#who will torture and kill anyone who takes his man

[five-rivers]

Ancestral Chapter 26

New Ancestral chapter! You can also read it on my AO3.

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Because Danny's life was a joke, he had Vlad's number saved to his phone.  

The man had beaten him up, kidnapped him, tortured him, cloned him, and had professed a strong desire to kill his Dad - not to mention a desire for homicide in general - but there he was on Danny's contact list.  It was ridiculous.  But having a way to contact the fruitloop was too useful for Danny to just delete or block him.  

For example, this situation.  

“Are you sure about this?” asked Danny scrolling down to ‘F’ for ‘Fruitloop.’  “He's kind of like rats.  Once he gets into somewhere, he's a pain to get rid of.”

“I'm unclear what is stopping him now, if so,” said Gwensyvyr.  “As you said, he can fly, can he not?”

“I…”  Danny frowned down at his phone.  “Personal comfort?  Here to Britain is pretty long.  And cold.  And he might want to be here in his civilian persona, not just as a ghost.  I think that's most likely, really.”

“Ah, he keeps that secret, then?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Otherwise my parents would probably kill him, and he loves flirting with Mom.”

“Then I think he should not be so hard to handle, after all.  We shall use him.”  She nodded decisively.  “And if he should forget his place and proposition your mother so brazenly, we shall simply kill him.”

“Okay,” said Danny, looking up from his phone.  “I think- I think that's going a little far, actually.”

“As short-sighted as Madlyn is, she is a lady, and one of my descendants,” said Gwensyvyr.  “No one should take liberties, unless she wills it.”  She paused.  “But the killing was, in this case, metaphorical.”

Danny squinted at her.  He couldn’t tell if she was lying or not.  

“Go on, then.  Call this poorly behaved and very wealthy lunatic of yours.”

“He’s not my anything.  He’s not even my archenemy.”

Gwensyvyr, floating as if lying down on something, propped her head on her knuckles.  “Oh?  Who is?  Pariah Dark?”

“That, um…  No.  I only fought the guy the one time, so…”  He shook his head, suddenly embarrassed by the whole thing and not wanting to admit that his archenemy was Dash.  “It’s not anyone you’d know.  It’s stupid.”  He pressed the call button, then the speakerphone button, so Gwensyvyr could hear.  

The phone rang.

.

Vlad Masters was not a man used to being stymied. 

What few doors his prodigious wealth could not open, his ghost powers allowed him to bypass entirely.  Not to mention his dashing good looks and charming personality.  

And yet, stymied he was.  

He shouldn’t have been, by his own calculations.  Avlynys wasn’t any richer than any other tiny European country, and should have been just as ripe for bribery.  However, it seemed impervious.  At least, on the part of official channels that would have allowed him to exist within the country publicly - and pursue his courtship of dear Madeline.

(Surely, her family couldn’t approve of Jack.  The man was a boar.  A common boar.  Meanwhile, Vlad had both refinement and wealth.)

There were likely dozens of smugglers of the underclass that would take him to the islands, of course, as even under the current circumstances people still needed to eat and other necessities still had to be imported or exported.  He didn’t care about those.  If he wanted to get to Avlynys on the sly, he could just fly over on his own.

He was tempted to overshadow the officials involved, but considering that the injunction on travel came from the highest levels of the Avlynysan government, and that the Avlynysan government was very small, and also in regular contact with the few people who could reliably identify an overshadowing… and although Vlad was seventy percent sure that the heir presumptive to the throne, Matthew Dyrys, didn’t truly believe that Daniel had any special powers, well…  There was always the chance that after the incident with the ghost, he would take Daniel more seriously than most adults would take a teenager.  

But he wasn’t entirely out of options.  A man like himself never was.  As he’d said, certain necessities were still moving in and out of the country, and Avlynys had businessmen as well.  People who could make the argument that he could provide vital services, and who could pressure the appropriate politicians.  However, the price was sure to be steep, and the process would be a lengthy one.  

It was annoying.  

More annoying was the fact that his contact, a representative of the French branch of an Avlynysan company, was late.  They should treat someone like Vlad with more courtesy.  He wasn’t at all used to being kept waiting.  

He checked his watch again and wondered, with a malice so practiced that it was almost idle, if the man was conducting some sort of power play, or if he was just incompetent.  Perhaps, after this, he would put some effort into ruining him.  

“Excuse me, Mr. Masters?”  The one asking was a relatively young blond man with flyaway, slightly thinning hair, broad shoulders, and an accent Vlad was coming to recognize as Avlynysan.

“Ah,” said Vlad, looking up and smiling politely.  “You must be Mr… Ambeej?  Am I pronouncing that correctly?”  His eyes slid pointedly to the blond man’s companion, a middle-aged woman with pearly white hair and watery eyes.  

“Ymbyge,” said the blond man, who flashed a quick smile back at Vlad.  “But don’t worry, no one gets it right on the first try.  Please, call me Christian  I’m sorry for how late I am, but I was consulting with my German counterpart, Ms. Shoenhauer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the woman.  Her accent was German.  

“You’re not Avlynysan?”

“Avlynyse,” interjected Mr. Ymbyge. 

“We are an international company, Mr. Masters,” said Ms. Shoenhauer, sitting at the table and smoothing the tablecloth in front of her.  “But my family has had much to do with Avlynys in the past.  It is very important to us.”

“I see,” said Vlad.  

“So!” said Mr. Ymbyge.  “What did you want to talk about?  There’s been a lot of interest in our little country recently, but you stand out even with that…”

Of course Vlad stood out.  His business had nothing to do with the assassinations and the recent international commotion and everything to do with his long-standing personal interest in Maddie and Daniel.  

“I was close with Princess Madeline in college,” said Vlad.  It was something that anyone with a brain should have researched already, but he knew that it would also make helping him a much more attractive proposition for people like these.  “I want to offer her all the help I can during this trying time, whether it be emotional, financial or political, but as it stands, it is very difficult to offer such things when I am stuck here.”  He shrugged, projecting - literally, with ghost powers - an air of self-depreciation.  

“Wow, that’s sure something,” said Mr. Ymbyge.  “But–”

Vlad’s phone rang.  “A moment.”  He could make power-plays as well.  They were, in fact, his favorite game.  Besides, it would do well for these two to know where they stood.

The caller ID displayed the words ‘LITTLE BADGER.’  What was Daniel doing, calling him?  Based on Daniel’s normal behavior, Vlad would have expected Daniel to practically forget that Vlad existed.  

Unless, of course, he’d gotten in over his head.  

“Excuse me,” said Vlad, barely glancing at Mr. Ymbyge and Ms. Shoenhauer.  “I have to take this.”  He stepped away from the table and towards the restaurant's lavish bathrooms.  As soon as he was out of sight, he turned invisible and flew up.  No need to risk eavesdroppers.  

He let the phone ring a third time.  No need to let Daniel think he was rushing.

.

Vlad picked up the phone.

“Oh, Daniel, to what do I owe the pleasure?  Now that you’re an internationally renowned prince and sorcerer–”

While syvyr could be translated as ‘sorcerer,’ ledyn absolutely didn’t mean prince.  At all.  But Danny knew that if he let himself get sidetracked, he and Vlad would wind up arguing about toilet paper or something equally banal and ludicrous.  “Listen, I know you’re trying to get into the country legitimately, and–”

Vlad sighed loudly.  “And you want to stop me, I suppose?  You’re as predictable as always–”

“I can get you in, but you need to do something for me first.”

There was a pause.  “Pardon?”

“I want to make a deal with you.  You do something for me, I do something for you.  You do know how making deals works, right?  You can’t have overshadowed people for everything.”

“I’ll have you know that most of my business arrangements are perfectly legitimate.”

“Doubt,” said Danny.  “But do you want in?  Because otherwise I don’t want to waste my time listening to your voice.”

“What guarantee do I have that you would keep your side of the bargain?  You and your sister haven’t been entirely honest with me in the past.”

“Well, first off, that was when you kidnapped me; secondly, we didn’t have a deal, then.  I was just lying to you.”  He saw Gwensyvyr’s eyebrows go up and winced.  Hopefully, that didn’t lower her opinion of him.  “I’ve kept every deal we’ve made, even when you haven’t.”

Vlad made a disgruntled noise.  “How would you even accomplish such a task?  You’re a teenager and–”

“I’m currently living in the same house as the next ruler of Avlynys,” said Danny, which was a true statement no matter who wound up taking the throne, “and like you said, I’m an internationally renowned sorcerer.  Besides, when I tell you what I want you to do, you’ll understand.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?  You’ve never asked for my help with any ghosts before, and considering your performance against the ghost at that Moon Masque, I can’t imagine that you would start now.”

“Yeah, well, what I need right now doesn’t have to do with ghosts.”

“Well,” said Vlad, “I’d have to hear what you want before I can agree or disagree to anything.  You understand.”

Danny looked up at Gwensyvyr, who was frowning down at the phone.  She glanced back at Danny, then spoke to the phone.  “As one of your standing ought to–”

“Who is that?  That isn’t Jasmine.  Daniel, you didn’t–”

“She’s a ghost,” said Danny before Vlad could work himself into a fit, as funny as that would be.  “Most people can’t even see her.  She’s not going to go around spreading your secrets.”

“A shade, then,” said Vlad, dismissively.  “What does she have to do with this?”

“She’s a relative.”

“One of the dead ones?”

“No,” said Gwensyvyr, sarcastically, “despite being a ghost, I am, in fact, perfectly alive.”

“It has happened before,” said Vlad, equally snide.  “What do you have to do with this?”

“I should expect that it would be self-evident that I want my relatives safe,” said Gwensyvyr.  “I am here to facilitate this negotiation.”

“I suppose it is more convenient to speak to an adult.  So, what is it you want?  A power boost?  Some final request that dear Daniel cannot fulfil?  I suppose he is rather limited.”

“As I was saying,” said Gwensyvyr, rather frostily, “one such as yourself should know the value of information by itself.  We will explain, but we require something in exchange.”

“Yes?  What’s that?”

“All your records of little Danyel.”

“Daniel’s records?  What makes you think–?”

“No, not Dannyl’s.  Danyel’s.  The girl’s.”

“Danielle’s,” said Danny.  Gwensyvyr’s pronunciation wasn’t that far off the English, but it wasn’t like Daniel and Danielle were all that different as names to begin with.  

“Fine,” said Vlad.  “But I won’t be able to do anything about it until I return home, and I’m in France at the moment.  So if what you want from me is time sensitive in any way, you should tell me now.”

Gwensyvyr nodded.  “Right,” said Danny.  “Well, have you ever heard of Revyvtech?”

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Vlad raised an eyebrow, then looked down at the restaurant where two Revyvtech employees were currently waiting to speak to him.  “A time or two.  Why?”

“We’re pretty sure they’re behind the assassinations, and they used something like blood blossoms to do it.”

“Blood blossoms?  They don’t work on humans.”

“But they do work on liminals.  Do you think I just happened to have a knife that worked on ghosts with me at the Moon Masque, or that Mom just threw darts at a board to decide what she was going to do with her life?  Avlynys is a thin spot.”

Vlad pressed his lips together.  It wasn’t as if this would be the first time he used people who wanted to do him harm - the GIW were one such example - but it did make things so much more difficult.  “And you want me to what?  Investigate them?  Fight them?”

“No.  Aunt Alicia is in a coma, back in Arkansas.  We can’t check her out of the hospital she’s at, because her security team doesn’t count as family and the rest of us are all the way over here.  They’ve sent us pictures of her hooked up to a bunch of Revyvtech stuff, though, so we’re pretty sure they’re keeping her in a coma even if we don’t know why.  We want you to figure out what they’re giving her and get her to Avlynys.”

“And how do you expect me to do that when the hospital will only discharge her to family?” asked Vlad. 

“I don’t know, money boy.  Bribe them.  Or overshadow everyone in the hospital.  It’s what you did to get elected, isn’t it?”

“That part will be easy, yes, but I was talking about determining what medicines she’s on, Daniel,” said Vlad, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  

“Hey, you’re the one always bragging to me about how much you know about ghosts.  Use some of that.  None of us here know exactly what they’re using or what they’re doing, which is why we want you to look into it.  Or at least get Aunt Alicia.  Either way, if you show up with Aunt Alicia, you’ll be let in.”

To be fair, Daniel had been right when he said that it would be clear why they would let him in if he completed ‘his side’ of the deal.  Vlad considered his options.  On one hand, he would very much prefer not to do anything Daniel said, simply on principle.  On the other, the business with Revyvtech sounded potentially dangerous to him as well, especially if they were going around poisoning people with blood blossoms.  Retrieving Alicia would likely gain him the favor of Maddie as well.  She did love her sister, for reasons that, quite frankly, escaped Vlad.  

And being trapped in a hospital like that was a fate he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.  

“Very well,” said Vlad.  “May I assume you’ll be telling this ‘security team’ to expect me?”

“Yeah, fruitloop.  I’m not trying to get you killed.  I want Aunt Alicia to get here safely.”

“That’s hardly what I’m worried about, Daniel.”

“Well, I am.”

Vlad smiled.  “Oh, really?  I’m flattered, Daniel.”

As expected, Daniel hung up.  Vlad shook his head.  Teenagers!

[woobiedoovo]

Read a really tasty platonic Yandere Ford fic and now I have Yandere brain worms once again, so here’s a brain dump :))

Also I’m going a romantic Yandere route because Stancest my beloved <3 and I feel like this could go many ways. Once again, everything is under the cut!

I can see Ford developing his Yandere tendencies either at a young age, after Stan is kicked out, or when Stan gets his memories wiped. All options are fun, but I’m going with Paranoid Ford and Mullet Stan because that dynamic is so fun!!

Ever since Stan got kicked out and Ford went to college, he had something in the back of his mind that was always telling him things were wrong. Food didn’t taste as good, colors were duller, and life just seemed so much more… bland. Lifeless. Ford refused to acknowledge that he’s feeling this way because Stan was gone and threw himself into his work.

He was going to prove to everyone that he was a genius. The brightest mind of their age. So he studies, gets his 12 PHDS, heads to Gravity Falls, and life continues to be a little less exciting the longer he’s apart from Stan.

Then he meets Bill, and everything makes sense again. Bill reminds him so much of Stanley that he quickly latches onto him, falling for all his tricks and lies. He should have known better. And now here he was, being taunted and tortured by a triangular demon. Every night Bill enters his dreams and tries to get him to open the portal. He takes control of his body and threatens his safety, making Stanford question if his body is even his anymore, but he wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t. He just needed something. Someone. He needed… Stan.

It all started to go wrong when Stan left. Life seemed to lose all meaning without Stan there. The more he thought about his twin, the more he regretted the day their Father had kicked his brother out. His brother was his biggest hype man. He always believed in him, supported him, loved him. And it was love, wasn’t it? Pure, unadulterated love. Stanford had always thought Stan was trying to get attention from Ford’s achievements, showing him off like he was a prized puppy. But why would he do that when Ford always ended up getting the compliments?

He was an idiot to overlook it. To overlook him. He needed Stan. They were meant to be together. It took one night for Ford to finally make his decision after fretting for days on whether or not to reach out to Stan.

Bill had went a different route that night to mess with Ford. He showed Ford how Stanley had been living since he got kicked out of the house. How he was homeless, on the run, and struggling. He threatened Stan’s life, and that was the last straw.

It wasn’t just Ford’s life that fell apart without their twin it seemed. Ford was filled with rage at the sight of Stan hungry and alone. Furious at the fact Bill would even dare look at Stan.

He had a new goal now. He needed Stanley’s help to defeat Bill, and then he was going to kill anyone who dared hurt his baby brother. He sent out a postcard the same night with only two words on it.

“PLEASE COME.”

Ford was afraid that Stan wouldn’t come at first. If he didn’t show up then Ford mused that he would have to deal with Bill on his own and then hunt Stan down, but not even a week later Stan was at Ford’s door, as beautiful as the day he lost him.

He just needed to deal with Bill, and then he and Stanley could be together again.

It took him longer than he liked to deal with Bill, even with Stan’s help, but when they found out that aluminum foil blocked Bill from entering his mind they made quick and efficient work of the demon. Apparently being able to work on more than 2 hours and 27 minutes a sleep a day helped the mind. Ford couldn’t help but feel like an idiot when he realized something as simple as a kitchen wrap was able to counteract Bill’s influence.

It was Stanley who first came up with the idea after Ford had explained everything to him. He had scoffed at the idea, but at Stan’s insistence he tried it out. He was never happier to be wrong and almost kissed Stan the next morning when he woke up from a dreamless sleep.

After banishing Bill and beginning the process to dismantle the portal, Ford realized he had to make his move. Stanley was growing antsy the longer he stayed, and had even brought up the fact he would have to “hit the road,” soon.

He should have been more clear. It was his fault, really. Of course his brother would think all Ford wanted was his help. Then back to the life of a homeless drifter, not even knowing when he’d have his next meal.

Ford wasn���t going to let that happen.

The brand was simple, but elegant. Intricate Rune’s weaved into sleek, sweeping lines. It had taken Ford three days to get this far, but it was still unfinished. He just needed more time, time he didn’t have.

He had to take drastic action when Stan tried to leave. He had come upstairs for a cup of coffee only to be met with Stan bundled up, front door halfway open.

“Stanley? Where are you going?”

His voice seemed to startle his twin, the man turning towards him with a sheepish grin.

“Just getting out of your hair. Don’t want to over stay my welcome and all that jazz. Think I’m going to head down to Utah, heard it’s nice around this time of year.”

It was a lie. Stan was banned from Utah. Stanley was banned from a lot of states actually, which made Ford’s life a lot more easier if Stan did make it out the door that night.

But he didn’t.

With a smile, he reached out his hand, a silent offer to carry his twins bag.

“Ah, no need Sixer. I got it. You can go back to your nerd stuff. Nice seeing you.”

Was Stan’s gruff response, clutching the duffel bag tightly.

“At least let me walk you to your car.”

Stan seemed to hesitate, before nodding. Even when he was trying so hard to push Ford away, Stan still craved his attention. His brother was adorable, like a cute puppy who couldn’t decide if he wanted you to pet him or to bite your hand off.

The two walked out in the snow, the only sounds being the soft crunching of their footsteps. The snowstorm had slowed down to a soft drizzle, snowflakes falling lazily down from the sky.

And in the middle of the beautiful snowy landscape was Stan’s car, its tires slashed.

“What the fuc-“

It was a quick sedative, one that only took a few sniffs to make a grown man pass out. Ford hadn’t accounted for Stan’s resistance to drugs, though. His brother stared at him with cloudy eyes, a betrayed look on his face, and all Ford could do was quietly shush him.

“Shh, it’s okay Lee. I just need a little more time, then we’ll never be apart again.”

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Rookanis Accidental Baby Acquisition AU

Zara Renata was about to call Illario "amatus", right? Lover? Wouldn't it be fucked up if they had a child. Like in a back room or office or something and Rook's team and Lucanis found them before they left the Ossuary.

Assuming Zara had real feelings for Illario, maybe she felt bad to had "killed" his beloved cousin and was like "Here. Another of your bloodline to love." Which for blood mages is probably of some significance.

And Illario couldn't bring this bastard Dellamorte home to Caterina. There's too much at stake at the moment. He'll come for them after making himself the First Talon and eliminating the threat of the Crows. His regime was going to align with the Venatori anyway so it's just a waiting game. His claim will be stronger when he reveals an heir with Venatori ties, too.

Except maybe Zara locked their child away before fighting Rook's party- for protection- so Illario had to make the call to leave them behind, intending to return after they'd left, only to find that Rook and company have already come to the rescue.

What does he do? He can't accuse Rook and Lucanis of having his secret Venatori bastard in their possession. He doesn't even know that for certain. Another Venatori could have made the rounds and taken them along to another facility.

He's panicking because his cousin he tried to have assassinated is very much alive, furious about it, and his own infant child is out in the world somewhere lost, possibly in the possession of mages who work for the Blighted gods, and the Crows are bound to find out--!

Meanwhile, Rook and company have a baby now. Even if they can't be 100% sure Illario is the father, they can't just leave this kid at any orphanage. Their mother was Zara Renata, infamous Zenatori blood mage, with no shortage of enemies who could possibly do something terrible blood-magic-fucked-up-style to a baby.

Despite Lucanis absolutely denying Illario's possible paternity, the child is obviously Antivan with big dark brown eyes and the thick wavy hair. Lucanis cannot handle the much more at this point. He was just freed from imprisonment after a year of being tortured and fused with a demon, certain someone in the Crows has betrayed him, he does not sleep, he's so tired. He's a man on the brink. He can just agree that the child is better off with his new employer than a blood mage prison or without protection out in the world.

He does not stay up at night thinking about the familiar features of his cousin brother on a small round face just a few rooms away. He has enough on his mind, Spite! And if he thinking about the baby, it's only because he can't comprehend how a monster like Zara Renata had such an innocent creature in her clutches in that gods-forsaken place.

The team is hesitant on how to even start taking care of a baby, but Rook is into it. They're so cute! And sure babies cry and poop and test one's patience, but it there's anyone who is going to understanding about it, it's going to be the optimistic team leader who made the call to take the child with them in the first place. Rook made that choice and they're going to stand by it. Besides, the child needs someone to be a consistent caretaker right?

While the team helps in the day time, nighttime feedings and diaper changes are mostly Rook's responsibility. And the milk station is in the kitchen where Lucanis just so happens to be most nights.

Reluctant baby bonding with Lucanis every night. Talking in soft tones over the sounds of infant suckling at a warm bottle in Rook's arms. Lucanis offering to burp them over his shoulder, nose buried in their soft hair, Spite quiet for once. Rook sitting next to him and telling he's good at this, taking care of others. Something he's never been allowed to do with Caterina all but caging him within the confines of Crow duty and terror as surely as any mage's prison.

Hands touching as the baby is transferred from one another. Rook catching Lucanis' soft, unguarded smile looking down at the babbling baby, little hands reaching for his face. Lucanis scolding the baby in a playful voice when they tug at his beard and hair. That kind of dexterity will be good for handling kitchen knives later.

Maybe he could teach them to bake? They might make a good kitchen assistant if he starts tutoring them now before the team can pass down bad habits. He tells them never to follow Harding's cooking advice or develop Neve's preference for Tevinter coffee. They will be a good little Antivan chef, yes.

Shared glances over late-night coffee and cioccolata calda and an empty milk bottle. Giving unhelpful advice on how to properly change a cloth diaper, knocking shoulders. Exasperated sighs as they take turns bouncing the crying baby trying to soothe some unknown hurt for hours. Spite's wings fascinating the baby, who stops crying to reach for black feathers that disappear as they brush against their skin. A first kiss shared over a sleepy child cuddled to Lucanis' chest.

Even after accepting the truth, Lucanis can't bring them to Caterina. Can't stomach this child going through the same conditional love and training to be a Crow that he went through, and that will inevitably happen if he, or Illario, come forward about it.

So he makes the decision to lock up Illario just so he can approach him in private to imply that the child has been found and is safe in Rook's hands. Because Lucanis still loves Illario, and Illario does care somewhere deep down about his child's life. Lucanis can't afford to lose the family he's finding for himself now, not even for the family he used to have. It's a tenuous balance.

And in the years to come, if that child lives in a Lighthouse in the Fade, and squeals a delighted papà! as soon as they see Lucanis returning from Treviso. Well. That's Veilguard, not Crow, business.

[achaotichuman]

Warning, lengthy ACOTAR villain headcanon ramble ahead. Villain discussed: Ianthe and the Hybern Twins.

God I fucking hate how SJM turned Ianthe into a rapist, you're telling I can't make a hundred posts going on and on about my Ianthe and how this bad bitch absolutely was strutting the cat walk of running the world without anyone thinking twice about her because she's that fucking smart that she outwitted one of the most hyper-aware High Lords, all because Miss Maas decided she wanted to make all her female villains sex offenders because she doesn't know how to write them.

I'm going to anyway.

Also like, the twins were *definitely* possessed by Valgs right? Like, we can all see that? Right????

Come onnnnn, the potential story!!!! Dagdan and Brannagh hangin about the Hybern castle while Tamlin was there as a kid, and him ending up just following them around whenever his father dumps him and he's afraid of Amarantha or someone else finding him, and whelp, they're the only ones who haven't been mean to him so might as well follow em right?

And then the twins are like

Brannagh: "Uhm... want a beer?"

Dagdan: "HE'S FOUR"

Brannagh: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HIM???"

And then he just ends up hanging out with them every time he's there, like they're his cool cousins, and they teach him Hybern traditions and fighting techniques, and help horn his skill. Like Tamlin is wickedly observant and despite never wanting the crown, he is grade-A certified for the job, mans eliminated slavery without a single thought, that kind of ruling does take some knowledge. Yet, he's terrible with people. COME ON THE TWINS TRAINED HIM

"Oh but Asher, the incest"

No no no, they're aro/ace, and don't show any sexual attraction towards Ianthe, and Feyre, having the biggest crush on Ianthe, sees the twins not tryna jump her and immediately assumes incest. Which, is only half-relatable Fey fey. I get the whole crush part, but you jumped to conclusions a little there.

Back to the Valg possession theory. Imagine if the twins were like, "Hey uncle, what you're doin is a little uncool, we're gonna dip."

KoH: "..."

KoH: "Shove em in the Cauldron and see what happens."

Blah, blah, blah I didn't pay attention in TOG when they were explaining Valg demons, blah blah blah, possession, dark magic, etc etc

You get the idea.

(They were gonna dip and not help Prythian out at all, unless asked by Tamlin because they don't actually care. They just don't really want to hurt Tamlin)

Now the KoH has two obedient highly trained slaves that he wants to use, and Tamlin volunteers to have them at his Court, because when he went to Hybern, Tammy was like

"Omg, I could just get my cool cousins in spirit to help me out, they've always been there for me whenever I was in Hybern, surely they'd help out-... What? Oh their souls have been eaten and their just mindless demons now? Okay, cool.... *broken sobs cause more of his family is dead*,"

So now Tams got the twins at his place and he's also desperately trying to find a way to get them unpossessed cause he is absolutely not losing anyone else. And then boom, Feyre and Lucien kill them, they both dip, Ianthe's later killed and oh no, now all his family is dead or has left him. That was counter-productive.

Basically, I am describing the biggest angst fic ever. Ianthe, being not a rapist, but the baddest bitch in Prythian who is holding all the strings, she's got a list... of all the people that once double crossed her, she's checking it twice... to see which ones she wants to kill immediately and which ones she wants to have publicly tortured. She's using her friendship with Tamlin as a means to manipulate him and prop herself up to get close to the Cauldron so she can use it.

This fic would also absolutely have a scene of Tamlin on his knees sobbing and begging the twins to come back because goddamnit he fucking needs them, and know they're still in there, and they're just not but he can't accept it.

I also feel like Ianthe would enlist the twins (and probably Jurian) as her evil little henchmen. Jurian just here cause he likes making fun of Ianthe when Feyre is inevitably fucking everything up, but not in the cool protagonist fucks up the evil villains plan way, no, Feyre is just being unhinged and Ianthe can't deal with this, and Jurian is NO HELP

There'd be a scene where Ianthe angrily throws her robes on the floor screaming "I QUIT, I QUIT, I CANT TAKE THIS ANYMORE" and storms off. Jurian picks it up and puts it on and pretends to be her, and Ianthe runs back to snatch it off him.

Ofc remove all the sexual predatory behaviour (Ianthe might be a villain, but she is the High Priestess and she has to be an example, afterall she wants all this power because she believes the Priestesses should be in charge of everything)

Like, Ianthe is just this unbelievably strong-willed, intelligent and powerful person, then you also have Lucien, who is... the exact same, just minus all of the evil. DO NOT TELL ME THEY WOULDNT SASS EACH OTHER TO HECK AND BACK

Tamlin turns his back for five seconds and they are snapping. Dramatically tossing their hair at each other, the doors are being slammed like a teenager releasing their pubescent angst.

Also, Ianthe x Elain, come on.

In summary, I have a massive crush on Ianthe, and I think the twins could have *so cool*

This is my entirely unedited thoughts on this subjects, it is late, and I sleepy. If you made it to the end of this, you get a little gold star.

[twilightkitkat]

Wade is the type of guy to search for Logan across the multiverse and once he finds him he'd say to whoever the fuck took him, "You seem to have forgotten, but this Wolverine is mine. If you want one so badly, go fucking get your own." And that's the last thing they hear before Wade stabs them in the throat, hard enough to be fatal but not to kill them immediately.

They gurgle and sputter around their own blood as Wade goes to retrieve his Wolvie. Wade cuts the chains and cradles him tenderly and kisses his forehead. The image of Wade helping Logan to his feet, gently, like he's somehow afraid of hurting The Wolverine, is the last thing they see.

People who try to fuck with Logan quickly find out. Whether the intention was to kill or hurt or take him, it doesn't matter. Wade will find them and Wade will kill them, slowly and painfully and torturously. There is no escape, no matter how airtight the plan might be.

Soon, anyone who knows about the multiverse is aware of Wade's claim on this Logan. They steer clear of his universe at every opportunity, and refuse to take missions in it no matter how well they pay. Deadpool's reputation was already fearsome, but when Logan's involved? He goes from a monster to the devil himself.

[tubbytarchia]

So I think my perception of Grian's reasoning for enabling the horrible Jimmy ecosystem and also my perception of his character as a whole has been turned on its head completely and I feel really bad for him after watching Kingdom of Valor and it's like bad roleplay but it's. it's done things to me and I've never ever felt this much for Grian not even in my sadboy Grian Desert Duo phase. I don't know what to do about this

SA word under cut

Episodes 6 and 10 (like the entirety of it) for context. :( . :(. But like major warning if you watch those episodes, especially 10, because um they didn't use any disclaimers

[laniidae-passerine]

decided that in my own personal canon, Santiago’s maker looked similar to Louis, simply because Ben Daniels stated that Santiago was very likely in love with his maker. and wouldn’t it be some kind of torture to fall in love with the man who murdered your first vampiric love? to then watch him fall in love with another, who bears an eerie resemblance to that first love? to be witness to something tender and affectionate blooming, every moment a memory of how none of those you’ve adored have ever wanted you back? it would be agony. it would be torture. god, you would just hate them to pieces, loathing even as you loved them. and you wouldn’t know peace - not until the whole pack of them learnt the horror of love, just as you have.

[tomurakii]

Winged men I would hit with my car + reverse back over to make sure the job was done if I saw them on the street

[shotmrmiller]

simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.

he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.

he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.

he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.

you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.

he looks one clown short of a circus.

he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)

possessive, obsessive, paranoid.

he'll kill you if you try to leave him.

simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.

his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.

simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.

unsung heroes.

and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.

simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.

there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.

you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.

you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.

you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.

you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.

your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.

"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-

how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.

it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.

the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.

his little hero.

you took him home, so now he takes you to his.

(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)

[dark-konohagakure2]

Yandere Illumi x Dumb Little Sis Reader? Breeding Kink, (Little sweet?)

tw: incest, sibling incest, dubcon, yandere, infantilization, breeding, isolation, brainwashing, bimboification, mating press

All characters depicted are 18+

The words 'sweet' and 'Illumi' are two words that are never used in the same sentence by any sane individual, the man's face seems incapable of changing from it's impassive mask, let alone making a gentle expression, but none of those preconceptions about him are held by his dearest baby sister, who thinks the world of him.

His sister is such a silly little thing, acting like a little girl again whenever she's with her big brother, despite being much too old to act in such a way. Illumi finds it adorable, it's so cute how she acts so submissive around him, and it's even cuter how she is completely blissfully unaware of the helpful little needle implanted within her brain.

Illumi almost never smiles around anyone, unless its out of sadism, but his sister is the exception, the usually emotionless assassin is practically beaming whenever his sister snuggles up to him or when she starts crying and clinging to him whenever he leaves her side for longer than a few minutes.

He's especially content when his sister innocently begs for his attention, even wanting to sleep in the same bed as him almost every night, of course Illumi can't say no to his adorable baby sister, so he accepts her into his bed with open arms, as long as she's ready to accept him with open legs.

"Hmm? Oh fine, come here sissy... Your big brother needs some love and attention from his favorite baby sibling tonight..."

He's cold to the touch, both figuratively and literally, so his little sister will have to cling to him as her only source of warmth while he's pounding into her snug pussy, murmuring praises about how she's going to make a perfect Zoldyck assassin straight from her womb for the family.

Illumi isn't very sensitive at all, his sense of both pain and pleasure alike being dulled from a lifetime of torturous assassin training, so it'll take him a long while to climax. His dear sister is the opposite, squirming and whining in pleasure beneath him as she babbles on and on about how good it feels at how much she loves her Nii Nii. To say that he's fucking her dumb would be inaccurate, his sweet sister is already pretty stupid because of him, his dick just makes her even more of a bimbo.

Illumi is as precise with breeding her as he is with killing his targets, wanting to make sure that she's thoroughly impregnated. He'll have her pinned down in the mating press as his cock shoots load after load of his virile sperm into her fertile womb, not letting a single drop spill out and not stopping until he physically can't go on anymore, and being a Zoldyck means he can go for hours.

Another thing Illumi loves about fucking his own innocent sister is how clingy she gets even after he's been brutalizing her womb for the past hours, showering him with affection and praise even in her fucked out state. Illumi is sure to praise her right back, and provide her with as much affection as a deplorable man like himself can muster up.

"Good sissy... You were such a good girl taking all my cum like that. That's just one other reason why I love you so so much..."

And Illumi isn't lying when he says that. He truly and wholly loves his little sister with his entire depraved heart. It's clear to any sane person that his love is twisted and grotesque, but as long as she's a Zoldyck, she'll never get to meet anyone who is sane.

[quarterlifekitty]

first, im a bit new to cod but idk…

thinking about ghost’s spouse visiting him on base or some shit, and everyone else wondering how tf he was emotionally flexible enough to bag a bad bitch 🫶

note: this is just my personal little fantasy world headcanon lol so take it with a grain of salt!

Simon maintains a vaguely human lifestyle by adhering to one very strict rule: rigid compartmentalization. You don’t come up at work, and work doesn’t come up around you. Never the twain shall meet, he thinks. And he’s not exactly a watershed of information when he’s with his mates. And it’s not like anyone is asking “When was the last time you got fucked, Ghost?” and seriously expecting a response.

He tells you about the crew, but not about what he does with them. Killing, espionage, torture– that kind of thing stays off the dinner table.

Let it be known that you do not surprise him at work. You respect his boundaries too much, which is why he’s so fucking serious about you, honestly. He calls, asking if you can run something to him. This is maybe the greatest symbol of trust he can bestow, as a man who has only a fraction of an existence in the eyes of the government: he asks you to bring a document of his. He gives you the instructions on how to find it, and trusts that you won’t look at anything you don’t have to.

You know Johnny lets out a low whistle when he sees you coming up with a manilla folder in your hands.

“Who’s that bloody bombshell, then?”

You spy Simon and jog up to him with a smile. He’s the one who embraces you, short but strong. Cue the nigh audible gasping.

“LT, you absolute dog.”

Simon rolls his eyes as the two of you are crowded in short order. You make polite introductions, but have a previous engagement– you really did only have time to stop by.

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

Everyone is wondering how this could’ve happened. For the record– I think in this scenario, Johnny and Gaz go through a constant string of heartbreaks, and John is kinda married to his job. So in a cruel twist of fate, Simon is actually the only one currently with a partner, much less a spouse.

“How’d you manage to bag a right beauty like that, LT? C’mon, spill it–”

Simon doesn’t mean to diminish your value or anything, but his answer is not going to be satisfying, because he doesn’t find it that difficult to get women. And also, you’re his true love, so you’re perfect for each other and growing close to you was as easy as breathing. But he doesn’t say that.

“S’not that hard. Remember the stuff she says, don’t keep no secrets… dick ‘er down the way she likes.” He doesn’t mean to be crude about it, but from his perspective, is one of the main reasons why you tolerate him. Soap howls at the response.

He’s telling the truth, though! He has a scarily good memory. Remembers every friend you’ve ever told him about, every movie you’ve ever mentioned, every meal he’s cooked for you and how you liked it. He remembers dates, times, and lists with no issue whatsoever.

And he’s never kept anything from you. He tells you how the fuck he’s feeling, and you return the favor, even if it isn’t pleasant. The only thing he doesn’t mention to you are the gorey details of his work.

And you have never had more of a communicative partner, ironically. There were times in the beginning when he didn’t know all of the ins and outs of coaxing pleasure from your body, so he asked you to show him how you like it. And that scary memory is at work yet again– every sensitive spot, every offhand mention of a kink you’ve not yet explored together, every arch of your spine and clench of your cunt. He’s got it down to a science. Could write novels about making love to you specifically.

What I’m trying to say, at the end of the day, is that Ghost bagged a bad bitch by being autistic.

[josephquinnswhore]

Little bird - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel is a merciless hunter for sport, seeking many anew victim when he comes across you. who changes everything.

word count: 3.8k

content warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONSUMING. joel is basically a psycho? he kills for sport, control freak, stalking, murder, dubcon, age gap, power dynamic, manipulation, gaslighting, forceful face fucking, reader spews on Joel’s cock, blood play, forced proximity, m orgasm, fingering, m and f oral receiving, f orgasm, pet names such as; little bird, birdie, princess, daddy.

Joel had adapted to the outbreak effortlessly, without, like a bird. It is in his nature alike to theirs, to adapt through the conditions to ensure survival for their species without second thought for consequence. Even after what had happened to his daughter.

The instance of her unnecessary death had sent Joel spiral into this mindset, serial killing and torture. Not even out of necessity, supplies, he just found a sense of control in the act.

He is constantly covered in blood, his hands, neck and clothes all had stains on them. But he found comfort in the act of squeezing his large hands around someone’s frail neck, seeing the light fade from their eyes.

Paired travellers were his preference. The men always tried to be heroes, and Joel found it amusing that they always thought they’d beat him in battle, underestimating Joel's pent up rage and obsession for control. His strength is unmatched—survival skill and pure animalistic rage is channelled with each plea for mercy.

He’d seen many people around him change, good hearted folk who had clawed so far deep into the instinctual rage of strength and determination within themselves. Just so they had what it takes to survive this world.

But Joel—this darkness was raging inside of him before the outbreak, before any real need to access this side for survival had even come into play. With decades of experience, he had become skilled at stalking, especially. Observing.

Often he had thoughts about doing bad things to women and men that he acted out on. He couldn’t find a goddamn ounce of sympathy within himself as he hunted people, stalking his next victims through every state and terrain.

It was sport for Joel, a comfort as he realises that everyone’s life is in his hands, that he gets to decide who lives and dies. That he remained victorious. Too brutal and savage for anyone to defeat.

Notoriously good at what he did, he had more blood on his hands than probably anyone, finding the talking as exhilarating as the kill.

It had never been anything more than that, until now.

Until he had seen you, two days prior.

He had taken one glance at you, and his feet of their own accord, had started trailing you. Following from a distance as the memorises the size and depth of your footprints in the snow. Since then, he’d been listening in on the two of you bickering about how lost you were, namely you—terrified about where you were, and where you were going.

Walking through the thick snowfall of the mountains, carrying that overloaded bag that made your shoulders sag. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d see your face crumble in pain as you try to adjust the straps of the bag, or beg the young man you traveled with to put some items into his own bag to take some weight off your shoulders.

Watching every interaction between you and this man from the past two days, he could conclude that he was your boyfriend. He hated this boy, the way he walked ahead of you, made you keep first watch after a gruelling day of travelling.

You don’t argue or seem to mind which Joel concedes is a product of this being a constant for you.

He gathers that more than likely, you didn’t understand how you were being taken advantage of. That this boy didn’t care about you, not the way he did.

The thought infuriated him, sending a rush of heat through his body as he clutched onto the falling bark of a tree he had hidden behind, observing you through the forest, the only thing that separates you from him, is a small clearance of flat ground to your small, makeshift camp.

A natural formation of a cave like structure made of rock. All you had to keep you warm was a freying sleeping bag and the arms of the boy wrapped around you.

Joel thinks about all the ways he’d take care of you. Giving you his thick, insulated winter coat, lighting a fire for you in his cabin. Keeping watch the entire evening so you could rest your fragile body.

The more he thinks, the more he fuels his own obsession. He wonders what your skin feels like under his own sinful ones, wonders what your cries would sound like, if you’d give into him or run.

For the first time in years, he doesn’t want to kill, he doesn’t plan on wrapping his thick hands around your neck to crush your oesophagus. He doesn’t think about reaching for his sharpened hunting blade and driving it to the hilt into the soft, warm flesh of your neck.

No, you were different. So pretty, so mistreated. He had to take care of you. Bring you into his warm hands like an injured bird in need of delicate care.

You’re exhausted beyond belief. The old boots you wear are barely holding together, even with the duct tape you’d wrapped around the collapsing soul, and even that was wearing off the front of the shoe.

You know you can’t risk sliding them off for a moment to dig your fingers into your heels to relieve the ache, in fear of infected, or people.

It’s not ideal to stop here, in the middle of the snowfall, freezing your asses off. You’re so lost, and afraid.

There’s a sense of bitterness rising inside of you as you watch your boyfriend sleep, you love him, with each beat of your heart… but you needed to sleep too. If only.

Hours pass of you staring into the clearance of trees and snow, of nothing. Not a bird, not a wisp of wind. The lack of anything happening only fuelled the burning in your dried eyes, lulling them to close, just for a moment.

You don’t know that you’d fallen asleep, standing upright against the tree you were keeping watch from until you’re awoken by a blood curdling scream.

Shaking you out of your slumber, you turn to see your boyfriend is gone from the makeshift camp.

A sense of dread buries itself deep into your skin.

“No.. fuck.. no! Jacob!” You cry out, ignoring the ache in your feet as you run back the way you heard the scream. Holding your handgun in front of you cautiously, there’s another scream.

But it sounds like it’s encircling you. Surrounding you from every direction.

“Jacob!” You scream back, tears welling your eyes.

This was your fault.

A spec of blood catches your eye, like a trail of a clue leading you to a horrific mystery. But you follow, urging yourself to run as you come to see your boyfriends body tied to a lonesome tree in front of a small nearby cabin.

“Jacob… Jacob it’s me,” your voice cracks, tossing your gun down onto the snow as you reach for the tightly knotted ropes that had him restrained against the tree. Jacob’s voice is muffled by a rope fastened into his mouth, keeping his head upright against the tree.

Despite his desperate attempts to warn you of the looming predator behind you.. it’s hopeless.

The blood has created a small pool around him, seeping into the snow. “I’m gonna help you okay? I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

A sound behind you makes your fingers freeze in place around the rope, the familiar sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back—ready to fire.

Frantically, you look to the ground and realise that your gun is no longer where you’d tossed it. The only evidence of it was a deep imprint in the sand.

A deep, southern voice carries strong through the short distance between you, sending a nauseating shiver down your spine. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

You raise your hands above your head, kneeling on the ground, eyeing your boyfriend with tears in your eyes, mouthing to him with a tremble of your jutted bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Turn around.” The deep voice instructs.

Obeying, you turn your body towards your captor, on your knees with your hands still in a surrendering gesture. Eyes stuck on his shoes that were in much better condition than your own, practically new looking.

The cool metal of your own gun traces the shape of your chin, lifting your face upward to meet the gaze of an older man. His dark brown eyes shift as he takes in every feature of your face, committing every detail to memory.

You’re even prettier up close.

“Please don’t do this, I .. we don’t have anything to give. We’re starving as it is and our supplies are worn.” The plea goes ignored, but you’re desperate.

“I’ll do anything, just help Jacob, don’t let him die like this,” you beg, fat tears rolling down past your waterline.

So pretty when you cry. Those bright, big eyes begging him to help you. It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Oh? You’ll do anything will you?” Darkly, he chuckles. “Remember this promise, little bird.”

The man holds your gun in his hand and grabs at you, one hand grasping the back of your head and bringing it flush to his crotch, rubbing your soft face over the hard bludge of his cock.

A breathy moan escapes him at how you protest, the palms of your hands against his thighs attempt to push him away.

“Tss. Maybe you don’t care about your little boyfriend after all, do you?” He scolded you.

A dry sob slips past your cracked lips, seeming to give up against the harsh grip of the man. A twisted rumble from within his chest vibrates against your palms splayed on his jeans.

“Unbutton my jeans and take out my cock,” the older man sneers, in a means to humiliate you.

Your cold, trembling fingers work at the tight button, and it pops open with a sense of release as his stomach slightly overhangs the right fitting denim. The zipper is freezing—but you manage to keep your fingers pinched around the small zip enough to pull his jeans down to expose him.

More tears fall down your face as you fail to accept what was happening.

“Tell me you want this cock, little bird.”

At your silence, the man redirects the barrel of your gun to your boyfriend. “You think I won’t fucking shoot him again?”

With his booming, threatening promise of violence against Jacob, you utter nonsense.

“I want your cock,” voice cracked thickly as you force the words out.

The man growls in approval, bringing the gun back to you, tracing the barrel of the weapon against your lips in a tantalising threat.

“If you try anything, including biting.. I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out princess.” The utterance through gritted teeth sends your blood cold.

He had no intention of actually killing you, but the way you were trembling beneath him was a good sign you believed it.

“Now be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick cock,” he hums, forcing the thick, blunt tip through your parted lips.

It burns, how far his cock has stretched your lips wide open, the intrusion so far deep into your mouth makes you gag around him, but that doesn’t deter him at all. Pushing further into your mouth, down the back of your throat.

“Fuck little bird, knew your mouth would take me perfectly.”

Tears, snot and saliva all accumulate at the base of his cock, urging his hand to force you closer to him. Holding his cock down your throat, legs trembling beneath him at the feel of you struggling, gagging against him and the palms of your hands frantically trying to push him out of your mouth so that you could breathe.

He pulls halfway out of you, and with that a small amount of bile from your throat coats his cock. Your mouth was so perfect, warm and stretched out for him. Taking him so well. Nothing deters this man from taking exactly what he’d dreamt of you these past two days.

The constant reminder of the gun pressed against your temple was forcing you to endure this. It would save Jacob, it would ensure survival for the two of you.

It hurts, the way he’s fucking himself into your throat relentlessly. The pace is brutal and each growl makes your stomach feel sick.

The worst part is that your body is reacting to this, the slick between your legs is gathering and becoming incredibly uncomfortable.

“Gonna swallow my cum, birdie, fuck.. can feel my cock down your throat.” He can see the thickness down your throat too, swollen full of him. He cums with a strangled groan, the sight of his cock twitching down your throat sent him over the edge.

“Such a good girl, ain’cha?”

You’re completely fucked out. Eyes blown wide and red from the tears you shed. He pulls his cock out of your mouth to trace the outline of your plump lips.

“Please let us go now,” the hoarse request is met with a twisted cackle.

The man stuffs his hard cock into his jeans, the outline of it is impossible to ignore as you look up at him with a pleading gaze.

You had done everything he’d asked, and perfectly too.

Which is why he had to do this.

“Sorry, birdie. But I can’t let you go now.”

He brings your gun upward to Jacob and pulls the trigger. Five pounds of pressure against the trigger causes your boyfriend's head to fall limp against the tree, a gaping, bleeding hole in the middle of his forehead.

“No!” Your voice cracks as a guttural scream tears through the air.

No part of your body is listening as you will it to move, for your legs to carry you to stand and run, but they’re numb from being knelt on the icy ground so long.

The man shoves you onto the soft, snow. Your head is right beside your lifeless boyfriend’s body. “Jacob.. Jacob please,” you beseech, hoping that he’d somehow be able to save you.

Your arms are flailing against his chest as he crawls on top of you, the weak attempt gains a thick hand down the front of your cargo pants, and a hot growl against your lips.

“Maybe I don’t need to clip your wings after all, birdie, seems this pretty fucking pussy is already wet. Don’t pretend to fight me, princess. She wants this.” Without warning, one thick finger pushes inside of your weeping cunny, before pulling it out.

A protesting whine rolls off your tongue as he removes his finger, before you could stop yourself. He sucks your juices off the digit. And his eyes darken.

“Been thinkin’ bout how this sweet pussy would taste, knew it would be perfect.”

The older man sticks the same finger that had just been inside you, into one of Jacob’s stomach wounds, coating his finger in the warm, red blood.

He thrives off the mortified expression that causes your face to scrunch up, wiggling as he brings the bloody finger down to your lips, forcing it into your mouth.

But as he retreats his finger past your lips it’s now stained red, albeit clean. But you reject it, gagging against the metallic taste, spitting the blood onto the snow in a messy spatter, some of it sticking to your cheek and chin.

“You’re sick!” A crooked smile stretches the man’s lips at your accusation.

“No, no little bird. This is exactly what you need. A real man to protect you, so that this..” he gestures to your boyfriend. “Doesn’t happen to you, I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

The condescending tone is lost on you as the griping reality of fear ensnares you.

Your throat aches at your attempt to swallow the saliva in your throat, bobbing thickly. The small notion of you shaking your head appeases him greatly.

“I’ll take care of you. All I ask is that you don’t run, or I will clip your wings, understand me little bird?”

A second nod seals your fate.

“Believe me when I say you made the right choice, you were comin’ with me either way.”

Turns out that the small, wooden cabin belonged to this man. He had kept his large hand on the small of your back the entire time he showed you around. His homestead was fully furnished with food, supplies, furniture, even toilet paper.

“This is where you’ll sleep.” He opens a door, and there’s no windows, just a bed. Accompanied by a giant lock on the outside of the door.

He wouldn’t need to clip your wings, if he could cage you in.

“Sit down,” he orders, and you obey, still in shock as your brain tries to swallow the past hour of events whole, not allowing you to process it.

The wooden stool creaks, and he silently fills a bucket of warm water and sits across from you on a chair at the dining table.

Delicately scrunching a small cloth in his hands to wipe the dried blood off of your face, he leans in toward you, an almost soft expression plastered as he concentrates.

“If you’re good f’me we’ll give that friend of yours ‘o proper burial. Would you like that?”

The sweetness of his voice lured you in, to stare into his deep brown eyes, to take in the concerned shape of his pinched brows.

“I.. I would like that.”

He hums, you were learning quickly. Once he’s happy with your face being cleaned, he stands, picking up the aluminium bucket by the handle and pouring it down the sink. Clunking as he sets it back on the floor.

“Let’s go bury him then.” Before he changes his mind.

The snow was too thick for Joel to penetrate the soil with his shovel, so he had just cleared a foot of snow and tossed the young man into it, burying him under the frost, stacking a few rocks on top of the unmarked, unnamed grave.

He’s impressed and grateful you don’t run away though the process. That would implicate some serious issues and more importantly, require some kind of punishment.

Joel was willing to do anything to train you, to ensure that you never ran from him. In that regard, since you did stay, he felt he would reward you.

His bed is warm, the duvet is thick and the smell of him brings a sense of security to you for some reason, despite all that had happened.

“When you appease me, as you have today. I’ll reward you.” He coos, gently lying you down onto his soft bed, crawling between your legs, hastily shuffling your pants down your legs.

His face is directly between your thighs, and he parts them softly.

“I can smell how badly you need me, little bird.” He groans, pressing hot, open mouthed kissed to your inner thighs, slowly, agonisingly closer to your core.

He’s surprised when you impatiently nudge the back of his head closer to you. “That’s my girl.”

The curve of his nose rubs against your swollen clit, his tongue darting upward and into your pussy with a newfound passion.

He growls against you, the notion sends a vibration through you, and you let out a soft whimper. Thick hands ground themselves in your hips, dragging you downward in the bed so his face could delve deeper into your hole.

The wet muscle is skilled in it’s explorative ministrations, licking a long stripe from your core to your swollen clit.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get some attention too.” The promise he utters to your neglected clit is fufilled as he clamps his mouth around the bundle of nerves and sucks on you, the pressure causes a suction that feels electric.

Your fingers stiffen as they grasp onto his unruly curls. Coaxing him for more, more more more.

And he gives—the tip of his tongue skilfully, slowly working you closer and closer to the edge you’d never been brought to before.

Your thighs instinctively clamp shut around his head, keeping him buried there, not wanting him to stop.

“Please, please, please need more,” your unintelligible begging implores him to double down on his ministrations.

He can feel that you’re going to burst against him, slowly, and slowly he was winding the burning hot coil inside of you, the pressure was becoming unbearable as your thighs quake and tenable at his command.

Two of his thick fingers are swallowed by your constricting cunt, clamping down as you cry out at the intense sensation. His fingers expertly work you, pumping deep inside of you, calloused fingertips hitting the spongey flesh inside of your slick hole.

“Fucking.. need you..” you’re slurring your words, and he’s convinced that your hole would swallow him if you pushed him far enough between your legs. He could feel how greedily your pussy was swallowing his fingers. Desperate for release.

In an act of desperation, you begin to forcibly rut your pussy against his face as you raise your hips, tiring of his pace not being quiet enough to give you what you needed.

“Please.. please I want to cum.. gonna cum..”

At the increase of friction, and him allowing you to use his face your orgasm comes crashing over you. Your pussy constricts around his fingers as he works you at a slower pace through your climax.

A delicious string of babbling moans and praise roll past your lips.

Thighs jittering with a delicious tremble as they finally relax from their tight vice around his head.

“Thank you.. thank you..” the faint, inarticulate cry was all he needed for him to grin against your pussy.

You’re left heaving, and he’s mesmerised by the way your chest rises and falls at his performance. It’s something he has become enticed with—seeing you alive. Breathing.

It’s unusual for him, admiring the life within you when he was so used to taking it.

And now, as he pulls away from your pussy, lying beside you in his bed. Your body in his arms.. he knew he’d made the right choice to keep your life.

“You did so well f’me little bird.” The praise falls on your ringing ears, but all that’s returned is a vulnerable whine.

Not bothering to correct him after a moment of silence, you can’t help the words that feel petulant to ask. “Who are you?”

“Joel. And this—is your new home.” He croons into your tangled hair.

All for a moment, in the blissful ecstasy you forget how you ended up here.

[yanderefarm]

I need us pretending/threatening Emil with a divorce even after saying we wouldn’t 🙏🙏

this is a part 2 to this story

in your villain arc fr. i know if emil knew how you were manipulating him and playing him like a puppet he wouldn't even be mad he'd be like "thats hot wtf"

cw;; drugging, cheating, non-con (implied), abuse, manipulation

oh your poor husband, he's so pathetic and easy to break.

after your brutal breaking of his body with the cheating scandal you had been oh so generous to help him rebuild his all his lost favour. his ever loving husband who loved him past his worst flaws gave him a better reputation just by staying by his side. all he had to do was give into you, take you places, stop holding you at arms length like he was afraid of you running away and getting close to him at the same time. really all you wanted was more of his love and if that meant you had to break him down to nothing then you guess that's what you would do.

you walked into his office to find him surrounded by people, a familiar sight since his last scandal. you pushed past them to his desk, watching emil flinch away from your presence. you didn't need to yell and get angry this time, you knew exactly how to break him.

"i want a divorce."

you placed the newspaper on the desk to punctuate your sentence, the headline was a young noble woman's testimony of how the king had cornered her at the last royal banquet. another lie you had paid a pretty penny to get out there. you knew emil's head had been fuzzy since the last scandal, all it took was hiring a woman from a family desperate for money to force herself on him and then lie about it. he didn't even remember the night, he couldn't argue with you about it.

you heard his pathetic sob. that sound he would never usually make in front of anyone else. you turned back to see him still surrounded by his advisors and other noblemen but among their shocked faces you could see your husband had tears in his eyes.

"out." you ordered and they very quickly filed out leaving you two in a familiar position.

you walked back to the desk and stared down at him. your husband, already a broken and confused mess, hung his head like a kicked puppy dog so you couldn't see his eyes you could only hear him crying. you let out a heavy sigh.

"what am I supposed to do, emil? you clearly don't love me."

"that's not-"

"how many more women do i have to find out about before you admit it?"

"i don't remember that night... i don't think- i-"

a silence formed between you both only interrupted by his crying.

"i remember that night. i remember you left the party early to get some fresh air and you didn't come back."

he was shaking.

"..... if you had just talked to me we could have come to an agreement about concubines. if you didn't want to be with a man all you had to do was tell me. you don't have to keep humiliating me publicly and then lying about it."

"im not ly-"

you slammed your hands on the table making him flinch.

"you are. you're lying to me. you slept with the maid and then you lied about it and i forgave you. i forgave you because i thought you would learn your lesson."

"please... please punish me again please anything else... kill me, torture me, hate me, anything but leaving me..." he finally looked at you and you could see his pink eyes were cloudy and confused as tears dripped down his face.

".... that's pathetic emil. you want me to beat you but..." you forced your own tears along with your voice cracking. "you can't even say you love me."

emil tried to stand up, stumbling against the desk as his legs wobbled underneath him.

"don't leave me. please." his hand weakly grabbed your wrist

"do you love me?"

"yes."

"how am i supposed to trust that? how am i supposed to trust you? can you even say it? can you tell me you love me?"

"i...i...."

you ripped your hand away from him making him stumble again.

"I'm going to get the divorce papers ready. you're going to sign them."

you turned on your heel and left your husband sobbing in his office.

your plan to make the great emil landorr your mindbroken bitch was going along perfectly. it was going to be harder to drug him when you moved into the queen's palace but you were confident that the separation would drive him just as crazy.

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

[yuriisclumsy]

hii! How are you darling :)

Can i request a crack/ funny and fluffy cale x pregnant reader ? Like she is a few months pregnant, so cale and the kids always lay with her and dont let her do much.

Ofc the others are overprotective of her, bc like shes clumsy😭 like always falling down the stairs, nose bleeds (me core) and she watched everyone panic while looking at them with a deadpanned look bc

1. Shes a baddie whos to hot to die

2.the baby is fine and alive

And cale is loosing his mind bc he cannot leave her alone for two mins bc she will somehow make even more trouble simply bc shes ✨just a girl ✨

Stay still, will you?

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝:1,267

»»►This is a funny scenario. I like to think Cale is a super, over the top, overprotective, man. If you mess with those he cares about or loves, you’re about to find yourself in an interesting situation. 

»»►But when Cale finds out he’s going to be a papa, he goes wild. Forget accepting whatever mission the crown prince wants him to do, he needs to be right next to his wife–24/7. 

»»►And let’s be honest with ourselves, this man would literally take this chance to laze around even more. This is the life he wanted, no? 

»»►Oh, but his dear wife doesn’t like sitting still for more than a minute. This is torture for her—but can’t do anything about it because her husband and (adopted)kids want her to relax and take care of herself and the baby. 

»»►But, why? You may ask. That’s for the single fact that she is clumsy (hey just like me!). She crashes stuff, trips, falls, hurts herself—according to Cale and the others—she denies such accusations—and last but not least, she gets herself in trouble. 

»»►So, yeah. [Name] have no “stepping outside the state” privileges until after the baby is here physically. But [Name] is a tough cookie. She can handle herself when no-one is around. So—to everyone’s dismay—she goes outside one day. It’s just to stroll around and see what has progressed in Harris Village. 

»»►One thing to note: she didn’t tell a soul about her outing. 

»»►Now imagine Cale’s face when he comes back to see the staff panicking for the whereabouts of his wife. 

»»►Let's just say…it was chaotic that day. 

“Woah, that looks tasty...!” [Name] drooled at the sight. 

“Good morning, lady [Name]! What can I get you today?” The shop owner greeted [Name] with a smile. 

“Can I have this please?” [Name] pointed to one of the delicacies of the bakery. It was a croissant-looking-bread stuffed full of chocolate. 

The owner of the bakery gave her a bag filled with what she ordered. “Here you go! Please come back soon!” the owner waved goodbye. 

“I will!” She waved back at the owner. [Name] took one of the baked goods and began to eat it.  

“I wonder how everyone is doing at the state.” 

… 

“LADY [NAME]!” 

“M’lady! Where are you?!” 

“Does anyone remember the last place [Name] went to?!” 

“M’lady, please be okay!” 

Currently, everyone is in a frenzy. The lady of the house was nowhere to be found, and everyone and their mothers were running like headless chickens in search of her. And if they did not find her, their master was going to kill them! 

“What is with the commotion here?” a voice spoke from the entrance of the manor. 

Everything stopped. Slowly, the housekeepers and butlers turned their heads towards the voice. They knew this voice. Very well in fact. Although they grew to like it, right now, they wish they didn’t hear it. They prayed that it was a ghost. Dread overtook them as they saw the voice’s owner. 

Cale Henituse. Their young master. And the husband of the manor’s lady they were trying to find. 

“So? Is anyone going to tell me why you are all running like the world just ended?” Cale spoke. 

Who was mad enough to even dare to tell the young master that his wife magically disappeared? Not me. And not anyone in this room.  

Yet a brave soul stood up and spoke. May he rest in peace. 

“Ah…y-young mater Cale,” a young butler went forward and vowed, stammering in his word, “we..uh…. Can’t find lady [Name] anywhere...?” 

“...” 

“...” 

It was deafeningly silent. No one moved an inch, waiting—waiting for the order to execute them. They fully accepted their fate. 

“Well, what are you all just standing there for?” he spoke, breaking the iceberg. 

“Huh?” 

“Standing still isn't going to bring back [Name].” He stood there, staring at the crowd. 

He was right. 

They needed to get back to searching for Lady [Name]!  

A chorus of ‘yes, sir!’ was heard before a horde of housekeepers and butlers left in search of their Lady. 

“*sigh* Why are you like this [Name]...?” Cale whispered and looked up. He slowly walked to the exit of the manor heading to the town; the children followed after him–this included Choi Han. 

“Master Cale, where are you going?” Hans asked. 

“I’m going to the market area in the town,” he said, not bothering to look back. “Ron, make my bed as comfortable as you can make, will you?” 

“Yes, young master.” Ron responded. 

“Great.” 

… 

Lovely day for [Name] sitting in the shade of an umbrella and her delicious foods. Going from one shop to another, she had managed to gather a lot of food. She had gone overboard again, yes, but the baby she was carrying and her were happy. Who could ever disturb such happiness? 

“[Name].” A male voice called her name firmly from behind. 

Of course. The only person that could was her husband. [Name] knew he only meant good, but right now he had broken that tranquility. 

“Oh! Cale, love, darling, how are you...?” [Name] turned and looked at him nervously. The children had gathered around her–with Raon being invisible naturally. 

“[Name]...” Cale rubbed the temples of his face before sighing, “why are you out?” he asked sternly. 

“Well clearly, I was taking a walk. And I bought some snacks on the way.” She answered, petting both Hong and Raon while On made herself comfortable in her lap. 

“What–no. That’s not what I meant.” 

“You asked why I was out, and I told you why.” 

“You know exactly why I asked that.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” [Name] gave the children the treats she had bought earlier. 

“[Name], please. You know how dangerous it is for you to be here right now. You are due at any point now! And I just…agh..I just want you to stay safe.” He said in frustration. 

[Name] looked at him, feeling a bit guilty that he is like that. She had reached her ninth month a week ago, making this month the most crucial. She just didn’t want to stay locked up in her room all the time. It was something that did not sit right with her. 

“I’m sorry…” [Name] looked down in shame. 

“I…*sigh* You are going to be the death of me.” Cale came closer to her and placed his hands underneath her. 

“Hu-huh? Cale? What are you doing?” panicking a little before realizing he was going to carry her. 

“Carry you, obviously.” He scuffed. “We’re going back to the manor.” 

“Aww…can’t we go to another shop? It’ll be the last one, I promise!” Her begging went to deaf ears. He wasn’t letting her get away with it, so she started to wiggle her way out his arm. 

“Stay still, will you?” 

“Not until I get my last treat.” 

“*sight…* Fine. But you’ll have it after dinner. Dinner is going to be served soon.” Cale said while walking to the nearest candy shop. 

“Mmmm, I'm fine with that. Oh! Choi Han, hello. Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.” 

“It’s fine lady [Name].” Choi Han gave her a small nod. 

“Moooom…I want a treat too!” 

“I also want one!” 

“The great Roan Miru will get one too, right?” 

“Wait a second. Since when do they call you mom?” Cale asked in confusion. 

“Yes, yes. All of you will get one.” 

“Don’t ignore me.” 

Choi Han giggled as Cale continued to ask and get ignored by them. 

Fin 

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Master-List

[gremlingottoosilly]

Married!reader who's husband's abandoned them and skipped town after borrowing money from Mafia!König

You thought your husband’s love for you was more than his love for money - and you were deadly wrong. Poor, abandoned little thing you are - Konig almost feels pity for you, with the way you were still clinging to her hope that he will come back for you and together, you’ll go about your merry way…of course, life sucks and it’s not what is happening here. Of course, your loser of a husband never knew that the biggest asset he could ever introduce to then debt collectors is his smoking hot beauty of a wife - and you never thought that he will actually abandon you here. Now, standing in your small kitchen, still wearing your adorable pink apron and ring held on a gunpoint by the most notorious cutthroats of the city, you know better. Horangi is the most ell known hitman of KorTac, and he knows the tastes of his boss more than anyone else - maybe, this is why you weren’t just held for ransom in hopes that your husband will come back, but was pushed deeper, held as a pretty toy for the boss. Not that you knew this at the moment.

Konig introduces you to a very few options. You can refuse to be his little bird, throw away all of his good will intentions and be a little bitch - so he wouldn’t feel too bad about killing you. Or, preferably, you can ask him to be soft with you, you can plead him for forgiveness for you and your husband - and he will take you as collateral instead of just fucking and killing you afterwards. You’re a good girl, so, of course, you plead him to be gentle. God, he just doers the sight of you on your knees, your house dress is making the scene look all the more domestic and, dare he say, adorable. He can’t help himself - he kisses you, kisses you like there is no tomorrow, and he is acting like it’s no big deal, either. He gets you up on his lap and this is your earned placed from now on - even when he is busy with meetings and talking to very, very evil people, he will keep you with him as if little lucky charm. Grasping your thigh and laying with the soft flesh every time you wince at the blood or a rude word being thrown around the room. You’re from a good family, after all, you aren’t used to the harsh ways of this business. Good girls are hiding their faces in their husband’s chests as their husband kill the traitors with a soft, tiny promise of doing the same with you if you to ever disobey him. But you’re a smart cookie, so you try your best to forget that this is even happening. You put a smile on your face and act all lovingly and gentle even with his crooks and thugs - they all adore you, always knowing the difference between common whores that boss occasionally has, and you, his prettiest girl.

You would sit beside him in clubs, too - he drags you out with him, mostly to turn down the girls who are chasing him like little fireflies, and also because he wants to have you available for a quick fuck while he is being served drinks. He wants all of you with him on a silver platter - even if for the first few times you are together, he had to press his gun against your temple and threaten to pull the trigger if you won’t be his good girl. You learned to suck him off just right while he is discussing the fate of your husband with you. You learn to just nod to whatever torture he is proposing to your poor hubby and smile when he pets your head and says that he will keep you with him - not just as a collateral anymore, but as a girl that rightfully belongs to him. You don’t want to be referred to as his girl - it there is really isn’t much of a choice. You’re other his girl, receiving expensive gifts and money for just being with him, or you are a wife of a man who has a debt to him - so, you’re a liability, a hostage, a prisoner. At least now, you can pretend to be an actual wife instead of, well…whatever you are, really. Konig bought you a ring and talks about the wedding, but you know it’s just a bluff. You hope it’s just a bluff.