#cw dark

[tojisun]

simon “i cant do one-night stands because i catch feelings” riley but it’s in an obsessive way.

he realizes how your bodies are so compatible with each other that he begins to track you down to ‘accidentally’ bump into you. but this only ever happens on very specific days—days when fucking sort of becomes the natural next thing to do and who else could be the best option for you when simon, the man who made you cum more than three times within the short hours you two were together, was right there?

and you’re not foolish enough to deny yourself of the razing euphoria that only he could give to you—your bodies locking together, his hand a steady weight on the back of your neck, the other bruising as it gripped your hip, and his cock slammed so far in you that you swear he was hitting places you never knew were your pleasure points—so of course you would choose him. you miss him, after all.

(you miss the way he made you beg. the way he made you cry. he was so perfect. so gentle and kind. but he was also so mean. so dominating and overwhelming.

he was all you ever needed—someone to fuck you right.)

“one more round, yeah?” simon croons, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

your walls clamp down on him at hearing his words, before a garbled whine trickles from your kiss-swollen lips. he watches as your head shuffles against the pillows with your abrupt nods, further muffling your gasped out mewls.

simon giggles, his lips pulled into a grin that is a bite too mean.

seems like he’s fucked you stupid again, huh?

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[quarterlifekitty]

Lately thinking about the idea of being taken as a hostage while you’re in a relationship with an obsessive, almost sadistic Simon.

The idea of him receiving a piece of you. Proof that you’re alive, and proof that they’re willing to hurt you to gain leverage over him. A bag full of your hair. A box with your ring finger, inelegantly wrapped in tissues. A photo of you with bruises on your face and a bandage wound around your head, over your eye, with a weeping red stain.

But it’s not the idea of you being hurt that’s really getting to him. It’s the idea of someone rearranging his things. It’s the idea that your blood is ending up anywhere besides his mouth and between his fingers. That he’s supposed to own all of you, be able to consume your entire being— and now you’re missing a piece.

How is he supposed to use you to make himself complete when there’s a piece of you missing as well now? His nails bite into his palms so hard that he bleeds, and you’re not here to clean up the mess with your tongue.

[starflungwaddledee]

it isn't there anymore.

the mainline game events from rtdl onwards tend to form the foundations for significant turning points in the whole awtdy timeline. galacta knight made his wish during robobot, but was actually placed into the timeline much earlier. as a result he already has clear knowledge of how these events played out for meta knight, and can therefore adjust them to his liking

for the most part, he's interested in dealing with threats as quickly and efficiently as possible, and keeping total control of the people in his orbit. his overall goals are to destroy the life he stole from meta knight, and to corrupt his loved ones in whichever way will hurt him the most

in the case of triple deluxe, galacta knight goes to floralia in kirby's stead to "rescue dedede" and "prevent the spread of dark matter" caused by Sectonia's parasitic rule. kirby slept through the event and blames himself for not waking up in time to help rescue the people of the sky from their queen's corruption

at this point he still believes you can sometimes purify those who have come into contact with dark matter, and feels that if he'd been there, he could have at least tried.

[fatiguedshipper]

[ CW: stalking, surveillance, paranoia ]

Need my f/o to be so obsessed with me they watch me 24/7!!

Sneaking into your house and putting hidden cameras in every room. Maybe they have multiple monitors set up to watch them all.

F/o setting it up so they get an alert when you leave the house. Their phone dings and they're like 'damn guess I gotta follow them now :)'

Feeling eyes on you everywhere you go but when you look around there's no one there. Even when your at home you just can't seem to lose the feeling.

[ I do not condone these actions, writing used as coping mechanism ]

[universalzones]

Surge Head Canon

Surge's adoptive parents were hedgehogs, and well respect wealthy business people in the community. However, they only adopted as the wife was unable to have kids, and they only adopted Surge because they couldn't find any hedgehog children as they wanted everyone to believe that they had a natural child and the tenrec was the closest they could find at the time. Hence they forced Surge for the longest time to 'pretend' she was a hedgehog. Clearly this lead to a lot of issue's with just who she was growing up, which ultimately ended up with the tenrec putting her 'parents' on blast in front of everyone with what they've done to her before skipping town.

(Not sure if there's any specific tags I should use for this. Please let me know.)

[liliallowed]

Sorry but just another thought with Abandoned Family/Route

I imagine, if/when Frisk learns the concept of being upset or distressed in a way, they just start repeating a random sentence or word they heard like the bunny from Guardians of The Galaxy V3(in that uh.. One scene)

Like Crimson is just trying to kill them and they just start repeating the last thing Y/N ever said to them or something off the walls that has no real meaning but they're saying it because they're "upset/distressed", they need to say SOMETHING, right?

Or if they're just sad in general they'd go up to Dust and say something Y/N would say when they were upset, or the first thing Y/N said to them, or even on the rare occasion, repeat back something Dust himself said

as someone who personally has a similar problem like this when I am under extreme stress (repeating random words like I'm a computer with a semantic error) I kinda felt that one ngl.

content warning... psychological melt down?

frisk pov

you WANT to say something else you don't exactly hear yourself saying the word or completely understand the meaning of it but you're repeating it out of distress or because youre in shock or stressed. the word subconsciously MEANS something to you so you say it without even thinking.

it's not a statement. it's a desperate attempt to convey emotions but you studder.

your arms and legs malfunction like a robot that's been electricuted. a fish out of sea a puppet with no strings a statue frozen in place and time.

you can't move you studder again.

you can't speak. only make small sounds that cut off by the lump in your throat.

that's how you learned to cry when you were born isn't it?

you felt so weak.

so powerless and small.

you were scared. though not self aware enough to know so...

you felt something you didn't understand.

you never understood.

why?

...

why?

this... has happened to you before. a broken music box still continues to play beside the umbrella in place of the empty statue.

it's has rusted. it cannot sing.

some notes are worn off. it's malfunctioning.

you wonder if it feels pain when it tries to speak aswell... or if the notes of the words just don't come to mind.

you hate that silence you feel SO SMALL.

you're self aware enough to know: "holy shit I'm going fucking crazy I can't stop repeating this phrase! "

it's scary. you'd scare YOURSELF. you want to say something but "I'm sorry" is all that comes out.

your thoughts are in a loop. you literally can't think of any other phrase.

you're sorry.

you ARE sorry but that's also another form of saying "I'm scared, please don't hurt me."

or "I regret my actions"

you're sorry.

is any of this your fault?

you're sorry.

what are you sorry about?

you don't know. probably for simply existing.

you want the pain to stop but all you can say is "I'm sorry"

"I'm sorry... "

you're sorry.

you're sorry. the word echos in your mind as it seems to provide comfort to you.

it's so overwhelming.

the simplicity if the word keeps your broken mind at ease.

you're saah ree.

sorry ...

the word's meaning starts to fade as you continue muttering it to yourself.

you're sorry.

you don't know what it means but it brings you comfort. it's familiar. and it's kept you safe.

all you can focus on is the pronunciation.

am s-ah ree ... ree sah. ree sah... hehe reesah.

you mutter, completely disassociating from the present. you think it's a funny word.

ree sah ree sah. reesah reesah.

you're sorry.

[luxscape]

Greetings 😁Can I request a zombie apocalypse au with the Hashirama,Tobirama and Madara?Thank you 🎈

Zombie Apocalypse AU

Hashirama

Resilient, resourceful, and revolutionary, Hashirama is the survivor who rallys people together. He would start a camp of survivors that would eventually develop into a large community, which would then turn their encampment into a settlement!

It's difficult to make it through many of the days, especially ones where they lose someone. But he is resigned to see the tough times through to a better future—perhaps not the status quo of the past, but something good for all, including rest for the undead.

He would inevitably come to lead that new town, as Hashi just has that undeniably optimistic element that draws people forward, draws them to change, to his transformative radiance. In this AU, he would use his powers grow produce and flora everywhere he went, as long as it was safe.... if he still had powers, that is

He would also try to use his powers to end the zombie apocalypse however he could

Hashirama is a self-sacrificing moron willing to die his loved ones, including the family he would undoubtedly have, unperturbed by the morose realities of the current world. That's almost certainly how he meets his demise, succumbing to the undead to save someone from that same fate.

Tobirama

Pragmatic, prudent, and posturing, Tobirama is the sort of person who will do what he must but will not compromise his integrity or honor, even in survival mode. He's not going to team up with just anyone; he will be scrutinizing when the opportunity to join forces comes along, lest he be weighed down and anchored to an untimely fate.

His only concern at the beginning of the outbreak is finding shelter secure enough, water clean enough, and food plenty enough for one (1) Tobirama and one (1) Hashirama. Once that is accomplished, Tobirama might be capable of processing the scope of what they're experiencing, and formulating a long-term game plan for something beyond survival. But his main concern is the safety of his brother, and almost simply as an extension, himself.

He will not hesitate defend both himself and his brother or their territory and resources, but Tobirama makes every attempt not to encroach on others or start shit. He sees any unnecessary conflict as a liability in the post-apocalyptic landscape. Tobirama is the kind of guy to pass by a peaceful settlement rather than reach out to try to forge an allegiance, lest conflict inevitably arise.

All that said, Hashirama's influence means Tobirama could never stay away from others for too long. It's likely that a stray survivor or couple comes along, and Hashirama convinces Tobirama that each group will be better off together.

Madara

Bleak, bleary, and bitter. Scavenging, attacking first, surviving. That is the only life Madara comprehends in this landscape. His sole focus is preserving himself and his direct descendants. If it's not his brother, his wife, or his child then it is expendable. He'll do whatever it takes to keep them going.

Autopilot is where he lands when the beginning of the virus sets down upon the world, and it's where he is when he dies. He is fixated on personal armament, traveling to a fortified area, providing for his family, and decimating anything that comes between those three goals. Knowing Madara, he would likely devise a plan of using the Infinite Tsukuyomi in an attempt to control the virus, or at least, the zombies.

The concept of a survivor camp or settlement is bizarre and beyond Madara. He sees resource-piling as a way for others to take from him and his family, not a secure way into the future. Anything he can take, he will and he will guard anything he has to the death. That being said, it's likely that he would perish early on, due to his utter lack of cooperation and trust in others. No amount of influence from his loved ones could interfere with his beliefs, especially his Us Versus Them mindset in the apocalypse.

The last dreary days of his life would see not only the end of Madara but his family, too. Without the aid or support of others, they would likely be in a constant state of movement to avoid large groupings of zombies. They would be exhausted, downtrodden, and likely suffering malnutrition when the end came upon them, left with only fleeting moments to reflect on what used to be, before they were consumed.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Dom! Yan professor x himbo reader imagines~! ໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა

Just imagining your biology professor being a total hard ass, rude and unkind to every student he’s ever had and giving out the most excessive amounts of homework daily, as soon as he met you something sinister had awoken inside him. The way you’d smile at him all stupid wearing shorts that showed to much and jogging pants that let him see the side profile of your cock during the first day of meeting you had this man losing it.

Just imagining you staying back after your college classes, you being freshly twenty three and scraping by if not failing every class you took, only making it to college on a sports scholarship with you staring and blinking at your professor all class. Yandere professor, just imagining him watching you from the corner of his eye the whole class, his hands moving on auto pilot only able to think about you and how you blink dumbly at him while he teaches making him speak up “is something wrong Mr L/n?”

Just imagining you getting stuck after class in tutoring sessions all hours of the day because he claims “I’m just trying to help you achieve better [name]” he’d utter those words so sincerely it would keep you oblivious while he stares at your ass and your pecs, bitting his lips when you lean in your chair showing him the perfect peak of your body having this man insane having to excuse himself for a moment during your sessions while he goes and “fixes” the situation between his legs.

Just imagining Yandere professor who rubs up against you grabbing and touching your body all over at any chance he gets with close proximity, slowly over time building trust off of his age and status, him pushing mid forties and freshly divorced. Just imagining him bringing up chats about his golden retriever just to twist your oblivious trust into something else, making you feel special whilst he gives you all the attention you could ever dream of with the intent of getting you all to himself wanting to possess and keep you like a boy toy.

Just imagining Yandere professor who asks you for “favors” claiming he’d make sure you passed all your classes, that you’d never have to worry about losing your scholar ship. He’d have your face in his crotch with your mouth wide open engulfing his cock all flushed in the face with teary eyes holding his thighs. Oh how he almost felt sorry for those poor girls that drooled after you during your games….almost, but having your mouth stuffed full of cock asking “am I doin good E’nough f’you sherr” while you soured your words with spit making slurping sounds just trying to please a good grade out of him.

Just imagining Yandere professor who does random dorm checkups on you, making you stay over at his apartment the nights your frat bros throw parties, not standing for the thought of some sorority girl getting her manicured hands on you, you were His and he’d fuck you so good that you knew it. Two glasses of wine later sitting in his apartment with your hand gripping the counters in shambles “s-ir!” All you can repeat over and over is his name speaking it like a prayer to your messiah feeling a drunken man going at it fucking you so hard the sounds start buzzing together and the over head light in his kitchen blurs under your pupils.

Just imagining Yandere professor who had your legs spread wide open sitting leaned back on his desk eating your ass out like a starving man. Gripping your skin and kissing your pucker, practically making out with your rim and letting you ramble on cluelessly about your plays and strategies, whining about how “the coach is placing me as Qb this year!” While you grip the back of your professors head looking down at him just blinking and getting comfy when you see him having no intentions of letting you go since him being able to work your body and play with you however he liked was part of the “conditions”

Just imagining your grades going from a fifties and forties across the boards to becoming a straight A+ student having all of your friends asking how you managed to swindle that, having your fiends wanting to know your secret while one of them asks “all those time you’ve been ditching, you must be going off to secretly study huh!” Your closest buddy just laughs and nudges you during practice unable to tell him that you’ve been whoring yourself out to the most hated teacher on campus.

[tojisun]

the thing with price is that he offers you the bird cage or the collar, wordless, almost, and just waits until you finally put it on. until the lock clicks. and it’s… never been a choice, truly, not when he’s imposing and big and—

but he waits for you to take. to be the one to reach out.

he dangles the leash like an offering and you—

oh, how you curl like you’ve been waiting for this.

(or something something john price’s obsession will be mutual, one way or another something something.)

[pricetagged]

Someone has surely suggested a 'The Menu' AU with Simon as the head chef? No? I feel like he's the perfect candidate.

Butcher turned-cook-turned-chef. He could never be described as friendly, as a well-socialised wheel in the kitchen machine, but he is good at his craft. Respects it. Only somewhere along the line, he ends up serving the kind of people he wouldn't spit on if they were on fire. Stupid, deconstructed fine-dining bullshit that he hates, but that he can serve and charge a three-digit figure.

And so, he chugs along. Makes a name for himself and builds a clientele. They're all abuz with the mystery of the chef - always in a mask. All in black from head to toe. They titter at his gruff comments and flat jokes - 'he's such an interesting character! Part of the atmosphere of the restaurant'; a little thrill born of his dead eyes and silent kitchen.

He finds it infuriating - and infuriatingly boring. So, he invites some guests to an undisclosed location for a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience. They actually pay to be black-bagged and taken there - to eat crumbs of 'gourmet' cuisine in an old industrial factory. 'Such an interesting commentary on the cycles of production and consumption!' Makes him scoff.

And then you come along as an unauthorised plus one.

[quarterlifekitty]

cw: Ghost’s childhood, abuse, suicidal ideation, obsession, dark stuff

For someone faceless, Simon is perhaps blessed with a good memory. He can recall most people he meets with a surprising clarity.

It’s the one that dwells in his mind in obfuscation that paints the background of his dreams. The one that looks like charcoal smeared over vellum and left in rain. The one thing you must recall.

Simon didn’t live in a neighborhood with a lot of kids, growing up. God knows the little fucker didn’t make friends by coming to school covered in bruises with a thousand-yard stare.

There was one girl. In a house a couple down from his own. Lived across from the old lady that called him a nice young man, despite it all. She could stomach him. It didn’t matter to him that she couldn’t play outside a lot of the time. In a house where being seen was a miracle, being liked was nothing short of divine.

He was too young for a great many things that happened anyways. Everyone else probably saw it coming from miles away. The schoolboy who wanted to run away to the end of the world did not.

What is the death of a loved one to a child that can depend on nothing? It’s another rejection. A candle that blows out, leaving shadows with teeth in its place. The pain of loss is one thing, but the pain of something unfulfilled, something yet unsaid, is what cages the soul and stunts it until it warps, cramped and contorted to be unrecognizable. It makes monsters. The kind that are just as ready to point the gun to themselves as they are to the rest of the world.

Your resemblance to the emissary of his suffering is a passing one. But it’s enough for those combing teeth to snag when he sees you.

[starflungwaddledee]

Did Taranza die with Sectonia in awtdy :0c

sorry to say, but yes he did. as a mage (and a future ally of Kirby's) there was unfortunately no way he was making it through Galacta Knight's timeline intact 😔

[teamdarkdaily]

day 356: bleeding red

[unrivalling]

Listen, I think Rook loves Vil and would never hurt him but also I don’t think everyone else is sure about that and I think that whenever Vil disappears for a few hours Crowley starts getting ready to talk to the magic cops

[missvalentinee]

⋆.˚꒰ა♱໒꒱⋆.˚