it is wanted"

Aegon's hand then, once again, found itself in your hair, closer now as his finger twiddled and curled a lock around it. "As long as we want it"

And with that quiet admittance, you raised your eyes to his. Knowing that somehow, two suffering souls had found each other across oceans and chains of being.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Singing Princess

My take on a fairy tale of type 306: The twelve dancing princesses / The shoes that were danced to pieces (but what if there was only one of them, and what if she was queer). [Also on AO3.]

Once upon a time there was a king who had only one daughter and a plumper, pleasanter, prettier maiden had never been seen wearing a crown. She was the apple of her father’s eye and so anxious he was for her health and well-being that her bed was hung with curtains of the thickest velvet and that every night after she had gone to bed, the doors and windows to her room were all locked and barred. All so that she may sleep soundly and undisturbed.

Of all the princess’s many talents, her beautiful singing delighted the court most of all. No one knew of a sweeter voice than that of their princess when she let her voice ring out merrily in the great hall. So it was a great sadness indeed when it came to pass that one day, after the princess had finally got out of bed to a very late breakfast, it was discovered that she could not sing a single note. Indeed she was so hoarse and tired that she could barely speak, and when she did speak she was yawning all the while, as if she had not slept a wink.

In time, with lazing about in the garden and resting in the parlour she was no longer so sleepy, but her poor voice did not recover until it was time to retire to bed. And the next morning it was the same thing all over again!

So it went for weeks and weeks. The princess never sang anymore, though she smiled often enough. And while she went early to bed and was late to rise, she was forever trying to hide her yawns behind her fan.

The king was worried sick and the whole court lamented, for no one could understand what strange kind of illness had come over their princess.

At last the king could take it no longer and he proclaimed to all the kingdom that whoever could find out how to cure his daughter would be given their weight in gold and then some. Many came, many boasted, many sat at the princess’s bedroom door and tried to find out what ailed her. But none of them could stay awake to watch her. Whatever remedy they suggested, it was all for naught, and the king had them sent away in disgrace.

Now it happened that not very far from the castle lived a young couple with two small children and one more on the way, who often saw the king and the princess ride by in their carriage. And they said to one another that while the princess did not look at all sickly, it was a bad thing to have such a mystery hanging about her. And besides, they would very much like to receive such a kingly sum of gold.

So the following day the young father kissed his wife and children and went to the castle to tell the king that he would like to try his luck at finding out what afflicted the princess. The king agreed and after the princess had withdrawn for the night, the young father was brought to a small antechamber to the princess’s bedroom, after which all the doors and windows were locked. Only the door between the antechamber and the bedroom was left open, so that he might watch over the princess during the night.

The princess very politely wished him goodnight from behind the heavy velvet curtains round her bed. But a few moments later she began a lilting lullaby, as if to sing herself to sleep. The young father lay listening and he did not wonder at everyone who came before him not being able to stay awake. He almost fell asleep himself, but with every lilting trill of her voice he started awake again and looked around wildly for his children, as if he had heard the very beginning of a baby’s cry. He kept quiet though and did not stir, and after a long while the chamber grew silent. After a longer while still, he heard a rustling of bedding in the princess’s bedroom, and when he slyly opened one eye to see what he should see, the princess was quietly getting out of her bed.

She tiptoed across the floor and quietly took out her loveliest clothes and finest jewels and prettiest ornaments and primped and preened until she was a vision of beauty. Then she took hold of the heavy bed curtains, drew them shut, then drew them back once more, and as she pulled them aside there was a stairwell leading down where a moment before her bed had been. With one last glance over her shoulder she gaily lifted up her skirts and ran down the steps into the dark.

The young father was so surprised she had gotten quite a head start on him before he was able to follow her and he did not dare to hurry, for fear of making any noise. So he followed the princess at a distance, climbing all the way down until the stone steps became hard earth and lights began to shimmer in the distance.

The princess hurried on and the young father followed, until they came to a winding path that led into a beautiful grove. All the trees were tall and slender and every single one of them had leaves of shining silver. The princess did not look left or right, but the young father reached out and plucked a silver leaf from one of the trees so that he might be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

The path went on and as they went, the trees around them grew larger and older and all their leaves were glimmering gold. And further still the trees were so many it was no longer possible to stray from the path, and all their leaves were of dazzling diamond. The young father plucked a golden and a diamond leaf too and hid them in his pocket.

At the very heart of that strange forest, old, deep-rooted trees twisted all about, bowing low and spreading their branches to form a shady bower. In its entrance stood a lady of unearthly beauty, proud and tall, with a smile that was as eager as it was sharp and eyes that were as endless as they were wild. She held out her arms, laughing like the wind does, and the princess ran to her.

The lady caught her up in her arms and whisked her off her feet. She carried her into the bower, as the branches closed rustling around them, to a bed spread with shimmering silk. And there the princess sang like a bird, all night long.

Just before dawning, the princess emerged from her hiding place and hurried back along the forest path. She was not so fast as she had been before and often the young father had to halt his step for fear of catching up with her. But at last they were climbing the stone steps back into the royal palace and the princess was so worn out and sleepy that she did not notice him slipping out behind her.

She drew the curtains and threw them back again, restoring her bed to its rightful place. Then she took off all her finery, hid everything neatly away, and collapsed into bed to sleep like a rose.

Now the astonished young father did not sleep a wink. For a while he thought he had dreamed the whole thing, but there in his pocket were the three shimmering leaves, as real as the nose on his face. So he lay there in silence, frowning like anything, wondering what to do. Imagine what might happen if the princess did not make it home before dawn one night? They could not loose their only princess to the fairies, that would never do. But what should be done about it?

So he lay thinking, as long as the princess lay sleeping. And when she finally rose, near the end of the morning, she was just as drowsy and heavy-eyed, exactly as hoarse and voiceless as she had been the day before. The courtiers lamented, but the young father had risen with a smile and immediately asked to speak to the king in private, to discuss what ailed his daughter.

“Your Majesty,” he said solemnly, “your noble daughter is lonesome. She weeps in her sleep and this wears out her sweet voice so by night that she cannot sing by day. If you will take my advice, my liege, you must call to your castle every young woman who is of age and unmarried and willing to leave home, and let your daughter pick from among them whomever she likes best to be her companions and confidantes. Do this and all will be well, I am sure.”

It was done exactly as the young father recommended and to the entire court’s joy and astonishment, it went precisely as he had predicted. From then on the princess appeared at breakfast bright and early, almost every morning, surrounded by her new companions and in high enough spirits to sing all day long.

The king did not know how to praise the young father highly enough. He gave him trice his weight in gold and then some extra because his daughter begged him to, and the young father returned home to his wife and children with as much fanfare as any knight of noble blood.

His wife kissed him and his children hugged him and they were merry all day long. And when the children had been put to bed and his wife had put her feet up, he told her all about what had happened at the palace. Then they both laughed and blushed and laughed again until they were quite out of breath. The three peculiar leaves they hid away for another day, for you never knew. And from that day on they lived comfortably and happily and drank to the health of their princess at every breakfast.

[hp-hcs]

mattheo with sick! reader? idk something fluffy about mattheo taking care reader or angsty about reader trying to hide some sorta sickness or maybe mattheo's the sick one you ask for mattheo I shall deliver - yxdls

‼️WARNING: hella gross‼️ like, it goes into genuinely nauseating detail! i’m in a weird mood right now! i don’t know!

fine (chapter one of phoenix tears) — ex-death eater! injured! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

GRAPHIC GORE WARNING

seriously, don’t read if you’re easily grossed out. or eating. actually, just don’t read this at all. it’s pretty poorly written. i’m so sorry yxdls, for whatever this is 😭

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“…and for which scenario would each of the following listed Charms work bes-”

Mattheo was cut off by another of his loud coughing bouts, hacking into his elbow.

Your brow furrowed. “Baby, that’s like, the seventh time you’ve coughed in the last five minutes. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He waved a hand in your direction. “I’m fine. Just a little cough.”

You set down your flashcards, leaning across your bed to lay the back of your hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up, baby.”

“So you think I’m hot?” He asks with a cheeky grin, waggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and lightly smack his arm with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Yes, you idiot. But you also have a helluva fever.”

He grimaced. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

~~~

It was, in fact, Not Fine™. It looked horrible. The skin was sunken in, to a worryingly deep degree, and the edges were blistered and raw, slowly leaking pus and refusing to scab over. Mattheo grimaced as he peeled off the old bandages, biting his bottom lip to keep from screaming when the gauze got caught on part of the torn edge. He was forced to look away as he hastily rewrapped his forearm, trying desperately not to vomit.

The minute he had deserted his father, his Dark Mark had begun to burn, to brand itself into his flesh. The tattoo sank deep into his skin, into his muscles, and into his tendons; Mattheo was convinced that at this point, it was entirely carved into the bone.

It would never go away.

The skin over the tattoo had first erupted with bright red blisters and a sickening rash, which sent Mattheo into a feverish daze for two days. Despite his friends’ protests, he refused to go to the hospital wing.

Nobody could see the Mark. They’d know. They’d know he had been a coward and a fool.

But then, his skin had begun to rot. It was unsettling. Not to mention that the Mark wriggled still, now more furiously than it ever had when he’d been a follower of his father. Combined with the state of his arm, the odd frantic movements of the tattoo felt like phantom maggots, crawling all over him, crawling under his skin, into his eyes, his mouth, Merlin-

~~~

“Riddle, man, you good?” Theodore nudged him and spoke quietly.

Mattheo startled, his eyes flying open from where he had begun to drift off standing up.

Sleep had become impossible. His arm was now constantly afflicted with burning, never-ending pain. Occasionally, random bursts of an even sharper agony would grate up his bones and make his teeth rattle. It felt like being Crucioed, but with no forewarning, no nothing.

“Mattheo!”

He startled again, not even aware that he’d started falling asleep again.

Theo put his hand on Mattheo’s shoulder, even just that small touch sending stomach-churning zaps of fresh pain down his arm. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so.

Theo glanced around the room, waiting for the Herbology professor to turn her back before talking to Mattheo again.

“Dude, you seriously look like you’re about to keel over any second. You should go to the infirmary.”

“‘m fine,” Mattheo rubbed his eyes, his words slurred with feverish delirium. “Don’ need’a go anywhere.”

“Matty, dude, you look like a dead man walking.”

He opened his mouth to protest, when the worst pain he’d ever felt in his entire life struck him out of nowhere. It felt like what Mattheo imagined being beat with a baseball bat, run over by a semi-truck, and being Crucioed at the same time would feel like.

He dropped like a rock, the unrelenting pain forcing the edges of his vision to darken and then fully go black.

~~~ Mattheo woke up to quiet.

His eyes slowly creaked open, and he was greeted with unfamiliar white walls. He blinked quickly to rid the sleep from his eyes, before surveying the room.

It didn’t look like the hospital wing at Hogwarts, but it was definitely a place of medicine, if the bleach-heavy air was anything to go by. Maybe St. Mungo’s?

The overhead lights were off, thank Merlin, leaving the room lit only by the overcast afternoon sky peeking through the window.

But he started to panic when he saw that his arm lay across his chest, freshly wrapped and sore as all hell.

Someone saw.

Somebody saw the Mark of his cowardice.

Of his yearning for his father’s approval.

Fat tears started to roll down Mattheo’s cheeks. His sobs became louder when he saw that you were there.

You probably knew. You probably saw.

Merlin damn it. Why wasn’t there a magical version of HIPAA?

You’d pulled up the visiting chair all the way to the side of Mattheo’s hospital bed, your crossed arms lying on top of the mattress, and your head resting on your arms as a sort of makeshift pillow.

At least you were asleep. Mattheo couldn’t even fathom what he’d have done if you’d been awake.

You surely must hate him now.

How couldn’t you?

He started to raise his right arm, his only currently working one, to wipe away his tears, but the movement was held back.

He had the fleeting but terrifying thought of those cliché leather restraints on hospital beds in horror movies. Honestly, it wasn’t even that far-fetched. He was a criminal. A traitor. A psycho.

Mattheo looked down, expecting the worst.

Instead, he saw your fingers interlaced with his, your thumb slowly skating over his knuckles in a soothing back and forth pattern.

You were holding his hand. Asleep still, yes, but you were actively holding his hand. You were choosing to be near him.

Mattheo burst into tears again, but this time in relief.

If you were still by his side, despite everything, then maybe things really were fine.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

chapter two

[annaelizabethhenry1]

Echoes from the Past

Summary: River visits his grandfather post season four at the care home. The visits conjure memories of River’s childhood and teen years as he grapples with his grandfather’s declining mental health and how once he’s gone he’ll have no one left. Warning – spoilers for all four seasons!

There’s a certain slant of light On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes, Heavenly hurt it gives us, We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are. None may teach it anything, ‘Tis the seal, despair, - An imperial affliction Sent us of the air When it comes, the landscape listens. Shadows hold their breath; When it goes, ‘tis like the distance On the look of death.

Emily Dickinson

Chapter One

The car’s tires crunched to a halt on the gravel drive. River shut the car off and stared into the distance. The steel grey sky cast a gloom over the care home’s edifice in a way River hadn’t noticed on his previous visits.

River’s thoughts swirled back to a different time before he ended up at Sough House – he remembered a conversation in his grandfather’s study. One where his grandfather jokingly called care homes ‘God’s waiting room’ and how he insisted if he ever needed one he’d rather be dead. At the time there was no need for one and River reassured his grandfather he’d never allow it. But now…needs must…River sighed and forced himself from the car.

He braced the cold February afternoon and turned up the collar on his green corduroy coat up as he jogged the length of the path to the front door, pushing it open, he was greeted by warmth and chatter – and the slamming of a tray along with the clatter of dishes and cutlery. River recognized his grandfather’s raised voice and almost turned back around.

No, no I can do this…he and Nan raised me…I owe him no matter how hard.

Entering the wood panelled dining hall where other elderly residents were gathered for lunch, River spotted his grandfather off to the side at a small table near the fireplace causing a scene.

An orderly busied himself with cleaning the mess on the floor while two women – Sylvie, who River already knew was trying to soothe David Cartwright and while another petite woman attempted to tidy him up after some of the food had landed on his sweater.

“Stop! I’m not a baby!” David shouted, swatting at the smaller woman.

“Granddad, don’t get handsy with the ladies,” River said with a forced half smile and a raised brow, trying to lighten the situation.

“River take me home! These harpies are treating me like I’m an invalid!” he shouted, then stood up, grabbed his cane and pushed past them, hobbling away.

“Granddad you know I can’t…” River went to grab him.

“No leave him be,” the petite woman said.

“But…”

“It’s best to let him settle down. I’m Orla by the way, you’re the grandson?” she asked offering her hand with a kind smile.

Orla had warm, but sharp green eyes that reminded him of his grandmother, Rose. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose and cheeks and red curls bounced, just reaching her shoulders. River had never seen her before today.

“Yes, River Cartwright. Nice to meet you,” River shook her hand and smiled back.

“I’ve just been brought on board with recreation at the home. Seems we have some very sharp retirees here who need more challenging tasks to occupy them.”

River knew that all the employees were specially vetted and aware that the bulk of the residents were former service or higher ups in government with a few military veterans sprinkled in for good measure.

“Yes, this lot aren’t your run of the mill pensioners,” River said wryly.

“I look forward to the challenge. I’m glad you’re here though as we have been having trouble with your grandfather. I was curious to know a bit more about him to see if I could find a way to reach out to him.”

River flushed, wondering how many other times his grandfather, the OB or the Old Bastard to many, threw a tantrum making more work for the staff here. “I’m so sorry he’s been…difficult. I know he’d rather be home, but it’s just not safe for him and I live in London and can’t commute here all the time…” River rambled.

Orla put a hand on River’s arm, “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. He does have dementia and that is bound to make him act out. The staff understand. Why don’t you come to my office? We can have some tea and chat.”

Orla led River through the large and very windowed recreation room where some staff were setting up for what appeared to be arts and crafts. There was a small side door that went down a narrow passage and onto hallway with a number of highly polished doors. Orla pushed one open and led River into a cheerful room filled with small potted plants, a well-organized desk and a low bookcase filled with books and what appeared to be files.

“Tea or coffee? I have a fresh lemon drizzle loaf from home – happy to share.”

“Whichever is easier for you. Uh, yeah, sure, thanks.”

Orla chuckled. “You’re making it too easy for me.” She switched on the kettle on top of the bookcase. “Have a seat. Let me go find a knife for the cake and some milk. Make yourself comfortable.”

She handed River a pamphlet about coping with the transition to a care home for family members as she breezed out. River was tempted to chuck it into the bin, but thought the better of it as she was just being nice. Everyone always was so damn nice, which made it harder somehow. He wanted to shout at someone as if that would make him feel better about the situation. Demand to see someone in charge and lodge complaints as that would be easier than someone smiling and handing him a slice of his favourite cake.

River sat back in chair, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He thought back to the time when he was almost seven and he had that first slice of lemon drizzle loaf in his grandparents’ kitchen.

It was a rare sunny afternoon in late winter when River’s mother, Isobel knocked on the front door of a large stone house in the countryside. River was in awe by the size of it. He had mainly lived in small flats and tiny houses with his mother and whomever her current boyfriends were at the time. This was like a palace to him.

“Mum, is this like a castle?”

His mother laughed. “God no. It’s just a house. I hope they’re home. I can’t keep Pedro waiting we have tickets to Spain.”

As if on cue he honked his horn from the car in the drive. Isobel rang the doorbell again and knocked on the door.

River stood silently, freezing in a jacket that wasn’t suited to the current weather. He clutched his rucksack on his shoulder and clung to his bunny, Mr. Hoppinheimer. “Mum, where are we going?”

“You’re going to stay here with your grandparents. They’ll look after you.”

Finally, the door opened and a stunned David Cartwright appeared. “Isobel?”

“Yes, father. I’m rather in a hurry. This is River. Here are his things. I’ve got to go.”

“What? You can’t leave him here. Isobel, come inside. What’s going on – are you in trouble?” David asked, his features etched with disbelief and his eyes wildly going between his daughter and the blonde little boy with big, sad blue eyes looking up at him. They reminded David of a favourite spaniel he had as a boy growing up that he loved.

“Father I don’t have time! Pedro is waiting,” Isobel pointed to the car in the drive.

“Sod Pedro, he can wait. You can’t just leave him here like this Isobel. We never met him.”

“Who? Pedro?” Isobel asked.

“No, you bloody idiot – River.”

River shrunk back to the side of the doorstep. He learned from living with his mum how important it was to fade into the background when necessary. It was key to not being yelled at or getting in the way.

“What’s going on?” Rose asked stepping out into the cold, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself to shield her from the brisk wind despite the bright sun. “Isobel, I’m surprised you’re here. Where’s River?” Rose searched and finally found him almost hiding behind a potted evergreen perched to the side of the front door. She bent down and smiled at him as he just stared back. “Oh, love you must be freezing,” she touched his shoulder and nudged him into the warmth of the large stone house as he clung to his bunny and rucksack.

“Mum, I don’t have time for you to coo and coddle over him because it’s a bit chilly out here. I’ve got to go,” Isobel said coming into the foyer.

David came in as well. “You can’t expect us to take him just like that Isobel. Where are you going? What’s going on?”

“Yes, I can and I’m off to Spain. Once I get settled I’ll send you my address.”

“Spain? What if he gets sick or something,” David asked.

“You raised me and managed to keep me alive. I suspect you’ll do just fine – thanks – ta!”

“Love, wait! Don’t you want to say goodbye properly to River?” Rose asked. She already had River in a sideways hug, ruffling his hair.

Isobel hesitated and went back to the doorstep to retrieve a luggage that she deposited in the foyer. “These are the rest of his things. He’s no bother, he’s usually quiet except when he’s got a million questions about something. Be good and don’t cause any trouble for your grandparents,” Isobel said and blew River a kiss.

Rose looked over at River who didn’t bat an eye or show any emotion at her leaving him. “David do something!” she hissed.

“What? She always was so out of control. I told you that artistic streak would lead to nothing good. We should never have indulged it.” He shut the door.

Rose sighed. “River dear, I’m grandma Rose, but you can call me Nan if you like. I’ve sent you cards and gifts – I do hope they made their way to you.”

River nodded and held up his bunny.

“Oh, excellent love, you still have it from a few Easter’s ago,” she said smiling but her eyes welled with tears. “David take his luggage and rucksack up to the guest room. You look hungry sweetheart – let me take you to the kitchen. Would you like some cake?”

“It’s not my birthday,” River finally uttered something.

“No love, I know that.”

“Is it your birthday?”

“No, you don’t just have cake on birthdays.”

“Oh.”

Rose looked to David.

“Come along dear, bring your bunny. Does he have a name?”

“Yes, Mr. Hoppinheimer.”

“Really, love,” Rose said ushering him into a warmer room still. There were lovely smells and lots of sunlight.

Rose had him sit down at the small table while she busied herself about the kitchen. She put the kettle on, went into a cupboard pulling out dishes and things. River just sat there with his bunny on his lap watching. Rose finally put dishes down on the table and a small mug that had a woodland scene on it.

“This was your mum’s when she was little. It’s a scene from Beatrix Potter.”

River looked at it curiously seeing a rabbit dressed in a coat. “Why is he wearing a jacket?”

“It’s Peter Rabbit. He’s a character from her books. Do not know them?”

“No.”

“Oh, I see, well don’t worry we have the books here.”

“Rose, a moment, please,” David stood on the cusp of the kitchen.

She nodded and joined him. “What?”

“The boy hardly has anything in his luggage. It’s appalling Rose,” he whispered.

“He seems scared. I’m worried how she’s been living…what if the men in her life…”

“Rose, don’t…”

“He’s ours now, David. She’s never taking him back. I won’t allow it. Look how sweet and quiet he is…”

David rubbed her shoulder. “Yes of course. He stays. He’s better off.”

The kettle whistled and River jumped. “What’s that? Is something wrong?”

“No, love – it’s just the kettle is boiling, which means it’s time for tea or in your case hot chocolate!”

“What’s hot chocolate? Is it like when a candy bar melts?”

“No, its special warm powdered chocolate. I trust you’ll like it.”

“So young man, do you have any interests? Dinosaurs, airplanes, horses, trains or even cars?” David asked.

River shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Rose put a slice of lemon drizzle cake on River’s plate and filled his little mug with hot chocolate and then dispensed tea and cake for herself and David.

“Go ahead, have some cake, love,” Rose urged.

River picked up the slice and sniffed it. It smelt like lemons and sugar. When he bit into the slice it was like heaven. He never tasted anything so wonderful and he smiled over at his Nan and she smiled back at him.

The reverie was broken when Orla fluttered back in cheerfully with a knife and little carton of milk. “Sorry that took longer than I hoped, it’s tough to get the elevator down to the kitchens at meal times, I had forgotten that since I’m new.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You looked like you were a million miles away,” she said as she opened a box of tea.

“Yeah, well…it’s not easy seeing granddad here. I promised him once I’d never do this.”

“The hard reality of caring for someone in his condition and balancing your own life tends to make these situations impossible,” Orla said as she prepared tea.

River sighed. Orla was right. It was unsafe for him to be alone, especially given how confused he became, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot going on in his life at the moment that he maybe couldn’t have made this work. Slough House wasn’t buzzing with anything important to do. As to his personal life that was non-existent. Sure, he’d love to have what other normal people had, but he found it so difficult to connect. River had spent too many years alone in the safe little bubble his grandparents had created for him after he’d been dropped off. River’s unique situation in life always set him apart from his peers and made him feel unwelcome as he didn’t exactly fit. No one else at school was raised by their grandparents, but even before that when he was with his mum, they moved around so much he never had a chance to make friends then either.

“Thanks,” River said almost shyly, “What is it I could help with to make things better for him?”

“Well, Sylvie tells me you do visit often, which is great, but it doesn’t seem to help his mood.”

“Yeah, that’s because he’s angry at me for putting him here.”

“Milk first?”

“Umm, sure.”

“You really are the least particular person I’ve met,” Orla said with a smile.

River chuckled. “I learned early in life what actually matters, and how your milk goes in isn’t one of them.”

“I’ve seen that point hotly debated in the dining room here, so I disagree.”

Orla sliced some cake and handed River a small paper plate and a mug of tea.

“Thanks. I do want to help my grandfather, he’s just very stubborn.”

“Can I ask – what did he do before he retired? I know he’s former service – someone mentioned you are also in the service.”

“Yes, I am service, too. When granddad retired he was first desk,” River said feeling that he just misrepresented himself. Slough House wasn’t service in anyone else’s mind at the Park.

Orla’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, he was very important…okay…no wonder he feels helpless here.”

“It’s also why he has to be here. He knows too much.”

Orla nodded. “Of course. Let me have a think on this and see if we can come up with something that makes him feel more useful and engaged.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks,” River said.

About fifteen minutes later after tea and cake, River made his way to his grandfather’s room in the east wing of the care home. He found him sitting in the leather chair near the window, just staring blankly out into the front garden. He knocked and said, “Granddad, how are you?” River walked over and crouched next to the chair.

His grandfather looked over at him blankly. “I told you, I don’t want any lunch – it’s bland!”

River furrowed his brow and frowned. “Granddad, it’s River. I don’t work here, I’m your grandson,” he touched his arm and tried to rub it and forced a smile.

“Go away! I don’t have a grandson,” David Cartwright shouted, pulling away from River’s touch.

River bit his lower lip and tried to contain himself. He knew it wasn’t his grandfather’s fault he couldn’t remember, but sometimes River did wonder if he did remember and just acted like he didn’t because he wanted to punish River for leaving him in a care home. There were times when David was very lucid and they would share a memory or a story from his work days. Maybe it wasn’t an act and he wasn’t torturing River on purpose. He just felt so helpless when his granddad looked through him. The doctor told him there would come a point where David would not remember River anymore. It’s not like he didn’t already know that, but to hear it from someone in an official medical way made it all the more final.

Read Chapter Two here

[jensensitive]

It's not always an easy thing to make breakfast in the morning when there's so many people around. Jostling for what exactly everyone's individual tastes are wanting that morning, or not wanting, or just how much coffee is left, or where the tea went, or who did the dishes last night and why there's stuff on your favorite mug. It's good though, he likes it. It feels right, having his family so close to bug him. He doesn't really like peace and quiet as much as he does the people he loves making themselves known in his life and routine. And the smell of coffee and feeling like it's a new day worth waking up for because everyone's there and alive. Right now it's just him and Sam in the kitchen, but your little brother being annoying is all just a part of it.

"You're like a middle aged divorced guy obsessed with his car, but without the excuse of ever actually having been married."

"Who wouldn't be obsessed with my Baby, she's hot as hell."

"She's never gonna love you back, Dean."

"Hey, that's not nice, I treat my girl right. Take her out on the town. Just last night, she and I went for a nice long drive, real romantic like."

Sam snorts.

Mary walks into the kitchen.

"Hey, mom, there's coffee if you want some. I'm doing pancakes, whether Sam wants 'em or not, you up for pancakes?"

"Always. I'm not gonna say no to pancakes."

"See, that's the right answer, Sam."

"Whatever, I just don't wanna throw up in the middle of my run."

"Seems like there's an easy solution to that where you still get pancakes," Dean quips.

Mary makes herself a cup of coffee at the kitched counter and grabs the milk beside Dean to put some in her mug.

Dean turns back from flipping the pancakes to look back at Sam. "Are you just bugging me about this because you've finally got a girlfriend so now you've got some kind of leg to stand on in how much of a loser I am?"

"Oh, I always had that leg to stand on."

"Sam." Mary chides.

"Sorry, Mom, I'm just messing around."

Dean smiles at Sam getting talked to. "He's just jealous of me and my girl and our long and loving commitment."

"Yeah, real jealous." Sam rolls his eyes. Dean is drinking his coffee, but he knows Sam is rolling his eyes.

"I took her out last night. " Dean offers a low whistle. "You should have seen her, man. Making heads turn left and right, she's still got it."

"Yes, she's so pretty, she's so hot, she's so stunningly blah blah blah, you understand how weird you sound, right?"

Mary smiles. "I think it's sweet. He really likes her. What did you guys do together last night."

Sam groans. "Not you too, come on."

"Took her out for a nice dive-in dinner, curly fires and a burger, with the tray that clips to the window of course, only the best for my girl."

"How romantic." Sam deadpans.

"Then we went for a nice long drive, just us and some Zeppelin, yknow. You gotta have some quality time."

Mary nods. "Your father and I used to do something very similar," Mary answers with a gleam in her eye.

"Yeah, see she gets it." Dean gestures from Sam to Mary.

"It's weird, you both are weird and I'm not participating in your perverse afflictions."

"Zeppelin never sounds better than on my Baby's tape deck."

"Yeah we know you really love a big deck." Sam snorts at himself.

"Yeah whatever." It's Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

Mary turns to him. "So what's her name, when am I gonna meet her?"

Sam starts coughing somewhere in the background.

Dean is just lost. "Huh? Who?"

"Your girlfriend. No pressure or anything, but I'd love to meet her, see who's stolen my son's heart."

Sam barks out a laugh. Dean just blinks. "Huh?"

"She thinks you were talking about an actual human woman, you weirdo." Sam spells out like he's a complete idiot. He might feel his ears turning bright red at the realisation.

"Oh," he chuckles awkwardly. "No, no woman."

"No, he doesn't date actual women anymore, only personified objects that he gives female pronouns."

"Dude, shut up, it's not that weird."

"He was talking about his car."

He should just say it. "Actually." Why shouldn't he just say what he's thinking. "Well, it wasn't just me and Baby, we might have drug Cas along, heh." He huffs at himself awkwardly. " I mean why would I need a girlfriend, I have Cas," he says it like he's joking, so he is. "And my Baby. What more could I want than that."

Sam just sighs deeply like he does when he doesn't think one of Dean's jokes is funny. Well, to be fair, it wasn't.

Mary just lays a hand on his on the counter. "You sound like you're happy." She smiles at him. "And I've already met Cas and Baby, so you don't even need to introduce me."

Sam is just shaking his head as if they're still joking, but Mary is looking at him, and actually seeing what he's saying. And he has to give her hug and try not to cry. "Thanks, mom."

[yakumtsaki]

Spice and Cyan are the last cousin-fuckers left standing and are proving impossible to break up. I'm inclined to blame the fact Sugar and June also had the hots for each other and passed these destructive genes on to these losers but whatever it is they're just annoyingly into each other.

Now I'm not gonna lie, I did almost waver cause I was like 'man you know what they're second cousins so at the end of the day truly who cares, maybe I should just let them stay together and create one Union super-bebe'.. and then I see this:

In case you can't tell from this amazing screenshot they have ONE BOLT. ONE. ALL THIS DRAMA OVER ONE BOLT ARE YOU KIDDING ME

-What is drama compared to someone you almost desire? -Oh baby, the mediocrity of my passion for you is too much to bear!

-This lukewarm hot tub water is the perfect metaphor for our love.. -Exactly, it's the water of the womb and we all know that's where that sole bolt is even coming from!

UGH. Also man the difference between your noses is UNREAL, now I'm more worried about that if you procreate than the incest.

-Hahahaha, as expected I'm the only one of this trash family that's in a non-disgusting relationship!

Felina no offense but you could afford to add some drama cause you've become boring af.

-People are sick of all this perverted nonsense! They want someone dignified and happily monogamous!

Ya idk sis, I mean look at Barth dislocating his entire spine as we speak:

-I SENSE BETRAYAL AGAIN. WHO DARES CHEAT ON ME NOW

-JIMMY, BACK IN THE ARMS OF MY COUSIN THAT I RIGHTFULLY STOLE YOU FROM. AND TO THINK I WAS GONNA MARRY YOU WHEN I WON THE HEIRSHIP

-You were??

-OF COURSE NOT

Bro I can't, the entire house hates Barth other than Meadow and her billion nice points and Spice who is his childhood bestie. Note that he and Sunset have that goddamn amour fou and are independently becoming un-enemies, which I'm NOT GONNA LET HAPPEN.

-Ok Barth, let's get drunk and make some reckless and sexy decisions!

SUNSET GODDAMMIT IT

-Why do you keep cockblocking us? You know our kids would be hot!

I DONT CARE

-Ya right! Don't act like you haven't thought about it!

IM NOT LISTENING TO THIS

-You know we would produce a hot, psycho turbo-Union! A little Jojo or Jojette, untainted by non-Union DNA, one freakshow to rule them all!! Look into your heart, you know it to be true!!!

ENOUGH, STOP TRYING TO SEDUCE ME WITH THE PROMISE OF COMICALLY INSANE OFFSPRING, SUNSET. EVERYONE FUCK OFF TO BED RIGHT NOW, GOODNIGHT

-AND GOOD MORNING, LOSERS

WTF. Why are you here we've paid our bills!

-BUT YOU HAVEN'T PAID THE INCEST TAX

-OMG THERE'S A FIRE🌞

-OMG THE REPOMAN IS HERE TO TAKE OUR SHIT

-OMG THE STREAKER KILLED OUR FISH

What??

-I JUST DON'T WANNA ADMIT IM STILL CRYING OVER BARTHOLOMEW

NOOOO NOT OUR BEAR STATUE WE'VE HAD IT SINCE GENERATION 1! PLEASE JUST TAKE ONE OF THE KIDS INSTEAD

-YOU SHOULD HAVE PAID YOUR BILLS

WE FUCKING DID

-PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS WITH YOU FLOPS

FUCK YOU, REPOMAN, WE'RE NOT FLOPS

-WAAAAAAAAH I CAN'T BELIEVE HE TOOK OUR BEAR

Oh great, now half these flops are in aspiration failure, that's just what the doctor ordered.

-OMG AND NOW THE OTHER PLANT IS ON FIRE

BRO WTF IS HAPPENING WE'RE CURSED

-WE ARE AND WE ALL KNOW WHO'S TO BLAME

-HE'S BEEN BAD LUCK SINCE HE WAS BORN

-Can you harpies take this somewhere else, I'm trying to get high here!

-KILL HIM

OK NO. No one's killing anyone, we're NOT cursed, ok?

-We're broke, afflicted with a bills glitch, fires keep starting and half the house is in aspiration failure!

Well let's be real, the broke part is on you.

-US??

You idiots are averaging a D each semester because you're too busy fucking each other, beating each other up or both..

..I mean freaking Jimmy is on academic probation, I have never gotten this before in all the years I've played this game, this is the worst college run of all time.

-WHAT IS YOUR POINT

My point is the bar is in hell so let's just get out of this run alive, ok? Now you kids make nice!

-Well, Failina, now that I'm looking at you up close I guess putting lipstick on a pig does work sometimes.

-For my next move, I'll shove my queen in your other eyehole.

See, now isn't this nice? And I think I figured out what caused the bills thing so everything should be fine now..

-THINK AGAIN BITCH

OH FFS

-I'M HERE TO FREE THIS NEIGHBORHOOD FROM YOUR TERRIBLE SPOKEN WORD POETRY

Ok you know what I'm actually fine with that one, take it- Um do I hear hearts??

UH WHAT????

-THAT'S RIGHT IM IN LOVE WITH KEA FOR NO CLEAR REASON

WTF

-We've been friends for a long time-

You have?? Man I really need to pay more attention around here.

-Yes well you can't help being useless!

Very true! Well please, continue, let me just call someone over-

-YOU LEFT THE HOT TUB OF LUKEWARM LOVE TO CHEAT ON ME???

Man I know, it's so terrible! Anyway-

-HOW DARE YOU BE UPSET WITH ME FOR CHEATING ON YOU

CYAN WTF LOL

-YASSSS BEAT HIS ASS UP BABE HE DESERVES IT

DOES HE?? Cyan you are one crazy bitch, I love it.

-I take after my mom! :D

Which one, they're both insane! :D

-What's it take to get your number? What's it take to bring you home? Hurry up, it's time for supper, order up, I'm hot to go🎵

Alright well Chapell karaoke seals it, Kea, welcome to the family!

-You mean it this time right, you won't fuck me over again like when I was engaged to Sophito?

LOL I forgot about that but no I'm certain this one is gonna work out, unless crazy ass Cyan goes back to one of her cousins

-What?

I said start planning the wedding!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

(Ignore the fact that this is a screenshot of this ask, lmao, I posted this before I was ready on accident (my app updated and I pressed post rather than safe as a draft because the buttons moved and I'm dumb like that, lol) and didn't have time right then to write what I wanted to for this so I just screen-shotted, then deleted the original post. It's fine, haha. It's here now.)

This reminded me of a fic I wrote a while ago! It's not big dick Steve and it's not mocking in a fun way (in the past, instead, people have been cruel about such a big dick), but... it's big dick Bucky who gets lightheaded when he gets a hard one with size queen Steve praising him and making him feel like no one else, so I just think it's something you might enjoy as well:

"Strangers Who Fit Together More Like Soulmates"

Now, though, YES, we can talk about big dick Steve who gets light-headed and thoughtless whenever he's hard:

If Bucky were feeling confessional, he would describe the way he feels like this--luxuriously pressing his chest up against Steve's broad back and gluing his hips to bubble butt--and, oh, boy, is it a lot of feeling. He can feel the slow, thick rush of his blood through his body, turning the heat up to a feverish, summer level--the kind of summer night that you spend sweating, lying back on your bed over top of your sheets. After all, it's that humid and sticky. So hot that you're thinking about how bad it would really be if some monster came up and snagged your uncovered ankle because... it can't fucking be as bad as this heat. He's fucking hot.

Sweating.

Bucky can feel that, too, his sweat pooling on his skin underneath his clothes. Steve has to be sweating, too. They're going to have to peel apart...eventually. But more pressingly than the heat and sweat and flush afflicting him, he can feel the strain and twinge in his wrist. His muscles ache as he grips and strokes, jacking Steve off while he pretends to be able to wash the dishes. And Bucky hasn't even been at this teasing torture for long!

You'd think after so many months of getting so, so intimately aquatinted with Steve's monster cock, that his body would be used to it. But his body isn't--it still doesn't know what's hit it because he's colliding, regularly, with a fucking semi-truck. Bucky doesn't stand a chance.

With another handful of fast, sloppy strokes that tease more than feel satisfying, Steve sways forward into the counter with a low, aching noise. It's like a tree threatening to fall, Bucky swears it. His big, big body and matching cock. Bucky could climb him like a tree if not for how unsteady Steve gets whenever he's turned on.

The way he twitches and weakens leaves Bucky's arm pinned between Steve's body and the counter, one of the sharp points of Steve's hips and the equally sharp edge of the countertop dig into Bucky. He doesn't care. He's ignoring that ache alongside the lactic acid building up in his muscles--that acid, too, stokes the flames inside him, he burns hot--Bucky murmurs, husky into Steve's ear, "biiiiig boy, yeah, that's it." He won't stop teasing him, no matter how much his arm complains or how stuck it gets.

Instead, Bucky switches tactics, he didn't start this ambush for nothing. So, he squeezes him with his whole hand. He can't touch all of him like this, but it doesn't matter. More than a handful. Regardless, it's more than enough for Steve to be gripped and grabbed based on how he jerks forward quickly, gasping low, under his breath with a barely there huff of, "Buck-!"

Bucky pays his breathy sound no mind, replacing it in the tension-thick air between them with his own words, "I fucking love feeling you swell up in my hand," Steve moans, dropping a thankfully plastic container with a clatter, "gimme it, baby," Bucky goads him, hyping him up, giving up the pretense of just an innocent reach-around-and-cop-a-feel to an all-out fuck-session. "Gimme it. I wanna feel it." Bucky squeezes his hand around his shaft under his sweatpants. Steve's gone from soft and sweet to solid and thick so fast that Bucky's fingers no longer meet around his dick. "One day," Bucky muses, stretching onto his tip-toes to whisper right in Steve's ear, letting his lips brush his skin just a little, just enough to make him shudder, "I'm gonna shove you in me when you're half hard and I'm just gonna sit on this fat cock," Bucky squeezes unforgivingly until Steve makes a stupid guh sound, punched-out, "feeling it get bigger in me."

Steve shivers again, this time more intense. Oh, yeah, he's getting weaker.

Bucky nips at the hot shell of his ear, already turning red. How he still has enough blood in his body to blush while his cock fills up so heavy and thick will remain a mystery to Bucky.

"How's that sound, huh?" He teases.

Steve just whimpers.

Bucky had to get on his tip-toes before, but he relaxes now because Steve is falling, slowly, uncontrollably slouching down the counter. He'll end up on the floor if Bucky keeps going, getting dizzy as his blood finally decides it all has to go where Bucky wants it... in this nice, fat dick.

There's no harm in speeding the process up, making him dizzy, "you're such a slut with this huge thing, getting it up so fast, so often."

"Buck!" Steve gasps again, his muscle-bound body pressed so harshly against the restricted pressure and friction of Bucky's hand in his pants that Bucky starts to feel sharp tingles in his fingers, pins and needles that somehow make the silky hard sensation of Steve's dick in his hand sweeter.

"I can't believe you. I can't believe how slutty you are," Bucky kisses the nape of his neck lushly, then he scrapes his teeth against the top bump of his spine when Steve lets his head hang, the rest of him wilting as his dick swells. "Do you know how eager you are? You'll fucking crumble to your knees for me any time, any day, all I gotta do is get that blood flowing south and you're a goner, babyy--"

Steve inhales so shakily it sounds like he's at the end of a really good cry.

Perfect.

Bucky uses his weakness, his going limp, to his advantage, curling his other hand around his cinched waist to pull him back--giving himself more room to work. That way his hand doesn't tingle so much as he works hard to stroke all the way up and all the way down that big fucking gun he's packing in his sweats. Armed and dangerous.

Steve, with this little (not so little) head talking louder than his big head, lets him move him. Mold him. Stroke him. Jerk him off. Faster. harder.

He slouches another inch. his hands have long since stopped trying to clean their dishes, instead, wet and sudsy, he's gripping the edges of the sink for dear life.

"Should I get you a fainting couch, big guy?" The more he talks, the wider Bucky's Cheshire smile stretches. He's sure he looks feral, how could he not? The weight of his dick in his hand, more and more of Steve's whole body weight pressing back against Bucky, leaning into his chest, letting him have it all. "'Cause we sure as shit need something to catch you when you fall every time I bend over and you see my ass? You fuckin' horndog."

Steve scrambles, suddenly, to touch him. His dish-water-soaked, red-hot hands the size of dinner plates wrap themselves around both of Bucky's forearms. Bucky feels the squeeze as he jerks him slower but harder, much less teasing and more pleasuring. Steve is unsteady. Bucky is all that's holding him up and he won't be able to for long, he's fucking heavy. When his cock twitches in his grip once, twice, leaving Bucky with a mouth full of drool, he starts taking his big guy toward the living room. Walking slow and carefully--pushing really. Pushing this fucking tank toward the nearest soft place for him to crash.

"I can't fucking believe you, big boy," Bucky's mouth runs as he goes, "where do you keep this thing?" As he says it, he goes alllll the way from the base to the tip. Bucky still can't believe how long and how thick he is. He feels like it's a fucking joke. When he first saw Steve naked, he couldn't pick his jaw up off the floor. He thought, o-fucking-kay, you're a show-er then? But as he got to touch and taste and explore, running wild. And it turns out Steve's actually a grower, and then Bucky couldn't only not close his mouth but he couldn't speak. He couldn't fit the whole thing in his mouth and stuffed down his throat either.

"How do you fit it in your pants?" The questions pour out as they get into the living room, Steve stumbling worse now, dizzier. He wouldn't be able to differentiate up from down if he tried, Bucky's pretty sure. The only up and down he knows is Bucky's fist fighting to stretch around his cock, Bucky's mouth gaping to suck him down, Bucky's asshole struggling to swallow him whole. Up and down, up and down, up and down--bouncing on that unreal cock. "How do you fit it in me? I can't believe you do, every time I look at it. Jesus Christ."

For such a big guy, his voice is so cute and small, mewling, whining, and pawing at him with clumsy hands, trying to get him to do more than talk and jerk him off. He wants faster. He wants more. Slut.

"It's good you go so dumb, baby," Bucky murmurs, taking his hands off him and throwing him onto their couch instead. Tiiiimber, Bucky snickers to himself, watching him bounce on the couch. The springs squeak and Steve whimpers, writhing with the unfair treatment. Why'd you stop?, those huge puppy dog eyes, rimmed red, threatening to spill tears, ask. "'Cause if you didn't get so dumb, you'd get some big ideas of doing the work, wouldn't you?"

Steve's too out of it to nod, but it doesn't matter. Bucky doesn't need his silly little input, all he needs is that cock, that gorgeous body, and the stupid expression on his face--eyelids heavy, mouth slack, cheeks hot.

Out. of. it.

"And we can't have that!" He bites, teasing as he climbs onto Steve's prone, sprawled form, straddling his tree-trunk thighs and unceremoniously shoving his sweats down just to watch that horse cock bounce up and slap his clenching tummy. Steve's chest heaves, a wail ripped out of him and causing him to almost double over. Bucky shoves him back, "if you're thinking, you're trying to finger me open and you're just too impatient with a dick like that."

Steve makes some garbled noise, it sounds like he's drowning.

Bucky chuckles, half-amusement, half-breath, throwing his head back with it. He's enjoying himself so fucking much, his hands working that cock and his hips grinding against Steve's solid thigh. "I gotta stretch myself open for you with a dick like what you got. I, I gotta drag it out," he pauses to moan, still grinding, "'cause I'd split at the seams with dick if I didn't get nice and loose for you."

Steve bucks underneath him, nearly throwing him off. It just makes Bucky chuckle more--more moan and breath in the sound. He's so sweet and dumb. Nothing matters to him like this, blissed out, and it's so easy to get him here that it's a wonder Bucky doesn't keep him like this all the time. Yeah, that sounds good, a living, breathing, fuck-machine.

There's no lube over here, though, so unfortunately, Bucky can't start getting sloppy and loose for his human dildo. He'll just have to do the next best thing and jack him off until he cums, then, once he's pumping buckets all over himself, Bucky can scoop it up and use it, along with all his eager, slippery pre-cum to slick himself up so Steve can fill him fuller. More dick. More cum.

It won't be hard to get Steve there--

"If only that brain was as big as that big dick, hm, sweetie? Then maybe you could actually get something done rather than just letting me lead you around by the cock."

Steve whines roughly.

--yeah. No sweat. Give Bucky a challenge, c'mon.

[scotianostra]

Mary, Queen of Scots, was born at Linlithgow Palace, on December 8th 1542.

Mary’s father was at his beloved palace of Falkland, where he would in fact die aged thirty on 6 days later, having learned of the birth of his baby daughter. The true cause of the death of James V has never been satisfactorily explained, although all sources agree that the king underwent a physical and nervous collapse as a result of his humiliation and devastation at the Battle of Solway Moss. However as I posted two weeks ago the King missed the battle and was perhaps suffering from a fever beforehand, in my opinion it is being used as a poor excuse for his death.

The room in which Mary was born is now little more than a romantic ruin without a roof, however its location in the north-west portion of Linlithgow Palace, still enjoys the view out over the loch as it did when Mary’s mother Queen Mary of Guise, gave birth to her here.

History would in fact come full circle, with Mary’s own granddaughter, Elizabeth of Bohemia, the so-called “Winter Queen”, residing also at Linlithgow in her time. The near-lying St. Michael’s Church is traditionally thought to have been the setting for Mary’s christening. Mary in fact only remained some months at Linlithgow, being taken onwards to the castle of Stirling by Mary of Guise. Historical doubt has arisen over the accuracy of December 8 as the actual birthday of Mary Queen of Scots and it has been suggested that the event in reality may have taken place on December 7th, but that December 8th was used so that the day could coincide with the feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Mary herself however always referred to December 8 thas the day she regarded as being her birthday.

Indeed one historical works about Mary's life gave this short account.....

"The nation partook in Mary of Guise' misfortunes, when she lost both her sons, soon after the birth of the second. She had the consolation, however of bringing her husband, while he was dying of an afflicted spirit, a daughter, on the 7th of December 1542, in the palace of Linlithgow."

The birth of Mary Queen of Scots is commemorated annually by a short private ceremony at Westminster Abbey on her birthday, 8 thDecember, together with the laying of flowers in the Queen’s memory. The Marie Stuart Society raised funds to enable a statue of the Queen to be erected on the Peel at Linlithgow Palace, the place of her birth and I have heard some of them gather there now to remember Queen Mary.

I also think it sad that our Queen was buried in Westminster, the traditional burial setting for many of England’s monarchs and the setting for each royal coronation since her own death. Although Mary had herself requested to be buried in France, this wish was not granted by Elizabeth I and she was initially interred with great solemnity at Peterborough Cathedral in late 1587, where her body remained at rest for twenty five years. It was the eventual wish of James VI/I, that her body be removed from Peterborough Cathedral to Westminster Abbey in 1612, ordering a spectacular marble canopy tomb to his mother’s memory by the sculptors Cornelius and William Cure, today to be found opposite the tomb of Elizabeth I, in the Abbey’s south aisle of the Lady Chapel. The tomb is loaded with symbolism particular to Mary’s ancestry and life with a crowned Scottish lion, bearing a magnificent Latin mourning inscription written by Henry, Earl of Northampton and containing two verses from the Gospel book of Peter. Close to her tomb is that of her mother-in-law, Margaret, Countess of Lennox.

However, the tomb of Mary Queen of Scots did not remain undisturbed following her reburial, nor was the peace of her final resting place unbroken. Mary would come to share her burial vault with many of her descendants, including her granddaughter Elizabeth of Bohemia, the unfortunate Arbella Stuart, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, the much lamented Henry Prince of Wales as well as ten infant children of James II and the eighteen babies of Queen Anne who died at birth. This search had been prompted by Dean Stanley in 1867, because the location of the coffin of Mary’s son James VI/I was at that time unknown. Logical thought led the searchers to assume that he may have been buried in the Stuart vault of his mother, although his lead coffin was eventually found in the vault of Henry VII, where he lay alongside the remains of his great-great-grandparents Henry VII and Queen Elizabeth of York.

So there you have it from her birth in 1542, to her death in 1587, I think I cover enough of her life throughout the year for you all to fill in the missing years, which as usual I will endeavour to do once more in the year 2020.

The pic is her portrait by the French artist François Clouet. she is thought to have been 16-18 years old at the time.

[heeseungsnewwhore]

Despite being a soulless husk right now that can’t seemed to be filled with anything but Jake, today I got a new affliction. I just saw Jungwon’s dance cover a while ago and man.

Man.

Imagine.

He’s in the practice room. You are too. Maybe you two are working on a choreography or just playing around, but he ends up bringing up a routine he noticed you working on the other day. He’s interested and wants to offer you some good old tips and advice.

So you change the music.

He realizes your style is a bit of a mix of modern dance and he wants to give it a try and he’s really good at it. He doesn’t know what story you intend to tell with your body, but there’s a point where his hands would be on your waist. He’s telling you to relax your core more on a particular move and that’s nearly impossible to even attempt with his hands on you.

He doesn’t notice you tense.

At first.

Or does he?

It’s from there you can’t seem to stay focused at all. He’s monitoring you like crazy and you can hardly breathe with how hard he’s watching you. But he’ll end up noticing your lack of focus compared to his own learning of the dance himself- And his hands are on you a lot more now.

A lot more.

Guiding touches of course. Right? Right. They had to be, but they weren’t. As the minutes passed the two of you were obviously just using the dance as an excuse to touch each other more and more.

Just imagine.

You’d been dancing for what feels like forever. His hands having traced a pretty wealthy amount of your body, and you would probably be pressed closer than necessary.

“Maybe you should try it as a couple dance?”

He’ll suggest with the most innocent look on his face, the smile, the look in his eyes- It’s all genuine and doesn’t seem to suggest anything at all…But when you agree to his suggestion there’s something in his expression that changes and it’s that slight shift that has your heart jumping out of your chest.

He’s not even trying to be discrete anymore, if he ever was. His hands are traveling on your body in ways that has you craving more of his touch. You’re falling into the new routine, but fuck- When he opens his mouth again.

There’s a dangerous chuckle against your neck. He’s behind you again, hands gripping your hips as he’s pressed flushed against your backside. “You like this better, don’t you?”

Of course you did, and your hands are falling over his as they find their way from your hips to your waist.

But they’re traveling again.

“And this?” He inquires as they travel up to your breast and he’s taking in your reaction from the large mirror you had been practicing in front of for hours.

You give him breathless confirmation and he’s shameless. You never exactly expected this kind of behavior from Jungwon but you weren’t mad at it.

He’d love watching you in that mirror. Watching the way your body arch’s and begs for his touch. Groping your breasts. Squeezing your waist. Even coming around to squeeze your ass.

You were melting under every move and it wasn’t long after that he was peeling you out of your clothes and your already sweaty, now naked bodies, were on the floor.

You’re on your knees, just like him. Except your sitting back on his cock. A sort of reverse cowgirl on the floor, his front pressed to your back not letting you put any space between the two of you.

And you’re facing that mirror.

Stealing shy glances at the reflection but everytime, you see his clouded and determined eyes staring right at you.

“It’s okay~ Look. You’re sexy, so why not look~?” He pants as he grinds up into you.

A whimper escapes your lips and it just entertains him.

“Look, baby~. I want you to see…I love the view too.”

Just the way he’s talking to you has your body getting even weaker and you end up bracing your palms on the floor. Your ass still on his lap as you’re rocking your hips back onto his length.

He’s groaning.

Cursing.

Moaning.

Calling your name.

Arms locking around your waist as he begins rocking your body forward with harsh thrusts. Face buried agaisnt your neck as he moans his words out. But he can’t keep his eyes off that mirror to watch everything. Your gazes catching again.

“Keep looking…Keep watching…Wanna see you when you cum…”

You can tell by the way he’s straining his words he’s right there with you. Yet for you, his embarrassing and vulgar little words of encouragement are what did you in.

With trembling thighs and a wordless string of cries you flood his thighs, making a wet mess that’s echoing through the room now as it just makes the snap of his hips into you more able to be heard.

“Ungh~ F-Fu…F-fuck~…”

His pace quickens suddenly, sloppy and messy as his release chases right after your juices. Stilling inside of you as he slowly buried himself one more time, burying his face into your neck again with a soft hum. Pressing lazy kisses against your skin. Being the cutest thing with the way he asks if you’re okay and ends up pressing more kisses along your back and shoulders.

Not exactly what you expected to use the practice room for, but he promised next time, there’ll be a bed.