#pls pls read the tw!!!

[semperamans]

I can’t stop thinking about protective Benny ugh

me too, doll. me fuckin' too.

this can be triggering for some as there are mentions of unwanted contact and violence, so im gonna ask that you read only if you feel up for it!

he just wants to know who did it, s'all. that's what he tells you as he wipes your tears. "d'you know what they looked like, mm?" he's got his palms pressed against your cheeks, bent down practically on his knees in front of you. "remember anythin' at all, baby?" and you don't know :( not really. there are hundreds of bikers gathered in this forgotten field somewhere outside of chicago, all of them so fucked that they hardly know their name, and you thought you were safe standing at the fire with the wives and girlfriends while benny went to take a piss but no. your back had been turned when you felt the brush of an unfamiliar hand over the swell of your ass, smelled the offensive odor of a mouth that hadn't seen a toothbrush in god knows how long, heard the indecent words spiked with whiskey and ill-intent and benny just wants to know but you're sobbing these big wet sobs that he can't seem to get under control.

"he was- he had-" you're all start and no finish and benny just wants to put you in his pocket where no one can get you :( but he can't :( so he just brings you closer, presses your head against his chest, and lets you cry until you finally have the coherence to tell him about the spider tattoo on the assailant's hand. and okay, now benny knows and great, you're starting to calm down a bit. he consoles you, doesn't tell you it's okay because it's not but he is here. "m'right here. okay? feel me, honey. c'mon, give me your hands." he rubs your fingers over his cheeks, they're so soft, then you explore the coarse hair of his beard "m'right here. s'okay. nothin' is gonna happen to you." down his nose, across his jacket, venturing toward the studs that make out his intials and now you're more present just breathlessly hiccuping and latched onto the dingy white shirt benny wears beneath his cut. "need you to sit with johnny for me, okay? i gotta go take care of somethin'." johnny doesn't ask what happened because benny has that look in his eyes and he knows he'll be making a trip to county later if he's lucky or the pen if benny kills the guy, but that's just fine. johnny takes you, wrapping an arm over your shoulder, allowing you to hide your face in his neck because even in your state you know benny is about to make a scene. "m'gonna be back. okay? promise. stay with johnny. he's not gonna let nothin' happen to you."

time drips on in that sluggish, anticipatory way and you're practically asleep by the time benny returns. he no longer wears a shirt, just his denim vest that's splattered with blood and those worn levis with the knees practically blown out. you sit up so quickly it makes you dizzy. "s'alright." benny assures you, hands up in a placating way. oh, there's his shirt torn to shreds and being used as bandages for his no doubt destroyed knuckles. "gotta get outta here, yeah?" johnny helps you stand, passing your hand to benny's so so gently. "you're gonna stay with me tonight. need you call your momma and let her know you won't be makin' it home." and you don't go home. you spend the rest of the night latched onto benny like a woebegone infant and he doesn't mind in the slightest. “m’sorry, baby. won’t let nothin’ like that happen again.”

[heynhay]

where the apple falls by Europa report except if book cover I made super fast to get the freakouts out

[birdyisthewordyy]

Jimmy with a reader who has self harm scars

Warnings: self harm scars but no actual self harm takes place

a/n: my first non ask write and it’s something angsty of course… anyway no one has written anything like this yet so I figured for all u people that are like me who have struggled with sh and want some Jimmy comfort then here u go… this is extremely self indulgent and tailored to my experience because I kinda wrote this for myself but anyone is free 2 read

When he notices them he immediately points them out like a dick

“What’s on your arm?”

If you try to lie and play it off or avoid the question he’ll just keep prodding

He wonders if you wear pants because you have scars on your legs too

Finds you crying one day at the table

“Are you crying?”

“No, sorry. I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

He actually listens to you talk about your body

How you feel like you’ll never be loved

How you feel ugly and gross and your scars only make it worse

He just stares at your arms the whole time

“I really don’t see what the big deal is. They don’t make you hideously deformed or anything.”

 You pull up your pants and show him all the scars on your thighs

He gets his answer to his earlier question!!!!

“I really don’t get it. So what? You cut yourself— and you don’t anymore. You’re not ugly.”

“Can I have a hug?”

“…yeah, whatever. C’mere.”

You still don’t feel the best but Jimmy is warm and smells like drugstore cologne and it’s comforting

[rie-092]

Hi, i love ypur dinamic.

When I read lycris number 8 I inmediatly tough of Claude de Alber Obelia.

Maybe where the reader is someone whi he grow up and it could be Athanasio or Felix Fiance/wife <3

EVENT'S ENTRY OO1 : POSSESSION

[ yandere! claude de alger obelia ]

note: here's the link about the event! i love this prompt. this would be fun!

okay, let's start with the time before everything became messy.

there is one reason why you became anastacius's wife despite the two of you being way too young to get married. they wanted to tie your family down to the imperial family and anastacius was the one who acted as a shackle to make sure that your family will stay still and be the imperial family's loyal dog.

but honestly, being in the imperial family wasn't that bad. because you have anastacius and his younger brother, claude who was still young that time.

the first time you met claude, there's only one thing that came into your mind. why in the hell did they abuse this cute little creature?

that's the reason how you and anastacius became claude's salvation inside the imperial palace.

you always plays with him, spend time with him, hell, you even go far on firing those maids who put sand on claude's soup (you're the crown princess and you have the every rights to do so, duh.)

but there is still this small doubt inside his mind. that this peace won't stay forever and there is a high chance that you will change once you grew up and realize that he was lacking in many aspects.

and that doubt was only fueled when anastacius slowly changed.

and anastacius started isolating you. and he started prohibiting you as well as claude from visiting each other. and that's how everything became messy.

you see, this is the main reason why claude lost it. the gentle facade that he created for you and anastacius. his confidence, his emotions, his everything as well as his mother.

but don't worry, this wasn't his boiling point. he still had lady margarita (forgot her name, my baddd). while you escape time to time to spend time with him.

he remembered back then, before his big brother's betrayal. when the two of you escaped the palace to play. he remembered it clearly, the time you said that you were on his side. and you will remain as his friend forever.

unknown to you, this only fuels the unhealthy feelings that he suppress for years. because hell, you were his big brother's wife!

and congrats! now you had a possessive and obsessive yandere who sees love as ownership! and damn, he will not let you escape, after all, you were his right?

and fast forward to the time where claude discovered lady margarita and anastacius' betrayal. instead of feeling betrayed, this man was delighted as hell.

he can still clearly remember how he sent you a letter using his brother's name and inviting you to the room where lady margarita and anastacius was doing the deed.

he remembered how excited he was seeing the horror in your eyes.

ahh, don't blame him. you left him no choice after all. because he knew that deep inside, you started on having a feeling towards his older brother.

and it's a big no because you were his.

and now, after all the shits happened. and he became the emperor. you suddenly said that you will now go back to your family?

no, no. how can you say that towards him, (name)? after all he did to keep you by his side? after all the blood that he spilled for you?

don't be surprise if you woke up in your palace, chained in your bed. and even had a collar with his name on it.

you made him do this so basically, this wasn't his fault. you made him insecure, you made him panic. so, technically, you deserve this.

oh, by the way. starving yourself to death won't work against claude because he won't hesitate to force you on eating. or even killing your family in front of you.

just give up, ( name ). because you were his as much as he was yours.

now, be a good girl and help him raise athanasia well, okay? <3

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

“ ahh, dear. stop being annoying or i would be the one to hold you down and put this damn food in your mouth. hmm? you don't like that right? now be a good girl and listen to me, okay? ”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

how to break a girl in ten easy steps

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: joel miller is a lonely old man, but he likes it that way. he has everything he needs: a nice piece of property in the woods, a cozy cabin, and plenty of cash. there is one thing missing, though. one thing he needs that he can't give himself.

author's note: this story is dark. very dark. it contains many things considered taboo and extreme. a full list of warnings is under the cut; reader discretion is advised.

y'all know those jokes about how sadists often have to rein in their subs' fantasies? this is a masochistic wet dream that I would never, ever want to come true. this is the kind of thing i jerk it to and then think 'what the fuck is wrong with me?' after. this is me safely exploring the fucked up recessess of my horny mind through the medium of joel miller fanfiction. do not attempt these acts in real life. practice risk aware consensual kink. disclaimer over.

please heed the following warnings. if any of them make you uncomfortable, please do not read. if you have any questions, my DMs and inbox are always open.

tags/warnings: NON-CON, kidnapping, captivity, slavery, torture porn, no outbreak AU, character deaths mentioned (sarah & tommy), sadist!Joel Miller, Joel Miller is a bad bad man, abuse, neglect, starvation, rape, forced oral, forced everything, graphic depictions of assault, predator/prey, hopelessness, conditioning, beatings, broken bones, piss play, piss drinking, vomiting, consumption of vomit & piss & other bodily fluids, cutting, burns, shock collar, obedience training, kicking, brute force, non-linear storytelling, i will add more if anything changes.

for the last time: do not read this if any of the content is potentially upsetting. this is dark, disturbing, and disgusting.

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

[ruporas]

wolfwood redraws (ID in alt text)

[on-leatheredwings]

Baby-trapping you say? 👀

baby trapping i say!!!

maybe i should say its specifically stealthing [picks nose]? he doesnt really care to 'trap' you because he literally just believes you're endgame

sneak peek bc god im tired of writing:

tw: weird ideals about fertile (cis) women, intent to stealth, implied/tangential somnophilia (???) and other yandere-typical behavior

18+ only, Damian Wayne is 21

He does want to be with you above anything, and if children were out of the question due to natural causes… sure, he would learn to get over it. His brothers are all adopted and are as legitimate heirs to his father as he. But as it stands, Damian needs an heir someday and he knows your body can provide that. 

A part of him, a part that’s been planted in him since his childhood, quietly admits that he simply wants his children to be blood. He was taught that he was the result of two genetically perfect individuals – Bruce Wayne the Batman and Talia al Ghul, Daughter of the Demon’s Head. 

So why shouldn’t his child be the genetic amalgamation of you and him? The thought of impregnating you sounds… good. Ideal. Natural, even. Call him a romantic.

Back from class, you decided to read on his living room recliner while he drew in his study. He indeed sketched, as he did everyday, but he also wanted to check if today was the day he thought it was. Damian opens the drawer of his wooden desk, papers neatly filed. He picks up a sleek black folder.

When opened, inside is a calendar for the year, with no notes or writing. The days are simply blank or highlighted in either red or green.

His eyes skirt down to the current day of the calendar, and Damian's pleased to see it is indeed among a week that's painted in green. You've ovulated, and the six days afterward are an ideal window. 

You've said in passing that your cycle is pleasantly regular and Damian's past investigations have proved this to be true. He doesn’t ask anymore. He snorts, remembering how last time you looked at him incredulously and asked if he was a Republican, since he was “all up in your womb.” 

However, you do keep menstrual products in your bag when he’s predicted it. You also spend quite some time at his place, so he does note when there’s pad wrappers in his bathroom trash bin.

Last year, the day he knew you were the one, his One, he brewed you a tea before bed. Its sedative contents ensured you wouldn't wake. So, Damian pulled off your pants, and collected a sample from you as you slept. Of course, he did so with sterile, sexless precision –  Damian wasn’t a pervert or deviant. He sniffs. He’s better than that. Even if his hands did linger.

Test results proved you were healthy and fertile. He remembers being proud. As expected, you were perfect in all things.

[zorosdimples]

UNDER HIS THUMB ꒰ uraume x reader x sukuna ꒱

minors and blank/ageless blogs do not interact—i will block you. cw: suggestive content. nonconsensual nudity. dubious touching. brief descriptions of cannibalism and violence. suicide mention. reader is referred to as “bride” and “wife.” reader has breasts. wc: 1053. notes: uraume ily—please ditch shitkuna for me <3 (based on this idea)

A fire blazes in the yawning hearth, bathing your bedchamber in a warm titian. The shadows of flames leap and dance across the cragged stone walls—a solar flare—a cosmic spectacle. Logs and branches resembling human bones sputter and spark, crackling in your ears. You shift in your seat. 

The diaphanous veil remains pinned to your crown as Uraume’s fingers move deftly through your locks, the sweeping gossamer that brushes your ankles now pooling on the floor. They unravel the intricate updo they crafted for the ceremony, your hair a glowing halo in the firelight, head bowed in gentle subservience. The pins that bite at your scalp are crusted in blood; the sharp pain has long-since softened into a dull throb.

“I hate him,” you announce. 

(It’s how you cope with your precarious situation: burying your fears beneath carefully woven layers of disdain.) 

Barren aside from a bed, a wardrobe, and an armchair, your threadbare accommodations are as cozy as a dungeon. No torch, tapestry, or looking glass adorns the walls. Your companion’s expression is hidden as they continue their work atop your head.

Uraume chastises you after a few beats, affectation frigid as ice. “You shouldn’t speak of your husband in such a manner.” 

You snort. This one-sided union will only further scar the ugly face of matrimony; looking upon your captor with respect or affection is as likely as you kissing the cheek of your slain mother a final time. “My ‘husband’ for all of ten minutes.”

“And still your husband, nonetheless.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you snap. 

Uraume pushes you to your feet and fluffs the veil with a hum. They circle you, appraising your body—the flimsy, silken robe that ripples across your curves hides nothing from their piercing stare—then, for what must be the fifth time, they adjust the knot that holds the garment together. When their eyes meet yours, you find yourself falling for the ruse, plucking fresh buds from a field of fuchsia.

How you wish their gaze held more than cool indifference.

Ever perceptive, they reach out to gingerly tuck a wayward strand behind your ear; if you close your eyes and still your heaving chest, you can pretend that it’s an intimate gesture—the touch of a lover. “Rarely do we have a say in our own fates,” Uraume muses. 

Fidgeting with your fingers, you quell the urge to embrace your attendant. (It’s a disgraceful thought for a newlywed. But you can’t spool in the words that unfurl from your lips, the edges raw, frayed with longing.)

“I would have taken my life if it hadn’t been for you, Uraume. I can’t stand him.” 

“Master Sukuna would never allow you to harm yourself.” 

“Tch—that vile brute cares little for my well being.” Hatred flares within your chest, your once-blooming heart now withered with rot. Tears of anguish blur your vision and make each syllable tremble. “If he didn’t want to harm me, he wouldn’t have murdered and feasted on my family.” 

A smile tucks itself in the corners of Uraume’s lips like a secret, though you miss it—misty-eyed and waist-deep in a deluge of painful memories. “You seem to forget that I prepared their flesh at my lord’s behest.” 

“I can’t fault you for being trapped under his thumb; you’re kinder than you give yourself credit for, anyhow.” 

They chuckle darkly. “And what leads you to believe that?” 

It doesn’t occur to you until this moment that you’ve edged closer to Uraume. If you leaned forward, you would smell the frost on their porcelain skin, taste the mint on their breath. Despite yourself, you reach out, cupping their cheek. 

“You’ve been my devoted caretaker since I arrived, patient and helpful at every turn. Your presence is the only constant here—my sole comfort.”

“Oh? Is my blushing bride ready to consummate our unholy union?” A rumbling voice cracks the tense air open like a bone, marrow seeping out, juices staining the tender earth. 

Your neck snaps to the doorway. Your monster of a husband nearly blots out the frame with his inhuman physique, clothed in nothing but a simple pair of black trousers, both sets of arms crossed. Disgust pinches your brow and purses your lips; you sneer. 

“With you? Never.”

Amused by your vehemence, the King of Curses approaches you, both mouths curled into wolfish grins. Uraume bows as Sukuna invades your space, two clawed hands wrapping around your waist, the other two cradling your skull. He demands your attention, irises a wine-dark sea of skeletons and ichor. A cursed siren urges you to plunge into its depths. End your suffering.

“Uraume—has my wife been inappropriate with you in my absence?” 

Without hesitation, they answer: “Yes, my lord.” 

Several sets of eyes—one belonging to Uraume, the others to Sukuna—gorge on your discomfort. You bristle under their scrutiny, and fruitlessly attempt to rip yourself from your husband’s grasp, nails scratching angry lines across his tattooed forearms. 

He clicks his tongue. “My naughty little bride.”  

Bile burns your throat at the mock-endearment, bitterness coating your tongue. For as resolved as you’ve been, you shake with rage, the hulking beast before you stoking the embers of your wrath. He smiles something sharp and wicked before releasing you. You stumble backwards, limp as a ragdoll. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna commands. 

There’s an unspoken agreement between master and servant. When Uraume steps forward and swiftly unties your robes, you shriek, the fabric slipping open to expose your nude form. They proceed to rip the garment from your body; it falls to the floor in wispy shreds. 

Attempting to preserve your dignity, you scramble to wrap an arm around your chest and press a palm between your legs. “This hardly seems proper,” you pant. 

Sukuna snickers as he sits at the foot of your bed, spreading his legs. “How else is a ‘vile brute’ supposed to learn the intricacies of his little wife’s body if not through careful examination?” 

As much as you want to spew poison at him, you gasp when Uraume’s chilly lips graze the arch of your neck, their delicate hands slipping up to caress the swell of your breasts. Unable to stifle the moan that warbles past your lips, you make the sinister decision to revel in this pleasure—no matter how short-lived, underhanded, or wrong it may be.

[theredviper]

SYLUS "THE RELENTLESS CONQUEROR"

— Love & Deepspace (2023), dev. InFold [x]

[bassboosted-moon-chao]

"Professor, look out!"

At that moment, the knight's sword plunged into the Professor's left arm.

Textless version, paragraph and ramble underneath!

So! Wandering Castle, what a fucking novel. I first read a relatively okay (somewhat rough) fan translation of it a year ago, and it had me FLOORED. Layton gets stabbed a few times in this one, there's fights over uranium and Scottish(?) (Northland-ish) folklore, and many, many shitty people I think Tumblr would love.

The scene of the silver knight impaling Layton in the arm, only for him to get back on his feet and keep fighting despite, is one that gripped me by the throat. He also... spends the rest of the novel with a gaping bloody sword wound in his arm just. casually. because why even bother when you're too busy dealing with some sick little bastard putting you through these shitty trials. Luke threatens to kill everyone via. murder-suicide electrocution in one beat and I was absolutely stunned. Wild fucking novel. It goes from 1 to 100 very very quickly. It's like if you took the batshittery of the original trilogy, and amped it up in intensity because now they're allowed blood, serious injury and mild bad language. Seriously recommend finding translations if you can.

[starkidmunson]

glitter & crimson

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Time passes in ways Eddie doesn’t fully understand, in the aftermath of Steve’s injury.

A few days are spent lounging around the hotel room with Steve drifting in and out of sleep, for the most part. Then they graduate to small day trips. Squeeze in some touristy shit; museums and landmarks not too far from the hotel, in case Steve gets a migraine or starts feeling nauseous. 

Day 6 features a follow-up at the hospital, where Steve is told the bandage is no longer necessary to cover the worst of the injury, surgery won’t be necessary, and he’s clear to fly home or wherever else he wants to go. Which means Eddie is also free to leave LA, but he’s already stuck it out this long, so he decides to continue to follow Steve’s lead and spend another day.

He gets a call from Steve before he leaves his hotel room on Day 7, informing him that Max is leading a trip to the beach before they leave California again. Steve insists it’s the least he can do since Lucas flew out to spend the last few days with her, so she could stick around until Steve was clear to travel again.

And that’s how Eddie finds himself wearing lavender board shorts from the surf shop that looked the least like a tourist trap, dousing himself with an entire bottle of the highest SPF he can find before stepping out of the store. His black ripped jeans and the Judas Priest shirt he’d worn, not anticipating a trip to the beach, are folded into the bottom of a large tote Robin is carrying with ease, as she picks out towels for everyone to lounge on. She catches sight of him and raises an eyebrow, but he holds his hand up to stop any commentary.

“Black is just going to make me burn even more than I’m already going to burn, and the blue pair I liked were the wrong size, so lavender it is.” He defends, but she just shrugs at him, keeps smiling and walks over to pay for the towels and her bathing suit.

Behind Eddie, Lucas clears his throat. He spins to find Steve, blushing and glaring at Lucas, who’s grinning. 

“What? Don’t tell me I need to defend the trunks to you guys, too. I thought you’d be on my side.” He whines.

“Oh, I don’t think Steve has any issue with your shorts. Or lack of a top.” Lucas teases, then laughs as Steve swings a soft punch into his shoulder.

“I just…” Steve trails off, turning his attention back to Eddie and Eddie can see the heat rise from Steve’s cheeks up to the tips of his ears, coloring him a soft shade of pink. “I didn’t realize how many tattoos you actually have, I guess.” He eventually settles on, before immediately occupying himself with finding sunscreen.

Eddie lets it slide, and they all pay for what they need, before crossing the street and trekking toward the water. Max is the first to toss her shorts and sandals into a pile, running toward the ocean and diving into the first wave she encounters. Lucas is just a step behind her, and he’s quick to catch her waist and throw the two of them back into the water just as she’s resurfacing.

Robin shoves a rented umbrella into the sand and Eddie helps expand it, as Steve lays out his towel so his face is covered by the umbrella’s shade, but his torso down is exposed to the sun. Eddie, on the other hand, huddles up so most of his body is concealed by the umbrella.

“Oh shit, dude, I didn’t even think to ask. Are you worried about getting seen out here or something?” Steve asks, and Eddie frowns. It takes a moment before he realizes it probably seems like he’s hiding from any potential paparazzi.

“I get bothered so little by media that I hadn’t even thought about that if I’m being honest.” Eddie shakes his head but smiles at how thoughtful Steve is. “I’m just a little too pasty to trust the sun on a cloudy day, so direct exposure like this always makes me nervous. But I like laying in the sand and I’m happy you wanted me to tag along. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he assures Steve, who smiles at him until Robin mocks a gagging noise and makes them both blush and look away from one another.

The salt air and crescendo of waves and bellowing laughter kick up a surprising amount of inspiration for Eddie, and he fishes his phone out of Robin’s bag, typing away while she and Steve sunbathe. 

He’s so caught up in the piece he’s working out that he doesn’t realize anyone has spoken to him until Steve’s pressing a hand to his knee, looking a little concerned. 

“What? Sorry, I got an idea and I had to get it out before I forgot about it.” He mumbles, typing out his final thoughts before giving Steve his full attention.

“We’re going to return the umbrella and grab food before heading back to the hotel to pack up, if you’re hungry?” Steve asks, smiling at Eddie. He looks back at his phone to realize their hour with the rented umbrella is nearly up, so he nods and helps clean up the space they’d taken over, before they find a beachfront restaurant that doesn’t mind that none of the guys are wearing shirts, or that Max’s hair is still dripping wet, leaving a trail behind her as they move to their seats.

Once they’ve eaten, they go back to the hotel. Eddie asks if he can shower to get the sand out of his hair before he changes back into the clothes he’d had on pre-trip to the beach. When he re-enters the room, almost everything is packed up and Robin is on the balcony, talking on the phone.

“Nancy called,” Steve explains from the sofa, as Eddie flops beside him, towel-drying his hair gently. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt on yet, not wanting his hair to make it all wet while it air dries. “Did they hurt?”

“Hm?” Eddie’s confused instantly, looking at Steve before realizing he’s eyeing the tattoos across his chest. “Some of ‘em more than others, yeah. But it’s a good kind of hurt.”  Eddie explains, and Steve frowns, but that’s okay because Eddie knows not everyone gets what he means whenever he explains the tattooing experience like that. “It’s… kinda like if you have itchy sunburn and you accidentally scratch it? It feels good to have scratched it, but it also hurts.” When Steve still looks confused, it’s Eddie’s turn to frown. He looks over Steve’s exposed arms and takes in the soft golden color they’ve turned and his eyes narrow. “Do not tell me you’re one of those genetic anomalies that doesn’t sunburn and always has a perfect tan, Stevie.”

Now Steve is grinning, throwing a shrug in Eddie’s direction. “Blame it on the 8 years of swim club during the summer off-season.” Steve laughs as an explanation, and Eddie instantly wants to know more about everything Steve has ever done in his life, but doesn’t know where to draw the line at how much is too much to ask to know, so he ultimately doesn’t ask for any further information. Which is fine, because Steve is leaning closer and taking hold of his left forearm, twisting it and tracing a finger along a snake that wraps around his skin. “Do they have meanings?”

“Some of them, yeah. Some of them I just got because I liked how they look.” Eddie admits, watching Steve’s fingers trace along the delicate lines of the snake. “That one’s got its mouth open like it’s hissing and about to bite.” Eddie considers what comes next, and decides to just lay it all out on the table. Steve had been open and honest with him, Eddie could return the favor. “Snakes are supposed to be a symbol of inner strength and perseverance, and they look sick. I got it after my first stint in rehab.”

Steve doesn’t falter, doesn’t even blink, and if Eddie didn’t know better, he would think Steve had already known about his trips to rehab before he’d said anything. Instead, he moves on to trace a blackout band around Eddie’s bicep. “Do any of them have stories you want to share? You don’t have to if it’s too personal.”

He’s stunned to silence for a moment, something that doesn’t often happen to Eddie. But he’s so used to everyone pressing to hear more about rehab and addiction and recovery that his brain physically needs a moment to catch up to Steve. “Oh. Uh. I mean, the one you’re touching doesn’t have a meaning or story, I just liked how it looks.” Eddie thinks for a moment, then, before he holds out the inside of his right forearm. “This one is a puppet master. Master of Puppets is my favorite Metallica song, and when I learned to play it is when I realized that music could actually be a career path for me.” They run through a few other tattoos; the Wyvern, the spider, the “you bow to no one” in elvish down his spine. While still working up the courage to tell Steve more, he switches his approach. “Do you have any tattoos? Or have you ever wanted any?”

“I’ve never thought about it in a serious way, because I’m not sure I’d like having something on me permanently like that.” Steve shrugs, flipping his arm over to point at his right wrist. “The few times I’ve thought about it, it’s been like. A robin, here. The Roman numerals for 94 somewhere. That kind of stuff.”

Eddie smiles softly, nods. “It’s adorable that you’d want one for Robin.” He teases and lets the moment breathe for a moment before he circles back to the tattoo of the snake. “I’m not ashamed of my story, or my history, but we hadn’t really talked about, you know. That aspect of things, yet. But, I mean. I made terrible choices when I was younger, and I got in over my head with drugs harder than I realized. And it’s happened more than once. And I’m not naive enough to think I’m magically cured because drugs haven’t raised an issue for me over the last few years. But I’ve been mostly sober for almost 4 years.”

“Mostly?” Steve asks, concern clear in how softly he speaks, and Eddie can’t help but grin and shrug a little.

“Still some weed sometimes. Still drink beer sometimes. Both in moderation, not anything out of control. It, uh, probably sounds weird but those weren’t substances I had issues with, so I don’t… I don’t really think about drinking or smoking as cheating, but I know some programs would call it that way.” He shrugs, and Steve nods, processing the information.

“Well, thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s probably not easy to talk about, but. I learned a few new things about you today.” He offers with a little smile, and Eddie nods back. They slip back into silence, until Robin slips back into the room, looking between the two of them expectantly.

“Did you ask him?” She asks, and when Eddie turns his attention to Steve, he flushes.

“No, I uh…” He trails off, picking at a fingernail before looking up at Eddie, then back down at his hands. “We’re flying back to Chicago tomorrow, and we were wondering if you had your plans set for heading back to Nashville?”

“Oh, yeah. When you guys initially said you’d be leaving tomorrow, I booked a flight home for tomorrow afternoon.” He says and watches Steve’s lack of reaction. Wonders if he should have asked about joining them in Chicago until Steve gives an awkward smile. 

“Right, that makes sense.” He nods. “Well, we can all head to the airport together, at least?”

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie agrees, turning to look at Robin in the hopes of finding an explanation, but she turns away to take her turn in the shower, leaving Steve and Eddie together on the sofa.

~~~

Gareth picks Eddie up from the airport once he’s touched down in Nashville, and they head back to his house. Eddie throws himself into the comfort of his sofa, huddling up to a pillow with the intention of taking a nap, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. When he fishes it out, he smiles.

Stevie: Dustin has taken over the apartment, but we’re home. Hope you got home safe, too.

“Why are you smiling?” Gareth asks as Eddie is typing out his response.

“I’m not smiling,” Eddie responds instantly, schooling his expression and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Oh, so Steve texted you,” Gareth says, matter-of-factly, before scrolling on his own phone. “Want to order food? I’m hungry and you don’t have anything edible.”

“Why do you assume Steve texted me?” Eddie asks, frowning and sitting up straighter.

Gareth raises his eyebrow and glances over his phone at Eddie before he sighs. “Because you were making that face you’ve been making for the last month every time you text him, and you just got home from a week with him, so obviously he’s texting you again. Your turn to answer; food?”

Eddie stares at Gareth for a moment, watches as he turns his phone around to face Eddie, showing off the Uber Eats screen, before he scoffs and takes the phone to place his order. Before he hands it back to Gareth, though, he holds it just out of his reach. “What face am I making?”

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t play dumb.” Gareth laughs, but Eddie frowns deeper. Gareth frowns back, then. “You really haven’t put it together?”

“Put what together?” Eddie asks, finally handing Gareth his phone back. Gareth takes it, but doesn’t look away from Eddie until he answers.

“Dude, you’re in love with him.” He says, like it’s obvious, before going about placing his own order.

Eddie thinks for a moment. He knows he has feelings for Steve; finds him attractive and interesting and definitely wants to see if something is there. But to know that his friends can see through him puts him on edge, makes him defensive. “I’m not in love with him, we’re just friends.”

“Eddie,” Gareth laughs before he sees the serious look on Eddie’s face and he sighs. “Look, man. I’m not trying to start a fight or make you spiral or anything. I’m just saying. You leaned into a TikTok trend for him, voluntarily learned about the sport he plays, helped nurse him back to health after he got hurt and spent an extra week in LA to be with him longer. And now you’re texting him, again, like you did after we left Chicago. There’s something there, whether you want to admit it or not. Maybe it’s not love yet, but that’s where it’s heading.”

Silence settles over them, just the sound of Gareth’s short nails tapping against the screen of his phone, for a long moment. Eddie processes what he’s said, thinks it over, before flipping back to the text messages from Steve. He reads the words over and over before he decides on an answer.

Eddie: Glad you’re home safe. Miss you already.

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response, as Steve answers no more than two minutes later.

Steve: I miss you already, too, Eds.

Eddie considers responding but decides to tuck the phone back into his pocket instead. He drums his fingers against his knee, settling into a melody before he nudges Gareth’s leg with his foot. 

“Wanna help me set up the studio downstairs while we wait for the food?”

Gareth meets his look, raising an eyebrow. “Inspiration strikes over Steve Harrington?”

“I’ve got, like, four different ideas I started fleshing out in LA without instruments,” Eddie answers instead and ignores the smug look on Gareth’s face as they stand and make their way to the basement Eddie converted into a recording studio to get it ready while their food is delivered.

[sirmanmister]

💥💥💥 BOOM POW GET KILLED GET KILLED GET KILLED!!!!!

This is a redraw from January 6 2023, in honour of it being 1 YEAR since I posted the last chapter of The Father(s) and Son(s)!!!!! A little bit over a year actually because it was April 10th and it took me a little while to draw this lol

So much has changed in the span of a year omg. And for THE BETTER?? Like I’m going to school, I made and lost friends, I’m slowly but surely getting over some social anxiety (still a wip tho!!! 😭😭) and I’ve found so many cool mutuals and artists and just!!!! AAA!! Not to mention my art skills have improved a whole HELL of a lot!! LMAO

I don’t write as much as I did when I wrote my fic initially, and I feel bad for that sometimes, but it’s just a testament to how things have gotten a lot better for me and it’s not bad that I’m busy. I’m still trying to cobble together some more writing to eventually get another fic out, cuz I do genuinely miss it, but we’ll get there when we get there!

Anyway. TYSM TO EVERYBODY THATS STUCK AROUND FOR SO LONG/CAME HERE FROM MY FIC IN THE FIRST PLACE I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOU MADE MY LIFE BETTER!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

Pspsps closeups/old pic under the cut!!

[crybaby-bkg]

I know I've talked about bull and bear hybrid Bakugou, but has anyone ever talked about lion hybrid Bakugou???? I thought about this concept when I was still half asleep this morning but like,,,,

lion hybrid bakugou with his big ole head and even bigger mane of hair, all soft, colored like the sand you'd dig your toes into at the beach. he has a little scruff on his chin, but he never grows it out because he hates the upkeep of it.

he's always loud, growly yawns whenever you see him, his canines sharp and pointy when he opens his maw wide enough for you to peek in. he's so big and soft where it matters, lazes around all day everyday, and gets these big bursts of energy at the most random of moments. he's basically an overgrown cat basically

omg and he has this complex where he's just sooo high and mighty, like he's some king meant to be worshipped. but all you have to do is kiss his cheeks and rub a hand through his hair when he lays his big dumb head in your lap, and he's purring up a storm.

and and and lion hybrid bakugou whose tongue can feel so rough when he's feeling lazy about it, but somehow knows how to work it just right whenever he wants to lounge between your legs. gets so huffy and growly when you mumble that you can't cum anymore, just nudges your thighs a little wider with his shoulder as he nuzzles his nose against your mound. doesn't care to hear any of your complaining, because he's still eating and doesn't intend on finishing until he's ready.

omg and and lion hybrid bakugou whose favorite position is, of course, doggy style. but only because he gets to wrap your little dainty neck up in his powerful jaws and pin you there, likes how you whimper and shiver but go limp either way because you trust him with your life. he pins your arms beside your head and grunts so loud into your nape when he finally sinks his cock inside of you. he practically lays flat on top of you, just rutting his hips against your ass over and over until he knots you.

which is his favorite part because you two get to just lay there for what feel like hours, and you keep coming intermitally because he can't help but rut his hips a few more times, and hiss at the way his knot tugs at your clenching lips. sigh just lion hybrid bakugou who looks so mean and intimidating but he just loves you so much and can't get enough of you

[bxeckersz]

Bloody Nose | PB x female reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, language

Summary: Paige and her secret girlfriend Victoria accidentally go public at a game after an incident on the court 🤭.

Me and Paige had been secretly dating for 6 months. The only people who knew were her team, my siblings and parents, her siblings and parents, and my best friend. Me and Paige were planning to keep it private until our 1 year anniversary.

Paige had a very tough game right now with a good college. Paige is the number 1 scorer of the night. Every point the other team makes, she goes right back and makes a point, tying the game. The game was tied right now, 39 to 39.

The game had started to get really heated. Like really heated. Smart remarks were made from girls on the other team and paige just brushed them off because she didn’t want to get into trouble, but i knew she was cursing them out in her head.

One of the girls from the other team had the ball and was going to the basket. Paige went to steal the ball and the girl elbowed her in the nose and made a three pointer. Paige’s nose had started to bleed really bad which caused me to stand up, looking at her in worry.

And when i mean really bad, I mean really bad. The team and medics ran over to her to check on her but she pushed them out the way walking off, cursing. She wouldn’t listen to anyone. She was so mad.

“Tori! come down here please!” Azzi yelled at me. It was no secret to everyone that i was a friend of the teams, but it sure was a secret of who i was dating. I immediately ran down the bleachers, excusing myself.

I walked down to see Paige yelling and pushing the medic away. “Thats bullshit!” I heard her yell before she walked off. “Paige!” I called out, following behind her. I called the medic over and asked for the tissue. “Let me do it” I told the medic, grabbing the tissue. She nodded and stepped out of my way.

“Paige come here.” I said. She walked over to me, shaking her head. “Bro, you seen that shit, right? i mean that was obviously a foul! they had to pay those shitty ass refs off” She rambled. “I know, baby, I know.” I replied, holding the tissue up to her nose.

I knew my choice of words were risky as there were cameras everywhere - but i really didn’t give a fuck. She needed to calm her ass down before she got in trouble and sweet talking was the only way to get her calm.

She shook her head and put her hands on her hips as if wiped off the dripping blood. “Calm down, P” I said as held the tissue to her nose. It felt like everyone there had their eyes on us, watching intently as she didn’t listen to anyone else but me.

“Bro those refs are paid off. I mean, that was clearly a fucking foul.” She stated. “I know. Just leave it, okay? you’ll get in trouble, paige. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” I said, removing the bloody tissue to her nose to replace it with a clean one. I watched her closely as she licked her lips, still shaking her head slightly.

I removed the tissue from her nose when it finally stopped bleeding. Her ass was still rambling on about the refs not calling that a foul. At this point the game had went on and Uconn was currently winning by 5.

“Go let the medics check your nose and make sure it’s not broken, ma.” I said. I knew she liked it when i called her ma and she needed to calm down. She smirked at me and nodded before she started walking off. “Wait, P” I called her back. “Huh?” she replied, turning around to make eye con with me.

“C’mere” I said as i motioned her over to me. She walked over to me, confused, and looked at me. I pulled her into a soft, short kiss and a tight hug, not noticing that the camera was pointing at us.

“I love you.” I said, pulling away. “Love you too, baby.” She replied. I gave her a quick smack on the ass before she walked off and i went to go sit back down.

The clip of me and paige was released and needless to say, the editors had a field day with that one 30 second clip.

•

Tysm for reading!

[teddybeartoji]

depression + s/h + a very questionable suguru

suguru wears long sleeves whenever he goes out in public for a reason. he's not ashamed of the scars nor is he embarrassed of them – he just thinks the looks he gets are annoying and ridiculous. he's fucking sick of them.

every time he catches anybody staring at his arms whenever he does happen to be wearing a t-shirt or he’s just got his sleeves rolled up, he simply stares at the person with a straight face until their eyes meet, and then gives them a little smile; his eyes turn into crescent moons and his head tilts to the side – there’s something so dismissive about the expression that the person has no other option than to just… avert their gaze awkwardly. suguru gets a sick kind of pleasure from doing this, he thinks their discomfort is deserved.

because there’s nothing to look at. 

at home, he wears whatever he wants – he doesn’t try to hide them, he doesn’t think about them. the scars are a part of him; the melancholy is woven into him with great intricacy, with a steady hand and steel blade. and he doesn’t feel the need to shy away from any of that. 

and if you happen to be just like him, burdened and rotting from the inside out… he’ll water and feed you as if you’re a wounded animal in desperate need of care. but he won’t make you better and he won’t make you worse – he’ll do just enough to keep you clinging to him. after all, he thinks you’re perfect like this.

he’ll love you. 

he’ll kiss you and your scars with the purest form of affection sprouting from his lips, his eyes warm and sweet as ever as he cradles you in his arms. he’ll draw you a bath and he’ll sit with you there, he’ll let you wash his hair and he’ll tell you how proud of you he is. 

bonded together forever by a twisted red string of fate, he knows you’re meant to be.

[bothoutsiders]

pls i recommend listening to this song on repeat while reading. ( this is part two from a previous ficlet. )

--

The cold, wet concrete beneath him felt oddly comforting, even as his chest tightened with every shallow gasp. It was difficult to pull air into his lungs, and whenever he managed to do it, it burned with each breath. The metallic, sharp scent of his own blood lingered in the air. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not now.

He had been alone for too long, and when things changed, when he became the monster he was now– he found someone who accepted him. Tim. Jason’s mind brought back memories of him. His warm, small hand petting his fur. His forehead pressing against Jason’s, as he whispered encouraging, kind words. Things were going to be alright, he only needed to focus on his voice.

The thought of opening his eyes never crossed his mind. Let alone the thought of even getting on his feet to look for shelter and heal his wounds. Even with the struggle of breathing, he was feeling strangely comfortable. Enough to want to take a well deserved nap.

“Jason!”

His ears twitched, tuning to the new sound, ignoring the one of his lungs slowly collapsing. The voice sounded real, but it could’ve been one of his many hallucinations. It happened occasionally, after all, his mind had been broken a few times. By now, he was barely aware of the state of his own body, not even noticing he had been lying on a puddle of blood for a while now.

“Jason! Jay!”

The voice was so familiar. He almost could tell who it was… But he couldn’t put a name to them. He could only see the image in his head of a pretty young man smiling up at him. It was a sweet, nice smile. 

Tim. Timothy was his name.

A low growl rumbled deep in his throat, his body fighting, refusing to surrender, because that was what he did best. To resist. To come back from death… But it felt so cold now.

With great effort, Jason opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred. The voice calling his name, and the sound of feet running on puddles of rain in the distance, grew muffled. His pulse thundered in his ears, louder than his breaths.

“Stay with me, Jason. You’ll be alright!”

With some difficulty, his exhausted eyes tried to focus on the thin figure kneeling in front of him. He felt small hands inspecting his body with practiced ease, and somehow, he felt safe. He felt he was back home.

When he looked up at Tim’s face, he saw his disbelief, the desperation as tears rolled down his pretty face. He could smell Tim’s fear in the night breeze. Jason didn’t need to see to know this was the end.

“Jason, look at me,” it took some effort to pull away his gaze from Tim’s hands. They were covered with blood. “You need to help me, I need you to stand up– we will take out the bullets, then you’ll be able to heal– Jason, listen to my voice!” 

He could hear Tim’s voice breaking as he closed his eyes again. He knew he couldn’t fight this now. 

Tim's trembling hands reached out, brushing against the black fur of his head. Some parts of his body were already matted with dried blood, making it impossible for Tim’s thin fingers to brush him as he used to. He tried to cup his face and lean against him as his boyfriend’s head rested on his lap, and his blood stained his legs completely.

“Stay with me, Jason. Stay with me, stay with me, stay with– Jason, please.” A broken sob. 

Jason nuzzled against him, seeking comfort in the only person who had accepted him, who had offered affection. The motion was slow, tender, despite the growing weight of death pulling him down. He was trying to imprint Tim’s scent in his fading senses.

Maybe it should’ve been better if Tim hadn’t seen him in this state.

His head dipped against Tim, whose sobbing filled the silence. He mustered up energy to look at him one last time. Jason’s eyes, now dull and fading, locked onto his as he tried to memorize every detail of his face, before darkness slowly swallowed his world, stealing the last bit of light.

He could rest now.