#like a heavy heavy book worm

[omgeto]

i need ur thoughts on nerd geto cause he’s living rent free in my head ever since i read kazushawty’s post abt him 🎤🎤

book worm!geto who is super well read and articulate and can't help but rant and rave about any and all types of fiction, even when you have no clue what he's on about.

"c'mon suguru, I thought you got in the bath with me so you could do me, not read to me," you whine, tapping the book he has in his hand lightly with your foot to get his attention.

"well actually you got in the bath with me," he lifts the book up, his eyes meeting yours as he chuckles. "but listen, I think you'd really like this author."

"fine tell me all about them," you agree, as you inch closer to him, and he lets you rest on his chest, as you fit in between his legs in the water. his eyes light up as he continues to rave about the latest book he's reader, a genre and author you had no interest in but you didn't care as hearing him speak with so much passion really made your day.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Trinkets

Five presents Jason brought you back from his adventures and one you asked for. (+ one) ~1.2k words of fluff

Jason Todd brings you home gifts from his missions, which wouldn't be a problem, but he never really explains what they are.

The first time it happened, you had laughed at the green ring with a lantern symbol in the middle. It looked cheesy, like one of the fake ones you can buy from the superhero merch stores littered around malls and outlets.

You'd kissed his cheek in thanks, put it on your shelf, and never gave it a second thought.

At least you didn't, until a bright green glow woke you up from your sleep. You'd sat up immediately, jaw practically dropping to the sheets as the ring lifted itself off your shelf and flew out the window.

Jason barely budged, his arm still thrown over your waist. He let out yawn and cuddled closer before speaking, voice groggy and heavy, "Huh. Didn't think they noticed that one was gone."

"They," You half yell, voice pitching as you stare at his outline, hidden in the shadows of the room.

"The Guardians, babe," he yawns out, "They're in charge of the space cops. Just go back to sleep."

Naturally, you do not go back to sleep. You drag him to the kitchen, make tea, and demand he explains why a Green Lantern ring was in your apartment. (He's very happy to)

The second time it happens, you're much more wary of the gift he brings home. But to be fair, he can't really pass off an Amazonian steel sword as something he just picked up.

It doesn't take as much convincing as it should for you to let him mount it on your wall. But it's a sword! No one can blame you for thinking it looks cool in your living room.

It turns out keeping it around is pretty useful, because a few weeks later, your boyfriend crawls through your window, dressed head to toe in armor.

"Hey, doll," he drawls, "Can I borrow your sword?"

"Sure," You chirp back, more preoccupied with your book as he saunters over to the sword, "what for?"

"Artie's got confiscated, and we haven't gotten to steal it back yet," he supplies, stopping long enough to pull his helmet up and kiss your head.

"Oh, that sucks," You answer, offhandedly, "Give her and Bizzaro my love."

"You got it, babe," he chirps already halfway out your window.

He does bring your sword back, covered in green blood, but no worse for wear. It still looks great on your wall.

He brings you a box next. It's kind of ugly looking, but you thank him nonetheless.

"Be careful with it," he tells you as you flip it over in your hands, "It opens boom tubes."

You almost drop it, and if you hadn't already experienced the power ring, you would have shrieked at him. Instead, you manage to put it down very carefully and calmly ask, "It does what?"

"Open boom tubes," he answers, which clears absolutely nothing up, "I figured we could use it to country hop for our next date night. You know, dinner in Paris, drinks in Dubai, dessert in LA."

"Okay," You answer slowly, as if that makes complete sense.

It turns out, it does. Date night is lovely, and making out with your boyfriend on a random beach in Spain is very, very nice.

Batman waiting in your apartment to take back the boom box isn't so nice, though.

Jason tells you it was worth it. He's absolutely right.

The third thing Jason brings you is a plant. Flowers aren't a rare show of affection from him, but ones that move are.

"Uh, thank you, Jason," You start, prodding at the moving petals, they nuzzle your fingers the same way a kitten would, "But I don't know how to take care of these."

"Same way you take care of any other plant, water, fertilizer, nutrients, all that fun stuff," he says fondly, stroking a few of the petals.

"What if it gets sick," You ask, uncertain.

"We'll call Ivy," he says, unbothered.

"Right. Ivy. Poison Ivy. Who you know," You mumble, but the little plant is already worming its way into your heart. (You affectionately name it Daisy, for no other reason then it sways happily when you say that name)

The fourth thing Jason brings you makes you laugh because you know exactly what it is, "Jason, we can't keep this."

"Why not," he pleads, shaking the bright green quiver filled with arrows at you.

You giggled harder, smiling wide as you shake your head at him, "We don't even know what those do. Don't some of those explode?"

"So what," he huffs, practically pouting, "We can ask Roy. And it's not like I don't know my way around explosives."

"I guess so," You relent, trying to stifle your laughs as you inspect the bright green arrows, "How did you even get this?"

His eyes light up mischievously, "Do you really want to know?"

You stop short and narrow your eyes at him, "I would lose my plausible deniability."

"But you wanna know," he says, sly and playful.

You do. (It involves mutated chickens, tar, and one distracted Oliver Queen. You hang the quiver next to the sword)

Jason's getting ready to leave, bags packed and helmet lazy held under his arm, "Can I bring you back anything specific, doll" he asks, his free hand resting comfortably against your cheek, "Lasso of Truth? Maybe something with magic?"

You grin at him, leaning into his touch, "I actually do have something in mind."

"Oh," he prompts, eyes glinting with excitement.

"I want to complete my batarang collection."

He falters, "Your– what?"

"No one has," You exclaim, pulling away to showcase your collection, "I have Nightwings, Batgirls, Batmans, yours, of course, one of Robin's. But I'm missing Spoilers, Batwomans, Signals, and Red Robins."

He blinks at you, "That's– if that's what you want."

You giggle at how dumbfounded he looks, practically bouncing back over to him to kiss him, "Thank you, Jason."

He catches your waist and pulls you back in for another, longer kiss that leaves you both breathless and panting. His voice lowers, like it's a secret, "I'll bring you back some batarangs. See you in a few days?"

"See you in a few days," You echo, and he winks at you as he tugs on his helmet, leaving out your window.

Sure enough, you get your batarangs when he gets home. It takes some convincing, a few kisses that leave you senseless, but you get Jason to help you mount your batarang collection alongside the sword and quiver.

"I should get you a plasma rifle next," he drawls, admiring your growing wall of weapons.

"I think I'd fall over if I tried to shoot one of those," You point out, all smiles.

"I'll teach you," he tells you, hooking an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

Jason's a man of his word, and sure enough, he brings you home a plasma cannon after his next mission.

You only destroy most of the shooting range in the batcave when he lets you try it out.

[teddybeartoji]

彡 GUARDIANS OF THE TINY SEA URCHIN BOY

☆. contains: satoru gojo x gn!reader; fluff!!!, non-curse au, idk what this timeline is but both reader and satoru are adults and gumi is tiny + reader is his kindergarten teacher wc: 3k

you love you job.

you love taking care of the kids, teaching them, caring for them. and that of course applies for megumi, too. he's a pretty quiet kid, very straightforward and doesn't seem too affected by his guardian being away on a work trip when you ask him about it. you've never met the guy but it always makes you snicker whenever megumi's nose scrunches when he's brought up. or the little pout that tugs on his lips – the grumpiest and the fakest one to ever be conjured in the history of the world. you know it's fake; you've seen the care and devotion the little boy puts into the cards and the art he makes, always promising to show them to his keeper in a hushed voice.

but then one day... he's a quieter than usual, stares at you a little more than usual (he's so sure you don't see him)(or the way he's fiddling with the hem of his shirt). it's playtime and you're comfortably sitting in a bean bag, laughing with some other kids, eyeing the little sea urchin from the corner of your eye. after giving the other kids an impossible mission to complete outside, you usher the boy closer.

"gumi, come here."

and he does the cutest little eye roll known to mankind but nevertheless makes his way over to you. not pressuring him, you let him stand while you ask about the new comic book that came out (you heard him mention it once or twice) and oh, how his eyes widen. you surpress a giggle at the boy, and when you see his eyes flick between you and the bean bag you're sitting on, you finally motion for him to take a seat next to you. and he does.

he still feels a little unsure; like he wants to keep the information threathing to spill inside, despite the want to tell you all about it. seeing this, you decide to start talking about your own little hobby, doing big gestures as to try and crack a smile (it works)(he tries to hide it but you know better). and in the end he does relax and subconciously leans toward you when he starts introducing the comic.

digging out your phone, you let him show you the characters, the powers they have and how cool they all are. the smile on your face is making your cheeks hurt; glad that the boy feels secure and safe around you to tell you all this. some other kids bump in a few times, showing you the worms they dug up or beg for a napkin to wipe their face after they sneezed so hard that snot flew out. megumi's little scrunched up face only made you laugh more.

after a while you can feel him melt into you, his talk almost slurring, his eyes growing heavy. deciding to put away the phone, you move in your spot but a pair of hands clutch onto your arm. "'m not going anywhere." you assure him with a gentle smile as your hand finds its way into his hair, pushing through the unruly strands. he doesn't look at you, hiding his face into your shoulder.

"if i tell you something, do you promise you won't tell anyone?"

it's a ghost of a whisper, buried into the sleeve of your shirt. vulnerable.

"never. i would never."

it takes him another second to gather up the last pieces of confidence. the last pieces of strenght to open up his little tiny heart.

"i-i miss him." his little hands stay clutching onto your sleeve, not enough to stretch the material but just enough to let you know how hard this is for him. how he's taking the big step, how he's inviting you in with a shaky voice.

the hand in his dark hair never stops its movements, staying combing through it, feeling him nuzzle deeper into you. "oh, sweetheart. i'm sure you do." you hum quietly. "he's gonna be back really soon though. i promise."

you feel him nod against you. when another kid emerges from the outside, you quietly ask for her to whisper and swallow another giggle when she starts dramatically tiptoeing closer to you, ready to tie a newly made bracelet over your wrist. it's beautiful.

you stay like that for almost two hours – sitting in the bean bag with your arm locked securely in megumi's hold as he's letting out small little snores. you don't mind. you don't mind at all.

most of the kids have already left, their parents having come after them. they always greet you with a smile and thank you for keeping their kids happy and safe and it always warms your heart. there's nothing else you'd love more than this. and how the kids say bye... some of them hug you, some of them land a fat smooch on your cheek, one of them always shakes your hand (very firmly)(a lot of people could learn a thing from him). and all of them always wave with the brightest smiles on their faces.

you're eyeing the warm late afternoon sun from your spot on the bean bag when you hear the door open and close, a pair of loud footsteps approaching. megumi's guardian, surely.

tearing your eyes from the sun, you turn to meet the man and oh... his mouth is ajar as if he was about to yell out for megumi in the most dramatic way possible (he was). his crystal blue eyes shine in the very same light you were just basking in, taking in the sight before him. his lips close and reform into the warmest smile before he's whispers a small hi.

"hi." you answer with a smile of your own. nobody told you that he was gonna like that. sure, you've seen megumi's drawings but no offense to the boy – they do not do him justice. this has to be to most handsome guy you've ever seen. and he's your age, too. "you're here for megumi, right?"

he nods, leaning on the doorframe. "satoru."

after you introduce yourself, he repeats your name, tasting it on his tongue - and you're now stuck with the memory of one of the older faculty members saying something about how it's always very unprofessional to have crushes on the parents and whatnot. and whatnot.

he makes his way over – keeping his eyes on his beloved boy, sleeping oh, so comfortably in your arms. the way his chest is rising and falling steadyly, his fingers digging into your shirt. his heart swells.

kneeling in front of you, he smiles at the boy before turning his focus to his keeper. the golden sunlight is making your eyes shine and when you give him a shy little smile, he knows megumi is in safe hands.

"you're new?" he whispers.

"mhmm. and you don't actually have to whisper." satoru's eyes flick to megumi and you understand his question without him asking it. "oh, he's out. like a light. we've been sitting here for what?" you look at the clock before continuing. "two hours?"

satoru's smile widens at that. "he's kept you locked up for two hours?"

raising your hand from megumi's hair, you cover your mouth, hiding a grin. "he's cute, no harm done."

satoru hums. "he is. pretty sure you're the first teacher to see him like this."

"yeah." lowering your hand back down, you brush a few strands from his eyes, making his nose scrunch up and making the two of you swoon over the pouty kid. "i'm very honored."

satoru's eyes flick back to you. there's a certain softness in them, despite the deep dark purple peeking out from underneath the skin under them. you don't know what kind of a job he has but you know it sometimes requires him to be away for a while. it must be hard for him too; hard to leave his boy in some stranger's hands. but satoru is already convinced that you're no stranger.

"i'm glad he has you."

you feel a tint of blush making its way over your cheeks because of the sincerity in his tone. he really means it.

"but seriously, though? you've been sitting in the same spot for two hours? you're telling me your feet aren't dead?" he deadpans with a smirk.

lowering your head, you confess: "i have to go to the bathroom so badly."

he almost doubles over, holding a palm over his mouth, hiding the laughter ready to burst out. you try to glare at him but it's useless – you're holding your laughter with him a second after.

your body shakes with the giddyness, making megumi stir and you still. caressing his cheek, you try to make sure he ignores the two giggling adults next to him and stays asleep.

"and yes, my arm is dead but c'mon, how was i supposed to say no to this?" as if on cue, megumi lets out a content breath, his lips molding into his usual little pout, which in return makes the two of you look at him fondly. again.

"no, don't worry. i understand – he's a real charmer." he whispered. "what got him in this mood, anyway? nothing happened, right?" his eyes widen as the words leave his mouth, concern painting his face in a second.

trying to soothe his worry, you immediately shake your head. "no, no. he's okay. nothing happened." satoru exhales deeply, hand covering his heart. you don't think he even knows how worried he looked just now.

"but?" his voice breaks the small silence. "i feel like there's a 'but' here."

giving him a smile, you look the sleeping boy locked onto your arm. "i promised i wouldn't tell, though..."

"wha-?" the grown man's lip pull into a pout and you realize that the boy really does take after him. "but i need to know..."

deciding to make sure that megumi is still in fact, sleeping, you check his breathing – steady as ever, so you beckon the man a little closer.

"he missed you that's all."

it's so quiet. not even a whisper but satoru hears the words loud and clear. his eyes fall to his boy once more, something so tender in them – making your own heart beat a little louder. "but don't tell him i told you. i promised i wouldn't."

"never. i'd never take this from you." he rests his one hand beside your thigh on the bean bag, while the other goes to smooth over his cheek. the poor boy would die of embarrassment if he were to witness all this affection bestowed upon him. "thank you for telling me."

your gazes meet again, the love in them mixing together into a warm goo, filling the room and connecting the three of you forever.

"of course."

there's a comfortable silence between you and the man. a man you met mere minutes ago but when he bends over to pick up the bracelet made out of red string and continues to tie it back on your wrist without a word, you're certain you know him. or maybe knew him in another life; whatever the case, you were meant to meet again.

you thank him but he casually brushes it off as if it wasn't a big deal, as if he did it on instict, his fingers already itching to do things for you.

"is your bladder about to explode, by the way?" teasing. his tone is teasing and you can't help but reward him with another smile. his favourite pay.

"yes– yes, it fucking is." it takes you a second to realize what just slipped from between your lips. eyes growing twice their size as you stare back at satoru, who's, of course, already silently laughing, the corners of his lips reaching his ears. "you heard nothing."

"this is who's been taking care of the kids? wow, does the faculty know of the foul mouth you're sporting?"

"hey!" you whisper shout at him and before you can even register your own movements, your free hand lands a soft punch against his strong chest. it's always very unprofessional to have crushes on the parents. this time real heat paints your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

"sorry– i'm sorry." the only thing you can do is to mutter a quick apology - you're embarrassing yourself and you can't even run from it, the sleeping boy keeping you in your place and you're honestly ready to spiral because you just kind of hit (punched, even) him - this is definitely you crossing a line. and what if he really gets mad now and actually tells the faculty—

another wave of laughter breaks you from your thoughts. and then his own hand makes contact – landing firmly on your thigh; not to far up to make it like that but it's there to reassure that he's not a snitch of any kind and that's he's truly happy to have you as megumi's teacher. nothing better than having a real person looking after your boy.

but it is satoru gojo – it wouldn't be him if he didn't tease you properly at least once. "you're so cute like this. curses and hits being thrown here and there, whew! a great rolemodel for the kids, for sure."

you're burning up, almost afraid that you'll wake gumi with the heat emitting from your body. satisfied with the result, satoru gives your thigh a squeeze. "i'm kidding, i'm kidding. no harm done, right?"

he's gazing at you, borderline burning his eyes into yours with a sly smirk and now you also understand why megumi keeps calling his guardian very annoying every chance he gets.

"yeah." you quirp. "anyway, my ass is getting really sore now, so i think it's best to-" in attempt to escape the stealth attack on your heart, you try to change the topic, even when the weight of satoru's eyes stays on you for a second longer.

you shift your gaze to megumi, raising your hand to his face, gently tracing down his nose and booping it. you brush more of his hair from his face, trying to pull him from his dreamland as softly as you can. "megumi, look, who's here...."

his lips press into another pout as you land a second boop on his nose, finally making him stir. his eyes open ever so slowly, gazing up at you as he raises his fist to rub out the sleep.

"hey, gumi."

satoru's voice stills the boy. his body doesn't move, his eyes alone turning from you to the source of the voice. and the second his green eyes meet the blue ones – he's burying his face into the crook of satoru's neck. you observe their little reunion; megumi's hands are so tight around his neck, most certainly choking the man but he doesn't mind. he doesn't mind at all. satoru's arms wrap around the boy, holding him safe and sound right to his chest, to his heartbeat.

"missed me?"

megumi grumbles something into him, something unintelligible but most definitely something that resembles a kid's insult. satoru's mischievous eyes meet yours and you bite your lip, trying to look as stern as possible when the both of you know that you're just holding back another beautiful smile.

"let's go home, yeah?"

megumi nods as satoru stands with the boy in his arms. when you start pushing yourself up, he lends you a hand - his warm fingers easily engulfing yours in a quick motion. the touch lingers, skin on skin longer than needed. neither of you say comment on it – the butterflies in your stomach would gladly do all of the talking for you. you walk them to the door, staring at the sleepy little megumi, who's glancing at you over satoru's shoulder every two seconds.

you hand satoru megumi's pack and then gently place his jacket over his shoulders before giving one final rub on his back. "be good, yeah?"

he hums back, green eyes finding safe haven in yours. another smile is threathing to show when you wink at him, so he buries himself back into satoru's neck, making the man laugh loudly. this is the first time you hear it for real. it ripples through his whole body, his chest –shaking megumi as it does, it bounces off the walls of the room and finds its way to you and your ears. it's irresistible – you can't not respond with the same when he does it, the current just pulling you along. and it'll keep you for a long time.

"it was nice to meet you. finally."

"oh, you've been waiting for this?"

...

yeah, you walked right into that one, you admit your unfortune, but luckily megumi is there to save you by giving him a hard nudge on the back.

"okay, okay, little guy.... can't even hit on his teachers in peace..." he sighs, earning a way stronger hit and a way darker blush on your cheeks. "it was really nice meeting you too. finally."

you give him a small nod, fingers playing with the bracelet. you watch him carry the boy toward the door, ready to go home and calm your heart.

"wait-" satoru turns just as he steps outside into the sunlight. his eyes shine now even more than they did inside, almost blinding you. "how come you're not running to the bathroom? i thought you were dying."

"well, i was trying to be polite and wait until you leave, so you know..." lowering your voice, you tell him: "fuck off already." flashing him one final smile, the one he's gonna think about for the rest of the night (for the rest of many many nights), you motion for him to move along.

a quick little bye is all he gets before you close the door after him, leaving him standing in from of the house with a stupid smitten grin on his face. if it weren't for megumi, he'd probably stay standing there. "they said fuck." the boy whispers.

"fuck yeah." he laughs before he ruffles megumi's hair, finally making their way over to his car. "by the way, you're an awful wingman, buddy..."

[weasvlys]

Band Rehearsal

Rodrick Heffley x Y/N (Fem! Reader)

Warnings: Smutty, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, sexual graphic content, explicit language, interrupted sex.

Word count: 1579.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Math..." you said under your breath as you looked for your book in your locker, until suddenly a hand closed it, "ahhg" you gasped, Your gaze immediately settled on the worm-eaten black nail polish, without a doubt, it was Rodrick Heffley, "What is your problem?" You asked him angrily, ever since you entered the band it seemed like he never got tired of bothering you, he had a smile from ear to ear, a bit mischievous, he clumsily put his hand on his head and his elbow on the locker, trying to... flirt?, “Band Rehearsal, at 6, and don’t be late!” he said, emphasizing the last sentence, and vanished.

It was frustrating to be with him, his joking look and his mischievous smile, always feeling his gaze on you, it made your legs tremble, and when he reached his hand a little lower on your back, a little higher on your leg, or he came a little closer than normal, you could feel your heart beating faster, and the most frustrating thing was not knowing if he did it on purpose, to make you nervous and lose focus, or worst, it simply didn't mean anything to him and he did it accidentally.

You arrived at his house, expecting the garage door to be open, however, it wasn't, frustrated you went to the front door, you rang the doorbell twice and waited for the answer from his cheerful mother, who always welcomed you with a kind smile, and regularly a "you look beautiful today", however, you didn't receive that, you heard some heavy and fast feet coming down the stairs and when the door opened you saw an agitated Rodrick, "Hello…" you said in a sigh, you could avoid getting nervous at his look, "Can I come in?" you said in a sigh, you couldn't help but get nervous at his gaze, immediately Rodrick opened the door wider, letting you into his spotless house "It's the kitchen door" he said, referring to where the garage was, as soon as you walked in and saw that, again, you were the first to arrive, "They're late.. again" you said, "Today it's just you and me", Rodrick said, that, for some reason made you feel butterflies "How come?", you ask, and Rodrick gave you a look, confirming your biggest fear, on that occasion, it would be just you and him.

The practice started, you were the vocalist, and just that time you couldn't concentrate, and you couldn't reach any note correctly, so, by the fifth time you stopped Rodrick's rhythm, he got up from his stool so hard that it almost flew away, he threw the drumsticks to the wall in front of you, that genuinely scared you, "What's wrong with you?!" You asked upset, "Y/N, this is the fifth time we do this, can't you concentrate? Y/N?!" he said, putting in front of you, "What's wrong?", his voice was starting to calm down, he looked you in the eyes, that made your voice crack, "I-I don't know..." you said, his eyebrows raised, worried, he bent down a little to be right at your level, "Y/N" he said in a sigh, almost sexual, "What's wrong?", that tender and soft way he spoke to you made you let it all out, "I'm nervous, okay?!" you said, frustrated, "And if we perform in front of an audience, will you still be nervous too?" Rodrick said, "No! I-" you tried to retort, but that one couldn't seem to get out of your throat.

"Look, here's what we'll do" he said as he sat down on the couch in front of you, "I'll sit here, I'll look at you and I need you to forget the nervousness. I won't stop until you do..." those last words seemed to have a different kind of connotation, you decided to ignore him, there was no chance to think what could be inside his mind "One.... Two... Three..." as soon as he finished you started, looking him straight in the eyes, however, by the second verse, his mischievous smile made you lose your concentration again, you suddenly shut up and lowered your gaze, Rodrick snapped his mouth, sighed and said "Have you ever heard of when we are nervous we have to imagine the audience naked?" Those words made you tremble, you nodded your head without saying more, "We'll do that, but literally" his voice became deeper, he got up from the couch, and without taking off his lustful look, he lowered his hands by the edge of his shirt and lifted it, slowly, letting you see his thin, but marked abdomen, that took your breath away "Start again" he said, "Rodrick-" you try to reply "Just do it" he said interrupting you, you rolled your eyes and started again, but after a few seconds, the smile that was forming on his lips weakened you, "Wow, I didn't think it would be that easy", he lowered his hands again, this time to his pants, he placed his slender fingers on the buckle of his belt, he opened it slowly, with a mouth open, his fingers traveled to the button of his jeans, he opened it, and pulled down his pants, revealing his boxer, where you could perfectly appreciate his bulge, big and juicy, bigger than expected. 

You could not avoid looking at his crotch and he, looking at your reaction, laughed, "Do you like what you see?", he asked laughing, he knew what he was doing, he sat down again "Start again", he commanded, but the words were not able to come out of your mouth "Do what I tell you to...", that second reply made you feel weaker, you could not resist, and you started to sing, that situation, unusually, made you concentrate a little more, but not quite, you went out of tune again and Rodrick, without saying anything, got up from the couch, came closer to your face, gave a soft and sweet kiss on your cheek, then on your jaw, on your neck, and you couldn't resist moaning, he started to lower his kisses, and when he reached your crotch he knelt in front of you, he put his fingers in the edge of your jeans, unbuttoned them, and started to pull them down, without letting his gaze off, "Keep singing", he said, almost in a whisper, and you followed his order, every note was perfect while you felt his hot breath on your panties, and without further ado, he put his cold fingers on the edge of your panties, and he began to pull them down along with his kisses.

He opened his mouth,letting his tongue out, which made a line right across your entry to your clit, where he dedicated some soft and gentle strokes, not taking his eyes off you for one second, to then the band rehearsal was officially over, and now your mouth only let out pornografic moans, which sounded across the four walls.

He stood up, looking at you to the eyes and said in a deep full of lust voice “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear”, took you by the neck and passionately kissed you, which you replied, you took your hands inside is boxer to found his big hard-rock cock, the moment you touched him he deliciously moaned, like he was dying for it to happen, “Yes~…” he said, he pulled his boxers down and you finally saw hies 9 inch dick bounced out of his jeans, with a red trobbing tip, waiting to be inside you.

“Get in the couch baby, please~…” he said, in such a desperate way, almost begging, you got in four, shaking your ass, waiting for him to enter, he places his tip on your crotch, and even he was desperate for it to happens, he started to torture you, letting it in a bit, your as soon as he did, que took it out, in exasperation, you gasped, “Please Rod… Let me feel you…” you said, you never thought you’d would he saying that, “You wanted in?” He asked, almost growling “yes… please” you responded, “how much?” He replied, letting it a bit more, “Aggh~Fuck… so much” you said, moaning, and with no further action he strucked his 9 inches right inside you, letting the wet noices out, followed by a fast in pain and pleasure “Awwh, you are so wet, and so hot…” he said, so loud that could be heard outside, he late his big cock out again, and stuck you, one more time, allowing him to feel your sweet spot, “Yes Rod!” You screamed, and all of the sudden, key noices started to sound, and the sound of the lock on the front door, “Rodrick?! I’m home!”, Mrs. Jeffrey was home, and with no hesitation you and Rodrick started to get dressed up, as quickly as you could, the steps came closer and door opend in a blink, fortunately, you where already all dressed up, “Oh! Hi hon’, didn’t knew you were home” she said, “where in a rehearsal, mom.” Rodrick said in a shaky nervous voice, “Oh, sure thing, I thing I heard you outside” she said and left the room with no further action, and laughs came out of the both of you, “Next time, we’ll do it in my place”, you said, “Next time?” Rodrick replied in that same teasing way.

[gepards-beloved]

playing with his hair

w/ blade, jing yuan, dan heng, gepard, luocha, sampo

" what are you doing?" a groggy voice calls from your lap. when you glance down, you are greeted with a crimson orb and a pair of pinched brows - the crease dissipates when you kiss BLADE on his forehead. " your hair is so long," you grin, playing a portion between your fingers; it had a faint waft of your shampoo. " do you want me to stop?" he blinks at you, handsome face unveiled when not having a curtain of black over his eyes. he looked cute like that— and it felt particularly special when he dropped his cold demeanor in favor of displaying a more vulnerable side; one you have been privy to on many occasions. if you hadn't known better, you'd say his face has gradually softened since you've locked eyes. " no," he whispers, screwing his eyes shut. " this is good." when you resume untangling his roots, he thinks he's found something even more comforting than your kisses. it surprises him, even as his body resumes to sink in your lap— but you continue to find ways to worm into his heart. the thought of complaining never crosses him.

oh, JING YUAN, elegant, refined, and adroit in both marksmanship and leadership. the great general can only fall pilant to one certain foe— you. your hands sift through his hair, locks of snow terribly soft and frizzy in all directions. " it's so soft," you pull the loose strands into makeshift hairstyles of sorts. he looked enchanting as ever, golden rays of light catching his locks in a replenishment shine; then again, he always looked picturesque. the room was quiet, save for his deep sighs that sent a flutter to your heart. jing yuan turns his head to glance at you, but you quickly usher him to sit still as you work out the knots. he couldn't help himself. he just wanted to see your cute face scrunch up in concentration and kiss your jutted lips. he finds appreciation in these details, signaling your endless care for him. he gently pries away one of your hands, placing kisses along the knuckles. " don't worry, my dear," he smiles, moving to kiss your wrist. " i'm all yours." (honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you found a bird hiding deep within the roots. he merely chuckles, kissing your thigh in a show of tenderness. he's far too entranced with your hands tangling in his roots to concern himself with the actual nest he's housing.)

DAN HENG was reading a book, and his hair was just there; loosely tied together in a neat presentation. honestly, how could something taunt you so much, and how could he look so ethereal by just reading?? he notices see you in the corner of his eye, his curiosity already piqued before you even got his hair. " what trouble are you stirring up to this time," he blatantly inquires, serious as ever but deterred by a gentle tone he always speaks to you in. "oh nothing," you giggle. "carry on reading." he cocks a brow but remains quiet. despite himself, he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching when you start to weave your hands in the strands. you tended it with care, combing it out with your fingers and dan heng couldn't bring himself to foucs on the words anymore. he nearly shivers when you suddenly press a kiss to the nape of his neck, his sharp exhale occupying the silence. after a couple blissful moments, he pulls away, book long discarded on the table. you hardly got the chance to whine, not when he gently brings you to sit on his lap. " standing won't be necessary," his hand settles on your hips, pecking you on the cheek. " you will be more comfortable this way."

the skeptical look in GEPARD'S eye progressively falters the longer you curl your fingers in his roots. instead, a form of bliss comes to blend into his countenance, and his lips gape into an 'o' pair with a rosy blush in brew from the proximity. it was hard not to get butterflies in your chest when he rubbed his cheek into your palm. and his eyes went heavy when you scratched the area beneath his ear; he was almost like a puppy of sorts. " you're the most handsome man I know," your lips brush the corner of his mouth, the skin growing warm from your words. before you could pull away, his hand grabs your face and brings you in for a kiss proper - it's messy and hurried, still lacking experience but nonetheless effective in sending a wave of anticipation up your spine." can we stay like this forever?" he shuffles closer to you, nose bumping yours; your hands were still buried deep within his blonde hair and he nearly whines when you brush your thumb over his scalp. the sensation, coupled with your synchronized inhales and exhales was nearly numbing. without realizing it, gepard tucks a loose strand of your own behind your ear, a lovestruck grin finding his lips. when you nod, his smile reaches his eyes.

its no secret that LUOCHA adores your touch. you weren't sure how long he's been using your lap as a pillow, sleepily blinking at you as his hand stroked your thigh. a hum escapes him when you experimentally ran a nail down his head; the way his eyes fluttered shut was almost instantaneous, and he tilted his head to the side to grant you more access. he pushes back the temptation to squirm when you curl your hands on the back on his head, the baby hairs responding to your touch. luocha thinks he might just fall asleep like this, his grip turning lax against your clothes. it's only when you move to twirl his bangs around your pinky that it returns stubbornly. " are you teasing me?" he chooses to ignore the way his heart tickles when you cup his face, batting your eyelashes at him. " i'm just looking at you, you're handsome." he smiles against his own rationality, the expression warming you up far more than the sun's rays ever could. he pinches your chin gently, pulling you down until your lips meet in a sloppy movement, tasting like the jam you had fed him earlier. when his eyes fall shut you had the opportunity to fully admire his bliss expression, lopsided and bright. " thank you," he guides your hand back into his hair but not before pressing a kiss to the palm. " indulge me a little more, my love?"

SAMPO was being oddly quiet. so much so, it was growing unnerving. rather than being met with cheesy one-liners or random kisses to your neck, you were greeted instead by silence and a sampo who laid at your lap unmoving. huh, it seems he's fallen asleep, you thought, taking the advantage to run your fingers through his unkempt hair. it was unruly, increasingly so as you meander your fingers along the roots. sampo forces back his grin when you cup the back of his head, baby hairs elevating to your touch. he does, however, release a sigh when you start to detangle it mindlessly, the outside world momentarily forgotton. your stupor is broken when a drawled "y/n~" intrudes the silence, punctuated by a pinch to your arm. you don't know what was more humiliating: your yelp or the way your body went taut. " were you faking this entire time?" you reeled back, frowning at the mirth glazed in his eyes; you don't get too far when he captures your hand, peppering kisses along the wrist. " don't be so surprised," sampo gives your pulse point a teasing nibble, relishing in the reaction it coaxes from you. " i have tricks up my sleeve too."

[beloveds-embrace]

hey this worm in my brain just told me a crazy scenario where duchess reader is reading a book in the bedroom with gaz feeding her grapes one by one and while he's feeding her she's at the part of the book where there's a scene of a character inserting their fingers to another character's mouth sensually, and bad good news is that she's ovulating and she (not so) accidentally dragged her lips a bit longer on gaz's fingers when he fed her a grape and-

i think this worm is saying some important info and i think u need to know about this

smooching that worm and its host <33

The gentle rustle of pages filled the warm, golden glow of the your chambers, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. You sat nestled in a mountain of pillows, a novel open in your lap, the silk of your nightgown brushing your legs. Your beloved Kyle sat beside you on the bed, feeding you grapes one by one, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they pressed the sweet fruit to your lips.

You had grown so used to the comfortable intimacy of their presence that it never occurred to you how the simplest gestures could spiral into something far, far more tantalizing.

Kyle’s eyes followed the slow movement of your lips, mesmerized as they closed around the grape, your tongue brushing the pad of his finger in a way that made him inhale sharply. You didn’t notice his reaction- not at first. You were too engrossed in the book, your cheeks warm as the current scene unfolded: a stolen moment between lovers, where one character sensually slid their fingers into another’s mouth, the intimate act charged with forbidden tension, unable to tear their gazes away from one another even as drool trickling down the receiver’s chin, down and down to the valley of their throat.

The description sent warmth spreading through your belly, and without realizing it, your lips lingered on Kyle’s finger a beat too long when he fed you the next grape. His breath hitched audibly this time, and you froze, eyes widening as they flicked up to meet his. Realization came to you equally slow and fast.

“Duchess…” Kyle murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges, like gravel softened by rain. His eyes darkened, gaze heavy with something that made your pulse quicken. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Your lips parted, and you stammered, “I-I’m not- ” But the denial died on your tongue as Kyle’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb grazing your lower lip. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your abdomen.

The book slipped from your hands, forgotten.

Kyle tilted his head, his mouth curving into a slow, mischievous smile as he leaned closer. His scent- clean, woodsy, and undeniably masculine- filled your senses, and you instinctively leaned back into the pillows, though you didn’t shy away.

“You’ve been distracted all evening,” he murmured, a velvet murmur the caressed your body. “The content of that book has left you quite flustered. That’s unlike you, my Duchess.”

Your breath hitched as his hand, warm and steady, cupped your cheek. He brushed a stray lock of hair away, his fingers tracing your jawline before skimming down your throat. The touch left a trail of fire in its wake- and it coalesced in your belly, warm and demanding.

“I-I was just reading- ”

“Mm.” Kyle hummed, clearly unconvinced, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip again. “Reading something interesting, I’m guessing. Care to share?”

His voice was teasing, but his eyes were locked on yours, dark and unyielding. Your skin burned under his scrutiny, and your mouth moved without thinking.

“It… It was about… a man… and his fingers…”

Your voice trailed off, your face as warm as a furnace. Kyle’s smile turned wolfish, and his thumb pressed just slightly into your mouth, grazing your teeth with no opposition.

“His fingers, hm?” His voice dropped lower, the rasp sending a shiver through you. “And what was he doing with them, Duchess?”

You couldn’t answer. Words failed you as Kyle slowly, forcefully, pushed his thumb past your lips, testing the waters. Your tongue brushed against it instinctively, and the low groan that rumbled from his chest made your thighs clench. And then it was your turn to moan softly when he pinned your tongue down, the rest of his fingers cupping your jaw.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, smug. “You’ve been craving, haven’t you, wife?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, leaning in closer until his lips were a breath away from yours. His hand slipped lower, trailing down your neck, his thumb retreating only to be replaced by his mouth capturing yours in a searing kiss. You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that left you dizzy and breathless, and yet chasing the feeling again.

Kyle’s hands didn’t stay idle. One slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while the other found its way to your thigh, pushing the silk of your nightgown higher as his fingers caressed the bare skin beneath.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” he confessed against your lips, rough with restraint. “Every look, every smile, every touch… And now, this.”

His fingers gripped your thigh firmly, tugging you closer until you were straddling him, the novel long forgotten on the bed. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions, and the warmth between your legs grew unbearable.

“Kyle.” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with want.

“Yes, my Duchess?” His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting gently at the sensitive skin, leaving behind little marks he knows he will obsess over later.

“I… I need you.”

The admission was all he needed. His hands slid to your hips, lifting you effortlessly as he guided you into his lap. The hardness pressing against you made you gasp, and he chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised, molten honey and soft silks. “I’ll give you everything you need, and then some.”

You didn’t doubt him for a second.

[eightstarr]

what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

don't support zionist neil druckmann.

daily click. learn about palestine. donate and share!

・。.・゜✧・. ────

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember. 

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

[k4marina]

— iii. Stormborn || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: as plans to conqour westeros begin, daenerys and i are met with an unknown visitor

warnings: got cannon violence, war, battle nothing super graphic. this chapter follows the storylime of Stormborn (S7 Ep2) so spoiler warning ig

a/n: all dialogue italicized is in Valyrian & important note at the end!!

series masterlist || next part

4.9k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

“Your Grace summons you to the Painted Table.” The servant had said after I had gotten back to my room from my morning training. Daenerys had gotten busier in the last few weeks as she planned ahead for the upcoming war. 

I found her standing by the fireplace with her back turned towards me and the table that was in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms. A few figurines of different houses of Westeros were laid out in their appropriate places. 

“You called?” 

She takes a moment to turn, collecting her thoughts. 

“In a few days Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, and Yara Greyjoy will be here to pledge their allegiance to me and further discuss our plans to take the Iron Throne.” She rounded the table, walking closer to me. “But before they arrive is there anything I must know?”

I furrowed my brows, thinking back or ahead in the future? Nonetheless, I wracked my brain for anything that would be useful. 

“Oh,” I remembered. “An ambush. There’s going to be an ambush.” 

A flash of concern comes across her face. “Who?” 

“Euron Greyjoy. After your meeting you ordered Yara to escort Ellaria and their troops to Sunspear. But along the way Euron ambushes them.” The whole ordeal was hard to read. Daenerys’ campaign was going so well until that point. 

“It was catastrophic. So many died and so many ships destroyed they were still finding wreckage when I was born.” I turned towards the map, thinking back to where we were told the ambush had taken place. 

 “Here. 50 miles north of Sharp Point in Blackwater Bay.” I pointed out. “That’s where they were ambushed.” 

“The damage?”

“Significant. Euron, Yara’s uncle, takes her and Ellaria Sand and her daughter as hostages for Cersie and imprisons them in King's Landing. And, his ships are equipped with Scorpions.” 

She takes in a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes look down at where I’ve pointed just a moment ago, weighing her options and thinking of a new plan. 

“So what do we do?” 

I smile. “I have a plan.”

—

Rain had been pouring down for the past three days and it showed no signs of letting up all while the entire castle prepared for the arrival of Houses Greyjoy, Martel, and Tyrell. I sighed, walking away from the floor to ceiling windows of the library and back to the roundtable full of books. With the rain getting heavier Grey Worm had decided to postpone my lessons which left me in the library of the castle, hunched over a mountain of books.

“Not very fond of the rain?” Missandei asks from the table, peering over a book. “I am. Just not very fond of the dreariness of it.” I reply, sitting down across from her. “It’s interesting how something as simple as the weather can change a person's entire mood.” 

She nodded, setting the book aside. “In Essos it barely rained. Whenever it did, the sky would be clear and the temperature hot. Here, the rain is so…” 

“Heavy.” I finished off. “Whenever the weather gets like this all I want to do is sleep.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Missandei beams. “I just want to curl up under the hearth with a cup of tea and a good book.” 

I laughed, “after all the reading I’ve done, it’s the last thing I’d want to do when I’m relaxing.” 

We both shared a laugh before falling into a pregnant pause. I could tell that she was still apprehensive about me. When she came to me this morning, asking to join me in the library, I was shocked. Out of council meetings and occasionally bumping into each other we had barely talked. 

“You don’t trust me,” I said. 

She watched my expression as she replied. “Can you blame me?” 

I shook my head. “No, I’m glad that you are, though. I’d be more concerned if you’d blindly trust me. Especially with my.. sudden appearance.”

Out of everyone in Daenerys’ council I knew from the start that Missandei would be the hardest to build a relationship with. She’d been with Dany for years. She’d seen her at her lowest and highest. Which is why she would be one of my most important allies, other than Daenerys. 

“You also don’t trust us,” Missandei says. 

“Wrong,” I correct. “I trust Daenerys. You. Grey Worm, and Tyrion.” 

“Not Lord Varys?” She asks. 

“No. Varys is… different, in a lot of ways.” I needed to tread carefully. I couldn’t just outwardly say that he would betray Daenerys and be the reason why Misssandei would die. But, I could sew in the seeds of doubt. 

“He’s.. somewhat unpredictable.” I pursed my lips. “His origin and journey is admirable, don’t get me wrong. It’s just his methods and means and history that are a bit questionable.” 

Everyone knows that Varys has his “little birds” but they don’t know the truth behind them. Missandei didn’t say much after that, letting my words sit in her mind for the rest of the day. I knew what I had said had left her stumped and that she would tell Daenerys of our conversation. I just hoped that the seed had been planted deep enough. 

—

The storm had raged on into the night. I was getting ready to turn into the night when a servant informed me of a small council meeting at the Painted Table. Quickly, I made my way over, seeing that everyone else was already there. 

“I hope I’m not late.” I say to no one in particular. Missandei and Grey Worm give me a few nods while Tyrion and Varys watch Daenerys who had her back towards us, deep in thought. 

“On a night like this, you were born,” Tyrion remarks. 

“I remember that storm. All the dogs in King’s Landing howled through the night.” Varys adds.

“I wish I could remember it.” Daenerys says, finally turning around. Her face was somewhat stoic as she walked over to the table. “I always thought this would be a homecoming, this doesn't feel like home.”

She’s upset, I noted. Did Missandei and I’s conversation work?

“We won’t stay at Dragonstone for long.” Tyrion reassures. 

“Good.” She says, looking at the figurine on the table. “Not many lions.”

“Cersie controls fewer than half of the Seven Kingdoms. The lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her. Now…” Varys says. I don’t know why but the tone of his voice makes me want to jump into the sea.

“They cry out for their true queen? They drink secret toasts to my health?” Daenerys walks closer to Varys, almost as if she were sizing him up. “People used to tell my brother that sort of thing, and he was stupid enough to believe them.”

Everyone in the room watches carefully as she picks up a dragon figurine from the table. “If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back he’d have invaded King’s Landing already.” 

“Conquering Westeros would be easy for you. But you’re not here to be the queen of the ashes.” Tyrion interjects. 

“No,” Daenerys puts down the dragon figure. 

“We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughterhouse,” I say. “We already have three great houses supporting your claim.” 

“I agree,” Tyrion nods my way. “With the Tyrell army and the Dornish on our side, we have powerful allies in the south.” 

Daenerys looks at Varys. “I never properly thanked you for that.” Though, her voice lacked any bit of gratitude. 

“They joined our side, my queen, because they believe in you.” Vays says.

“You served my father, didn’t you, Lord Varys?”

“I did,” He replies. 

“And then you served the man who overthrew him?” Her tone shifted. 

“I had a choice, Your Grace– serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe.” Varys says defensively.

“But you didn’t serve him long. You turned against him.”

“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel. He simply had no interest in being king.” Varys countered. 

“So you took it upon yourself to find yourself a better one.” She pressed further. 

Tyrion, feeling the tension in the room, comes to Varys’ defense. “Your Grace,” Daenerys turns towards Tyrion. “When I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a queen in the east who–” 

“Before I came to power,” Daenerys turned back to Varys, “you favored my brother. All your spies, your little birds, did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid, and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good king in your learned opinion?”

“Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace. I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful.” Varys deflects. Daenerys looks past and towards me. 

“Are you sure?” I hummed, catching everyone’s attention. Varys’ face hardened and he glared towards me. “Because from what I remember, you’ve always known about Daenerys.” 

I stepped forward, standing behind Daenerys. “Matter of fact, you were the one who planned Daenerys’ marriage to Khal Drogo with Illyrio.”

Varys opened his mouth to speak, but Daenerys beat him to it. 

“You and your friends traded me like a prized horse to the Dothraki.” 

“Which you turned to your advantage.” He was starting to panic. It was clear the Varys didn’t like to have his back against the wall. 

“Who gave the order to kill me?” 

“King Robert.” He replies quickly. 

“Who hired the assassins?” She steps closer to Varys. “Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?” 

“Your Grace,” you could hear panic set in his voice. “I did what had to be done–”

“To keep yourself alive.” Daenerys says firmly. 

“Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant.” Tyrion says, trying to calm the situation. 

“Proven himself loyal?” I scoffed. 

“Quite the opposite.” Daenerys, turned towards her hand. “If he dislikes one monarch. He conspires to crown the next one. What kind of a servant is that?”

“The kind the realm needs.” Varys says firmly. “Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I’ll use them. I wasn’t born into a great house. I come from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. You wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any king or queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win. If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Grey Worm can behead me or your dragons can devour me. But if you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne because I choose you. Because I know the people have no better chance than you.”

Silence lingers in the air as Varys’ words settle into the room. The rest watched the three of us carefully, holding their breaths. 

“Swear this to me, Varys.” Daenerys’ voice is calm, and no longer holds any edge. “If you ever think I’m failing the people, you won’t conspire behind my back. You’ll look me in the eye as you have done today, and you’ll tell me how I’m failing them.” 

Feeling satisfied that he’s in the clear, Varys stands straight. “I swear it, my queen.” 

“And I swear this– if you even betray me, I’ll burn you alive.” She quickly warns. 

Varys smiles. “I would expect nothing less from the Mother of Dragons.” 

Amidst back and forth a servant had entered the room, informing Grey Worm of a visitor. 

“Forgive me, my queen. A red priestess from As’shai has some to see you.” 

––––

The doors to the throne room open, revealing a woman in red standing alone. She had red hair and dark red-ish eyes. Could this be?

The woman bows, her eyes linger on me before addressing Daenerys in Valyrian. “Queen Daeneys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honor to meet the Breaker of Chains.” 

“The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here. What is your name?” Daenerys replies. 

“I am called Melisandre.” 

“She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne.” Varys says from behind us. “It didn’t end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?”

“No, it didn’t” Melisandre replies with no emotions. 

Not only did it not end well for Stannis, but it also didn’t end well for his daughter who he burned alive under Melisandre’s orders, but if you ask her it was the “Lords” doing. 

“You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone.” Daenerys turns to look at Varys. “We’ve decided to pardon those who served the wrong king.” 

Varys doesn’t reply and just bows his head, thankful that Daenerys hadn’t fed him to Drogon. 

Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “The Lord of Light doesn’t have many followers in Westeros, does he?” 

“Not yet. But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.” 

“What does your Lord expect from me?” Daenerys questions. 

“The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.”

I sucked in a breath through my nose. We were getting closer to Jon’s arrival and everything else that would follow suit. 

“The prince who was promised will bring the dawn.” Daenerys repeats. “I'm afraid I'm not a prince.”  

“Your Grace, forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate.” Missandei corrects from the side. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.”

“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” Tyrion comments. 

“No, but I like it better.” Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “And you believe this prophecy refers to me?” 

“Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play, as does another. The King in the North, Jon Snow.” Melisandre explains.

“Jon Snow?” Tyrion says, shocked. “Ned Stark's bastard?” 

“You know him?” Daenerys asks. 

Tyrion nods. “I traveled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch.” 

“And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow aside from the visions you’ve seen in the flames, that is?” Varys inquired. 

“As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch he allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall to protect them from great danger. As King in the North he has united those Wildlings with the northern houses so together they may face their common enemy.” 

Even after hundreds of years after the events of this time, Jon’s heroism is still marveled  upon. The North still remembers the King in the North.

“He sounds like quite a man.” I say.

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you things that have happened to him, the things that he has seen with his own eyes.” Melisandre urged Daenerys. 

Tyrion nodded, “I can’t speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him, and I am an excellent judge of character.” 

“If he does rule the north, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.” Tyrion added. 

She glanced up from Tyrion to me, asking if it were true. I gave her a subtle nod and she turned back to Tyrion, smiling. 

“Very well. Send a raven north.” She says. “Tell Jon Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone… and bend the knee.”

–––

Our new allies arrived early in the morning, just as the sun rose over the horizon. I wore a black dress with a wool outer layer with silver clasps running from my collarbone to above my navel. The shoulders, forearms, and collar had a dragon scale pattern. It was simple, but still full of detail, but most importantly it kept me warm in this dreaded weather.The rain had stopped overnight, but the clouds had stayed, blocking any sunlight.

Everyone was gathered at the Painted Table, all ready and waiting for Daenerys to make her entrance. As I entered the room, conversation between our guests dulled down as they couldn’t look away. I didn’t have to look to know what they were thinking. 

Another Targaryen? 

The room was cold from the night's rain and the cold sea so I threw more wood into the hearth and stood by Missandei as we waited for Daenerys. I glanced around the room, watching as Yara, Ellaria, and Olenna talked but occasionally glanced towards me. 

“They seem to be interested in you.” Missandei comments. 

“I thought they’d have a bigger reaction,” I say. “Maybe a few jaw’s on the floor, or a few gasps of shock.” 

Missandei chuckled. “I’m afraid all you’ll get is a few stares and gossip.” 

“I guess I can take that.” I hummed. 

The doors swung open as Daenerys entered. Everyone stood at attention as she made her way to the front of the room. 

“I want to thank you all for making the journey to Dragonstone. Now, let us begin.” 

Yara was the first to speak. “If you want the Iron Throne, take it. We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King's Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms.” Tyrion shook his head. 

Ellaria looked towards him with disgust, which was noticed by all. “It's called war. You don't have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

“I know how you wage war. We don't poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.” Tyrion bit back. 

Ellaria scoffed. “She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannisters. My greatest regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you.” 

“Oberyn was a grown man. He made his choice, no one can change that. Myrcella was a child, she didn’t do anything. I think we all here know that a child isn’t responsible for their fathers sins.” I said from the sidelines, giving her a pointed look. 

“That's enough. Tyrion is the Hand of the Queen. You will treat him with respect.” Daenerys reminded. Both Tyrion and Ellaria backed down, Ellaria giving me one last look. “I am not here to be the Queen of Ashes.” 

“That's very nice to hear.” Olenna said from across the table. “Of course, I can't remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her, the nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they're all just children really. They won't obey you unless they fear you.”

“I'm grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your council. I'm grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack King's Landing. We will not attack King's Landing.” Daenerys says, genuinely. 

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne? By asking nicely?” Olenna asks. I smiled at the older womens sass. 

Daenerys looked towards me and I stepped forward. “We will lay siege to the capital, surrounding it on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.” 

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied.” Tyrion adds. He walks around the carved table, “Cersie will try to rally the lords of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty, their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.” 

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria clarifies. 

“You are.” Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that resembled a Kraken in a longship. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear and her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing.” He walked over to the south of the map and picked up a figurine that resembled a sun. Taking both figurines, Tyrion places them at King’s Landing. “The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms united against Cersie.”

“So your master plan is to use our armies? Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?” Olenna asks Daenerys. 

Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that looked like an Unsullied helmet. He walked around the map. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Grey Worm and the Unsullied will sail for the Rock and take it.”

He stops in front of Casterly Rock, a lion figurine sitting on the Rock. Tyrion takes a moment before knocking over the lion with the Unsullied figurine to everyone's pleasure. 

A clam settles and Daenerys addresses the room. “There is another matter to discuss.” Everyone looks at her, caught off guard. “I’ve come to learn that there will be an ambush in Blackwater Bay led by Euron Greyjoy under Cerseis’ order.” 

“What?” Someone says. 

“Your Grace,” Varys steps forward. “Forgive me, but I’ve heard no such thing to take place.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Perhaps you’re mistaken.” 

“There have been no mistakes, Lord Varys.” Daenerys says. I moved to stand on Daenerys' side. 

“Euron will strike at night.” I explain. “His ships are equipped with Scorpions, they’re deadly and will tare your ships to shreads.” 

Yara’s face drops. “What the hell do we do? Our ships aren’t fully equipped to take on his.” Theon, behind her, is equally terrified. 

“We know,” I say, calmly. “That is why I’ll be escorting you.” 

“Forgive me, my dear, but what can you do?” Olenna asks. 

“I’ll be on dragonback. I’ll be flying high enough to go unnoticed, but close by to help when the attack happens. There will be casualties on our end, that's certain, but this is war.” The others look at Daenerys and I in shock as they try to find the words to speak.

“But you’ve never flown into battle.” Tyrion says. 

“So?” I shrug. “I’ll have to fight at one point, might as well start now.”

“My Lady, you’ve never flown out that far, you’ll be all alone.” Missandei says. 

“No I won’t. I’ll have my dragon and I’ll have our new allies besides me.” I say, nodding towards Yara and Ellaria. “When I bent the knee to Daenerys and promised to get her the Iron Throne, I meant it. This is what I have to do.”

Daenerys gives me a reassuring look. She turned towards the room. “Do I have your support?”

Yara glances between Daenerys and I. “You have mine.” 

“Dorne is with you, Your Grace.” Ellaria says. 

Lady Olenna nods her head in agreement. 

“Thank you all.” Daenerys says, somewhat relieved. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?” 

Everyone bows and leaves the room. Before leaving I turned towards Daenerys, “I’ll go get ready for my departure.” 

She nods. “Stay safe, sister.”

I smiled. “I will. When I’m back I’ll let you put a braid in my hair.” I say, leaving. 

I stepped out into the hall and down to where my room was where everything was already ready for me. When I first had my conversation with Daenerys about the ambush I had also asked for some armor to be made for me. And with the help of the servants I was able to get into it quickly. It was simple but protective and it allowed me to ride my dragon without hurting either of us. I took two daggers that I’d also had made and placed them into their places on my hip.

Afterwards I headed to where the ships were docked and where Viserion was waiting for me. I stepped outside and saw everyone getting ready to leave. I spotted Yara and Theon were still on the docks giving orders to their crew. 

“Is everything ready?” I ask. 

“It is, My Lady. We’ll be leaving shortly.” Yara says. 

“Good. You’ll leave first and I’ll be behind you not far off. We need to make it look like you’re alone and unsuspecting.” I explained. I glanced back at Theon who still hadn’t said anything, but had something on his mind. “Is something bothering you, My Lord?”

Theon looked taken aback, surprised that I was talking to him. “I’m not a lord.” 

“You’re not?” I repeat. “You are Balon Greyjoy’s son, are you?” 

He nods, not fully looking up at me. 

“That makes you Lady Yara Greyjoy's brother, yes?” 

He nods again, still not looking up. 

“Then that makes you a Greyjoy, an Ironborn. You are every bit of a lord you are now and when you were born on Pyke, do not forget that. What’s happened has happened, no one can change that. All we can do is move forward. We Do Not Sow, yes?”

He nods, finally looking up at me. 

––––

The ships had cleared out of the docks and were making their way into Blackwater Bay. I stood near the cliffs, ready to leave, when Tyrion came to stand beside me. 

“What you’re doing is heroic, My Lady.” He says. 

“I guess it is. I’ve never done anything like this.” I flexed my fingers. “My entire body’s buzzing. Was this what you felt before the Battle of the Blackwater and defeated Stannis’ army?” 

Tyrion nodded. “It did. I felt like throwing up and shitting the floor at the same time.” We both laughed. “I had to drink a few glasses of wine to calm myself down. Perhaps it would help you, My Lady.” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. I need a clear head. But, you can save me that glass for when I get back. Then we can talk about everything that needs to be talked about. Don’t you agree?” 

“I do.” 

––––

It was pitch black and cold. The heat from Viserion’s body was still keeping me warm, but the cold wind blowing past my face was getting to me. Even from up there I could hear the waves crashing down which meant that I’d be able to hear when Euron’s fleet attacked. 

“How you feeling, big guy? Good?” I asked Viserion. He let out a small purr, his entire body vibrating. I sighed, looking up at the sky above. The stars and the mood were my only light as we flew further out. 

“Okay,” I say out loud. “Let's go over our plan. When they attack our ships we fly down and torch them, but we have to be careful not to get too close or else we’ll be caught and we have to watch out for the Scorpions. One hit with that and we’ll be recreating Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. And keep your eye out for Euron, we need him alive.” 

Viserion purrs again and I take that as a sign that he agrees with the plan. The last few weeks I’ve flown with him were good, we’d stay around Dragonstone, the furthest we’ve been was Driftmark, so this was a huge risk. 

When I had explained to Daenerys my plan she was apprehensive. It was clear that she didn’t want either Viserion or I to get hurt, but she knew that we also couldn’t risk our fleet and our army. 

A loud crash brought me out of my thoughts, and a glow erupted from below. The steady waves of the ocean now clashed against one another as Euron began his assault. 

This was it. 

“Now.” I command. 

In an instant Viserion flies down past the clouds and we’re met with Eurons fleet fighting against Yara’s. Almost instantaneously my body and mind knew what to do. Without a word Viserion flew down and prepared himself. 

“Dracarys.” 

Fire erupts out of his mouth and lights the enemy ships below us ablaze. He lets out a loud scratch, gathering everyone's attention below before striking again. It takes them a minute before they aim their Scorpions up towards us. The massive arrows fly past us as Viserion weaves between them while burning Eurons fleet. 

It doesn’t take long for the battle to die down, the air filled with the smell of burnt wood and flesh. Our fleet was damaged but Eurons was completely destroyed. Anyone who could have survived the dragonfire were either killed or taken hostage. Like planned, a Targaryen flag is flown under the Greyjoy’s on Yara’s ship, Black Wind.  

–––––

Once I’d landed back on Dragonstone I quickly said goodbye to Viserion, letting him rest, and made my way down to the docks where everyone, minus Grey Worm, would be waiting for me. 

Daenerys was first to see me, giving me a tight hug while the others nodded my way, smiling. 

“Well done, My Lady. You’ve done well.” Tyrion says. 

“Thank you, but we’ve still got work to do.” 

Right on que, a ship comes into the docks. The crew works quickly to anchor down and disembark. The Ironborn and a few Dornish step off before Theon and a few of his men step off. He’s a little bruised, and he’s got dirt and ash on his face, but overall well. He bow’s towards Daenerys and I, giving me a small smile before he steps aside and allows his men in front who are dragging a beaten up Euron Greyjoy. 

“We’ve got him, Your Grace.” Says Theon. 

“Good,” Daenerys’ eyes never left the unconscious Euron. “Bring him to the dungeons.” 

The men hull him off and everyone makes their way back into the castle. I turn over to Tyrion. 

“Let’s have that drink.”

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @illsenewman @natblidaclexa @bluebirdseatblueberries

!! A/N: I will be going on a hiatus for a few months. I've got some personal stuff going on so I won't be updating any of my series including this one. I don't know when I'll be back, but when I am I'll get you guys a new chapter so hang on tight. Thank you for all the support you've given so far. I know thing are only just getting started story wise but I have a lot to do and I'll make it up to you all when I'm back.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

The Beggar Student by Dazai Osamu

"I could feel the hands of fate upon me. I'd been caught. In his heart of hearts, the student is a thirty-two-year-old drunken poet."

"Not even the wisest reader knows the anguish of the writer who has sent a truly awful piece of writing to a magazine in order to survive. Here goes nothing, I told myself, pushing that heavy envelope into the mailbox. It hit the bottom with a thunk. And that was that. Another crummy story. On the surface, it pretends to be a mirror to my soul, although I know as well as anyone the slimy worms of compromise are wriggling in the muck at the bottom. It's a work in which the work is far from done. ... It makes me so ashamed I want to scream and run around in circles. I promise you, it's terrible. A lousy piece of trash. I have no right to call myself a writer. Such is my ignorance. No insights to impart. No illuminating views."

"I wish I could just cut my belly open and let all of the words come spilling out. No matter if it's gibberish, as long as it's my flesh and blood doing the talking."

"My work will disgrace bookstore windows all across the land. Critics will sneer; readers will give up. That hack writer has outdone himself again, they'll say, setting a low bar for writers everywhere. Tough to beat."

"I'll have you know, I may look like an ass, but I'm not a total moron, and when I say I lack conviction, I only mean it relative to my own high standards."

"You ought to try this out sometime, dear reader. Sit yourself down on the sofa of a coffee shop or bar, facing the fireplace beside the madam of the house, so that both of you are staring at the flames, and talk as if you're speaking to the fire - I promise, up against even the dullest mind, you'll be able to sustain a lively conversation for hour after hour. But take heed, reader: you must not look into each other's eyes, not even once."

"I couldn't shut up if I tried. The only way I can stand being alive is if I'm playing the buffoon."

"One might call reason the glue that holds society together. In that sense, the order we enjoy is artificial, but we need this artifice if we want to go on living."

"Even if I feel bad for a person, I'm certain of the cold hard fact that I can't do anything for them, which leaves me feeling even worse."

"Growing up, I found the name incredibly embarrassing, so despite being a string bean, I've been publishing as Osamu Dazai, a name that makes me sound like a street fighter who might break your neck."

"...This guy's a good person. Not egotistical like you." "Hold on," I said, bristling at being labeled a good person. "I'm plenty egotistical..."

"When something pushes me over the brink of fear, I have a nasty tendency to begin laughing like an idiot. A disturbing, wild laugh. I lose control, can't hold it in. An expression not of brazenness, but extreme cowardice that takes me to the limits of delirium."

"Truth is that grownups are the same as kids, except a little worse for wear. Kids ask a lot from grownups, but grownups ask at least as much from kids. It's a real mess. But it's the truth. We count on you to hold it all together. ...To put it gently, we're always one step away from being overwhelmed. To put it harshly, we're all babies who cant' take a word of criticism."

"Next time life gets you down, curl up in a blanket in your rented room and open a good book."

[wendichester]

୨୧₊ ⊹ would you still love me if I was a worm?,

summary. existential crisis questions make the best topics.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 506.

Sam is hunched over at the war room table, papers spread out in front of him and his laptop open to some lore-heavy website. His hair falls in loose waves around his face, and he absentmindedly pushes it behind his ear as he reads.

You’re sitting across from him, pretending to be invested in your book, but really, you’re watching him. The way his lips purse when he’s concentrating, the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly—it’s unfair how distracting he can be.

“Hey, Sam?” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up, his fingers still scrolling on the touchpad.

You close your book, leaning forward with a grin. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

That gets his attention. He blinks, tilting his head as he finally meets your gaze. “A worm?”

“Yes,” you say seriously, fighting to keep a straight face. “Like, if I magically got turned into a worm. Would you still love me?”

Sam leans back in his chair, his arms crossing as he gives you a look that’s equal parts amused and incredulous. “How the hell do you even come up with this stuff?”

“Just answer the question,” you say, grinning now.

He sighs, but there’s a playful glint in his eye. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’d still love you. I’d carry you around in one of those little terrariums with fancy dirt. Maybe even give you a cute name, like Wiggles.”

You snort. “Wiggles? Really?”

“What? It’s fitting,” he says, shrugging with a smirk. “I’d keep you safe. Make sure no birds got to you. You’d be the happiest worm alive.”

You giggle, leaning your chin on your hand as you watch him. “That’s... surprisingly sweet.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. You’re my girl, worm or not.”

Your heart does a little flutter at that, but you school your expression into mock seriousness. “That’s very noble of you. Because if the roles were reversed, I definitely wouldn’t love you if you were a worm.”

His jaw drops, and he stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “What? Are you serious?”

“Worms are disgusting,” you say, wrinkling your nose.

“You literally just asked me to pledge eternal love to Worm-You!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up.

You shrug, biting back a laugh. “Yeah, but that’s different. I’d be a cute worm.”

Sam groans, leaning forward to rest his head on the table dramatically. “Unbelievable. This is the thanks I get for indulging your weird hypotheticals?”

Reaching across the table, you pat his hand, still laughing. “Come on, don’t take it personally. I’d totally make sure you had a nice patch of dirt to live in.”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you, though the smile tugging at his lips ruins the effect. “You’re lucky I love you, even if you’d throw me to the birds.”

You grin. “What can I say? You’re a better person than I am.”

“Clearly,” he mutters, shaking his head as he tries—and fails—to hide his amusement.

taglist ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ֶָ֢ @deans-daydream

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Would love for you to work your magic on this prompt 💜 @shhhsecretsideblog

Heavily pregnant and overdue, she’s been waiting in line for over an hour to meet her favorite author. Unfortunately, the baby’s decided to arrive now. If she could just make it a little longer, she could ask her all of her burning questions about her novel and tell her how appreciative she is of her work!

(birth denial, inconvenient birth, public labor)

What an amazing prompt, your ideas never fail to inspire me!! Thanks my lovely for the ask, really hope you like it 💜

[fpreg, 2500 words]

Dedicated Book Worm

The contractions had started on the bus ride into town, but she ignored them. A few twinges was nothing to worry about, certainly not today; today Ricki was going to the release and book signing of her favourite author’s latest novel. Her stomach was bubbling with excitement and nerves. She'd been a fan of this writer for years now but had never had the opportunity to get anything signed before, let alone meet the writer in person.

Unsurprisingly it was a very popular event at the bookstore and the queue was already pouring out the doors and lacing down the street. She was glad to have gotten here so early, with only a few dozen people in front of her. The downside of arriving so early meant having to wait in line, which wasn’t so great when you were over 40 weeks pregnant.

Ricki rubbed the taut skin of her stretched belly and exhaled a long quiet breath. The cramping had started to ramp up on the bus journey and she tried to dismiss them, but after standing outside for the best part of an hour she was slowly realising these pains were the real deal - consistent and definitely getting stronger. She debated texting her partner, to tell her she was having contractions, but then she’d have to leave this event. Looking longingly through the glass window of the bookstore and seeing the rows of chairs all set up for the author’s reading of the new book, Ricki nodded to herself, determined. She would stay. She had time to get her copy of the new book, listen to her favourite author, and get it signed before she’d have to tell her girlfriend about the baby’s expected arrival. Labour took ages, and this baby certainly hadn’t been in any hurry to be born.

The line was slow-moving when they started letting people in, everyone inching forward every few minutes. As her large belly regularly tightened, Ricki found herself holding it and swaying slightly as she waited eagerly in the queue, thinking about what she might say when she met the famous writer. Her stomach flipped with nerves but then spasmed aggressively, resulting in a soft moan slipping out her mouth as she exhaled. The person in front gave her a worried look after clocking the large and low baby bump hanging off Ricki’s hips. “This little one is just as excited as I am to get a copy of the new book.” Ricki tried to joke and reassure the concerned looks she was getting. But her mind couldn’t help noticing just how frequently her belly was cramping.

All this standing around had put a serious strain on her back, but there was something else, something new; a weighted pressure sitting deeper in her pelvis. Maybe the baby had finally got in the right position. It would be about bloody time, but they wouldn’t be ruining this afternoon for her, Ricki thought to herself.

Eventually she got to the front of the line and presented her ticket for the event. Ricki would be glad to sit down, her back was killing her and the constant cramping of her heavy belly was draining all her energy. “Wow, you look ready to pop.” The bookshop employee said, scanning her ticket and letting the heavily pregnant woman into the cordoned off area. Ricki managed a half-hearted smile, trying to keep her face from showing any signs of discomfort.

Despite the need to sit down, the weight and pressure between her hips was squashing her bladder and Ricki made a beeline to the toilets before the reading started. Thankfully the single unisex toilet was vacant and she disappeared inside. She used the privacy to let out the pained groans she’d been holding in for the last hour, as her belly contracted yet again. “Mnnnnghhhh…. Oh why now…” Ricki moaned, palming the walls of the bathroom and shifting her hips around in large circles. “You can wait a little bit longer. You were quite comfy in there last week on your due date.”

When the contraction faded she used the facilities, noticing quite a bit more liquid leaking into her pad, and hoped that wasn’t the start of her waters breaking. Standing up from the toilet seat Ricki felt the weight quite literally drop back down in her pelvis, the head of the baby wedged harshly against her dilating cervix. “Ooof!—” she clasped her bump, taking a moment to get used to the heavy feeling and the pressure that it brought.

The hustle and bustle of the bookstore was getting louder, the sounds of excited people entering the event seeping through the bathroom door. “Come on bubs, let’s go hear all about the new book.” Ricki said to her bump before leaving the bathroom and going back into the store.

Unfortunately for Ricki the contractions were still coming and getting closer and closer, now almost impossible to stay standing. After waiting in another line to collect her copy of the latest book she had to grasp onto the counter and swallow down the grunt she so desperately wanted to make.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” The girl behind the desk asked, panicked.

“Mmm-hmm.” Ricki gritted and nodded her head, pulling her lips into a forced smile. “Just a c-cramp.”

She needed to sit down, and fast. The labouring woman took the first empty chair she could find in the back row and sighed a heavy breath of relief. She would be okay. She just needed to rest, yes, that was it. Her excitement was heightening everything, that’s all. Holding her copy of the new book in one hand, she rubbed her swollen stomach with the other and prayed the pains would slow down enough to enjoy this event.

Typically there was a delay in the start time, the author had only just arrived and it would be a bit longer before the event could begin. Ricki was sweating by this point, squirming in her seat and trying to keep an even and subtle breathing rhythm. The pressure in her pelvis had suddenly built to astronomical heights and she found herself rocking and quietly humming on the chair. Her hands gripped the edges of the seat, knuckles turning white, as the waves got stronger and stronger. She tried not to clasp her bump so as not to attract unwanted attention, but god did it hurt. The contracting muscles contorting the shape of her pregnant belly was almost visible through her clothing.

She was wearing a pair of wide legged dungarees patterned with sunflowers, a thin black cotton t shirt underneath. Even through the denim like fabric Ricki could see as well as feel the way the whole sphere of her belly hardened, squishing into a solid and narrow torpedo shape over her thighs. “Ooohhhhhhh….” She used the book to fan her damp and sweaty face, no doubt looking flushed in the bookstore, which was already getting steadily warmer as more and more people filled in.

Eventually the host took to the stage and introduced the special guest and Ricki’s eyes widened with glee at seeing her long time favourite author in person, standing only a few metres away. Her belly seized again in that moment, bringing forth a wave of pressure deep between her hips, and she couldn’t stop the groan from escaping her lips. Thankfully her labouring sounds were swallowed by the loud round of applause. Without thought, and focussed entirely on the beloved person at the front of the crowd, Ricki’s legs widened automatically on her chair. Unconsciously finding any way to relieve the building pressure.

Then, the room was silent, the writer stood centre stage with an open copy of her latest book. Ricki was going to hear a new extract, read aloud by the glorious female writer herself, and she waited like everyone else with bated breath.

As the reading began the heavily pregnant woman tried to focus, tried to give this once in a lifetime fangirl moment her undivided attention, but the pressure was getting unbearable. Every few seconds Ricki’s mind was pulled back to the baby in her womb, the feeling of the hard skull sinking deeper into her birth canal, her baby determined to be born today. She panted, as quietly as she could. The thought of attracting unwanted attention right now was mortifying, if anyone discovered she was in labour— No, she was not going to let anyone see her struggle, or give any reason to stop this talk and pull focus from the rightful star.

She lasted about 15 minutes into the reading before it happened, something instinctual and primal tripped a warning siren in her mind. The pressure, it had built too much and now… oh god, now she needed to push. She really needed to push.

It was automatic, she had no control. Ricki’s body slumped slightly in her chair and gripping her book tightly with both hands her uterus contracted and squeezed and…pushed the baby further down. Oh fuck. Her legs were wide on the chair, encroaching into the space of her neighbours. But she couldn’t close them. It felt like she was sitting on the baby’s head. Trapped in another bout of pushing Ricki sucked in a lung full of air and bore down once more. Silently as she could.

The labouring mother lost all track of what the author was saying or reading. Occasionally she’d hear the audience laugh or “awww”, and she was missing everything. All that she could focus on was not giving birth right here in the bookstore. She could make it. She had to. Her girlfriend wasn’t here, and her book hadn’t been signed. She had to make it just a little bit longer.

With every ounce of determination she could muster, Ricky shifted herself upright and painfully pulled her legs together. God it felt like she was sitting on a bowling ball. A whimper slipped from her throat and her eyes screwed shut. The person beside her gave Ricki a concerned look. The labouring woman gritted her teeth and forced a friendly grin.

The reading eventually came to a conclusion, Ricki having succumbed to another half a dozen pushes in that time, but any progress was halted by her posture on the chair and the unforgiving fabric of her dungarees. The owners of the bookstore advised everyone to start making an orderly queue to get their books signed, gesturing to a table and lines of rope set up nearby. Ricki was so close, so close to meeting her idol. Unfortunately the baby was keen to join in.

As she stood the boulder in her pelvis pressed fiercely against the walls of her birth canal and Ricki had to grasp the chair in front of her and instinctively bear down. Oh fuck… she wasn’t going to make it. Her primal grunt wasn’t noticed through the sounds of chairs scratching the floor and numerous conversations erupting around the room. The baby was so low, dangerously low. Feeling like it was sitting just behind her lips, bulging obscenely into her wide-leg trousers.

The crowd around her moved as one, all the guests making their way to the line for autographs. She should have said something, should have excused herself, the baby was quite literally trying to come out right here in the bookstore. Instead, Ricki got caught in the sea of people and somehow ended up in line and surrounded by excited people waiting for autographs.

Just a little bit longer bubs… please. She pleaded with the swell of her belly cradled in her palms. Sweat was dripping down her neck beneath her long hair, her black t-shirt sodden with the exhaustion of her labour. How Ricki managed to stay standing she did not know. Oddly the pain in her hips was easier to manage when upright but gravity was making the pressure unbearable. Whenever a contraction hit she was forced to give in, to bear down with the squeezing muscles, knees bendy subtly and her mouth clamping shut.

They were productive pushes… she was sure of that fact. The baby’s head was slowly but surely spreading her open, her gait unnaturally wide as the baby inched further into the world while she stood and waited in line. Oh god, just— just wait.

This queue moved faster than the one before and Ricki was shuffled forward every few seconds. The author was there, within metres, hair perfectly curled and wearing a flawless outfit. The mum-to-be looked around nervously, realising how stuck in the crowd she had gotten - the only clear way out was forward. Two people, there were just two people in front of her. She had to meet her idol, she couldn’t walk away now, not when she was this close.

Maybe she could time her pushes, was there enough time between them to say Hi, big fan, please sign my book before she had to push again? One person in front now. So close.

Another contraction, oh fuck, and Ricki widened her legs slightly, bending knees ever so subtly and bearing down. The crown in her underwear was getting bigger. It burnt, bringing tears to her eyes. The head was coming out!

“It’s an emotional time isn’t it? Meeting someone you’ve admired for so long.” The person next to her said, bouncing on their toes and excitedly watching the writer sign another book. Ricki couldn’t reply, couldn’t even nod, as her body fully committed to pushing out her baby and bringing it almost to a full crown.

Next. Ricki was next in line. Fuck, what was she gonna do? Before she could form any cohesive thought someone was ushering her forwards towards the desk, towards the friendly smiling face of her idol. The woman’s hand stretched out, ready to take Ricki’s copy of the book to sign.

“Who shall I make it out to?” The author asked kindly, despite having said it numerous times over.

“R-Ricki… w-with an ‘i’…. Oooohhhh….” She stuttered, trying to hold back the groan. Her hands were clasped beneath her contracting belly, every muscle tense and trembling as she fought to hold herself together.

“Are you alright my dear?” The writer asked, staring too long at Ricki’s swollen stomach and the way her fingers were gripped at the fabric of her clothing, knuckles thin and white.

“….no…..” Ricki admitted. “Ooooohhhhh….” The next wave of pressure suddenly hit her like a steam train and any previous plans shot straight out the window. She had to push…. She had to bear down right now…. this second. The burning, the stretching, it was all too much, she had to get this baby out—

“Mmmnnghhhhh!!!!!!!” Grabbing the edge of the desk Ricki bent her knees and dipped her hips as she pushed ferociously, bringing the baby beyond a crown, shoving it past her lips and almost birthing the head in one go.

“Oh my goodness, you poor dear. Someone call an ambulance! This woman is giving birth.” The author said, jumping to her feet and rushing around the desk. “What are you doing here in your condition?” The kind words were accompanied by the writer rubbing her back and holding her hand.

“I just— I just really wanted to meet y-you.”

[skygoldart]

Cod Grian Cosplay Build!

The fish man himself, season 10 Grian!

Reference Sketch

Some notes:

I always end up changing somethings from the reference when making the actual outfit, although I stayed pretty close it it this time.

I initially drew him with a handlebar mustache and goatee to mimic the whiskers of a fish, however I switched to a fluffier mustache beard to match the guy from Frozen.

I also opted for my turtleneck shirt over the red sweater+collar to go for more of a fisherman vibe

Since Grian is usually drawn with parrot wings, I wanted to call back to that with red yellow and blue feathers on the bobbers.

The tail and fins

I wanted to lean into the “fish”er man design and gave him fish fins and a tail.

It’s design is based on a cod fish with striped fins based on the feathers of an osprey

To make it, I drew the tail pattern on a large piece of paper, cut it out, cut each section out of the respective fabric times two, sewed the two sides together, and lastly filled it with a ton stuffing.

The tail is heavy, but it’s fun to wack people with it.

The fins for the arms and beanie are made in a similar way, each hand sewn onto the beanie/bracers once stuffed.

The Overalls

I had originally planned for him to be wearing waders, but wanted to make the outfit more wearable for everyday wear without overheating. So I opted for some brown corduroy overalls instead.

To add a “wet” look to each pant leg, I briefly dipped each one into some black fabric dye before rinsing and drying.

The green pixels on his skin look like they could be kelp or patches so I decided to go with the latter and dug through my scrap fabric to find these green pieces.

I embroidered the edge of each piece with a unique stitch and placed them randomly on each leg.

The snails!

Of course we can’t forget about the snails

There are three snails for this project with two more eventually on the way (a plush pink snail, and a plush brown snail).

I made the clay blue snail first with polymer and attached tie tacks to the underside so I can use it like a pin and stick it anywhere on my clothes.

Same goes for the pink worm snail which is also made of clay.

The blue plush snail is based on a pattern from Etsy by willowynn with some slight modifications, mainly to the eyes/feelers, and doubling the size.

Facial hair

This was one of the parts I was the most excited about for this cosplay and the only part I didn’t do myself. I commissioned @basic-amoeba to make a custom ventilated beard, styled and everything. This part turned out so good!

Some final notes for this project

This cosplay took from Feb 20 to March 15th to complete since I was so determined to finish it before Grian changed his skin. Haha look at me now. He still hasn’t changed it.

Not pictured (cause why can I only add 10 photos 😭) is the mending book with a fish hook I made using scrap faux leather, cardboard, and some cut printer paper. I painted in galactic the word mending and sprayed the whole thing in my “enchanting” spray paint (a blue to purple iridescent glitter spray paint)

A small fun backstory to the fishing rod:

My grandpa is an experienced fisherman and has dozens of fishing poles. When I talked about this project with him, he brought me out to his workshop and pulled down the dustiest fishing rod there. He told me he had fished this fishing rod from a lake one day with the line and bait still attached. Can’t get anymore accurate to Minecraft fishing than that lol.

Obligatory cosplay photo:

[fangdokja]

🔞He kissed her like a punishment, touched her like a prayer.

❤︎ Synopsis. He claims to hate her, but his obsession says otherwise. A deadly game of spite and desire unfolds as enemies collide, and lines between hate, love, and possession blur in the most dangerous ways.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Divorce Attorney x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Skin of the Saint - Part 8

♡ Word Count. 7,779

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, knife play, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, sadism, BDSM, bondage, fingering, choking / breath play, biting, degradation, slut shaming, slight public humiliation, physical assault and violence

The church's once-sacred halls groaned in the wind, the decaying structure creaking like a beast stirring in its slumber. Shadows danced erratically along the cracked walls, the dim moonlight casting eerie shapes through the stained glass. The air smelled faintly of incense and dust, a faint relic of purity now twisted into a witness to your despair.

He dragged you by your arm, his grip unrelenting, bruising. The cold stone of the floor scraped against your shoes as you struggled to keep your footing, the world blurring with each panicked breath. You knew where he was taking you, though you didn’t want to believe it. His silence was worse than his words, the calm before a storm that would tear apart everything you had left.

The heavy wooden door groaned as he shoved it open, revealing an empty spare bedroom cloaked in darkness. It was barren except for the faint light spilling in from a single window high above—a pale, eerie glow that illuminated the dust swirling in the air. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. His hand on your arm tightened as he hauled you inside and threw you to the ground.

You landed hard, the impact jarring, a sharp ache blooming in your shoulder as you braced yourself against the cold stone floor. The room spun for a moment, and when your vision cleared, he was standing over you, his imposing figure blotting out the light like an eclipse.

“Well,” he said, his voice a low, mocking drawl that cut through the suffocating silence. “Look at you. Fuckin' pathetic. Crawling on the floor like the little worm you are.”

You scrambled backward, your palms scraping against the rough stone as you tried to put distance between you. But there was nowhere to go. The walls closed in like a cage, and he was the predator that filled every corner of it.

“Don’t bother,” he sneered, taking a slow step toward you, his boots echoing against the floor. “There’s nowhere to run, little wife. Nowhere to hide.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a frantic drum as you pressed yourself against the wall. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, dark and ravenous, taking in every inch of your trembling form. His gaze lingered on your veil, his lips curving into a cruel smile.

“Still hiding,” he murmured, almost to himself. “How quaint.”

Before you could react, he reached down and grabbed the delicate fabric, tearing it from your head in a single, brutal motion. The veil fluttered to the ground, discarded, as his eyes locked onto your face.

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze. His breath caught, his pupils dilating as he stared at you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. You’d expected him to be cruel, to spit insults or jeers, but the silence was worse. His expression twisted into something almost reverent, a perverse kind of awe that sent a chill down your spine.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding,” he said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. His hand reached out, and you flinched as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw. “Perfect. Untouched. Untainted.”

His touch turned rough in an instant, his fingers tangling in your hair and yanking your head back with a force that made you gasp. His grip was like iron, unyielding, pulling you to your knees as he loomed over you.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. When you didn’t obey, his hand tightened in your hair, pain radiating through your scalp. “I said look at me.”

Reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. The hunger in his gaze was suffocating, a black hole that threatened to swallow you whole. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and then his lips curled into a smile that made your blood run cold.

“I could devour you,” he said softly, almost to himself. “And you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Because there’s no one coming to save you. Not your precious priest. Not your God.”

“Stop,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “Please, just stop.”

But he didn’t stop. He never stopped.

His free hand moved to your chin, gripping it with enough force to bruise as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips crashed against yours, a brutal, punishing kiss that left no room for escape. It wasn’t a kiss of passion—it was possession, a claim he was staking with every harsh press of his mouth.

────────────

The air in the room grew thicker, suffocating, wrapping around you like an invisible chain as he slammed you on the bed, dragging you closer.

His grip in your hair tightened mercilessly, a constant, sharp ache radiating from your scalp. You struggled weakly against his hold, your trembling hands pushing at his chest, clawing, but it was like fighting against iron. He was too strong, too unrelenting, and the realization sent a shiver of cold terror down your spine.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even human. It was an assault—teeth crashing against yours, his lips bruising, his tongue forcing its way past your trembling defenses. He devoured you as though he were starving, as though your defiance only made him hungrier. His mouth moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, leaving no room for air, no space to think. The metallic tang of blood filled your mouth where his teeth had nicked your lip, and he swallowed the sound of your muffled gasp like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

You tried to pull away, twisting your head to the side, but he yanked you back with a growl so deep it rumbled through your chest. His free hand clamped around your waist, jerking you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The hard press of his body against yours was suffocating, his presence consuming, as though the very act of standing in his shadow was enough to drown you.

“You can’t run,” he hissed against your lips, his breath hot and venomous. “You can’t hide. Not anymore.”

His hands roamed with a roughness that left your skin burning, as if he wanted to leave marks everywhere he touched, a physical reminder of his claim. His palm slid up your spine, pressing you tighter against him as his other hand gripped your hip with bruising force. The grinding motion of his body against yours made your stomach churn, and yet, beneath the revulsion, there was something else—something far worse. The heat of him, the overwhelming force of his dominance, pried apart the last fragile barriers of your composure, and he saw it.

“Oh,” he murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to drink in the sight of your face. “Would you look at that?”

Your breathing was ragged, your chest heaving with every shallow gasp. Your eyes, wide and wet, betrayed everything you’d fought so hard to hide. The faint shimmer of unshed tears clung to your lashes, and your lips, swollen and stained with blood, trembled as you tried to speak.

“P-please,” you whispered, your voice cracking, barely audible. It wasn’t anger anymore, wasn’t defiance. It was fear.

He laughed, a low, chilling sound that reverberated through the small room. “Oh, this is perfect,” he said, his tone dripping with sadistic glee. “So perfect. You can’t hide from me now, can you? Look at you, ready to cry. Go on, do it. Let me see you break.”

Your hands pushed weakly against his chest again, but he caught your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head with humiliating ease. His body pressed into yours, the heat of him unbearable, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his voice low and predatory. “For you to drop that cold little mask. For you to show me what’s really underneath.”

His teeth grazed the delicate skin of your jaw, and you flinched, a broken whimper escaping before you could swallow it down. He moved lower, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, each kiss and bite deliberate, calculated to make you squirm. His tongue darted out to soothe the sharp sting of his bites, the contrast of pain and heat enough to make your head spin.

“Don’t fight it,” he growled, his voice rough with hunger. “You’re mine, little Church Girl. Every tear, every breath, every inch of you belongs to me.”

You turned your head away, a choked sob catching in your throat, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. His dark eyes bore into yours, unrelenting, a black hole pulling you into his orbit.

“You hate this, don’t you?” he asked softly, mockingly. “Hate me. But that’s the thing—you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

His lips crashed against yours again, and this time, there was no pretense of restraint. His tongue invaded your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw fresh blood. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through your body, as though your resistance was intoxicating to him. His free hand moved down, his fingers digging into your thigh as he pulled you closer, grinding against you with a force that made your stomach twist.

“Feel that?” he rasped against your lips, his voice raw and heated. “That’s what you do to me. That’s what you’ve always done.”

Tears spilled over, hot and humiliating, and he licked the salt from your cheeks with a low, satisfied hum. His grin widened as he watched you crumble, his hands roaming with possessive intent, leaving marks you’d never erase.

“Go ahead,” he whispered, his tone almost gentle but laced with malice. “Cry for me. Beg if you want. It won’t change anything. You’ll still be mine.”

The room spun, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of him, the weight of him, the darkness in his eyes that promised no escape. For the first time, you realized that this wasn’t a battle you could win. And for the first time, he saw you break.

And he loved it.

────────────

The room felt too small, suffocating in its silence as he loomed over you, a shadow that swallowed the light. He watched with a cruel, deliberate focus as you lay beneath him, trembling and trying to summon the strength to push him away. But there was no escape. His body pinned you down, his weight a constant reminder of the futility of resistance.

His fingers trailed down the curve of your jaw, deceptively gentle, almost tender. "You look so helpless," he murmured, his voice low and venomous, a purr that made your skin crawl. "I wonder how much longer you can keep up this little act of defiance."

You glared at him, the fire in your eyes dimmed but not extinguished. The corner of his mouth curled upward, a smile both mocking and triumphant, as though your resistance was a sweet melody he couldn't get enough of. Then, without warning, his hands moved to the delicate fabric of your clothing.

“Let’s see,” he said, his tone calm, calculated, “what it takes to shatter you completely.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his fingers slid beneath the edges of your clothing, tugging at the material with unnerving precision. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air, sharp and deafening in the oppressive quiet. You twisted beneath him, a feeble attempt to stop him, but he merely chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Stay still,” he ordered, his voice laced with authority, a command you couldn’t ignore. His hands moved over your skin, rough and possessive, exploring every inch as though he had every right to. His grip was firm, his touch demanding, leaving no room for modesty or denial. His fingers traced patterns along your collarbone, down the curve of your waist, his palms pressing against your hips with a bruising force.

Your breathing came in ragged gasps, every nerve in your body screaming under his touch. Heat flared across your skin, a dark blush creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks. You hated how your body betrayed you, how your limbs trembled not just with fear but with something far more damning.

And then his lips were on your neck, hot and unrelenting. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, and you arched involuntarily beneath him, a soft, breathy sound escaping before you could stop it.

“Oh?” he murmured, his lips curling into a wicked grin against your skin. “What was that?”

Your face burned hotter, your lips pressing together in an attempt to keep silent, but it was no use. His tongue darted out to soothe the fresh bite, and your body shivered under the sensation. His hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging in as he pressed himself closer, grinding against you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“You’re loud now,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “I love it. Don’t hold back, little Church Girl. Let me hear you.”

You bit your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction, but then his teeth found the delicate skin of your shoulder, and you gasped—sharp and loud, the sound echoing in the empty room. His chuckle was dark, almost predatory, as though your reaction was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Let it out. No one’s here to save you. No one but me.”

His hands roamed lower, sliding up your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh with an intensity that left no doubt about his strength. His touch was rough, possessive, leaving marks in his wake, and you hated the way your body responded, the way your breath hitched every time his fingers pressed into your skin.

He kissed you again, hard and demanding, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands continued their exploration. His lips moved down your neck, to your collarbone, then lower, leaving a trail of love bites that would take days to fade. Each one was deliberate, each one eliciting a sound from you that you couldn’t suppress—a soft moan, a ragged gasp, a trembling cry.

“You’ve never made these sounds before,” he remarked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “So loud, so responsive. Do you even realize how beautiful you look right now?”

You turned your face away, your mind screaming in defiance even as your body betrayed you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, his eyes dark and blazing with triumph.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “I want to see that pretty face when I break you.”

His hands moved to the last of your clothing, stripping you bare with a confidence that left you exposed, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. His gaze raked over your body, and you hated the way his eyes lit up, the way his lips curled into that smug, predatory smile.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice low and reverent, as though he were admiring a masterpiece. “Mine.”

Your heart raced as his hands returned to your body, exploring every inch, leaving no part untouched. His lips followed, his teeth and tongue marking you with an unrelenting fervor. You squirmed beneath him, your moans growing louder, more desperate, despite your best efforts to hold them back.

And he reveled in it. Every sound, every shiver, every crack in your composure fed his hunger, his obsession.

“You can fight all you want,” he murmured against your skin, his voice soft but laced with menace. “You can glare at me, curse me, hate me. But your body? It doesn’t lie. And neither do those sounds.”

His words cut deep, but the weight of his body, the heat of his touch, drowned out your thoughts. You were trapped, overwhelmed, consumed. And he wouldn’t stop—not until you were completely his.

────────────

You struggle to maintain eye contact, fear and disgust warring within you as his fingers trace a path down your neck, pausing at the top button of your dress. With a swift jerk, he pops it open, the fabric giving way to reveal the soft skin beneath. His eyes narrow with satisfaction at the sight of your panic, and you know that this man, this monster, intends to take everything from you, piece by agonizing piece.

Your hands fly up to protect yourself, but he catches your wrists with ease, pinning them above your head. His other hand continues to work on the remaining buttons, his eyes never leaving yours.

He seems to relish the fight you're putting up, the way your body tenses and relaxes in futile attempts to escape. The fabric of your dress tears under his impatience, exposing the lacy cups of your bra.

His smile widens, a twisted mockery of pleasure, and he leans in to whisper, "Such a pretty little thing. I can't wait to see all of you." His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

With surprising strength, you manage to free one hand and slap him hard across the face. The sound echoes through the room, and for a brief moment, you see shock in his eyes.

But it's quickly replaced by a rage that ignites like a wildfire. He snarls and tightens his grip on your throat, pushing you back onto the bed. You kick and struggle, trying to break free, but his weight is too much. His hand reaches for the lower parts of your dress, and with a vicious tear, he rips it off, leaving you in your underwear. The fabric clings to your thighs, and you kick harder, desperation fueling your fight.

"You think you can deny me?" he snarls, his grip on your throat loosening enough for you to gasp for air.

"You think you can fight me?" His hand moves from your throat to the front of your bra, and with a vicious tug, the clasp snaps.

He throws it aside, revealing your breasts to his greedy gaze. "You're mine, and you will learn to love it." His fingers dig into your flesh, his nails biting into your skin as he mauls you. You try to scream, but all that comes out is a choked gurgle.

The man straddles you, his knees pushing your legs apart, his weight pinning you to the bed. He rips away your underwear with one swift movement, and you feel exposed, violated. You struggle with renewed vigor, bucking and kicking, trying to throw him off.

He laughs, the sound cold and cruel, and slaps you hard across the face. The sting brings tears to your eyes, and you taste blood. "Fight me all you want, my sweet little slut," he says, his voice thick with desire. "It only makes it better."

His hand moves between your legs, and you flinch away, trying to clench them shut. But his fingers are relentless, pushing and prodding until they find the wetness you can't deny.

He smirks at your involuntary reaction, and the realization that your body is betraying you sends a fresh wave of panic through you. "You want this," he murmurs, his voice a vile whisper. "You've wanted this since the moment you saw me." His thumb circles your clit, and despite your horror, you can't help the way your body responds.

"No," you choke out, your voice barely above a whimper. "Please, no." But the words fall on deaf ears as he continues his assault, his hand moving faster, his touch growing more insistent. You feel a tear roll down your cheek, mixing with the sweat and the blood from your split lip.

His eyes are dark with desire as he watches your face, reading every emotion that crosses it. He seems to find your distress intoxicating, his erection pressing against your thigh as he leans in to kiss you. You turn your head away, trying to avoid his mouth, but he just chuckles and bites your earlobe, hard enough to make you cry out.

"Look at me," he commands, his thumb pressing down on your clit, sending a jolt of painful pleasure through your body. You force your eyes open and meet his gaze, hoping to find some shred of humanity in those dark orbs, some hint of mercy. But all you see is hunger—pure, unbridled hunger.

"Beg for it," he says, his voice a hiss. "Beg me to fuck you like the promiscuous whore I know you are." You shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction, and he sighs dramatically. "Very well. If you won't give it to me willingly..."

He stands, towering over you, and you catch a glimpse of his massive cock, fully erect and ready to claim you. He grabs your ankles, spreading your legs wide, and you realize with a sickening jolt that you're about to lose your virginity to this monster.

"No," you whisper, thrashing more, your voice barely audible. "Please, no." But he's already moving, positioning himself at your entrance, and before you can even brace yourself, he slams into you.

The pain is unbearable, tearing through you like a hot knife, and you scream, your nails digging into the bed sheets. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, just fucks you harder, deeper, as though trying to punish you for your defiance.

You feel your eyes water as he thrusts in and out, each movement sending shockwaves of agony through your body. Your cries of pain are music to his ears, only serving to spur him on. He leans down, his mouth at your ear, and whispers, "You're going to take every inch of me, you little bitch."

His hand moves to cover your mouth, muffling your screams, and you bite down hard on his palm. He laughs, the sound echoing through the room, and pulls his hand away, leaving a trail of blood. "Is that the best you've got?"

He reaches over to the bedside table and pulls out a small bag, the jingle of metal clinking together as he opens it. Your eyes widen in terror as you see the handcuffs and rope.

He's going to tie you down, to leave you no chance of escape or resistance. "Let's see how much of a fighter you really are," he sneers, grabbing your wrists and securing the cold metal around them.

He pulls your arms over your head, locking the cuffs to the headboard, both wrists and ankles, ensuring that you're spread eagle and utterly helpless beneath him. The cuffs bite into your skin, and you pull against them, but it's no use.

With a sadistic smile, he sits back to admire his work. Your body is taut with fear and pain, your legs trembling as he runs a hand along your thigh. "Look at you," he says, his voice thick with arousal.

"So pretty when you're scared." He leans down, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears. You jerk away, repulsed, but his grip is unyielding. "You're going to scream for me, aren't you?"

He asks, his breath hot against your neck. "You're going to come for me, and you're going to love it."

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady as you spit in his face. "I'll never love this," you snarl. "I'll never love you."

The man's grin widens, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and challenge. He wipes the spit away with the back of his hand and slaps you again, harder this time. "We'll see about that," he says, leaning in to kiss you, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You bite down, tasting the coppery tang of blood as you clamp down on his tongue. He growls animalistically in response, his grip on your wrists tightening. "You fucking little cunt," he snarls, slapping your face again. "You're going to regret that."

He pulls away from you, panting heavily, his erection bobbing with each furious beat of his heart. He reaches into the bag again and pulls out a knife, the blade glinting in the low light. "You want to play hard to get?" he asks, his voice dangerously calm.

"We can play that game." He traces the knife along your collarbone, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine. "But remember, the harder you fight, the more it'll hurt."

He leans in and nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, and you feel a warm trickle of blood slide down your throat. "Now, let's see if we can make you come for me, shall we?"

With a wicked smile, he straddles you again, his cock standing at attention. His hand moves between your legs, and he uses the blood from your lips to lubricate his shaft. He lines himself up with your tight, abused hole, and you feel a new wave of panic wash over you.

You try to buck, to kick, to do anything to get away, but the cuffs hold you firmly in place. "Beg," he whispers, his eyes boring into yours. "Beg me to stop, and I might consider it."

But you refuse. You won't give him the satisfaction of hearing you plead. Instead, you spit at him again, your eyes flashing with defiance.

The man's face contorts with rage, and he slams the knife into the pillow beside your head, the blade sinking into the soft fabric with a muffled thump. "Fine," he says, his voice low and deadly.

"If that's how you want it." He grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge of the bed, his cock pressing against your clenched entrance. With a vicious snarl, he thrusts forward, tearing through your resistance and filling you with a pain so intense you think you might die.

You scream, the sound raw and primal, as he starts to fuck you in earnest. The bedframe creaks under the force of his movements, and the pain is a living, pulsing thing, a beast inside you that won't let you go.

You feel your eyes rolling back in your head, the edges of your vision going dark. But he won't let you pass out. His hand is at your throat again, squeezing just enough to keep you conscious, to keep you present in this hellish moment.

"Look at me," he growls, his hips pounding into you. "Look at the man who's ruining you."

Tears stream down your face, and you hate him with every fiber of your being. You hate his smug expression, the way his muscles flex with each thrust, the smell of his sweat and corrupted love.

You hate the way your body seems to betray you, clenching around his invading cock despite your mind's protests. His free hand wraps around your neck, his thumb pressing into the soft skin under your chin.

He tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him as he fucks you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Say it," he says, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "Say you're mine."

You refuse, your eyes flashing with anger and fear. "Never," you spit, the word barely audible through your sobs.

The man's smile turns cruel, and he tightens his grip on your throat, cutting off your air. Your eyes widen as panic sets in, your chest heaving for oxygen. He leans closer, his breath hot against your face. "Say it," he repeats, his voice a menacing whisper. "Say it, or I'll make it so much worse."

Your vision swims, stars dancing at the edges as your lungs burn. Your body begs for mercy, for air, for relief from the unbearable pressure building inside you. With the last of your strength, you force out the words, "I'm... I'm yours."

The man's eyes gleam with victory, and he loosens his grip just enough for you to drag in a desperate, gasping breath. He resumes his brutal rhythm, each thrust feeling like it's ripping you apart, each breath a battle to draw in enough air.

His hand moves down to your clit, and he starts to rub it roughly, the pain mixing with the suffocation from his grip on your throat. You feel your body responding despite yourself, your walls tightening around his cock.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Now, let's see if you can scream for me." With a twist of his wrist, he slices the knife through the air, and you feel the cold metal graze the tender skin of your inner thigh.

The pain is a fresh, searing agony, and you do scream, a high, keening sound that echoes in the room. He laughs, a deep, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine, and starts to play with the knife, tracing it along your skin, never quite cutting deep enough to draw more than a flesh wound, but always, always threatening to go deeper.

His thumb presses down harder on your clit, and you can't help the way your hips rock up to meet his, the pain turning into something else, something dark and terrifying.

He seems to sense your internal struggle and leans down to whisper in your ear, "You're so close, aren't you? So close to giving in to me. Just let go. Give me what I want, and I'll make it all go away."

His words are like a sledgehammer to your last shreds of resistance, and you feel your body start to shake, the beginnings of an orgasm building despite your horror and despair. "That's it," he croons, his breath hot and moist against your skin. "Come for me, my sweet little whore. Show me how much you want it."

You try to fight it, to clench down and stop the inevitable, but his hand is relentless, his thumb rubbing in tight circles as he fucks you with a ferocity that borders on madness. You feel your body start to betray you, the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, until it snaps.

Your scream is one of agony and pleasure mixed, a sound that you never thought could come from your throat. He laughs in triumph, his grip on your neck tightening as he pumps into you, drawing out every last drop of your climax, making sure you know that he owns it, that he's the one in control.

The knife plays along the soft skin of your inner thigh, the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Each time he brings it close to your skin, you flinch, but he never presses down hard enough to cut, just enough to keep you on edge, to keep you guessing.

His other hand is a vice around your throat, and you feel your pulse pounding against his palm, the pressure making your head swim. He leans in closer, his teeth grazing your neck, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. "That's what I want from you."

Your eyes are wide with terror, but there's something else there, something you can't quite put your finger on. It's as if your body has been hijacked, forced to respond to his touch despite the agony and fear. Your hips buck up against him, seeking relief from the torment of his thumb, and he takes that as an invitation to press down harder.

You feel yourself getting wetter, your body's betrayal a fresh wave of humiliation that crashes over you. "You're going to come for me again," he says, his voice a low, guttural growl. "And when you do, I want you to scream my name. Scream it until you can't anymore."

You shake your head, your eyes pleading with him to stop, but his smile just widens. "Don't worry," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "I'll make you come so many times you'll forget your own name."

He leans down, his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin of your neck, and you feel his cock swell inside you. He starts to fuck you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

You can feel the knife hovering over your pussy, the threat of it a constant presence in your mind. The pain from your first orgasm is already fading, leaving behind a dull ache that's quickly being overwhelmed by the new waves of sensation building within you.

He bites down hard, and you feel a warm trickle of blood run down your neck. You try to pull away, but his hand clamps down on your throat, holding you in place. "You're mine," he says, his voice a dark, possessive rumble. "MINE."

The knife presses into your skin, a warning, and you feel yourself tighten around him again. He groans in pleasure, his hips moving faster, harder. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, you filthy bitch. Take it all."

Your body is a whirlwind of pain and pleasure, each sensation feeding the other. You can feel another orgasm building, and you hate yourself for it, but you can't stop it. You're so close, so close to screaming his name, to giving him what he wants.

His hand moves to cover your mouth, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your cheek, muffling your cries. "Do it," he hisses, his eyes boring into yours. "Scream it out." And then you do, your voice tearing from your throat as you come, the sound of his name mixing with your sobs.

He laughs, the sound low and triumphant, and you know that you've lost a piece of yourself to this monster.

He doesn't stop, though. If anything, he fucks you harder, his movements becoming more erratic as his own climax builds. The knife is still in his hand, and you can feel it pressing into your skin, the promise of pain never far away.

You're sobbing now, your body writhing beneath him, your mind a jumbled mess of fear and humiliation. "Again," he commands, his voice harsh. "Come for me again."

And somehow, despite the agony, despite the horror, your body responds, arching up to meet his thrusts as a third orgasm rips through you, stealing your breath away.

The man groans, his grip on your throat loosening slightly as he fucks you with renewed vigor. "You're so fucking tight," he murmurs, his eyes glazed with lust. "So fucking tight."

His hand moves from your neck to your mouth, and he forces his thumb inside, the taste of your own blood mingling with his saliva. You try to bite down, to fight back, but he's too strong. "Swallow," he says, his voice a guttural growl, and you have no choice but to comply.

You can feel his cock swelling inside you, his orgasm building, and a fresh wave of terror washes over you. You know what's coming next, and your body tenses in anticipation of the violation.

He leans down, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "You're going to love this," he whispers, his voice a dark promise.

"You're going to love feeling me come inside you." His hips jerk, and you feel the first pulse of his release. You try to scream, to beg him not to, but his thumb is still in your mouth, silencing you.

The man grunts with satisfaction, his cock spasming as he fills you with his cum. You can feel it leaking out around him, warm and sticky, and the humiliation of it only adds to your horror. He grinds against you more, prolonging the pain and pleasure more.

He pulls out slowly, the sensation making you whimper despite your best efforts to remain silent. He stands up, the knife still in his hand, and you can see the bloodlust in his eyes.

"You're mine," he says again, his voice a harsh growl. "And now everyone will know it." He grabs your ankle and yanks you towards the edge of the bed, the cuffs biting into your skin.

With the knife still gripped firmly in his hand, he brings out a small key and unlocks the cuffs, while still holding your legs apart. You try to kick at him, but your legs are weak from the assault, and your movements are sluggish.

He chuckles darkly and steps back, admiring his handiwork. "You put up a good fight," he says, "But now, it's time to pay the price." He grabs your arms and pulls you off the bed, your body hitting the floor with a thud.

The impact sends a fresh wave of pain through you, and you can't hold back a cry. He doesn't seem to care, just smirks and says, "You're going to walk out of here like the slutty whore you are. Naked, bleeding, and with my cum dripping down your legs."

“N-No!” You cry out, begging desperately, “P-Please no!”

Your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as the divorce attorney pulls you off the bed, your naked, bruised body sliding to the cold, hard floor. The rough treatment sends jolts of pain through your abused limbs, but his grip is unyielding, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee as he takes in your pathetic state.

"Oh, yes," he says, his voice thick with desire. "You're going to walk out of here just as I said." He ties a strong rope around your wrists this time.

With the ropes holding you securely captive, he yanks you to your knees, the rough fibers biting into your skin. The knife still in his hand, he uses the tip to trace a line from the base of your throat to the hollow of your navel, leaving a faint trail of blood.

"Look at you," he says, his voice a mix of mockery and dark love. "So beautiful in your despair."

He takes a step back, the knife still pointing at you, the blade glistening in the dim light of the room. "Now, crawl," he commands, his voice a harsh growl.

"Crawl to the door, and don't bother looking for your clothes. They're not yours anymore." You hesitate, your body trembling with fear and pain.

But the look in his eyes tells you that defiance is not an option. With a resigned whimper, you start to crawl, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on your exposed flesh.

Each movement sends a new wave of agony through your violated body, but you keep going, driven by a primal need to survive. You're aware of the sticky wetness between your legs, a grim reminder of his claim over you.

The floor is rough under your knees, and you feel every bump and scratch. The tears continue to flow freely, leaving a salty trail behind you as you inch closer to the door.

"Faster," he snaps, his impatience growing. You try to pick up the pace, but your body feels like it's made of lead, weighing you down with every move.

You can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move with a predatory gaze. It's as if he's savoring the sight of you, broken and humiliated.

As you reach the door, the man leans down and whispers, "Now, get up and walk out like the promiscuous slut you are." The knife is still in his hand, the threat clear.

You struggle to your feet, your legs wobbly and unsteady, the rope burns around your wrists a constant reminder of your powerlessness. You stumble toward the door, each step an agonizing battle against the pain that courses through you. He opens the door, and the harsh light from the hallway makes you wince.

"Remember," he says, his voice a low purr, "every step you take, every person you pass, will know what a good little whore you are." He pushes you out into the hallway, and you stumble forward, the cool air of the corridor making your skin prickle with fear and humiliation.

You can't believe this is happening, that you're being forced to walk through this place, naked and in pain, with his seed leaking out of you. You want to die, to just fade away and escape this nightmare.

You start down the hall, each step a torturous reminder of your violation. The floor is cold and unforgiving under your bare feet, and you can feel the sticky mess between your legs with every movement. The walls seem to close in around you, and you can't help but wonder if anyone will hear your silent screams. The man follows close behind, the knife never leaving his hand, a constant reminder of his power over you.

As you shuffle down the hallway, you catch sight of a door slightly ajar. The room beyond is dark, but you can make out a figure standing there, watching you with a mix of horror and pity.

It's a housekeeper, her eyes wide with shock. You try to call out to her, to beg for help, but the man's grip on your throat tightens, cutting off any sound. "Keep moving," he murmurs, his voice a dark threat. "Or I'll make sure she's next."

You swallow a whimper and force yourself to walk on, the housekeeper's horrified stare burned into your memory.

The hallway seems to stretch on forever, each step a new form of torment. Your knees ache from the rough treatment, and your body feels like it's been through a war. You're dimly aware of the knife still in his hand, the threat of further pain ever-present. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out, a way to escape this living hell. But each door you pass is firmly shut, each window too high or too small to offer any hope of salvation.

As you turn a corner, you spot a service elevator. The man notices your gaze and smirks, pushing you roughly towards it. "Good girl," he says, his voice a taunt. "I knew you'd find a way out."

He slams the call button, and the elevator doors open with a ding, revealing a small, cramped space. He shoves you inside and follows, the knife never far from your side.

The elevator descends with an eerie calm, the only sound your ragged breathing and the occasional clank of the knife against the metal wall. The man watches you closely, his eyes roaming over your bruised and bleeding body with a twisted sense of pride. You shrink away from him as much as you can, trying to put as much distance between you as possible in the confined space.

"Don't bother," he says, his voice cold. "There's no escaping me." His hand shoots out, and he grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you're forced to look at him. "You're mine now. And I'll make sure you never forget it." His thumb traces the line of blood on your throat, and you feel a fresh wave of fear wash over you.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. He shoves you out into the dimly lit basement, the concrete floor cold and unforgiving beneath your bare feet.

You stumble, trying to regain your balance, and he laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. "Look at you," he sneers. "So clumsy." He pulls you along by your hair, the pain making your eyes water, until you come to a stop in front of a heavy steel door. He fumbles with a set of keys, and the lock clicks open.

"Welcome to your new home," he says, his voice dripping with malice.

The room beyond is a dank, windowless cell, no bigger than a walk-in closet. The only light comes from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a harsh, flickering glow. In the corner, you see a mattress stained with what looks like years of use, and the faint smell of mold and despair fills your nose.

"Get in," he orders, pushing you through the doorway. You stumble in, your legs giving out beneath you. The door slams shut with a finality that makes your heart drop.

He follows you into the room, the knife still in hand. You scuttle back against the wall, trying to put as much space between you as possible. But there's nowhere to go. The room is too small, the walls closing in on you. He steps closer, his breath hot against your face.

"You're going to be here a while," he says, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And I'll be back to visit. Often."

His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "But for now, it's time for a little rest."

With a cruel twist of his wrist, he slaps you across the face with the flat of the knife. Pain explodes in your cheek, and you see stars. You collapse onto the mattress, dizzy and disoriented. He grabs your ankle and drags you to the center of the room, the ropes around your wrists biting into your flesh.

"I'll be back," he says, his voice a promise of more pain to come. He pulls a length of chain from the wall, securing one end to your ankle and the other to a metal loop in the floor. The cold steel clinks as he locks it in place, and you can feel the heavy weight of it, a constant reminder of your captivity.

He steps back, admiring his work, his chest heaving with exertion and arousal. "I've got other... business to attend to," he says, his voice dripping with a sick excitement. "But don't worry, I'll be back to play with my new toy."

With a final, vicious look, he turns and strides out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him, echoing through the damp basement.

Alone in the darkness, you curl into a fetal position, your body wracked with sobs. Your mind reels from the horror of what's happened, your thoughts a tangled mess of pain, fear, and disgust.

You can't believe you're here, in this hellish cell, at the mercy of this monster.

But even amidst the despair, a spark of defiance flickers to life.

You won't let him break you completely. You have to find a way out.

[allurilove]

I’m sorry but personally, the crashout I would have if I found out my yan!husband was thinking and writing about another woman, specifically his ex, in his diary after spending years worming, and physically, emotionally and mentally manipulating his way into my life and molding a whole white picket fence household with 2 kids????

There would be no coming back, I’d already have the divorce papers in the bedside table already signed and filled out, my lawyer being my first phone call and some ex boyfriend being the second

Ooop, yandere husband is literally getting dragged in my asks after that post omggggg. I never thought that this day would come.

if you wanna know what he wrote, its down below.

(He's not about to write 'Dear diary' lol, so its straight to the point)

10/4/2024

I’ve been thinking about her lately. It’s hard not to think about what could have been—or rather, what was—especially with my wife on my case. And my wife, she’s becoming… restless lately. I catch her walking around the house, her mind preoccupied with things that don’t involve me or Henry, and she mutters things under her breath. I often find her clutching her leather bag to her chest, looking through it, and sighing in relief once she’s satisfied with whatever it is she’s worried about.

She's unapologetically distant too.

I find myself desperately needing to touch my wife-- to have skin-to-skin contact with her always. I like having my hand on her breast. I like drinking coffee, and solving the morning puzzle with my free hand, while the other is busy with her heavy tit. I have been doing it for years, but now she seems to hate it. This morning, my finger had brushed up against a fabric instead. It had some padding to it and oddly covered her chest from my intrusions.

I found out what it was late at night. My wife wearing a bra could perhaps be the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Like seriously, how could she wear that atrocious thing? I thought women didn't even like wearing one??

Anyway, I think it stems from my past relationship. Back then, I wasn’t used to physical touch or affection; I had sort of an aversion to it. When my father made clothes for me, he had me stand upright for hours. And whenever I moved—because I felt my muscles stiffen—tiny little needles would "accidentally" prick at my skin. Some days, he didn’t have time to yell at me and would resort to hitting my hands or the back of my head.

Whatever qualms I had about physical touch didn't matter, because I knew she liked it. She liked holding hands when we walked besides each other. She wanted all the kisses I could offer her in the back seat of my car after date nights and often put my hand on her thigh when I drove her back home. She sometimes got pouty whenever she deemed that I didn't give her enough attention, so I learned that more was best.

I did whatever my ex wanted. I had her bent over whatever surface I could find. I grabbed at her chest, thighs, and ass. Her skin was practically my second.

I suppose it turned into a habit overtime.

A habit that I guess I should unlearn now that I'm with my more ...prudent wife.

10/13/2024

I got into another argument with my wife today. Henry unfortunately witnessed some of it. I am really in the doghouse this time.

I had genuinely thought that my wife was cheating on me. Cheating on me with that freak neighbor of ours.

I wonder if my ex would have fought with me like that. It was blissful when I was with her. We barely argued or had any screaming matches. It went well until she broke it off with me.

I wonder if--

(and then the page is ripped cause nosy toddler Henry got into his diary and treated it like a coloring book lol)

[kays-catch-of-the-day]

Good morning folks! Apologies for the brief absence of your fishy facts, but we are right back to it with a truly amazing top-tier bottom feeder!

Today’s Catch of the Day is the Blue Catfish (*ictalurus furcatus*), North America’s largest native catfish, native to the Mississippi River watershed.

Blue Catfish are known to reach lengths of about 65 inches (5ft 5in) and weigh as much as approximately 140lbs! Heavily bodied and blueish gray in color, they are often misidentified as their Channel Catfish, as both species share a distinctive dorsal hump, among other prominent features. The most easy mode of distinguishing between the two species is to count the rays on the anal fin, with the Blue Catfish holding between 30 to 36 rays, while a Channel Catfish has 25-29 rays. Blue Catfish also have prominent barbels, a forked tail, and a protruding upper jaw. Much of their bodies are covered in chemoreceptors, which allow them to essentially “taste” whatever they touch and “smell” chemicals in the water! Blue Catfish, like many other larger catfish, have a reduced gas bladder and a heavy, bony skull, which allows them to sink more easily and facilitate their bottom-feeding diet.

With their wide. gaping jaws that lack traditional teeth, Blue Catfish are opportunistic predators, eating just about anything it can swallow, from other fish, including other Blue Catfish, along with mussels, crabs, worms, frogs, among other aquatic life. Their loosey-goosey diet, in tandem with their ability to tolerate brackish water, enables Blue Catfish to thrive as invasive species in non-native environments, most notably and prolifically in the Chesapeake Bay, where they are considered very problematic, having become one of the most prominent fish species in the watershed, with recent electrofishing studies recording rates exceeding 6,000 fish/hr!

An angling world record was set on June 18, 2011 in Kerr Lake on the Virginia/North Carolina border, where a Blue Catfish weighing 143 lbs and measuring 57 inches was caught by a local fisherman!

As its highly successful invasive abilities success would suggest, the Blue Catfish is classified as Least Concern by the IUCN Red Book. So, while these goliaths should always be respected and treated with care in their habitats, it is important that measures be taken to control the Blue Catfish populations in their invasive habitats. Overall, these majestic mud-dwellers qualify as a Blue Ribbon Fish on our fishy rating scale!

[lh44girl]

“Dreaming Together”

The late afternoon sun poured through the windows, casting a golden glow over the living room. Roscoe was in full play mode, darting between you and Lewis as you both sat cross-legged on the floor, tossing his favorite toy back and forth. Lewis had invited you for a Sunday roast dinner among family & friends at his house in LA after the chaotic burst of Las Vegas GP. A get together with close friends & family. You both have known each other (friendly encounter) for almost 4-5month ago ( but who is counting ) Lewis felt from the first time meeting you, that you’re family(as if he knew you in a past life) ,someone special ,worm & kind like the warmth of the sun during a winter afternoon & a breeze of fresh air during a summer day .

“Come on, Roscoe, I thought you were faster than this!” you teased, crawling on all fours to grab the toy before Roscoe could.You always had a soft spot for pets (dogs) & kids,even though you had none of both of your own.The bulldog gave an excited bark, beating you to it with a triumphant wiggle of his little tail.

Lewis laughed, leaning back on his hands. “You’re really out here losing to a dog, huh? Shameful.”

You shot him a playful glare. “I’m going easy on him! Don’t make me take you on next.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Lewis grinned, inching closer as if preparing to wrestle. Roscoe, not to be left out, plopped himself directly between you, earning another round of laughter.

Eventually, the playful energy faded, replaced by a warm, quiet contentment. Roscoe flopped onto his back with a happy groan, demanding belly rubs, and you both obliged, your hands bumping together as you showered him with attention.

“Alright, mate, you win,” Lewis murmured, lying down beside Roscoe and letting his head rest on the floor. He looked over at you, his smile soft now, his eyes catching the sunlight. “I think he’s officially tired us out.”

You lay down too, propping your head on your arm as you looked at him. “Speak for yourself. I could go another round.”

Lewis chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Sure you could,” he teased, his hand lazily reaching out to tap your arm before resting near Roscoe’s belly.

Roscoe shifted, nestling himself snugly between you, his warm body a comforting weight. Even though the house was full of people roaming around but in that area between kitchen & living area it was quiet ,the afternoon slipping into stillness. As your eyes grew heavy, you inched a little closer to Roscoe—and by extension, to Lewis.

It felt natural, the way your head found its place near his chest and how his arm instinctively draped over your waist. His fingers brushed against your back, a soft, absentminded gesture that sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the sunlight.

Before long, both of you had drifted off, tangled in each other and the warmth of the moment. Roscoe snored softly between you, his presence grounding the tenderness of the scene.

When Lewis’ mum came in later from the outdoor terrace into the kitchen , she stopped in her tracks. There you were, curled up on the floor with Lewis, your legs intertwined and your head resting against his chest. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, his face relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in years. Roscoe lay nestled between you, snoring blissfully.

She smiled, quietly pulling out her phone to snap a picture. Miles, peeking over her shoulder, come inside ,grinned. “This is one for the memory books,” he whispered.she nodded & smiled .

When you stirred awake a little later, you felt the steady rise and fall of Lewis’ chest beneath your cheek. His arm tightened slightly, as if even in sleep, he didn’t want to let go. You blinked up at him, your heart fluttering at how peaceful he looked, and for a moment, you just stayed there, soaking in the warmth and closeness.

It was simple, unexpected, but it was perfect. In that quiet moment, for the first time since you met him , something unspoken settled between you—soft, natural, and undeniably real.