#idk if this makes sense but I hope I got my point across

[phatcatphergus]

I truly mean no offense but I think it might no so much be wanting to have a moral high ground as much as it is a cultural difference?

The only people I’ve seen upset at it talking about it is french speakers really, and they seemed the most affected by the situation so it makes sense ig

But I’ll be honest, were some of these people really watching these creators in the first place? They r on the tl celebrating that their view count is lower but Quackity is at 20k? Tubbo almost at 7k? Hello?

I can definitely see that! But I do think that having the “higher then thou” mentality plays a role considering it’s Twitter of all places that’s having people act like this. Again, I get being upset but there’s no appreciation that the problems are being dealt with and changes have been made. this is why I belive it’s mostly twitter people being angry and not so much qsmp people if that makes sense. It’s the fans that spend most of their time online are the ones hat aren’t satisfied with the improvements we have. Im sure that if peopled were upset about the problems in the qsmp, they would be happy to see changes and improvements even if they’re slow. Plus, Pierre, who was one of the main creators at the start of this, said he’s happy with the changes and will be playing today (if that’s changed lmk!). There’s obviously been good improvements or the person that’s been one of the most involved wouldn’t be on the server.

The viewcount difference is also a reason I say that it’s Twitter qsmp people being twitter qsmp people because if it truly was a large portion of people that were truly upset from the qsmp community, then we would see the ramifications.

[thechosenanubis]

Thinking about S2 finale...

I had this thought in my head for a few days now... I wonder how much the crippling guilt of "killing" Joy would've have fucked up with Nina's head.

Like we as the audience (and Sibuna too obv) know that it wasn't Nina herself that "killed"Joy. But Nina, with her 'self-blame' tendencies, truly believes that Joy's death was 100% her fault.

In the lens of: " I tried to do the right thing... and in the end I killed someone." & "It was all my fault, I shouldn't have put the mask on". These type of thoughts spiral into " I am a danger to everyone around me."

So I wonder how much the guilt of hurting someone must have impacted her decision to not to come back to Anubis the year after. Like personally, it makes more sense than the "Chosen One and Osirian can't be in the same room" bullshit.

What do y'all think?

[agirlinthegalaxy]

It's been rolling around in my brain the last few days for some reason, but I still hate the family backstory reveals for Sophie and Eliot. I've seen some of the meta for it, but quite frankly, it still makes no sense. If it had been something actually thought of and intentional in the original, I think it could have been so fascinating. I mean, Sophie's willing abandonment of Astrid to contrast with Nate's loss of Sam or Eliot's adoption in contrast with Hardison's and Parker's? Could have been excellent! But they came out of nowhere in Redemption and don't work with these characters.

Sophie was still actively using the fucking alias that she met Astrid under! She met with someone from her past on the show! Like. Quite frankly, that one is unequivocally bullshit that they made up and threw in and pretended could fit with the established canon. (And I'm sorry, but the idea of Sophie abandoning Astrid and never telling Nate about her just... So much of Nate's trauma was rooted in the loss of Sam, and I think that introducing this element after he's gone and unable to respond to it taints Sophie and Nate's relationship in a way bc I'm not exactly sure how Nate would've responded to learning about this but I think that it's something he'd have needed to know. I don't know how to fully express my thoughts on that but yeah.)

As for Eliot, I don't like the adoption aspect literally at all. The way that he would interact with his family and the memory of his family would be different, and I think that it's flat out ridiculous to think that he'd have never mentioned it to the team in the original show, especially when dealing with the kid cases. (I also dislike the biracial adoption as its own element because if Eliot was actually raised by Black parents in the... idk what 80s/90s? That just. doesn't feel congruent with how they write Eliot interacting with PoC, not necessarily in a bad way, but babe, he's written like a white southern man raised in a specific kind of culture that does not jell with that. It also makes Eliot look... really bad that he was apparently raised with the knowledge of how fucked up the military was and his parents' history and made the choices that he did.) Like the show may not have explicitly stated it but the implication of that relationship was vastly fucking different throughout the original show.

Just. These were not backstories that were congruent with their depiction and characters in the original show, and they're also just moves that I don't particularly like or find interesting directions for those characters. There's also something to be said about how it was apparently unacceptable for a woman to not have kids or someone not reconciling with their biological family when that was something that the original show handled a lot better. Out of all the directions to take Sophie and Eliot's stories, that's just not really one that I think was a good idea.

[autisticlee]

everyone is always saying things like "it gets better!/be positive!/you need to believe it will get better and it will!/look forward to/wish/hope for a better future!/etc" you know, those type of things? maybe they mean well, but sitting here hoping and wishing for things to get better doesn't necessarily mean it will. especially if you don't have the ability to physically do anything about it. "thinking positively" doesn't mean your life will positively turn around suddenly on its own.

if you can't put in the work because of obstacles and barriers you can't do anything about, or because of consistent parts of your life you can't simply cut off because it's literally part of you, you can't say "things will get better" and they just do. you can't tell someone wotj chronic migraines that last for life that it will "get better" and give them false hope that their migraines will get better. it's better to encourage them to find ways to work around them such as finding a job that doesn't trigger them as much or something like that.

or if I put it more relatable to myself, telling me things will get better when i'm dealing with people and generally struggling due to being autistic and adhd. it won't ever "get better" because i'll always be autistic and adhd and struggle with people and life. I can only try to work around it to *maybe* make it a little easier *sometimes* but it won't ever get noticeably and consistently "better" because the world isn't built for me

when does this hoping and wishing become toxic positivity? when does it reach the point where it's more unhealthy to keep thinking "it will get better" when everything points to that not being the case? when does this positivity start blinding you so you ignore your problems and avoid them in order to appear positive outwardly even if you're obviously still struggling? when does it reach the point where accepting how things are and finding a way to work with or around it is healthier than blindly looking into an uncertain future, claiming it will get better, with nothing to show for or prove it?

people constantly yelling at me to "be positive/stop being negative/stop giving up/etc" when i'm being realistic and trying to find a work around when there's no solutions have forced me into this toxic positivity of "it's fine! i'm fine! everything is fine! nothing to worry about!" where I need to hide and ignore my problems to appear positive to them and make them shut up and happy. this always leads to more problems on top of the already ignored problems. I don't see how this is sustainable and why it's what everyone wants you to do???

if you dont have the means to change things, I feel like there needs to be a point you realize this and need to be realistic. staying positive can be a negative thing at some points. it can stop you from working with what you have currently and become detrimental in the long run if things ultimately don't get better. no one ever talks about what happens or what to do if it *doesn't* or *cant* actually get better. if you don't work on a foundation because you were waiting for that magical "better" moment to come, you won't be able to ever settle. you also may neglect your current self in the present, which won't ever help your future self.

besides, even if things "get better" they can even easier get worse again. if you had built that foundation, you won't fall as hard when it gets worse again. that foundation can catch you. you've been there and set up things to help you get through it, even if it's not ideal. if you waste your entire life away hoping or believing it will "get better" but it never does, then what? you could have found a way to realistically make it more bearable and live a little better life, rather than regretting in the end that it never did better

this is why I have issues with the whole idealistic "it gets better" rhetoric. it angers me that anything other than that toxic positivity outlook is seen as "negativity" and therefore bad. I prefer the neutral realistic and present approach to things. i'm just tired of that getting miscondtrued as "negative" all the time by literally everyone

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as your dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that need I no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

Your gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat the spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[webslingingslasher]

Not to be annoying but I rlly hope u write some kind of blurb for the jealous frat!Peter when someone flirts w reader after they are officially boyfriend girlfriend bc u wanna assess what kind of relationship they'll have after all the emotional trauma and angstttttt (idk if u got my first ask though)

*cleaning out my inbox*

kisses scattered across your face woke you up, hair tickled your nose, and you showed you were awake by lightly pushing on peter’s shoulder. it's just too early.

'can't snooze me, trouble. you're the one that told me to wake you up.' another round of kisses, your wake up call isn't that terrible. 'c'mon, up and at 'em. you've got a midterm to study for, leslie's waiting for you.'

his reasoning doesn't make you move any quicker, it was on leslie for choosing saturday morning as peak study time. you weren't even able to hang at the party last night, instead you hunkered down in peter's room and lightly woke when he crawled into bed around one to tug you into his side.

'it's so early.' peter pouts against your cheek, 'you'll survive. you've been putting in overtime this week. i swear that you've hung out with leslie everyday.' it's true, and like peter said before your first study session 'you'll feel your brain grow, super proud of you.' there's no question you'll ace the midterm.

'promise me you'll let me sleep in tomorrow?' a flurry of kisses, you savor them, you know it's the last attack of the day. 'you got it.'

---

peter thought you could use a little pick me up, so, he gladly walked into the library doors with your favorite fast food. it might've been slightly selfish, because he knows he just won himself some brownie points.

it took him a minute, but he found you. back in the study section, lightly kicking your feet under the table. you were nodding your head while chewing on the end of your pen, peter's heart picked up; he couldn't wait to see the look on your face.

you laugh, he smiles. peter moves around a bookcase and comes to a sudden stop. sitting right next to you, was a guy. he had your total attention, no other sign of people around you, peter couldn't even try to pretend it had turned into a last minute group session.

peter finds it hard to swallow, it's not that you're not allowed to hang out with guys, it's the fact that you lied about it. was there ever a leslie, or was it code for this guy the whole time?

the answer will be in your reaction, and he's about to catch you. you don't see him coming, your eyes flash to the bag on the table then to the hand setting it down. you almost burst at the seams, a surprise visit and your favorite food.

'peter!' you wince at your tone, a nasty look from the table next to you gets a silent apology. 'what are you doing here?' you're already digging through the bag, you miss the inspection he's doing on your study partner. you also miss the way he's avoiding peter's eyes.

'just wanted to say hi,' you chew on a fry and hold your mouth closed while you pucker, a chaste kiss. 'hi.' you swallow and tap on the arm next to you, peter follows the motion closely. 'have you met peter yet?'

'uh, no.' he scoots closer to the table, you shrug and look up at peter. he has his focus on leslie, it seems more intimidating than friendly. when your study buddy looks to you for help, peter loses it.

'trouble? wanna come talk to me for a minute?' you frown, your fries are at the perfect temperature. 'but, you-' the look in peter's eyes tells you he isn't playing, a sense of urgency has you scooting your chair back.

the second you're ducked behind a shelf, it spits out. 'who the fuck is that?' peter's tone has you drawing your head back, it's sudden and aggressive. 'who, leslie?' he laughs, 'nice try, who is he?'

it feels accusatory, you take a slight step back. 'that's leslie, peter.' he snorts, 'and you left out the fact he's a guy?' the reason for his sudden change makes you feel dirty, you don't like how he's directing his words.

'i didn't feel like it had to be spesified.' peter nods sarcastically, 'so i tell you i'm hanging out with... jordan, and i've been around them for hours a day, for the entire week then you find out it's a chick and you wouldn't mind? not even a little bit?'

'it depends on what you're doing with her.' a dry laugh, 'you knew exactly what the fuck you were doing with that name shit. don't stand here and tell me i'm the idiot.'

he's making you feel sad, you don't understand how peter could think of you like that. 'i don't understand why you're so upset.' peter tugs at his snapback, scratching at his curls, he replaces it.

'because you're my fucking girlfriend.'

your arms cross, 'so i can no longer hang out with any other guy?' maybe you were being a little difficult, but he's the one that implied you were cheating, or at the very least capable of it.

'jesus christ, that's what you jump to? no, honey-' the name sounded sour, '-it's the fact that you knew i'd think he was a girl and you didn't try to change that.'

'i don't see why it matters.' peter feels like he's talking in circles and he really wants to break from the conversation because he can feel his frustration building, he's about to start saying things he'll regret.

'it doesn't!' you pull on his arm with wide eyes, your head spins to look around. peter brings himself to a whisper shout, 'it doesn't fucking matter, but it starts to matter when you lie to me.'

'don't make it seem like i'm cheating on you.' you tried to ease him down, like the two had nothing in common. it was the wrong choice of words, a fire blazed in peter's eyes. you stepped back when peter pointed a finger at you, for once, he's making you feel really small.

'you're the one who brought up cheating. go back to your fucking friend, i'm done.'

you try to grab onto his wrist, but peter shakes you off like you're nothing. 'peter,' he has no interest in what you have to say, you can't follow him, he's too quick. 'peter!'

when he's out of sight you look down at the ground and sigh. peter was right, you knew what you were doing by alluding to the fact leslie was a girl. and peter doesn't care when you hang out with other guys, but because you left that part out, you've been lying by omission and it makes everything seem worse than it is.

you just don't know what he meant by 'i'm done,' and you really hope it just pertains to the conversation. either way, you shuffle back to your table with a tail between your legs and hope to god peter would let you apologize.

---

gentle knocks at the frat door, you were scared that if you gave peter a heads up, he'd bolt.

'uh oh, you're in trouble.' ethan has a smug look, it tells you that he's been preparing for you to show up. 'how much?' you need to know your chances before you can think of your plea bargain.

ethan wavers, 'he was... upset.' you hold your face between your hands as you slide in, mumbling out a 'fuck,' before building confidence to move up the stairs.

you lightly tap on your boyfriend's door, when there's no response you slowly twist the door knob. peter's lying on his bed, ankles crossed while a book covers his face.

'peter?' the door clicks shut. you timidly step forward, 'petey?' nothing from him, just a slight adjustment and he's back to reading. 'did we break up?'

the book drops, you're looking right at him. 'no, we didn't break up.' you can breathe a little bit better even if he went back to glaring at words, the main anxiety was flushed. 'okay, good.' you reach the end of his bed, rubbing at his shin you try to soften him up.

'i love you.' peter has a very unimpressed glance when you capture his total attention by taking a seat, pushing into his thighs. 'i don't know why i didn't tell you leslie was a guy, i mean, i honestly forgot but when you started saying she... i didn't correct you.' your fingers twiddle with the band of his watch, 'and i don't know why, i guess i wasn't thinking about it like that. but yeah, i'd feel a bit cheated if you did the same to me.'

'you keep saying cheat.'

cheating is almost number one in things you should never do to your partner, but for some reason, it really hits something in peter. just saying the word, out of context, has him pulling from your touch.

'peter, c'mon, stop it. you know what i mean. i'd never, ever cheat on you. i love you too much. i was on the spot and i thought you were implying i was cheating, and i was trying to say i wasn't cheating but then i think you took that as a guilty conscious coming forward and admitting i was cheat-'

'please stop saying cheating. please.'

you hold your mouth shut, a sheepish look crosses over your face. 'sorry.' it comes out as a mumble, it's an uncomfortable silence. you don't really know what to say, or do. you smash repetitive clicks on the side button of peter's watch, when you take a peek, he's watching your hands.

you're really trying, but you need to wash away any idea of it from his head. 'it's just that i never want you to think i'm cheating-' you're shocked into silence when peter rips his arm from you.

'fucking quit it with the cheating, trouble.' you open and close your mouth like a guppy, nothing sounds right. 'i know you don't like it, but i just need you to know that me hiding that leslie was a guy didn't mean i was trying to-'

'say cheat one more time, i fucking dare you.'

you stay silent. 'i don't know how to fix it, peter. i'm sorry i lied, and i’m sorry i keep saying the 'c' word.' you jump at peter's stage claps, you never knew how sarcastic a noise could sound.

'there we go! that was hard, huh?' it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you frown at him. 'you don't need to be so condescending.' peter snorts, 'and you don't need to be lying about girls who are guys that wanna fuck you.'

you freeze on the spot, pushing the words out like they'll make you puke if you think too hard about them. 'leslie doesn't want to fuck me.' peter nudges your back with his knee, 'you're cute.'

you shake your head, 'i mean it. he knows you're my boyfriend, i talk about you all the time.'

'that's so cute, you're so cute.' you push his arm, 'i mean it, peter! i promise he wants nothing to do with me, he even told me he likes someone else.'

peter plays along for the sake of it, 'oh, yeah? he does? let me guess... it's someone you know.' you light up, 'yes! he wouldn't tell me if we were friends, but he said i know her!'

'right, right. and she's super pretty, right? maybe a little outgoing?' it's impressing how well peter knows this. 'yes-' peter keeps going, 'maybe intimidating because she'd never notice him? and how she might not be into a guy like him?'

peter's ticked every single box; your eyebrows furrow, a supercut of every moment you've had with your study partner runs through your mind. you see where you've been dumb on hints, and how you very much are... the girl you know.

'and that might be because she...' you fill in the blanks with shame, 'has a boyfriend.' it's muttered in a deep tone, pitch mocking peter's next words.

a brew of frustration, not on peter, but on men in general. you can't even study without being hunted? and why the fuck does peter know the game so well?

'this is bullshit! what the fuck is your problem?' you stand and glare down at peter, demanding him to answer on behalf of the world's male population. peter holds a hand on his chest, 'what the fuck is my problem? i don't know, what did i do?'

'you!' you point at him, again, a placeholder for all feminine rage. 'you fucking- you're a... you're a man and you suck and why am i constantly fucking sexualized? all i wanted-' you suck in for air, you don't know why you feel a lump in your throat, is this something really worth crying over? yes.

'all i wanted was a friend.' no tears, you're full of anger again. who does that to a person? 'and the whole time i'm being baited? i just wanted to pass my fucking class, peter! i wanted to do it without your help and the second i don't have a fucking man tied to my hip, i'm being plotted against?'

'trouble,' peter's heart hurts and you can hear it.

'no! it's so unfair, and it's unfair that you'll never understand it. it's unfair that i have to live my entire life afraid of what's behind my shoulder. it's unfair that i can't be left alone. even when i make it clear i already have the person i want. it's just-'

you sink next to peter, he sits up to hug you. 'unfair. it's really, really unfair and i'm sorry i can't relate or understand. i'm sorry you thought you had a friend, i'm sorry you feel like you can't relax, and i'm sorry i rubbed it in your face.'

he did rub it in your face.

'you have plenty of guy friends with good intentions that would do anything to keep you out of harm's way. that includes calling out other guys that may not have them, but i could've been nicer. i'm sorry i'm just a man sometimes. i'll work on it, i promise.'

you melt into his touch, peter is very much just a man sometimes. but he's your man and always good at calling himself out when he needs it. 'is that why you thought i cheated on you?'

'the next time you say cheat, you owe me twenty bucks.' you ignore the quip, 'is it?'

peter scoffs as he rubs your back. 'i didn't think you were cheating, trouble. i was upset that my girlfriend was lying about who she was hanging out with.' a slew of kisses to your hairline follow.

'and maybe a little jealous.' you laugh, there's nothing for him to be jealous over, but he's super serious and pulls away to cup your face so you're looking right at him. 

'because you're my baby, and i need it to stay that way.'

[starkeygirlposts]

Goosebumps in my Sleeve II

Welcome back for part 2! I hope you enjoy! Please read the excerpt at the end! Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married. Pairings: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader Trigger warnings: forced pregnancy, stepcest, drugs, pregnancy, noncon, swearing, p in v sex, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, domestic violence, idk what else lol 18+ mdni water dividers by @plum98 heart dividers by @bunnysrph PREVIOUS PART

Your hands are trembling as you quietly tell him “I don’t trust you, Rafe."

You can’t meet his eyes, so the two of you are silent for a while, feeling his footsteps approach you before seeing him before you. You feel his fingertips graze your chin as he grips it in his thumb and tilts your head up.

His brow is furrowed, his head cocked to the side with one eye squinting in confusion when he repeats what you’d just told him. “You don’t trust me?” You wonder how it’s so hard for him to believe.

You laugh humorless, “Why would I trust you?! What have you shown to me in the last year that warrants my trust? You can hurt me, ignore me, treat me like shit, but you will not do the same to a baby.” You’re seething, eyes burning holes into his now, fire deep in your belly at the thought of him abandoning his child like he did you. A child who you knew would seek his approval their entire life, just like Rafe does with Ward. The idea makes you sick.

You’ve let him do as he pleased for a year. Allowed your “relationship” or lack there of to abide by his rules, allowed him into your bed and your heart without any recourse. You were done now. This changed everything.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, you sneer, “Big, bad Rafe Cameron who’s so afraid of his daddy, he lets his words scare him into ghosting his girlfriend. Why the fuck would I trust you? I don’t believe that ‘you’ll make this okay’, when you left me to pick up the pieces that night without even bothering to try and fight for us!" The corners of your mouth are upturned in disgust as you finally make eye contact with him, embarrassment and shame at the forefront of your mind as you imagine yourself on all the nights you’ve laid on your bed and allowed him to use your body to the point that his seed stuck inside of you to create another human being. Another Rafe. It didn't even make sense…you were on top of your pills, took them at the same time every day. You’re shaking now, teeth bared and eyes glossy, anger bubbling from your middle up to your mouth. You take his silence as encouragement to continue.

“You’re a coward.” You finally tell him, jerking your chin out of his grasp before slapping his hand away, all the while holding his line of sight. “You’re weak and you’re pathetic. You’re a poor excuse for a man and if you think I can trust you after all of this, you’re wrong.” You finally say, rising and stepping around him and heading toward the door to hold it open so he can kindly get the fuck out.

But just as you gain a foot in front of him, you feel his hand grip the back of your neck, hurling you around to face him as he tilts your head up to hover his lips over yours.

He finally opens his mouth to murmur. “You done?” You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge, chest now leaning into yours, not letting up on his grip on you. His eyes bore into yours and you swear you see a smirk across his mouth. “I’m looking past this little tantrum you’re having right now because I’m still not even sure I’m not hallucinating right now, but don’t think I won’t remember this shit.” He tells you and now you know you see a smirk on his face. His eyes soften cunningly when he says “You don’t think I’m weak when I’m balls deep inside your cunt, or down your throat.” His finger traces down your chin down to the hollow of your throat before you swat it away.

"Was I not enough? Only now that I’ve got this…thing growing inside of me, you suddenly care? Now you’re going to be big brother of the year, huh? Now you’re gonna step it up and make it all okay!” You snort, "You get high instead of dealing with your problems…is standing up to daddy too scary? Afraid he’ll cut you off? Was that so much worse than losing me?” You’re spitting your words, the back of your neck still in a vice grip as he runs his nose down your cheek, inhaling as his skin sweeps over yours. It’s intimate, more intimate than he is with you when he slides inside you. You think he’s trying to break you, intimidate you even. You feel his hot breath next to your ear as he takes the lobe into his mouth, gently sucking before whispering,

"It’s not my fault your mom’s a whore who couldn’t stand on her own two feet for more than five minutes.” He slurs at you and you almost laugh at his poor attempt at hurting you with words.

You shove your entire body against him and this time he does stumble back. You watch him as his hair flops in his eyes, glazed from the drugs and alcohol as he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb and smiles at you like he’s amused. “Screw you. You think I don’t hate my fucking mother for this? Maybe I should ask you to kill her for me just like you killed someone for him. I wonder if I’m important enough, though.” You scoff and mutter under your breath, “And I’m supposed to "trust" you to take care of me when it’s only going against what daddy wants?” You look up and meet his gaze, him watching you and you wonder if that did it.

It’s you not believing in him to protect you that sets him off.

"Would you rather have been shipped off to California? I made a choice, baby. Fucking in secret wasn’t as bad as not fucking at all.” Your nose wrinkles at his grotesque depiction of your union. He’s approaching you now, and you allow his hand to come up and cup the side of your face. You can’t help but soften when he touches you this way. He looks into your eyes and even though his pupils are blown black, you still see the lonely boy you love there. “You really think no one knows? When you’re moaning my name and my hand is between your legs instead over your mouth, you really think no one hears you? Wake up silly girl,” he taps your temple with two fingers before you wince at his insensitive words. "They know, sweetheart. They just don’t care enough about you to let it change anything.”

You're silent, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheeks as you process what he says. Your eyes well up with tears as you stare back at him wordlessly. You have nothing left to say. What do you say to that? You’ve fought your fight here. But as always, he knows just how to plunge the knife where it hurts deepest. He watches you almost in wonder, waiting for your rebuttal before you blink and the tears drip down your cheeks in streams. Your lids stay closed and you can’t help the sobs that escape your mouth as you start to cry.

It wasn’t always this way, or so you think. You think your mom must have put your wants and needs, even your happiness above hers at one point. But after your dad, did it all change then? Or was it really always this way and you were you too blind to see it? Too good of a daughter to think the person you loved most in this world didn’t love you just as much in return. His words have you shuffling through your memories like a file cabinet to wonder and question everything in your life.

“No no no no no no,” He starts stuttering, blubbering even before pulling you to his chest, the back of your head cradled in his palm as the monster who maims you also reels you in for consolation. You can’t help the crying mess you’ve become now, and maybe hormones are to blame but it isn’t where your mind is going right now. “Shit, shiiiiit, I - fuck - it was too far. I know it was too far. But you know I’m the one who cares about you here baby. You know that don’t you?" He rambles, arm wrapping around your middle and rocking you back and forth. “Come on, don’t cry. I’m - I’m sorry, okay? Just don’t cry. Shit, I’m fucking sorry baby I didn’t mean - ” He’s begging but he doesn’t take back his words - how could he when everything he said is nothing but true? You cut him off by whispering to him to "please shut up".

You sniffle, using his sleeve to stop your nose from dripping, breathing in the scent of his deodorant and laundry detergent. Your hand comes up to cup over his bicep, and you mumble against his sleeve, “Show me you’re the one who cares.” So he pulls his head to you from the side of your temple, craning his neck to look down at you, your eyes blinking softly and he’s so fucking sorry for making you cry, especially now that you’ve got his kid inside you, so he loosens and kisses away the tears on cheeks before kissing your lips and telling you again that he’s going to make it okay.

His hands come up to cradle the crook of where your jaw meets your ears, his thumbs pressing massagingly there, causing your knees to buckle but he keeps you upright, one hand snaking down to sneak under your shirt and upwards until the flat of his palm rests over your warm tit, your skin on fire while his thumb and side of his pointer finger grips your nipple just tight enough to make you whimper and you’re sure you’re going to cry again, but not because you feel sad. No, right now you feel electrified, on fire with desire for the only person who truly knows you inside and out.

“Please touch me, Rafe.” You mewl and he breaks his lips from yours to chuckle, telling you “I’am touching you, pretty girl.” As his entire hand cups your boob, pulling you closer to him. His mouth resumes against yours, his tongue slotting in between your lips to caress yours, swallowing all of your whines and humming against you.

Your hands come to rest on his forearms, squeezing enough so you hope he understands that you need more.

“Touch me.” You mumble again, grabbing his hand from under your shirt. He groans into your mouth, pulling away and looking down to watch you as you guide his hand lower, past your belly button and down to the elastic band of your night shorts. His thumb teases against the fabric as he looks back up to your eyes, and he looks like a child who’s just been given the toy that's been on his wish list. His feet shuffle him closer to you as he grinds his hips against you, and you can feel the hardness of him against your belly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re such a slut for my cock aren’t you baby? Should’ve known you couldn’t stay away from me. They’re so fucking stupid.” He chuckles to himself and you roll your eyes, bucking your hips up and into him, hoping he’ll take the bait. He does, his hand slipping into your shorts and panties, his index finger sweeping through your folds and you shudder. Goosebumps prick at your skin, your eyes closing and you whimper his name. The cold metal of his ring kisses your clit and you cry out, your hands fisting into his shirt and clutching him closer to you. You tilt your head up to his, his eyes scanning your face hoping to memorize you like this.

He can’t help the swell in his chest as he looks at you in adoration. The way your brows furrow in frustration at not being able to cry out louder at the pleasure he’s bringing you. The way your mouth hangs open to let quiet whines and mewls escape, chasing your release. The way you stare back at him with a glaze over your pupils, so cock hungry and needy. How is it possible that he’s procreated with someone so fucking perfect?

“Hope our baby looks just like you. Can’t be hard to share the love I have for you with a kid who looks just like their momma.” Your eyes open and look into his, your mouth parting in a moan when you weakly tell him to stop it.

“Why? S’true. Kid’ll be cursed if it comes out looking like me.” He mumbles. You keep watching his eyes as he uses his pointer and ring finger to spread you and slide his middle finger into your heat. You can’t help the gasp and whine that exits your mouth and you bite your lip to stifle your sigh.

“Mmm, Rafe…baby would be so lucky to look like you. Stop punishing y - your - self.” He’s stealing breath from you as he picks up the pace, adding his pointer finger now and circling your clit with his thumb. His pressure is firm as he coaxes your orgasm from you and your mouth hangs open with his name and cry spilling from you as he watches with his own mouth hung open as if he’s coaxing the sounds you're making before he brings his lips back to yours to swallow your voice.

You tremble in his arms as he picks you up easily, palms cupping both ass cheeks as he walks you to the bed and rests you down, using his knees to straddle over you. He mumbles against your lips something about why your clothes are still on and you don’t bother responding, your hands clumsily helping his to tug your shorts and panties down your legs and off your feet, his hands pushing your top up all the way over your chest and tugs it off your head and throws it to the mounting pile on the floor. His hands find their way to the backs of your thighs, spreading you out before him, knees bent back to the sides of your chest as he licks a stripe down between the valley of your breasts, over your belly button and down between your folds where he sucks your clit into his mouth and you see stars. Your vision is suddenly glittery and you grip his wrist, sitting up on both elbows as you look down at him. Your other hand comes to grip a handful of hair at the top of his head, your nails tracing his bangs back before gripping tightly. He groans in pain but sucks you anyway and the sensation is too much. You start whining, louder than you mean to and he taps your thigh to get you to snap back, to which you do and you mumble a ‘sorry’. Your clit pops from his mouth as he draws his face back before sliding 2 fingers back inside you, his eyes flicking to yours briefly before putting his mouth back on you. His tongue ravishes your cunt, flicking and nibbling and sucking and before you know what’s happening you feel like you’re peeing and his mouth is off of you, your head snapping back up to look down at him and he’s just watching you spray him with cum. He slowly drags his eyes over you and up to yours before sliding his fingers out of you and tearing his pants open and pulling his cock out. He’s inside you before you even know what’s happening, his hands on the backs of your knees and he’s telling you how good of a girl you are.

“Holy fuck, baby, just fucking squirted for me…you have any idea how lucky I am? My girl made a mess all over me. So fucking hot baby.” He’s rambling while dragging his cock in and out of you, the squelching sound of your pussy making you wince in embarrassment. He lowers his face down to yours and asks you if you can hear how well you’re taking him.

“Hear yourself baby? Pussy’s taking me so well. Making such pretty noises f’me.” His lips are hovering over yours, brows furrowed in determination as he fucks you ruthlessly. You can feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix over and over and it’s entirely too much and you tell him he’s too deep.

“Y’too deep, Rafe. Feel you in my belly.” You whine and he chuckles, without humor, lowering his lips to yours. His breath is hot on your mouth and you open your eyes to find him watching you.

“You feel me in there sweet girl?” His hand comes over to put pressure on the exact spot the tip of his cock keeps touching and you swear you’re going to pass out.

“Oh my godddd” You whisper, voice pitched high and quiet, gritting through your teeth.

His other hand leaves your knee to grip your jaw in his hand, your lips puckering like a fish. His eyes bore holes into yours when he says "If I didn’t already know you were cookin’ a baby in here, I’d fuck you until you were pregnant.”

You grit your teeth tighter, clenching your molars as he fucks you fast and deep, the wet sounds of his balls slapping your ass becoming more and more frequent before he tells you “I fucking love you baby, making me a daddy. So fucking proud of you.” You whimper in reply as you gush around him, fluid spilling from you and coating his dick before he stills buried all the way inside you, slotted against that high spot of your cervix and his cum shoots hot spurts inside your walls.

“Think s’a good thing you’re already knocked up.” He says against your lips, cupping your cheek and then resting his temple against yours, peppering your neck with sloppy kisses.

The next morning you wake up, Rafe is still next to you. You feel his arm around you, tracing gentle circles between your shoulder blades as you let your eyes adjust to the daylight. You don’t immediately react, but as you come to, your eyes widen and you withdraw from him and out of bed. He’s awake, looking at you and you stare at him incredulously.

“What the fuck Rafe? What if someone came in here?” You whisper yell, scouring the ground for your clothes.

He stays quiet, all the while watching you move around your room nervously until you still your movements, still naked and you look back at him. He’s naked too, which he wasn’t fully when you were fucking, so you know he must have stayed awake longer than you last night and knowingly shed himself of clothing before climbing into bed with you to stay.

“What are you still doing here?” You ask, picking up your pajamas from the floor and putting them back on.

“You’re really fucking pregnant.” He says and you can't help but snort, irritated at his presence if you're honest and even more irritated with his idiocy.

“Did you think I was kidding? Do you even remember last night?” You ask, huffing as you pull your shirt over your head. Only then does he sit up and pull the covers off to sit on the edge of the bed. “C’mere.” He says, holding his arms out for you. You roll your eyes and begrudgingly obey, standing between his spread legs. You’re thankful his boxers are still on. The chivalry.

His hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, squeezing gently before allowing them to wrap around the front of your legs and skate up to your middle. He drags the satin of your pajama shirt up with his hands as they rake up your stomach and when it’s fully exposed, he just watches you. His eyes are trained on your flat stomach and you teeter on the balls of your feet, huffing in annoyance as his eyes flash to yours quickly before returning to your belly. He leans forward, turning his head to press his cheek to your skin as his hands wrap around your back to drag you closer to him. He hugs you like this, face pressed to your stomach and you can’t help but sigh and bring your own hands up to cradle his head to you. You stay like that for what feels like eternity before you feel his breath on your skin.

“Nothing I can say is going to change any of this. You were right I was afraid of my dad. I probably always will be afraid of him. But I’m more afraid of becoming him. I am weak, I am a coward…but I want to be better. I’m so sorry for ever letting you go.” His voice is quiet, but you can hear him perfectly and when you hear the wet sniffle, your hands clutch his head tighter, fingers running soothingly through his hair. “Promise I’m gonna be a good dad.” Your hands drag his head to tilt up and look at you so you can tell him “I know.” leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“Swear baby, I’m gonna find a way for us to get out of here. Gonna make you my wife. Gonna buy you a house, gonna be better.” He sniffles and you smile and nod, knowing hoping he would make good on his word this time.

——

THREE MONTHS LATER

You hear thumping coming from underneath your feet as you sip on the tea you just brewed. All is quiet tonight, Ward and your mom having gone to bed an hour ago and Wheezie in her room probably drawing x’s and o’s all over her J-14 magazines. You’d also tucked in for the night but when the turning in your stomach started to bubble into acid reflux, you knew that the ginger tea your doctor had recommended would help.

“Not letting you out until you calm down, okay?” He says calmly but loud enough for you to hear, and your feet follow his voice to the spiral staircase that leads down to the wine cellar. You hesitate there before hearing Sarah's voice, muffled but shout “Screw you!” Your feet carry you down the first few steps, trying to be quiet and not spill your overflowing cup of tea. The back of his head is what you see first, his north face jacket hugging his torso as he says “I’m trying to be civil here, and you’re freaking out right now - “ His head whips around to you just as your feet touch the bottom, and your eyes are blown wide as you search his for an explanation.

“Who - who’s in there?” You timidly say, setting the cup of tea down on the closest end table. You already know the answer to your question, but you want him to answer anyway. “It’s Sarah” he tells you, stepping closer to you before you blink wildly “Sarah - why is Sarah in there? Is she locked in there? Why is she locked in there?” You stutter, trying to step around him but his hands come up to grip your upper arms, chasing your face with his until you meet his eyes. “Hey, hey, hey baby she’s locked in there because sometimes you have to make the hard choice. I got the cross. I got it for us and - and s - sh - she knows.” He finally tells you all of it and you get it. “You got it?” You whisper, dismayed. You’re not sure if you’re elated, mortified, or both. You go with the latter. You know how volatile Rafe is when he wants something. You start to wonder how he acquired it after all of this time and back and forth, and you are absolutely terrified of the answer.

NEXT PART

CHAPTER 2 DOWN! Have half of chapter 3 written. Thinking this will be longer than I originally thought! Not complaining! Please interact! I will NOT add you to the tag list if you are only commenting to add to the list.

Please repost, and leave a comment so I know you like the story!

Is everyone happy with the direction this story is heading in? My request box is open! I am willing to put anything into the story!

See y’all soon!

TAGLIST:

@kiiyomei @carrerascameron @mariaenchanted @slumnit @lillell467 @ijustwanttoreadlols @droppedyourhnd @maybankslover @a-library-ofmy-own @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @namelesslosers @ILOVETOSLAYSLAYSLAY

[slasherx]

Hey again, congratulations on getting a 94%, hope you do well on the other one!

Idk if I requested this because I have horrible memory but can you do a Thomas hewitt x pregnant s/o smut, like I'm feeling it rn

If I already did request this just ignore this one

Hey again Diablo (hope you don't mind me calling you that), I was hoping for another one of your requests :3 No, you haven't requested this yet. I will have you know though (and anyone else reading who cares about this) I passed my other final!

Content: Thomas Hewitt x fem!Reader

Warnings: This is smut, so 18+. Minors, DNI. Reader is pregnant.

Notes: You already know about the GIF, hehe... btw Katherine is the name of the tea lady for me. The actresses name was Kathy so I thought something close would be good.

• ───────────────── •

When you initially got pregnant, most of the house was ecstatic. Hoyt went on and on about continuing the family line, Luda Mae was excited to finally have grandbabies, and Thomas was excited to be a father. Monty was the only one who complained about the presence of a baby.

Even Katherine and Henrietta were excited for you and Thomas. But nobody was more excited than Thomas. Even before you began to show, he was touching your stomach every chance he got. He couldn't believe that all those nights led to a baby finally being put in your stomach.

It made him hard most nights to know that his seed was growing inside of you. and thats how he got between your legs this very night, making you whimper and moan for him just like how he used to before you got pregnant.

He was scared leading up to this, not wanting to hurt the baby, but he just couldn't keep his hands off of you for nine months. So here you sit, at the edge of your shared bed, six months pregnant with his child and he's using his tongue to warm you up for his cock.

His tongue darted across your slit before sliding in, squirming around and wetting your insides just nice for him, as if they weren't wet enough. He held your legs against his head, encouraging you to squeeze him between your thighs. His cock jumped at the loud moan that fell from your lips as he moved to suck on your clit.

You grabbed his hair as he sucked hard on your clit, tugging on him slightly. "Thomas, Thomas please...just fuck me. I'm ready."

Tommy looked up at you with the same uncertainty he gave you on your first night together. His tongue slid over your clit one more time before he stood up. He gently began to move you onto your knees, ass up and face down.

"Please, Tommy...don't be gentle. I can handle it." You pleaded, wiggling your ass at him.

Tommy felt his cock jump again and his pants were off in an instant. Lining up to his favorite hole - your pussy - he began to push in. He let out a loud groan as he finally sunk in. It had been a few months since he last fucked you. He missed this so much. He missed you.

He grabbed your hips and saw how his dick disappeared inside of you, and finally how your ass looked pressed flush to his groin. And suddenly, all sense of gentleness went out the window.

He pulled all the way back until just the tip was in, then he slammed back inside of you and knocked the air out of your lungs. You didn't get any time to breathe as Thomas steadily pounded into you.

You could feel how your pussy clenched around him, seemingly making him bigger as you clamped down. You moaned into the pillow you grabbed, trying to quiet the noise and be considerate of the other people in this house. Thomas however, had other plans.

He reached forward and grabbed your hair, pulling your head up so you can freely moan into the air. Clapping sounds could be heard throughout the room, along with the squelching sounds of your pussy sliding along his cock.

Your back was perfectly arched so your ass was at its juciest point, and Tommy reared his hand back to slap it. You yelped at the sting, but your body continued to be jostled by his quick thrusts. You could barely keep up with him.

"To-Tommy please, slow dow-w-w-n..." You moaned, drool beginning to pile up at the corners of your mouth.

Thomas refused, grabbing the meat of your thigh and pounding further into you, sending you forwards. He let go of your hair, allowing you to drop into the pillow. With all the wieght and rocking, your arms were beginning to grow tired. Before you knew it, your arms had given out and you landed on your stomach.

Tommy grabbed your legs and flipped you on your side, one leg thrown over his shoulder. He fucked back into you, feeling his orgasm rise. He grunted and used his thumb to rub at your clit, making sure to press hard so you really feel the friction.

You moaned loudly at the pressure against your clit, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach form. "Tommy, oh Tommy, I'm gonna cum...!"

He grunted desperately to let you know he was going to cum too. After a few more harsh thrusts, he began to cum inside of you. He rubbed your clit furiously, allowing you to cum with him. You moaned loudly into the pillow, feeling your body wracked with pleasure, pulsating around your husbands cock.

Tommy slowly pulled out, and pulled his pants back up. He turned to his wardrobe and lifted up a few shirts to show a stolen wash cloth. He turns around and uses it to gently wipe you up, both of your cum being wiped up. Normally he'd finger it back into you, but he didn't think that should happen with his baby inside of you.

After discarding the wash cloth on the floor to be washed later, he climbed into the bed with you and pulled you close, kissing your forehead. You leaned up and kissed him on the lips, the mask scratching your face. He put a hand on your stomach and whimpered slightly.

"The baby is okay, honey, and so am I. I promise." You smiled at him, hair a mess and drool pooling at the corner of your mouth.

Tommy wiped away the drool from your face and pet your hair, bringing your face to his neck. He loved you, he loved your baby, and he knew you loved him too. As you slowly began to drift off to sleep, Tommy's gaze remained on you, his heart fixated on all the love he built over the years, and all the love that is to come.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

[toxic3mmy]

Imagine Alex about to fuck you for the first time and you were wearing the ‘lucky you’ jeans.

(they’re jeans that when you unzip them there’s a piece of fabric that says “Lucky you”)

why is this such a cute idea😭 i can’t make my mind up, would alex be super shy when he saw this or would he be cocky and all smirky abt it??? idk hehe

[also im sorry! this is short but it gets right to the point😛]

prompt: your first time, Alex gets lucky

warnings!! smut!

alex had taken you out to a nice dinner date. the entire night, he was such a perfect gentleman to you.

you really loved him. despite the relationship being only a few months in, you knew you loved him. you had never felt the way that alex made you feel.

and on this night, as you admired alex smiling across from you under the dim restaurant light you thought, damn.. i’d really like to give myself to you..

on the car ride home, it’s honestly all you could think about.

“everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes on the road as he drove the two of you home

“yeah, just lost in thought. sorry..”

he opened your car door and led you inside. once inside, you decided to ask.

“alex.. can we, you know..?”

alex froze as he was taking off his shoes at the door. he looked at you nervously

“can we what?”

“can you make love to me?” you said quietly, hoping not to make a fool of yourself

“are you sure? i don’t want you to feel rushed or anything y/n” he finally looked at you, taking your hand in his

“im really sure.. i’ve been thinking about this all night, im ready”

he smiled shyly and led you to his bed. he dimmed the light and turned on some soft music.

“i love you.. i hope you know that y/n” he laid you down

“i do and i love you too” you pecked his lips softly as he hovered above you

“please let me know if im hurting you or if you want me to stop, okay?”

you nodded and pulled his face to yours, connecting your lips once again. the kiss was slow. his lips felt so soft and warm against yours. the aroma of his cologne filled your senses and you never realized how intoxicating it was.

your hands were looped around his neck. you felt alex tilt his face a bit more and his tongue softly pressed your bottom lip. you opened your mouth slightly and tasted him entirely.

you let out a low gasp as your boyfriend tangled his tongue with yours. he groaned into your mouth and you felt a heat building in your core.

“you taste so sweet” he whispered and pecked your lips again before kissing lower

he kissed your jaw and began to suck and bite a hickey into your neck. you squirmed and squeezed your legs together as you began to feel needy for him. he continued to kiss your smooth skin.

“can i take this off?” he asked, politely giving your blouse a small tug and you obliged

he helped you slip off your top along with your bra

“so beautiful..” he murmured against your supple breasts

he kissed and licked your nipples while your hands found their way to his back, digging your nails into his skin as he swirled his tongue around your chest.

he went to take off your jeans. as he unzipped them, he stopped and you looked to see him smirking up at you

“what? whats wrong?” you said breathlessly

“lucky me..” he chuckled and your face fell hot

“did you wear these specifically for me? it’s a bit naughty, don’t you think?” his teasing made you feel more embarrassed

“babe stop! just.. just—”

“just what, chiquita?” his smile never faltered

“just fuck me already” and alex practically growled at your filthy words

he took your jeans and panties off and threw them aside. he proceeded to prop your thighs up and kissed down them, leaving purple marks all over your skin. he finally got to your heat and licked up and down you agonizingly slowly.

your whimpering encouraged him to continue. he took two fingers and entered your tight hole. his mouth focused on your clit. he slowly built up a steady speed, pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue swirled deliciously around your throbbing clit.

you wanted more and so without a word, you pulled him up to connect your lips once again as your hands helped him undress.

“eager, are we?” he asked with your lips still against his own

“shut up and fuck me, alexis” his pants and boxers were off now and he went to enter you

he slowly pushed himself in as he positioned himself above you again. your face scrunched up in slight pain as his cock stretched you open

“are you okay? tell me when to move, chiquita” he panted

“im okay.. go ahead”

his hips thrusted in and out of you. slowly, the pain subsided and you felt such an immense sensation of pleasure. you needed more

you pulled alex up in a sitting position and you climbed to sit in his lap. you sat down and felt him enter you again

“oh god… you’re so deep alex… you feel so g-good” your hands were on his shoulders now as you took control

you bounced yourself on his hard cock and alex was moaning incredibly loudly, whimpers of your name left his mouth at every thrust

he leaned back on one arm and brought his free hand to your mouth

“open your mouth” he ordered

he used your saliva to coat his fingers and went to play with your clit. you threw your head back as his fingers rubbed against your clit perfectly. you moved closer to him as you began to feel tired out. your arms hugged him to your chest, your lips on his neck as you moaned into it. he took control and fucked into your pussy while still giving attention to your clit.

“i-im cumming” you stuttered out and alex sped up

he hit you at a new angle and it was enough to drive you over the edge. your hips stuttered and your legs trembled as you came down from your high. alex slid himself out of your tired pussy and began to tug at himself

“where do you want it, princesa?” he groaned, and in turn you opened your mouth and looked up at him with your big doe eyes

“look at you, mouth open and ready for my load. you look so pretty..” he said as his hand quickened and you felt his warm juices all over your face and you tasted him on your tongue

he helped you clean your face and the two of you laid together naked underneath his duvet.

“i think i was the lucky one tonight” you giggled

alex kissed your forehead and whispered sweet nothings to you until you fell asleep

[dinas-a-bird]

Okay so I’m imma request something you don’t have to do it!! But I love your work and uh idk I had an idea so.

Maybe dom g!p Abby and fem sub reader going to celebrate pride. On the way someone asks reader for their number and reader can’t say no so they say yes. Abby gets all pissed because she’s jealous. Anyways the person who asked reader for their number sees them kissing and Abby sees them as well getting all touchy with reader till the other person leaves. Well Abby fucks reader in a toilette or something to show them who they belong to. Idk if that makes sense😭. Also I got a huge breeding kink so if you could add it, that would be great.

Thank youuuu<3

I LOVED WRITING THIS REQUEST-anyway sorry this took so long my lovely anon, I started it then got writers block🥲 BUT I MANAGED TO FINALLY FINISH IT YIPPIE! I did change the request a little with how abby got jealous so I hope that is okay, but the smut is smutty and I tried my best to incorporate the breeding kink as well! this whole one-shot had a mind of its own once I got going

MINORS DNI

Unexpected Attention

Pairing: dom g!p Abby Anderson x sub!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, fingering r!receiving, pet-names (good girl, princess, baby, sweet girl), dom!Abby, sub!reader, possessive!Abby, g!p!Abby, breeding kink, implied after care, penetration r!receiving, multiple orgasms, praise, degrading(blink and you'll miss it), use of y/n, modern AU

Summary: Ellie wants your number, Abby has other plans.

Word Count: 1,924

A/N: As always comments are appreciated and sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, enjoy!

It is a bright and vibrant day as you and Abby make your way to the pride parade being held downtown, hand in hand. As you continue walking you start to see the streets lined with colorful banners, people walking about celebrating. You finally make it to the celebration and Abby looks over to you grinning, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Isn't this amazing, y/n?" she says, raising her voice to be heard over the cheerful crowd.

You nod, a smile spreading across your face. "It's incredible, Abs. I'm so glad you convinced me to come."

Soon you both find a spot to stand to watch the parade floats ride by. Abby looks around searching for something and as soon as she sees it she smiles and looks back down at you. “I’m going to head inside to the restroom,” She points over her shoulder to a restaurant not too far away, “You okay standing here and saving my spot till I get back?” Typically, Abby wouldn't dare leave you alone in a crowd like this, but because the restaurant was so close by she thought nothing would happen to you in the span of a couple minutes.

You peek around her, eyeing the building, you nod your head, “I’ll be okay Abs. Just be quick please.” She kisses your forehead, mumbling reassurances, before she heads off.

As you wait, you keep your eyes glued to the building your girlfriend entered. Only a minute or so has passed when you feel a light tap on your shoulder. “Hey cutie.” Spinning around you see a slender woman, who's wearing a confident smirk, standing inches away from you. 

As the woman introduces herself as Ellie, you can’t help but notice her bold and flirtatious demeanor, something Abby would definitely not approve of. Her smirk and confident stance make it clear that she has an interest in you. Your heart races slightly, unsure of how to handle this situation.

"Hey," you reply, trying to maintain a friendly tone despite feeling a little uneasy. "I'm y/n."

Ellie's eyes gleam with amusement as she leans in closer. "Y/n, huh? That's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl," she compliments, her words laced with charm.

You blush slightly, feeling a mix of flattery and discomfort, mostly discomfort. "Thank you… Ellie. It's nice to meet you."

She chuckles, her eyes lingering on yours. "Likewise. You know, I couldn't help but notice you from across the crowd. You really stood out."

You shift uncomfortably, glancing around for Abby's return. "Oh, well, thank you. It's a fun day to stand out… I guess."

Ellie's smirk only grows wider, clearly enjoying the thought of having some kind of effect on you. "You're definitely not wrong about that. So, how about we exchange numbers? Maybe we can hang out sometime," she suggests. Leaning in closer she puts her phone in your empty hand.

You hesitate, Abby's possessiveness lingering in the back of your mind. But before you can respond, a voice cuts through the air, causing both you and Ellie to turn.

Abby is striding back towards you with purpose in her step. Her eyes lock onto Ellie, and you see her jaw clench slightly as she approaches. "Hey, sorry it took a bit longer than I thought," Abby looks at you, completely ignoring Ellie's presence.

"It's okay, Abs. This is Ellie. She was just..talking to me," you reply, gesturing towards the woman beside you.

Abby's eyes narrow slightly, but she forces a disingenuine smile. "Oh, hi Ellie. I'm Abby," she says, extending her hand to the woman.

Ellie takes Abby's hand, her smirk still in place. "Nice to meet you, Abby. Y/n here is quite the charmer," she gives you a playful wink.

Abby's grip tightens slightly on Ellie's hand, her expression becoming cold. "Yeah, I know.” Ellie seems almost unfazed by Abby’s harsh grip as they shake hands, almost relishing the challenge. Sensing the tension between the two, you decide to speak up.

"Actually, Ellie was just about to leave Abs," you say, placing the girl's phone in her unoccupied hand. "We were just having a quick chat. Right, Ellie?"

Ellie glances at you and then back at Abby, seemingly enjoying the drama unfolding before her. "Yeah, you're right. I should get going. It was nice meeting both of you." She gives you one last lingering look before walking away.

As soon as Ellie is out of earshot, Abby turns to you, her expression stern. "What was that about?"

You sigh, feeling guilty for the interaction. "I didn't expect her to approach me like that, Abs. She just started flirting with me and then asked to exchange numbers. But I didn’t put mine in her phone Abby, I promise."

Abby's jaw tightens again, and she takes a deep breath before mumbling. "Fuck.. alright c’mon." She grips your hand and leads you out of the crowd, you glance back and see Ellie watching you both with a playful smirk. You try to shake the image out of your mind as you look back up at your girlfriend.

“Abs, where are we goin?” Your voice cracks. Her gaze doesn't shift as she mumbles something, her voice drowned out by the parade. Soon she stops and opens a door, you look up and realize it's the same restaurant she entered earlier that evening. Once inside Abby grips your hand tight and leads you through the dining area to the back where the restrooms are located. Once there she ushers you inside and locks the door behind her.

Before you can ask what is happening, Abby pins you against the sink, your ass pressing into the growing bulge in her jeans. "I know you where going to give that fucking girl your number, if you're really that desperate to be fucked, then having my cock buried deep inside of you in a public restroom should be perfect. Don't you think?" You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a pitiful whine as Abby's calloused hands push down your pants and underwear.

"You're going to be a good girl for me, right? Or would you rather me go out there and find Ellie?" Abby hisses into your ear.

"I'll be...be good." you choke out, your eyes closing as you feel Abby’s fingers slipping in between your folds.

"Fuck.. your so wet.. Is this all for me? Or is it for her?" Abby asks as she roughly inserts two of her fingers into you.

"All for you Abs" you manage to get out in between little whimpers and moans. After a couple more thrusts she pulls out her fingers and looks at them.

"You wet enough for me to stick a third finger in you, get you ready for my cock?" You manage to open your mouth but all that falls out of it are soft cries for her to put her fingers back. "When I ask you a question I expect an answer princess." You manage to let out a soft, "get me ready for your cock please."

"Good girl." She leans back into you, three of her fingers diving into your soaked pussy. "I'm going to make you mine," she growls her breath hot on your neck, "you're going to get so wet and hot for my cock that you won't be able to stop yourself from coming all over my fingers before I give it to you."

"'m yours please." you let out a choked sob of pleasure as she pumps her fingers harder.

"That's my good girl." She lets out a loud groan as she watches her fingers, stretching you open as she pushes them in as far as she can get them. "Your so fucking wet.. and so tight. I can feel you tightening 'round my fingers baby. You think you deserve to cum?" she asks, her finger pumping into you as she watches you.

"Yes!" you let out in a throaty moan, her finger thrusting into you as you feel yourself closing around her. "Please please.. let me cum!" Abby lets out a low groan as she pushes her fingers in deeper.

"Cum for me y/n, show me who you belong to."

"I belong to you! Abby, I'm yours!" You cry out as your legs start to shake.

"Fuck, thats it princess" Abby soothes as she holds you down by your hips, her fingers pumping into you as you cum around them. "You think your ready for my cock now? You think you deserve it" She kisses your neck, sucking a mark into the soft skin. A choked out please is all you can manage before you feel Abby remove her fingers and start pulling on her jeans and boxers behind you.

"I'm going to cum in you princess, you're going to be mine, and you're going to love it." you whine at her words and try to press your ass into her member. "You like that don't you dirty girl? The thought of me fucking a baby into that sweet cunt of yours?" Her words sound degrading but you can't help but feel your slick run down your thighs as she says them.

"please.. Abs..need it" you whimper.

"Shhh..sweet girl...i'll make sure not a drop of my cum leaves your pretty pussy." Abby's lips touch your ear, her hand guiding her cock to your entrance. She gently pushes the head of her thick member into you, then inches of her length until she's fully buried inside. After giving you a moment to adjust she slowly starts moving, sliding in and out of you as you whimper and moan in pleasure.

"You're taking me so well. I bet Ellie could never fuck you as well as I do." Abby whispers to you as she moves your hips, forcing her cock in and out of you at a faster pace.

"Please... please…’m yours..” you beg, feeling her fingers at your clit as she moves into you. "want you to breed me...need it Abs" You feel Abbys mouth start to leave sloppy kisses on your neck as she moans.

"you're such a good girl for me" she mumbles into your neck, her hips slamming into yours. "I'm going to make you feel so good. 'm gonna fill you up so good."

you choke back a sob as you feel your abdomen tightening. "'m gonna cum" you manage to say.

"Wait princess 'm almost there." Abby lets out a low groan as she thrusts faster. "Gonna fill you up with my seed...you're going to be so full of me." After a couple more thrusts Abby feels her thighs tighten. "fuck..cum with me" she begs as she thrusts harder.

“I'm cumming" you cry out, your body clenching around her as you feel your walls clamp down and milk her seed inside you. "Fuck...I love you Abby...I love you so much" you sob as she pulls her mouth away and kisses your ear.

"I love you too" she whispers before pulling her cock out of you. Abby grabs some paper towels and begins to clean you up as best she can. Once you both are cleaned up and redressed Abby leans in and engulfs you in a comforting hug. "How about we go home and take a nice bath?" She asks, kissing the top of your head.

Nodding your head you sigh into her chest, "I'd like that." Abby smiles at you as she steps away and begins to unlock the bathroom door.

[barrenclan]

Chonny Jash's cover of The Moss seems very patfw-core to me. I think someone's brought it up before but I'd like to specifically point out some of the new/changed lyrics that I think fit

But everything you see isn't everything that is

Every thing you think to be, every thought you can't dismiss

The lives we try to lead and the time we try to give

Well it's all a fallacy, we continue to relive

^ Cats like Pinepaw and Rainhaze's curiosity about what's beyond Barrenclan territory, how cats like Cootstorm try to discourage that type of thinking and how their actions unintentionally lead them to their fates. Also very cyclecore

And every thing will live, just as every thing will die

Every foe that you forgive, and every friend that you deny

Every single first hello, and every single last goodbye

Every smile that you show, every tear that you hide

^ In my head I'm picturing an amv/pmv and for this part I'm very much imagining a sort of slideshow section about contrasts and various events: Barrenclan/Defiance, Rainhaze and Ranger/Rainhaze and Asphodelpaw, Pinepaw and Saturn/Pinepaw and Wild Rose, Slugpelt and Cashew/Slugpelt and Dustfeather. Idk if that makes sense

Well, legend has it that we're all just doomed

And we've ruined our society

Well, legend has it that we dug our tomb

Which we'll lie in for all eternity

^ Barrenclan's whole staying as punishment for their cowardice ideology

Well legend has it that, the world once knew a whole palette of lovely blues and greens

Well legend has it that, our corpses lie a foundation of insincerity

^ what Barrenclan's territory used to be - blue and green - and what it is now - on a foundation of corpses

*Attempts to Jashify Raz* *Attempts to Jashify Raz* *Attempts to Jashify Raz—

I've seen a lot of people in the server talking about Chonny Jash, he seems pretty fun. But if I'm honest, I'm more of a Johnny Cash fan. :P

Ooh, yes! You've targeted me with a TMBG suggestion, I actually went ahead and added "Don't Let's Start" to the playlist but I love this song too.

Even when you're out of work you still have a job to do Even when you don't know what it is Your job knows what it is What it is is it's coming to get you

And when you wake up you can feel your hair grow Crawl out of your cave and you can watch your shadow Creep across the ground until the day is done All the while the planet circles 'round the sun

Haha, that is funny irony. But I agree with you! Isn't it interesting how despite being named that way, "Defiance" doesn't allow any of its members to defy Deepdark?

Compliance We just need your compliance You will feel no pain anymore No more defiance

Fall into line, you will do as you're told No choice fatigue, your blood is running cold We lose control, the world will fall apart Love of your life will mend your broken heart

Will Wood is ever-popular, of course, though I never got really into him. I can see this is as a Pinepaw song!

All nightmares start as dreams and I hear my subconscious screaming They say that beauty's just skin deep So naturally, please show me your

Bones, bones, bones, let me see your bones Well, I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home Bones, bones, bones, hell, we're all alone If I come home, baby, will you show your bones?

They say that beauty's just skin deep So Ana stands and rends the rancid meat from her

Oh... Rainhaze and Slugpelt song.

Are you dead or are you sleepin'? Are you dead or are you sleepin'? God, I sure hope you are dead

Well, you disappeared so often like you dissolved into coffee Are you here right now, or are there probably fossils under your meat?

Defiance song! Spefically, I could see it as from Ranger/broader Defiance's perspective as he navigates the group.

We're at a revolution And we're baying for your blood We're laying down the law And your name's mud

Cause you say you fight for us Cross your heart and hope to die You're the bully in the playground and we'll hang you out to dry

Oh yeah, I remember this song from the IncuriousCat PMV. I like it! "Nowhere King" is also a Deepdark song, so that creepy children's song-esque music does fit with the series. If anyone wanted to edit together a trailer it'd be cool!

Perfect. No notes.

Actually, someone's already made a PMV to the comic with the song! You can check it out here.

I don't think it's been suggested yet! It's a Pinepaw song, of course.

I'll cut my hair (Ooh) to make you stare (Ooh) I'll hide my chest And I'll figure out a way to get us out of here

I can't really think right now and this place Has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane Are you dead? Sometimes I think I'm dead 'Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head But I don't wanna fall asleep just yet

[thechosenanubis]

I have been thinking about Rufus and Sarah's chosen one & osirian dynamic, and how Victor Sr. said that everything went terribly wrong. And I wonder if their deteriorating friendship was caused by the Chosen One and Osirian bond?

Because from Victor Sr. words to Nina in the Senet cell, he says and i quote: " he [the osirian] will never be far behind." which implies that Rufus and Sarah (as well as Nina and Eddie) don't have any choice in the matter, and that they are connected whether they like it or not.

And I wonder if this hunger for power stems from Rufus feeling like he has no choice in the matter, that his life doesn't have any meaning, because the Universe/Fate/Gods had other plans. And it wouldn't suprise me if he started to resent Sarah for that, and he tried to become more powerful ( in his case, becoming immortal) just to feel some resemblance of control over his life, ( and to spite the universe in the process, a big fuck you if u will )

Like I don't think he woke up one day and went: " ahahah i'm evil now!" It was more of a gradual process, yk?

[munariplans]

hey! idk if you’re taking requests but this is kind of a suggestion bc i don’t have a plot or anything but you’re a good writer and i think you’d kill it with a single mom!reader x mean ceo/lawyer!nat i think the whole class difference and maternity would be nice to see nat learning how to navigate them.

-🎈

hi 🎈 anon!

thank you for the request / suggestion, wrote a shorter fic with this one but hopefully it lives up to expectations! sorry for the longer wait, i was away on holiday for a while and didn't have access to tumblr on my laptop.

hope you're doing well!

lena | n. romanoff

ceo! natasha romanoff x single mother! reader word count: 3.2k

‘Where are you? Everyone else is here already.’

‘Did you get stuck in traffic? Even Bill’s wife, the third one, who’s coming from a flight from Washington’s arrived. Reply me.’

‘Are you ignoring me?’ 

By the third undelivered text, Natasha had had enough. She quietly excused herself from the group of investors she had been speaking to, set her drink down, and headed to the balcony to call you. There was anger, a sense of betrayal even, and if she dared herself feel it, a twinge of worry for you standing her up, as well. 

But she swallowed all those thoughts down, as the phone began to ring. It was connected, and rang once, twice, before the dial tone went dead and her call abruptly ended. She stared back at the dark screen of her phone, confusion written on her features, and sighed frustratedly. This was an important fundraising gala. This was where the company was finally going to accomplish the funds needed to build the new headquarters outside of the United States, and this was where she had wanted to show you off to the world. 

You were her arm candy, her prize, but tonight…tonight you were missing from her arms. 

Natasha struggled to force herself to endure the rest of the night without you by her side. All she had wanted to do was to come find you, to make sure that you were okay to berate you for standing her up, but instead she had to sit through another round of ribbon cuttings, expensive, tasteless champagnes, and meaningless small talk with the ultra wealthy just to rub shoulders even more. It was torture, and nothing could quell the worry anger in the back of her mind. 

So when the clock finally struck eleven and the festivities had relatively died down, she was the first to leave the venue; ordering her chauffeur to drive straight to your apartment. The trip was silent, and even the elderly man could sense the tension radiating from his boss’ shoulders at that moment. 

Bursting through your doors exactly half an hour later, Natasha saw the abandoned party gown she had picked out for you laid across your stained couch, along with the new heels she had bought still in the designer box she had bought them from, and she knew you never even bothered to actually come for the gala. 

She screamed for your name, knocking down the doors to each room in the tiny apartment, making a mess with each step, but she didn’t care at that point. She was livid, and you had betrayed her. 

But right before she could knock down the door to the final room, the one painted baby pink and with an engraved sign reading Lena’s Room, it had clicked open and you walked out, staring at her face-to-face while shutting the door behind you. 

Natasha was breathing heavily, her fists curled. She was confident she looked almost insane by then; a complete switch from the composed, sophisticated CEO she was just nearly an hour before. But you looked her up and down, and showed no signs of fear, however. You simply sighed, and nodded back towards the room.

“She’s got an unrelenting fever. Been at it since midday, the sitter told me. When I got home, her forehead’s sizzling to the touch. I just got her to bed, Natasha.”

“You didn’t come for the gala.”

“How could I?” It was your turn to fold your arms, walking past her to the living room. She followed. “Lena was so sick, Nat. I couldn’t just leave her alone for the night.”

It was then that things took a turn for the worse. What you said ticked something in Natasha, something she simply could not let go for the remainder of the night as the two of you began arguing. 

“You humiliated me! In front of everyone!” Natasha had yelled, hands outstretched and veins appearing on her neck, “I was the only one without a date there, the only one!” 

“What was I supposed to do?” You retorted, “My phone was dead, and forgive me if I managed to miss out on it once, because I was busy taking care of my sick child!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you could’ve texted me!” 

“It still wouldn’t have changed things!”

Natasha had moved two steps from the kitchen counter to the sofa, where you were seated, still in your nurse scrubs and hair tied in a bun. You looked absolutely exhausted, and the tone in your voice was well over the point of wanting to go on with the argument. Natasha knew the bags under your eyes had not only come from the numerous shifts at the hospital, but also the responsibility of taking care of a toddler all alone as well. 

But she had gone too far now. She couldn’t back down. “You stood me up! You stood me up when you could’ve sent her to a friend, or called the sitter back to take care of her for just a few hours more, couldn’t you? Or did you never want to come to the gala to support me anyway?” 

She saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head. “Natasha…” 

“Fuck, I bet the kid’s not even sick. She probably just wanted attention, and you so kindly spoil her with everything, of course she can manipulate you for this too!”

But at that point, small sniffles could be heard from the corner of the room, and the both of you looked up at the same time. Your daughter had apparently climbed out of bed, still hugging her stuffed animal, and at the sight of her staring up at the two of you, tears flowing down her face, Natasha felt a surge of guilt wash over what she had just said. Though she knew Lena probably could not grasp all of the words she had been saying, to see you immediately stand and scoop her up in your arms to get her away from Natasha was hurtful enough. 

“Mama fight? With Aunty Nat?” Had been her exact words, to which you pressed your hand against her forehead and shushed her quietly to coax her back to sleep. 

“No, sweetheart. We’re fine, Mama and Aunty Nat are fine. Let’s go back to bed, okay? Your fever’s still high.”

But Lena peeked through your arms to see Natasha, then up to your face, and Natasha caught her rubbing something from your face too. “Why Mama cry?”

Oh. That had done it. Natasha knew she was fucked, and she had hurt both you and your daughter with the way she had stormed in tonight and began accusing the both of you things that were never true. All because she was too headstrong to listen to anyone’s reasons but her own, all because she was too insecure and possessive over you. 

“Darling,” Natasha began, but you stopped her, hand begging her not to follow the both of you to Lena’s room. 

“Please, Natasha, just leave,” you said through broken sobs, readjusting Lena to hide your face from Natasha. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, but please…leave.” 

The slam of the front door just seconds later was enough indication to show off the redhead’s frustration and anger, but you were not sure if it was directed at you, or herself. 

–

Two weeks later Natasha still received an invite to a play your daughter was in, handed to her by her secretary in the middle of a lunch meeting. She secretly opened it in front of her partners, and the sense of relief and joy that spread through her had her instantly itching to call you on the phone. 

“Thanks, baby, for the invitation,” she said later on, while you were on a break of your own. She could hear the roaring ambulance sirens in the background, and knew you were on a time limit. “And I’m really sorry, still, for that night.”

“It’s fine, Nat,” you reassured her, voice tired as usual. It broke Natasha’s heart to always see you working harder than anyone and receiving so little in return, but as you had always reminded her, even at the beginning of your relationship, that you were never looking for help or money from her, and that you refused to accept such as well. “Lena said she misses you as well. She wants you to be there.”

It was hard for Natasha to imagine a child could have such feelings for her. She had never grown up with the love and affection of someone so much younger, someone who looked up to her almost like an idol, and whenever Lena leaned in for kisses or ran up to her for hugs, Natasha knew you always caught her stiffening; an involuntary reflex she hoped you would forgive her for. 

But it had been almost two years since you and Natasha had been going out, and even the billionaire knew that you were not going to wait forever for someone who was not going to love Lena as much as you did. 

So she swallowed her fears, and replied, “That’s nice. Tell her…I miss her too.”

She could feel you smiling from the other end. “Will do. I love you, Nat.”

“I love you too.”

–

The night of the play, with the both of you sat huddled in the dimly lit school theatre and watching Lena dance around as a sunflower with a group of other little flowers and animals, Natasha watched as your eyes lit up each time the spotlight came on your daughter, and how you would excitedly hold her hand and point Lena out to her throughout the duration of the show. She also watched as Lena continuously looked out at the crowd for the both of you, and how her eyes, reflected in yours, lit up the same way yours did when she found the two of you too. The woman couldn’t help but give a small wave as well whenever Lena grinned at her. 

“Mama! Aunty Nat!” Lena screamed at the end of the play, running over to the both of you as you picked her up and peppered kisses all over her face. The little girl basked in the love and laughter from her mother. 

“You were amazing, sweetheart. The best there is,” you said to her, still holding her tight, as Natasha allowed herself to sneak a kiss to Lena’s cheek. “Mama is so proud of you.”

Then Lena turned to Natasha, and grinned at her. “And Aunty Nat too?”

Natasha caught your eyes, and smiled reassuringly. “Of course. Aunty Nat is more proud than your Mama, even!” 

–

When you finally tucked her in that night, Lena’s eyes full of the world and the stars in the sky, you pressed a final kiss to her forehead, and muttered a I love you before leaving her room. Natasha was in the living room, watching the news on your old, jacked up television, bottle of expensive wine in hand. 

“Anything good?” You settled beside her, her arms instinctively reaching out to wrap around you. 

She shrugged. “It’s the news. How’s Lena?”

“Still buzzing from the night earlier, but who can blame her? You really went all out with the pizza and ice cream after the play, she’s the happiest she’s been in weeks. Especially since…” 

Especially since the apartment had its electricity cut off for a full day earlier in the week, because you couldn't pay the bills on time. Natasha stiffened. “...You know, you should always tell me, if these kind of things happen again.”

“I can get by on my own, Nat. I don’t want your charity, remember?” You sighed, signalling the end of the conversation before it spiralled into another argument. 

In an attempt to smooth over the tension, Natasha offered, “We should go on a vacation soon.”

But all you responded with was a mirthless chuckle. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Why?” 

“Natasha, I can’t just go on a vacation,” you chimed, “I’ve got shifts at the hospital, bills to pay, and Lena’s far too young to travel any time soon.”

The woman in front of you furrowed her brows. “Who said Lena’s coming?”

You had to do a double take to ensure you heard her right. “Why wouldn’t Lena be coming?”

“I just thought, since she’s with her father on some weekends, we could let her stay there for a little longer. A week, two weeks, perhaps? Just some alone time, you know, you and me. Could help us get away from the stress and troubles of work for a while.”

Natasha felt you stiffen, before your touch was abruptly pulled away from her. “Natasha, where is all this coming from?!”

“Come on, you can’t tell me that you’re not stressed.”

“I am, but Lena is not the source of it!” You retorted, standing up. Natasha had gone into a protective pose too by then. “I can’t just leave her at her dad’s whenever it’s convenient. You and I know what kind of person he is!”

“But baby–”

“–I’m not leaving Lena and that’s final!” You half-screamed, not caring if the neighbours could hear, or if you were hurting Natasha’s feelings by then. “Nat, she is and will always be my top priority, and if you can’t handle that, if you can’t handle sharing a top spot in my heart with her…I can’t be with you.”

There was silence, lasting for a minute or two, as you breathed in heavy gulps of air, while Natasha sat, fiddling with the clasp of her watch, thinking of what to say, or do. 

So you continued, “You can’t use money to figure your way out of this one, Nat. To make your problems…just disappear. Not with this.”

“You’re giving me an ultimatum?” Natasha looked at you then, eyes tearing up too.

Your heart squeezed in part longing, part regret, but you had to stand strong. You had to put your family first. “Yes. So please, I need you to make a decision, because I can’t keep going on like this. And it’s not fair for you to stay in this relationship if it's just for me, and not Lena, too.”

You caught the woman before you shaking her head, letting her tears fall onto her lap, refusing to wipe them away. But as soon as the moment of vulnerability appeared, it went away just as fast, as Natasha abruptly stood, brushing past you, made her way to the door and slammed it on her way out. 

Lena did not need to hear your cries of anguish and betrayal that night, sobbed into the pillows you and Natasha so often shared the past two years, all gone by then. 

–

Sat by the park bench the two of you used to frequent, Natasha allowed her tears to flow once more; an indication of her grief of the past two years, an indication of the life she had just thrown away. Perhaps it would also have been an indication of the loss of the best thing that could ever happen to her after all. 

A child was playing with his mother at the swings nearby, looking no older than Lena was. Their laughter the only thing audible through the ringing in Natasha’s ears. She watched her pick him up, carry him around to the other playground equipment, and her smile and eyes reminded Natasha of you. 

You, who always assured Natasha that she was doing right by Lena, that she was good at being a mother too. You, who patiently taught her how to prepare food for Lena, how to put on her socks and tie her braids that she so very much loved, even how to deal with the temper tantrums that stressed her out, but never you. You, who made Natasha believe she deserved to be happy as a mother, too. 

Natasha thought of all the times you would come home after your shifts to not only take care of Lena, but also make time for her, too. How you would sacrifice your own time and energy to try to balance the two of them and their needs; and Natasha cringed. It should never have to be between them, she shouldn’t have had to make you choose. And she shouldn’t have been so selfish, should have made compromises, as you have, when being the girlfriend of a billionaire CEO with a schedule as jam packed as hers. 

She wonders if she’s fucked it all up. She wonders if she’s too late. There was only one way to find out. 

– 

“Can we get ice cream, Mama?” Lena’s big, curious eyes always made your heart soft, and gave you a hard time denying her. 

You brushed back a strand of her hair, and nodded. “Of course darling, anything for you.”

Though, as the both of you arrived at the usual ice cream shop that you, her, and Natasha frequented, you found yourself cursing as you checked the contents of your wallet, clearly forgetting that payday was still in a week. Lena was already eagerly eyeing the flavours, and you knew her usual order was a premium. 

“Hey, Lena, sweetheart,” you called out to her, “Mama’s a little short on cash today. We’ll just have your ice-cream, yeah? I’m not hungry.”

Your daughter pouted, but in return, you gave her your most upbeat smile, and readjusted the straps on her backpack. “Just this once. And I’ll ask them to give you an extra big scoop, so you can eat for the both of us!”

But her gaze was somewhere behind, and before you could follow it, Lena was already pointing to a person behind you, screaming, “Aunty Nat!” 

You caught Natasha’s gaze through the shop windows, and there she was, big bouquet of flowers in hand, dressed in the blouse Lena had picked for her when you went shopping once, and sporting the most uncertain grin on her face. 

You scooped Lena up protectively, preventing her from running straight to Natasha, but Natasha had only come forward, keeping a distance safe enough for you, but close enough for you to hear what she had to say. 

“I’m sorry,” she started, moving one of her thumbs to reveal a smaller bouquet of flowers behind the large ones, in Lena’s favourite sunflowers, “I fucked everything up.”

You nodded, but did not say anything. 

“I realise it now, even though I’ve always known, but…I’m here, baby. For the long run, for the long haul, for everything. With both you, and Lena. I cannot imagine a life without either of you, and I’m very sorry for having made you choose between us in the past. If you give me a chance, just one last chance, I will show you how sorry I am, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” 

Lena was reaching out for the sunflowers, and sighing, you allowed her to. Setting her down, she ran towards Natasha and the woman instinctively picked her up, peppering kisses on her face like you so often did. In response, you took the bigger bouquet, and gave her a soft smile. 

“So you’re not leaving us, Nat?”

Natasha shook her head furiously, pressing a kiss to your cheek too. “Never. Sorry, again, for making you think otherwise.”

“I’ll try harder, I’ll make more time for the both of you,” she assured, “Tell me how I can make things up to you, my love.”

You pecked her on the lips, still feeling the passion and love even after weeks of separation. “You can start by buying Lena and I ice cream for today. Let’s go.” 

[rey-jake-therapist]

You know, Sauron gets called a narcissist a lot and we should talk about it a bit. The thing is, from someone who's read books, watched films, and done tons of info gathering all because I lived with a narcissistic parent, it's surprisingly to me how so many ppl only look at his tendencies from an angle of victimhood (but understandable), and not the angle that if you're cunning enough, you can play the reverse uno card on their dumb asses. I lived in emotional pain for years until I realized I decided to accept the role of victim, and that I didn't have to. So I decided to research everything about narcissists, and found psychological ways to play them at their own game by taking advantage of their blind spots.

For one, since they have this inflated sense of grandiosity, they find it very hard to believe a lie that flatters their ego. Idk if ppl realize this. Because denying a compliment with /some/ truth in it would mean they are being humble, and thus downplay this false image they desperately want others to believe about them (unless they're faking humility for reason, like to get a promotion or to flatter themselves to someone above them on the ladder, or in Gals case, because he thinks it would look good on him in her eyes to appear 'humble'), as well as admitting to that egoistic part of themselves that they aren't as great as they believe they are (and they do). Like I said how I lived with a narcissistic parent? I figured out that if I pretend to hype them up when they're in a good mood, they would genuinely think I cared about them and thought they were this amazing dad, and they would be like 'hey let's go get some mcdonalds!' It was nothing like the genuine love from a nonnarcisstic dad, but I learned how to manipulate him to get things that I wanted, simply by playing to his need for admiration and validation.

I'm not saying this tactic works for every narc you come across, but if you can get yourself into their head, be the master to their puppet strings, instead of opposing them or correcting them (they hate criticism and anything that hurts their ego, as we see with Annatar), you can use them just as they see you as a tool.

Idk if any of this makes sense. I do think that I may have absorbed some of my dad's traits for seeing things this way, but I know in my heart I would never ever treat my own kid like this. I see it as a form of adaptation to living with someone with such a vile personality disorder. But in terms of Sauron, he's got to be one of the dumbest narcissists I've seen. He is praised for his masterful deceit and manipulation but he's genuinely stupid in that he doesn't have the self awareness (like the audience, particularly haladriels) to realize that Galadriel is a huge blindspot for him in everything.

I'm not JRRT and I can never hope to write anything near the world he built, but if the forces of good have any brain they would take advantage of this blindspot in some way instead of furiously kicking against the current and thus causing a lot of bloodshed and losses for their own side.

I hope you don't mind if I copy/paste your second message here since it's the continuation of this one... It avoids that I make two different posts :)

And also, just to add to my last ask: And this is why I think Gal jumped off the cliff. She still has some sort of emotional entanglement with this whole mess, which is a HUGE RISK if she were to try to play him at his own game (at this point). It's one thing to completely divorce any kind if feeling between me and my narc dad, who I've lived with for years, and slowly realized that he would never be the dad I am owed. It took a lot of pain and tears when I finally realized it (Dont feel sorry for me, I'm not even emotional about this anymore, I just see our past in this clinical detached way. I find narcs fascinating in same way a scientist studies a lab rat). But for Galadriel, her situation is different. She didn't have years by his side to slowly realize this. To slowly pick apart and coldly analyze Sauron's pattern of action, thoughts, and habits like I did with my own dad. Her feelings at that meeting were raw and unorganized, she was angry, more emotionally betrayed, unable to stop galloping until the very end, when she stumbled upon a last ditch idea (really it was a gamble) to get away as far as she can from him. Idk if its because of the crown wound or her own resolve that she fears is weakening her, but she needed distance asap. But I really think my idea is interesting and I hope to see more fics in the future that take on Galadriel using herself as his blindspot to weaken him. It doesn't have to he canon compliant, but it would also play well into how canon ends. Just some interesting food for thought. A lot of fics I see are pwp and redemption focused, which I already love, but I also kind of want to see them become like chess masters as manipulation. Gal in particular has so much potential and we know she has a very vindictive dark side. ;)

I know you said you said there was no need to feel sorry for you, and I actually admire your strength of character, but I still want to say this : no kid should have to suffer from having narcissist parents. I myself lived with a narcissist for years, so I know where you come from, even if it was of course a different dynamic. And you're right about not accepting to be a victim ! It's very hard, because it involves accepting that you deserve better, something that a narcissist will constantly make sure you don't. Needless to say that the Annatar/Celebrimbor relationship was very hard for me to stomach, because of the way Annatar behaved towards Celebrimbor. It felt very familiar, and I really didn't like it. I'm worried about my kid now, especially after reading your post... I'm worried about how my ex's behavior will affect him. Hopefully, I am able to balance things out. I'm a lot of things, but I'm damn sure I'm not a narcissist.

I won't comment the rest of your post, not because I'm not interested, but for the exact opposite reason : I couldn't add anything smart or relevant to what you suggested for the Haladriel dynamic :) Thank you for sharing these ideas with me !

[stripedwolf88]

The Eras Tour: Paris Night 1 (My Thoughts)

ALLLLLLLLRIGHT. So because @bettysgarden12 wanted to know my reactions and thoughts on everything that happened today, I thought I would share with the rest of yous. It's probably not going to be very in depth or analytical so fair warning on that hehe. Also this probably isn't in order of the show because my memory is trash haha.

1.First things first. The lover bodysuit. WHaT iN ThE FRiLly HeLl?!?!? I literally still don't know whether or not I dreamt of seeing that new bodysuit. Definitely, lesbian colors represented there and it was confirmed with the orange blazer she wore for The Man. It was not an accident I'm sure to have the inside be pink too.

(Side note: we all knew that The Archer was going to get cut. It actually makes a lot of sense too. I think we are past Taylor asking us to stay, not that she doesn't still hope us too. It's more like she is fine with blowing everything up now instead of focusing on the worry of messing everything up. At least I hope that is the case. We're here for ya Taylor. You got this.)

2. Second, the Fearless dress. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. I also saw that it looks really reminiscent of the original dress she wore for her Fearless tour. It's almost like she is going back to what once was.

3. Third, transitioning right into Red was something. The new Red shirt says "This is not Taylor's Version" when Red is in fact Taylor's again. Some of my moots pointed out that it could be referencing the whole Real Taylor vs Taylor The Brand theory that we as a community have been developing for quite some time. With this thinking, it would mean that the Taylor we are seeing is not someone Taylor claims as her own or something like that. It's not truly her which we all knew already.

4. Fourth, we saw a new intro for Speak Now (now officially just Enchanted since Long Live has been axed.) I don't have much to say on that other than I wasn't surprised that Long Live got cut. This cut also makes sense if we are thinking that Taylor is gonna burn it down. No more reminding about the good times or the "needing" fans to stand by her forever.

5. Fifth, combining folklore and evermore was unexpected but also not? Idk it made sense and to me it just seems like it was easier to combine them since room had to be made for TTPD.

6. Sixth, Rep was Rep. Nothing really changed from what I could tell or remember other than THE FREAKING GLASS CASES SHATTERING!!! YOU BREAK THAT GLASS CLOSET TAYLOR! WHOOP WHOOP!

7. Seventh, 1989 outfit was...something. It's just not my cup of tea visually. I DID NOT notice the lion or tiger(???) charm she had on until someone else pointed it out. Very interesting either way.

8. Eighth, putting TTPD before Midnights was an interesting choice. The whole theory that we still have to meet her at Midnight (credit to my moots for pointing this out again) is supported by this I think.

9. Ninth, the dress for TTPD is amazing!! And so are the other two outfits. The marching band uniform and it's possible reference back to ME! music video? It has me in shambles.

10. Tenth, the performance for Who Afraid of Little Old Me was visually amazing and she sang it beautifully (no surprise there) with such emotion that it was impossible for me to look away. Her levitating across the stage was also freaking awesome!

11. Next the empty cages imagery?? The nurses pulling her away from her lover??? The image of her crouching in the middle of this weird ass place??? That one really kind of freaked me out. It was eerie and heartbreaking in a way I'm not quite able to explain at this moment.

12. I was conflicted about I Can Do It With A Broken Heart both before, during, and after the performance. I had a feeling she was going to perform it and I kind of wanted her to just to hear her sing it live but then not because I knew how the fans were going to react. I really did face-palm when everyone yelled "More!" on the livestream but we all knew they were going to. The transition into ICDIWABH made me want to throw something at the TV but I also did snort on the petulance on Taylor's face for the little act. I really liked the old Hollywood theme for the visuals and the dance. It was pleasing to watch. BY THE WAY....HAVING THE OUTFIT FOR ICDIWABH ECHO HER OUTFITS ON REP IS REALLY SOMETHING. She bamboozled me again.

13. Midniiiiiiights. THE BODYSUIT IS MY FAVORITE ONE OUT OF THE ONES WE HAVE SEEN SO FAR. I'm glad that Mastermind was kept. I didn't think that she would have taken away anything from the Midnights era but if there was I had this weird concern that it would be Mastermind. Thank god my anxiety was unnecessary.

14. The surprise soooooongs~ Paris is a favorite of mine so I'm happy she played it but also of course she did. That was another predictable thing that happened. Her performance of loml was again heartfelt. She seems really happy to sing these new songs and it shows.

15. I am pretty freaking sure that the Bejeweled lights were a LOT more colorful and rainbowy than usual. Was that just me? Please tell me it wasn't just me!

Overall, it is safe to say that I was not prepared for the absolute chaos that today brought.

Taylor, it seems like you're really doing this (I reeeeeally hope that is the case) and I'm so happy for you if that is what is happening. You do you and you show us what's up. I'm looking forward to it. <3