#death is going to have to drag me down kicking and screaming

[grumpyghostdoodles]

So. About to go into surgery, that directly affects my mobility, so no physical way for me to draw. Legit no idea when Ill be back to drawing, could be two weeks, could be a month and a half, it all depends on the outcome and rehabilitation. DO NOT WORRY, I will be fine, this is a long time coming surgery, and it all will turn out fine.

Ill still be around in tumblr, checking my notifications and such, just not able to draw (which is gong to drive me insane, I just know it lmao).

Anyways, Ill be back soon-ish. Cheers! <3<3<3<3

[homunculus-argument]

A scene for a random story I have no context for:

A group of people including a small kid are on their way somewhere, and the kid suddenly digs their heels in and absolutely refuses to do something the adults know is perfectly safe and aren't scared of. The more the kid's mother tries to drag the kid in kicking and screaming, the more obvious it gets that this child is willing to fight to the death over this. And another person in the party goes "wait, let me try" and swoops in, getting down to the kid's level, saying

"look, I know it's scary, and you don't have to go the whole way if you don't want to. All I want for you to do is to take this one first step, and see how how that feels, ok? If it's still scary, you can go back and we don't have to do this."

Meanwhile the kid's mother starts scoffing in the background, of course they're going to drag the kid kicking and screaming if they won't comply. And the person who was talking to the kid stands up and turns around, going

"CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP WHEN I'M TRYING TO RAISE YOUR KID FOR YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL COW."

Like it's not even a question. Not a request, just a statement. And since now the whole party is staring at the person who was trying to help in startled silence, they internally go "oh shit, the kid", and turns around to check on this skittish child who must be twice as terrified now.

...and the kid is just standing there, beaming with awe and adoration, because nobody's ever done that before. The kid has never met someone who isn't scared of the mom, and they're now ready to follow this hero anywhere.

[rookiesbookies]

The boys catch their ladies reading smut, originally this had the books I was basing this on in them but I hadn't got the time to read the books so I remove the book titles and authors. I hope you enjoy <3

Price: Yeah, she’s younger than him. This book is like 100% just breeding kinks. So she was reading this book about a man breeding his young woman and being super obsessive and clinging… while sitting in their living room… with her fuzzy, super obsessive, newlywed husband. “What are ya readin love?” He said, swiftly snatching the book from her grasp as he sat down on the couch next to her. He kicked his feet up on the couch and laid so his back was against her shins under the blanket she was bundled in. “Nothing important! But you really should give it back!” She panicked, reaching for it. “Holy bloody Jesus, love. This is a casual read for you?” “... yeah.” He wiggled his eyebrows while looking up to see her. She put a hand in his face and took her book back. “You almost made me lose my page.”

Soap: Being bent over and defiled by a hot Scotsman in a kilt? Oh hell yeah. How could you refuse?

“Jesus, Bonnie, why are ye readin about this shit when ya could get the real thing with me?” He chuckled, flipping through the book she had poorly hidden in her nightstand. “My kilt is in the closet, give me less than 10 minutes to get me socks and straps on and I’ll rock yer world harder than some words on a page ever could. You’ll see, donnae worry.”

He did indeed rock your world harder than pages ever good.

You claim and cry that you want to finish it for the plot, he says you can only read “that filth” when he’s away on deployment.

Says its a waste if you have a real heavy, hairy, and thick Scotsman at your disposal on the daily.

Ghost: Reading a story about a man whose face was painted like death and has charm that causes hormonal riots? Sounds exactly like her Simon. She lay on their shared bed as he packed up for their walk to the park. Her legs kicked up in the air as she read. 

He raised an eyebrow at what could have her so giddy so he effortlessly snatched the book and was met with a nasty surprise when he looked over the words. “Take it you’d rather stay home than go to the park,” he mumbled with a smirk before bending down to kneel in front of her now with a red face. 

“No- no I think a walk in the park will be fine.” She nervously chuckled.

Konig: Hot giant caveman dragging a woman away to have his way with her? Basic Konig when he comes back from missions.

Grabbing his sweet girl and pulling her into the dark cave that is their bedroom, only letting either out once he’s had his way with her and showing her just how much he’s missed her.

His face was red flushed as he read over her shoulder though.

“Oh meine gut, Schatz."

The scream she let out even made him fall back.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He pressed a kiss to her temple in apology. 

“This book made me horny, can we fuck?” She asked straight up, knowing Konig preferred her blunt. She didn’t need to ask him twice.

Gaz Hot british guy? Her standards were so low for her choices in literature as long as it was someone she could imagine her Kyle as. Hmmm easy.

So when she was leading her walk with her audio book in her headphones she was more than busy. When he got a hold of one of her airpods while at the gym and she forgot he had the other one, he looked over at her with wide eyes. He texted her, “I didn’t realize you were interested in being folded like that.”

[writing-fanics]

don’t mess with the devil

Part ii

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

[warning: angst: mentions of death: death?]

Your movements became sluggish. The wound on your side bleeding more and more with each movement, and swing of your angelic weapon. “Can’t even hold a weapon.” Adam mocked, as she glared at him. Already tired and she looked down at her wound. “Who would’ve thought a fucking human, making a deal with the devil.”

“Was it for dick? It was for dick wasn’t it?” Adam laughed, and mocked. You let out a battle cry flying towards him.

You screamed in pain, as the yellow light shot right through your wing. Your wings started going weak, as you struggled to keep up with Adam’s attacks. He laughed and cackled, taking enjoyment in your struggle.

“Where’s your little boyfriend huh?” He mocked, as more and more yellow shots kept hitting your body. Until you could barely keep your body up, “awe, is he not coming to scared to show his fa-”a fist punched, Adam in the face. Causing him to let go of your chin, but you didn’t fall instead.

A pair of familiar arms held you, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t be here sooner,” said Lucifer, as he nuzzled his head against his partner. Then lifted his head and glared at Adam, eyes fuming with rage.

“Sorry, for being so stubborn.” You mumbled, knowing this was the reason he didn’t want you to fight. Even though, he gave you some of his powers. You were still a human. He nuzzled, his head against yours once more. “It’s okay,” He said, as he landed on the rooftop.

He handed you off to Charlie, his daughter taking your injured body into her arms. She looked down at you worriedly, as you took shallow breaths. Your face battered cuts and bruises covered your face, and your right eye was swollen. Landing on the rooftop, walking towards Adam.

“Huh? Okay? Seriously?” Adam panted, as he stood up slowly. “How many of you freaks do I have to fight?!” He shouted, glaring at them.

Lucifer rolled up his sleeves, as he walked towards Adam. “Oh, I’m the only one that matters.” said Lucifer, as he looked up at Adam angrily.

“See, you messed with my daughter and my partner.” his eyes burning with rage. “and now I’m toning to fuck you!” he shouted, and everyone went silent as they stared at him dumbfounded.

Charlie leaned over, “It’s fuck you up dad?” Charlie whispered, and he looked confused as he raised his eyebrow, “Wait what did I say?” He said, and then Adam flew towards him sending them both into a wall. But Lucifer transformed into a white snake.

You could barely keep your eyes open, as the pain became worse. You didn’t know how much blood you were losing, but knew it was a lot. You were just a mere human, a human who fell in love with the king of hell. Him inevitably giving you some of his power in an act of love.

Your memories of how you ended up in Hell, a blur. You still figuring out a way to at least see your family again. But now that seemed to be in vain. You wondered if this was how it was going to end for you. You wondered, what would happen to you a human dying in hell?

Would you be dead forever no second life? Or would you just enter purgatory?

“So, this is what you’ve been up to since Eden?” said Lucifer, taunting him.

“Gotta say, you really let yourself go buddy.” He said, as he taunted Adam.

Adam laughs, as he grabbed Lucifer by the tail. “You judgin’ me?” He shouted angrily, as he tried to throw him. But he transformed again, this time into a duck. “You’re the most hated being in all of creation.” Adam shouted, angrily looking at him.

“Well, your first wife didn’t seem to hate what I had to offer.” said Lucifer, as he made a V shape with his fingers and dragged it downward from his mouth.

“or the second.” He said looking Adam straight in the face, “Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” He said, as he backed away making a thrusting motion with his hips. Adam lunched at him, and Lucifer transformed into a horse. Kicking him around, “I’ll fuckin’ end you!!” Adam shouted.

Your vision started to blur, as you leaned your head against the wall You didn’t want to die not like this, not without seeing your parents again. Wondering if they’re worried about their missing child, who they haven’t seen in almost a year.

You’ve been stuck in Hell for that long. Lucifer and You, still figuring out a way to get you back. But you always promised that you’d stay in Hell with him, and visit your friends and family once in a while.

Maybe this was to be your fate, dying in Hell. Where would your soul go? You couldn’t imagine the heartbreak your death would bring to both, Charlie and Lucifer. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them cry, you’ve grown to love them so much. Seeing Charlie as a child of your own.

Lucifer your partner. The best thing to ever come out of being trapped in Hell. He was so kind and caring, when he found out about your situation. Wanting to help you anyway he could, which led him to falling in love. How his heart swelled whenever you smiled at him, turning his cheeks red.

How seeing you cry made his heartache, knowing you missed your family and friends back on earth. How when that ‘Red Bastard’ at the Hazbin Hotel, took your hand and kissed him while staring mockingly at Lucifer. Boiled his blood.

A smiled grew across your lips, as you grew tired. You were too tired to even notice the beam of light, heading straight towards the hotel. Towards you. Everything went dark.

Y/n?

Y/n?

Y/n!

who’s calling my name?

[chronicowboy]

Buck doesn't know how long they sit there in that café just talking. He's never had that before. The last time he'd done this, sat across from Natalia in the midday sun, he'd been excruciatingly aware of every passing minute as he tried to be fascinating to her, spun yarns of deaths and near-deaths and deathly comas. Here, now, Buck just exists and that seems to be more than enough for Tommy.

Tommy who hangs on his every word like Buck is the next Shakespeare even as he's rambling about rainbow emojis and allyship. Tommy whose smile is so big and wide that it carves the most beautiful caverns into his face that Buck kind of wants to live in. Tommy who grimaces every time he sips the coffee Buck bought him but dutifully drinks the whole thing over the course of their date even when Buck tells him he doesn't have to. Tommy who keeps muffling yawns into his fist every five minutes having just gotten off a twenty-four hour shift like he'd stay in that uncomfortable metal seat forever if he could.

It's the best second date of his life, so when Buck tells him to go home and get some sleep, he doesn't resist the urge to prolong the date for the few moments it takes him to walk Tommy to his car. With anyone else, so soon into whatever this might turn out to be, Buck would worry that it's too much too soon. But Tommy has been so loud in his affection even with how gentle he's made sure to stay. Buck wants to be as free in his wanting as Tommy as is, so he reaches out and slips his fingers between Tommy's, damn near euphoric when they begin to swing between them as they walk.

It takes a moment to drag his eyes up to Tommy's face, caught up in the feeling of a hand in his. It's not the first time he's held a hand, far from it. Not even the first time he's held a man's hand. But this isn't Eddie letting him squeeze his fingers as he screams in pain. This isn't Taylor indulging him every now and then. This is Tommy smiling softly down at their hands like he's as mesmerised by it as Buck is, the tips of his ears growing pink and sending a giddy thrill of satisfaction through him.

"Can I ask you something?" Tommy says, giving Buck's hand a happy little squeeze.

"Don't think there's a limit on second date questions," Buck replies.

"Evan." And, Jesus, there's something about the way Tommy says his name. Even when it's that chiding little tone that should remind him of his parents, all he feels is an overwhelming warmth, all he can hear is fondness.

"Of course you can." Buck grins and watches Tommy's smile crinkle his face all over again like he just can't help it.

"Why'd you choose that abomination of a coffee for me?" And Buck groans just to hear Tommy laugh. "Really? What even was that?"

"Black coffee four sugars," Buck mumbles, kicking a stone across the sidewalk sheepishly.

"Jesus, Evan." Tommy's laugh is something special, loud and unrestrained and the sound of sunshine maybe. "Why?"

"I-I don't know, I panicked!" Buck doesn't realise he's drifting away from Tommy until the man pulls him back in by their joined hands, and Buck lets the bump of their shoulders calm him. "Just thought, you know..." Buck turns towards Tommy's car, but Tommy drags him gently towards the Jeep, leaning against the door when they reach it.

"You just thought..."

"I don't know." He shrugs, heat rising to his cheeks under the weight of Tommy's bright-eyed attention, lowers his voice all the way. "It reminded me of you."

"What was that?" Tommy grins, using the excuse to move in a little closer.

"It reminded me of you," Buck repeats, clearer this time, more confident. "You know, bit foreboding on the outside, but all sweet on the inside."

"Christ, you really are adorable," Tommy breathes, sounding as effected as Buck feels.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies swarms in his stomach, delightfully unfamiliar to him but already intoxicating, almost addicting.

It's not two men stood on a busy sidewalk in the middle of the day then. It's just Buck and someone he really fucking likes, someone he hasn't been able to stop thinking about for a week, someone he's only kissed once somehow. And suddenly that's a fact that absolutely should be rectified.

Buck steps forward, leaning up just ever so slightly on his toes, and kisses Tommy right there in the middle of LA. And it just feels right. Overwhelming in the best of ways. It's a quick press of lips, something more suited to the schoolboy he feels than the very adult man he is, not the kiss he wants but the kiss they both need. Chaste and lovely. A hello again. A beginning.

Tommy's free hand ghosts against his jaw, a flutter of a touch as Buck falls back onto his heels and takes a breath. It takes Tommy a few moments to open his eyes which means Buck gets to watch them flutter open, dazed and delighted.

"Get some sleep, Tommy," Buck tells him, finally letting go of his hand with a squeeze. "Text me when you wake up."

"Yessir," Tommy murmurs.

And Buck can't resist another kiss then, just as quick and chaste, anything else dangerous to Buck's self-restraint, before he unlocks the Jeep and climbs in. Tommy waves him off, and Buck glances back just in time to see Tommy's hand falling down to his lips as if to chase Buck's touch.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

I can only share my interest in Aegon to you, so I’ll just drop this here. (Dw, contrary to what I say next, this is not a request. Just desperation.)

Broski, I NEED reader wife who’s scared of heights and dragons but Aegon gets her to ride with him just cuz he feels like it. (My hand is probably 1/3 smaller than one of their teeth. I believe Anyone sane should be scared sh’tless while seeing a dragon. 💀)

I ONLY READ ONE FIC WHERE THEY FLY ON A DRAGON! WHY ARE THERE SO MANY AEMOND FICS OF THISS??? HELP ME FIND MORE CUZ I NEED TO HAVE A RIDE ON A DRAGONNNNN. Imagine the refreshing air and scenery. (I personally imagine the beautiful pink/orange clouds from Httyd when Hiccup and Astrid fly together for the first time)😭⚰️

.

.

Also, about the death threats, you handled it well. Really, when everyone finds out you like a hated character, it’s like they are trying to get you to sign your own death sentence. Anyway, keep doing you. You write exceptionally 🤭🫶 ily

PROMISE NOT TO DROP ME? ONLY A FOOL WOULD DROP YOU. ( HOTD x Reader )

pairing: Prince Aegon ii Targaryen x Lady-in-waiting! Reader prompt: Aegon kidnaps you to ride on dragonback, it does not go well. word count: 1, 000+ words

You had been very very firm when it came to dragon's. You were no Targaryen nor held a drop of Valyrian blood in your veins. Sure, you like to gawk at them in art. The dozen paintings, stained glass windows, and books that filled the Red Keep were enough. You would never dare to go near one in real life. Dragon’s were not natural. To ride one, to tame one, it was not natural. A lot of the things that the Targaryen’s did were not natural. 

So when you started as Helaena's Lady-in-waiting, you did everything you could to politely refuse to be near them. Need to go to the Dragonpits? The carriage was nice and comfy, no need to leave it. When Helaena offered to fly with her? Suddenly you grew ill with a cough. Helaena accepted, understanding your fears. She offered kind words and an open invitation should you ever change your mind on the matter.

Aegon was, as always, different. The word 'no'  just could not connect in that tiny little brain of his. He took it as a challenge. He would jest about kidnapping you and taking you flying. You laughed and told him you'd push him out of a window if he dared to do it. 

Of course, he had tried once with a look a little too serious on his face. After waddling away, clutching his groin from your hard kick, he learned that it would not be easy to get you on dragonback. You’d fight back. You would be a challenge, he liked that a lot.

Kicking and screaming at the top of your lungs, you did everything you could think of to get free of Aegon's hold. Clawing at his arms wrapped around your waist, he dragged you along to the Dragonpits, the dragon keeper's onlooking in confusion and mild horror. You could give less of a shit if they thought you mad. There was no way in the Seven Hells that you were going on a flight with Aegon. You'd rather kiss the King's rotten lips than to go flying.

"No! Put me down, you drunken oaf!" You shout, thrashing against him.

"No."

"I am going to kick you so hard you'd never be able to get it up again, Aegon! Put me down!" You bellow, yanking at his hair.

"Not a chance, we are going flying." Aegon brushes off your threats, "You will enjoy it. Tis' delightful."

Letting out a loud scream into his ear, he did not falter, running off of pure spite and stubbornness. It would have been admirable, if it was not for the fact he was dragging you along to go flying. Yanking hard on his hair, he yelps loudly, though his grip does not falter. Gods damn it, why did he have to be strong? Sensing that fighting would not help you, you tried another way.

"Please, please, Aegon." You beg, "I'll give up my desserts for a whole moon. Just let me go."

"Tempting." He chuckles, a smirk on his face.

"Please, Aegon. I do not wish to fly." You beg, on the verge of tears.

"I fly all the time. Once I even did it drunk, tis' nothing dangerous." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

Shaking your head frantically as his grip tightens, he drags you into the dark cave, the stench of dragon thick in the air. The few torchlights in the cave illuminated enough to see his dragon, Sunfyre, burrowing into his rocky nest. Feeling tears of fear bubbling up, you go deadly silent, losing your voice. This was your worst dream come true. Face to face with a dragon. Holding back the whimper in your throat, Aegon presses a kiss onto your temple, refusing to let you go.

“He won’t harm you. He’s used to your scent.” Aegon whispers into your ear, “I brought him one of your dresses to smell.”

“Let me go.” You whimper out, voice full of pure terror. 

“Come on, you’re already here. Let’s just go for a quick flight.” Aegon argues, shaking his head dismissively. 

“Aegon..”

Slowly letting go of your waist, you go to bolt for the cave exit, only to be swept back up into Aegon’s arms. He carried you like a toddler who had a habit of running away. Letting out a loud cry as he refused to put you back down, he wags his finger mockingly, a half amused look on his face. Hearing Sunfyre stir in his nest, you try more desperately to get away, the rumbling of the dragon echoing loudly in the cave. 

“No, no, no.” He scolds, “Bad Y/n. No running away.”

“Put me down! I want to go back to the Red Keep!” 

“No, if I have to attend Court, then you cannot escape this.” He suggests, “Consider this your duty.”

“Fuck duty. Put me down, Aegon!” You sob, bottom lip wobbling. 

“Ooh, so now we do not care about duty, hm?” He mocks, shaking his head with a smirk.

Pressing a gentle kiss onto your temple, he carried you closer and closer to Sunfyre, until the two of you were right in the dragon’s face. Feeling your grip tighten on him, he slowly smiles at the feeling, like see you so unlike yourself. This had to be the first time he had seen you act so improper and anxious. It was refreshing, amazing, and amusing all at the same time. 

Smiling bright as Sunfyre stirs away, the golden dragon huffs at the two of you, his two large green eyes staring back. Puffing his chest out in pride, he hoped the sight of his dragon would impress you and make you swoon. His dragon always got compliments. Looking down at your face, there was not an ounce of admiration or awe or anything positive, only terror. 

“He’s pretty is he not?” He gloats proudly, “You know, they say he is the prettiest dragon to have ever been hatched.”

“If I survive this, I am going to kill you.” You whisper out, face pale.

“Stop speaking as if you are going to die. Sunfyre would not dare to attack, not whilst I am here.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve seen your dragon, can we leave now. I want to go back to the Red Keep, Aegon.” You whimper, tears bubbling up in your eyes.

"No. Don't you dare." He argues, "Don't you dare do the whole crying trick on me. I am not foolish like Helaena and can be swayed."

Watching as you sniffle and whimper, his grip tightens on you, not wanting to give up just yet. Seeing the big puppy dog eyes you give him, he grits his teeth, tensing up. He falter's for a moment. He was always sucker for those big puppy dog eyes of yours. You knew how to make him crumble.

"No, no, no, don't give me that look." He tries to resist.

"Please, Aegon."

"No. Stop that." He shakes his head, "Stop that right now. I demand you stop that."

"I..I want to go home, Aegon. Please, take me home." You beg, sniffling.

Letting out an exasperated groan at you begging and pleading to go home, he begrudgingly agrees to it, knowing that it would be no fun if you cried the entire time. Scowling like a child who had its toy taken away, he loosens his grip on you, putting you back down onto your feet. One day he’d get you on dragonback. Sadly, just not today.

"Aegon, please, I want to go home." You whimper, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

“Fine, fine, stop crying.” He grumbles, “But next time, we are going to actually get on the dragon.”

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[thought--bubble]

Upon his Brother's Table

Aemond X (Aegon's betrothed Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 1,748

Canon Aemond Master List

Full Master List

MDNI Banners & dividers by @arcielee

*Just a little something i put together for @queen--kenobi 's table sex event. I had to contribute to the petty. It was too good!

Warnings: Infidelity, choking, unprotected P in V, Dub-con. Potential spoilers of future events

Aemond paces back and forth, his heels clicking against the cold stone floor in the council room, his face is flushed, and his composure is nearly gone. Not a look one would usually see on Aemond, but his patience has been pushed to the brink.

"I served him... LOYALLY!" The anger radiates off him in waves as you stay seated, quietly allowing him to vent his frustrations.

"I gave everything for his cause. Would have died for his cause. Almost did die for his cause and this ...... this is how he repays me? By taking from me that which is rightfully mine?"

You flinch as he brings his fists down harshly upon the council table.

You were speechless, shocked by this turn of events. Your betrothal to Prince Aemond at the start of the war was nothing more than a political match. A way for the crown to guarantee that your father's armies and banners would ride for King Aegon II and not the pretender Queen Rhaenyra.

When Queen Heleana perished during the war, you never thought King Aegon would then change your betrothal from his brother, the prince, to himself, though your father was elated. With the deaths of his sons, the King needed an heir, and with you as his betrothed and soon to be wife, it would be your duty to give him one. Putting your family's blood on the throne. A thought that had your father salivating but had the one-eyed prince seething.

You sat disinterested as Aemond hisses in anger, pacing the length of the council table in continuum.

"All of these things are his because of me." The amount of hatred stitched into each and every word that comes from his mouth is evident.

"The red keep is his because of me, the kingdom is his because of me, the throne is his because of me......"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. His one violet eye pierces through you, causing you to stiffen in your seat.

"You are his because I dragged him from death's door and brought him here." He clenches his teeth tightly, the muscles in his jaw flexing with the tension.

"And he sees fit to take you from me? As if I lost nothing fighting this war in his name!" He stalks toward you, pulling you up to your feet by the thin material of the front of your dress.

"My prince!" You squeak out in shock at his brazen move.

"I will have what is mine." With a growl, he lifts and tosses you on the table. Papers and other random items scatter to the floor as he climbs up onto the table, hovering above you.

"Your maidenhead was promised to me." He shuffles the layers of your dress up to your hips hurriedly as you lay still beneath him.

You know you should scream, kick, tell him to stop, but a type of morbid curiosity keeps you silent. Your eyes follow his fingers. Making a mental log of each movement they make from rucking up your skirts to the quick movement of curling around your small clothes and the subsequent tug of the material down your legs.

"Will you not try and stop me then?" He huffs as his grip tightens around the flesh of your thighs.

"I believe you are a good man, Prince Aemond. I do not believe you will go through with this. Thus, there is no need to fight. " You portray confidence in your words, only the slight tremble in your legs gives away your nervousness, yet the clever Prince Aemond is never one to miss signs such as these, no matter how subtle.

He smirks, it would be beautiful if it weren’t so condescending.

"Then you are more of a fool than I took you to be," he pulls your thighs up around him, resting one on each side of his hips while he leans back on his haunches.

"I am going to take you, my lady. Right here upon my brother's table." He lifts one hand from your thigh and slides it against the sleek treated wood of the table beneath you. "The table that is his only due to my own efforts."

He brings one hand to the laces of his breeches, skillfully taking apart the small knot, keeping them closed and tight to his lithe frame. His other hand remains on your thigh, intermittently squeezing at the soft flesh there.

He grunts quietly as he frees his cock from its confines, slowly pumping himself to full hardness.

"I will not be gentle, so I advise you to hold on."

He reaches down to your heat with his free hand, rubbing your clit with his thumb in rough circles.

You can't help but release a small gasp at his touch.  As your brain was telling you to stop this, to make him stop, your body was betraying you.

Your back arched up off the hard table beneath you, your hips canting into his rough touch.

"We...... should not. " You finally huff out between wanton sighs.

"But we shall," he growls back, removing his hand from your heat and gripping your hips tight, slightly lifting your bottom half from the table and into his lap.

Your eyes slightly roll back when you feel him press the fat, throbbing tip of his cock against your entrance.

"You mustn't!" Even as you say this, you make no moves to get away from him, even as you feel him continue to push into you, splitting you apart in a way that is painful yet satisfying.

"Oh, but I must," he says through gritted teeth, pushing himself further into your clenching tunnel. "A point must be made."

He lets out a low growl as he bottoms out, stilling inside of you. You take this as a small gesture of kindness. He must not want to hurt you. That is, at the very least, a good sign.

As the pain starts to subside and is replaced by an overwhelming feeling of fullness, you move your hips, and he chuckles.

"Ahh, I see you are ready now, my lady" he pulls his hips back his cock sliding effortlessly out from you before he pistons himself back into you, his pace growing more fervent with every thrust.

The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through the otherwise quiet space, the only other sounds being your heavy breathing and the squeaking of the table legs beneath you.

"Tell me, sweet girl," he snarls as he grips your hips tight, slamming into you harshly. "How does it feel to be fucked by the great Prince Aemond? Mighty warrior? Hmm?"

You attempt to focus your eyes on the ethereal man above you, sweet drips down his brow, and his eyes rest on the place where you are so intimately connected.

"I....... I" your words fail you. Only a stutter and moans can be heard.

Aemond licks his thumb before bringing it against your pearl, resuming his earlier ministrations, and chuckles darkly as your legs twitch around him.

"Speechless, I see... it gladdens me to know how grateful you are, that I have allowed you such an experience" his other hand leaves your hip and slides up the length of your body until it rests upon your throat which he uses to hold you in place, thrusting into you ever harder.

Your legs clench around him tightly as a pressure builds in your lower stomach, as unfamiliar as the feeling is you find the stronger it gets, the more desperate you become clawing at the prince attempting to bring him closer to you, to feel more of him on your skin.

"Aweeee," he coos, "and now you beg for me? How darling." His condescending smirk returns as his thrusts get harsher, and the grip around your throat tightens.

"Now thank me," he demands, his hips moving faster and that coiling in your stomach reaching a fever pitch.

"T-thank you!" As the words leave your lips, the coil snaps, and your entire body tenses.

Your back arches off the table as if you are being lifted by something unseen, and the control you have over your own body has been snatched away from you.

 Aemond throws his own head back, gripping your throat tightly as he chases his own end.

"And here is yet another gift I bestow upon my ungrateful brother." his words come out as a hiss, his thrusts getting sloppier and more desperate.

He gasps loudly as his hips still pushing himself into you as far as he can possibly go.

A warmth can be felt spreading through you, a strange yet calming sensation that sees your limbs finally settle back on the hard table beneath you.

As quickly as your calmness came, it was gone, Aemond pulled himself from your body, quickly pulling up his breeches and getting off the table.

As he fixes the strings and his doublet putting everything back into place, he finds you still sprawled across the tabletop, his spend dripping from your abused cunt.

"You need to get up and compose yourself. Someone could enter at any minute." He says gruffly while tossing your small clothes onto your stomach.

You sit at the edge of the table and slide the fabric back up your legs covering the sticky mess he had left behind.

When he was confident you looked presentable, he took a few quick strides toward the council room doors, no doubt making a hasty exit.

"What was the final gift?" The words flew from your mouth before you had a chance to think it through.

"Come again?" He turns back to look at you, his one violet eye meets yours. You see no guilt, no pride, no anger. Indifference is what it looked like. He had returned to that emotionless stoic prince you had seen haunting the halls of the red keep like a specter.

"You said earlier. That you were bestowing yet another gift upon your brother. What was the gift?"

He chuckles again, a smile that actually reaches his eyes.

"An heir, planted in your womb this day, to sit upon the throne I won him." He doesn't wait for any further response from you and opens the door, escaping out into the corridor and disappearing from sight.

Leaving you alone and visibly shaken. Your body is held up only by leaning on your arm that rests upon his brother's table.

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[fic-dumpster]

How would bonten be like meeting your family? Would they get along or not or even expose some stuff by accident?

Tbh, I think something could happen and it doesn’t go as planned. Let’s pretend for this scenario that Doe has a family… 😂 . Anyway, Anonie… sorry it’s years late but here we are trying. I just rewrote this so I’ll edit it later!

Bonten x reader

WC: 1320

TW: Fluff, revers harem, sad attempt at comedy, crackfic, fb!Mochi, gun, sappy/cliche ending, kinda uh… weird. It’s a mess.

You’ve been preparing this week’s dinner for almost two months. Arranging everyone’s schedules and thinking of ways to explain to your family how you have… more than one partner.

It’s not that you didn’t want to tell your family about them. It’s just that the subject was never brought up before and your parents weren’t so concerned about prior relationships, but what you had right now was beginning to turn into something more serious.

So, yeah. Here you are waiting for your parents and the guys to arrive. Which turned into you having to distract your parents because nobody was home besides you and they were not picking up their phones.

You left messages to each one of them with phrases like…

“Sanzu Haruchiyo! I swear to whatever is holy to you that I will have you maimed and hanged when you get home!”

or

“Mikey!!! I will put all the sweets on the highest shelves and throw all the stools away! See how you’ll manage! And no boobs!”

or

“Kakucho? Baby? Please pick up… I’m worried.”

Well, you were fuming and trying your best to pretend everything was in order. Until you heard the door open and steps closing in. Finally someone!

But all your relief flew out of the window when you saw none other than Mochizuki Kanji walking towards you with a big smile on his face.

Oh, hell no… they were so dead. Each and every one of them was so dead.

“Honey!” You visibly tensed as you heard Mochi’s boisterous voice greet you like that.

“Mo-Mochi! Ho-honey!” And so playing along it was.

You were actually grateful at the end of the night. Mochi was such a great guy. You would have cried if you didn’t have to act too. He treated your family so nicely and your parents loved him.

Mochi had your dad enchanted with his baseball and stock market talk. Then your mom was so in love with him too. No complaints at the end. On the contrary, they were so proud of you for finally finding such a wonderful person.

As happy as you were for a successful dinner. You were internationally seething.

Once your parents left and the house was cleaned. You arched your eyebrow and directed an inquisitive look at Mochi.

“So?” You asked after a while.

“Something happened… I know, I know.” Mochi dragged his hands over his face and sighed. “You have every right to be mad, but let me ex—“

Just then, the sound of the door unlocking alerted you of their arrival, and multiple footsteps followed to confirm the quantity.

In a flash you had Mochi’s gun in hand, the poor man panicking after you and not even the devil himself could stop you now.

“Are any of you injured to the point of being at death’s door? Are you all alive and kicking?” You asked in a solemn voice. “Well?”

“We–we’re good…” said Kokonoi who was the closest to you watched a very worried Mochi stand behind you and shake his head in silence. Was he warning them not to do what?

“Good,” and with that, you pulled the gun that was too big for your hand.

A bunch of screams and alarmed voices came in from the seven men standing at your entrance.

“Baby— wait! Baby!”

“We– it’s not– Y/N!”

“Woah! Woah! Woah!”

“Y/N, put that down before you hurt yourself.”

So you took the safety off which earned you more screams and Sanzu hid behind Kokonoi, Rindou took cover in Ran’s back and Mikey was lost in the tumult of panicking men.

“Mochi why did you give her your gun!?!” Takeomi asked as he harshly pushed against the door by Sanzu trying to get as far away as possible from the barrel of your gun.

“I didn’t! She took it!”

“This is your fault!” Ran blamed it all on Sanzu. “You taught her how to use one! We were against it!”

“Shut up! All of you!” They all went quite deadly fast. “I had dinner with my boyfriend!” As you spoke, you moved the gun at each one of them and they all jumped back scared it would go off. Even Mikey was eyeing your shaking hand like a hawk. “So I don’t know who you all are! Go away!”

Again, you pointed the gun, they jumped and they also crushed Takeomi against the door for the tenth time. While the other screamed, Takeomi was grunting in pain at this point.

“Can we explain?” Kakucho asked with his hands up to show he surrendered.

“And you are?” You saw hurt flash in Kakucho’s eyes once your words were out, but you needed to stand your ground. They had done it this time. “Sure, explain unknown man.”

“But please can you put the gun down?” Kokonoi was sweating buckets from the way you waved the gun everywhere.

“I’m not gonna—“ and just like that it went off against the wall where the Haitani brothers stood. You heard Rindou screaming and Ran cursing every color of the rainbow.

You crossed eyes with each one of them and threw them a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, maybe I should put it down…” putting the safety back on, you handed it back to Mochi with a second apology in tow.

With your attention back to the group in your entrance you saw Rindou having a… moment…

“Oh my God! I almost died! Raaan! I saw my life flash through my eyes!” Rindou was crouched down hugging his brother’s leg. Said brother had a tired face on… like this was a common occurrence.

“Sanzu, this is your fault too,” Kokonoi added to the

“How is it my fault?!” Sanzu exclaimed with indignation and fury.

This calmed down after a bit. Reluctantly, you let them in and sat down to explain. You heard their excuses, the emergency at work and called bullshit until Mikey spoke last.

“We were scared.” He began with his signature seriousness and almost sad eyes. “Look at us. We aren’t the guys you take home to meet your mother.” As he kept talking, you saw how one by one they all turned their eyes away, sour looks and empty faces. One after another. “Mochi at least has the looks to pass as a normal civilian.”

You nodded, understanding where they were coming from. Pink, purple and white hair… tattoos all over their bodies… and scars… your heart broke for them. But your fury wasn’t gone just yet.

“And you think I care? You think I care what they think?” You stood up and walked over to Mikey, holding his shoulders tightly as you spoke. “If anyone, even my own family, speaks ill of any of you, I would have thrown them out. And never looked back. Understood? I… I have my own life here… a family… that we built together.”

Even if you wanted to add more to your speech, you weren’t able to. An avalanche of bodies suddenly rained down on you and the next thing Mikey saw was a cluster of bodies on his feet.

You could barely breathe under Rindou’s arm and probably Sanzu’s leg. Kakucho and Kokonoi tried to wrench them away but it was fruitless. Both were moaning and crying about the family they built with you. Ran facepalmed at his younger brother’s behavior but smiled nonetheless.

“Wait, where’s Takeomi?” You asked having not heard the man in a while.

“Here!” Everyone saw the eldest Bonten member at the kitchen counter with a first aid kit. “I’m just patching myself up.”

“But you said you weren’t injured?” You said from the floor and in between two sobbing men.

“I wasn’t…” Takeomi winced as he applied a bit more ointment. “yeah, having six people push you against a door was awful. 0/10 would not recommend.”

Meanwhile, Mochi cried in a corner as he saw his family happy together.

[dreamerdrop]

Julian does kind of strike me as someone who just sort of. Endures suffering and then pushes it way, way down and pretends it doesn’t hurt.

Bad things happen and he just sits quietly and then pushes it down and pretends he’s okay so he can get on with whatever he needs to get on with.

Doesn’t know how to process trauma or misery inside himself, but he can help other people with theirs, so he just. Keeps going. Keeps working. Keeps trying.

It makes sense, I mean, the pivotal traumatic incident in his life was one he has never been allowed to even allude to out of fear. His parents don’t seem very emotionally available for him either, so he’s definitely never talked out those issues with them. So he’s probably just grown up pushing any off feelings back down and focusing on something else.

And even when his big ol secret is finally out, he still doesn’t really talk about it or acknlowedge it unless someone basically drags him kicking and screaming into having to focus on it. He never really talks about or addresses like. Anything.

Like his attempts at curing the blight and how fucked up he was over that. Or the time he thought he could save the Jem’Hadar from their ketracel white addiction. (And boy howdy does that episode take on new layers of pain when you think about him being so sympathetic to entities that were genetically engineered to suffer and his own backstory.) Surviving a psychic attack that basically involved his own subconscious mind trying to talk him into embracing death. A month in a prison camp where he probably definitely thought he was going to just die there, and then realizing no one knew he was gone, and his friends are not anywhere near disturbed enough by any of what just happened.

(To be clear, I think it’s fine that they didn’t realise it was a changeling. I think the reaction they have when they find out retroactively, however, is like. Guys. A minute ago you thought Julian Bashir, your close friend of several years, beloved station doctor, had betrayed the federation and had to be killed. Guys. Forget Julian for a second. How was this not traumatic for the rest of you?)

Then there’s all of that Sloan fuckery which is basically just three episodes of one man trying to gaslight Julian into a dissociative break for reasons.

And he just. Bounces back. Next episode, time to move on, insists he’s totally fine. Except he’s not. He gets gradually more and more tired and miserable and closed off but he just. Never fucking talks about it to anyone. Never deals with how messed up he’s slowly becoming. Never recovers. Never heals. Never gets closure for any of it.

He has so many wonderful moments where he comforts someone else when they break, when they’re scared, when they let all the bad stuff finally make them collapse.

But Julian just never really collapses like that, and it’s like he actively ensures he will never have the chance to collapse because he doesn't want to (and probably doesn’t know how to) deal with any of his issues.

Can you imagine what it would look like when he finally breaks.

[anne-chloe]

Imagine : They don’t realise that you can’t swim

Peter Pan x Reader

Summary : The Lost boys go swimming at mermaid lagoon, they toss you in and you nearly drown

Warning : Near death experience, drowning

“Come on, [Name]!”

You stood on the sidelines of the lagoon, fingers nervously twisting with the hem of your shirt. It was a bad idea for you to have even joined the Lost Boys in the mermaid lagoon, because you knew they’d want to swim deep and would drag you with them.

It was with this very thought that you resolved to back out, to announce that you were tired and you’d return to the camp.

But you were suddenly grabbed from behind.

You craned your head back to see Devin. His arms squeezed your waist as he lifted you up, your feet kicking wildly in protest. You gasped as he started to near the edge of the rocky slope, the deep water too close for comfort.

“No! Stop!” You shouted, wiggling your shoulders back and forth for release.

Devin snickered. “It’s a bit of water! Lighten up!”

Then, he threw you into the water.

The waters surface broke as you sank towards the bottom. Your entire body was stiff and tense, and you felt awfully like a rock in that moment. You let out a scream, air bubbles leaving your mouth as no sound came out.

You blinked, eyes stinging at the murky greens and blue of the lagoons depths. You couldn’t see the surface any more; you couldn’t see anything at all.

Surrounded and suffocated by the water, you felt your heart hammer wildly out of beat at the thought of dying in the mermaid lagoon.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist before you felt the water rush past your skin. Within seconds, you broke the surface and let out a panicked gasp for air. You grabbed blindly at the person who had saved you; you were far too aware of the lack of ground beneath your feet.

“Calm down, calm down—“

Who was that talking?

You were pulled from the water and pushed onto the rocky slope. The hard ground brought immediate comfort and relief, and you couldn’t help but lie flat.

There was that terrible, salty taste of water on your lips, and your eyes stung horribly from the sea water. You coughed and panted for air, your lungs burning as water came rushing out your mouth.

“Look at me, [Name]— are you alright? Breathe!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly finding the afternoon sun too bright to handle. Then, when you reopened your eyes you found yourself staring into those familiar green ones. Instead of the usual mischief that you’d see, you found only worry and what appeared to be guilt.

“P-Peter…?” You stammered, another coughing fit cutting you off.

Peter sighed loudly and pulled you in for a hug. His arms around you gave the strange sense of ease and comfort. “Why didn’t you say that you couldn’t swim?”

“I-I didn’t think it was important,” you coughed again, watching in disgust as water dripped from your face. You couldn’t tell if they were tears or from the sea.

Peter glared harshly at you, his arms giving a small squeeze. “Of course it was important,” he scolded, “you could have died.”

You lowered your head, feeling awkward and ashamed that you had troubled Peter and the Lost Boys like that. “I’m sorry, Peter. I just didn’t think something like this would ever happen.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “The Lost Boys will think twice about doing something like that again,” he muttered.

As Peter held you close to his chest, you couldn’t help but wonder why he had been the one to pull you from the water. Usually, he was so cold and cruel with the Lost Boys, never stepping in to save them if they needed rescuing. His excuse was that “all Lost Boys should take care of themselves, if they can’t then they’re weak.” It was only fair to assume that the rule applied to you.

But with one subtle glance around the lagoon, you could see that the Lost Boys were just as stunned as you.

[take-it-on-the-run]

The End

Wally Clark x Reader

Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Sexual assault, semi-graphic depictions of SA, including: almost direct aftermath, reader is naked in the beginning, mentions of blood, and implied loss of virginity via SA, flashback to SA; death, reader's death is overlooked, ANGST

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC)

Read it on AO3!

A/N: The Doors title. Hey ya'll. I cannot believe the love I've been getting on this page, and it's driving me past my writer's block more than anything. With school starting, I can feel the academic anxiety kicking in, but I use my writing as a coping method when I can. This story has very intense topics (as stated in the tags) and is not meant to idealize any topics in any way. This was inspired by @general-fanfiction's Hopes and Fears series (GO READ IT RN), and @whoopsyeahokay's October Sun series (ALSO GO READ IT RN). If this story is well received, or I just feel the urge to, I'll probably turn it into a series (bc this sucks as a one-shot). As always, please heed the warnings, and read only if you're comfortable.

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood was everywhere.

It slid down your legs and dribbled onto the cold floor of the locker room. Every inch of your skin felt like it was too tight for your bones, and all you wanted to do was reach down your throat and rip out your heart.

Copper flooded your mouth. The tang brushed against the back of your chattering teeth, and all you could think about was how you wanted to crawl to the nearby shower and let it run until one of the coaches found you and dragged you out.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Move. You told yourself. All of your limbs ached. Nothing felt real.

You didn’t want this to be real.

It was supposed to be kind. Gentle. An act out of pure love.

Standing up proved to be hard, and it was like no one was able to hear you screaming out for help. Filtered out by the people flooding the halls, hustling to the big homecoming game going on that night.

The tiled walls provided little help as you brought yourself to a standing position, walking slowly as you felt your feet brush against the pile of your shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor. The touch stopped your heart, breaking a new tier of hate and regret across your body.

He said he loved me.

You turned on the shower, cranking the knob to the hottest setting, knowing that the water wouldn’t get anywhere near warm. Water slid harshly over your body, and you felt it pelt against spots of dried blood on your thighs.

You wished you never come to this stupid football game.

You wished you weren’t as ignorant, or as gullible, or as love-blind as you had been in the past three months.

You wished you never met him.

His face felt bitter and sharp in your head, poking and prodding, as if trying to stick the memory of his hands on you for eternity.

Time passed irregularly, no one came in or out of the locker room, and you were sure that the football game had to have reached its end by all of the cheering and yelling you heard outside.

After using all of the hot water in the gym wing, you slowly walked to the lines of lockers, trying even glimpsing in the direction of your clothes. tried to open every locker until one popped open, revealing a pair of grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a muscle tank, blue gym shorts, and a matching varsity jacket with #57 stitched on the arm.

You grabbed the matching sweatsuit, balling it in your arms and silently apologizing to the boy you’d never return the clothing to.

He probably won’t even notice, you told yourself.

You turned the corner around a line of lockers and you could swear you were going crazy. A bare foot poked out from behind the last line of lockers, limply tilted against your pile of clothes, painted a chipped wine red.

You blinked hard, looking down at your own chipped wine-red toes, and you clutched the clothing you stole to your naked body. The cotton was soft compared to the cold tile bracing against your feet, and you brought your eyes to look back to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bile pooled at the back of your mouth as you hesitantly stepped closer to the foot that hadn’t disappeared. You’re going crazy, you told yourself, but the more and more you stared at the limp, pale body - your limp, pale body - whose features were more of a brutal mass than a face, the less it was going away.

You barely made it past the urinals and into an open stall before you dry-heaved into a toilet.

You were dead.

You couldn’t be.

As you zipped up the stolen hoodie and sweatpants, you tried to remember it all. Kissing under the bleachers before the game, him asking you to come with him while he grabbed something from his gym locker.

Every agonizing second you asked him to stop, to stop pressing you into the lockers because one of the locks was digging into your back; his decrepit hands sliding at your waistline, pushing and prodding past the fabric of your clothes.

Nothing would come up from your stomach.

Could ghosts vomit? You asked yourself, slowly standing to your feet and walking back over to your dead body.

Conversations started to flood the hallway, every muscle in your body coming briefly to attention before you flew out the door and screamed into the rushing crowd of students.

“Hello?” You called out, reaching your arm into the crowd, only to watch it get run through like something out of Star Wars.

Your body became hot, and even though you knew deep down that no one could see you, you pushed your tears back down your choking throat and felt your cheeks heat up with shame.

You walked into the crowd, who was thinning out the further you got from the hallway. Your body tensed for a moment, seeing the lights of police cars and ambulances pulling up to the school. Expecting to see the paramedics rushing toward your body, you waited for them to split the crowd, to start heading toward the school, but they were bolting the other way.

Straight toward the football field.

This school has to be fucking cursed.

One of the players was splayed out on the field, his head gently being lifted as paramedics were tugging his helmet off his head. The football team from whatever school yours was playing against was sitting on the bench, whispering and pointing to another one of their players who was talking to a police officer further down the field.

57.

The number sewn on the jacket hanging among the clothes you stole stood out against the dark blue of the player’s helmet. People gasped and a woman cried out as the paramedic set the helmet aside, revealing the face of the school’s resident golden boy; a dark bruise crawled up his neck, and his mouth guard slid between his lips as his limp head hung unnaturally over his shoulder.

You walked closer, straight through the forming line of police officers, and looked into the field. At the edge of the bleachers, waving his arms around and yelling into a silent group of people, stood Wally Clark.

Wally Clark is dead.

Just like I am.

You took off running, the activity coming easier to you when you were alive.

Alive.

“Wally!” You called out, and the football player snapped his body to your voice, his eyes wide and seeming relieved that someone was talking to him.

You stopped, resting your hands on your hips as he hopped down from the bleachers.

“What’s happening? Why- why is no one talking to me? What did I do?” He asked, skipping the formalities. He came to stand on the field before you, the football gear he was wearing sending a rush of debilitating shame through your body.

You faltered for a moment, his face flashing in your eyes before you rubbed your face back to reality.

“You didn’t do anything, Wally.” You managed to push out, pushing your eyes anywhere but on him.

“Then what is happening? I feel like I’m going crazy, one minute I’m running with the ball, and boom- I’m at the bleachers, trying to get my mother to talk to me and she won’t even look up at me. I know she’s pissed at me about going on the bench, but I mean I got back in the game, and now I’m guessing coach is pissed at me on insisting to get back in and-”

“You’re dead.” You cut off his rambling, forcing yourself to meet his face without looking away after a second, “I mean, I think we’re both dead.”

First, he smiled. Like what you said was some kind of joke. After you said nothing, he started toward the sidewalk, where his mother was now alongside a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. You could see the tears on her face from where you were, each step you followed Wally, the easier it was to see her sorrow.

Then, as he was following his mother, he suddenly was gone, like he was plucked off the Earth by God himself.

That was until you turned to see him standing on the football field, right where his body was previously lying, tugging at the roots of his hair.

You hovered your foot, leveraging that if you stood on the sidewalk, you would be slingshotted back to the men’s locker room.

You decided to trust your gut and instead talked to Wally.

“I can’t be dead, I mean, that would mean you’re dead, and I literally saw you in the hallway this morning,” Wally said as he paced in a small area before you, “and I know for sure that I saw you because you were hanging around Dalton’s locker, which was weird because everyone on the team thought he had some college girl or something he was hanging out with-”

You didn’t register some of the words he was saying, instead you tried to control your thoughts from ripping you back to your last moments on earth at his name.

“-I mean, do you even know how crazy this sounds?”

You took in a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your face to poorly conceal any emotions that unwillingly spread onto your features, “Yeah, but that’s the thing, Wally. I am dead.”

Saying you were dead for the first time out loud was a lot heavier than you thought it would be.

You’re pretty sure that if the insanity of Wally being killed hadn’t overridden your brain, you would be somewhere huddled up and screaming for some greater power to give you eternal rest.

“What? That’s not possible, I mean, the people you were here with would’ve noticed you were gone. Dalton would’ve noticed you were gone.”

You didn’t want to give his name as much power as you did, but your body tightened up hearing it. You didn’t correct him, instead opting to stare at the dark woods on the far end of the field, your eyes burning once more.

“Y/N,” you were a little surprised that he knew your name, and even more when he stood in front of you with the most gentle expression you’d ever seen, “what happened after school? How did you die?”

[deadghosy]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇! ||𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄!𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄

Synopsis: accidentally killing one of the most popular Slytherins, you tried to bring him back only for him to not be the same as before.

Inspired by American horror story; Coven

Viewer discretion: brain dead Theo, choking, biting, slight panic attack, Zombie!Theodore not knowing personal space, gore/blood/death mentionss.

MONSTOBER

Shit… shit.. shit…..SHIT! You don’t mean it! You didn’t at all! Your eyes are blown out wide at the dismantled body in front of you. You can’t believe you killed him…You didn’t mean to kill him. Your heart beating loudly in your ears as you fell to your own knees. You slowly felt tears prick your eyes.

You were only practicing your magic. Your own magic. Not Hogwarts, not dark magic. Your own. You didn’t hear Theodore coming from behind you. But it was too late as he startled you into shooting him. Shooting him with the magic that killed him. A pool of blood reaches to you. Scatters of brains sprayed the crisp green grass. You scream backing up, gripping your wrist as a sort of calming gesture. But it’s helping. You kept saying, “it’s not your fault.” But it is, isn’t it? You gotta fix this. You can’t let anyone know that you killed the Theodore Nott. Not a single witness.

Dragging Theodore’s body. It felt sickening. You couldn’t really pick up his damn body. He was taller than you! And with his playing quidditch, he definitely has some pounds on him.

Finally getting to your dorm. You set him on the floor, getting your magic book your folks had gave you so you could practice your own family magic. That’s where you found the spell to bring back the dead. Without hesitation you chanted the words, placing your dominant hand on the bloody chest. The lights flickered in your room, each word you chanted a green and gold aura surrounded you and the dead Slytherin. As the spell ended, you opened your eye and waited it out.

Soon, Theodore stared to groan softly. His normal dead eyes looked..more dead. You gasp shocked. He looked emotionless as he only eyed you in your dorm. His skin was so pale that you started to curse in your mind. Before you knew it, Theodore snapped and attacked you. Gripping your throat with a strong grip, grumbling nothing but mumbles. You clawed at his arm. “Th-theo! Sto-" he suddenly stopped. Loosening his hold on your neck as his eyes looked normal before returning to that dead look. He let go and sat down like a child.

You coughed holding your neck. Getting your breath back. Theo stared at you again. With that dead look that made you shiver. “I…I’m sorry Theo..you must be mad I killed you. But you’re back.” You smiled a weary expression. Theodore tilt his head, clearly confused with his own emotions. Narrowing your eyebrows you slowly moved towards him. Reaching your hand to him, he bit you. “AH! MOTHER FUCKER!” You kicked him at his chest gaining a small groan. “Gr…aughh..” you let out a groan, getting up you checked if the bite was deep only to sigh out of relief. “Fuck…fuck…okay so you don’t really have the normal brain. Fuck me…”

You hissed still holding your bitten hand. Theodore however seemed to be in his own world. His messy brown hair sticking to his forehead after your kick. It seemed he was actually thinking for once as he’d seen you walk back and forth. You were also in your own world. Thinking about how you were gonna talk to the professors about your mess. Or more so your own people. Maybe they can make him more normal? You didn’t seem to realize a tall brooding body behind you. You turned around to only flinch.

He towered over you. Theodore opened his mouth, his lips chapped lips sticked together as he did so. “…Y…Y/N…..” your eyes widened. Backing up with each step, he stepped to you closer. Theodore grabbed your arm, pulling you close to him. “Y…y/n…” you couldn’t believe it…no fucking way. Theodore started to hug you. And you just stood there confused and scared. Was he slowly gaining his memory back? Or was it some sorta of confusion? Connection? Whatever it was. You didn’t know if you liked it or not. As whatever this Theodore was doing, he was making sure you won’t leave his side.

[chososwifey24-7]

Rutheless

Yakuza boss sukuna x fem!reader

Cw: Nsfw, 18+, blood, death, kidnapping, swearing, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), pv penetration, mating press, consensual sex, no protection (reader is on birth control), cum eating, rough sukuna, aftercare.

Run. Breathe. Survive.

That's all you could do. The image of the tattooed man entering your house and beating your father to death. The cut on your side from one of his lackeys stung on your side and burned.

Where the hell would you run? Where the hell would you hide? They had seen your face. They had seen the fear, the pain, your face.

You could only assume your father got himself into more debt. Unpayable debt. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you continued to run. Labored breaths escaping you.

Legs giving out. That's all you felt as you fell to the concrete in the alleyway you were escaping through. You scraped your knees and your palm.

Gasping. Your lungs needed air. You needed to breathe! Why the fuck wouldn't your body cooperate?

You heard the footsteps before they saw or heard you. You pulled yourself behind a dumpster, a mouse scurrying across your foot. You wanted to scream, wanted to run, but where would you go? You'd be caught.

You heard their voices up and down the alleyway. They stalked it like predators. They sounded excited, excited to finally catch their prey.

You felt more blood seeping through your shirt. It couldn't be that deep of a gash, but through all the running and escaping, you had no time to put pressure on the wound to stop it from bleeding.

That's when you heard him. The man that had beaten your father to death and enjoyed it.

"Where the fuck did she go? You two were supposed to get her."

His voice was low, gravelly, haunting.

You could feel your chest rise and fall quicker and quicker as you heard the footsteps come closer and closer yet to the garbage can.

"We tried to Mr. Ryomen. That bitch is quick."

The other man laughed at his buddies words. He laughed obviously in agreement to the statement. That's when you heard the click of a gun.

"If you can't do something as simple as catching a damn brat, you aren't useful to me."

You tried to stay calm and quiet. You covered your mouth with both hands. Your phone was still at home. You could call anyone to save you.

"No, no, Mr. Ryomen, we'll find her, we swear."

The man quickly tried to beg for his life. Plead for this Ryomen guy to spare him. That he could do better.

"No need."

You heard Mr. Ryomens voice before you felt his hand ensnared in your hair. Your eyes widened. How the hell did he know you were there?

You tried to scream and kick and punch, but this man was strong. He snapped his finger, and the lackeys of his were on you zip, tying your hands and feet together.

"No, no! Stop!"

You screamed and tried to wriggle from the tattooed man's grasp. The man you know now as Mr. Ryomen.

He simply threw you over his shoulder and a car came around the corner.

"Ah, Uraume, right on time. Perfect."

You were thrown into the backseat of the car before being blindfolded. That's all you remember before being dragged into a basement and left there.

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It had been days. It must have been. They brought you food and water ever once in a while. That's how you tried to track the days tied to a chair.

Unfortunately, things began to blur together. Things became more dull, you knew you couldn't get out of this, so why were you trying?

That's what you thought until Mr. Ryomen came into the basement and cut the zip ties off of you. Your immediate reaction was to try to fight. To throw punches.

He easily grabbed your wrists and held you with a grin. That sickening grin.

"I see you still have some fight left in you. It's surprising, but I came here to talk, not fight."

He simply threw you to the side, your back hitting a cold concrete wall before you fell to your knees coughing.

"You see, your father died because he couldn't pay back his money, and he refused to do anything to even try. So we told him we would take you. Sell you off, maybe. I haven't quite decided yet,"

He began explaining as he stalked towards you slowly and intimidatingly. You couldn't even run away, your back was against the wall, literally.

"But you're so damn pretty I thought, why not just pay me back with your body. Yeah?"

He said as he kneeled in front of you and grabbed your chin roughly.

"Because that sounds more appealing to me."

He licked his lips and leaned in closer to you. His face was so damn close. His lips planted a kiss on your cheek before he grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back.

He chuckled to himself as he watched your tears stream down your face and your eyes closed tight. He took his other hand and wiped a tear from your face and cooed in a mocking tone.

"Oh, there there. There's no need to cry. I'll simply use you until your father's debt is paid back, then I'll send you on your way."

That's when your eyes met his and you bit your lip a bit.

"How much is my father's debt?"

He thought for a moment and then turned back to you with a glint in his teeth. His smile so damn bright, but so scary attention same time.

"I think it was somewhere around 500,000 yen. Quite a bit if you ask me."

Your jaw dropped. How were you supposed to pay that back off soon. The doubt began to creep in. You thought that maybe you could screw him for a few days and get out of here, but 500,000 yen! That was almost impossible to pat back soon.

He saw your facial expression and chuckled.

"3 months. Stay with me and let me do with you as I please for 3 months. After that, I will let you go."

His deal was intriguing, but 4 months, that was a long time. Could you honestly handle him? He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't the person you'd want to spend the rest of your life with either.

You only had this option, though. You looked up at him in the eyes with determination. You didn't want to be sold off, so you'd chose the lesser of two evils.

"Fine. 3 months. I'm all yours."

The glint in his eyes seemed even more evil than it did the first day he had caught you.

"Alright. Since I can do whatever I want with you, why wait. Let's get your debt repayment started."

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That's how you fou d yourself on your knees in sukunas room on your knees in front of his aching cock.

It was huge, and he wanted you to fit all of that in your mouth? There was no way. You leaned forward, though. After all you did tell him yes.

Your tongue gently licked the underside of his base, and he groaned deeply. You got to his tip and began to gently suck on it before going down on him a bit more.

"Oh fuck. Keep going."

He said as he tried to push your head down a bit. You were sucking him off, and he was loving it. Your mouth was addicting.

After thrusting into your throat and making you gag, he came.

"Swallow it."

Tears rolled down your face from his roughness, but you listened to him. Swallowing it, you looked at him and stuck out your tongue.

"Oh fuck, good girl. Now, up on the bed, I'm not done with you yet."

You did as he said once again and got up on the bed laying on your back and spreading your legs.

He whistled lowly as he took his fingers and ran them ul and down your folds, collecting your slick before roughly shoving them in you. You let out a scream before he began to finger you.

The pain slowly melted into pleasure and you were a whimpering mess on his finger.

"Ah, Mr. Ryomen, oh, please! I'm gonna cum!"

You screamed out, and before that knot could break, he pulled out his fingers and began to suck them clean.

"Mmm, you taste divine. Ilm have to save that for another day, but right now I want you cumming on my cock."

He strocked himself once, then twice, then lined himself up with your entrance.

You squirmed a bit before he shoved himself into you. Your mouth opened in a silent scream before his lips met yours in a hot teeth and tongue make out.

His thrusts were hard, rocking your entire body and the bed. He pulled away from the kiss and growled lowly as he continued.

"Are you in the pill?"

He asked as he thrusted a bit quicker as he was approaching his high.

"Ah, yes, yes. I'm on the pill."

You manage to get out in between thrusts. After those words left your mouth, he was grabbing your legs and pushing them to your chest in the meanest mating press ever.

Your moans became more high-pitched, and his thrusts picked up to an almost inhumane speed. You both were getting close.

Your hands moved to his shoulder and gripped them tightly. Your vision going white and his thrusts stilling as you both came together. His hit seed filling you and feeling weird.

You laid there for a second coming down from your high, and you couldn't help but admire his tattoos. You lazily took a finger and began to trace over them. He hummed gently and let you.

You groaned as he pulled out of you and left you to run to his bathroom and run a bath.

Soon, he came back to you and picked you up bridal style. Another groan leaving your lips, your lower abdomen hurting a bit.

He slowly set you down in the warm water before getting in behind you and holding you close to him.

Your eyes were fluttering closed as his chest met your back. This felt better than the sex itself. Being taken care of.

His arm wrapped around your chest and pulled you closer to him. He gently bit your ear before whispering to you.

"Get some rest, I'll carry you to bed if you fall asleep because both know this is far from done."

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Tag list

@yandere-stories

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 4: Emerald]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

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

Back into the sitting room, fleeing like a hare from hounds, but Rush is here trying to grab you. You careen to the door to the private promenade deck and dive out into the bitter starlit cold, your breath fog, your shoes slipping on the yellow pine planks that overlay the steel skeleton of the ship, weight that could drag you down to the ocean floor. Rush is in pursuit; he swipes at your arm and gets ahold of your coat sleeve, soft pink wool. You wrench yourself free, twisting out of the coat and dropping your handbag, colliding with the barrier, Tudor-style timber paneling beneath vast windows the frigid night air pours in through. Your hip bruises against the wood, you can hear black waves crashing below; then you collapse to the deck, your spine pressed to the wall, trying to back away when there’s nowhere left to run to. You realize you are still clutching Aegon’s small aluminum lighter and shove it beneath the skirt of your gown. Rush draws his pistol.

“No no no!” you plead, showing him your palms, cowering beneath one of the windows.

They could throw me out of it. They could say it was an accident or a suicide.

The deck is lined with potted plants and lightweight wicker furniture. Inside, you can hear Rhaenyra saying something, though her words are muffled; it’s a tone you wouldn’t have thought she was capable of. She sounds afraid. Draco and Dagmar must be asleep, Fern tucked away in the tiny maid’s room. There are no witnesses to what will happen next. Your heart thuds in your chest, swollen and sickly. Cold North Atlantic wind washes over your bare skin and leaves you freckled with goosebumps.

Like a lightning storm, like a hurricane, Daemon surges out onto the deck. He is still tying his robe shut. His hair hangs in dark, damp strands over his forehead. You picture it again, though you don’t want to: Daemon with Rhaenyra like he’s never been with you, the impulsive desire, the dire necessity.

Why not in Rhaenyra’s bed? Why would he bring her here?

Because he thought you wouldn’t be back until midnight…and to prove he can get away with it. To succeed where he failed with you this morning. To feel like a man again.

“I didn’t see anything,” you tell him, but you cannot keep the shock and disgust from your face, intractable like a wild animal.

Daemon kicks one of the wicker chairs at you. You bat it away with a scream and press yourself harder against the barrier, trying to disappear, trying to become somebody else, a girl who didn’t agree to marry a renegade of a man who showed up smirking and cavalier at her father’s Connemara marble quarry.

I want to go home, you think with helplessness like a child’s.

“I didn’t see anything,” you say again, sobbing now. With one hand, you claw at the windowsill above you so you have something to hold onto if he tries to drag you away. The wind, sweeping down from the Arctic, burns like blue fire in your lungs. “I don’t know anything.”

Daemon dives to the floor, hooks his fingers into your hair, yanks you closer as you cry out and flinch away from him. “One word, one fucking word, and you’re gone,” he is threatening, a blade-sharp hiss, and you can smell Rhaenyra’s perfume on him, marking his flushed skin like a bloodstain; but Daemon’s deep-set green eyes—emerald, malachite, jade, serpentine, Connemara marble—are fearful. This is strange; this is unlike him, this is a foreign language.

He loves her, you realize. He’s terrified to harm her, to lose her.

“I would never—”

“Over the railing,” Daemon snarls, jerking your head to the side as you whimper. “Your bones at the bottom of the ocean, your name forgotten.”

“I won’t tell, please, Daemon, please, don’t hurt me.” You look at Rush. He’s staring indifferently down at you, his pistol still in his hand. You turn back to Daemon. “I’ve never told anyone.” About the bruises, about the man you really are. “Not my parents, not a soul. I don’t want to tell. I just want to stay with you and Draco. I won’t jeopardize that. Please, Daemon, please—”

“No one would believe you,” he says; but if that was true, he wouldn’t be so frantic. “You’d be a madwoman. They’d lock you up in an asylum, put you in a straightjacket, cut the pieces off of you that made you so hysterical.”

“Yes,” you agree, yielding, toothless.

He rips at your hair again, pulling you away from the barrier and to the center of the floor. Rush steps out of the way to make room. You don’t fight Daemon. You have to convince him your fighting days are over.

Why doesn’t he kill me now? A dagger to the jugular, a body splashing into opaque waves?

Because he needs his perfect family in order to march triumphantly into the skyscrapers-and-streetlights labyrinth of Manhattan. Because he can’t eclipse Viserys if people are whispering that his wife is dead under peculiar circumstances, fallen overboard on Titanic’s famed maiden voyage, insane or drunk or maybe—just maybe—murdered by a man’s rough rageful hands.

“What did you see?” Daemon says, testing you.

“Nothing.”

His palm cracks across your face. You yelp, more startled than in pain. Your skin is going numb from the cold; he’s hit you harder before. Now he doesn’t want to bloody or bruise you, he doesn’t want to leave evidence others could notice. He wants his threats imprinted irrevocably into you like scars. He wants you to listen. “What did you see?!”

“Nothing,” you moan, and then the door to the sitting room opens. You, Daemon, and Rush all whirl towards the noise.

In the doorway stands Fern with a silver-plated tray of tea and biscuits. Her black dress and white apron appear hastily thrown on, rumpled fabric and some buttons left undone. She blinks a few times, but she seems more nervous than shocked. Her eyes flit to you and then settle benignly on a wicker table. She ignores the chair that Daemon kicked earlier, lying overturned at the edge of the deck.

She knew what was happening, you think, grateful, a little awed. She’s here to try to stop it.

“It’s so cold out tonight,” Fern says at last. “I thought I’d make tea.”

Daemon doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never cruel to the staff, that’s one of his charms. His miners worship him, his valets believe him to be their true friend, his housekeepers fret over him as if he’s their husband or their son. Daemon rarely acknowledges Fern directly, as if she doesn’t quite exist to him, a ghost whose silhouette appears on eerie nights, squeaks of door hinges and objects nudged a few mysterious centimeters. He chooses his enemies with great care, like a gardener pruning diseased leaves. Daemon understands that the ones who toil beneath his feet are in the best position to rise up and devour him.

Fern sets the tray down on the wicker table and waits, her hands clasped decorously in front of her. “Will you be requiring anything else, sir?”

There are several electrified seconds—waves thrashing against the ship, wind howling as it tears through your hair—and then Daemon laughs and releases you, as if this has all been a comical misunderstanding. He stands and goes to the tray, picks up a cup of tea, and slurps on it as steam billows up into his face. “How kind of you.”

Fern bows her head in a nod, not leaving. Rush glances between them, then slides his pistol back into its holster.

“Draco should have a mother,” Daemon tells you, looking down from a great height. It sounds like it is meant to be a compromise.

“He should,” you reply. Even if I cannot touch him, cannot be alone with him, cannot teach him to love me.

“It’s not good for boys. When their mothers up and die on them while they’re still so young.” Daemon is reflective for a moment—an unusual skin for him to wear—and then slinks towards the doorway. “Fern, darling, change the bedsheets, will you?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” She follows him back inside, a brief glimpse at you over one shoulder. Rush glowers at you and disappears with them. You are left alone on the private promenade deck.

Your head spinning, your bones freezing, you struggle to your feet: palms flat on the pine planks, black opal ring glimmering in the moonlight, knees groaning as you lift them. Slowly—stunned, aching—you pull on your pink wool coat. You find Aegon’s lighter and hide it in your handbag, then stand there clutching it like you’re on your way to some glittering social engagement, a tea party, a dinner, a gala, a Christmas party. But what you’re on your way to is purgatory, like the one Dante wrote of, a prison where you will sweat out your sins over and over again.

Why did I believe him? Why did I marry him? Why can’t I find a way out?

You leave the deck like an autumn frosting into winter, bleak, hushed, listless. You do not return to your staterooms but pass through the doorway that leads to the B-Deck hallways. The corridors are quiet and still, occasional stewards running the last errands of the night, a few men in black suits puffing on pipes and cigars, swirling clinking glasses of brandy, ruing all the blights that have incumbered their earnings: foolish wives, Democratic politicians, dissolute immigrants.

You flee towards the stern of the ship, far from the first-class sections. Outside there is a greenish hue to the sky—dim echoes of northern lights—and stars that sparkle like jewels. There is no one lingering by the back railing of Titanic, and for good reason; the air is so cold it bites like fangs, and the roar of the propellers is terrible, so loud and so guttural, sea monsters like the ones early explorers drew into the margins of their maps clawing up from the depths. You fall to the deck and sit with your knees to your chest at the end of a pair of benches—hiding in the shadows where you will not be seen by wandering passengers or lookouts scanning for icebergs—and gaze into the east as Titanic chugs westward, away from Ireland, away from everything your life could have been.

Tears bleed down your cheeks and turn from magma to ice there. You wipe them off your face with the sleeve of your pink wool coat. You ignite a cigarette with Aegon’s aluminum lighter and smoke it all the way down. You light another, and another, poisoning your blood with each breath, polishing the barbs off reality. It’s not enough. You need a drink. How long until you’re just another languishing housewife addicted to laudanum or cocaine? How long until you’re a drunk like Aegon once was?

I want to go home. I want to go home.

There are footsteps, sluggish and clumsy. An intoxicated man. You are about to scramble to your feet and escape when you see who it is. Aegon flops down beside you in a stolen black coat, the pungent miasma of Guinness wafting off of him and his face splotchy and red, looking away from you, ashamed of himself.

You say: “I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“And obviously there’s a reason for that,” Aegon slurs. He rubs his eyes, watery and unfocused, bloodshot and despondent. “I’m having a bad night.”

Me too. “Did you know?” you ask, a hoarse voice, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers.

Aegon is confused. “Know what?”

“That Daemon can’t get hard for me because he’d rather be sleeping with his niece.”

“What?” Aegon gapes at you, incredulous, revolted. “Daemon is fucking Rhaenyra?”

You nod, taking a drag. There is a faint orange glow, a warm hit of nicotine to your blood.

“I can’t believe that.”

“I can. I saw it.”

“Jesus,” Aegon mutters, staring out into the endless ink spill of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, more sympathetically: “No, I didn’t know.”

“You never heard anything?”

“Not like that,” he says. “I mean, I remember when I was a kid and people were talking about Daemon being a bad influence on her. But they said he was teaching Rhaenyra to go to parties and stay out too late and swear and smoke, not…you know. Not that he was committing incest with her. That’s some Richard III mischief.”

“Now I understand why you know so much Shakespeare.”

“My parents couldn’t send me to boarding school fast enough. I was shipped off the same week I turned five. Cake and presents one day, shoved on a train the next.”

“I’m afraid Daemon will do that to Draco.” You can’t keep the quiver from your words. “I’m afraid he’ll kill me now that I know the worst of his secrets.”

Aegon turns to you, and through the haze of dark bitter Guinness that’s still sloshing from his stomach into his bloodstream you can see he fears the same thing.

“I want to go home,” you sob, breaking down. Ashes build on your cigarette until you toss it away. Tears spill from your eyes, the River Shannon, the River Clare. “Nobody here cares about me.”

“I do,” Aegon insists, touching your face, trying to make you listen. His sand-colored hair lashes in the wind. “I care about you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Why do you care? Why can’t you leave me alone? Did you go to O’Connell’s Bar to spy on me, was all of this to spite Daemon and—?”

“No,” Aegon says, a truthful boyish confession. “No. I didn’t know you’d be there. I didn’t know anything about you except that Daemon had married some quarry heiress. I heard he’d be there for an interview, and I was curious, and I kind of thought it’d be fun to fuck with him if he ended up recognizing me, and so I got a job at O’Connell’s and made sure I’d be playing the night Daemon showed up. That’s all there was to it. And then I saw you in that bar in Galway and you were…” He shakes his head. His voice drops to a whisper, aching and reverent. “You were so sad, and so beautiful, and I…I’ve never done anything important in my entire life. I’ve never helped anyone. But I looked at you and I felt like…I thought…I could save her. And maybe that would make all the rest of my mistakes worth it, the wasted years of drinking myself to sleep every night, the aimlessness, the emptiness, the way I abandoned my mother and Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. I followed you onto Titanic because I had to try to help you. But by leading me home, by bringing me back to my family in New York…maybe you’re helping me too.”

I wish I was yours, you think, so vividly you almost tell him. I wish I was a stone in your mine to be found in the darkness, chiseled from the wall, studied and cut down and polished, set in gold or silver to be worn on your ring finger, your blood pulsing beneath my ageless gleam.

“Please stay away from me,” you beg him. “Please, Aegon. I don’t want you to die.”

He says as his thumbprints clean tears from your cheeks: “What if Daemon was gone?”

“You mean what if I pushed him over a railing and into the Atlantic Ocean?” you ask, sniffling. “Assuming I could get him alone, and he didn’t stab me first or drag me overboard with him, they would know it was me. Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra. And they would make me pay. If I lived, I’d spend the rest of my life in a prison or an asylum. I wouldn’t get to go home. I wouldn’t get to keep Draco.”

Aegon doesn’t know what to say, and this is because there are no answers. You aren’t overlooking anything. Sometimes reality is cold and unfeeling and lethal, primordial, reptilian, mindless black eyes like a shark’s.

You smile miserably at him. “I’m going to miss you when the ship docks in New York Harbor.”

“Daemon wanting to fuck Rhaenyra doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Stop,” you say, wincing, standing to leave him. Aegon reaches for your hands, but you hide them in the pockets of your pink wool coat. He gazes up at you, drunk desperate heartbreak. You wonder how clearly he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“If you were my wife, I’d never look away.”

“You have no idea who I am. You’ve never really seen me.” Never held me, never uncovered me, never opened me and filled the void with your own rushing blood. Then you depart before someone can come searching for you and discover Aegon, rip away his disguise, toss him into the roiling frigid surf stirred up by the propellers.

In your staterooms, the lamplit air is silent and warmed by the ship’s furnaces, shoveled full of coal at all hours of the day and night. Fern is waiting on the sofa when you enter. She looks at you as if she is relieved, then vanishes into her tiny maid’s room without a word. Your bedroom has been tidied, the linens changed; but the mineral ether of sex still hangs in the space like tapestries from a wall. You try not to notice your reflection in the mirror.

Daemon never touched me like he touched Rhaenyra. He never wanted me, I never satisfied him.

Daemon doesn’t come back all night. You sleep on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Sunday April 14th, you dress in green, the color of the Emerald Isle, the color of deep poisonous envy. You affix small emeralds to your ears and one massive stone around your throat, found in Madagascar in one of Daemon’s Grandidierite mines, a lush verdant glint in a nest of cold blue like deep water, like ice.

Heavy enough to drown me, you think wryly, a swift glance at the mirror, turning away again almost immediately. I’d go straight to the bottom.

Before you leave the bedroom, you slide open the top drawer of Dameon’s writing desk, presently abandoned. His dagger is there, gold hilt and spherical gemstones like miniature planets, all fatefully aligned: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. You lift up the dagger and study it, circling the tiny emerald world with your index finger. You are jealous of Rhaenyra getting everything she’s ever wanted. You are jealous of any woman who’s ever touched Aegon, who knows what it feels like to lie beneath him, to be known by him.

You place the dagger back in the drawer and slam it shut; the whole desk rattles. Then you go out into the sitting room, where Fern is attempting to wrestle Draco into his black wool coat, a small version of Daemon’s.

“No!” Draco is bellowing. “I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to, let me go!”

“You’ll freeze to death out there, lad,” Fern says, strands of her long copper-colored hair escaping from her bonnet and a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, looking like she’s been to war.

Draco is stomping on the toes of her shoes to little effect. “No I won’t!”

You peer around, searching for your geriatric nemesis, a banshee, a vampire. She is nowhere to be found. “Where’s Dagmar?”

“She’s feeling seasick,” Fern replies, still struggling with Draco. “So she’s lying down in Draco’s bedroom. I’m sure she’ll be up and around again before you know it. She’s a tough old Cailleach.” And there’s no danger in being overheard; Dagmar wouldn’t know what that means, just like you don’t understand her when she mutters her strange Scandinavian curses.

You immediately scoop up Draco and run with him out of the staterooms, Draco giggling shrilly, you beaming as you fly down the corridors and ascend the Grand Staircase two steps at a time, your green shoes slipping on the English oak wood as you zoom past the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock. All around you are first-class passengers watching with startled looks, a little baffled, a little amused. High above is the dome of glass and wrought iron, brisk white-gold sunlight streaming through. You carry Draco out onto the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and take him to an unoccupied portion of the railing beside one of the lifeboats. You hold him so he can see over the barrier and out into the calm murky blue of the North Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of miles southeast of Newfoundland. The breeze is icy, the sky infinite and cloudless.

You spot slate grey fins cutting up through the water in arches, a whole pod of them. “Look, look! Dolphins!”

“Dolphins?” Draco says doubtfully. “Dolphins are real? Not just in books?”

“Of course they’re real. And they’re friendly, too. Back in Galway, sometimes they swim right up to the pier hoping the fishermen will share the catch of the day.”

“Neat!” Draco shouts. “Can I throw things at them?”

You pause, unsure how to reply. You resist the urge to shake him and say: Do you crave violence like Daemon, are you burning up inside with his fire? Do you want to be a monster like your father? One day will you paint amethyst bruises on your wife? “Why would you want to do that?”

Draco shrugs. “I like throwing things.”

“Well, throwing things can be fun, but if you throw something at a dolphin you might hurt it. Do you want to hurt the dolphin? It’s a living creature just like you. They have friends and families, and blood in their veins. They can feel it if you cut them.”

“No,” Draco decides. “I don’t really want to hurt the dolphins.”

“You can throw things in other situations, like if you play cricket or hurling or Gaelic football. Or baseball, I guess. Now that we’ll be living in America.”

“Okay,” Draco says, gazing at the ocean. Fern trots over to you, breathing heavily from trying to keep up, but she’s grinning. She has brought the coat Draco refused to put on, and this is fortunate, because now as you hold him on your hip you can feel your son is shivering.

“Do you want to put on your coat now?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” Draco says reluctantly, and you lower him down to the deck and help him tug the sleeves over his tiny arms. You suddenly remember when he was born and being so fascinated by his hands—so small and wrinkled, so powerless, always grasping—and Dagmar forever clawing him out of your arms, bundling him up in blankets and whisking him away to other corners of the castle.

“Fern was trying to help you when she told you to wear your coat. She knew you would be cold, and now you are, aren’t you? When adults tell you to do things, it’s not for no reason. They just want what’s best for you.”

“But I don’t like to do what other people say. I like to do what I want.”

“And that’s totally understandable,” you say. “Sometimes you will get to make your own decisions, especially as you get older. But right now you’re very, very young, and there are just a lot of things you don’t know yet, so you need adults more. Please be kind when Fern is trying to help you with your coat or your shoes. She doesn’t mean to upset you. She wants you to be safe and healthy.”

Fern gives you a modest, thankful smile. Draco is mulling this over. “The older someone is, the more they know?”

“I suppose you could put it that way,” you say.

“So Dagmar knows a lot more than you.”

He’s not trying to be cruel; he’s trying to figure things out. The world is so new to him. You wish you could recall what that feels like, to see everything with vast light wonder. “Well…” you begin delicately. He loves her; you cannot win by bludgeoning her into a mess of bloodstains and bone shards. “Yes, she probably knows more about certain things.”

You pick Draco up again to distract him, and he is captivated by the seagulls swooping through the air, laughing and tracking them with his wide eyes, a sunlit green beneath pale blonde hair that is disheveled from the wind. There is a figure lurking on the periphery of your vision, a man in black, a coat and a hat, hands in his pockets. You turn to see it’s Aegon, perhaps ten feet away and pretending to survey the horizon. Your heartbeat quickens; you stomach drops.

What on earth is he doing here? Why can’t he leave me alone?

But of course, you don’t want him to. You stare at him and instinctively touch the emerald that hangs from your throat, Madagascar, Ireland, treasure, envy. You think of how your bedroom smelled when you returned to it late last night.

Fern seems oblivious to Aegon. “I feel so much better knowing there are lifeboats aboard,” she says, looking at the vessel you are standing beside.

“There aren’t enough of them,” you tell her, a low murmur that Draco pays no attention to.

Fern is alarmed. “No?”

“They can fit about half the passengers, no more. So if anything happens, make sure you don’t waste any time finding yourself a seat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am,” Fern says, troubled.

“Have you seen Lord Targaryen today?”

“No, ma’am,” Fern answers, trying to keep her tone neutral. She isn’t sure if it will be a relief to you or a knife to the heart. “He moved some of his things to Rhaenyra’s rooms before he departed last night. I suspect he will spend the rest of Titanic’s journey there.”

“He’s so fond of his niece,” you say flatly.

“Yes.”

“And she is in need of company, as her own husband is always fraternizing with the Parisians.”

Fern isn’t sure what she’s allowed to say. She smirks and bows her head to hide it. Now Aegon is strolling closer, ostensibly casual. “Good morning, ladies!”

Fern curtsies politely. “Good morning, sir.”

He casts Draco a glance—Aegon seems puzzled by him, maybe a little wary, certainly not accustomed to being around children—then extends an open hand to you. “What an engagement ring! Might I trouble you for a quick look?”

You set Draco down and he is promptly enamored by an orange-sized rubber ball someone has left here. “Of course.” You try to act indifferent, but when Aegon takes your left hand in his own you feel a jolt of warmth travel like a wave up the length of your arm.

Aegon turns your hand one way and then the other, inspecting it. Underneath, his fingertips stroke the lines of your palm. A tremor cascades down the rungs of your spine, helpless hypnotic longing. “What is that, onyx? Obsidian? Jet?”

“Black opal. From Australia.”

“A prison colony,” Aegon says, grinning at you from under the brim of his hat. “A place for villains and beasts.” Swiftly, he takes his right hand from his coat pocket and presses something into your palm: a folded piece of paper, a note, a message in a bottle from a castaway. Then he steps back from you as if it takes great effort.

“There you are!” a craggy voice cries out, and Dagmar is crossing the deck. She seems restored, if a bit wan. She swishes over in her charcoal-colored gown, her white hair twisted into a severe bun, and when Draco bolts to her she kneels down and catches him in a fierce, territorial embrace, her gnarled hands encircling his diminutive body. “Out and about without me? And I wager you haven’t even had breakfast yet, have you, my love?” She glares over his little shoulder at you. “You must be famished. How terribly irresponsible to let you suffer.”

“He ate some tea and biscuits when he woke up to tide him over,” Fern offers meekly.

“I was having fun with Mam,” Draco tells Dagmar, and you see the calculations on her cunning ancient face. She can’t scold him, she can’t correct him. She can’t defeat you with naked wrath any more than you can demand he stop loving Dagmar. You have sailed into new waters, a subtle silent war.

Aegon is receding, disappearing into the crowds of first-class passengers strolling the Boat Deck. Dagmar glances at him and then looks again, her jaw dropping open, her attention captured like a jewel in the pocket of a thief.

“What is it?” Fern asks, peeking bewilderedly at the stranger. Draco is chasing the rubber ball around again. Your pulse thuds hot and hectic in your ears.

Dagmar’s sharp blue eyes are uncharacteristically dazed; she shakes her head as if she’s just seen something impossible, an angel or a ghost. “He looks just like Viserys when he was young.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dagmar spirits Draco off to breakfast, Fern returns to the staterooms to complete her chores for the day. You take the Grand Staircase down to A-Deck and slip into the Reading and Writing Room, mostly unoccupied this early in the day, to read Aegon’s note. Outside on the Promenade Deck, you can hear Daemon and Rhaenyra strolling by with a number of companions, chuckling and chatting away in a world where all their wishes are granted.

Daemon is saying: “There is an Armenian legend about a so-called Queen of the Serpents, who carries in her fanged mouth a stone made of light. Some nights she tosses it up into the air, where it becomes the moon, full and shining, until it inevitably drops back down to the earth. And as the proverb goes, happy is the man who shall catch the stone where it falls…”

You know that story. It was in one of the books you gifted Daemon for your first anniversary.

With trembling hands, you unfold Aegon’s note. He has written in black ink:

Petra,

One last painting?

Don’t go to dinner tonight. Meet me at the stern.

- Picasso

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XI. — BREEDING/NON-CON (CABIN IN THE WOODS AU)

cw: Blood, Gore, Mentions of Death / Past Death, Violence / Allusions to Violence, Non-Con, Breeding / Allusions to Breeding, Monster! Hawks, Slight Gaslighting / Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: My friends and I have constantly joked about a Cabin in the Woods AU in which our favorite characters are monsters kept in that underground base. Hawks is probably something akin to a harpy. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.3k words.

A throaty shriek bounces around in your head before a heaving pressure slams into your back, sending your weary frame spiraling down an incline. You’re screaming, kicking and swiping your fists out to throw the weight on your body off, but you hear what sounds like a hiss before multiple piercing pains puncture into you. A gasp slips out of your mouth, and you glance down in terror at yourself while you’re still tumbling down, lower and lower. 

Sharp talons, claws that glitter under the moonlight, are digging through your flesh. Five knives on each palm, one through your shoulder and the other buried deep in your ribs underneath your breast. You can feel something poking against your lungs, a reminder that one wrong move will kill you. The pain grows, and you finally stop rolling. That thing is still on your back, heavy and panting, and you nearly gag at the hot and disgusting breath breezing down the ridge of your nose. A hearty chuckle. 

“Y’know… haaa, haaa, it took me a little bit to find you. Ya really threw me off of my game, did’ja know? I can’t believe you managed to trick me like that, little songbird.” 

His voice is poison and ice in your ears, shuddering winds that lets you see your foggy breath even in the desolate summer heat. You don’t want to even dignify him with a response, you want to toss your head back and slam it into his face. The thought crosses your mind in a flash before you do such, and the reverberating thunder that makes your ears ring whenever the back of your skull knocks against his teeth makes you cry out in agony. You hear his call, too, and whooshing wings flap before they shield your body. 

“Owww, little bird! W-Why’d you do that? I thought we were going to play nice with each other. That’s why you’re alive, isn’t it? You wanted to play with me?” 

Sure, if by playing you mean fighting for your life and stabbing him in the arm whenever he had picked you up with those hawk claws, dragging you into the sky to spear your belly through the top of a tree—just like your friend, just like your friend. Tears well in your eyes now. Your wrist was broken, but it wasn’t like this monster cared. And you don’t even want to know, you don’t want to contemplate why you’re alive, why he kept you alive, why he chased after you, why he pinned you down underneath him and talked to you as if this were normal.

“Come on, no need to be so cold. Talk to me a little. I know you can—didn’t you with that human male?” 

There’s a shivering chill that flicks you between your eyebrows, but you just groan and rest your cheek against the forest floor. You don’t want him to talk to you. He should just murder you like he did to the rest of your friends. He should slice you open, eat you with those razor teeth. Intestines, blood, spit and fear. You can see the horror painted like a dreary window sill on your closest friend’s face. 

“He wasn’t worth it, in my opinion. It’s strange, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’d find my own human pet. But you’re being so mean right now, it’s so harsh. Here, I’ve got an idea.” 

The monster doesn’t give you enough time to even comprehend his statement before the hand inside of your shoulder withdraws, spilling fresh blood and weeping yells, and starts to trace down your back. Something distinct snags your heart, veins that thump in anticipation and a dawning realization that makes jelly and tar form in the back of your throat. His hand slips to your bottoms, claws at the ready, and you can’t even scream before he tears them off. The monster’s shoving your panties aside, ripping the fabric like it was just a sheet of paper before the hand leaves and braces itself to the right of your head. 

“N-No, stop! Stop, stop! Please, don’t—” 

“Shhh, little bird. This’ll feel good. If you don’t want to talk, then we can do this instead. It’ll be just as fun.” 

And before you can even bite your tongue, something stiff and slimy slips between the line of your thighs and starts to prod between your cheeks. Terror like you’ve never known before begins to storm in your body, like crazy drums and guitar strings, and it makes you shake, thrashing and begging. 

“I don’t want to do this! Leave me alone, please! Please, just kill me instead! I—”

“Kill you? Nahh, I don’t want to do that. Though, that blood of yours sure does smell tasty. You won’t mind if I need to steal a taste, would you?” 

You’re throwing your head around, wriggling your body underneath his, but those wings block your exits and his limbs start to ensconce you in the most horrifying ways. This was just supposed to be a vacation! This was supposed to just be a great time with your friends before the new semester started! This was supposed to be time hidden in the woods, drinking and toasting fate and happiness! This was just supposed to be for fun! Fun! Fun! Fun—and all of your friends are dead, murdered, killed in mortifying ways by the monster starting to gyrate his hips against the cleft of your ass. 

His feathers tickle. 

“Calm down, calm down. It’s what all things were made to do, you’ll start to enjoy it once you calm down!” 

He doesn’t sound frustrated in the slightest, no, a hint of glee coats the outskirts of his tone. His hips angle down, his stiff cock manages to slip down between your squished thighs, and his cockhead starts to poke against your entrance. You’re so dry that his slickness makes you queasy, tears like stars in the night sky. 

“I don’t want to do this, please, pleeeeeease. God, please. I’m scared.” 

That cockhead just pushes forward, an amused chuckle the belltower of your doom. 

“Don’t be, songbird. You’re my mate now. And you know what mates do, right?” 

You do. And you have zero clue what made him so delusional—what gave him conscious thought to choose you. Shouldn’t you have been his prey? Why is he? Why you? Oh, God, why you? Is it because you fought back? Is it because you managed to escape every time? Is it just luck? You don’t know, you don’t want to know, you’ll never know. 

He’s slowly pressing into you, slotting his slimy and gritty cock inside of your cunt, spreading your chapped lips, sending your head in a frenzy, a desperate plea that doesn’t even reach your fingertips. He weighs you down like a ship’s smoke on the horizon. 

“I’ll take care of you from now on. That’s what males do. You’re supposed to just be mine, ‘kay? Let’s get it on. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.” 

You don’t listen, don’t want to. You just decide, with those red feathers tickling your nose and cheeks, with the claws in your body, with the joints bending into yours, that you’ll just lay here and fade away into nothingness. Stop thinking and it’ll be over. And hopefully once he’s used you up enough, you’ll find your bowels accidentally splayed on the mushy grass and your friends holding their hands out to you. 

“And maybe we’ll get a couple of chicks. Yeah, sounds nice. Yeahhhh. You’ll be a great mate.” 

Then, with your shuttering eyes, the monster fills you up. 

[star-girl69]

As much as I love overprotective Clarisse which believe me I DO😍😍 am I the only one who kinda wants to see a protective reader if something happens to Clarisse or even Ivy?!

I feel like Clarisse may just sit back and be Yh that’s my girl 🤭

Literally kicking my feet and giggling while writing this

Also I love your writing so much it’s so goodddd I check my phone for any new posts all the time and scream when you do

TYSMMMMM BAE ILY!!!!!! been in a writing slump recently. someone else please write a mind bogglingly good clarisse fic to inspire me again. lord give me strength…

forget the fact this is 2 days late. thank y’all 🙏🙏

anyways officially adding danny to the perfect family bc I DO WHAT I WANT!!!!!!!!!!!

ok so imagine this

clarisse is participating in some sort of contest

like

idk roman gladiators LMAOOOO

but basically it’s like a big tournament? and yk she’s destroying eating it up cooking, whatever you will

finally she gets to like the semi-finals and atp everyone kinda knows she has it in the bag

her opponents are scared

(trust an underground betting ring was formed. everyone who bet on clarisse is thanking the gods and everyone who didn’t is shaking in their boots)

clarisse is happy bc you and the twins (danny and ivy)

are sitting right in the front row cheering her on

and she got a wonderful good luck kiss from you

so not only is she happy and thinking about that but also she’s convinced that she’ll win just bc she got a kiss from you

so the fight starts, ivy is genuinely SCREECHING at the top of her lungs she’s so me she can’t be normal about anything ever

and you and danny are just regularly cheering for her 😭

eventually someone behind you tells ivy to shut up

YOU WHIP AROUND BC WTF???

harshest death glare in the universe. like even zeus would be a little scared.

ivy doesn’t even notice she’s chill

the other person quickly shuts the fuck up.

then you turn back to watch clarisse and the fights just starting, the other dude is scared and knows his ass barely stands a chance

she’s having fun pummeling him

ugh fight scenes are hard to write

so eventually she tosses his ass to the floor

“GO MOM GO GO GO BEAT HIS ASS MOM BEAT. HIS. ASS.”

“IVY STOP FUCKING SWEARING”

and this dude, who’s laid on the ground, who knows he’s cooked, decides the best option is to grab some dirt and throw it in clarisse’s face

and no one was prepared for this

like clarisse was standing over him with her spear at his throat, smile on her face, everyone knew he was done for- THEN HE DECIDES TO PLAY DIRTY AND DO THIS???

like everyone thought clarisse had it in the bag

the rules for this competition were that you’re not allowed to use anything but your person and/or pre-approved weapon(s)

NOT EVEN CLARISSE WAS EXPECTING IT

SO SHES DISTRACTED BY THE FREAKING DIRT IN HER FACE

SO WHEN THIS BITCH KICKS HER SHE GOES DOWN

DEAD SILENT!!!!!!!

EVERYONE GASPS!!!!!!!

whispers in the crowd… “oh bro is cooked…”

(sorry i’m obsessed w saying cooked rn)

and he is cooked

but by someone unexpected.

clarisse is wiping the dirt off of her face swallowing her shame she can’t believe she got distracted and let herself fall she should have saw it coming but suddenly she hears someone screaming

she opens her eyes and sees you menacingly walking towards this dude, who’s still on the ground and scrambling away

and what’s funny it you’re yelling at him like a mother would

the crowd is giggling…

“THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES. WERE YOU NEVER TAUGHT MANNERS??? WERE YOU NEVER TAUGHT DECENCY??? SHAME ON YOU SHAME ON YOUR PARENTS SHAME SHAME SHAME”

clarisse is literally sitting there mouth dropped open when you grab his ear and he HOWLS

dragging him back towards clarisse, he’s kicking and screaming and literally CRYING

“HELP HELP HELP ME HELP SHE CANT SO THIS SHE CANT I DIDNT DO ANYTHING WRONG”

“YES THE FUCK I CAN YOU BROKE THE FUCKING RULES NOW APOLOGIZE YOU LAWLESS SWINE”

“I DIDNT DO ANYTHING PLEASE I DIDNT”

one of the apollo kids who organized the event is looking around (kinda enjoying it) but mostly very scared

“technically you did break the rules… sorry pal…”

“PLEASE PLEASE HELP ME”

obviously, this is the hottest thing clarisse has ever seen in her life.

she’s sitting back on her palms, watching in utter amazement, trying not to bite her lip

someone loving clarisse… that gets her going

someone loving clarisse enough to PROTECT HER??? she’s about to explode. EXPLODE. she’s never needed you so bad in her life LMAOOOO 😭

and this bitch is STILL refusing to apologize

like damn it’s not that hard… it’s not like you have any pride left to speak of you just got dragged around by the ear 😭😭 bro you’re cooked just apologize and get out while you can

AND YOU’RE GETTING FED UP WITH IT TOO

“hey, dumbass, why don’t you look at the stands?”

you point, and everyone follows your finger.

ivy is a literal cartoonish whirl of her pink t-shirt and the white shorts with the little trees on them

danny is holding her back (with ease, might i add he’s strong as fuck 💪)

“i’ll let her out.”

“I DIDNT DO ANYTHING-”

“LET HER OUT”

he barely escapes that attack.

when you finally call ivy off of her attack, she stands next to clarisse, literally growls at the dude, before hugging clarisse

clarisse is still on the ground in utter shock.

she can’t keep her eyes away from you and ivy. she can’t get rid of the GLOWING feeling in her chest

is this… what it’s like… to be loved?

WAHHHHHH WAHHHHHHHH BITCH NOW IM THE ONE CRYING NOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭

danny eventually walks over and helps her up

then they all watch as you smile sweetly at this very traumatized dude and ask if he’s ready to apologize

“IMMSORRUOHGOEE IMSORHR ESEBIMS YORUUE”

(i’m sorry oh gods im sorry i’m sorry”

then you walk over to clarisse, rolling your eyes and mumbling about bad parenting, girl she pounces on you.

kisses you so hard in front of everyone

ivy and danny are hugging each other and shielding each other’s eyes, screaming, begging for you two to stop

“y/n” she breathes as she pulls away “you are… the most amazing mother, the most amazing girlfriend, and literally the love of my fucking life.”

literally twirling your hair “omg baeeeee you’re too sweet 🤭”

(y’all don’t end up leaving her cabin for a LONG time.)

after this clarisse definitely sort of realizes a whole new side of your relationship. seeing you publicly defend her like that, publicly care about her, love her, omg she is going crazy for you!!!

after this incident she definitely stops calling you her gf.

gives you a really pretty ring she got one of the hephaestus kids to make, starts calling you her wife

and nobody better have a problem w that lol or else they got two ares killing machines, one feral attack dog, and a literal mother who is not afraid to drag you by your ear.

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1