#like there is just no way either of them would EVER be mean or demeaning toward a borrower

[obwjam]

Since we're all on a marvel g/t kick, I would like to know your thoughts/headcanons of Thor and/or T'challa as giants 🙏

bro i love giant thor so much 😭😭😭 he is just a big GOOF and he would so easily treat the tiny like a little sibling. i’ve always hc’d giant thor as having great respect for tiny people bc he grew up hearing heroic tales of people as big as thumbs who conquered the giant world they lived in and he thinks borrowers are super badass warriors and it always makes a tiny really happy 🥹 he would always call them “little [name]” and it would be so adorable every time, like the tiny thinks thor is just as cute as he thinks they are. he loves giving them shoulder rides and training them by using a twig or whatever as a sword. the tiny can just beat up on him bc he feels none of it and thor is genuinely impressed with their strength. always so positive, caring and loving toward a tiny even if he can be a bit dense and not understand certain borrower culture things

t’challa is just like the perfect protector giant bc he’s so intuitively smart and a leader that he always knows what the tiny needs, even when he discovers them for the very first time. i love the idea of a wakandan borrower clan who are all super adept at building and are all so agile as natural warriors, and they live in harmony with the regular wakandans and it’s really sweet 😭 like they have tiny representatives on the council and are treated with respect and as equals by t’challa and they have mutual admiration for each other

[iceunhie]

HEART TO HEART — aventurine

premise ⁠☆ the five times aventurine bares his heart out to you, and the one time it works in his favor (or, in which aventurine says he loves you, in his own little ways.)

a/n ⁠☆ lovesick aventurine, i repeat super lovesick aventurine this is not half-assed, reader is the same reader from make a bet !!

The first time Aventurine opened up to you, he thinks that you looked like what starlight could be in human form.

He speaks your name like a victory falling upon his lips, a measured weight in its cadence. Aventurine relishes in the way you look alert, placing your attention on him (and him alone), sticking to his side like the faithful subordinate that you are.

He's come to learn that you don't exactly do friends—you are the very image of professionalism, never crossing the lines you shouldn't cross; and if he’s not careful, you could disappear at the slightest touch, just like starlight. (Would it kill you to stay just for him?)

“Have I ever told you that you look prettier when you smile?”

You pause from your game, looking up from the chessboard you and your co-worker, boss, and give him a look that one can truly only enjoy if they were either a masochist or someone who enjoyed another's disgust of them. “About 25 times now, Aventurine.”

“You've been counting? I didn't know you loved my praise that much.”

“Does every word that comes out of your lips lack sense, or is it just me?”

“Haha, it's just you.”

“Lucky me.” you roll your eyes. Aventurine's eyes melt, like butter in the sun.

Sometimes he feels the urge to always compliment you—because this is the only way for you to keep your eyes on him, to only look at him, and Aventurine has always loved looking at your eyes.

(If he kept looking, would he convey his heart to you?)

You scrunch up your face. Cute. “What?”

“Nothing.” Fondness bleeds from within him, the Kakavasha of old seeping into the cracks of his hollow shell. Aventurine plays gambles, risks death, yet this feeling of elation is something that triumphed in all of that.

He wonders if you notice; if you know that his honeyed words are genuine, as genuine as a liar like him can be. Aventurine wonders if you can tell that every poke and prod hides the underlying meaning of desperation—the words he can never bring himself to say because he thinks he's far too unworthy (for you). Still…

“I hope you know that it's true.” Just this once, he’ll let you see, just this once. “I mean it. You look prettier when you smile.”

Just this once, Aventurine thinks. He’ll bare his heart to you just this once. It's a gamble, a risk; a gamble he wants to risk.

And indeed, perhaps this is what Gaiathra’s blessing is for.

He sees you bristle like a cat, so wary—but he sees the flush coating your cheeks, reaching well up to the tips of your ears, and he knows he's won. Checkmate. “That's such a lame compliment. Is that best you executives can do?”

“Mm, wouldn't you like to know?” (To love is such an unpredictable thing.)

Aventurine may be a liar, but Kakavasha isn't, because Kakavasha strung together his remains in hopes of perceiving you.

In hopes of loving you.

—

Aventurine has only three words to describe himself: loser, liar, and murderer.

He can think of other words too, like Sigonian, IPC lapdog, coward, unworthy… a plethora of ugly, demeaning, visceral words— it makes his throat bubble with acid, coiling ang churning under the weight of his own existence. Disgusting.

There's another, too. Greedy. He's greedy. Whether as Kakavasha or Aventurine, the hunger to consume all lingers fresh in his mind. The strong takes all, and the weak is left to suffer. It's a need that knows no end, embittering all he cherished, cherishes. Like an iron chain upon his neck. He's greedy for solace, freedom; death, and—

“Aventurine, are you okay?” you.

How truly fortunate he is to behold your expression, when your concern is as slim as the chances of a collision of planets; when the expressive range of your emotions towards him range from either exasperation or irritation.

His smile feels rotten today, unbearably sweet. The smile of a thief. A liar. A Sigonian. “Are you worried about me?”

“You…” the traces of care don't slip from your expression despite the annoyance that betrays your tone. “Be serious here—you haven't been sleeping, have you? What is it? Is Sir Diamond assigning you yet another impossible mission?”

“No. Nothing of the sort, my friend.” His voice is flat. He doesn't know what's more agonizing. Knowing you care (and always have cared) for him, or knowing that he's making you go through all this trouble just to care for him.

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “It's just a minor upset, don't worry.”

(How could you even care about someone like him? Is this love? Care? How could you look at him like he's worthy of being perceived? He is a liar, a cheat, a coward.)

He doesn't want to be indebted to you. Rather, he doesn't want you to see him; vulnerable, weak. Allowing you to freely enter his study as he's buried under piles of duty bound work just to come across one of the rare times where he's just Kakavasha—alone, weak, and fickle.

(Because as Kakavasha, Aventurine cannot hide his yearning for you, for deceit is unworthy of you; just like he is for you.)

Worst of all, Aventurine feels that if you see him, you’ll find out just how ugly he truly is. You'd slip away from him, like starlight. Out of reach; never to be seen again.

(Humans cannot survive without the light. Aventurine is starting to understand why.)

“Then I'll get you something to eat at least, so you can-”

“No, wait.” He speaks your name like a plea, and you stay. Relief floods through his senses.

Aventurine thinks that perhaps because of the vulnerability he's exposed, you've even become softer. Because why else would you look like that, looking at him like he's worth something? “What is it, Aventurine?”

“Can you stay by my side?” There's a crack in his voice that he wishes to hide, but you don't mind anyway. “Just this once.” Please.

A part of him hurts, having to beg. It reminds him all too much of days when the commodity code on his neck defined the crux of his existence; it is all he will be, will continue to be, all he is allowed to be. But Aventurine is no longer Kakavasha; hiding away from the world.

“...Okay.” Aventurine’s heart throbs when he sees your concerned expression. You know better than to ask questions, something he deems both a boon and a bane. “I'll stay. As- As much as you want.”

Why is he just like a fool whenever he's with you?

They say that to covet what must not be coveted is one’s downfall, and Aventurine is no different. His eyes trail over your form, every inch of the stardust that make you. “Thank you. Really.”

Aventurine has only three words to describe him: liar, loser, and murderer. There may be others, but this defines the very tapestry of his lamentable existence, from the moment he was brought forth upon the world; that of which no longer exists, dissolving like the sand of Sigonia’s deserts.

“Don't thank me, Aventurine. Just—get some rest. I'll be there when you wake up.”

“Nn. You're too kind. Should I double that paycheck of yours next month?”

He can hear you scoff, that bit of mirth you let slip reinvigorating him, sustaining him. “....Sweet dreams, Aventurine.”

And if Aventurine strains his mind enough, deludes himself enough; he can hear you say in a voice that's tender, warm; like the warm embrace of his sister, honeyed Avgin spilling from her lips. Brimming with love. Brimming with care.

‘May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you,’

Aventurine is a Sigonian lapdog, an unfettered gambler. He needs no tears, for there will be none to shed in his victory. He has never lost, and sees no need to shed tears for something that he will never experience. (His hand still shakes, betting on his life.)

‘keeping your blood eternally pulsing.’

He feels your fingers brush against the strands of his hair, taking off his glasses. Aventurine stills. Kakavasha falls, full of love, loving you.

‘…may your journey be forever peaceful,’

He watches you, staying by his side; and Aventurine can't help but add another name to define him.

‘and your schemes forever concealed.’

A fool. (a lover.)

Two system hours later, Aventurine wakes to the scent of lavender scented candles and a blanket covering his body, with the paperwork neatly handled, your writing scribbled on some of the pages.

Get well soon.

—

Envy is a face Aventurine has long grown accustomed to seeing.

He saw it as Kakavasha; the look others give when they see his eyes, when they look at his profile. As Aventurine, he sees it in the eyes of space traders as they gaze upon his wealth, how the eyes of others fall onto him as he walks past.

Others get consumed by it, others deny it; Aventurine embraces it. He knows the feeling of having nothing and wishing he could have things others can have with little effort.

But the fact that he also wears its mask is ironic, especially given the subject of his envy.

The third time Aventurine bares his heart out to you, it had been an accident.

He shouldn't be jealous, envious of those who get to help you with the IPC’s missions. It is the right, sensible thing to do; because you make him feel illogical, unable to comprehend in the haze of longing.

(Perhaps lovesickness isn't too far off a word.)

This is why you make him break free of his self-imposed apathy at seeing you off. Aventurine checks the file you'd be heading off to, letters in pristine print along with his signature, an indication of his approval. Pier Point. The name besides yours that indicate that you will be travelling together burns him like scalding iron, stinging like a brand upon his skin. Something green and uncomfortable in him roars.

In a sense of uncharacteristic recklessness and perhaps brought upon by his longing; Aventurine ends up seeing you off.

“I'll get going now- Aventurine….?” your words falter when you watch as your co-worker strides toward you, terribly fast. “I thought you weren't coming to see me.”

“I can't have my dearest friend leave without seeing their handsome colleague’s face.” he says, like a liar. Small mercies to his ability to divert his inner feelings—and to not think about the fact that seeing you makes his heart throb in an ache no hunger can satiate.

You scoff, and thankfully you don't seem that irritated. If anything, you're in a good mood today. Even let him see the way your head tilts to bite back a smile. “How fortunate of me then.”

(He is.)

“Extremely.” he calls your name like a wager, seeking an answer. “How long are you going to be away this time?”

“Almost a month, maybe. I was told that since the Pier Point Incursion, many of those under your department have been stationed to help sustain the damage.”

“...I see. My well wishes to you then, friend. Seems you've got your work cut out for you.”

He's sulking, and you can't help but laugh. Like a golden retriever. “Why so glum? Don't tell me you'd miss me.”

And for all his grace at maintaining his carefully crafted mask, Aventurine's whole world stops when he hears the sound. “How could anyone ever not miss you?”

You pause mid-laugh. Aventurine feels his face heat. He slipped up. Again, because of you. Because you always made him feel as though the universe could stop and end with you; and that this rotten hunger that gnawed at his bones might just be that he cared for you far too much for his own good.

…And now he felt like he wanted to fall back into a sandpit and hide there forever. “Is that what you think, Aventurine?”

The way you say his name is so intoxicating. It sounds hesitant, seeing through him in an instant.

“Maybe.” He can't look at you right now, or else he'll imagine it—how could you ever feel the way he feels for you? When you were you and he was… him. “I'm afraid I've been too reliant on my closest colleague.”

“Then come with me next time.” you look at him as though he'd break at any moment; tender. There's something else, too. “If you'd miss me that much.”

You flash him a cheeky, lovely smile, and Aventurine loves, loves, and loves.

How unfair you are, capable of reducing him to bits; bringing him to your light and making his heart set off like fireworks in the night.

For now, he will be Aventurine—he could never resist such a tempting offer, not when its weight was far more valuable than any treasure of all.

He smiles, business-like in nature, one used to deceive, to lie. But Aventurine—Kakavasha smiles in fondness, in adoration. “It would be my pleasure.”

—

Aventurine has always thought that the space in his heart is empty because it was meant to be.

Because he is not worthy of feeling—he is a tool to be used; every part of him taken away and exploited away by others at their whim. In short, he is his best bargaining chip at any stability in his life.

“Aventurine, you’ll catch a cold if you keep forgetting to remove your coat.”

But you don't think that way, and it confuses him, to say the least. Like a shooting star, traces of your existence are specks in his life that have become far too important for him to let go.

Whether it be indulging in his whims of poker, allowing him to see the sight of your expressions in embarrassment and resignation, or the subtleties that have led him to believe (at least, he hopes to believe) that you do care.

And each time, Aventurine embeds your name into his heart even further, dreams of you in the far corners of his heart reserved only for the dead he needed to bury. His feelings, his family, and this growing attachment to you that became too difficult to hold back.

Even now, as you hand him a towel and take his wet coat out of the way, Aventurine doesn't know if this is a blessing or a curse. You are always like this—overwhelmingly blinding, tethering himself to you without warning with your compassion. “I won't get sick.”

“Uh huh.” your eyebrows raise, and you take him inside. “That’s what all the people who get sick after being soaked in the rain say.”

“Well, aren't you just charming.”

“Thanks, I'm told it's one of my defining qualities.”

He laughs, genuine. You're probably the only one to be able to bring out this part of him. “Such an angel you are.”

“Yes, yes, very much.” You smile with faux sweetness, though Aventurine's heart stutters anyway. “Stop patronizing me and dry off already.”

“Alright, no need to get so fussy.” he throws up his hands in surrender, and he waits until you leave his quarters, strides measured as you give him privacy to change.

Aventurine wonders if you know just how much he loves you. Because he knows he does.

Recently, Kakavasha has come to a dangerous conclusion.

Perhaps the reason the space in his heart is empty was because you had been dictated to fit in it, and that Aventurine knows he’d never want you to leave.

—

Grief haunts Aventurine like a ghost, an old friend. Anguish whispers in Kakavasha’s ears and dictates its path to be his destiny.

But love comes in the form of Aventurine’s adoration for you.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to die?”

“No.”

A lie. Aventurine has always had a morbid, twisted curiosity of death. Death is the earliest lesson taught to him, among the lessons of Mama Fenge and the cruel acts of the Katicans. Death is his companion, a reminder that his life is merely defined by his usefulness, his luck.

“Why are you asking?” It is a mundane question, spoken atop the glamourous balcony as you and him look down at the glittering streetlights in Penacony below, watching the people of the dreamscape live the life their reality never brought them.

“No reason. Just… I wondered.” You hum, and Aventurine notes the miniscule shiver of your body, the lowering of your gaze; you're thinking about something again. (He wonders if you'd let him listen to what you want to say.) “What death might be like in this dreamscape.”

An underlying feeling of tension. You know what Aventurine's been up to. What he's been searching for in order to act out the IPC’s plan. Though it infuriates you to know he's doing this to himself, you're powerless to do anything about it. There is a wall between you that Aventurine refuses to cross.

Instead, his silent question comes in the form of his coat draped around your back. There's no motion of rejection from you, which makes him feel nice—even if it's just for a while. “Thank you.”

You didn't need to thank him. Aventurine knows that he'd do anything for you anyway even if you don't ask a thing. But you do anyway, because you were lovely and blinding; and he yearns to grasp at even a single wisp of your reality.

“For what it's worth,” Aventurine says, the characteristic lilt of amusement in his voice gone, replaced with something authentic, “I wouldn't want you to die. Such a thing would be unfortunate for someone with lots of promise in the economic field.”

You glance at him with a funny look, exasperated but not surprised. “Well, I'm glad you think so highly of me...?”

He cringes at that, huffs out a weak ‘naturally’ as he stares out at the distance. The wall between you weakens.

“And, well, the sentiment is the same for me. I don't want you to die either.” you say, and the glow of the streetlights illuminate your face, and Aventurine's eyes don't leave your presence, wanting to burn the sight to his irises, to his pupils; never letting a fiber of your being go unloved. Retaining you and keeping you close when his hands cannot.

(If only you knew.)

“I wouldn't go down without a fight.” he says, and Aventurine takes you in—the ways in which you gaze upon the scenery below, watching how you chuckle as you hear the loud countdown to the fireworks, the way your voice has always been the light, his adoration for you a stone to grab on in his gamble in life.

There's silence. Loving you is like loving the way the air fills your lungs as you breathe, because loving you was as natural as breathing in the sandy dunes of the place he once called home, as natural as the Avgin that filled his ears, and loving you is everything to him, for Kakavasha was a dreamer, and you are his dreams personified.

Loving you reminds him of home, because you have burrowed your way into his bones, his lungs and his skin, and Kakavasha fills himself with your existence and lives. Loves.

He speaks your name like it's the last thing he could ever do, and that through you, Kakavasha lived, and Kakavasha loved you.

And like always, it's there. Your attention, on him, as he always knows it will be (and as he always hopes it shall be.) as you gaze at him like he's the brightest star in the sky. Or maybe it's the light refracting in your eyes. Aventurine doesn't really care which. “What is it?”

The wall between you two disappears completely, and Kakavasha begins anew, his heart undone.

When Aventurine finally bares his heart to you for the fifth time as the burst of fireworks ricochet across the skies, he hopes those three words will reach you.

bonus: the one time aventurine bares out his heart to you, and he gets rewarded.

Aventurine’s hair has always reminded you of the color of gold.

It is the color of the sunlight as it gently basks against your skin, the color of expensive champagne the man next to you so favors, and the color of the edges of his sunglasses.

(You've always been fond of yellow.)

“Aventurine?” you say, tone light, urging him to wake up. He's truly relentless, adamant on sulking as though his most valuable treasure would slip away from his grasp like you are right now because you were running late. “Can you let me get up now?”

“Good morning to you too.” purple eyes greet your form and an arm winds itself around your waist, pulling you even closer. “And unfortunately for you, I'm afraid I don't want to.”

“I'll be late. You know Jade hates tardiness-”

“-And I would be devastated to not have my lover by my side and leave me heartlessly.” Aventurine feigns, the falsity of his hurt not affecting you at all.

“You…” You frown at him, and Aventurine kisses the crease of your eyebrows of your face, enjoying the way your cheeks flush the like burn of alcohol down one’s throat. “You're so insufferable.”

“Mhm, whatever helps you let out that ire of yours.” he looks at you like he would the most precious of ores, the most valuable of cards—Aventurine looks at you unabashedly, wholly, in affection.

“Will you ever let me be on time?”

“Would you ever let me stop loving you?” he presses a kiss to your palm, tender as his hand traces circles on your palm. Aventurine already knows the answer.

“Thats two completely different things.” you sigh, but it's exasperatedly fond, and Aventurine’s heart skips a beat. He finds his answer when you press a chaste kiss upon the edge of his mouth. “Don't answer a question with a question.”

“It's a great conversation tactic, though. And to answer your question, no, I don't think I will.”

“Kakavasha.” You warn. His name on your lips feels a little like salvation, and Aventurine feels a warm ache fill his stomach, blooming into something not so dissimilar to devotion.

With you, there is no Aventurine of Strategems, no Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts. All that remains is Kakavasha, one that loves you, and one that you love too.

Aventurine laughs, and the die is cast. “Let's make a bet then.”

“Ugh, not another one of those.” you groan, but you make no notion to refuse anyway.

“Sway my heart enough to let you go.” he smirks, cunning as ever. You roll your eyes, though it's nothing if not affectionate, determined glint shining in your eyes just like starlight.

“Oh, that's way too easy. Deal.”

Recently, he's come to a conclusion; Aventurine thinks that if it's with you, no gamble is worthier than this.

(With you, Aventurine is whole, and he is home.)

end notes im gonna kms i hate the ending like actually hate it this fic is the product of boundless hatred and the urge to never show it to the light ever but here i am

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[dollfacefantasy]

TELL ME WHEN YOU HEAR MY HEART STOP ♡

pairing: naoya zen'in x fem!reader

summary: today's a very special day for you and naoya, and he plans to celebrate it with a very special gift.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, stockholm syndrome, p in v, fingering, breeding kink, puppy play, misogyny, mentions of spanking, corporal punishment, and psychological torture stuff

a/n: birthday gift for my sweet wonderful friend who i love so very much @nexysworld <3 also!! imagine naoya as a few years older than his canon age for the timeline in this story to work.

“Naoya taking a wife… I never thought I’d see the day.”

The sound of Jinichi’s voice speaking his name drew Naoya’s attention to the two men walking several feet ahead of him on the stone path. His golden eyes flitted from the blue sky above to the pair of them, narrowing as he focused on hearing the next part of the conversation.

“It’s not that shocking,” Ogi replied, “He’s the future head of the clan. There’s no way Naobito would let him fail to produce an heir. Even if the old man had to find some bitch to pay off, the kid was always going to get married.”

“That’s true, but don’t you find it the least bit odd? Seeing him at events with some girl on his arm now? Before, he could never shut up about how the women shouldn’t even be allowed at those things. To be honest with you, I always thought he swung the other way,” Jinichi added.

“Well, yeah. But look at her. If he was ever gonna wed a woman, it was gonna be one like her. Quiet as a mouse. Moves through rooms like a scrap of silk in the wind. Doesn’t go anywhere without him,” Ogi reasoned.

“I don’t think that’s her choice,” the other man quipped.

Ogi shrugged. “Maybe not, but she goes along with it. I only wonder if she’s always been so naturally obedient or if the kid beat it into her.”

Gritting his teeth, Naoya had enough of listening to this. He sped up to catch his relatives. Once within arm’s length, he laid a hand upon Jinichi’s shoulder and pulled him around. His lips curled into a sneer upon making eye contact.

The sudden tug shocked the older Zen’in, his brows raising and lips pausing around the word they had been forming. Ogi followed his direction and came to face the future head of the clan as well. The three of them stood there for a moment. Naoya let them have a few seconds to register that he’d heard their conversation.

“I’ve never thought of either of you as intelligent, but I thought you smarter than thinking it was acceptable to disparage your future clan leader out in the open like this,” he said.

“Our words weren’t intended to be negative, Naoya. We didn’t mean to upset you,” Jinichi started.

“Because you didn’t think I would hear,” he shot back.

From the looks on the two faces in front of him, it was clear the men weren’t afraid of Naoya. That irritated him of course. He wanted all of them to fear him, to feel that if they so much as put him in a bad mood, they would suffer. But the emotion he did see on their features satisfied him enough to prevent that from being a pressing issue.

The gleam in both Jinichi and Ogi’s eyes told him they respected his rank. They may hate him and believe him to be nothing more than Naobito’s spoiled-rotten son, but they accepted the fact that there was nothing they could do about it. And he almost liked that more.

“But really? The implication that I have to lay hands on my betrothed to receive her submission wasn’t meant to be an insult?” he mocked, “The idea that my father would have to pay some woman to be my wife wasn’t said to demean me? I don’t believe that for a second.”

“They were just jokes,” Ogi defended, “How you deal with your woman is your business.”

“Oh, I know it is. How I discipline her is of no concern to you, but do you really think I would have chosen someone so unruly to spend my life with?” he questioned.

“It’s just that you have such high standards-” Jinichi stated.

“I do have high standards. And she meets every single one,” Naoya cut him off, “You two don’t have to explain any further. I’ve already decided to forgive you because I know the root of all of this is jealousy. Ogi, I can tell you wish there was some way you could trade in your wife for mine. Someone young and fresh. Eager and passionate. Not dried up and drained of any personality from more than a decade of dealing with you.

“And Jinichi. Have you ever even been with a girl? I’m sure if my wife took the time to so much as smile at you, she’d have you trailing her like a drooling dog. So please, spare me your judgements about her being ‘quiet’ or shy or whatever you think. There simply isn’t much to say when the company is made up of people like you two,” he finished.

The both of them blinked at Naoya in return, unsure of what to say in response to the scathing words. Arguing would probably cause a blow up that would draw the attention of Naobito, but cowering would inflate the young man’s already super-sized ego. Luckily for them, Naoya continued speaking before they had to make a decision.

“Either way, it’s all water under the bridge. I know you two won’t make this mistake again,” he smiled, “But in case you need the reminder, don’t ever utter the word ‘bitch’ in a discussion about my wife. And if I hear you calling me kid again, you’ll find yourself feeling sorely out of place when I take mine as head of this clan.”

This time Naoya didn’t bother waiting for a potential reply before pushing through them and continuing his walk. The pathway fell into serene silence now that it wasn’t polluted by their annoying chatter. Birds chirped in the trees above while a gentle Spring breeze rustled the hedges on either side of him.

He let out a soft sigh as he turned a corner as his shared suite came into view in the distance. Never did Naoya think he’d see the day where he defended a woman so valiantly. Though that was the crux of why he did it he supposed. You weren’t just some woman. You were his. His bride-to-be, his beloved, his special girl. The only person of the female persuasion he’d let walk one pace behind him instead of three.

God, it was ridiculous. Even thinking of you now made his heart race. He envisioned your sweet, sparkling eyes. Your cute lips that tasted like the richest wine in the world. That luscious body below that gave him wet dreams like he was a horny teenager.

He sighed, longing for you even though he’d be in your presence in a matter of seconds. No matter how often he saw you, it seemed it was never enough. If he could, he’d blow off all his duties around here and stay with you for the entire day.

Opening the miniature gates to his suite, he walked across the paved path to a small wooden staircase. He headed up the three steps and finally reached the doorway that would lead to you.

Upon entering his home, he slipped off his shoes and took a glance in the nearby mirror to make sure his hair was in place. On the thin end table against the wall was a pile of wedding invitations. The sight of them brought a smirk to his lips. Save the date! Mr. and Mrs. Zen’in would like to invite you… scrawled in elegant calligraphy and bordered in gold trim.

“Sweetheart, I’m home,” he called through the house.

He waited a few seconds for the sound of you rushing towards him. That phrase served the same purpose as a whistle to a trained hound. He’d taught you well over the last year. Everyday when he said those words, he could count on you to come to him, to ask about his day, and check on what he needed.

Only today, he didn’t hear the pitter-patter of your footsteps.

His eyebrow raised. In an instant, his body tensed, his lips set into a scowl. He tried telling himself you could be temporarily occupied. Maybe you were taking a bath or had fallen asleep for an afternoon nap. You could just be watching tv or listening to some music that muffled the sound of his voice.

He knew it was probably one of those, but his mind couldn’t help going to the worst place. That you had escaped.

His fist clenched by his sides. He bit the inside of his cheek. Walking further into your shared home, his eyes glanced around to look for any immediate signs of your departure. So far there was nothing. All the furniture was in place, no windows had been left ajar, one of your jackets draped across the back of an armchair.

She knows better now, he thought to himself. Last time you’d tried leaving two months ago, he had hoped it would be the last time. He’d caught you tumbling from the bedroom window while coming home to fetch a paper he’d forgotten. If he found out you’d pulled the vanishing act again today, he’d make the fury he’d felt in that moment seem like minor irritation.

When you tried leaving out the window, the two of you had locked eyes as you clambered off the ground. It would have been kind of cute if he wasn’t so pissed, the way he could see the realization in your eyes that you had majorly fucked up. You tried running, but Naoya was fast. He had you by the back of the neck in seconds, his nails digging into your tender skin.

“My little puppy felt like exploring outside her crate, hm?” he’d asked with barely constrained rage, “You know you’re supposed to ask for permission to do that. You’re not allowed to wander on your own yet.”

Naoya always ended his rules in yet even though he wasn’t sure if he actually planned on ever giving you the freedoms he currently forbade. A small part of him believed that the false hope would inspire your obedience better than direct punishments would. Not that it stopped him from giving you regular punishment though. That day he dragged you back into the house and spanked you till your ass was raw. You wouldn’t have been able to run for a light jog after that. It left you crying for nearly a whole day, so he had hoped it would have been a lasting lesson.

He continued to prowl through the house like a fox hunting its prey. Gliding into the kitchen, he again saw nothing out of the ordinary. You even had the oven on. He wanted that to be enough to put him at ease, but he couldn’t let himself relax. You might have left it on intending to burn the house down.

From there he slipped into the hall. You weren’t in any of the rooms off that walkway, so he headed for the stairs. He moved up them in silence. If you were still here, he didn’t want you to know his exact location. Paranoia had fully taken root. It wasn’t just escape that worried him now. Maybe you had figured out that never worked. You could have graduated to planning an attack. That wouldn’t work either, but he wouldn’t put it past you. For all the times you’d wailed about wanting to kill him, he didn’t believe logic factored into these little rebellions.

God, what if you had found the propofol in his nightstand. He kept it unlabeled, but you’d probably recognize that milky liquid by now. You could have found the syringes in his sock drawer too while doing the laundry.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You could be waiting, tucked behind a corner, ready to jab him in the throat like he’d done to you a year ago. In his defense though, you actually needed it. You were so upset that night, it bordered on hysterical. He’d come over to keep you company because even though he’d only been with you for a year, he’d known you much longer.

You were Toji’s girlfriend.

He’d met you while trying to track him down years before. The day he spotted you, his eyes had been trying to find his older cousin on a crowded city street. Instead they landed on you. Back then, you had a real baby face. Your eyes shined under the rays like they'd never known a cloudy day. The delicate daylight made your skin glow and your features appear softer. He felt drawn to you. It was like fate that you happened to be hanging off Toji’s arm.

Naoya had become friends with both of you. Hanging out with Toji was great because he was Toji. Naoya would have had fun with him if they just sat there and stared at each other. But shocking to everyone including himself, he actually liked you. He acted polite towards you, friendly even. He naturally smiled when you laughed. His eyes watched you during conversation. He took interest in the things you said.

In his mind, he maintained that he still didn’t like the company of women for the most part. But if Toji took an interest in you, there must have been something that made you worthwhile.

He fell in love with you silently. It was a feeling he never planned to act on. He would never betray his cousin like that. Instead, he’d just observe you in awe from a distance. He’d resign himself to only being your friend. Cousin-in-law if it came to that.

But then Toji died.

It left you devastated. Naoya felt hollowed out too, of course. He never thought he’d see Toji die. Part of him didn’t even believe that was possible. But even in comparison to his shock and grief and despair, you took it really hard.

You pulled away from him. Gaps between his visits transformed from days to weeks to months. You never outright told him you didn’t want him around. Your offers to play video games just dried up. You didn’t start conversations anymore, only offering minimal reactions to what he said. Most days you were busy taking extra shifts at work and on weekends you were hanging out with your own friends who Naoya “didn’t know.”

He followed you to a couple of these outings after feeling like he was going crazy experiencing withdrawal from you. Only he didn’t find “friends.” He found you, alone at the bar, getting yourself wasted until some guy would take you home with him and leave you feeling more empty than before.

After that, Naoya decided it was his duty to intervene. He would never have betrayed Toji for you, but now that Toji was gone, he would be what you needed. His cousin would want that, someone to protect you and make you feel loved. Someone to prevent you from destroying yourself in your sadness.

So on the anniversary of Toji’s death, he came to visit you. The two of you talked in short, tension-filled sentences. He could feel the guilt dripping from your every word. It was awkward, and he didn’t try making it any easier. Soon enough, as he expected, you pulled out something to drink to soothe your nerves and make the evening tolerable. And with the liquor came your tears.

It was easy really, corralling you to his chest and rubbing your back, whispering I’ve got you over and over. Then one little prick and you were out cold against him in less than a minute.

You weren’t too happy when you woke up the next afternoon in a place you didn’t recognize. His bedroom was much nicer than your apartment. Luxury furnishings adorned the space while expensive blankets covered your sluggish form. The upgrade in surroundings did little to convince you though.

When he came in to explain to you your new circumstances, you listened quietly at first. He thought for a second that it might all go smoothly, that you would see the value in him taking care of you. But then he got to the part about becoming his wife and bearing the next generation of Zen’ins… and you didn’t seem so on board with all of that.

Now, his heart pounded in his ears as he reached the top of the stairs. 

The first few months of your training had been rough, but he honestly thought he’d made great progress with you. All the fighting and yelling and crying broke you down quite a bit. The period of sleep deprivation helped as well. And of course, you’d done great for that couple weeks he’d kept you on a leash. You’d still have your bratty moments every now and then, but overall, you were doing much better now. You’d come so far and learned your place. Just sometimes, you forgot that he knew what was best for you.

And he wasn’t evil. He could be understanding. Going from your life of reckless independence to being taken care of by someone so responsible would be a big change, especially for such an emotional little thing like you. That’s why he only punished for actual disrespect.

He hoped that wasn’t what this was right now. Today was a special day. He planned to come home with open arms for you, not a raised belt. But like always, he would do what he had to.

Cautiously, he ventured through the second floor of your house back towards the bedroom. Once he was within a few feet of the door, he could hear some rustling. Finally some indication that you were still in the house. He let out a breath, but his muscles stayed taut. You could be trying to slip out the window again, prying off the nails he’d tacked through the sill.

His shaking hand landed on the door, his fingertips giving it a light push to knock it open. He braced himself, ready for the worst possible scenario. His plan wouldn’t change. Your compliance was the only variable in this situation.

He came into the bedroom and scanned around for trouble. You weren’t at the window or rummaging through his nightstand like he’d feared. You weren’t crouched at the foot of the bed, poised for an attack. Rather, he saw the closet doors open. That was where the noise was coming from.

Crossing the room, he peered between the double doors. Now his body could finally relax. He let out a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. Inside, you were there, safe and sound and not trying to escape. You were on your hands and knees, ducking beneath a shelf as if trying to find something. It seemed like you were having some trouble. Soft grunts fell from your lips and your hips wiggled as you tried to reach further. He couldn’t help noticing the way your back arched in this position along with your hips squirming. His pants felt a little tighter while watching you struggle, but he could deal with that in a few minutes. He cleared his throat to get your attention.

“There you are,” he said.

At the sound of his voice, your head shot up, knocking into the shelf above you.

“Ow,” you squeaked before pulling yourself free and sitting up. Your eyes looked up at him, wide and nervous. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He laughed at your little mishap before walking over to you and patting your head. “It’s alright,” he said, running his fingers along your scalp. 

His sweet puppy. Obedient just as he’d hoped. You deserved more credit than he gave you it seemed. He couldn’t let you totally off the hook for not meeting him at the door though. That was how bad habits formed. 

“Though maybe you shouldn’t start cleaning out the closet around the time I’m usually home.”

You nodded without protest before rising to your feet and tucking yourself to his side, your cheek squishing against the crisp fabric of his shirt.

“How was your day?” you asked. Your voice sounded meeker than usual, but he supposed you still feared the possibility of getting in trouble.

He wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. “It was fine. Nothing special,” he said with a shrug. He began walking you out of the closet and back into the main part of the bedroom. “What were you looking for in there?”

“Today those people came over to fit me for the wedding dress, and while I had it on, I remembered these shoes I have that would go with it. I was just trying to find them, so I could ask if you liked them,” you answered.

A perfect answer in his book. You were looking for something in regards to the wedding, and not only that, but you planned on asking him for his opinion on it. It made his heart soar.

His fingers coasted up and swept below your chin, making you look up at him. As your jaw tilted upwards, his eyes fell to your neck. More specifically, the tight piece of material wrapped around your neck.

Your collar.

Just looking at it had Naoya’s cock stirring in his pants. He valued that little strap of fabric more than the diamond ring around your finger that cost thousands. His fingertips flicked the dangling silver tag that hung at the front.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, “Are you getting excited for the wedding?”

You shrugged and gave him a small smile. While he would have preferred a resounding Yes, he would take this. It was a vast improvement from the times you’d burst into tears if he so much as uttered the words wedding or bride in your presence.

He planted a kiss on your forehead before sitting on the foot of the bed and pulling you into his lap. You sat up straight on his thigh with your shoulders back. Good. He stressed the importance of not slouching to you. It was unbecoming of someone with your beauty.

Two of his knuckles dragged down the curve of your face while his eyes studied your face for a moment.

“You know… today is a very special day,” he said, connecting his gaze with yours.

They swirled with nervousness, uncertain what kind of special today was. “It is?” you asked.

“Yeah. It is,” he confirmed. His fingers rested below your jaw while his thumb swiped back and forth across your chin. “Today’s our anniversary.”

You blinked at him for a few seconds. “But we’re not married yet…” you said and cocked your head a little.

“I know that, silly girl,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I’m not talking about our wedding anniversary. I’m talking about the anniversary of us. Of me bringing you here. The real start of your life.”

Realization dawned all across your face. “Oh,” was all you said.

“Don’t give me that,” he said with a little pinch to your jaw, “It’s a lot more important than ‘oh.’ That was the day you really became mine. My little puppy.”

He snuck his arms around you and pulled you flush against his chest, rocking back and forth with you for a few moments. The way his body swayed felt like how a child would do it with their favorite doll. His fingers traced up and down your spine.

You shut your eyes and relaxed in the embrace for a few moments. His tender attitude at the moment helped keep your thoughts quiet, which was good since the information he just gave you feelings the exact opposite of his.

While nostalgia warmed Naoya’s chest, a sense of dread permeated your body. You had been here for a whole year. An entire year of your life, wasted away while you played house between the walls of the Zen’in estate. You had honestly given up on escape after the last time when he threatened to upgrade your collar to an electric one, but the idea that you would actually be here forever didn’t feel real until right now.

Something about the one year marker ticking by made the time more than an abstract concept. The same was true of Toji’s death. Some days it felt like he was gone only a week, others you felt like the last time you laid with him was in another life.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you think of him now. It was stupid, but sometimes you worried he’d be disappointed in you for giving in. He fought his way out of this place. Now one of them had you, and you were just taking it lying down.

But you couldn’t fight back anymore. You just couldn’t. This wasn’t so bad. You told yourself that everyday as you lounged around the house or made him dinner. It could be so much worse. It’s not like Naoya kept you in a box under the bed or in some dank basement. He treated you like a wife. Sure he could be… old-fashioned to put it nicely, but you were pretty sure that, in his own twisted way, he really believed he loved you.

And the worst part about this whole thing was you were kind of sure that, in some fucked up way, you felt some sort of attachment to him too.

You’d liked Naoya as a friend before any of this happened. When he was just Toji’s little cousin. You thought he was cute. A little mouthy, but funny and sharp. He was still that way now, and when you behaved he let you see that. That was when nostalgia hits you. When he got you laughing, some part of your brain felt like you were back in the apartment, waiting for Toji to come home from the store.

And when he wasn’t in a bad mood, he could be pretty sweet. Sure the puppy stuff made you want to vomit at first but now it was kinda cute… It was just his special thing for you. That’s what you told yourself. He took care of you, and he could be loving and gentle. He could be a lot worse to you. Some of the other men around here were to their wives.

Those thoughts only brought you turmoil though. You hated yourself for getting used to him. For finding reasons to defend him to yourself. To justify his eternal presence in your life.

As much as you tried to keep it down, a sniffle broke its way out of you. You hoped he didn’t notice. He was being nice right now, and you wanted so badly to keep that going. You didn’t want this to turn into a lesson.

But unfortunately, he heard the soft sound. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed your jaw, forcing your head off his chest. His eyes looked down upon your face now, not in admiration but with inquisition.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, the words coming out with the smallest hint of accusation.

Before you could even think of a cover, you shook your head. There was no way you were gonna risk having to explain your feelings to him. Naoya wasn’t the best with that.

“No…” you replied, “I’m just… I’m so… I’m so happy.”

He continued to stare at you, though his gaze dissolved from displeased to plain confusion. You brought your hand up to hold his wrist.

“I never thought I would be so lucky to have someone like you who takes care of me and looks out for me. I just can’t believe it’s been a whole year. It just makes me think about everything,” you whispered. The low volume helped them seem more authentic. If you had to be emphatic about this, it would probably seem forced.

A gradual smile began forming on his face. “Well no wonder you’re crying. You know you and thinking don’t go well together,” he teased and pulled you back to his body.

He let out a lovesick sigh and rested his cheek against the top of your head. You released a breath too. Without his scrutiny, you could relax. His hand resumed petting up and down your back while he held you.

“My poor puppydoll… you get overwhelmed by all those big feelings in your head so easily,” he cooed, “That’s why you need me. You know I can handle it all for you.”

You nodded on instinct.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, “But I didn’t bring today up for no reason. I wanted to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you asked and wiped at your misty eyes before looking up at him again.

“Well, because today is our anniversary, I thought you deserved a gift. But you’ve been such a good girl lately, so polite and well behaved, doing everything I ask of you. It couldn’t be just anything. It had to be special,” he explained.

You tried to map out where this might be going, but you came up short. He rolled over with you, slotting you beneath him on the mattress. His elbow held him above you while his free hand came up and clicked off your collar. Your eyes widened as he pushed it aside. Today must have really been special to him.

“I was thinking and thinking and thinking, but I couldn’t come up with anything that my puppy would need. You already have so many pretty outfits. So many good pairs of shoes. All the toys you could want. I keep you so well-spoiled… so what would be a good enough present for my sweet little bride?” he asked as he ducked down to your neck, “Can you guess?”

His mouth began laying hot kisses on your throat. You shuddered under his touch. He licked at your pulse point before nipping at the skin. You know he wanted to leave a mark. That was the main reason he bothered kissing your neck at all.

When he didn’t say anything after a few seconds, you realized his question wasn’t rhetorical. He expected you to guess.

“Um… I don’t know. Are we gonna go out somewhere together?” you asked hopefully. It had been a long time since you’d seen the city. Or anywhere that wasn’t this house or the grounds of this estate.

He laughed a little against your skin, peppering the area with another series of pecks. “Good try, but no. I thought of something even better,” he breathed.

You tried to think of another guess, but you honestly had no clue what he intended to use to mark this occasion.

“I don’t know,” you acquiesced.

“That’s ok, baby. I didn’t think you’d get it. It was just cute watching you try,” he teased. 

He nosed at your neck once more before pulling back and looking down at you. His hand rested on your hips, his fingers clasped around the soft flesh there.

“I was thinking that because you’ve been such a good girl for me lately, that you’re ready for me to give you the greatest gift you’ll ever receive,” he whispered, “My heir.”

Every cell in your body froze upon hearing those words. You stared at him, jaw tight and eyes unmoving. How did you not think of that? It was obvious now that he’d said it. You’d known about his desire to eventually get you pregnant since your first day here, but he’d always referred to it as some distant thing. Some event that would occur after the two of you married.

There was only a month until the wedding though, so you supposed he was on track.

“Like a baby?” you whispered back, still wishing somehow that you’d misinterpreted what he meant.

“Well obviously,” he said, “Now’s not the time for joking, puppy. I know you’re ready.”

“I…” you started, but you cut yourself short. You didn’t know how to divert him from that idea without causing a blow up. “I’m scared…” you tried.

“There’s no reason to be. You know I’ll take care of you. The whole time you’re pregnant, you’ll be spoiled even more than you are now,” he said and kissed you, this time on the mouth. His lips moved against your own at a sensual pace before he pulled back. “It’ll feel so good. It’s what this body was made for. To carry Zen’in babies.”

You didn’t know what else you could possibly say, but luckily that wasn’t a worry for long. He went back in for more kisses. His tongue worked your mouth open before slipping in and caressing your own. You moaned softly and brought your hand up to thread through his bleached tresses.

He smirked against your lips. You could feel the smug curve of it rise as he steadied himself above you. His hand kneaded your hips before his fingers hooked over the top of your bottoms and began pulling them down.

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Nao, I don’t know…” you whimpered, but he silenced you by pressing his mouth harder against you.

“There’s nothing for you to know, baby. Nothing you need to worry about. You let me make the decisions remember? Just be a good girl for me,” he mumbled. 

He rolled his hips against your center, forcing your legs to spread wider in the process. You could feel his bulge against the thin cloth of your panties. He did it a couple more times, rocking the hard mound against your clothed cunt. The dull friction felt good, you couldn’t deny that. Your breath hitched and you arched against him slightly.

Despite you starting to reciprocate somewhat, he could still feel the tension in you, and he didn’t like that. Normally it wouldn’t bother him so much, but tonight was different. He wanted you desperate to carry his babies, begging for him to fuck you full of his seed. It was an honor after all. Even if you still had reservations, you would come to see that in time.

His right set of fingers delved between your thighs, lifting the elastic of your panties and cupping your pussy. He slid his middle digit between your folds. In a few seconds, the pad swirled around your sensitive bundle of nerves. It flicked across your little clit, drawing a whine out of you.

“You don’t understand how badly I need to breed you, precious,” he breathed.

Your legs squirmed, and you bit your lip. You tried to keep your thoughts in line. A few small strokes to your pussy wouldn’t melt you so easily.

But it wasn’t just a few small strokes.

Naoya went back to kissing your neck, working all over from your jaw to your shoulder. His finger played with you until you began leaking arousal. He ground his erection against your thigh and whimpered next to your ear.

You could try to ignore it all you wanted, but you could hear the need in his voice. He sounded like an animal in pain. His other hand gripped you with the force of one as well.

“It’s all I want in this world. To rule this clan with you at my side, full with my child,” he panted, “You’ll look beautiful. Swollen in all the right places. Your body glowing as it does what it was meant to.”

Another moan fell from your mouth as his dreams began to infiltrate your mind as well. And while you were all worked up, you could kind of see the appeal.

“It’ll feel so good for you, fulfilling your purpose. Your body will be so sensitive too. You’ll ache for me, puppy. Your body will crave me like oxygen because it’ll know I own you.”

“Naoya,” you gasped. His finger slid down to your entrance and prodded inside for a moment. He pumped it in and out. It wasn’t enough to make you cum or give you serious pleasure. But it was the perfect amount to steal the thoughts from your head and melt you beneath him.

“Good girl,” he purred, “This is what you need, baby. That silly little brain is trying to hold you back because you’ve been taught that everyone expects more of you. But I don’t. I don’t expect you to work or make decisions or do any of that hard stuff because I know that’s too complicated for my little puppy. It wouldn’t be fair to ask that of you. All I want you to do is relax and let me have control. Just be my good little girl and listen to what I tell you. And what I’m telling you is that you’re meant to be bred. That’s all you need to do, my sweet wife.”

A moment passed where nothing changed. He kept kissing you while you stayed still. But then your hands rose to his chest and started grabbing at his shirt, trying to tug it off. And he knew he had you.

“Silly girl, just a few sweet words and you fall apart so easily for me,” he muttered.

In your mind, your resolve hadn’t completely collapsed. But what he’d said didn’t sound horrible. It was definitely the best case scenario for being here. So why not enjoy your anniversary. You could worry about the consequences tomorrow.

He made quick work of his clothing and your remaining coverings. In no time, he stood nude above him while you laid exposed on the mattress.

Stroking his cock a few times, he climbed on top of you. His golden eyes drooped with lust as they focused on you. You wrapped your legs around his waist in an attempt to guide him where you needed him most.

“So eager to be full now, are you?” he mocked.

You nodded and looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down on you. Most of the time, he wasn’t a fan of such clinginess while he was on top of you, but you were behaving better than he expected. He could let it slide just this once. It was your anniversary after all.

He lined up with your hole and nudged the tip against you teasingly.

“Naoya,” you whined, tightening your legs around him.

“This is what I get for spoiling you, huh? A whiny pup,” he murmured and pecked your cheek as he sheathed himself inside you.

Your walls locked around him, squeezing and fluttering at the pleasure that came with the first thrust. His breath came out a little shaky as he adjusted to the feeling of you around him. He shut his eyes for a moment, just feeling the warmth of your tight embrace.

“Your pussy’s begging for it,” he said as he dragged his hips back. He then pushed into you again.

Another long stroke followed the first, and then another after that. He set himself into a steady rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth. You mewled and clutched at his shoulders.

“It just feels so good,” you whimpered.

His grip became stronger on you too. He held you close to his body, ensured you couldn’t run or squirm away from him in the slightest. His pelvis continued to piston against you. The faint sound of skin clapping on skin filled the bedroom along with your combined sounds of ecstasy.

Every time he bottomed out, his silky tip bumped against some sweet spot. You cried out with almost everyone. Your eyes rolled back, blissed out from the continuous stimulation.

“That’s it. Just take it,” he huffed, nestling his face against your neck. You could feel his hot breath steaming against your skin.

Arousal continued to gush from you around his cock. Your slick smeared against your skin and coated the patch of dark hair at the base of his dick.

“Nao… deeper, please,” you whined.

He sighed and obliged your request, slamming into you as hard as he could. Your head board knocked against the wall.

“There you go,” he grunted, “Nice and deep. Gotta get it all the way in so it will take.”

You felt so good that hearing that didn’t even bother you. If anything, it dragged you closer to the edge.

“Gonna- ah! Gonna…” you tried to tell him.

“Just think about it. If I knock you up tonight, you’ll be pregnant during our wedding,” he said. He rolled his hips against you at a slower pace that still reached just as deep. “You’re supposed to wait till the wedding night to try, but no one would know. It’d be our little secret. My gorgeous bride, bred and beautiful just for me.”

Your hips bucked eagerly, out of your control. A pitchy whine left you, audible proof of your desperation.

“That’s it, puppy. Cum for me,” he crooned, “Cum for me so I can pump you full and put a baby in your belly.”

You cried out and locked your limbs around his body. Your muscles all quivered as release crashed into you. It hit you like a bomb going off. Your eyes screwed shut while your jaw clenched. Strangled moans still made their way out though.

He groaned right beside your ear. The pulsing of your cunt only grew more rapid around his length. It massaged him just how he needed to reach the finish line. He kept working himself in and out right until he felt that peak. Then he slid in all the way and let his body go lax on you, trembling with the pleasure of his orgasm.

You held him while his cum spilled inside of you, and afterwards the both of you remained attached. Your hearts pounded against each other where your chests met, rising and falling with labored breaths. His fingers lazily pet your head, trailing down to your shoulder to trace little patterns there.

Eventually, he pulled out and rolled off of you. His hand came to rest on your lower stomach without a word. He held it there for a few moments before rising onto his elbow and giving you a kiss.

“My perfect bride-to-be,” he whispered, the tip of his nose nearly touching yours, “I think whatever you had in the oven has long burnt by now.”

The tone in which he said the words had you thinking for a few seconds they were just some sweet nothings you didn’t understand. But upon taking a deeper breath and smelling the air, you realized he was right. The food you’d put in the oven before he’d come home was probably burnt to a crisp at this point.

“Sorry,” you said, instantly sitting up to go and correct your mistake.

But with a gentle hand on your shoulder, he ushered you back down against the mattress.

“I’ll have the servants bring us something better and clean it up,” he said and nuzzled your cheek, “What do I always say? I’ll take care of you. Even your little mistakes.”

You nodded and relaxed again. Your eyes drifted down to your stomach, the location of your possible future greatest mistake. Despite everything that had just transpired, you hoped it wouldn’t take.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said, breaking you from your thoughts. His hand came up to your throat, your collar between his fingers. He grinned as he fastened it back into place. “There we go. It would be wrong of me to leave my pup without her collar.”

He flicked the dangling tag once more before laying beside you again.

[artisiumstudios]

I have an AU called A Better World For Stan that I am writing, and like, I decided to symbolize that the characters are kind of the "inversion" of how they are in canon by inverting the color that represents them in their clothes like, Caryn dress Cyan, Filbrick dress Blue, Older Brother Shermie dress Vermilion, Teen Ford dress Blue. What do you think?

To anon, my apologies that it took this long to respond (Also I was going to respond to the first one but I accidently deleted the first part on my phone, THANKFULLY I also had it pulled up on my computer so I could just take a picture (dont ask why its not a SS) But anyways

Edit: nope I’m just dumb and didn’t realize I posted the other, not deleted but anyways🤦🏻‍♀️

I LOVE THE IDEA!

Also I think this is one of the few AU's where ive heard shermie being described as indifferent/aloof brother! A lot of people (including myself) usually write him as either being the baby or even having him be someone who was drafted into the war, or just simply trying to escape his abusive household and start his own family. But I like the idea that perhaps his fathers influence had a bigger impact on him that caused him to feel indifferent to his siblings.

now with that said-

A MODERN AU? Does this mean he is currently living somewhere in present time (or around the time dipper and mabel are from? If so, does this mean he'll have to get accustomed to modern technology? (meaning he has access to the internet and oh look he has daddy issues not a surprise-)

Is Ford still really into anomalies? Will he assume Stan is some kind of anomaly or will he believe that he's from an AU? How will their parents react to Ford bringing in Stan?

I can just imagine Stan's freaking out because if these versions of his parents are any similar to his, Filbrick will not be amused and he doesn't think he can handle being kicked out again.

"Ford are you su-"

The bell of the pawn shop rings as they step inside. Sitting in front of the register is Filbrick, newspaper covering his face.

"Ya back?" He asl, his voice still stoic as always, setting Stan's nervousness through the roof.

"Yup! And look who I brought!" Ford announces excitedly as he grasps Stan's hand preventing him from leaving anywhere.

The newspaper is dropped onto the table as Filbrick stares at Stan, his eyebrows slightly raised in surprise, "Well, that's something new." he stands up, the stair squeaking against the old wood making Stanley flinch. His hands shakes as his father makes his way over, his signature sunglasses helping hide any emotion.

"Uh- I" Stanley stammers looking for an opening or anything to-

"What's your name champ?" Filbrick asks. The nickname causing Stanley's brain to short-circuit. It endearing, so unlike his father. Its tone isn't filled with venom but rather patience, its not demeaning, meant to bring out insecurities or hurt. It's a nickname he's heard other dad's call their son; one he's always hoped to hear.

"It-it's Stanley, sir." e cringes at the stuttering.

"Stanley? HA!" now Stan's really surprised. Laughter, his father is laughing and not in disbelief but a full hearted laugh filled with joy, "How peculiar, me and my wife-"

"My wife and I-" Ford interrupts and now Stan truly is shocked because no one interrupts Pa without getting backhanded but here is Ford standing proudly and almost smugly as Pa just huffs playfully.

"My wife and I, were actually considering that name for a long time. Twins run in our family so we thought that if this one had one we would have named them Stanley and Stanford."

Ford leans over, his hand covering his mouth as he whispers, "They are not the most creative when it comes to names."

"Hey!" Pa roared, "I heard that twerp!"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

And he's not wrong but this is because why is this Pa so loving and caring and- oh. He's crying. Before he knows it he's enveloped in a bone crushing hug being asked if he's okay, the tremors worsen because this is all he's ever hoped for and he doesn't remember the last time his father ever hugged him. He's crying and everything is so wrong and he feels guilty but it also feels right.

Anyways-

I thought about how Ford would find Stanley and what better way than to be on the beach exploring when he finds him and offers to bring him home to clean him up. And Stan who's still dazed agrees without thinking only to realize that his parents must be hope and all of this to happen because holy shit what is going on?!

Also I love color symbolism! Especially because blue can signify calmness, serenity, trust, and stability-- something Stan's OG Filbrick isn't-- but can also represent sadness or depression (maybe this FIlrbick is more opened about his emotions and is much more encouraging of the kids to speak about their feelings and maybe even encourages them to actually seek professional help if they need to. Also I'm a sucker for Audhd Stan so perhaps he can even get a proper diagnosis?)

Cyan is often shown to represent serenity and mental clarity, maybe this means Caryn is more present in her children's life and perhaps is an actual psychic (or if you have the headcanon that she might be one, perhaps in this AU her powers are more present! And perhaps that's why FIlbrick, Ford, or Caryn aren't shocked with Stan appearing.)

But overall I love this idea and I hope you post more about it! And please tag me so I can see it!

(side note because I must know, does OGFord ever find out what happened to Stan? Does he tell their parents? Will they even believe him or do they just decide to believe that he's dead? Do they hold a funeral? What if OGFord still summon bill but instead of being to find out why weirdness travels to GF, it's to find his brother! What if he still falls through the portal? Does he doom his world and is left to travel the multi-verse, or does he still have a home to come back to? Does he eventually find Stan and tries to convince him to return? Does Stan even want to return? So many questions but anyways-)

[brucewaynehater101]

I have a spooky Tim au that I think you would like.

Tim is not human and has never been. He knows this. His "parents" know this. The rouges know this. However, none of the Bats but one know this. When around the Bats, Tim looks like a Normal Human. His skin is pale but does look like flesh and his eyes are weirdly pale but they still look like eyes. His hair has a weird texture but its prob just his shampoo, so surely the slightly off texture in how his skin feels is just his lotion, right? His teeth are a bit sharp but still human teeth and his movements a bit odd, but what Bat doesn't move strangely?

However when they aren't around, it is a totally different story. His skin changes to look like porcelain and his eyes are so very clearly made of painted glass. His hair is made of string and twine died black and when its fist or foot lands a blow it feels like being hit by a sand bag and not flesh and bone. His teeth are made of shards of broken glass and his movements are far to Jerry yet smooth, like a puppet on strings that glides through the air in a horrible mimicry of walking. This Thing that wears the Robin Suit is Not a human, as long as it isn't around Batman or Nightwing. When either are there, The Rouges can see the shift. The way it suddenly looks so *human*. But once Batman leaves it shifts back into being a *thing*.

Tim is only a Thing when he is either scaring the rouges or Truly Comfortable. Young Justice knows that Tim is not a human and he doesn't hide it from them. There is never any fight about his civilian identity because he freely tells them, "I am a Thing made from Glass and Sand and Fabric and Magic. He is not a Person nor has he ever Been A Person. He is not some poor sap who was transformed into a Thing, he is a Thing that was created and then given life with Magic.

As for how Jack and Janet acquired a Thing like Tim, well. They're archeologists. They dug up an old tomb, found a coffin that was chained closed and bolted to the ground and like every White Person In A Horror Movie, they opened it without a second thought. Inside they found an ancient, cursed doll. It came to life when Janet cut herself trying to clean off one of its broken glass eyes to get a better look and the blood fell on it. The pair then decided this was a lot easier than child birth and kept the cursed doll, naming it Tim.

My gods. I love the ending of this cause it gives off the same vibes as "humans will adopt anything" tropes in space travel fiction.

I have one caveat with the Bats not knowing. I hc that Cass knows. Tim's body language is too strange for her not to notice something.

Everything else? Beautiful. It would be hilarious if people keep trying to tell the Bats. Here's a possible scene:

Goon: *points finger at Tim* "That thing beside you isn't human!"

Tim: *fakes having his shoulders drop as he turns slightly away in dejection*

Dick: *absolute fury as he beats up the goon*

Tim: *decides not to get revenge after seeing what Nightwing does to the person*

or

Rogue: "I'm telling ya, whatever he is got string hair, porcelain skin, and doll like movements to him."

Batman: *hums, takes them out, proceeds to Batcave*

Tim: "What's up, B?"

Bruce: "[] said that you look different when we're not around you."

Tim: *tilts his head* "I mean, I like playing up the rumors that the Bats are cryptids, demons from hell, spirits, or whatever when I can. I add effects to my costume to increase the spook factor."

Bruce: *nods and turns away to end the conversation for now*

Tim: *makes plots to ruin that rogue's life for a bit as revenge and a message*

I'm curious how wounds and scars look on Tim's porcelain skin. How does he heal? Does he even have a spleen?

I'm also down for two avenues:

Jason doesn't know like the rest of the Bats. After they start to become close to each other, Jason retaliates against folk who try to demean Tim. He tries to hide the comments from Tim until he learns that the teen finds it funny and ramps up the rumors on purpose. Then he switches to pulling pranks on people with Tim to create more wild theories and gossip.

Jason finds out at TT, and Tim ensures no one actually believes Jason. Perhaps he even starts the notion that Jason was affected by the Pit. It drives Jason bonkers that no one is trusting him or accepting his words for what they are.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Can you talk more about your opinion on Mary and Arthur’s relationship? I genuinely don’t think that they could have ever worked, with Arthur being an outlaw or not, it seems more like they loved the idea of each other and even if they had ran away, that they would end up resenting one another (something that is sadly quite common in high school sweethearts who end up married)

Absolutely!!!

So before I get started, I just want to say that I don’t necessarily like Mary. Okay, I said it. It’s off my chest. Guys, don’t come for me yet. I’m not saying I don’t like Mary because she’s a woman or anything like that. It is entirely a personal opinion on why I just don’t enjoy her, and it’s absolutely debatable on the reasons I’ll be giving as to why I don’t enjoy her or their relationship.

A few things that sort of rubbed me the wrong way are the way that Mary talks about the gang and the people in it. They’re bad people, they’re murderers and outlaws, and she doesn’t have to have a high opinion of them. However, she knows that these are people who are dear to Arthur that he loves and cares for, and speaking of them to him in such a demeaning manner has to sting. In her letter to him the first time, she says something along the lines of not knowing the polite term for the women that ran with them, as if those women are beneath her or not deserving of the title of just being women because of where they are in life or what she assumes they do (this assumption of them being SWs is fair, but being uppity about it is not). She makes a few other off-comments that rub me the wrong way about the people themselves, which leads into my first point of why I don’t like their relationship.

Mary doesn’t see herself and Arthur on the same level. Again, that’s fine; she doesn’t have to, but that to me brings their relationship down a peg. If you don’t see your partner as an equal, then it won’t ever work; you won’t ever have a healthy relationship, and we can see that by how quickly they argue with one another. I mean, Arthur yells at her in the middle of the street, and she just takes it because she has said some stuff too—they aren’t this perfect lovey-couple, and I don’t think they ever were. You don’t feel that comfortable being that nasty with one another if it isn’t a staple in your relationship. They both felt fine doing that and acting like it never happened after.

This one is overdone, and it can go either way, but their relationship on her end, in the game, is completely transactional. I know, I know, but before you come after me with the “it’s a video game! That’s the point,” hear me out first. Other members of the gang, even in stranger missions, will have missions or scenes where you’re not doing anything for them: Charlotte making Arthur dinner as a thank you, Albert inviting Arthur to the gallery and hanging a picture of him, same with Charles (painter), The Nun sits and talks to Arthur, comforts him as he confides in her, even Rains Fall takes Arthur to get some herbs for his cough. In camp, you can interact with people like normal; there are even times where you can sit down and talk with the women in camp about everything, have heart-to-hearts. The only time they see one another was when she needed something, and the only way they go out on a date is if Arthur agrees to it. This is after the mission where you help her get her brooch back. I feel like this is intentional. There are no fun letters sent back and forth, no additional interactions of them just being (other than the date, which again, only was out of convenience). The only time they see one another is for transaction. Which I feel was intentional.

Them running away together could’ve never worked. Mary even says so herself. She has this wonderful idea of Arthur in her head when they’re together, but as soon as they’re apart, all of the flaws and demons he has come rushing back in. I can’t imagine how maddening it would be for her to be with someone who she knows deep down is someone she loves the idea of, the prospect of what they CAN be, not what they are. For him, it would be maddening to know that the person you’re with looks down on you, that they don’t see you as an equal, that you’re beneath them. Pushing this notion in their head, you can be better than what you are while never truly accepting you as you are, flaws and all. Not to mention that irresistible pull for him to go back to that life eventually. Those demons he does face would always be right around the corner, and giving into them even in the slightest would strain the relationship more.

There was a reason their engagement didn’t work, and Mary has every right in the world to not want to be with Arthur or be involved in the life he leads, no woman who has had the experiences and life she has would. We can see how that works out with Molly. Their relationship is built on idealistic versions of the other and transactions. They miss the nostalgia, that first love. Not to say they don’t have love for one another because it’s very clear they do, but not the love that’s going to weather any storm. Mary and Arthur have such a complex relationship, and I love to talk about it, but I don’t like them together as much as I may get flamed for that. They would, as you said, absolutely end up resenting one another because of these issues. They would never have truly worked out as much as I wished for the both of them.

Loved this ask!

[wutheringcaterpillar]

18 years

Summary: After 18 years of marriage Thomas plans a special day just for you that he wants to be perfect even if that means keeping his kids out of trouble.

Warnings: Slight misogynistic Thomas, talk of termination.

Side Note: This is my first fic in awhile since I stopped writing two years ago on a different account, I hope it's okay! :)

The Shelby household was anything but perfect but for today Thomas was going out of his way to ensure that it was. Being a housewife and a mother was by far not an easy job.Thomas and you had been married for eighteen years. Did it get ugly sometimes? Absolutely. That didn’t change the adoration and love you shared for each other.

While you were out running some errands with Ada, Thomas has quite a few helping hands in cleaning up the house, and decorating it to the 10s. “Well brother, how’s it lookin’ eh?”

The silver chandelier presented the dining room with a warm glow that made the silver set table look ever so inviting. All the rooms were vacuumed and mopped, not a crumb in site. The floors glistened beautifully to his high standard. “Never did I think that my incompetent brothers would use their brains for a day and the outcome be satisfactory.” Arthur laughed in response, before giving Thomas a playful nudge. “Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Thomas rushed to the kitchen once he remembered he left the kids in there unattended. They were being not very helpful to say the least.

Annabeth, and Edward were now teenagers full of hormones and outbursts. It seemed like they would argue every day about the smallest things but today Thomas wasn’t allowing there behavior especially today.

“Does dad know about Jackson?” Annabeth scoffed at him with a disgusted face. Thomas did not allow her to date unless he appointed the young man to her. The same could not be said for Edward’s late night shenanigans that Thomas was aware of and Annabeth despised the double standard. “No, and I’d appreciate if you kept your fucking mouth sh-“

“Now, now. No need for bickering on a day that’s about your mother and all she has done for you.” Thomas entered the room dressed in a black and white suit and tie that fit him snuggly, giving off his normal professional sense. “I wanted to have a word with the both of you before your mother arrives which should be-“ He pulled his watch out of his suit to get a glimps of the time. “In ten minutes precisely.” Edward opened his mouth to speak but Thomas raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t want any interruptions I want you both to listen to the words that are about to come out of my mouth and I highly suggest you take them seriously or you will not enjoy the consequences. Eh?” He eyed them both with his eyebrows raised, both of them stayed quiet as they lightly cowered in there seats to there father’s stature. “Stand up. Both of you.” Without hesitations the teenagers stood up, not slouching but standing to s perfect straight line.

“No. Fucking. Fighting.” Thomas walked around them in a circle menacingly never taking his eyes off of them while they stared at the ground and listened to their fathers words. “I don’t care, if you don’t like the food. I don’t care if you don’t like sitting next to each other. More importantly I don’t care how either of you feel today. Today is about your mother. There will be no games, no arguments, no sports. More importantly-“ He stopped in his tracks now in front of them, hands on his knees as he leaned down so they had no choice but to look in his demeaning eyes. “No. Fucking. Fighting.”

There was a brief silence, as if to let the air settle and for what he said to soak into them. “We’re clear eh?” They both nodded and Thomas dismissed them. “Great now, go get formally dressed.” He watched as they both walked out of the kitchen. He greatly appreciated how much time and effort you spent in taking care of them and it’s time they return the favor for at the least one singular night.

Edward shoved his sister playfully into a wall, just around the corner to where they thought Thomas wouldn’t hear. Annabeth shoved him back and pointed up at him. “If you say one thing about-“

“Who your late night squeeze?” Edward began to laugh and Annabeth shoved him again.

Thomas heard from the kitchen and raised his hands in the air, disposing of his cigarette before he spoke to himself, annoyed. “What did I just say?” Thomas was going to let it go until he heard something break that sounded expensive.

In a quick pace to the hallway, he saw the both of you attempting to round the corner to the next room but they should know who their father is by now that nothing goes uncaught. “Eh! Over here now!” The siblings shamefully turned awaiting for all hell to break loose. Thomas was the strict parent, and that frightened them, which is what he wanted.

Glancing to the ground, an expensive, rare crystal dish was shattered on the floor, and he was going to be damned if Frances was going to clean it up. For Thomas’s sake he just hope you wouldn’t notice until after his surprise. “I said three, fucking words to you.”

“No. Fucking. Fighting.” He hit the both of them on the back of their heads. “Yes I’m aware of Jackson, I was hoping to avoid the subject today but I have ears so I suppose this will be addressed right fucking now to clear the fucking air. I pay close attention to anyone and anything around me and my family. You both should know that more than anyone. Seeing Jackson stops now. I don’t approve of him, my daughter will not be marrying some useless sack of shit like that. See him again. You will never leave this house again, got it?” Annabeth nodded with her heated cheeks. Edward began to quietly laugh to himself while his sister was being reprimanded.

That’s when Thomas was quick to call him out too. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re giggling at like I don’t know what you do with the little whores from school, sneaking them into my fucking house.” All grins from Edward diminished immediately.

“What you do is your business but in my fucking house. That’s my fucking business. Clearly your mother and I have given both of you too much privilege. I don’t care who you fuck but I’d be careful if I were you because the first girl you get pregnant, you’re marrying whether you love her or not. You know why? Because I say so. As for sneaking them in my house. Good luck with that from now on I’m sure you haven’t noticed but maybe you should take a look at the new people I hired if you could find them to watch the house whilst your mother and I are away for our anniversary.” Both of them were speechless and Thomas sent them up to their room. Thomas may be older than them but he wasn’t born yesterday. After all he spent plenty of those nights sneaking in and out of your house when you first started dating. He knows all the ins and outs of scheming.

The sound of car door closing grabbed his attention and panic mode slightly set in for him. Thomas Shelby didn’t panic but in the event of there being a chance that something may not be to your standard, he panicked. “Hurry on, your mother is here! Get dressed in proper clothes and not some skimpy, raggedy mess for once!” He yelled after his children.

The weather was chilly as winter was approaching in Birmingham. The snow was falling delicately from the sky once you pulled in with Ava and to say you were freezing was an understatement but the new brown wool blanket, she has gotten you should do more than help. “Ada you didn’t have to buy me anything. I have money.”

“Oh being married to my brother, believe me I know you have money, just wanted to treat you today is that so bad?” You shrugged, smiling at your sister. “C’mon let’s get inside.”

“Oh I hope Thomas was okay with the kids today, I know he’s hardly taking care of them alone without needing my help.” Ada set a comforting hand on your shoulder before reaching for the door handle. “Y/N if Thomas can’t handle them for a few hours, I don’t know how you’ve gotten this far.” You both laughed and once the door opened, you were met with a warm embrace there must’ve been a fire lit in the living room. Thomas came abruptly from around the corner after yelling something at Arthur that you weren’t able to make out. “Y/N! My dear loving wife!” Thomas pulled you to his side, and had Ada remove your jacket.

He was freshly shaven, and showered, smelling of mint and tobacco. His smile pierced your eyes, and he leaned down to kiss you softly. “How was your day out with Ada love?”

“Wonderful, was nice to get away from all the testosterone for a bit.” You giggled and then started noticing your surroundings. The floor was sparkling, not a sign of dirt or mud. The laundry basket was empty, the kitchen spotless, you went to turn into the dining room but Thomas quickly placed his hands over your eyes. “Thomas, what’s going on the house looks-“

“Happy anniversary sweetheart.” He removed his hands and the sight of the dining room was absolutely breathtaking. The curtains looked brand new, a dark cherry red colored that allowed the sun to poke through in a welcoming manner. The chairs were painted black and with gold patted seats to sit on. The food arrangements looked more than delicious and most importantly your whole family was there. Annabeth dressed in a a beautiful gold gown and Edward dressed in a suit and tie matching his father. Even the Shelby brothers looked showered and dressed to the tens. “Thomas I-“

He guided you to your seat, pulling out the chair for you. “Don’t say anything love, just enjoy dinner and don’t even think about doing dishes or cleaning up after this. We’ve got it.” Thomas winked at you as he took his seat beside you, the glowing of your smile and surprise leaving him just as happy as the day you said yes to marrying him.

18 years, and he still found time to manage to make it feel like the first day you fell in love with him. “I just want to take a moment to thank Frances who will also be joining us for this lovely meal. I couldn’t have put today together without any of you. Thank you for taking them time to assist me in doing this for Y/N, my beautiful wife whom I adore and admire more and more every day. Thank you for being such a wonderful mother to our kids and dealing with me. Not sure how you quite do it but I’m glad you’ve stayed and put up with me.” Thomas raised his glass of whiskey in honor of everyone.

Your eyes began to water to which he’d caught your tear of joy with his free finger. You mouthed a thank you to him and an I love you and dinner began. Once dinner was over Thomas made a final announcement. “Tonight Y/N and I will be leaving for Bali for our anniversary.” You gasped, hand covering your mouth in disbelief. You’d never gone and you had never found the time. Thomas wasn’t giving you an option to not have time. “We’ll return Wednesday afternoon and I’d just like to take a minute to thank Pol and Frances for watching the kids. Thank you all for coming, and I appreciate every one of you bastards.” Laughs filled the room while Thomas extended his hand for you to take and help you out of your seat.

Once upstairs you stared at your body in the mirror, just getting the feeling that something was off but putting it off your mind. “You didn’t have to do all this Thomas.” He came up behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist, snuggling his head into the crook of your neck. “I did love. You do so much and never take time for yourself, always putting I and the children first. You need to be put first too.” Swinging around, you stared into your husband’s crystal blue eyes.

It has been a long, long ride for the two of you together, that will keep going. But this soft, sentiment man had taken awhile to appear and you’re not sure how you got him to come out but you were glad you did. “I love you Mr. Shelby.”

“And I love you Mrs. Shelby.” You giggled as he smiled down at you in awe, before placing his lips on yours, connecting them in a chaste, delicate kiss. “Mom, Dad the cab’s here!” Annabeth called.

“Would you shut up you idiot, dad probably already knew that.”

“Eh! No fighting, right?” There was a silence before they both responded in unison. “Sorry dad!”

“I don’t know how you managed to get them along for dinner but kahoots to you my dear husband because that’s something I could never do.” Thomas wrapped his arm around you, as you walked down the stairs together. “I’m Thomas Shelby. The name alone fucking scares anyone.”

“Well I guess I’m not anyone then am I?” Thomas shook his head smiling. “No, no you’re not. You weren’t even frightened of me when I screamed at some whore, for thinking she could seduce me.”

“Fuck no, if you hadn’t I wouldn’t be Mrs. Shelby now would I?” Thomas laughed once more before opening the car door for you. The snow covered ground glistened from the bright night sky as you scooted into the cab.

The ride was quiet whilst you rested in Thomas’s arms which he thought was rather odd, that usually meant something was on your mind. “Are you alright love?” Breaking a part from, you took his hand in yours. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Worry etched over Thomas’s face but it didn’t compete with the level of anxiety you were feeling. “Whatever it is you can tell me Y/N, we’re celebrating eighteen years of marriage nothing is going to run me off now I can assure you that.” You stared down at the seat, eyebrows etched together in concern of his reaction. Patting his hand you looked up at him slowly, paying close attention to his eyes. “Thomas I think I might be pregnant. I know it's a big age gap for Edward and Annbeth to be close with them but I still want to have this baby." Thomas didn't hesitate to speak as he did not want to worry you. "Sweetheart, how long have you known?"

"I think I've known for about a week and I know it sounds silly that I was nervous to tell you but I didn't know if you'd want me to get rid of it because I know we didn't plan for this."

"Darling we didn't plan for the first two." You laughed and Thomas pulled you into his arms, resting his hands on your stomach. "I'd never ever want you to think I'd want you to get rid of our child besides, I love when you're pregnant, your swollen tits, your glowing smile and glowing tummy. I love every part of you Y/N nothing is going to change that. Okay?" You couldn't help the tears that began to stream down your cheeks, that Tommy once again wiped away, and he smiled lovingly at you. You nodded and leaned into his chest. You were going to be okay, and today was more than amazing. It was perfect.

[hees-mine]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟕 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬! - 𝐋.𝐡𝐬

𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 ⚥ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, mentions of death and killing. Sorry I couldn’t make this longer I’m disappointed in this one the most so far :/

𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞�� who treats everyone like they’re under him because they’re, and people don’t dare even blink wrongly in his presence.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings cause business has never been about feelings. That’s why there’s only one of him and so many others who can’t get their priorities straight.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 who you occasionally hear demeaning and yelling at someone over the phone, but as soon as he notices your presence, his eyes will immediately soften cause even though he’s the toughest there is you’re still just too precious that he doesn’t want you seeing any of the ugly that goes on in his world.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that has a whole life that his precious girlfriend, you, his soon to be wife, knows nothing about, not because he’s hiding things, but it’s for your own safety the only thing you do know is that he’s apart of the mafia, but that’s all, you have no idea what he does.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that despite what typical mafia bosses do, he’s faithful to you and only you.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that even though he’s gone for days without telling you his whereabouts, he showers you in love, gifts and roses the day he gets back to the little house near the river far away from his other life.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that puts you first cause no matter what, you’ll always be more important than any job or work that might need tending to.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that the moment someone finds out where you both live and tries putting your life in danger, he’ll put them down without a second thought.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that when he sees just how scared you are, there’s no choice but for him to move you to a safe location and cut ties with everything going off the radar and completely untraceable.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that will leave the business upon your request because he never wanted that life for himself anyways, but after he got revenge for his father's death it was a lot harder to leave than he thought.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that when he met you at a small diner in the corner shop, you turned his whole life around. You gave him meaning, and since he wanted more for you, he ultimately needed more for himself, which is why he got so caught up in the business. He wanted to make money so you two would never have a care in the whole world, and now that he’s done that, he can finally be with you.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 treats you like a princess always. The gifts never end. He showers you with the finest of diamonds and the most expensive furs, taking you out for a night on the town, you hanging off his arm without a care in the world.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 who at night after your date will undress you slowly while whispering sweet nothings into your ear praising you for how good you are to him and how you turned him into the man he’s always wanted to be.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that lays you in the king sized bed filled with rose petals and kisses every single square inch of your skin until you beg for him to make love to you.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that you’re so used to seeing him be cold to others that it’s still almost shocking the way he melts whenever he’s with you falling apart when he feels your warmth encasing his length.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐡𝐞𝐞 that promises you a life full of love happiness and a family while you look at each other with heart eyes because that’s all either of you have ever wanted.

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback!

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I have a little bit of an interesting question! I know you stated you like writing horror and NSFW, or at least you do not mind dabbling in them, so I'm curious to your opinion:

(Please, very important onto this, keep in mind that, when I ask about 'Yandere', while yes, I mean this lovesick, obsessed character who goes to kidnapping/harming others/threatening/killing etc extremes to get the object of their affection/obsession, there's many yandere types. I PERSONALLY like only a handful of them because I am very careful with TW (I do not like toxic relationships where the 'darling' is deprived of privacy, is mistreated, forced to do things, has hands laid on them, has their emotional well being messed up by demeaning words, etc, and I do not enjoy abuse depictions of the trope either, so I cherry-pick a lot (due to personal trauma). Yanderes are often portrayed as straight up abusive when they needn't be, there's delusional ones, lucid ones who do not want to feel the way they do, others who rather give themselves to the object of obsession/affection and would rather hurt themselves than ever upset them, others who lean more towards manipulation, etc.). I say this because TW are important and while this is 'just a question in a blog' I want to inform you that there is NO EXPECTATION for you to write abuse, toxicity or anything of the sort. While being WELL AWARE that yandere relationships WILL be unhealthy in nature, it is that kind of 'unhealthy possessive' vibe you can enjoy IN FICTION, and should NEVER allow in real life. Take care of yourselves ❤️)

Obviously, none of the characters are canonically yandere, but do you have any opinions on who could fit the bill? And how/what way/what category they'd fit into?

Please ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable in any way and even if you simply respond without any headcanons/just a little ramble, remember to put TW so people who blacklist yandere stuff or feel trigger by any of it continue having a safe space here! Love your blog and what you do! Keep up the amazing work, and congratulations on such endless artistic talent!!

I haven't done a whole lot with the Yandere trope. I have one unpublished fan fiction for another fandom entirely that involves a yandere character in an antagonistic role. I don't tend to romanticize it because of how problematic it can be.

So needless to say, ⚠️ trigger warnings ⚠️ ahead for this topic, some more than others (lookin' at you, Doffy).

I feel like Sanji could fit the bill of being the lucid, regretful yandere. He knows that his obsession with you could be problematic, but he just can't help it. He gets insecure and jealous easily, and may be inclined to threaten any other men that happen to get to close to his beloved, platonically or romantically. He wants you completely to himself. Would be apologetic about his behavior and feel sincerely guilty for it, but just unable to keep himself from doing so. He also feels his behavior is protecting you in a way from being taken advantage of, and that's the only justification he can make for it—even to himself.

Mihawk, while his confidence and ego mean he's not really the jealous type, would still be a worthy candidate. He wants you aware that you are his in every sense of the word. You, your love, your mind, your body, all belong to him. No one else. He may very well be violent about it, though not toward you—just toward anyone who dares challenge his ownership over you. Toward his lover, he would be particularly doting and gentle, treating you like a fragile and priceless work of art. He would be incredibly disinclined to allow you to go anywhere without him; and if he finds out anyone else is attempting to court your affections or, heaven forbid, hurt you, then their days are going to be numbered.

Next would be Crocodile. Getting more ⚠️triggery⚠️ here. Prime candidate for a possessive yandere. Even if he doesn't have much time for you, you're still his property. He'll expect you to have time for him, to adhere to his schedule and his whims. He'll have a list of rules that you have to follow—no speaking with other men without him present, no going out in public without him or a guard that he has personally assigned to you; this is as much for the sake of keeping you safe as it is to ensure that you don't do anything he would disapprove of. In exchange, he'll shower you with lavish gifts, and treat you like a princess when he is with you...but if you break the rules, there will be consequences.

And lastly, and by far the most triggery, Doflamingo. Congratulations, you've caught the attention of an absolutely sadistic and manipulative yandere! He values total control over all aspects of your life. But he's going to make you think you have some freedom at first. He'll pout a little if you want to go somewhere without him, but he'll allow it...on the surface, at least. Then he'll hire some thug or other criminal deviant to scare you right back into his arms, whether with idle threats or physical force. He'll make you feel like he's your only source of safety and comfort. Make you defend him to your concerned friends and family of your own volition, until you have absolutely no one left but him to turn to. He'll justify it by saying it absolutely is for your own safety, and he sincerely believes that to be true; even if he wasn't hiring people to frighten you, there's still every chance that you could be hurt or enticed to leave if you stray too far from his side, and he can't allow that. Whether he views you as a lover or just a plaything, no one else is allowed to touch you but him.

[macabr3-barbi3]

pretty wings (ch. 2) - Vox/fallen angel!Reader

HI EVERYONE THIS WAS GONNA BE A ONE SHOT BUT HERE WE ARE AGAIN LOL

Chapter 1

We peg the TV man that's the whole fic

Tags: Wing Kink; Angel Wings; Fallen Angels; Vaginal Sex; Fantasizing; Begging; Vox Has a Crush; Pegging; Light Dom/sub; cunnilingus; Verbal Humiliation kind of? reader isn't mean, she just calls him a slut and he's into it lmao

🪽🩵🪽🩵🪽

Here was the thing- Vox had never felt so humiliated in his entire life.

At the same time, he didn’t think he had ever been closer to simply passing the fuck out from arousal. Sure, he got up to some shit with Valentino sometimes, but he was usually the one in control. Val got to dominate in the studio; with Vox he was coy and bratty but submissive, letting the TV demon do pretty much whatever he wanted even if he ran his fucking mouth the whole time.

So the situation Vox was currently in was a new one- stripped down to his boxers, his hands secured to the headboard with a couple strips of soft rope, hard as steel unable to do a damn thing about it. You hadn’t told him the plan yet, just knotted the rope with a coy smile and stepped away from him. It's more the anticipation of what’s to come that’s got him worked up more than anything else, really. You sat at the end of the bed between his feet, wings drooping to either side of your bare body so that he can see the back of your head and the lovely expanse of your back where the wings are connected. You’re perfect as you are, just out of his reach, ethereal in the moonlight that streams through his bedroom windows.

He can’t help but think you’d be more beautiful if you would fucking touch him already. “Doll,” he says softly, keeping his voice low and almost whimpery, the way you liked it. “I’m dying over here, baby- come touch me. Let me touch you.” He would settle for either- he could get himself off whether it was just pleasing you or coming inside your tight, wet pussy. Anything to keep the itchy feeling of inactivity from his limbs the way they were starting to feel now.

You don’t even look over your shoulder at him. “I didn’t hear the magic word, pretty boy,” you say, and his cock strains against the confines of his boxers, the faint glow of it evident through the thin cloth. Fuck, he loved it when you called him that- it should have felt demeaning, condescending, but you always said it with such a tone of sincerity that he couldn’t help but let it buzz pleasantly in his brain.

“Please,” he lets tumble from his lips- he’s had you warm his bed enough times to know that whining and wheedling would have no effect on you when you wanted something. “Please touch me- please, let me fuck you.”

This time you do turn, your profile elegant and your eyes glowing, your hands fiddling with something just out of his reach. “How about you let me fuck you instead?” You hold up the item in your hand, and his screen glitches when he notices the blue silicone with dark straps coming off of it.

He feels the flush that tints his skin purple start at the base of his TV head and spread, the blood in his veins almost itchy in embarrassment, in want. He had managed to take a couple fingers before- Val was a selfish prick and they usually did what he wanted, which was Vox fucking him into the mattress- but he wasn’t opposed to actually being penetrated by any means. Especially not with you; he couldn’t deny the rush of arousal that floods him at the thought. You would fuck him so well, and he would still get to have the visual of you with your wings spread out behind you which was his favorite thing in the fucking world.

You seem to mistake his silence for hesitation- you don’t know all of the details of his on-and-off thing with Valentino- and set the strap-on down, turning to crawl across the bed and kneel between his legs. “I’ll be real gentle with you, baby,” you whisper, fingers dancing up his shins and gripping his knees to push them apart slightly. You let them slide down his thighs towards his more sensitive parts and his cock jerks, the sight making your lips quirk up on one side. “Make it feel really good- have you ever…?” You trace your finger over the space between his cheeks over his boxers, and the exhale that punches out of his chest is broken and earnest.

“F-fingers,” he admits, his voice cracking in a way that makes him flush darkly. “With… with Val a couple times. But never fully- you know. And never with a woman.”

Your eyes flash red looking down at him, leaning forward so your right wing can dig into the bedside table and grab the bottle of lube, your hands pulling down his boxers and flinging them off the side of the bed. The snap of the cap is louder than it has any right to be when you open it and let some drizzle onto your delicate fingers. “I get to be your first on both counts, huh? I like that, Vox- like you were saving yourself for me. Like a precious little virgin.” The way you say his name has his hips canting up, erection heavy and bright against his stomach where it rests waiting for you, glowing an electric blue at the tip in the darkness of the room.

Your fingers dip out of sight then, fingers slick as they move against his skin and brush lightly over the sensitive ring of muscle hidden between his legs.

Your finger is insistent but soft where you rub against his entrance, spreading the lube and working him enough that you could push the tip of your finger inside of him. He groans, and once his mouth is open he can’t fucking close it, moans falling from him like a prayer as his screen glitches and crackles. You’re slow and meticulous pushing into him, careful not to move too fast or hard, flexing your finger just so-

“Ơ̷̴̪̪̝͈̥͈̆̀̚h̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞ f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔,” he groans, the pad of your finger grazing against his prostate- the couple of times he had done this with Val the moth was always too intense with it, treating him like one of his porn sluts that was used to the sensation. You kept the pressure light and teasing, your other hand coming up to stroke his prick where it was leaking against his skin.

Your finger slips out, another pressing against his entrance. “Can you take another, pretty boy?” He nods with a harsh exhale and you press in again, letting your digits slowly start to separate so he was properly prepared, properly stretched for you to fuck him with the silicone dick that lay forgotten to the side. His circuit board is fucked, parts of his face glitching out as he watches you shift on the bed, your wings trembling where they rest against the sheets. You notice him watching- with a flick they expand out behind you, large and full and fucking magnificent like they always were. “Ohhh, you like that,” you coo at him, brushing against his prostate again, and a strangled whimper falls out of him. “I could feel you clench down- you want more?”

With the press of a third finger you bring your wings forward, letting them trail over parts of your body that your hands couldn’t reach while they were occupied- the exposed undersides of his arms where they were tied at the headboard, along his throat, down his bare chest. He would never get enough of them, how pretty they were, how strong and agile they were; you could slit his throat with an angelic blade tomorrow and if you used your wings to do it he would thank you with his dying breath for letting him see them in action one last time.

You bend forward like you mean to take him into your mouth while your fingers move, and a garbled “d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥ't͖͖̠̬͛!” has you pulling back, stilling inside of him and wings freezing. “Don’t, t-t͖͖̠̬͛o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ close,” he mutters, his screen tinting with a blush. “I didn’t mean stop,” he says, the intensity of your gaze making him squirm against his restraints- he refers to the color system you had discussed. “Not red, but yellow. I just-”

“You wanna cum while I’m fucking you.” Your smile takes on a lecherous edge, your fingers resuming their slow, lazy pushes into the now pliant ring of muscle of his ass. “While someone is inside of you for the first time, huh? What a sweet, greedy slut.” You watch him closely for his reaction to that, which comes immediately- static sparks from his fingertips, red eye swirling, and this time he can feel the way he tightens down on your digits, bolts of mortification and arousal fighting for dominance as they both race through his whole frame. “Is that what you are?”

Vox feels the heat of his blood under his skin as he blushes everywhere besides his face. “Yes.” 

“Yes what?”

“Yes… sir?” He says hesitantly, and your laughter isn’t malicious but genuine, eyes crinkling at the edges with amusement. And even though he’s still hard as fuck and ready to get pegged, hopefully within an inch of his fucking life, he likes this, too- these softer moments you sometimes have when its just the two of you, when things aren’t so serious and you seem to let down your guard a little with him.

Still smiling, you squeeze at the base of his cock. “Cute,” you say, “but not what I’m looking for. Come on, pretty boy, what are you?”

His eyes clench shut, embarrassment forcing them closed even as he doesn’t fight the words when they spring forth. “A- a sweet, greedy slut,” he breathes out, and he’s rewarded with a more direct touch against his prostate, still not as intense as Val favored but more forceful than you’d been thus far. Vox’s mouth falls open, harsh pants escaping as he fights the urge to simply thrust into your hand and against the fingers inside of him. “Fuck, baby, p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ.”

He’s empty suddenly, eyes flying open at your hand pulling away and leaving his entrance open, muscles fluttering around nothing as you reach for the discarded strap on. Your wings trace delicate lines down his limbs while you affix it to yourself- one end has a harsh upward curve and this you slide into your drenched cunt, a satisfied moan rumbling from your chest at the feeling- it makes his prick ache, not just lamenting that it wasn’t inside of you instead, but pleased that you would still be getting some pleasure from the act of fucking him. You take a moment to rub at your clit, head dropping back in pleasure and losing yourself in it for a moment before regaining your focus.

Properly strapped in (ha!) you line the other end of the fake blue cock up with his ass, a darker shade than his and not glowing down the length. He feels the pixels that make up his eyelids stutter closed, bracing himself for the initial push in- he was sure it would hurt at least a little but he could take it, would take it so well for you-

“Look at me,” you demand, and if he had lashes they would be fluttering as his eyes open. You’re poised between his legs, hands gripping his thighs to hold them apart. Your hips are gyrating slightly, trying to get friction from your end of the strapped on toy as you pull his legs up over your thighs, tilting his hips up at a better angle. “Beg for it,” you tell him, and his hands tighten on the rope around his wrists. “Come on, baby, ask me to fuck you for the first time. Let me make you feel good, Vox.”

And who is he to deny you? Especially when it’s something that he wants as well- wants it so badly he’s fit to burst, something in his head sparking and threatening to overwhelm him already, before you’ve even really begun. “Please,” he says, “please f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞- fuck me, baby, I want it-”

“Do you need it, Vox?” Your hips tick forward slightly, pressing against where he’s soft and pliant with the head of the strap. Resting there. Waiting. “Wanting it is well and good but I want you to fucking need it- need me inside of you like you need fucking breath. You’re a sweet, greedy slut by your own admission- tell me you need it.”

Where the fuck had you gotten such a filthy fucking mouth? “ N͔͔̥̺̞̿͊̇ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛,” he says anyway, and he lets his tone get all whiny and soft. “Fuckin’ need it, doll, please give it to me- fuck, baby, f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔ m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ, come on-”

“Tell me what you are.” You push forward again, the head of the cock slipping into him, and the cry that escapes him is loud and keening- if Val could hear him now he would have a mic and camera on him faster than the moth could say ‘action,’ always trying to get Vox into the studio, to ‘capitalize on how hot you are, amorcito.’ He never wanted to be treated like one of his whores, had threatened the pimp with painful dismemberment more times than he could count early into their partnership before he learned to shut the fuck up about it.

For you, though? “I’m- fuck, sweetheart, please-”

You slide your hand down his thigh, damp with sweat now, and wrap it lazily around his bright , aching prick. “Doin’ so well, Vox,” you murmur, and the praise in your voice has him taking in a shaky breath. “So fucking perfect, a little more and I’ll give you what you want. Come on, pretty boy- just for me, what are you?”

He meets your gaze, something that almost feels like tears dropping off his screen. He feels pinned under your eyes, his limbs not responding to his brain’s signals. He knows if he really wanted to stop that he could- he could say ‘red’ to bring everything to a halt if it was needed, but he didn’t want that. It might not have been his plan when you showed up tonight but now he wanted you to fuck him, goddamn it, and not be fucking gentle about it.

“I’m a s-sweet, greedy slut,” Vox repeats from earlier, and the smile you give him is nothing short of angelic. “Just for you. Please, baby, f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔ m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ,  I need it-”

His words cut off with a groan as you press into him properly, the blue silicone unrelenting as it pushes in slowly, deeper than your fingers had gone, deeper than Val’s ever had. You’re moaning as well, the movement finally providing the friction inside of you that you needed to feel good, too. You stop every couple of seconds to make sure that he’s adjusting well, like his sounds weren’t enough to tell you that he was fucking fine, thank you very much, and enjoying every inch of the strap sliding into him.

Finally your hips are against his, both panting when you lean up and over him to kiss him. Your tongue slips in alongside his and he licks into your mouth, long muscle reaching further than yours can. You’re still against him, your body trembling but not thrusting into him yet; you’re tense, like the restraint you’re showing is harder for you to maintain than you thought it would be. Where his dick presses against your stomach you glow, the weird electrical elements of his body evident in his erection rubbing against your soft skin. The blue tint is beautiful on your complexion, illuminating scars that line the plane of your abdomen and thighs.

Vox bucks his hips up, harsh groan torn from his mouth at the motion when it drags the fake dick across his prostate- not directly touching it but gliding over it in a tantalizing way. “Come on, fuck me,” he begs, and tugs at his restraints. “Fuck me like I fuck you, baby, fuckin’ g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟v̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛ t͖͖̠̬͛o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ.”

The sound that escapes you when you pull back and then shove your hips forward again is one that he’s going to burn onto a disc so he can put it in some kind of time capsule- open it back up in 500 years to remind himself of how sweet it was the first time. “Fuck, Vox,” you whimper, and there’s no trace of the dominating minx that he had come to know you as, always in control even in the throes of passion with him. His name was broken on your lips, your eyebrows creased as you stared down at him. “Fucking good, pretty boy, letting me fuck you- be the first one inside of you, fuck.” Your hips snap sharply against him, and its so fucking good he thinks he might cry, the pressure light and delicious against his prostate as your hips move. He knows you don’t feel it like you would if you had a real dick, that it’s most likely the mental element; that he wants you inside him, that he trusts you enough to let you do this, that he’s allowing you to have this control.

“Wish I could fuck you while you fuck me,” you moan into his mouth, the ends of your wings coming up to hold onto his wrists like the rose wasn’t doing a good enough job. “No idea how we’d manage that- but fuck, what I wouldn’t fucking give to have this inside of me.” You tighten your grasp on the base of his cock and he jerks in place, twitching in your grasp and leaking onto his stomach. “You think you can figure out some kind of tech for that?”

“Hah, I’ll see what I can do once you finish railing me.” He moves his hips into your thrusts, lets the toy hit deeper, his voice tearing out of him like there’s a hole in him letting it slip out. The familiar sensation of his balls drawing up and tightening is making his head fuzzy, orgasm just out of reach- not for long though, if you have anything to say about it. “Fucking me so good, baby, please-”

“Please what? Please let you cum on my fake cock like my favorite whore?” You release your grip on one of his thighs to push your hair back from your sweaty forehead, grin mischievous while you fuck into his willing body. “Gonna cum from your first time with someone inside of you?”

“Fuck yes,” he grunts, and the humiliation of your words contributes to that tension in his stomach that’s about to snap watching you lose yourself in the act of fucking him into his mattress, not to mention the sweet pressure against that bundle of nerves inside his ass every time your pelvis slams into the plush muscle. “Fuck, yes, g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥn̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎ f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥ' c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠,” he manages before the coil snaps and his vision goes dark, the silhouette of your wings fully unfurled and illuminated by the lights outside the window the image that burns into the backs of his closed eyes when his screen goes dark.

He feels his cock pulse into your hand, spilling over your delicate fingers and onto his skin, dripping down to the tight skin of his balls. It lasts longer than he would have expected, and he’s trembling by the end of it, his limbs tense from the exertion.

You slow and stop, sliding out of him while his vision is still dark, the ring of muscle now loose and twitching without anything to fill him. There’s a rustling of the bedsheets and then lips on his screen, trailing around the edges of his face. A brush of feathers over a sensor on the side of his head brings him back online, and as soon as you’re sure that he can see again you bring your soiled fingers up to your mouth and lick them clean, making sure to push your tongue out so you can see the mess before you close them and swallow.

You haven’t cum yet, he realizes as you start untying him from the headboard, and as soon as he’s free he gets his hands on your shoulder and shoves, laying you out across his mattress.

And fuck if that wasn’t a sight he would never tire of; hooded eyes watching him from your lovely face, those fucking wings spread out underneath you like a butterfly pinned to a board. Before you can question him he ducks between your legs, drawing your legs up over his shoulders and immediately setting to work.

Vox laps at the wetness coating your folds before pushing his tongue into your slick cunt, the long muscle strong and flexing and making you cry out above him. His hands stay busy as well, making up for the lost time when he wasn’t able to touch you; fisting in your feathers, digging tiny cuts into the skin of your hips and thighs where he’s holding you. He could please you for-fucking-ever, never get tired of your taste on his tongue whether it was your pussy or your mouth, freshly fucked or cold and sweet from a vanilla ice cream you insisted on sharing with him when he took it from his stash in the freezer.

He strokes his tongue against that spot inside that always makes you grip him a little tighter, and he’s met in response with exactly what he wants, your hand flying down to grasp at his shoulders and your voice moaning into the night. He pushes a clawed finger to your clit and with a few strokes you’re coming undone, orgasm wracking through your body with a force that leaves your muscles twitching, walls pulsing around his tongue as he drinks your release down with a lewd slurp before pulling away when it seems like you couldn’t handle anymore.

He collapses next to you on the mattress and you immediately curl into his side, an arm flung across his chest and one wing coming up to drape over the both of you like a blanket. It was soft and warm, and Vox finds himself wondering what you had done your first couple of weeks in Hell- a lot of demons struggled to find a job or a place to stay for a while when they fell. Had you spent nights on the streets like this with only your wings for warmth?

He’s refrained from asking you too many questions since this thing had started between you- you seemed to value your privacy, hardly ever staying the night, not letting him come to your apartment, not coming out to any of the parties with the Vees that he invited you to. But he can’t deny the curiosity even as he knows he’ll never ask, that he’ll wait until you offer up the information on your own.

He tells himself he’s okay with the idea that that might never happen.

Vox is pulled out of his thoughts by the rumble of your voice against his chest, and when he looks down with a quirked eyebrow you roll your eyes. “Typical man,” you mutter, “not listening. I asked if I could stay the night.”

“Oh. Oh! Shit, yeah, doll, of course- I would hope you wouldn’t just up and run after giving me the best fucking of my afterlife,” he chuckles.

You shrug in his embrace. “You mean the only real fucking of your afterlife- so far, anyway.” He feels your lashes flutter against his chest, and when he looks down you have a sweet, pleading look in your eyes. “Think we could do it again?”

“Depends, are you gonna call me a slut every time?”

You smirk, the sensation of your mouth moving ticklish against his skin. “Only if you ask me to.” You’re quiet for a moment, then add, “you know, we don’t have to do the crazy kinky shit every time. We can do… you know, vanilla every once in a while. If you want.”

He smiles, knowing you can’t see him. “I can enjoy some vanilla every so often,” he tells you, and you relax imperceptibly in his hold. “But I’ll admit, I liked the teasing you put me through. Always making me discover new things about myself- and isn’t that the beauty of innovation and advancement?” 

“Ha, so you do keep me around for more than the wings and the mind blowing orgasms!”

He laughs and can feel your smile. “They’re a large contributing factor,” he says, “but I’m not so proud I can’t just admit I like having you around. I’d like to have you around more, if you want,” he adds, and while your muscles tense a bit you don’t pull away or freeze up in his arms. You don’t answer, but he figures no response is better than a bad one. You stay curled into his side and you both fall asleep, Vox making vague plans to get you into the shower with him to clean up when you’ve both awoken.

But when he wakes up you’re gone, no trace of you on the security cameras and a single black feather left on his sheets.

🪽🩵🪽🩵🪽

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55237840/chapters/143608657#workskin

[moodymisty]

Hi! Ive read most of your darksiders content and I absolutely LOVE. IT.

I wanted to ask if you could write some smut for death? And while hes gentle with it to not hurt the fem! Reader he kinda cant cope on like how soft the reader is (as in,stroking his hair,telling Him nice things,checking every once in a while to see if hes comfortable) andhe knows she does that because she cares about him and the moment being so vulnerable he kinda cracks a little (what I mean by that is that he lets it show accidentally how positively overwhelmed he feels by her love)

Honestly,i just want death to feel loved.

Anyway,take your time and thanks in advance yo!.

Author’s Note: Let Death have a moment of peace and happiness, he deserves it. I love your prompt and did with it what I could while trying to keep it in line with what Death would allow. Because I feel like he would find some things demeaning, even if it's someone being caring.

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slightly NSFW, Death being a bitter git but not much else

The first thing you hear over the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears and labored breathing, is Death asking if you are well.

He always tries to be gentle- though not as much this time- even if he isn’t meant for it. It almost makes you smile.

“I should be asking you that too,” You say between breaths. Your skin brushes against his, significantly cooler. He gives a short grunt that you could consider a laugh, given who it's coming from.

“Is that because I’m old?”

You give Death the worst glare you can muster, rolling on your side closer to him in order to do so.

“Now isn’t the time for age jokes, Death.”

The Reaper gives you a dry chuckle, ignoring the way tour hands push down on the mattress beside him in order to push your torso upward. He does little more than cross his arms as he leans against the headboard. You wouldn’t call it casual- not relaxed either- but he is more at ease than usual.

“A pity then. I thought it was a good one.”

He distinctly ignores the irritation in your face as you come closer, now leaning over his torso to look him better in the eyes.

He’s still wearing the mask. It shadows his eyes and gives them an almost ghostly, glowing look. You’d never have the heart to ask him about taking it off, now knowing what it means. He’ll decide when, if ever.

It’s not as if it’s a hindrance for him, as he’s demonstrated.

“You need to just let someone care about you without turning it into an insult.”

As if he would ever; The reaper is clearly displeased with that statement, until you start to shift and rise upward. You get up onto your knees, moving until your straddle him at the hips. You sit down gently. Death looks at you, his height advantage making it so he doesn’t even have to look up at you.

He can feel your hands against his skin, scarred underneath your palms. He snatches one of your wrists before you've even moved more than few centimeters.

“Are you done fooling around?” He halfheartedly jokes, looking at you with a bemused and irritated expression. You tug your hand, and the reaper lets it go. You know he could easily not let you, but he's always been careful with it.

“Not yet.”

While Death might not always acquiesce on all of your silly, human ideas, he does here- much to your surprise. Maybe it's because this time he actually doesn't know what idea it is.

Though in reality it isn't one at all; It's just a fit of the moment desire to get Death to stop acting this way for once.

He continues to let you lay against him, gently pressing a kiss to the scratched and worn texture of his mask and the bit of his exposed jaw beneath it. He doesn't move, you feel his hair brush against your skin. You're surprised he's even allowed it this far, at least without complaint. Though when it comes to things a bit more complicated than you just being a tad annoying, Death tends to get almost eerily silent.

Your skin brushes against his more, you've yet to put any clothes on and the heated flush of your body presses against his significantly colder skin. You kiss his jaw again and he lets out a sigh.

As your body slides downward you can feel him tense underneath you, and though he doesn’t say a thing, you can tell that the idea of him being doted on is making him feel almost anxious. Any time you have in the past he's either masterfully turned the tables on you, or managed to distract you enough that you'd forgotten your original idea.

This time however, you aren't going to let that happen.

You can’t help but let out a shaky sigh as your heart begins to race again, only minutes after it finally managed to calm down. It’s amusing how the horseman of Death can do that to you, with even just a simple touch of your own making.

He feels the way you gently grind against him, looking at him like he’s the only thing in your world that matters. For you it’s true, but for him he dreads it. He knows nothing good will come of it, despite how good it might feel right now.

He grips your hip tight like it’s going to bruise. He can feel the warmth of your skin against his palm, polar opposite to him.

“Stop.”

He doesn’t mean it, his voice cracks just the tiniest bit. You stop, but look at him in a way that forces his eyes to advert away from you. You hate the way he so adamantly refuses to let himself feel any sort of positive affection even though it's clear he wants it, and so wish to change it. Even if he'll only let you do so for one night.

“Let someone else take the reins for a bit.”

[all-pacas]

ok i was trying to nap because i'm sick and i couldn't sleep and instead i was thinking about house medical doctor. and like. ok. chase is my special favorite, right? i want to punch him in his face, right?

-

I was thinking, though. It's easy to… smooth over and buff out characters to make them more appealing. To focus on traits and interpretations that you like. And to be clear I do think Chase has a lot of good qualities, both in terms of being a likeable character (he's clever! He doesn't take himself that seriously and isn't ego driven, unlike many others in the cast!) and being a fun character to watch (he's always pulling weird faces or being sarcastic!).

But he also has some real fucking character flaws, so let's talk about them. Because I want to. Because I don't like smoothing people out to fit a Narrative. I want to talk about his apathetic moral vacancy.

Like. Chase is apathetic. He truly and honestly doesn't give a shit about other people a lot of the time. He's not aggressive about it, he's not cruel — he tends to be fairly polite, although he's not great at hiding it ("the nurse's phone can take pictures!" "………cool"), he doesn't often talk shit. When he dislikes a patient, he at least tries to hide it (contrast with Foreman, who genuinely sucks at this). But that doesn't mean he cares. He is absolutely fine with lying to patients (Post Mortem), or with billing people for tests and not telling them (Safe). He doesn't care if that's shady. He's super ethically flexible, is the only one of the fellows to be openly pro euthanasia, has zero moral issue with treating Dibala. This clearly isn't because Chase believes so strongly that being a doctor should make you neutral to petty political beliefs, he just… doesn't care much. It doesn't bother him. I don't think he'd go out of his way to be harmful or cruel to someone, but he also isn't going out of his way to help them either.

While we do see him advocating for his patients and getting involved now and then (mostly with children), he never really has any moments where he takes a stand or fights for someone. Cameron, by contrast, does this constantly (The Itch, Acceptance, Fidelity…). Foreman also has several episodes (Fools For Love, Whac-A-Mole, a lot of his S3 development tbh) where he finds and bonds with and over-invests in a patient. The closest Chase ever comes to "getting way too involved in someone's life because he cares" is Moira in Chase, and she's preeeetty explicitly called out as him rebounding and acting out; he's doing the Wilson-Amber reinvent yourself after trauma thing, and it wears off pretty quickly. In Cameron and Foreman's cases too, it's more about their personal issues than the patient in question… but Chase's situation was really about him.

Speaking of being morally vacant! When Cameron might be infected with HIV (Hunting), he expresses some concern and House immediately mocks him for being fake. I don't actually know that it was (he certainly keeps up the thread of suggesting she should take some time off, he's not just being performative), but it's telling that the first reaction to Chase showing concern for anyone is "lol, who are you kidding?" Cameron accuses him later that of not being a good guy. She wants to get laid and live life on the edge, and the person that jumps to her mind when she wonders "who would be down for doing me on meth" is Chase. Nor is she wrong. Chase is an opportunist. Tritter calls him one, and Tritter is correct. He rats to Vogler to save his job, and is barely sorry for it; I'm not sure he ever apologizes. Everyone expects he'll immediately run to Tritter and a huge source of tension in Finding Judas is that Chase can't win: Foreman and Cameron already assume he has, that he's too spoiled and weak to not. Later in S3, when Cameron propositions him, he again goes "free sex?" and signs up, despite calling her out on what a demeaning offer she's making. He tends to pick the easier options. He stays a diagnostics fellow for years longer than anyone else, because it's a safe space. It's easy. He'd rather be a follower than take any risks. (I think there is no room for a reality where he refused his dad's money out of spite or pride. Why would he refuse a trust fund? It's easy. It's right there.)

We actually do see him lash out and stand up for himself here and there. He pushes back against Cameron a few times, actually (Act your Age, Saviors, Teamwork), and he's also pushed back against Foreman and House. But it's only for himself. I can't think of a time he went far out of his way to defend one of his coworkers, or his boss, or a patient. He did get mad enough to, uh, kill, when Dibala threatened Cameron. Which: fair enough? But he doesn't care much for things outside of his immediate influence. He has no problem shrugging off Cuddy in Living the Dream, or an armed gunman in Last Resort. He has no moral stances or political beliefs that we know of (besides, uh, fat people suck and the US immigration system is annoying). He very much does care about people, he's pretty clear that at least some of his apathy is a defense thing after a deeply fucked up childhood, but it's always despite himself. He prefers to do his job and go home. There's an old not-joke about how all surgeons have god complexes. Chase being a surgeon is kind of a retcon, and in a lot of ways he doesn't fit the stereotype — he's not particularly arrogant or superior, he's not even ambitious. He does get touchy about being called wrong, or accused of making mistakes, but I don't think he's any worse than the others on that front (or more prone to making mistakes). But that indifference? His sort of general aloofness? He cares about himself, and his little circle, and watches his own back, and that's it. He doesn't dislike other people, but he doesn't care much either way. Foreman accuses him of being fake. Everyone accuses him of being morally vacant, an opportunist who will do anything if it improves his own situation. And… yeah. Kinda.

[creepsterdreams]

Some late night thoughts

CW: Jimmy, me needing to go to bed but instead writing at 2 am, Curly defending Jimbo even though he shouldn’t, mention of harassment and uncomfortableness, mentions of misogyny, angsty

Even as I’m reading some fics about being married to curly and curly having kids. I can’t help but think about how Curly’s possible daughter would probably have a difficult time feeling comfortable around Jimmy. Even if Curly gives her every bit of reassurance he can, Jimmy doesn’t seem like the type to hide all of his emotions. Now, this isn’t me saying that Jimmy will actively target her if given the chance, but rather it would be hard for her to feel okay with being around him for long periods of time.

Given that it’s assumed the two of them have been friends for a long time, I would imagine that Jimmy would’ve probably known Curly’s daughter since she was a baby (since I also personally headcanon that they’ve been close since college). Meaning that she’s well acquainted with him. When she was young, she probably didn’t notice any red flags to truly take note of, only seeing Jimmy as “daddy’s best friend that’s at our house a lot”, basically an uncle right? But as she grew into the age where personal relationships were starting to become more important, it felt like his behavior changed.

Especially when adulthood came around.

The comments started off small, questionable but most would look past it.

“Got a boyfriend yet?”

“Nice outfit, suits you nicely.”

“Do you usually wear that around the house?”

“No hug for me kiddo?”

They were enough to make her side him occasionally, but never to cause her to be unnerved. Usually the comments would just be ignored with a “whatever uncle jim.”

But, a part of her couldn’t help but feel like his eyes were following her.

Sure, her dad and him were not just coworkers but best friends, meaning that it was common for the guy to be visiting a lot, but did dad really have to give him a spare key? So now that feeling wasn’t just when the family was all together, but even when she was supposed to be alone.

She swore, she swore she can feel someone looking at her.

Going to Curly himself about it, it just felt like she was talking to a wall sometimes.

Sure, that’s his best friend right? But, look at it from her perspective. Going to a parent about a tough situation especially involving a family friend is never easy, you’re supposed to trust them right? So why did it feel so hard to just be comfortable around Jimmy?

Curly, simply sighed and pulled her in for a hug.

“Listen, I’ll talk to him alright honey? I’m sure we can get it all figured out. You know your uncle doesn’t mean any harm.”

Sure.

The talk, well it went as she expected.

Curly sugar coating the situation and Jimmy nodding as if he understood every word. Afterwords, turning to her and giving what felt like a half assed apology.

“Didn’t mean to make you feel that way kiddo, we good?”

And for some reason, the hug she gave him after that felt a little too firm.

And the feeling was still there, even weeks after the talk.

Now being a young lady, she noticed the way Jimmy would talk about women whenever her dad had friends over.

As if they were just objects for his amusement.

She could hear the laughter downstairs combined with the sound of beer bottles. A part of her being too scared to go and get something to drink.

Why didn’t Curly ever say anything to them about it? Didn’t they know that he had a daughter upstairs who could hear every demeaning word they said?

But she never saw the slightly uncomfortable smile Curly gave them after every degrading comment, hoping they would move on from the topic fast.

But again, never saying a thing.

A part of Curly had taken notice of his little girl’s sudden change in clothing.

Usually, when lounging around and not having to go to work, she would wear a tank top and shorts, or a long sleeve shirt and shorts, either way, she always preferred shorts.

But one day when he came home and she was wearing pants, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Just felt a little chilly, it’s fine dad.”

She never once cared about the weather, it could be frozen outside and she would still wear those shorts.

But why didn’t he ask about why she couldn’t stand being in the same room as Jimmy for too long?

“She’s probably just having some work issues.” He’ll say.

He never noticed the way she would tense up whenever he’ll yell “Your uncle’s here!”

Or the way she her clothes got baggier and baggier.

Usually a parent is supposed to catch onto these things, right?

[snorkling-in-sodasea]

Moments of Stupidity 17

Here we go. Apology Tour. Just... there are so many moments that are flat out nonsensical from a writer's viewpoint but, as previously established, I'm just going over the decisions that don't make sense story-wise.

I guess for starters, Blitzo for going out of his way to talk to Stolas. Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome or he's getting so desperate for someone to be there to care that he dies and thinks he's not really having that with Loona or Millie or Moxxie and he's burned so many bridges that Stolas managed to be the one that Blitzo will settle for, but I cannot think of any logical reason otherwise that Blitzo would try talking things out with Stolas. After all, Blitzo's got a crystal now; he's even used it in this episode a few times. Blitzo doesn't have to do anything with an owl who coerced him into a sex deal, constantly demeaned and belittled him, and is actively acting like he never did such things or that he's off the hook just because of the initiative to call of the deal. So why the fuck is Blitzo wanting to patch things up with Stolas? He could get another hookup to have angry sex with or have a transactional relationship if that's what he wants, and it'll actually be on his terms that time. (Again, I got my theories but I got no indicator in the show if I'm right on either one and it's the most improbable thing ever that the show will actually go any other route than romantic endgame).

I also don't get why the fuck Blitzo doesn't bring up some damn good points in that argument with Stolas, either. Striker has never been a fucking friend, especially not when Millie and Moxxie, imps that Stolas should at least know are associated with Blitzo, fought Striker to save his fucking life. Why the hell would Blitzo want his declared family to around a guy who wouldn't think twice about killing them? Blitzo's not that callous. Plus, there's also the fact that Stolas was entirely blasé about being kidnapped, gave no useful information on how to find him and Striker, and Blitzo talked about how Loona, his daughter, is finally getting a shot she needs and she can't afford to miss it. Where is that very good memory you gloated about having, Stolas? But again, I don't get why Blitzo never brought any of that up, like how Husk didn't bring up that Angel harassed him and pushed his boundaries when told by Vaggie to go get him. (Is the hellaverse a world you're allowed to sexually harass people if you're not as bad as certain other people and so there's no point even bringing up that you're sexually harassing people like it's anything important, especially when you're upset about something?) But I digress

Finally, I don't get Blitz's fucking apology list. Martha because not only she was a hit, meaning that Moxxie is just as guilty and Millie, too, but also that the bitch tried to kill them. I agree with Millie. You don't have to feel too bad about killing people if they try killing you (I just would rather it was self-defense than killing you back). The Dhorks agents make even less sense because they were the ones who started shit first, with the kidnapping and the later attempted murder. There's also Brennan Ragers, since Octavia is actually the one to kill him even if it was just an accident. Oh, and I rather don't like that Moxxie's name was on that list but there was a question mark next to it, like Blitzo is genuinely unsure if he ever did anything to Moxxie to be sorry for

Finally, there's Blitzo's just showing up at the party where all his exes are. Considering that he apparently has broken up with so many people who thoroughly hate him to the point where they get together every year to hate their mutual ex, then why the fuck would Blitzo not bother with a disguise right from the get go? Maybe to an extent, the partygoers, unless drunk or whatever shit, are too stupid to notice their most hated ex just being at the fucking party

Of course, there's goddamn fucking Stolas. His moments are mostly more subdued but they're still noticeable and it has lasting power. Like I said above, Stolas is actively acting like he was never a condescending prick and it's not entirely his fucking fault that Blitzo sees him the way he does. Like... Stolas... if you mean to tell me you truly never thought you were behaving badly in the sense of looking down on Blitzo... then what the fuck did you think you were doing? There's missing social cues and stuff and then there's fucking social braindead-ness. How the fuck does someone end up this socially inept? Even though Stolas was isolated in childhood save for some imp servants, but then he got to be around more people when he became an adult. Considering how eager for friends he was when Blitzo was bought to be his playmate and how Stolas is stuck with an angry woman he doesn't even like, you'd think Stolas would be eager to try talking to other nobles at the very least. We know that he attends parties even if they're by Stella's design and there's no literally no reason to think that Stolas can't go to other events hosted by others. Yet Stolas remains just as socially inept even when surrounded by more people, even if it's just in comparison to his childhood. So how the fuck does Stolas live his life around others and think that it's flattering to be called a plaything? In fact, just the way he handled breaking off the deal in Full Moon was stupid but I'll get to that when I talk about the post exclusively about the Stolitz relationship (And holy fuck, do I have a list over how much I think it sucks and why and to think, the show's not over yet)

[heartofspells]

on the etiquette of fandom respect

I'm not sure why I'm doing this, really. We've all seen those other posts that circulate around (or the vast majority of us have, at least from my notice) discussing things like negativity towards creators and proper etiquette when it comes to commenting and bookmarking and sharing another person's work. It always seems to fly in one ear and out the other, yet here I am, preparing to write an essay, mainly because I don't think we should ever stop saying it in the hopes of improvement.

Let's start this with bookmarks on AO3, because it seems like people either forget, they don't know, or possibly they simply do not care. Bookmarks can be seen by creators. Meaning they can see your tags, your bookmark collections, and your bookmark comments. There are numerous creators who enjoy going through the bookmarks on their works to see these things, because it's extra insight into why someone liked or even loved that creation, most times. There are also, in my experience, a lot of people who bookmark works and do not comment, so again, it gives the creator that extra special boost to keep doing what they're doing, to create more.

Leaving personal rating scores for a work, downgrading comments, or, in all honesty, opinions on what you did not like in the work is unkind. No one is coming to attack how you choose to keep track of your bookmarks, but please remember these are PUBLIC unless otherwise chosen by you. You can, however, make private bookmarks that only you can view. Even the creators cannot see these beyond a number of how many bookmarks a work collectively has. If you have a rating system or opinions on a work that could even remotely be construed as unkind, please make your bookmarks private. It's incredibly simple. There is a checkbox to select.

Now onto comments and the etiquette behind it. No one is forcing you to comment. While it is appreciated by all creators, it isn't a requirement. Creators love hearing from everyone who views their work. Comments bolster creators, encourage them to continue creating if they love doing it, which most creators do. But if the only thing you can think to say is something demeaning, criticizing, or has no bearing on the work you just viewed, it's probably better not to say anything at all. If you have questions, ask them. Creators love talking about their works, typically. Most will jump at the chance for a discussion. But this does not give anyone the right to ask accusatory questions that degrade a person's work. Also, leaving a comment about any work that blatantly goes against the very obviously stated tags/warnings, or leaving a comment that is short and brief and really doesn't make any sort of reference to the work itself is rude, plain and simple. Do not do that.

You are not being asked to leave a novel behind in your comment (though that's almost always appreciated to a massive extent). Leave a few kind words about liking or loving the work, because just something as simple as "loved this!" goes a long way as encouragement. If you have the time or something specific, tell the creator about a part you liked. They'll adore you for it. But again, none of it is a requirement. All creators ask for is a bit of common sense and respect from people in exchange for what they've created. Basic rule of thumb: ask yourself if you made something you were proud of and showed it to someone, would you be happy or hurt by the comment you're about to leave?

Lastly, let's discuss credit. It's seen a lot, and pretty much everywhere now. Someone finds artwork or a fic or maybe even a simple quote from a work they enjoy, and they repost it with no credit, not even a title (in regards to fics). No reference back to the creator at all. Stop gatekeeping works that do not belong to you. You do not own those works. They have been shared with you, nothing more. By transferring them or even a piece of them somewhere else without proper credit, you are not only removing someone else's ability to properly view this work without directly asking what it's from (if they ask at all, which most do not), you are taking that potential encouragement away from the creator and making them feel worthless.

These works, whatever they may be, were created for you. You may try to argue that they were shared in a public forum, and the creator should understand that by doing so, they're opening themselves up to potential criticism, theft, and even bullying. And you would be right, creators are fully aware of this. But here's the thing: these works, at least in a fandom setting, are being created for FREE. A person is taking time out of their life to make this wonderful thing, and they are offering it humbly solely for the pleasure of doing it, to bring you pleasure.

And you might even argue that creators are not making these things for you, but for the world. But aren't you part of the world? Did you find and are you reading/viewing/listening to these works? If so, then yes, they were created for you, with you in mind. All creators ask for in return, literally the only thing, is some basic human kindness and decency, because creators are not required to share anymore than you're required to comment or spread their works around.

Some creators have thicker skins than others, but keep going as we have been, and one day, the content you love so much might be gone. It's already beginning to disappear for lesser things. Don't be the reason it continues.

[statichotline]

White Elephant 1

Content warnings: abuse, restraints, violence, kidnapping (implied), captivity, swearing, pet names, suicide baiting

---

“Sweetheart, you’re a fucking dumbass.” The Punk is pissed. Well, of course the Punk is pissed. All that Gus seems to ever be able to do is piss of the Punk. And when they use ‘sweetheart’ towards Gus, that demeaning little nickname that makes Gus want to scratch out that asshole’s eyes, they are pissed. 

It’s nice to know they have a tell; it can be hard to read the Punk. They always got this constant air of smug, superior, unbothered, confidence. A way of filling the cabin even when they’re four rooms over. And sometimes, Gus can’t tell when they're being an asshole for the sake of being an asshole or are genuinely trying to get under her skin. It feels the same either way, they got a way with words.

All things considered, Gus didn’t exactly need them using ‘sweetheart’ to know they’re pissed. Her being caught trying to escape again was probably big enough of a fucking hint. But hey, good to know that the fact she’s tied up on the floor in the empty rooms isn’t because the Punk is doing it for kicks and giggles.

“Kill yourself,” Gus hisses. She pulls against the rope binding her wrists and ankles, ineffective, of course. 

“Like I said, a dumbass.” They drop into a crouch next to her, looking at her like she is some sort of particularly nasty stain on the hardwood. “What’s this now, seventh time? You’d think you’d get it into your head that this isn’t working out for you.” 

“You won’t. Coward.” Gus says unhelpfully for either of them.

They let out an exaggerated sigh, running a hand through their bright red mohawk. Or not really a mohawk right now. It’s ungelled and pulled into a bun at the back of their head. It still looks cool; Gus doesn’t know how they always make it look cool. “I really should do something about this.” They waive a hand towards her. “Maybe just leave you tied up for a couple of days. I can get work done and maybe you can fucking learn something.”

They won’t, she knows they won’t not for a few days. Hours? Maybe. Something she’ll be able to easily take. Gus rolls their eyes at the Punk.

“You’re right. You’re right,” they chuckle, something deep from the back of their throat. “You just like calling bluffs, don’t you sweetheart? And, ya know?” They scruff their chin, lost in thought before shooting a mean glare down at Gus. “If it was any other fucking person, I would have proved you wrong. But nope, you. Fucking you.”

“Okay man, once again I am suggesting that you should die forever.” God, they’re such monologuer.  If Gus had to bet, it’s going to be a couple minutes before they actually do shit. They’re just trying to get a reaction out of her. Despite how fucking awful of a person they are, she’s just not scared. Mad as hell, bitter, hateful, but not scared.

Gus tries her ropes again. She has no clue how people in movies get out of these, she just feels stuck, her fingers and toes feeling tingly. The Punk watches her as she does this with unbothered eyes. They reach out with one hand and slam her head into the floor. 

“S-shit!” Gus’s head rattles inside her skull and starts pounding. Her chest hitches as she blinks her eyes rapidly trying to clear away the disorientation she is suddenly met with. That hurt. “You’re gonna give me a concussion you bitch!”

“I’m talking. Shut up or I’ll put a damn sock in your mouth.”

“Fucking make me!” 

The Punk reaches out again and Gus tries to bite them. It is highly ineffective, Gus is currently similar to a worm in her movement capabilities and she is treated to seeing stars again. The Punk lets out a hum. “I mean, I can if you want. Seems like you enjoy pain the way you ask for it. Are you a masochist, sweetheart? You getting off on this?”

“Fuck you,” she hisses. God, they're disgusting.

“That seems to be your goal right now, not mine.” They’ve left their hand on her head and have started to just kinda push down, not painful, but definitely uncomfortable. Her face pressing into the hardwood flooring. “Or… you seemed to have gotten into your pretty little–”

“Not pretty–” Another slam. Shit, shit, shit, her head is spinning.

“–head that I can’t hurt you, or something. Or at least, not more than a few hits that you’re determined enough to brush off.” They leave a pause, a tiny little place that Gus is allowed to speak her mind, but she’s still recovering from the last blow and the Punk continues without her input. “And, shit, yeah, I’m sure you’ve noticed how careful I am with you. As an example, I’m going to have to stop bashing your head into the floor because concussions can kill and I’m not enough of a doctor to say how much more you can take.” 

The Punk lowers themselves the rest of the way to the floor, sitting with one knee propped up. “Can’t break your legs, can’t cut off your fingers, can’t beat you till you can’t move. Shame on me for preferring the basics of escape prevention but, hey, I’ve already got something else in the works. Just gotta make sure that you don’t have any allergies or other medical shit. You willing to spill?”

Gus has had a bit of time to recover. Letting the Punk’s pointless words go through one ear and out the other. She barely managed to catch there was a question at all, but, fuck them, she’s not answering shit, she tries to spit at them but it ends more so on her chin. The Punk gives her a disdainful look at her attempt at disrespect. 

“Is that a no?” they ask, deadpan.

“What do you think, fucker?”

“I think you like to make things difficult for no reason.” They give a pause, snapping their fingers twice before pointing at her. “How bout this, I let you off easy for your stupid little escape attempt if you tell me what your medical shit is about. Win, win.”

“Kill. Your. Self.” She’s never going to ever let the Punk get what they want.

“Yeah, fucking figures you’d say that, get more creative, Gus.” They stand up with an exaggerated stretch, rolling their shoulders in their studded leather jacket. “I’ll see you in a few hours to untie you. Have fun, or not, clearly I don’t control you.”

Gus struggles against the floor as they leave, pulling again and again at the ropes. Fuck them and their stupid face. She hates them god she hates them.

It doesn’t take much time for the door to snap shut behind them, and Gus can’t help but slump as soon as the Punk is gone. Her chest is heaving and she is tired. Adrenaline having pushed her through her escape attempt and that stupid conversation but now that the Punk is gone, or what is left of the threat, she feels just sick to her stomach and wants to take a fucking nap. 

Of course, she’s not going to be able to, not until she is utterly exhausted, she’s too uncomfortable with the rope and floor. She doesn’t think this one would be anyone’s first choice of sleeping arrangements. Still, she shuts her eyes and forces her chest to take slower breaths. 

Every once in a while, she tries the ropes again, hoping that maybe she’ll get some slack. All that comes of it is her wrists becoming more irritated. There was one moment that she attempted to roll around to maybe and, ugh, rub the ropes against the wall or something? But the simple act of moving her head, brought back the pounding that had kept steady in the background to a jackhammer against her head.

She doesn’t end up achieving anything before the Punk comes back. They give her a light kick to her side, before reaching down and undoing her ropes. 

“I haven’t learned shit,” she tells them.

They let out a chuckle, something so very annoyed. “Oh, I know.”