#this is not one on one how things are in the show

[sleepiestoken]

i've just pulled out some interesting quotes from the metal hammer article for myself and anyone else interested. anything bolded for emphasis by me.

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George Lever [Sleep Token producer 2016-2021]: The starting point was removing this idea of the music you listen to being related to the person making it. By being anonymous, the listener is forced to relate to what they're actually hearing.

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James Monteith [Tesseract guitarist/publicist at Hold Tight PR]: I was approached by Tom Quigley, who was a scene regular and ran a few blogs at the time. He said he was working with this new band, would we maybe be interested in doing their press? We ended up talking for an hour, and he rolled out the whole concept, the imagery and everything about it... other than the music.

George: The lore/narrative was pretty loose still, but it definitely existed.

James: There was nothing specific as such, more this idea of creating an occult vibe and feeling, led by this prophet-like character who leads a religion.

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George: A lot of the first EP was actually us trying stuff out. We recorded the drums on a whim at Monnow Valley Studio in Wales. I introduced him to one of my friends, who actually still drums in them now.

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James: We always got requests [for interviews], but the band said from the start they were anonymous and wouldn't do them. It helped create more curiosity because nobody could get access to them.

Matt Benton [Metal Hammer writer]: You can't do an introductory piece without an interview. We managed to get an agreement for an email interview with Metal Hammer. Even then, the band knew they didn't want a voice.

Matt: It's one of only a few interviews they've ever done. It's something I'm glad exists, because it's like getting the Word Of God.

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George: I had freedom to offer interpretations of what I was hearing. It was a very fortunate combination of personalities and ideals. There was never any, 'We're going to take over the world' -type chat. It was more, 'Do we like this? Let's do more of that.'

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Nathan Barley Phillips [co-founder of Basick Records]: Trying to keep some sense of anonymity was a real mission. Particularly getting them to and from the stage [at Great Escape festival 2018] without anyone seeing who they were.

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George: We did Sundowning in three months - we went from demo to final master being released in just 12 weeks. We didn't have days off; we'd do seven in the morning until seven, eight or even nine at night every day for three months. We were in each other's pockets; we'd go to the gym together, swim, do the sauna... All this stuff to recover from being sat down all the time. There was a lot of time to spend holistically being friends making this record. We didn't know how to make this thing, but we had a confidence that we'd get there in the end. That's my favourite three-month period of my life.

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George: We started making [TPWBYT] and the first day was when lockdowns began. Tomb... was tough for all of us emotionally. There were lifestyle pressures as a result of the lockdown that made it not very conducive to making art that is supposed to be welcoming. A lot of those songs are, in one way or another, about love, love being lost or remorse, they are compassionate tales that are designed to bring the listener towards the artist. It's hard to do that when it feels like the world is going to end.

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Matt: I've got friends in merchandising and they say Sleep Token shift more merch than any other UK heavy band - more than even Iron Maiden.

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Nathan: Bands like Ghost and Sleep Token aren't successful because they wear masks. They're successful because they write great music. Masks don't mean anything if the music isn't any good.

Matt: I'll be interested to see, when the first official TV movie of the band gets made, the difference between the reality of what happened and the story that gets told. In a way, the myth becomes reality.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

ໃ𑄺. GOOEY C☆CK 𝒻𝓉．𝓋ℯ𝓃ℴ𝓂 𝒸𝒶𝓁ℯ𝒷.

✧ tws : nsfw/smut, fem!reader, multiple of rounds, tentacles, implied dubcon, creampie, spanking, nipple play, monster fūcking, petnames (pipsqueak, baby, etc.), caleb calls himself gege once, spanking, cōckwarming, doggy style and body worship.

✧ synopsis : You always knew something was off about Caleb his eyes bright in the dark, his touch too hot to be normal. After a mission goes wrong and you’re stuck alone with him, the truth comes out. He’s not just Caleb.Something inside him is possessive and starving. You try to escape, but his tentacles wrap around your waist, holding you tight as he finally shows you what he really is. “Don’t be scared,” he says. “He just wants what I want…”

The air inside the ruin was too still. Too quiet. You should’ve known something was wrong the second the scanner shorted out, static hissing into your earpiece before dying completely. You and Caleb were separated from the others, but he didn’t seem worried—just stared ahead, purple eyes glinting in the dark, too calm for comfort.

“Caleb…?” you whispered, clutching your comm. “This place gives me the creeps…”

He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head, lips twitching in a way that wasn’t entirely his.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared,” he murmured, voice lower, deeper than usual. Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing, and for a split second, something moved under his skin. Black tendrils rippled up his neck before disappearing.

Your heart jumped. “C-Caleb—what the hell was that?!”

“...Told you not to follow me this deep,” he muttered. “Should’ve known you’d stick to me like a needy little pipsqueak.”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re hiding something. I’m not stupid.”

“No,” he chuckled darkly, stepping toward you. “But you are reckless.” Another step. “And now that you’re here, well…” His voice dropped an octave. “We don’t see a reason to let you go.”

Something lashed out—fast. Slick, inky black. A tentacle coiled around your wrist before you could scream.

“Caleb!” you gasped, stumbling back. “Let me go—what the fuck is that?!”

But Caleb was changing. His pupils stretched into slits, claws forming where fingers had been. More tentacles slid free from his back, writhing like they had a mind of their own. And still—still—he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe.

“Shh,” he said softly, reaching out. His clawed fingers tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’s still me, pipsqueak. Still your gege. But… I’m not alone anymore. And he’s just as obsessed with you as I am.”

A low, alien growl rippled from his chest—and then the other voice came.

“So soft… so tiny… we could break you…”

Your legs buckled.

Caleb caught you effortlessly. Smiling. Gentle. Possessive.

“Don’t worry,” he purred. “We won’t hurt you, baby. Not unless you beg us to.”

The tentacles didn’t pull hard. Just enough to guide you. To show you he could. Caleb’s breath warmed your ear as one slick appendage coiled around your waist, sliding beneath your jacket, tracing your bare skin with a teasing, wet touch.

“Such a pretty little pipsqueak,” he whispered, voice trembling between his own and the growl of something deeper—darker. “You don’t even know what you do to me…”

His clawed hands cupped your face gently. Reverently. The monster inside might’ve had a mouth, but Caleb had a heart, and both were laser-focused on you.

You should’ve been afraid.

Instead… you throbbed.

“C-Caleb,” you breathed, thighs clenching. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Didn’t want to scare you,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Didn’t think you could handle how badly I wanted to breed you.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. You whimpered, body trembling as another tentacle slid between your legs—pressing against your clothed heat, circling it slowly.

“So warm…” the parasite hissed. “Let us in.”

You didn’t even fight it.

Your clothes were shredded by claws and tendrils in seconds, left in tatters on the cold stone floor as Caleb laid you down gently, hungrily, like you were a gift he’d been starving for.

His mouth found your breasts first—hot and eager, tongue flicking across your nipples as his hand spanked your ass, hard enough to make you moan.

“Caleb!” you gasped, back arching. “F-fuck—!”

“That’s it,” he growled, licking a swollen bud before sucking it between his lips. “Say it again. Let me hear how needy my little pipsqueak is.”

“Caleb, please,” you whimpered. “Need you inside—need it so bad—”

You didn’t have to beg long. One thick tentacle curled around your ankle, spreading your legs wide as Caleb knelt between them. His cock—larger now, veined and flushed—throbbed, slick with dark fluid and twitching at the sight of your soaked cunt.

“You’re already dripping,” he rasped. “You want it raw, baby? Want me to stuff you full until it leaks out?”

“Y-Yes—yes, please—”

He didn’t just slide in—he invaded you. One long, slow thrust that left you breathless, stretched, filled to the brim as your eyes rolled back and your hips lifted to meet him.

“Fucking tight,” Caleb hissed, gripping your waist as his hips slammed into you, again and again. “This pussy was made for me.”

“Us,” the parasite snarled. “Breed her. Fill her. Use her.”

His thrusts grew savage—deep, precise, obsessed. Your slick echoed off the ruin’s walls, your cries sharp and sweet as your gege took you like an animal.

Spanking your ass with each slap of his hips.

Mouth on your nipples.

Tentacles everywhere—teasing, wrapping, stroking.

You came fast—shaking, screaming, clenching around his cock as he growled in your ear, praising you through clenched teeth.

“Good girl… fuck… such a perfect little pipsqueak. Let it milk me, baby, that’s it—”

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t even try.

Caleb came with a low roar, cock buried deep, thick cum flooding your womb as your legs trembled. One tentacle held you open, letting it drip out slowly, making you squirm as he leaned down to lick your lips.

“I’m not done,” he growled, eyes glowing. “I told you. We want more.”

Round two came before you could speak—Caleb flipping you onto your hands and knees, spanking you again, harder this time.

“You love doggy, don’t you?” he growled. “Letting gege fuck you like the little slut you are…”

You screamed when he pushed back in—so much deeper this way, stretching you wider, one hand fisted in your hair while the other worshipped your body, tracing your curves, massaging your sore, red ass.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “Used. Open. Mine.”

“All ours.”

Tentacles wrapped around your tits, squeezing, twisting your nipples while Caleb pounded into you from behind—slamming his hips against your ass until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but cum again.

He didn’t stop.

Three times. Four. He kept going until your pussy was sloppy, filled with so much cum you could feel it dripping down your thighs. Until your legs gave out and you collapsed, shaking, drooling, dumb from pleasure.

And even then… he stayed inside.

Wrapped around you. Holding you. Kissing your shoulders while his cock stayed hard, still twitching.

“You’re gonna cockwarm gege now, pipsqueak,” he whispered sweetly. “Let me feel how warm you are while I take care of you. You were so good…”

You nodded weakly, face buried in your arms, body broken but blissed out.

“Y-your turn next time…” you slurred.

He chuckled darkly, hugging you tighter as another tentacle stroked your cheek lovingly.

“Oh, baby…”

“There is no next time. We’re just getting started.”

Your legs were shaking. Muscles limp. Your cunt still full and stuffed with your gege’s thick cock, twitching deep inside you like it had no intention of leaving.

But even as you whimpered, half-conscious from the last orgasm, Caleb’s hands never stopped moving.

They worshipped. Explored. One palm sliding down your belly, spreading the warmth of your overstretched womb, the other dragging along your thigh, where his cum had trickled down and painted your skin with messy, sticky lines.

“So full…” the parasite hissed approvingly. “Keep her like this. Breed her again. Let her feel us always.”

“Mm, you hear that, pipsqueak?” Caleb murmured, mouth brushing your ear as his hips rolled slowly. “You’re gonna be so stuffed you won’t know where I end and he begins.”

You whimpered, twitching as he slid out just an inch—then slammed back in.

“N-Ngh!—Caleb!”

“Oh, you’re still sensitive, huh?” he cooed mockingly, voice thick with hunger. “That’s too bad. I wanna see you cry this time.”

His hips started moving again—slow and deep, pressing right into the swollen spot that made your vision spark. Tentacles snaked around your thighs to spread you wider, one wrapping lazily around your throat, not choking—just reminding you who owned you now.

“You’re taking it so well,” he growled. “So dumb and full of cock. Just how I like you.”

Your mouth was hanging open, drool on your chin, breasts bouncing as his cock pounded into your soaked hole again—again—again—and his tentacles twisted your nipples, tugging, pulling, flicking them until you were crying from the stimulation.

“C-can’t—Caleb, I can’t—!”

“Yes you can,” he snarled. “You’re my good little cocksleeve, remember? You said so yourself.”

“She belongs to us now.”

“Breed her again. Break her. Mark her inside.”

He spanked you hard—twice—three times, watching your ass jiggle from the force before grabbing both cheeks and spreading them to watch his cock disappear inside you, glistening with your slick and cum.

You came again. Didn’t even realize you had until your body locked up and your vision went white, cunt spasming around him so tight he moaned through his teeth.

“F-fuck—fuck, baby, gonna cum again—”

He slammed in deep—one final thrust—and flooded you all over again. You felt it hot and thick, spurting into your womb as your whole body trembled, clenching down, milking every drop.

But he didn’t pull out.

Didn’t even slow down.

“Caleb—please—too much—” you sobbed, legs kicking weakly as he kept thrusting, slow and heavy.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your back. “You said you wanted it all, didn’t you?”

His tentacles wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into a new position—straddling his lap now, his cock still inside, his arms wrapped around you from behind while his mouth suckled on your bruised, sensitive nipples.

“Now you’re gonna ride me,” he growled. “Be a good girl. Bounce on gege’s cock like it’s the only thing keeping your brain from melting.”

Your body obeyed before your brain could even catch up—hips rolling, ass bouncing, cunt squelching with every desperate grind down onto him. You didn’t even care if it hurt anymore. You just needed to feel full.

Needed him.

Needed them.

“Good girl… just like that…”

“You were made for us.”

You were cumming again. Didn’t even say anything—just sobbed and clung to his arms, drool slipping down your chin as your pussy clamped down again.

And then he stopped moving.

Just held you there. Cockwarming you like a living plug, stroking your hair while your body twitched helplessly in his lap.

“You’re gonna fall asleep with my cock inside you tonight,” Caleb whispered against your neck. “And when you wake up…”

He bit down lightly on your skin—then licked the mark.

“…we’re gonna do it all over again.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[majestic-mycelium]

todd and the book of pure evil has a great instance of a person upgrading their aid over time to show this change. curtis is a kid (and one of the main charicters) with a claw grip plastic arm that is often shown to be limited and cumbersome in the beginning episodes. he will throw it as a weapon or have it be used as a focus that is not so casually forgotten. the later seasons have him upgrade to a supernatural mechanical arm like edward elric has and that gave me mixed feelings because for as messy the show was in handling topics it was surprising how detailed the inclusion of the plastic arm was. really felt like it came from an informed with how it was a real prosthetic option in real life.

Every time I read the “Toph is a bad example of a disabled character because of her bending.” I want to Physically leap over a table and then flip that table because NO!!!! You do not understand!!!

Toph’s bending is assistive technology!!! It’s a medical aid!!!!!

Toph’s bending allows her to full access her world the same way my mobility aids do, or my medication does. There are times when due to inaccessible surroundings that her aids are rendered harder or impossible to use. Not unlike my own greatest enemy, stairs. However, when she is fully accommodated she’s able to be just as successful and thrive just as much as an able-bodied person albeit differently. Which is the ultimate goal of assistive technology.

[elodieunderglass]

Horses are often referred to as prey animals, but what are their natural predators?

Any large grassland predator in the biome, including humans! This is an interesting question, though, because it takes in the axes of time and space. "Wild" horses, the ancestor of domestic horses, are currently extremely rare. The only existing ones in a wild state are Przewalski's horses, also called the Takhi or Mongolian Wild Horses, which live on the Mongolian steppe. Their "natural predators" in that environment would include wolves and snow leopards (which are themselves endangered). However, it isn't an entirely natural setup; they were reintroduced to their native habitat after becoming essentially extinct, through an incredibly complex and fascinating recovery project. In the spacetime pocket in which Earth has wild horses, that's the current state of play: wild horses live in Mongolia and are occasionally eaten by wolves, but are being preserved fiercely for the benefit of humanity.

Meanwhile, we do have things like Dartmoor ponies in England and mustangs in North America and Brumbies in Australia. Dartmoor ponies aren't eaten by anything and are considered feral in the sense that they're domestic animals that live wild, but more or less on purpose, with the moor being treated as a common for keeping ponies on, and the nominal owners can just grab one if they want one at any time. Mustangs are accidental colonists of the American West. They are preyed on by wolves, cougars, and other local large predators, but are not wild. they are feral because they're all descendants of European horses and honestly, if we aren't being sentimental about it, they're invasive.

North America has not had a native population of horses since humans arrived on the continent. The facts are often associated. It is commonly held that humans, upon arriving in America, ate the native horses all up. The typical line goes that "when the first humans populated North America, they were so greedy and invasive that they overhunted most of the local large mammals to extinction". but I personally - and in an unhinged I'm-allowed-to-randomly-hold-ONE-fringe-belief-that-I-Made-up-Myself way - don't like that narrative, and there might be evidence in oral myths indicating that First Nations people at least remembered contact with horses prior to European colonisation. At any rate, there aren't wild horses on that side of the planet any more. The mustang - the most classic "wild horse" in imagination - is not wild, but is currently preyed on by everything that WOULD have eaten the OG native horses of America, minus the large predators that have gone extinct since then (sabre-toothed tigers). Whether mustangs are a nice reintroduction that adds a missing element of Horf to the landscape, or agents of ecological devastation, is kind of up in the air. But they are regularly and routinely preyed upon by the same "natural predators" as the wild cousins would have been, albeit in lower numbers. Take-home message: to visualise how interactions of wild horses with predators and the environment would have looked, mustangs are a very good model.

Going back to the "time" element, human interaction has really decreased a lot of the "natural predators" of horses; they were once preyed on by a larger variety, diversity, and number of animals. In the pocket of spacetime when wild horses were common and had a large range, there also used to be a lot more things like hyenas in Europe and Asia. Here's a diagram showing the "prey animals" and "predators" of Pleistocene Europe. Horses are on the bottom shelf on the far right, at a lower opacity, to show they're "prey animals". You can see that there was a greater diversity of predator types, while today there are usually just Your Local Wolf and Your Local Big Cat.

But this diagram puts "people" as "prey animals" - and humans are traditionally The Natural Predators of horses. Looking at that diagram, you can see that the common, smallish-but-not-too-small herd animal, whose defenses are Having Friends and Being Fast, is a delicious-looking proposition. The spectacular depictions of cave horses in Lascaux are showing our kin, but they're also showing our food.

There is a very important Middle Pleistocene site at a lake in Germany called Schöningen 13II-4, with hominin remains dating back to 300,000 years ago (!!!!!) and it's called the Spear Horizon (for the incredibly well-preserved evidence of spears) but a common nickname is the Horse Butchery Site. One of the most ancient preservations of hominin behaviour, culture, skill, tool-making - their/our priorities, their/our methodology, their/our view of the world - is a narrative of eating horse meat. And the hominins at the Horse Butchery Site did it in a way that seems quite rapacious. Entire family groups of horses, coming to the lake to drink, would be butchered at once: Persistent predators: Zooarchaeological evidence for specialized horse hunting at Schöningen 13II-4 - ScienceDirect It seems like the hominins were killing a lot of horses and not using a lot of the meat, because they wanted fat, and horses don't have much of that.

At any rate, human-shaped people and horse-shaped horses have a very, VERY long history of us eating them. WE are their natural predators. And it makes sense. Humans and Equines are all social animals of relatively small sizes and have interacted with each other for an extremely long time. We have observed them, we know them, we grew up together. For quite a lot of that history, we had a simple relationship; we ate them. Now we much prefer to ride them.

Horses have not entirely forgotten this, but appear to have largely forgiven it.

[barefeet-only]

Danny and Damian are related, with a twist.

Danny is the son of Talia Al Ghul, however he is NOT the son of Bruce Wayne. Ra’s has had his eyes on various people across the world that have either impressed him or show a unique skill set that he’d like to have. One such person was under the both categories and he got Talia to collect a DNA sample and as a result Danny was born.

This was before Bruce’s time with the League by a few years, but very quickly Danny was not meeting expectations. And by the time Bruce did show up Ra’s had lost all interest in Danny, moving on to better things.

Talia always hated Danny because she was forced to have him with a man who she never liked in the first place. Furthermore, because his skillset was lacking she found that even more reason for her distain. In her eyes, he wasn’t worth even considering her blood.

Danny, knowing that he was doomed if he didn’t make an escape, left the league sometime around when Bruce was moving up the ranks and was making waves within the organization. Perfect timing honestly, any attention he might have had was quickly gone when this prodigy showed up.

Danny escaped the League and went into hiding quickly after, settling on a rural area of the United States after bouncing around countries for a few months. This was mainly because Jasmine Fenton saw a young boy pick pocketing strangers while her family was visiting Chicago and scolded him. Her mother and father saw the boy and also lectured him to which Danny responded it was his only option (he was trying to get this loud family off his back so he could sneak away). Eventually the Fentons decide that if he has nowhere to go he might as well go with us, and Danny decides blending in with a Nuclear Family is the best way to ensure that his peaceful life away from the League stays that way. Oh how little did he know.

Flash forward a few years, Talia, who was visiting Gotham to check on Damian, sees a glimpse of a boy (now man) she thought she had forgotten. Her blood runs cold, if this abomination is in Gotham then her son is likely in danger and she would never let anything happen to Damian.

[kedreeva]

Silly question but how would you rate different gamebird chicks on a scale of "no brain cells, head empty" to "wait! I think I just saw a thought happen?!"?

You've mentioned before that turkey poults have the survival instinct of a chicken nugget, and I've raised coturnix chicks before which are like...death seeking missiles. Are other gamebird chicks as dumb? Are any recognisably better suited to not immediately kamikaze-ing into the nearest water fountain/single square millimetre of loose tape/one cold spot they can find in the brooder?

Peafowl chicks rate the highest. I know I talk a lot of shit about them, but outside of not eating unless shown the food (which IS a valid survival behavior, for avoiding toxic things in their native environment), they're not prone to doing anything actively stupid. They have great eye sight, they tend to look before they leap (and can fly if they do get into trouble). They have a sense of time ("bedtime" is a concept they have! Every hand raised baby I've ever had has had a strict idea of when they think it's time to go to bed and will scream at me until I agree). They will return themselves to the heat when it's time, I've never had one fail to do this or start screaming because they're on the cold side of the brooder and don't know how to move 1 foot to the left to get warm. I've never had one drown in the water dish even though they get a bowl or are raised outside with a pond/big water bowl. They can coexist with just about any other bird, which is great because their only flaw is they need to be shown food for the first few weeks, and adding something like a chicken will cause the chicken to show them where to eat. And because peafowl are large, all the other babies will follow them around for everything else. For creatures who grew up in an environment where very little (predator wise) can kill them, they're surprisingly adapted to not dying in really stupid ways in captivity. They ARE fragile in other ways (pick up parasites easily), but that's not a matter of stupidity.

Coturnix are so far the worst, and I am including Turkeys in this metric. Turkeys are at least hardy in a brooder setup, even if they are very stupid outside with mom. Coturnix on the other hand have to have a tiny lip to their water dish so they don't get into it and drown or chill (and they still do their level best to get into it, even with the tiny lip where they can barely reach the water, I sometimes check on them and find one Mystery Sopping Wet.... how..... and why...... and also HOW). I have watched one grab a drink of water, throw its head back to swallow, choke, and die immediately. There is NOTHING you can do for them if they fail at drinking water, by the way. If you pick them up too soon after they drink, or any other time, there's a non-zero chance that they immediately panic-vomit any water in their system, choke on it, and suffocate/die instantly so you have to be careful about handling them while they're doing their very best to make that as difficult as possible (and this lovely trait persists into adulthood). They cannot have access to anything they can get caught in/under, I have to put barriers in their cage and not give them a cold spot in the brooder until they're a few days old because they will CHARGE to it and sit there until they die screaming about how cold they are while 1 foot away from the heat. They still throw themselves at this barrier because they can see through a 1mm gap to either side that cold death awaits them with open arms and they desire it so badly. It's why they always look like this:

If you have them standing on your hand they WILL just walk off - nay, run full tilt off - without regard for if there is anything below them to fall ONTO, and they are fully capable of beaning themselves so hard upon impact that they die. I had to find a stuffie that was very light and a stuffie that was very heavy, because a medium weight is just light enough for them to shove themselves into the shavings beneath it and suffocate because they can't get out again, and they will also actively seek to do this. They have to have a solid-sided brooder because if they can stick their head through a gap a) they can probably get out of it if it's just a little bigger than their head and b) they will get stuck in it and break their necks if it's just a little too small.

The vast majority, 99% of them, are extremely easy to raise, and doing a minimal amount of guardianship in their brooder will protect them from themselves, but they do have a deep and abiding desire to be dead, I think, and there will be some you cannot save from themselves. No other game birds/fowl I've raised are like this- not peafowl, not turkeys, not pheasants, not chickens, not bobwhite quail, not even guinea keets... the closest would be button quail and even they are not death-seeking missiles until they're a bit older.

[luna-azzurra]

Crafting Breakup Scenes That Actually Hurt

(because “we can still be friends” is a war crime)

Listen, if your characters are splitting up and the vibe is “mutual and mature” and “no tears at all”, congratulations, you’ve written a politely boring obituary for a relationship. Breakups are messy. Even the amicable ones. Especially the amicable ones. Because it's not just losing a person, it's losing the version of yourself that existed next to them.

❥ The “We’re Still Halfway in Love” Break Most people don't walk away clean. They still love each other a little. Or a lot. It's not a neat amputation—it’s tearing Velcro off skin. Show that ache. The lingering looks. The fingers almost reaching out and then clenching into fists instead. The “if one of us said ‘stay’ right now, this wouldn’t end” tension. Make your readers beg for one of them to crack and then don't let them.

One character leaves their favorite sweater behind. Not on purpose. Not exactly. They just... forget it. Or maybe they want to give themselves an excuse to come back for it later.

❥ The "Wrong Words at the Worst Time" Implosion Nobody says the perfect thing during a real breakup. They stammer. They say too much, or nothing at all. They lash out in clumsy, cruel ways because "I’m hurting" doesn’t sound heroic, but "you never loved me right anyway" comes out real easy. Write the fights that should have gone differently. Let your characters regret what they said before the echo even fades.

“I guess you never needed me after all.” Silence. The other person blinking like they’ve been shot. Because that wasn’t true. But now it’s hanging in the air, poisonous and permanent.

❥ The “Silent Break” Because Sometimes Words Are Useless Not every heartbreak needs a monologue. Sometimes it's sitting in a car together, staring out the windshield, saying nothing. Sometimes it’s standing at a door, one hand on the handle, too many words trapped in your throat. Let silence be heavy. Let it say, “I love you but I can’t anymore” without making anyone say a damn word.

The engine's ticking as it cools. Neither of them moves. One finally gets out of the car. They don't look back.

❥ The “Stupid Mundane Detail That Breaks You” Moment Big speeches are forgettable. But a breakup feels real when it’s tied to something stupid and tiny. Like they’re arguing and suddenly one of them notices how the other always folds the pizza box before throwing it out. Or how their coffee mug is still sitting on the table. Ordinary things take on the weight of the extraordinary loss.

She’s screaming, he’s begging, and somehow he notices her chipped nail polish and thinks, God, I’m losing her, and I still know what shade that is.

❥ The “One Last Selfish Touch” Goodbye Before they walk away, before its final, one of them touches the other’s face. Or smooths their hair. Or pulls them into a hug that lasts way too long. Selfish, tender, desperate. Knowing it’s the last time and doing it anyway because they physically cannot help themselves.

“Don’t go.” “Then tell me to stay.” Silence. Shaking heads. They kiss. It doesn’t fix a damn thing. It just hurts better.

Remember: The breakup isn’t the death of love. It’s the death of hope. That's what you need to break. Not just the hearts. The possibility of a different ending. That’s when it wrecks your reader in the best way.

[tizeline]

TSAU Season 2 Finale - Part 2

Click here to get to Part 1

So Leo and Raph portal to Big Mama's hotel, Raph isn't very enthusiastic about making a deal with Big Mama considering Draxum has always warned them of how dangerous she can be, but it's not like they have a lot of better options. So while Raph is contemplating how to get BM's help without completely screwing themselves over, Leo immedietly jumps in as soon as they meet her and suggests that Raph can fight in the Battle Nexus in exchange for her help! Without consulting Raph about any of this first! Uh oh! So needless to say, Raph starts freaking out a little bit about this, which is made even worse when Leo just decides to reveal that the both of them were made from Lou Jitsu's DNA! UH OH!!

So the reason why Draxum has always tried keeping his sons away from Big Mama is because just them being genetically modified super soldiers already makes it more likely that BM would wanna kidnap them and force them to become gladiators in her Battle Nexus. This possibility doubles triples quadruples if she were to ever find out that they're more or less biologically speaking Lou Jitsu's kids. Not to mention she might wanna take revenge on Draxum for stealing Lou Jitsu from her. All of this is to say, Draxum has always made it very clear to his sons that this is something they need to keep hidden from her. It's a big secret. A big secret that Leo just revealed to Big Mama. The one thing Draxum told them not to do? Yeah Leo just did it. What the fuck.

Listen, Leo's inital offer of having Raph fight in the Nexus wasn't quite enough to get Big Mama to agree to the deal, she needed an extra push, so Leo took a calculated risk and revealed their secret origins. From here on out it plays out basically like in canon, with Raph freaking out the entire time. They both get Lou Jitsu outfits cuz Raph is basically being marketed as "Lou Jitsu Jr". Then when the battle begins Leo also gets yeeted into the arena, it's revealed that he actually planned this entire thing, him and Raph defeat the enemies and Raph is confronted witht he fact that Leo may or may not be a tactical genius???

No one ever really realized just how strategic Leo can be, including Leo! Granted, he can also be very impulsive and reckless at times so it's not entirely their fault no one ever realized Leo's full potential. That being said, he can clearly be real clever with coming up with strategies and plans when he puts his mind to it, he just outsmarted BIG MAMA! No one outsmarts Big Mama! Raph had already started to learn that maybe he should trust Leo a bit more than he usually does when he found out that Leo was right about the whole Dark Armour thing, but this moment right here really cements it for him. But with this little side-quest over and done with, it's time to head back to Donnie, April, Splinter and Shelldon.

So what have they been up to this entire time? Well, again it's rather similar to in canon, they've just been fighting Shredder the entire time lol, April gets to kick ass using a crane! Mikey doesn't get to yeet that big boat this time tough :( since he's not even here. What does still happen is that Donnie almost gets his fucking shell ripped to pieces by Shredder (he's called that for a reason ig). Donnie's battle shell in the AU already isn't really armour and it leaves half of his shell exposed, and he's not even weaing it right now! THANKFULLY he has gotten good enough at using his Ninpō at this point so that he can use that to shield himself, cuz otherwise LEMME TELL YA he'd be fucking DEAD.

Finally they end up that alleyway where Donnie have managed to calculate that Shredder is supposed to appear in. That's when Leo and Raph return with the mystic collar they got from Big Mama, again the rest basically plays out like in canon, Shredder shows up and they manage to get the collar on him and he's finally defeated, yay! Big Mama shows up, sends him to some magic prison dimension and I'm sure this is definitely not gonna become a problem later on, yay again!

With that entire distaster prevented, everyone is now tired as fuck so it's time to go home. With all the drama going on in the Draxum family at the moment, Splinter suggest that Leo and Raph should stay at his and Donnie's home, if only for a few days if they don't feel comfortable going back to Draxum. Leo and Raph decline though since they feel a responsibility to make sure that Draxum and Mikey are doing okay, especially since The Hidden City authorites may or may not come after them now that all their crimes have been exposed. But Leo and Donnie promise to meet up again soon now that they're officially BROS!

Aaaand that's the TSAU season 1 finale! A lot of stuff is gonna go down in season 2, like all the Draxum family drama, Mikey's angsty teen arc, Shredder coming back and causing problems, Mikey maybe getting a cat, Donnie properly bonding with at least some of his brothers, and finding out wherever Casey disappeared to! So yeah, stay tuned for that!

Also bonus doodle vvv

[fleurbly]

Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into her life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet. 

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened. 

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did. 

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you. 

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more. 

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.  

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes. 

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face. 

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate. 

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.” 

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness. 

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.” 

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door. 

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood. 

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind. 

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them. 

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous. 

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you. 

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on. 

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness. 

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?” 

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.” 

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.” 

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead. 

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—” 

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.” 

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name. 

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.” 

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far. 

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate. 

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core. 

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

 His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely. 

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you.  “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

[rans-prettydoll]

Mechanic!Sukuna . . . Part 2!

Note : mechanic!sukuna part 1 here! Make sure to read this part before so it all makes sense. ALSO MIGHT BE SOME TYPING MISTAKES.

Mechanic!Sukuna who while you are outside his house as he fixes your car, makes you watch him so you could at least understand a bit about what he was doing but fuck was it useless. The sweat on his forehead and the oil that stuck to his thick digits that you so badly wanted for him to fuck into your pretty pussy. You couldn’t help but clench your thighs as you watched him work.

Mechanic!Sukuna always noticed that whenever you came over to his house to have him fix your car, you would be wearing the skimpiest clothing. Your cute mini skirts and crop tops that he had mentioned before in his mind but every time he saw you his dick would throb.

Mechanic!Sukuna would send you away with a perfectly fixed car and before you got in it, you would kiss him in return with a side of money. Of course, you got a discount. Shit, he would make you pay in a different way. His favorite pretty customers always got pretty prices.

Mechanic!Sukuna who would groan and talk shit whenever you had called him only a few days later about how you had driven over a nail while on your way back from work. You were upset and he could practically hear the pout in your voice as you complained about your flat tire. He would then only a few minutes later, pull up in his car to come get you. You were so upset as you got out of the car, explaining to him what happened. Gosh, you were so adorable and you didn’t even know how much he wanted to fuck you over the hood of your car right now. He wanted to fuck some sense into you, to make you stop fucking up your car so much that he obviously would have to fix it, but man did he hate it so good. He loved the way you always called him first. Even for stuff that didn’t have to deal with your car. He loved the way you depended on him for things that you felt only he could help you with. He was so lost in thought that he only broke out when he felt you hug him as you whined in his chest. Your button-down shirt had a bit too many buttons opened but it was valid because of how hot it was out, it showed your pretty cleavage. Oh, how bad he wanted to suck and leave a hickey right on those tits that you loved to show off to him so much while he was trying to focus on your car. But back to the current moment. He would sigh and place one hand on your back, patting it before placing the other hand on your ass. Giving it a small pat too as he spoke in the rough tone of his, “Fuck woman..can’t take care of a car for shit. For right now just get in mine and I’ll drive ya pretty ass home. We’ll worry about yours in a few. Don’t worry, I’ll fuckin’ come back and get it of course. But ya know ya gonna have to pay me back...I don’t think I want money this time. This ass lookin’ too cute in these work pants…” He would say before leaving a small smack on your ass to which you would whine before swinging yourself off him. Walking back to your car to grab your bags and everything and putting it in his car then getting in the passenger seat.

Mechanic!Sukuna who ended up fucking you silly in the back of his car once he made it in your driveway. He had you bouncing on his dick so good that it made the whole car shake as you moaned. You were trying to keep it down, for fuck sake you didn’t want your nosey neighbors to hear you getting fucked so good to the point where you couldn’t think straight anymore!! All you could do was babble as you held onto his strong shoulders. He had your work shirt popped open and bra halfway off, just enough for him to pop a tit out as he sucked on it. Swirling his tongue and making sure to leave hickeys all over that pretty chest of yours just like he had been wanting to do ever since he’d met you. “Shit..woman. Told ya I was gon’ make ya pay me back, aye? But I guess it’s a payment the both of us can enjoy.” He would say as he took a long lick from your left tit up to your neck where he had marked a few minutes before. He took one of his hands and he brought it down to smack that plumped ass of yours that you had been showing off to him in those mini skirts you always wore. Always bending over so he could see your pretty panties and then acting like you didn’t know that you were making his cock ache. But now he had that same cock stuffed into your pussy, making you bounce and clench on it until he fucked some sense into that brain of yours. Until you learned how to take better care of your car. But you knew you wouldn’t, fuck if this was the outcome that you were going to get each time you fucked up your car from now on. You would make sure to pop a tire or something!! You didn’t even know. But fuck all you knew at the moment was that his dick was so good. Better than you had ever imagined while you had been playing with your pussy to his voice whenever you called him telling him about how you would be coming over the next day to get your car fixed. You let out a loud moan as you felt him thrust up into you, bullying your pussy so good as he lectured you. “Ya gonna listen now, huh? Ya gonna stop fuckin’ up ya car? Or do I have to have ya bouncing on my dick like this every time until ya get some sense into that pretty head of yours? Such a nasty, thing. I know ya only fuck your car so that ya can come over.” He would say as he let out a deep chuckle before pulling you off as he cummed all over your tummy. You would cum too, all over his back seats. So what if he knew your plans all along, he seemed to like the idea just as much as you. You loved your mechanic.

@shaeshaeboo asked to be tagged ! 💋

[gay-dorito-dust]

Biting them? Which is demon brained and who’s just weirdly -not weirdly- into biting? (Spoiler: I live for demon brained Vergil bc that man has been in hell for a large part of his life.)

Dante

He will wholeheartedly tell you to bite him harder, only to dramatically yowl in fake pain when you do, he’s weird like that but you love him regardless.

‘Can you not be weird for five minutes?’ You asked, regretting ever forgoing caution and biting him, you should’ve listened to your gut when it told you that he’d make it weird somehow.

‘You’re the one who bite me first!’ Dante pouts as he rubs at his bicep, sure he easily can walk off your bites, but still he likes to commit to the bit regardless.

‘Yeah. For a laugh.’ You replied.

‘That’s not how it came across to me sweetheart, it’s almost as though you were planning this for a long while, just waiting to sink your teeth into me literally!’ He says with a cheeky wink and biting his bottom lip. He looked a little stupid doing so but you weren’t going to say anything.

‘The last time I bit you, you moaned loudly!’ You exclaimed, remembering just how quickly you scampered off of him when he moaned, hoping no one heard him as suddenly the playful mood was ruined by his childless as you lightly smacked his shoulder and asking what the fuck was wrong with him. You weren’t angry just a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.’ Dante teased as he booped you on the nose.

You threw your hands up. ‘I can’t do anything without you making it weird and making me regret everything.’ You said before leaving the room as Dante hollered after you ‘there’s nothing wrong in admitting to having a biting kink, if it makes you feel better I have one too!’

‘Fuck off!’ Came your embarrassed exclamation from afar as Dante only laughed harder.

Vergil

Again with how much time this man spent in hell, he’s extremely demon brained in how biting is a thing in demon courting, a sign of possession of what’s theirs and killing any other demon that dared look their way.

So when you bite him out of pure silliness, his inner demon is telling him that you were marking him as yours and that he should do so too, having not like how people had been looking at your recently as if he wasn’t right there glaring them into oblivion.

So don’t be surprised if you see him with glowing demonic eyes becuase it’s just him acting upon his demonic heritage and bite you on the shoulder, or anywhere that only he would know. He’ll probably bite a bit too hard, drawing blood and whatnot but that’s all apart of demon courting unfortunately, so you’re forced to walk with his bites marks on your shoulders or arms or if he’s feeling a little bold; your neck.

Your bites are nothing compared to his and it shows and your left wincing as you noticed his canines had done a bit more damage than you originally thought, meanwhile Vergil and his demon brain were proud as fuck of his handy work and doing a poor attempt to withhold his pride.

If his long, scaly tail were visible right now it would be wagging with happiness at how marked up his mate looked, all the while you were concerned with how they’ll look when healing.

seriously this man is severely demon brained it’s not funny.

[tokkiwrites]

📌 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ˊˎ- perv professor! joel miller × fem student! reader, age gap, infidelity, power imbalance, manipulation, mentions of masturbation (male), forbidden relationship, sexual themes, p in v, talk of pregnancy, obsessive joel, possessive joel.

• professor!joel, who used to pride himself on his professionalism, but ever since you started showing up to his lectures he’s been fighting a losing battle.

• professor!joel, who spends half the class pacing behind the podium just to hide the way his cock strains against his slacks whenever you lean over your desk.

• professor!joel, who has to lock the staff bathroom door after every one of your classes because he’s so hard it hurts. Gripping the sink, panting your name under his breath as he fists his cock, imagining your pretty lips wrapped around him.

• professor!joel, who leaves messy, shameful stains in his boxers on the days you wear that dress that barely reaches your mid thigh.

• professor!joel, whose marriage is hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t stop him from twisting his gold wedding ring when you smile up at him, mind filled with the filthiest things he wants to do to you.

• professor!joel, who starts staying late on campus, just in case he can catch you alone.

• professor!joel, who watches you out of the corner of his eye at that shitty college bar one night, sweet, innocent little thing, so pretty, and alone.

• professor!joel, who corners you against the wall, fists his hands in your dress, mutters against your mouth, "Been thinkin' 'bout you for fuckin' months, baby. Can't — can't pretend no more."

• professor!joel, who drags you into the backseat of his truck and fucks you for the first time — sloppy, hungry, desperate, still wearing his wedding ring.

• professor!joel, who tells himself it was only gonna happen once, swears up and down that night was a mistake but two days later, he’s dragging you into his office, locking the door behind you, and bending you over his desk.

• professor!joel, who fucks you slow and deep with his hand pressed over your mouth so no one hears you whimper and moan out his name. "Y’want them all hearin’ how bad you need it? Huh?"

• professor!joel, who comes home to his wife after work and has to pretend he isn’t thinking about you the whole time he’s touching her.

• professor!joel, who fucks you hard and mean sometimes, just to punish you for making him fall apart like this. But then stays buried inside you afterward, kissing your temple, "Didn't mean that, baby, didn’t mean none of it. Just— fuck, love how you feel, love you so much."

•professor!joel, who thinks about getting a tiny shitty apartment in another city, letting you move in with him, keeping you full of his babies.

• professor!joel, who buys you little gifts he could never give you openly: a lacy pair of panties, a necklace you wear everyday.

• professor!joel, who presses his forehead to your bare stomach after he fucks you raw, voice breaking "Ain’t ever gonna let you go, sweet girl. You hear me?"

• professor!joel, who finally snaps when he sees some punk TA giving you too much attention, grabs your wrist after class and says, "Don't need t'be around these boys no more. Let me take care of you."

• professor!joel, who gets you to drop your classes and holds you into his lap while you cry about it.

• professor!joel, who finds a shitty little house near the edge of town and moves you in.

• professor!joel, who keeps you home in nothing but soft camisoles and panties.

• professor!joel, who makes you breakfast and picks your clothes for the day, leaves you with kisses and promises to come home early and then ruins you again against the front door the second he walks back in.

[heesimp]

Step dad jay wanting to get his stepdaughter pregnant

this did something to me

++++

“It’s gonna take,” Jay says as he angles his hips to reach the depths of your pussy. “My cum’s gonna take.”

The two of you have been at it for hours. He can’t get enough of your cunt because it’s always so wet and smooth for him. Jay loves gliding his tongue over you and tasting the slick hiding between your walls. It gives him purpose. It gets him out of bed in the morning and he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he thinks about your pussy when his wife is trying (and failing) to have sex with him.

Sex with you, though? Sign him up.

Jay is fucking you rougher than he ever has and you can’t say you don’t like it. He’s on a mission tonight, especially when you revealed that throughout the entire time he’s been hooking up with you, you haven’t been on birth control. Condoms only lasted so long because they kept breaking mid-fuck. Jay would inevitably cum so deep inside of you that you’d feel it when you stood up and his cock, covered in both the broken condom and your cum, glistened like it was used as a joystick.

He doesn’t know how many times he’s cum in you tonight. Your mom’s out of town as doesn’t get back until tomorrow afternoon. Jay whisked you away to his lake house secluded from civilization to have private yet exhibitionist sex with you without anyone knowing. Here, he can dote on you like you’re the one he’s married to. He’ll make you wear the special ring he bought you when the two of you are alone so you both can pretend you’re the pretty thing he comes home to every night.

It’s far removed from other people that Jay’s been taking you everywhere—the hood of his car, completely naked on the picnic blanket because the two of you were trying to have a cute date, semi-dressed against his window facing out of the house—the possibilities are endless. He likes knowing that he gets to show you off without anyone actually seeing you. And, you’re allowed to be as loud as you want. You can moan without restriction, and Jay can tell you how much he loves giving you creampies with no remorse.

“Want it, Daddy.”

“Just one more,” Jay grunts. “One last creampie and you’ll be pregnant in no time.”

He pounds into you at a brutal pace with his body slamming right into yours. The sex is always so good with Jay. He knows what he’s doing. He knows how to use his big, fat cock to make you see stars.

“Your tits will look amazing when they’re swollen.” He attaches his mouth around one of your nipples and sucks hard before switching to the other. “Sexy tits, sexy body. Such a sexy girl.”

“Daddy, daddy!”

“Feels good when Daddy fucks you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!”

“My perfect angel.” Jay hears a moan rip from your chest when his cum starts to spurt from his dick. “Let me give you my cum, baby. It’s yours.”

And you take it. You feel the warm cum touch your walls as he stills above you to finish inside of you. Pulling out isn’t an option right now and Jay lets his cock soften inside of you while he kisses your lips.

“It’ll take,” Jay murmurs. You don’t even know what he’s saying as you’re too fucked out to hear him. “I promise.”

A few days later, neither of you can contain your excitement when you show him the positive pregnancy test.

[nochepsicodelica]

Part I

"Hey, uh-uh. What did we say about stealth-ing in the house?"

Crap. You stand in the kitchen for a few seconds longer, thinking about how you're going to play this off.

"I didn't even make a sound, your hearing is amazing, baby!" You say, attempting to boost your lover's ego to distract him from this for now.

"Didn't hear you, I saw your shadow scurrying after you into the kitchen. Now quit stalling and come here."

"I reek of sweat and blood. Maybe I should shower first," you divert once again.

"Get over here or I'm coming to you, and I'm not gonna be a teddy bear about it."

You sigh and put your duffel bag down, dragging your tired feet to the living room. Before Toji can get a look at your mug, you put a hand over your mouth, not touching, just hovering over it. Finally, you step out into the bright, warm toned light, and look at Toji, like a bunny in the face of an enormous bear that could crush it with a single paw.

He crooks a finger, beckoning for you to come closer. From where he sits, he can see a scratch beneath your eye and one on your cheek.

"I know you're tired, but I need to see my girl," he says, making your heart shake like a rattle.

You drop your hand and take more purposeful steps towards him, ready to crawl into his embrace like you always do after the day begins to close out.

"Yeah, come here, baby," he says, making room for you on his lap, and sure enough, you weren't lying. As you settle onto his lap, the combination of your sweat and the irony smell of the dried blood on your clothes is potent. Does that stop him from holding you tight? Hell no, he handles you like you're fragile, because he knows you are. Your tiredness allows you to be that way after a long day of showing the contrary. He can't ever stress enough to you how much he understands that.

"What'd you eat for lunch?" Toji asks, rubbing your back while you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Lance and his wife invited me to go get ramen with them, but I wasn't that hungry then, so they gave me a couple granola bars," you mumble.

"Nice people. They really do treat you like you're one of their own kids."

"Mhm," you hum, turning your head to bury your face in his neck. He smells like safety and comfort. You come home to this every day.

"Let me see your face, doll," he murmurs. "I'm not gonna yell at you or get you in trouble or whatever bad thing you think is gonna happen. Just wanna see your pretty face," he says, in response to your hesitance.

You sigh, nervous for no reason. It's really not that bad, but it is noticeable. Slowly, you pull away from his neck and sit up for something you think will be incredibly anticlimactic, but... anything for Toji.

He stares at you, long and hard, inspecting every inch of your face for deep serious cuts. So far the only major damage is your busted lip.

"Are you mad?" You ask, as he runs the pad of his thumb over a thin, jagged cut on your cheek.

"No reason for me to be. Does your lip still hurt?" He asks, unable to look away for too long. Your lips are one of his favorite things to look at and he stares at them plenty, so it's not unusual for you.

"Not really," you respond, shaking your head. "It hurt like a bitch when it happened, but not so much anymore. Lance had some extra disinfecting wipes in his glove compartment so I cleaned it up a little on the way here. I'm fine."

"Hm. Any serious damage to your body?" Toji asks, massaging your shoulder blades, instinctively. "Arms, legs? How's your back?"

"I'm fine, baby," you insist, smiling at all the concern he's showing.

"Any scrapes on your hands or knees?"

"Probably, but i'm okay. Seriously, i'm fine."

"How 'bout a warm bath?" He suggests.

"I'm f--" you start, expecting another question of concern. "Wait, um..."

"A nice... toasty bath," he utters softly, carefully, to further entice you. "with those relaxing bubbles you love so much."

It sounds amazing, but only one thing could make it perfect.

"Can you stay with me? In the tub, I mean," you clarify. "I'll do a pre-wash. Get all the nasty off and... and i'll call you in once i'm done. You don't have to, of course," you add, a sheepish laugh following. "But, I would love you a million, billion, gajillion, if you did.

"Sounds perfect, doll," he agrees, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. Normally he would turn that last bit into a full fledged banter about you loving him when it's convenient to you, but your energy is limited, so he'll put it on hold for now. "You let me know when you're ready."

Despite him asking that of you, he does not let you out of his sight at all. He leans against the doorframe of the bathroom and watches you. Watches you remove your worn, filthy clothes. Watches you scrub your body down, head to toe. Your back has faded scars scattered over it, you have little cuts just below your ribs and scratches on your waist, and yet Toji thinks you've never looked more beautiful. He can't imagine you without a few scuff marks. He met you that way, he knows you that way, but all in all, he loves you in all ways, whether you've been grazed, you're healing, or scarred.

This may be one of his favorite rituals to do with you. Lying back against the tub with you sitting between his legs and resting against his chest, you jump between guessing how you both got your scars...

"Hm... severe rope burn?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"You know the one I have on my ankle? Yeah, rope burn. Your turn."

"That's a blade's doing, isn't it?"

"Nope, this is my chains' doing. Yeah, I know, I know. Laugh it up, doll. Even the best mess up sometimes."

...and appreciating the fact that you're both so good at what you do, that you're still here.

"Gimme a kiss, baby," Toji requests, smirking fiendishly as his gaze darts between your eyes and your lips.

"Mm-mm," you say, shaking your head with a teasing grin. "Not with my lip all ugly like this."

"Not ugly. You look hot as fuck. Now give me a damn kiss."

You give him a quick peck, and he scoffs like you offended him with something so chaste.

"You wanna try that again, and give me a chance to, you know... be ready?"

"No, not really," you jest, gasping when he pinches your butt under the foamy water to show his disapproval of your response. "Alright, alright. Just be gentle," you plead, caving in to his needs, as usual.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, grinning victoriously as he pulls you in closer to get a proper taste of your lips. They're soft as ever, despite their current, temporary appearance, and kissing you is as sweet and satisfying as it's always been. Nothing will ever change that for him.

"Fucking love you," he murmurs, the words a soft breath against your lips.

"Love you, too, baby," you respond, before going in for more.

A/N: Reader and Toji have different handlers. Lance is reader's handler, Toji still works with Shiu.

[icupblog]

Where did the party go? (batfam x neglected reader) This is part 2!! part 1

Your hands shake as you bring the water to your parched lips. The cold embrace of the liquid makes you sigh in satisfaction. The outfit you were wearing suddenly felt too tight and your makeup felt like a second face on top of your own.

This was the biggest moment of your life... so far. Compared to your siblings it wasn't that big but to you, it was everything. You can't think of them now though. Even the mental image of any of your so-called family made you feel bile climb up your throat.

You don't need them, or their validation. After everything that has happened you need to forget their harsh words and unforgiving cruelty.

----------------------------------

2 years earlier

The cold hallways recognised your presence as you walked through them. You feel like a zombie, knowing who you were but pulling your body away from your brain, your mind slowing down as every-time you take another step a part of your image dies.

Maybe you were dramatic, maybe you were immature, maybe if they actually cared you wouldn't be. Your hands shake as you grip a bannister. Where were you going again. You didn't even know. Eventually you came to the familiar scene of the kitchen.

The sink was filled with dishes, had they eaten dinner already? what time was it? You hadn't even realised. All you could think of was that mask, his mask. Your supposed brother. The empty eyes that he would stare at you with when he slowly cut your skin open.

You were about to leave, the thought of food in your body made you feel sick. When you saw him. He never showed you his face but you could recognise him anywhere. He could never hide from you. You could spot him out from a mile away, seek him out in a crowd easily.

His body was fire, and yours was gasoline and paper. He would ebb away at you until all that was left was ash. His pupils widened in recognition at you. "name...hi" You couldn't move, he would attack you, throw you against the wall. As he slowly reached towards your shoulder you winced.

Was this some kind of cruel joke?, did the universe hate you that much? "listen, I-I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind and-" your breath became shallow. "I guess I took it out on you" tears filled your eyes, this is it, he came back to kill you. "besides me and Bruce are trying to work things out so-" he took his hand off your shoulder and put it behind his head. He wasn't touching you, could you escape? "maybe we could be a real family-" You bolted, you couldn't stay still anymore, you ducked under his arm and ran past him. Back to your room back to safety.

Turns out Jason's presence was not in fact a joke. He became part of the family, Or maybe he always was. He would make inside jokes with Damian, learn sign language for cass (something you had done when you first met her, not that she noticed). He would even hang out with Tim and Stephanie two people who could not physically stand to be around you for more than five minutes. Maybe in some way you wanted his attention because maybe if you had his you could be part of that family.

It got worse the more Dick came round, his cheery aura meant the family would constantly be around each other. And you were not part of that family. They would have movie nights (without you), hang out at arcades (without you) and even spend Christmas together (they would always forget to buy you presents). Even Bruce went along with them for gods sake, were you really worth so little? Just because you weren't in spandex? You were so insignificant that Alfred just referred to you as 'miss' almost as if he had forgotten your name.

In these moments you would think back to times when your mother held you in her arms as you opened your presents, it was never anything expensive but you would cherish every one, no matter how much it cost. When she smiled her eyes would crinkle, you always wanted that, a life full of smiles and laughter. Yet for some reason you only got sadness.

-----------------------------------

Present day

When you asked a Wayne child what they wanted to be when they were older they normally answered with something artistic and niche like when Damian said he wanted to be an artist. Except you knew he would be even more insufferable if he was one so you thought he was better staying in the tights. Or Cass wanting to do ballet, not Cass you mentally scold Cassandra, when has she ever asked you to call her Cass.

You on the other hand wanted to make an impact, a small irreversible dent on the world (not literally). So now that you are 18 you study law. Is it difficult? yes, but weirdly rewarding. Getting out of Gotham made you realise how shitty that place really is. The air felt like it was choking you and the overall atmosphere felt heavy. Moving to Metropolis was like getting a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You were able to get a scholarship with a college you had great friends. You loved how bright it was all the time, and you weren't being kidnapped every other month, you were feeling amazing.

You had made a life for yourself, a somewhat stable, broke, happy life. What you didn't expect was for the family to remember you or even worse miss you...

yippee I made another one!!

there might only be one more chapter for this series because I'm on exam leave and I'm sick but thank you for all the support!! <3

[elswhore]

𝐏. 𝐁 ─── WANNA SEE A COWGIRL?

paige talking about how she's nervous being a newcomer on dallas, until the conversation started to escelate with her bringing up something about cowgirl's and you are thrilled turning the conversation dirtier, now she was serious talking you through it.

cowgirl roleplay. strap on(r!receiving) praise. dirty talk. light degration. spanking. choking. overstimulation. (p!begging.) cowboy hat involved.

masterlist ۶ৎ navigation ۶ৎ

The Dallas heat clung to the air, even inside the cozy apartment where you and paige were sprawled on the couch.

The hum of the AC was a faint backdrop to the soft R&B playing from your speaker, the vibe relaxed.

Paige, with her legs stretched out and her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, fidgeted with the hem of her tank top.

She’d only been in Dallas a week, and the city’s sprawling energy still felt foreign to her.

“Man, i don’t know.” she said, her voice carrying that familiar connecticut drawl. “This place is… a lot, i feel like i’m walking into a movie set half the time, all these big trucks and cowboy hats.”

She chuckled, tilting her head to look at you. “I’m waiting for someone to lasso me or some shit.” You grinned, sipping your iced tea, the condensation dripping onto your thigh.

“You’re not wrong, dallas does have that vibe, you nervous about fitting in?” Paige shrugged, her blue eyes catching the dim light.

“Kinda, i mean, i’m used to standing out, but this is different, i feel like i need to lean into the whole… cowgirl thing.” She smirked, her tone teasing.

“Maybe i should get a hat and some boots, ride a horse to practice.” The image of paige in a cowboy hat, all swagger and confidence, sent a spark through you.

You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the back of the couch, your voice dropping playfully. “Oh, please, you in a cowgirl getup? i’d pay to see that, but you know…”

You paused, letting the words hang in the air“if you really wanna get the full Dallas experience, i could show you what a real cowgirl’s like.”

Paige’s brows furrowed, her lips parting in confusion. “What, like… you’re gonna take me to a rodeo or something?” Her innocence was almost cute, but the glint in her eyes told you she was fishing for more.

You laughed softly, shifting closer until your knee brushed hers. “Not quite,” you murmured, your voice low and suggestive.

“I’m talking about a different kind of ride, one where I show you how a cowgirl really moves.” The realization hit her like a freight train.

Paige’s eyes widened, then darkened, her lips curling into a slow, hungry smile. “Oh” she breathed, her voice dropping an octave.

“You’re talking that kind of cowgirl.” She leaned in, her hand resting on your thigh, fingers grazing the hem of your shorts.

“You gonna ride me, baby? Show me how it’s done?” Your pulse quickened, heat pooling low in your belly, you hadn’t expected her to catch on so fast, let alone lean into it with such intensity.

You bit your lip, meeting her gaze. “You sure you can handle it, rookie? i don’t play nice.” Her laugh was low and throaty, her fingers tightening on your thigh.

“Handle it? I’m begging for it, come on, don’t tease me. Show me what you got.” You hesitated for a moment, not because you didn’t want it—God, you wanted it—but because the shift from playful banter to this raw, pulsing need was almost dizzying.

Paige sensed your pause and pounced, her hand sliding up to cup your jaw, her thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Don’t overthink it” she whispered, her voice rough with want. “I want you to fuck me up, cowgirl, i want you to ride me until I can’t think straight.” Her words snapped something inside you.

You surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that was all heat and teeth, her moan vibrating against your mouth.

She tasted like the mint gum she’d been chewing, her tongue eager and demanding as she pulled you onto her lap.

Your hands tangled in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp, and she retaliated by gripping your hips, grinding you down against her.

“Fuck,” she muttered against your lips, her hands slipping under your shirt to drag her nails down your back.

“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?”

“Only if you’re lucky,” you teased, nipping her jaw before pulling back to meet her eyes. “You really want this? You want me to ride you?”

Paige’s gaze was molten, her chest heaving. “I want it so bad it hurts” she said, her voice raw.

“I’ve been thinking about you like this since i got here, please, baby. Show me.” That was all you needed.

You pushed her back against the couch, straddling her thighs as you tugged her tank top over her head, revealing the sports bra beneath.

Her skin was warm under your hands, her muscles flexing as she reached for you, but you caught her wrists, pinning them above her head.

“Not yet,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re gonna let me take my time.” Paige groaned, her head tipping back, but she obeyed, her wrists twitching under your grip.

You released her, trailing your hands down her arms, over her collarbone, until you reached the waistband of her joggers.

She lifted her hips to help you slide them off, revealing the harness already strapped to her hips, the sleek black dildo making your mouth go dry.

“Prepared, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

She smirked, unapologetic “Knew you’d come around eventually.” you didn’t bother with a reply, too focused on the way her body tensed as you ran your fingers along the strap, teasing her with the lightest touch.

You stood, stripping off your shorts and panties in one fluid motion, letting her see you—bare, confident, ready.

Paige’s eyes raked over you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous” she murmured, her hands twitching like she was dying to touch you.

You climbed back onto her lap, positioning yourself over the strap, your hands braced on her shoulders.

“You ready for me, cowgirl?” you asked, your voice low and teasing. “Born ready” she shot back, but her bravado faltered as you lowered yourself, the tip of the strap brushing against your entrance.

You were already wet, slick from the anticipation, and the first inch slid in with a delicious stretch that made you both moan.

“Shit,” Paige hissed, her hands flying to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. “You’re so fucking tight.” You sank down slowly, savoring the way she filled you, the stretch bordering on too much but so perfect you couldn’t stop.

When you were fully seated, your thighs trembling against hers, you paused, letting her feel every pulse of you around the strap.

Paige’s head fell back, her lips parted as she cursed under her breath. “Move” she begged, her voice ragged.

“Please, baby, move.” You didn’t need to be told twice, you started slow, rolling your hips in a deliberate rhythm, each motion dragging the strap against every sensitive spot inside you.

Paige’s hands guided you, her fingers digging into your hips as she whispered filthy praise “That’s it, cowgirl, ride me. Fuck, you look so good like this.” The praise spurred you on, your pace quickening as you found the perfect angle, the strap hitting deep and hard with every thrust.

Paige was losing it, her curses coming faster, her voice rough and desperate. “Goddamn, you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind, keep going. Don’t stop.” You weren’t planning to.

The pleasure was building, sharp and relentless, and you leaned forward, bracing your hands on her chest as you rode her harder, faster.

Paige’s eyes were locked on you, her pupils blown, and then out of nowhere she reached to the side, fumbling in the drawer of the coffee table.

Before you could process it, she pulled out a cowboy hat, the kind you’d see at a rodeo, and plopped it on your head with a wicked grin.“Now you’re a real cowgirl” she said, her voice dripping with lust.

“Ride me with that hat on, baby, let me see it.” The hat was ridiculous, but it did something to you— like you were putting on a show just for her.

You tipped it slightly, giving her a playful smirk, and then you went harder, your hips slamming down with a force that made her choke out a moan.

“Fuck, yes” Paige growled, her hands roaming from your hips to your ass, slapping it hard enough to sting.

“You like that, don’t you? dirty little cowgirl.” The sharp smack sent a jolt through you, your rhythm faltering as the pleasure spiked.

“Do it again” you gasped, and she didn’t hesitate, her hand coming down on your other cheek with a loud crack.

The mix of pain and pleasure was dizzying, pushing you closer to the edge.

Paige was relentless now, her hands rough and possessive as she gripped your hips, forcing you to move even faster.

“You’re so fucking good” she panted, her voice breaking.

“Taking me so well, my perfect fucking girl.” You were close, so close, but you wanted more—needed more.

You grabbed her hand, guiding it to your throat, and her eyes lit up with understanding.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous “You want me to choke you, baby?”

“Please” you whispered, and her fingers wrapped around your throat, not too tight but just enough to make your head spin.

The pressure, combined with the relentless thrust of the strap, was overwhelming, your body trembling as you chased your release.

“Fuck, you’re so hot” Paige muttered, her thumb brushing your jaw as she tightened her grip slightly.

“Look at you, riding me like a slut in that hat, you’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, the word barely audible as your orgasm built, white-hot and unstoppable.

“Yours.”

“That’s fucking right,” she growled, her other hand slapping your hip again, the sting pushing you over the edge.

You came hard, your vision blurring as your body clenched around the strap, a broken moan tearing from your throat.

Paige didn’t stop, guiding you through it with rough, steady thrusts, her grip on your throat grounding you as the pleasure bordered on too much.

“Keep going” she demanded, her voice hoarse “I’m not done watching you.” You were sensitive, every movement almost painful, but the way she looked at you—hungry, obsessed—kept you going.

You rode her through the aftershocks, your thighs burning, the hat tilting precariously on your head.

Paige’s curses grew more desperate, her hips bucking up to meet you, and you knew she was close to her own release, the harness rubbing against her just right.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” She didn’t finish, her words dissolving into a low groan as her body tensed, her hands digging into your hips as she came. The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, completely undone—sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you collapsed against her, both of you panting.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the AC.

Paige’s hands softened, sliding up your back, and she chuckled, low and lazy.

“Holy shit” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction.

“You really showed me, cowgirl.” You laughed weakly, the hat still perched on your head.

“Told you I don’t play nice.”She grinned, pulling you into a slow, messy kiss, her lips warm and soft against yours.

“Good,” she murmured. “I like it rough.” As you melted into her, the hat finally slipped off, landing on the couch with a soft thud.

Neither of you cared. You were already planning round two.

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