#yeah no Ribbons is fucking terrified of him

[fujii-draws]

Tw for implied death/strangulation

Night terrors

[dissociativedollcherry]

୨୧ LAMB WITH TEETH ♡.°୭̥

Scout and Medic meeting an cutegore!reader ⁎⁺˳✧༚ 

Triggers: gore, lots of descriptive death, its TF2 so its the basic.

Reader's info: Reader is heavily implied to be a girl, very small (like five feet tall) and does blood rituals.

type: headcanons, romantic/platonic

୨୧ THE SCOUT ♡

୨୧ When scout first met you, he was heavily convinced you were not going to last in the battlegrounds, by your height and the way you dressed all in pink and cutesy ribbons, Not to mention that you had a bunch of stuffed animals in your bags.

୨୧ He would mock you for the first few days, calling you "short ghost", since you were always so quiet and observant, you didnt even greet him properly when he talked to you for the first time.

୨୧ The mockery would be often until the first day you had to fight together, and oh boy, shocked wasnt even close of how he felt after seeing you all covered in blood and pieces of organs.

୨୧ Your delicate and fluffy pink dress being painted by the vibrant red color of blood along with small pieces of the members of the enemy team's organs.

୨୧ Your chainsaw as pink as your dress, turned on and sawing your enemies in half without mercy, the sound of the chainsaw almost drowning out the enemy team's spy screams of pain.

୨୧ You turned off your chainsaw, leaving it aside stuck in the spy's stomach, you dashed away from the gory scenario you caused, pulling out a knife with a pink decorative bow on it, you were laughing like a maniac, ready to stab some bitches.

୨୧ he already was terrified by the thought that he understimated you who turned out being an total psycopath, and the sight he had of you chasing the other team's scout like your life depended on it didnt help at all.

୨୧ "IM GONNA USE YOUR HEAD AS MY DECORATION WALL YOU FUCKING BRAINLESS DEER" you shouted in the most terrifying, shivering voice chasing the enemy scout that was screaming like a fucking siren for his life.

୨୧ after the battle was over, Scout got real quiet around you, he wouldnt apologize or anything, he just would silently avoid talking to you.

୨୧ you noticed that, of course, but you didnt care at all, because you had other things to attend to.

୨୧ After a while, Scout little by little started trying to interact with you, to, you know, take away that guilt that he was excluding you from behind his back (or the fear that you will suddenly appears in his room to take all of his teeth out while he sleeps as revenge).

୨୧ and it turns out you're a chill person when not in killing mode or when your in "dont talk to me" mode, Scout hitted himself internally for subestimating you AGAIN.

୨୧ You two turned to be great friends in the end, but he still gets the creeps from you because of your brutal habits.

୨୧ he stays away from your room AT ALL COSTS.

୨୧ Seriously, the last time he entered your room without knocking, he witnessed you performing an creepy blood ritual with an Spy head (you TOTALLY didnt steal it from medic).

୨୧ You just waved to him like what you were doing was totally normal.

୨୧ But when hes not scared of you, he jokes with you alot, especially in the battlegrounds, he uses you as a threat alot to the enemies, or as a special weapon.

୨୧ "SAY HELLO, TO MY LITTLE FRIEND" he screams as he pulls you out of nowhere and throws you in the enemy heavy's face like a fucking bug.

୨୧ One time, you decided to pull a little prank on him, you hid yourself in his room's shadows, and when he finally entered, you jumped on him with the most terrifying screech ever.

୨୧ Lets say that Scout turned into Ariana grande that day.

୨୧ "ooo yeah your real scary." Scout said trying to keep his "toughness" after the most girly, feminine high pitched, chipmunking scream ever.

୨୧ meh, cant say that i see him dating someone as cruel as you, so 100% platonic

⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ MEDIC ୨୧

୨୧ OH NO, NOT HIM.

୨୧ Ok, i dont think he would take a liking to you at first, he would just ignore you, only thought he would have about you is that the way you dress is cute, but he would assume you were weak.

୨୧ Another one who would understimate you, the only difference is that he wouldnt mock you, its Medic, hes more mature than Scout. (anyone is more mature than scout.)

୨୧ He wouldnt even bat an eye on you, at most only wave or greet you shortly because he knows you're eerily quiet and doesnt really have a big habit of talking, until you two were in battle.

୨୧ He was healing heavy that time, and thats when he saw you stabbing an enemy demoman in the cheek repeatedly. your maniacal laughs almost silencing the demoman's screams and begs.

୨୧ He was STUNNED, he swore that he started seeing everything going in slow motion, your silky hair moving with each brutal and fast movement you did, the scarlet liquid flying into your delicate face and soft hair.

୨୧ You finished the demoman with only one hard and brute swing with your arms, your little delicate hands clutching the knife handle so hard that they were a little bit red, and with only one hard moviment, you carved your knife into the demoman's head.

୨୧ “Look! now your an unicorn” you mocked the now dead demoman infront of you, before grabbing your pink knife decorated with your enemy's blood and brain, getting up and running away like a possessed bug.

୨୧ The ex doctor's heart was beating like crazy, he didn't know what caused him to fall for you in that moment, you killing the man so brutally, or if it was your delicate pink clothes being dyed with blood. (or maybe both)

୨୧ After the battle, you could feel medic burning holes into you, he was staring you like crazy, not that it bothered you, it was just unusual for people to stare at you like that, especially when no one really dares to look at you out of feat.

୨୧ Medic would try to strike some conversation with you regardless if you answer him or not, he would just be happy with you listening to him.

୨୧ The thing that Medic most likes in you is how you can balance your cute aesthetic with your creepy habits, its really impressive to him, for him its either one or another.

୨୧ When he saw you doing your blood rituals, he would be interested, since.. you know, he already got involved with the devil himself, sometimes if you need he'll gift you with a kidney or two.

୨୧ "Well, my friend, i must say that i have subestimated vou in the first time we've met! i should judge a book by its cover less." he would confess in a casual discussion between you two.

୨୧ I think he would ask you out by gifting you a head with a note attached written: "will you steal organs with me?" real cheesy but creepy.

୨୧ He used uber on you once, not really a good idea... for the enemy team.

୨୧ You were tearing bitches left and right, there was guts and blood everywhere, in your face, body, floors, walls, EVERYWHERE.

୨୧ You only stopped when you met your demise, and medic was admiring you the entire time.

୨୧ Medic likes your killer-machine behavior, he says it adds to your cuteness ♡

[thissortofsorcery]

A little more Witch!Steve and Werewolf!Billy pspspspspspspsps

It’s juicer this time

—

"Billy? What the hell happened?!"

Steve has said these words before, in a variety of tones and levels of exasperation, but now they ring out to the open sky with a sharp note of desperation.

Billy's bleeding in his backyard.

Steve kneels down beside him where he's slumped over one of the lounge chairs, arms akimbo and on his side. There's a faint whistling sound when he breathes. Steve hasn't really been trained in healing past the basics, nothing like his mom was, so he doesn't know exactly how bad it is. He just knows it's bad.

"Billy?" Steve says, voice trembling to match the hand hovering over Billy's head. Billy doesn’t answer, hasn’t answered this whole time, and Steve is starting to panic. “Billy, come on!”

Billy starts awake when Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder, flinching away and immediately groaning in pain. But he relaxes when his eyes settle on Steve, bruised and swollen as they are.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Billy slurs, making an attempt at a smirk. It comes out more of a grimace.

“Billy, what the fuck,” Steve says. He can’t see where Billy is injured in the position he’s in, but even his denim jacket is stained a horrible, dark red. “Let me see.”

Steve tries to move Billy onto his back, touching him gently; perhaps more gently than he’s ever touched anything, even Nancy. Still, a thin moan of pain escapes from Billy’s throat, and Steve bits his lip so he doesn’t start yelling his head off. He needs to keep cool right now, or he won’t be any help to Billy.

He has the awful urge to vomit when he sees Billy’s front; what’s left of his white t shirt is soaked through with blood, and it’s in ribbons. So is his abdomen.

“How did this happen? Talk to me, man,” Steve pleads, touching Billy’s chest with a careful hand. It’s the oddest thing, though, barely any blood stains his fingers when he shifts, as if the blood is almost dry. Like the wounds aren’t fresh.

Steve’s never seen Billy with wounds older than, like, fifteen minutes. He heals fast, even for a wolf.

“You should see the other guy,” Billy mumbles. It sounds like bullshit.

“Billy, why aren’t you healing?” Steve asks. “I’ve seen you heal a broken leg in two minutes, man, what the fuck.”

“I’m fine,” Billy grunts. Then he tries to push himself up, like he’s going to try to leave.

“Stop doing that, dickhead, you’re gonna make it worse!” Steve snaps, trying to keep Billy still. They stare each other down for what feels like eternity until Billy huffs and lies back down. “You’re obviously not fine.”

“I’m gonna heal eventually,” Billy insists.

“Before you bleed out? Or can you heal from that too?!” Steve says, voice ringing sharply in the open yard. “Tell me what happened so I can help you! Are you poisoned? Why aren’t you healing?”

“It was just a fight,” Billy says, but he doesn’t have the energy to make it sound like the truth.

“Yeah, with a fucking dinosaur apparently,” Steve grumbles, while trying to push Billy’s clothes away to get a better look.

He looks awful. He looks like he should be dead. For a moment, Steve feels hopeless; he doesn’t know enough about healing to fix this, not if there’s anything in Billy’s system that’s keeping his own advanced healing from kicking in. Steve feels terrified, and young, desperately wishing his mom was here. She’d know what to do. But she’s out of town.

Steve can’t leave Billy like this. He’s gonna have to do something.

“Okay, I can do this,” Steve mutters under his breath, taking a deep breath.

—

Then something happens, I haven’t thought about a magic system yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ don’t kill me

[reallyromealone]

Uncanny Valley reader 7

Warning nsfw

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(Name) stood before his plush toys with an intensity Rans never seen before, he never thought this would be the thing (name) would be so stuck on but here (name) was.

"How about this, what ones are you less stressed about cleaning when I bend you and fuck you" Ran whispered in (name)s ears and watched the man straighten up a bit, back stiff and Ran smirked at his reaction as he grabbed his non rare stuffed toys that could easily be washed and wandered back to the bedroom and set them down on the bed.

Rans penthouse--- their penthouse was less showroom and more homey, the cats enjoying the sunlight from the large windows and Ran placed (name)s throw blankets around when the man was hesitant to take up space.

Rindō was already being an annoying sibling to (name), he could see how (name) and ran looked at one another, (name)s looks far more discreet than Rans blatant love struck expression whenever he looked or thought of (name).

Rindō and Ran also bought (name) clothes, casual clothes that matched the man's love of cute things.

"Maybe you could wear this... In the bedroom" Ran asked (name) while he hugged him from behind, the information broker looking at the maids dress "this isn't very good night wear" (name) said to him almost like he was stupid and ran chuckled "not for sleeping smart ass" Ran said groping the others hips "what...Oh" (name) said with realization and ran didn't miss the slight blush on the man's face "perhaps" he said letting ran pull him close "yeah? Gonna let me dress you up all pretty and fuck you good?" Ran said sneaking his hand up (name)s shirt to fondle his flesh and kiss his neck "can I introduce something to the bedroom?"

Ran wasn't expecting to be tied up while (name) touched the pretty ribbons "shibari? Who knew you were so kinky" ran teased as (name) kissed him "you look good like this" (name) said methodically as he traced rans tattoo "you look pretty good too, lower the top for me baby" ran commanded his boyfriend who did so and Ran suck on his chest while (name) stroked his cock, the two had a very fun time experimenting sexually.

(Name) had taken the time to deep dive into things sexually and Ran was more than happy to test those curiosities.

Ran had the memory of (name) hung up by ropes getting fucked by ran and fucking a flashlight in his mental spank bank forever.

(Name) rubbed their cocks together and both men let out soft breaths of pleasure as ran moved to kiss (name) and slipped his tongue in, enjoying seeing his boyfriend so flushed and needy.

Though Ran wasn't much better.

Bonten was persistent but (name) had a way to deter them.

"August sixth, 2004" (name) said simply as he looked Kakucho dead in the eyes "kakucho couldnt find a--""Ok! Thats enough" kakucno said shutting (name) up "you have made your point" he said seriously "really because im more than happy to talk about april fourth 20-""NO!"

They forgot (name)s profession.

He could find anything about anyone.

He found people who were "dead" god knows what he could find about criminals like them.

It was impressive truly.

(Name)s office was bare, no personal affects and the bare minimum.

Everything he needed on: 3 usb sticks, an external hardrive and his laptop, All secured in a triple armored safe hidden not in his office but around bonten itself. His other laptop hidden under a fake flooring in the penthouse. He had dirt on politicians to average people, he had reason to be paranoid with it all, the computer fundamentally impossible to hack into from everything he had done to it along with his phone.

(Name) was truly valuable and even more terrifying with the advancements bonten had given him, the reach he had was horrifying.

(Name) never looked real, somehow he always looked slightly photoshopped when conducting business "I-I swear I have nothing" a traitor cried out as (name), Sanzu and Rindō stood around for "questioning" as (name) looked absolutely unsettling "you signed your life to Bonten yet you betray the thing that keeps you alive" (name) said simply as he pulled out a binder "you die regardless though I should tell you, did you know you had a daughter?"

"W-what?"

"Yes, a daughter... With that woman you loved? What was her name... Ah yes Yuu" (name) said and the man looked wide eyed "they are coming tomorrow to see you, so she could introduce you to your daughter and maybe start a new life..."

"No..."

"Yes and you threw all that away because like the grub worm you are, you branded yourself a traitor" (name) smiled softly, not uncomfortable but sadistic "it will be quite tragic... What they will see"

"Food?" (Name) looked curious at the food Ran was preparing as he returned home, it was Rans day off and he decided to surpise his boyfriend "it is, thought you might be hungry" (name) looked VERY interested in it and Ran let him taste and it was worth it as his reaction was pure bliss "go set the table its almost done"

(Name) set the table quietly as ran put the food into (bowls/serving plates) and set it down.

"whens your birthday?" Ran asked curiously as he looked at the daily horoscopes "I dont have one" (name) shrugged as if it were nothing and ran looked genuinely startled at this "how do you not have a birthday?!"

"I don't have any family to tell me, the people I grew up around didnt care about those things"

They spoke in snippets about his past, it was vague and confusing and left ran with more questions than answers.

"... why not make today your birthday?"

"How would we know its my birthday?"

"How would we know its not?"

[cellythefloshie]

;; Champagne Problems cellythefloshie's snapshot series

Summary: Charlie is hit by the repercussions of her actions. Adam had a solution. Snapshot for: Just Me & You Kinks & Tropes: n/a Word Count: 1.3k+

Heels in hand, Charlie could feel the morning dew as it dripped off the edge of each blade of grass she stepped into. They sprouted between her toes, bringing the slightest of chills during the hot summer night. No, it was morning now. Early morning. The music had long since faded, and guests had left in cars and convoys, while others returned to the cabins, intoxicated zombies craving their bed and dreading the hangover that would come in the morning. Charlie’s head had yet to hit the pillow, but it felt like she was dreaming all the same. 

Only in her dreams the company she kept would be Adam. Yet, there he was walking by her side, Banks running off ahead of them through the lawn after a late night of being cooped up in the cabin. He had more energy that she could fathom having, with sleep heavy on her tired eyes while her heart raced and her mind raged with thought. 

So much had changed since she had arrived at the cabin. Charlie had arrived with Wesley, living the falsehood of being happy with her life in so many ways. She told herself she was in love. That she loved the life that she had with Wesley in their condo in Calgary. She told herself that her job as a realtor was the one she had been working towards her entire life when, in reality, she was just doing whatever Wesley told her to do. She had done that every moment since she had met him, but she was rid of him now. For good. 

That thought alone excited her and left her terrified all at once. 

It left her hand lurching out for Adam’s, and she gripped it tight. The mere feeling of him was enough to rid her of all the worries that thinking of Wesley brought, but flooded her with a whole new concern. 

What if Adam ghosted her again?

The thought alone left her stomach lurching - or maybe that was multiple glasses of wine she had consumed throughout the night, and continued to drink as Adam handed her a half empty bottle or white wine that they had been nursing since they had stolen it from the drink tent. 

Charlie took a long swing of the wine, her head tipping back until her mouth was so full the threat of spitting it out burned at the back of her throat. But maybe if she drank enough, she could calm the anxiety as she tried to convince herself that things would be different this time. That while hockey still consumed his life, and probably always would, he was grown up now. 

They both were. 

Yet, he was the one who had his life together, while hers seemed to be falling apart. 

She was single - or maybe she wasn’t?

She didn’t have a home to go back to. 

The only thing Charlie knew was only if what he had said was true, she had Adam - and he wasn’t going to let her forget that. 

Adam tugged his arm from her tight hold slowly, and Charlie fell away from him like a ribbon. Her body was loose, her arm falling back to her side and sending ripples through the satin of her dress. She could feel his eyes move over her body, admiring how the dress moved over her hips - but it wasn’t enough to distract him as they came to a standstill in the center of the lawn, standing between the old summer home and the flower bed that was still in need of repair since Banks' hand greeted her mere nights ago. 

“You’re quiet,” Adam hummed slowly, his hand reaching out to take the bottle back from her. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything,” she sighed. 

“Hey.” Adam’s neck craned to look down at her as she stepped forward to fill the space between him. He made her feel small - she was small. “You can talk to me. You know that, right? I know when I first got to Winnipeg, I was stupid. I fucked this up, but I think we’re working on moving past that now?”

Charlie nodded slowly, and a single hand raised up to push back her dark hair as it fell into her face. 

“Yeah,” she breathed out, the single syllable unsteady, “I just,” her voice broke, “when this weekend is over, and you’re back in Winnipeg, what do I have left?” Charlie looked up at Adam, and his expression was blank - and she was sure his mind was too, as he searched for just the right thing to say. He was drunk, they both were, and he had used up all his sweet words when he had proclaimed his love for her in the middle of the dance floor. Or, it just could have easily been the fact that he knew nothing about her life. 

The two of them still had so much more catching up to do. 

“A job I hate,” Charlie started to list, “and no place to call home. I don’t even have a car to take me back to the city-” 

A sob caught in her throat, hot tears building up in her eyes like acid. If it had been anyone else with her, Charlie would have blamed it on the blinding light of the sun as it came up over the trees. But with Adam, she let them fall. He had seen her cry many times before, and if he was going to be in her life again, it wouldn’t be the last. 

The tears branched down her cheeks in hot streams that spilled over the swell of her lips. She licked them away, tasting their salt as her face contorted with frustration. Charlie tried to turn away, to hide the ugliness of her tears, but Adam’s arms were quick to take her. They coiled around her middle tight, his arms reaching up so that his hands gripped at her shoulders. Her brows furrowed for a moment as she wondered where the bottle of wine went, but then she felt it spill over the ground, leaving her feet sticky with its sweet liquor. 

“Shit,” she felt the warmth of his words against her neck as she clung to him, his strength hoisting her out of the wine puddle effortlessly and Adam just held her to him and he let her cry. 

Adam didn’t let her go until her tears had dried and her sobs had been silenced. Not once did Adam complain, or hush her, like Wesley would have. That fact left a weakness in her chest, one that had her clinging to him. His back, his arms, even as he began to pull away, Charlie grasped at his biceps, desperate to keep him close. 

Adam didn't go far. A single hand raised up and found her cheek. The warmth of his touch embraced her as he wiped away her tears. Charlie leaned into his gentle touch. It was there she found her calm, but his next words sent her heart racing;

“Quit your job,” Adam's words were a mere whisper, “and come to Winnipeg with me.” 

Jaw slacking, Charlie leaning back to look up at Adam and his soft gaze. Her lips wavered, struggling to find the right words to say, even if all she wanted to do was scream yes. But was that moving so fast? Maybe they could revisit the offer again in the morning when they hadn't drunk numerous bottles of wine. Or she could dive into all that was Ad-

Her eyes went wide as her gaze fell to the sight just beyond Adam. In the flower bed where she had hidden from him nights ago was Banks, his fur already caked with mud. A hand raising to her forehead, the dog's name leaving her lips in a sigh before they both moved to chase Banks through the muddy flower bed. 

Taglist: @mp0625 @starshine-hockey-girl - and not on my taglist but tagging miss @wyattjohnston who enabled me to create Charlie and her world with Adam for a fic exchange <3

[everchanging-cryptid]

live reacting to The Amazing Digital Circus Pilot because I just realized it came out

it’s all pixelly and then not, neat Ooh, ringmaster’s a fun character, love him

oh, Cain, like the Bible brother maybe?

Time loop?

Lol the flowerpot glitching through the floor

Hostile VR, nice

Haha, no swearing

I would very much like to live in this building

Can relate to Kinger, I too would love to chat with people about an insect collection

The ribbon guy reminds me of Will from the webcomic Nevermore

Blue screening when you need to come up with a list, same

I can’t tell if he’s gonna be a scary character or a funny character, that’s really cool

Why does the moon want to fuck him

Why are you like this

Ooh he’s hiding something yeah

Ok, he does not have control over minds, good to know, and he said “one of the few” so maybe he can’t control other things

Never tell a fae-like entity “I don’t care, just pick anything”

“Whaddya think of: *mouth keysmash*” lol

Pomni, that’s a fun name

“YOU PARASITE!!!” Had me laughing for like 2 minutes straight

Just pop the interrupting people

r u b b e r h o s e a n i m a t i o n b u n n y yeah favorite character material right there

I love how they all just talk over each other but you can still hear what they’re each saying

Assigned “Most Mentally Stable” at mental breakdown

Ooh, I see a bunch of X-ed out faces on the doors, did they get permakilled or something?

The framed artworks make me incredibly happy

Uhoh, Pomni went to the petrified place /reference

Where did you get a centipede???

Ooh that’s not good

he reminds me of a corrupted gem from Steven universe

Ooh that looks painful ouch

Love those broken object physics, beautiful

I love the sense of perspective, when the camera is further back and Pomni looks so isolated

I think Kinger might be the most relatable character tbh

Kaufmo just is not funny is he

God the comedic timing for Jax is PERFECT

RADICAL

Love a good bowling pin joke

Ok I take it back the comedic timing on Kinger is the best I was crying at the perfectly cut scream

Hmm I think poor kiddo Pomni here needs a break to cry

Ooh water cube room I like that

oh that’s terrifying they can just shoot faces at you

Well that’s certainly not Cain

Pfft they rock paper scissors and he won but did the thing anyway

“Oh.” *watches his hands float away*

HIS EYES DID THE CLOCK THING

Can the next person teleported in be a therapist because hot damn have we got some trauma up in here

:o barrel of monkeys! :D

NOOOO THE MONKEYS

Oh door?

Nope nope nope nope nope nope

Oh that’s some backrooms shit right there

Hot damn take a chill pill bro you already got him he’s dead

“This is dumb and weird.” Yeah im gonna quote that forever now thanks

“Ah thank GOD you’re okay, you didn’t experience a game show in there did you?” “Uhhhh… I— What are you talking about?”

Abstracted, like becoming abstract? Becoming just a vague feeling, a mere idea? Ooh that’s some good stuff right there

I too love the sound of a silent moving staircase

Oh this is gonna be fuckin terrifying I see how it is

Musty old computer causes mental breakdown? Interesting

C&A CAIN AND ABEL I FREAKIN CALLED IT YES oh that has some interesting implications now doesn’t it hmm souls trapped in a computer perhaps?

Oh shit it’s the void

I’ll take 5 wacky watches please

ha fourth wall break

oh Pomni is actually broken aren’t they

oh are those all the others who were crossed out

ooh healing spell

Pomni is not okay

analysis on digital eating okay sure

oh that’s an earth shattering ending oh my gosh I feel like I just experienced eldritch enlightenment

Can not wait for more possible episodes! It’s incredible, I highly recommend checking it out! ^^

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2025 #1

Happy New Year! And so I welcome the first full year in my life that I will not be a student for part of it. This feels very strange. There will be no one setting my reading list for me at all I have complete and total freedom! A bit terrifying. I want to stay committed to continuing to reading theory and literary analysis beyond university, but doing it entirely on my own and with no set schedule or deadlines like a looming thesis is going to be a challenge. Besides that, my reading goals for the year are to read more indie and self-pub, and to maybe set up a proper non-tumblr blog to share long form writing on the books I read, and other stuff for public viewing. we shall see what I come up with and what methods I pick for setting up a website. okay, NOW i'll tell you about what I've read

Finished:

The Night Guest by Taylor Titmouse This was technically read at the very end of last year but it was still during the week I'm covering. I treated myself to a bundle of Taylor Titmouse's erotica and romance works right at the end of the year and will be slowly working through them when I want to read some fantasy erotica. the night guest was pretty fun though I think I genuinely hated the oni guy in it for most of the time. SO irritating in possibly every way. I am glad that the innkeeper milf had fun with him though

Unpainted by Dani Finn I also will be taking a dive into Dani Finn's work, thanks to a nice holiday bundle that got me most (or maybe all?) of their current work. I think this wasn't the best book of theirs for me to start with tho, because I might have felt a bit less lost and a bit more engaged if I started with a different book from this setting. ah well, it was still a mostly pleasant experience even if I have a few structural gripes

Assassin's Fate by Robin Hobb, audiobook narrated by Elliot Hill at long last.... I have read all of the mainline Realm of the Elderlings books. my reaction to this book took up a full page in my reading journal. i will condense it here for brevity. 1) I love Bee with every ounce of my heart which at times made this book very difficult to read. she is the specialest little girl in the world and has suffered more than Jesus Christ himself. I think she should get to kill anyone she wants forever and no one gets to scold her for anything ever. 2) the journey to Clerres was excrutiating, as it could be labelled Fitz's transmisogyny arc. his hatred toward Amber specifically as a way for him to process his hurt feelings and distrust of Beloved was such a nightmare to get through. 3) the ensemble cast in this book is excellent. Love Ash/Spark, Lant, Per, Motley, getting to see the cast of the bingtown and rain wilds books again! all really well rendered, wonderful characters. 4) oh I LOVE the way prophesy and foresight work in ROTE through dreams. prilkop's hand on bee's foot, explaining how he knew the flame in his dream was her.... that nothing happens to her she happens to the world!! fuck yeah

North Continent Ribbon by Ursula Whitcher What a luck find at the library! I had been considering buying it when I fortuitously ran across it in my library's new purchases section. I think my favorite stories are the final two in the book where the Fishercats and the worldbuilding around engines are properly built out. it made the whole setting snap into focus for me. I like the way it approaches questions of what happens if we let AI/computers make decisions that affect peoples lives, what happens when someone gets hurt, who do we blame it on? this setting answers that all along there are exploited people behind those computers, who might be held to account but those at real fault who created the unjust and exploitative system will hide happily behind those disposable lives

[autumnshowell]

who: @autumnshowell where: Hawthorn Park midday.

New Year's Day and she's thirteen days out from having to do it all over again. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, sure; there is no - or very little - fixing what happened two weeks ago. Every time her mind finds a space of time that isn’t concerned with picking up pieces she’s left beaten to bits on the floor of that basement, she thinks about Amanda Howell, half eaten and rotting ignoble in the dirt.

She’s spent these weeks piecing together broken shards of what she did that night. She remembers things in hazy vague shapes. Trying to act, in her day-to-day, as if nothing has changed. Playing the part of the reasonably distraught, if estranged daughter when the police show up to tell her Amanda's been reported missing. Dutiful driver for AJ, driving where he wants and when he wants. Human being with friends and aspirations and goals. All a bunch of masks that don’ feel like they fit anymore.

Nevermind the question of Aria. Autumn'd made sure enough through word and deed alike that Aria isn’t going to seek her out.

One hand scratches at the side of her head while on the other, a sharp fingernail digs into the wood of a damp picnic table, peeling back a thin ribbon of paint and wood, one of dozens and dozens today alone, hundreds that have been pried loose and blown away by the wind in the past days as she haunts a pavilion at Hawthorn Plaza, eyes traveling between paper pages and the freshly scratched wood and slushy snow that keeps catching orange lamplight as night-time creeps in and lays its embrace on the park. The change has left her different, both in body and mind.

She hears somebody speak, then, looking up and around, and its then she realizes that there’s no scent - no sound of approach - and the voice, it came from all around, and nowhere, all at once.

Turning around and searching for it, she’s taken aback when she looks behind her, only to see a familiar face, sitting there on the other table in the pavilion, as if he isn’t dead.

“Olivier?”

"Yep. That'd be me, poor fucking sod, right?" Even in his ghostly form, he's got a cigarette hanging from his lips and a crooked grin. "I saw you sprouted fur."

His candor marks him as true-to-life, or death, or whatever. She feels she should be terrified at the thought of seeing him sitting there, but terror's set a higher bar these past couple weeks. Maybe this is part of it. Maybe she's insane now. What does it matter alongside everything else?

"Yeah, and it fucking sucked." Autumn follows his direction and turns back to him, looking him up and down, all glitzy and transparent. The way he talks about his death strikes her, and in a way, its comforting to know something like that can still affect her at all. "Yeah I… I saw the photos - they brought me in for questioning and everything. I'm… I'm sorry I didn't check in sooner, or more often. Maybe I could have, I don't know, maybe this wouldn't be so novel."

"You? Pfft. Dumbass. It was that guy I was working with for the short." But he shakes his head. "Nothing you coulda done. So, we got some time. Sing to me, Paolo. I saw shit, but I wanna hear it from you."

"Well, uh. you'll know Tate canned me from the Bowling Alley, said I broke policy. Which… true, kind of. I'm pretty sure I ate him." She flips her hair out of her face. "And like… I almost ate Morgan - I don't know if you ever met her, runs that Arcade that my friend Kevin works at? I almost ate her, too, I think. And like… god. I really, really wish I felt worse about Tate but…" She trails off, because now she's thinking about Aria again, and she has sharp nails digging at the wood again, creaking under strength she still doesn't really get how to manage. "Some of it I feel… really bad about."

"Fuck that guy. That was a case waiting to happen. He deserved to get ate. Glad that the arcade lady didn't get got, though. Dunno if I ever met her.." He flicks the cigarette and the ashes tip off and disappear into nothing in front of both of them. "Wanna get it off your chest?"

She stands from her table, and crosses over to him and sits beside the shade of him, worming her hands out of the sleeves of her borrowed hoodie and jacket, counting on her fingers. "Let's see: Killed and apparently ate my mom, well… not even my mom, just… like that's a whole other thing. Probably caused thousands of dollars's damage to Morgan's Arcade, nearly killed her. And like, most importantly, lost my temper so badly on my girl friend who is probably only still alive because she's already dead." She sighs. “Losing my temper is… probably not the best way to describe it…”

Gesturing with her hand like she's throwing the handful of counted crimes into the wind, she lets out a huff of a sigh. "I literally drive around Port Leiry’s biggest resident Ego and then go mope. And god, he doesn't shut up with the dog jokes, he's insufferable." She scratches at her wrist, sniffs, and maybe its the cold but it's also the sad. "And like, I can't go back to her. I - I almost killed her, Liv. What if she hates me? What if I hurt her again? I can't hypnotize her, just… what, hope she's crazy enough to not run away. I can't make myself do it."

For all his snobbery and shitty attitude, Olivier shuts the fuck up and listens. Because what else is he going to do? Go haunt some asshole who barely knows him? Autumn's the closest thing to - no, the only friend he had. And hell, she needs to get it out and why not play the ghostly mentor? "Sounds like you're torn up." About all of it, really. But he figures, if he was in the same position, then he'd be freaking out, too. And he didn't even get a damn girlfriend before he got killed. "You almost killed your dead girlfrind-- Nice. Uh, have you tried just fuckin' texting her and asking if she wants to talk? Or are ya tuckin' your tail between your legs and hiding?"

Autumn, maybe a bit sheepishly for somebody who has spent at least one night as a giant wolf, pulls her phone out of her hoodie's pouch, looking at its surface, spider-webbed with cracks at this point. She pulls a face at the tail tucking imagery, mean mugging him. "Maybe you're right. It'd get it over with, anyways. I don't want to text though. This whole thing started with texting stupid things at inopportune moments."

"Alright, so - Fucking talk to her. Stop being a little bitch about it." He's slipped back into old ways, but this is how he's always talked to her before he died. "Seriously, A. Get your shit together."

Autumn nods, biting at her bottom lip. "I uh... yeah, if anything, I need to... I need her to know I didn't..." a long sigh breaks the sentence, because its the first time she's voiced it aloud; "... I need to own up to this shit... New year, new me right? No more... running from things that I can fix." She smiles - a small, flickering thing that isn't at all set or safe. "I'm... glad I'm having this vision or dream or... whatever, I'm glad we get to at least say good-" Turning to look up to him, he's gone, and she's alone there in the quiet morning. "Goodbye." === written with: @photoaria

[xx-crystalshards-xx]

[Item successfully loaded in]

Once he knew he was far enough out of earshot, Caclifer would hit the side of his head with his cane. Not each to cause any damage, but enough to attempt to knock some sense back in to him

“Damnit… damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit damnit DAMNIT! Whot the FUCK was that Calcifer?! 'Oh yeah sure let me give her a kiss on the knuckles to try and test the wat'ers to see if she likes me even though she has told me several times she's only seen me as a friend.'"

He groans a bit as he rubs his eye

" 'm going daft without even havin' a drink..."

He groans again, though this time it sounds more like a wimper. Like he's somewhere in between crying and losing his mind - which in this instance he definitely was.

"Just needta...sleep whatever the fucks goin' on with me off...yeah. that's what I need."

He continues the rest of the way back to the arena silently, mentally reassuring himself that all he needs is sleep.

. . .

Dark, cold, lifeless. The building is practically the exact opposite of how Cosmia's shop was set up. Maybe a few decorations wouldn't hurt next year.

He opens the door and the smell of something tart hits him immediately, the smell permeating throughout the building. Holly? Mistletoe? Whatever it was it was unexpected...and made him dizzy and nauseous. It smelled so familiar yet so...different. Nothing like the general cheerful smells the circus contained.

Wrong. It smelled wrong. He didn't leave the arena like this. It never smelled like this before. Why the fuck did--

His eyes landed on a wine bottle, sitting pristinely on the countertop of the welcome desk.

Another break-in another gift perfect.

He set down his other gift and hesitantly went over, picking up the bottle. Immediately a sense that he's seen this bottle- hell even held it before washes over him.

Cranberry Wine.

As he reads it he clicks his tongue, the sensation of red wine on his tongue appearing again, this time with more force. He's had this before. He has never seen the bottle in his life but he's more than certain he's had this before. Poured by hands that were not his own, yet drunk with a smile on his face.

His heart started racing in fear, though he couldn't put the bottle down. He turns the bottle, reading the tag that was attached to the neck of it with pieces of red and green ribbon

'~ Merry Christmas C ~'

Nothing else. No other explanation. Another gift without a sender.

To say he was terrified would be an understatement.

Just...open the windows to get rid of the smell and go to bed.

Yeah.

That sounded like a perfect idea.

[libraryofgage]

I know it's not the WIP Wednesday yet, but it is my birthday, so I'm gonna share the complete first chapter of Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins for your reading pleasure lmao:

"Now, Steve, you know we support you. Your father and I didn't bat an eye when you came out, and we look forward to meeting whichever nice young boy or girl you bring home. But, dear, violence is never the answer."

The words go in one ear and right out the other as Steve watches buildings rush by outside the window. He’d slip on the headphones around his neck, but Steve knows he at least owes his parents the courtesy of naked ears after they bailed him out. Really, he just wants to take a shower and change into clean clothes after spending a night in jail surrounded by equally sweaty and beat up parade-goers. Don’t get him wrong; the people were great, but the smell was atrocious. He lets his head fall against the window, eyes shutting as he breathes through a bruised rib, split lip, and swollen eye. 

"Steve, are you listening to your mother?"

"Yeah, violence bad," he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard in the otherwise silent car. At this point, he’d even prefer the stadium country that usually plays when his dad drives. 

He wishes he were back in the jail cell, swapping stories with the others who got arrested for fighting homophobic protestors, who started it, by the way. He knows his parents are disappointed in him for fighting (and, even worse, getting caught and potentially causing An Incident for them), but he felt genuinely happy sitting on the concerningly sticky floor in that cell. Even if he could go back to yesterday, he wouldn't change a damn thing after seeing three poor kids surrounded by people shouting the most vile things. 

They had looked terrified, tears crowding in their eyes as they clutched at each other, and Steve had seen red. It was a fucking pride parade, a place where kids should feel comfortable being themselves and seeing themselves in the smiling, laughing faces of strangers whose mere existence proves they’re not alone and they’ll survive. But they were being harassed by people with nothing better to do than let hate shrivel their hearts.

Steve, thankfully, hadn’t been the only one who’d seen red. He’d locked eyes with someone who had top surgery scars and a sash across their chest that read “Queer” in sparkling, rainbow letters. Next to them was a shorter woman with close-cropped hair and a flannel shirt (how she wasn’t dying in the heat, Steve will never know) with a white t-shirt underneath that had “Resting Butch Face" emblazoned across the front. The three of them had shared a nod and marched over to the kids.

He later learned that the person wearing the sash was named Daze (“They/them pronouns, unless it’s comedically appropriate to use something else,” they’d said in the jail cell, winking playfully at Steve). The butch went by Mar; she’d excitedly told Steve in the jail cell how her girlfriend would bust her out only to laugh her ass off when said girlfriend was shoved in by two cops not a second later.

What had followed the nod was Mar and Steve standing in front of the kids, creating an unmoving shield while Daze quickly gathered them close. They smiled at the three, quietly complimenting one’s rainbow hair ribbon while Steve tried to be the voice of reason (he shouldn’t have bothered, but he’s still got a little optimism inside).

The first punch was thrown by the ringleader of the protestors after Mar not-so-subtly implied that maybe he’d rather be partying with them and getting his tongue down some cute twink’s throat instead of holding signs and shouting. She’d taken the punch like a champ, and Steve’s grin mirrored hers when the wonderful, incredible term “self-defense” suddenly became applicable. 

Daze had gotten the kids out of there, keeping them calm even as more people joined in the fight, turning the little skirmish into an all out brawl. It had lasted five glorious minutes before cops finally broke it up, forcing protestors and pride-goers into cars together in zip ties. They had realized that was a bad idea when a drag queen headbutted a protestor for what he called her.

After a night in jail, bonding with his cellmates and writing down numbers with some femme’s spare lipstick on the back of a flier from an AT&T booth, his parents had arrived to bail him out. Steve had taken one look at them, at their business clothes and designer watches and worried, beyond confused expressions, and almost said he’d rather just stay behind bars for now. 

Instead, he convinced his parents to post bail for a few of his new friends, waved off their gratitude (they’d been through battle together, after all), and followed his parents out to the car after a few hugs and promises to make a group chat so they could hang out later. 

“You’re just lucky no charges were filed,” his father says, pulling Steve from his thoughts. 

He sighs, slumping down in his seat. A few seconds pass before Steve admits, “I’d do it again.” It’s the truth; he wouldn’t fucking hesitate to throw himself into the fray again. He doesn’t even know those kids’ names, but he knows they deserve more than being afraid of who they are and the monsters that masquerade in human skin around them. 

His parents glance at each other, a thousand words spoken in the brief moment of eye contact. “Steve, are you…okay?” his mother asks, her words hesitant. “I mean, you can tell us anything, dear, and we’ll do anything to make you feel better.”

Steve bites his tongue, refusing to ask how they’d manage that when they’re barely fucking home in the first place. They have a whole multi-million dollar company to run, so he gets it. They have to travel a lot, and they used to bring him along until just dropping him in Indianapolis sophomore year of high school (right after coming out to them, which he understood but was still hurt by) to have a “more grounded high school experience." Somehow worst of all, they try to make up for it with extravagant gifts and awkward conversations about whether he’s still gay or if he’s decided to be straight for the day.

They’ve yet to fully understand the concept of bisexuality, but this is far better than being kicked out of his home.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Steve says. Because he is. He’s just…tired. 

He’s tired of feeling alone in Indianapolis despite being surrounded by people. He had tried making friends, but everyone is so fucking awkward in 10th grade anyway, and the best Steve could do was embrace the “new rich kid” persona people created for him. He’d soon gained the nickname King Steve, which had only worked to make him feel like he’d somehow done something wrong in living up to their expectations. The closest he’s gotten to feeling like himself, to feeling accepted and embraced, was in that fucking jail cell.

Even worse, Steve is tired of this ache that tugs at the base of his spine and the pit of his heart like he’d find something that’s missing if only he’d just follow the pull. 

He doesn’t know how to explain any of that, though, so Steve just sighs again and says, “Maybe…maybe I could do with some down time. Like, a gap year before college or something. I think I just need some time to figure myself out a little more and decide what I want to do with my life before jumping right back into school. Does…does that make sense?”

“Yeah, Steve, it makes a lot of sense,” his father says, flashing him a tiny smile through the rearview mirror. “So, where do you want to go? Hawaii? Miami? Venice is nice this time of year.”

Steve can’t help a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, nothing like that. I think small town vibes are more what I’m going for here.”

His father just hums quietly, sharing another one of those looks with Steve’s mom. He misses this one, but he’d probably be suspicious of them if he hadn’t. He would have known immediately that they were about to do something absolutely ridiculous but well-meaning but so clearly telling of their ignorance when it comes to how people who aren’t wealthy approach problems.

But he doesn’t see, so he doesn’t know.

And when he looks back on this moment a few months later, after the absolute ride of his fucking life, Steve will think it’s a good thing he didn’t notice. If he had, he’d have said something, and then he’d have missed out on all the fun.

[thedawnjester]

I made a Welcome Home/Undertale AU while I was high, and I can't get it out of my head. I've decided to call it Welcome Tale, and it's an AU where the Welcome Home cast are monsters in the Undertale world. They still look and act the same, though. They just have those cool attacks and stuff, lmao. (I'm still high while writing this, I'm sorry.)

Anyways, in this AU, Home basically creates this pocket dimension for Wally and the gang to protect them from the human vs. monster war because Home is just that powerful. We love you, Home! <3 (Home actually terrifies me outside of this AU, lol.) So, anyways, Home makes that pocket dimension, and it works for many years to keep Wally and the neighbors safe.

Until one day, somehow, Wally slips through the dimension and wakes up in, you guessed it, the underground! (*trumpet noises*) And, of course, Home is like, 'Ayo, what the fuck?' and tries to get him back immediately. But something (Gaster) gets in the way, and instead of Home getting Wally back, Home gets Frisk (that's right, baby, we're doing a swap). So now, Frisk is stuck in the pocket dimension, and Wally is now stuck in the underground. The whole AU revolves around that.

I might try to explain more later when I'm not high, lmao, but for now, I'll leave some facts that my brain won't leave me alone about.

- ok so I obviously think Wally is gonna be reminded of Poppy when he meets Toriel and vice versa with Frisk when they meet Poppy

- speaking of Frisk and Poppy Frisk definitely stays with Poppy while they’re in the pocket dimension cause Frisk was not comfortable living in well a living house (sorry Home) anyways Poppy adopting Frisk real

- Sans definitely reminds Wally of Barnaby so he tends to hang out with him a lot Papyrus tends to tag along

- speaking of which I like the idea of Papyrus seeing Wally for the first time and turning to Sans like “IS THAT A HUMAN?!” and Sans just sits there like “I…I don’t know”

- Wally likes talking to Flowey

-Flowey doesn’t like talking to Wally (he finds it frustrating)

- Frisk and Wally are wearing each other’s shirts cause I said so also instead of the ascot Wally wears the Faded Ribbon around his neck like a cute bow

- I think Home would try to hide the fact Wally is missing for awhile but it couldn’t do much to stop the neighbors from seeing Frisk since Home couldn’t just lock Frisk up that’s just be rude! (looks at all the angst stuff of Home locking Wally up)

- it actually doesn’t take long for the Neighbors to notice Wally is missing Barnaby is definitely the first to find out noticing how weird Home was acting whenever he asked about him

- until Frisk tells them the Neighbors think the Human vs Monster war is still going on and Immediately start to panic upon finding out Wally slipped out of their Pocket Dimension (I’m not saying they thought he was dead but….I’m saying they thought he was dead lol)

- they actually couldn’t be sure if Wally was ok or not though cause well they have no way to contact him but Frisk tries to assure them that Wally was probably with Frisk’s friends so the neighbors hold on to that hope some not actually believing it (gotta have some angst am I right?)

- Frisk has a good time playing games and hanging with the neighbors but they really miss their friends and want to get back so they can help them get rid of the barrier

- oh yeah so basically in this au Frisk was doing the pacifist run ya know but they hadn’t gotten to Asgore yet before they got swapped with Wally so the barrier is still up

- Toriel definitely thought Wally was a child at first he politely corrected her when she did

- Wally definitely needed help with the ruin puzzles luckily Toriel is very patient with him

- Wally stays with Toriel for awhile before convincing her to come with him and leave the ruins (don’t ask me how he’s a very convincing little man how else do you think he got all these people hyperfixating on him?)

- Toriel is very over protective of Wally she’s very worried he’s gonna get hurt due to how passive he is

- Flowey is the only person to know Frisk is gone Flowey was the only person around when they got swapped after all everyone else is completely clueless

Ok that’s it for now this post is probably very messy (Edit: I tried to fix it a bit lol) I’m sorry lmao if you have any questions I’ll be happy to answer idk if I’ll make art for this au cause I’m not very good at drawing haha but I might try!

[just-some-random-blogger]

First off all

Second of all i feel like id be willing to read the most deranged shit ever ever ever as long as you write it cause i dont even want to say this is beautifully well written.... But it is

Your honor i am hot and bothered and sick to my stomach what can i say i hate it here but i love it here gotta flush my eyes out and get on my knees in prayer what the fuck

Ok

I gotta also ask. Is this a rewrite but longer? Cos im like ... 95% sure I've read this and was traumatized too. I'd say equally but man this really fucked with my head. Uhhhhh yeah gonna not stick my toes into this again KAPAW *GUNSHOT*

“I think I’ll need reminding. Of how much you love me.”

Shivering

There. A glint. In the eyes. The kind curve of his mouth turns razor sharp, a knife with which to ribbon your flesh into a thousand thousand pieces. “Take off your dress.”

Sniffle. What?

You had floated above as your papa had destroyed you then built you anew for his own desires, pain and the hot lick of pleasure-shame distorting sleep into a hellscape.

HhhHHHHHhhhHHhhhHhhHhhhhhhhhhhHHHEEEEE WHAT

Your toes tingle with the desire to run as he stands, reminding you just how much more he is than you. Older, wiser, stronger, taller. His fingers trace the curve of your breast, pale upon brown, languid as only a man possessed with surety in his claim ever could.

“Look up.” He grunts when you follow his wish. “Smile.” You do. “Gevie,” he praises. Beautiful.

His fingers tighten against your scalp, pulling, pulling. “Hen hynge sētetāks bībagon raqā, gaomo daor?” You love sucking the cock that made you, don’t you?

A light slap to the side of the face grounds you. “I didn’t say stop,” he says above you, stern and cold.

FUCK YOU RAT I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOUR INPUT DEGENERATE NUMBSKULL SCUMBAG IGNORANOUS DIPSHIDIOT

Better is not good. He had said that to you once.

You shake your head, terrified. “I don’t—I don’t, Papa, I don’t—” I’m not a slut, you want to say, all that I am is what you’ve made me, but you also think that he’s made you into a slut anyway, and perhaps that is why he had wanted a daughter in the first place. His own personal slut.

RUNNING OVER DAEMON WITH THOSE FLATTENING MACHINE THINGS BEATING HIS ASS ITS ON SIGHT I DONT GIVE A FUCK STAB ME WITH DARK SISTER OR THROW ME INTO THE PIT WITH CARAXES ID BEAT THAT LIZARD UP TOO I DONT GIVE A FUCK

Papa holds you down by the back of the neck as he sinks in, never rocking in-out to wet the way and ease the path, no, the panicked clenching and the slight grit of entry excites him, makes me feel like a man, your stepmother’s too fucking loose from all that cavorting about she’s done, do you know how that makes a man feel, my girl?, and you feel like he is shoving the air from your lungs with his own length as it tears its way through you.

“Only thing you’re good for, getting fucked, letting Papa fuck you”—every time he says it, you cry, but you cannot help that, it hurts to hear him say it like it hurts to feel him in you—“don’t know how I’ll ever let this go—”

Misandry to death

His teeth sink into the meat where your neck and shoulder meet, painful like most of his touches are, and you yell at the sting of it, yell until his hand slams clammy over your mouth to hold you close and quiet and still. “Shut up, shut the fuck up, be good—”

He doesn’t normally spend inside you. Your mind whirls, near-hysteric. Brother-son, sister-daughter, brother and son or sister and daughter. Little sibling tucked up in your own womb, put there by your father.

“See if she tries to rid me of you then,” he snarls, grabbing you by the hips to grind desperately into you, as though he is trying to worm his way into your flesh in some sickening reverse of birth. “Fucking bitch… You’re mine. I seeded you on your mother, I can do what I want with you. I made you for me, no one else.”

If he could, he’d beat Rhaenyra’s head in with a rock like he did his first wife and marry you. He’s said so on some nights; only when he drinks, though. If he were any other man, the talk of marriage might ease the bite of your misuse—but Papa collects wives like knights collect favours. When he tires of them, they die.

🧍⚰️🌼 he would wouldn't he

Papa stops at the door, violet eyes—your eyes—glowing in the night. Even from here, you can see the threat that looms in his expression. “If I find out you’ve been to Gerardys again… you won’t like what happens.”

Your hand falls to that spot, the place where your brother-son or sister-daughter grows in secret, and your eyes fill with tears again. When he finds out, you will never escape. You will never be free.

I would risk my life for you.

Anyway your honor im ready to go to jail now

a sin you were made for │Daemon Targaryen x Daughter!Reader

See my Masterlist for more works!

Please note: this is a ONE-SHOT unrelated to my terms of endearment series.

Synopsis: Your stepmother Rhaenyra thinks it is time you get married. Your father disagrees.

Um, I’m really sorry about this one. It’s awful. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs​​ and @randomdragonfires​​ for being my unwilling victims during the writing. Some notes: you are Laena and Daemon’s firstborn daughter in this one, born before Baela and Rhaena. As such, this is POC reader, though I hope it can be - well, not enjoyed - by everyone. Plus, this is technically ‘smut’, but it’s arguably the worst thing I’ve ever written so if you ain’t into it I do NOT blame you.

Triggers: non-con, NON-CON, incest, age gap, breeding kink, forced breeding kink, major angst, Daemon’s a creep and a bad man, and a bad father, and overall bad.

Keep reading

[luveline]

taking roan to see santa and she is so excited to tell him about her new mommy and the things she wants for christmas and when she gets there she is TERRIFIED of the man 🎅

a family trip to the mall to see santa!! fem!reader 5k words

"I'm gonna tell Santa about my new mom, and my new house, and my new bed, and my new-" 

"Babe, you're supposed to ask him for things you want, not tell him about stuff you already have." 

Roan reaches out to stroke Eddie's face absent-mindedly. He loves how loving she is, and by extension, loves that he's made her this way. 

"But I didn't have a mom or a house or a bed last year." 

He snorts, fingers wrapped up in the ribbon laces on her shiny black shoes. "You actually did have a bed, and a house." 

"A real house, dad." 

"It was a real house," he argues with little heat, straightening up her socks where they've started slipping down, fingertips pressed into her soft skin. "It was a home, anyway. You know, me and Uncle Wayne lived together in his trailer for more than ten years and it was amazing." 

It had been cramped, crowded, and it had been a stuffy hell in the summer, but it was just fine. It was more than that. 

He leans back and takes in Roan again. He's dressed her in a navy blue dress with the lining of a white skirt peeking out underneath. She has a cardigan over the top to fight the cold, and he'll wrap her up in her big puffy coat for good measure as soon as he's done her hair. She looks adorable, adorable and well-kept

He feels the familiar rush of parent pride. Fuck, I'm a good dad. 

"And we had fun, didn't we? In our trailer?" he asks her, chucking under her chin. 

She grins at him, a mouthful of tiny white pearls. "Duh, dad. We had the best times ever, with Rufus and Georgia and Steve." 

He smiles himself, reminded of the stray cats that had flocked to their home and their names. Steve had been an especially dishevelled calico, and his name had been a great point of contention between the Munson's and human Steve. 

"You know, we could always go visit them," he offers, pleased at the twinkle that grows in Roan's eyes. 

"We could?" she asks, gasping. 

"Sure, babe. I bet they miss us, and it's cold. We'll make them some fried chicken when we have time, yeah? You and me'll be the talk of the cat town." 

"And Y/N," Roan says insistently. 

He strokes her cheek with his thumb. "And Y/N," he says as he stands up. "Now, little lady. Bunches or braids?" 

By the time he's weaved her hair back into one impressive braid you're finally getting home from the doctor. A completely routine check up and still he's terrified for a split second that you're gonna come in and declare a problem. You simply pose in the doorway and smile. 

"Nothing wrong with me that wasn't wrong before," you say breezily. "Hello, my loves. Did anything happen while I was gone?" 

Roan scrambles to stand on the kitchen chair and pose as you're posing. Your expression drops, as does your jaw, and you take a while to pick it back up. 

"Aw, princess, would you look at you? You look beautiful." 

She giggles as you swoop in to kiss her. You take her face into two delicate palms and stroke curly baby hairs behind her ears. A year ago, even a couple of months ago, you would've asked before you kissed her. Now, you pucker up wordlessly, and Roan bears her cheek like she can't wait. If her excited shifting from one foot to the other is anything to go by, she can't. 

"You look so, so pretty," you praise, pulling away to wipe at the splodge of lip balm you've left shining on her baby cheek. 

"You look more pretty," Roan says. 

Eddie adores you both in ways he can't articulate. 

His unspoken affection summons your attention. You let your hands fall to her shoulders and meet his eyes over her head. For a moment you smile abashedly, the awkward amazing smile you'd been wearing when you first met. It eases into something easier, something Eddie isn't ashamed to admit he loves more. This one practically oozes love. 

"Do you want to get changed?" you ask. 

He pretends like you've slapped him. "What do you mean? This isn't mall-worthy?" 

"Your work overalls and my apron?" you ask wryly. "Sure, wear that." 

He tries not to smile but he's practically sticky with it, kissing your cheek and patting Roan's back in tandem before he escapes upstairs to change. He puts on a pair of tight black slacks and a dark navy button down to match Roan, rolling the sleeves up in the way he knows you love. 

There's Christmas music and giggling downstairs when he returns. Roan's now standing on the table of all places, her hands in your hands, the two of you dancing quite aggressively considering it's Jingle Bell Rock. You start to swing her around, pulling her into your chest so you can waltz in time with the music. 

You swing to face the doorway and cheer when you see him. "Dad!" you direct Roan's attention. "That's your nicest button down. Is that the one you wore when you proposed?" 

He smiles at the memory but quickly hides it, peering down at his shirt as if it's the most boring item of clothing Walmart's ever made. "This old thing?" He lets the dramatics fall. "No, not this one. I might be wearing the same socks, though, if you wanna check?" 

You dip your face down to Roan's and rub the bridges of your noses together. "No thanks," you say, slipping into some bubbly mom talk. "He thinks I wanna look at his socks, did you hear? What a weirdo." 

"Weirdo," she echoes. 

"Wretched women," he mumbles, heading for the shoe rack. He shoves on a pair of boots and raises his volume. "Come on, sweet girls, time to go see Santa!"

"Santa!" 

Roan squirms out of your arms and onto the floor. She sprints for the front door and grabs clumsily at the handle, slightly too short to reach and pull down with any force. Eddie takes her coat down from the hanger and bunches up the sleeves to get her hands through. One arm then two, she makes it difficult work but it's something he's become an expert in. Wayne once said he reckoned Eddie could get an octopus into a straight jacket. 

"Babe, move out the way," he says. 

Roan steps back enough for him to crack the door and then bursts into the cold. She seems less enthusiastic when the ice bites at her naked knees, looking to Eddie for reassurance. 

He hands you the keys and you take them automatically. "I'm gonna get her into the car before she turns into a popsicle." 

Realisation dawns on your face. "I dont have my purse. Be right there," you say, spinning back into the house. 

He catches up to Roan where she's waiting by your car. She has a car seat in your car and his, but yours is the one at the front of the driveway. She looks tiny next to it, smaller when she starts shivering. It's a sub level Christmas in Hawkins. 

"Alright, Ro, in you go," he says, opening door. He covers the top of the doorway with his hand so she can't knock herself out and straps her in once she's situated. 

"It's cold," she says through chattering teeth. 

"I'm sorry, your wool stockings were in the wash, babe." He covers her frost-bitten cheeks, blood pinking her skin. "We might need to get you some pants at the mall, so you don't fr-fr-freeze to death," he says, imitating her shivering. 

She giggles infectiously. "You're funny." 

He presses a kiss to her head. "All legs in the ride!" he warns. 

"Don't cut her legs off," you call from the front door. 

"Never. Am I driving?" he asks, closing Roan's door. He succeeds in not mauling her. 

"Do you want to?" 

"Do you want to?" 

"Get in the car." 

"Yes, ma'am," he purrs, escaping around to the passenger side and away from your clutches. 

The drive consists of Eddie messing with your deteriorating stereo system and Roan's ecstatic babbling. She's back onto what she wants to tell Santa. New mom, new house, new bed, new princess dresses, new kitchen, new pet fish. The list goes on. Though they aren't as new as she thinks; you, Eddie and Roan have been living together now for a couple of months, and you and Eddie have been engaged for almost as long. The novelty has yet to wear off for Roan. Eddie hopes his daughter will be this amazingly happy for the rest of her life.

"You think it's gonna break?" you ask, watching the stereo with all the caution of a lion tamer. 

"God, I hope so. I'll know what to get you for Christmas, then." 

It's a bluff — Eddie's already got you a bunch of gifts, some of which you're pretending you don't know about, and some he's actually managed to hide well. 

"You won't believe what I got for-" You cough. "Uh, Lucky." 

He laughs, checking over his shoulder to see if Roan's listening. She absolutely isn't, feet wiggling along to the static riddled kiddie songs and Teddy the one eared bear in her lap. "I'm gonna tell him you need a new ear, Teddy, don't worry," she says, tone conspiring.

He winces like she's listening. "Yeah, what was it? A new plant?" 

"Yeah," you mumble. You're a bad liar. "New plant. It's pink and gold and it's made out of velvet silk," — you lower your voice to a whisper — "with handmade skirts and hand sewn sequins." 

His eyes go wide. "I thought we said no more presents for Lucky." 

"Did we say that?" 

"Well, I said that. Starting to think you weren't listening." He pinches your thigh, quick and nipping to get you squealing.

"I listened," you insist through laughter, facing him with a bright, bright smile. You keep your eyes on the road. "I just didn't comply." 

"I'm not above force." 

You gasp, delighted. "You dog! My little girl's in the car." 

"My little girl isn't listening." 

"Yes I am." 

You snort so loud it probably hurts your throat. 

Eddie whips his head to Roan and her cheeky smile. "I know what we should- what we should get Lucky for Christmas," she says knowingly. 

"What's that, princess?" you ask, watching her through the rearview. Each word drips with love.

"A girlfriend," she says. 

"Yeah? We'd need to get him a bigger tank, too-" 

"So that's not happening," Eddie says. 

He hates being the voice of reason, on record despises it, but you love Roan so much, you're fucking whipped, you'd pull Mount Fuji from the Earth and put it behind Bradley's if she asked you to, so while he loves nonsense and participating in it, he has to say no. You can't afford a new fish tank now you've paid for the honeymoon vacation and the wedding venue deposit and Christmas. 

Or rather, Eddie can't afford it. He works on principle. Your money is your money. His money is your money. You argue that your money is a hundred percent his money too and he fights you on it all the time, even though you're technically the breadwinner. He's not too proud to let you pay more rent, more toward groceries, more everything. Now. It had been a little bit of a sore spot at first. 

He'd reasoned that he should be paying more in reality because of Roan and you'd glared at him half-seriously and said, Don't insult me, handsome. You know I love her. 

You more than love her, and if you want to spend every last penny of your paycheck on Christmas this month he won't fight you on it. 

Besides that, he can't take any extra hours because he has to pick up Roan. You love that argument because it supports your conclusion, among others — Eddie does the majority of the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning. But, those arguments should be moot. You definitely carry your weight, plus, he loves to do stuff for you. Should be, but you do that stupid fucking thing that you do wherein your hands are all over his face and your voice is soft as silk in his ear, and you kiss under his jaw and win any and every argument in a pathetically small amount of time. He'd die for you. You're a cheater. 

"Spoilsport," you mumble, pulling into the parking lot outside the mall with a bumpy turn. 

"Lucky needs a girlfriend fish, dad, or he'll get so lonely he'll die." 

Eddie blows hair out of his face and zips up his jacket, opening your door with a mostly respectful kick. He rushes to get Roan out before you can, knowing you'll carry her all the way inside and give yourself achey shoulders. 

"Why do you say that?" Eddie asks as he opens her door. Roan looks up all smiles, Teddy clutched to her neck. "Why do you think he'll die? Lonely people don't die, babe." 

"Are you sure?" 

He unclips her straps and pulls her out deftly. He'd let her walk herself but the cold is biting and he can carry her much quicker. "I'm positive." 

Her face crinkles up. He likely shouldn't have mentioned death, she's too small, but Roan has a strange understanding of all things macabre. Santa's more real to her than death, for sure. 

"Maybe I can ast Santa for a big tank for Lucky and then he can have a girlfriend and a baby." 

The dropped 'k' on ask makes Eddie stupidly emotional. A habit she's falling out of from when she was younger. 

You start pushing him behind the shoulders. "Let's go," you whine, "before we all get hypothermia." 

He makes sure there's room in the crook of his arm for your hand while making his way toward the mall sliding doors. You fall into step beside him. 

Eddie begins stranger prep. 

"You gotta be polite to Santa, remember? Because he sees all these little girls and boys and he's tired from the Christmas rush, and he's taking the time to come see you." 

Roan nods seriously. "My pleases and thank you, dad, I always remember," she says. 

"Yes, you do," you praise, though she does not.

"Do you think he can get Lucky a girlfriend?" Roan asks you. 

More terrible smiles. "Yes, he definitely can. What kind of girlfriend? A goldfish, too? They have black goldfish in the Petsmart with big heads like raspberries- oh, we should go see them after we talk to Santa!" 

Roan's nodding grows more and more voracious. "Can we, dad?" she asks. 

"Why're you askin' me? Y/N already said you could." 

You almost trip over yourself trying to kiss his cheek. He knows you love him. He suspects you love being a parent more. He's rubbed your back through enough 'I'm so lucky' breakdowns to know you're genuinely in love with his little girl. 

Inside the warmth of the mall entryway, Eddie sets Roan on her feet. She holds both hands up. He takes one, you take the other, and she rambles about Lucky's potential lover as you both lead her to the entrance of the food court where the mall Santa's grotto has been set up this year. 

The walls and railings are decorated in spiraling lights and tinsel, store windows teeming with festive merchandise. Kids are everywhere, none as pretty or well-dressed as Roan (in Eddie's totally unbiased opinion), but all looking startled by the intensity of everything. Roan herself baulks. 

"It's bright, huh?" Eddie asks her knowingly. 

"All the lights," she says. 

"Yeah, babe, a lot of lights. There's a really big Christmas tree further in, too, we came here last year to see it." 

She shrugs. Eddie's unsure, but he thinks maybe she's drifted a little closer to his legs. 

The grotto comes into view and she perks up. "Oh," she says sweetly, breathless with her eyes wide, dark eyes shining in the fairy lights. 

"There he is," Eddie encourages, "and some elves, too. We line up, uh-" 

"Over there," you say, tugging him and Roan with you like the three of you are a slinky. 

Roan bounces on her tiptoes from the end of the line to the very beginning. You and Eddie can't stop sharing secret smiles. He loves doing this every year, and last year he'd done most of it alone. Wayne hates shopping malls and you hadn't been dating quite long enough for him to feel comfortable asking you to do parent stuff at the time. The difference a year can make — it aches in the best way. 

"After Santa and the pet store, what's our plan? D'you wanna get pizza? Or something else, we could go to Enzo's?" he asks. 

"Enzo's?" 

"I'll pay."

"Last time you had a weird stomach for three whole days after. I thought we'd never see you again." 

"You love it, though. I'll buy some tums. Take a cushion into the bathroom." 

"Ew, no," you say, sounding less disgusted than you could be. 

You're both keeping an eye on the line. There's only one kid in front of you now, and Roan is pulling on your arms ready to pounce. 

"Chinese?" 

"What does macaroanie want?" 

"She gets everything she wants all the time. Would it kill you to choose?" 

You think it over. "Definitely. Why don't you choose?" 

"'Cause I want you to, that's the whole point. You know, it's okay to do things that you want to do." 

"I want to make you pick. You can pay, too, if we're going to the pet store. Santa needs a donation, and I'm gonna be strapped for cash." 

He mirrors your sweet smile. "Deal." 

"Next, please," says a very average sized elf. 

You and Eddie steal another look and you drop Roan's little hand to let Eddie walk her up to Santa. She'd loved him last year, asking for a bunch of things Eddie hadn't been able to deliver on. He'd tried his best, had done a bunch of freelance guitar repairs that he wasn't educated for (but isn't half bad at), had scraped and scrimped, he'd even borrowed money from Wayne that Wayne refused to take back the following February when Eddie finally made it up, and he still hadn't been able to get 'princess sheets' or the new Dotty Dolly. 

They approach Santa. Roan takes one step, then the other. Santa says hello. 

Roan pauses. 

"C'mere, hon," Santa says, an older gentleman with a natural white beard. He's a very convincing Santa, all things considered. "Tell old Chris Kringle what you want for Christmas." 

Eddie pushes her forward very gently with his fingertips. "Go on, babe, it's okay. You wanted to tell him about your mom and the house and Lucky the fish, right?" 

Roan takes the last step. Then, frozen in the face, she backs up, nearly trips, and bolts down into Eddie's legs. She practically flies down the stairs with a freaked out moan. 

His eyes blow. He looks at Roan, looks at Santa. "I'm sorry," Eddie says, smiling at the old man awkwardly. 

The elves do not look happy. 

Eddie bends down. "Roanie," he says urgently, "what's the matter? You don't wanna talk to Santa?" 

She says nothing, only clings. Eddie tries to steer her shoulder back to Santa on his big velvet chair and she's having none of it, whining and shoving her head into his thigh. 

"Excuse me-" starts the elf. 

"Roan, are you sure you don't wanna talk to him? He's Santa, he wants to hear all about your list this year," Eddie tries. 

"No." 

He sighs, perturbed but not too worried. They can always try again. He says sorry to the elves and to Santa who waves his hand, as if to say it doesn't matter. He gets his hands under Roan's arms and carries her to where you're standing on the other side. You look heartbroken. 

"What happened?" you ask softly, stroking a sweet curl behind her ear. 

Eddie has no answers and Roan doesn't want to give them, so you make your way to the food court in a shocked silence. Roan has a tendency to deal with negatives in two ways — tantrums for the superficial, withdrawal for the serious. Eddie still isn't good at dealing with the latter. Together, you can usually save the day. 

"Roan, bug," Eddie says, so only she can hear, "tell me what happened. You didn't like Santa, huh?" 

"Dad," she says, almost inaudible. 

He slides a hand behind her neck and tips her away from his chest. "What?" 

"He didn't look how I remembered." 

"'Cause you're older," he says. 

He's employed his nicest, smoothest dad voice. The gentle one for all her scariest moments, like shots at the doctor's office and the time she wet herself in the playground in front of the other kids. Anything to assuage her embarrassment, a safety blanket. 

He slides into a booth and you hover. 

"Would something yummy make it feel better?" you ask hopefully. 

Roan shakes her head into Eddie's neck. 

"I-" You look super crushed. Everything had been going well. He knows how badly you want Christmas to be perfect. 

"How about," Eddie cuts you off, not unkindly, "you and me and mom get warm donut holes and ice cream to dip them in? We've never had then with her, have we?" 

It's a good Christmas tradition. 

Roan can't resist. "Okay," she says. 

"I'll get them," you volunteer. "I got it." 

Something hooks you as you're trying to leave and you double back to kiss the top of her head and Eddie's temple in quick succession. He smiles at you genuinely, happy when your frown livens up. Roan will be okay in a little while, no doubt. No need for you to tear yourself up over it. 

Alone, Eddie eases Roan off of his lap and onto the bench beside him. He takes her little hands into his. She looks nearly angry, dark eyebrows pinched up and her eyes welled with tears. 

"It's okay that you didn't like Santa," he murmurs.

"I wanted to tell him about Y/N," she says, lower lip trembling. 

"We can always go and see him again." 

She stiffens. 

"Or we can try a different day, yeah? C'mon, where's my brave girl gone?"

"He smiled funny…" she mumbles.

He feels awful instantly. He doesn't need Roan to be brave if she can't be. 

"Well, if you want," he says, inclining his head, "you could tell me what you want for Christmas, I could tell Santa." 

She looks up. "You'll tell Santa?" 

"Oh, yeah," he says quickly. "I tell Santa all the stuff you forget. How'd you think you got your space hopper last year? And your princess slippers? I tell him all the things you want." 

"He still didn't get me Dotty Dolly." 

"He's old, babe. He's all senile, like Wayne." Sorry Wayne. 

Her face flops into his upper arm, chubby cheek squished to the mild curve of his bicep. She lets out a morose sigh. "Sorry, dad." 

He nudges her gently. "For what?" 

"Being not brave." 

He presses his forehead to her hair. "I didn't mean that. You don't have to be brave meeting new people. It's scary, even if you met them before. Like Y/N," he says, nuzzling Roan's silky hair affectionately, "I don't know if you remember, you were always excited to see her, and I used to think I was excited too. Then we'd get to Morgan's cake shop and I'd make us late because I was hiding in the car. She used to make me nervous, and now she's your mommy." 

He wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes we need time to get to know people before we're ready to talk to them. It's okay that you got scared, babybug, promise." 

She goes limp. Her cheek slides down the length of his stomach and lands on his thigh. "I really wanted Lucky to have a girlfriend." 

He pets her hair, accomplished in his dad duties. (He hopes. Tonight he'll go over this conversation with you and wonder if he should've said something else.) 

"Lucky can definitely still have a girlfriend. What did I just say? I'll make sure Santa knows exactly what you want, no sweat." 

She huffs another huge sigh that must take up her entire lung capacity. He tickles the back of her neck with the end of her braid slowly, drawing circles around her ear and her earlobe until her shoulders are heaving. 

"You're laughing," he accuses. 

"No I'm not," she says into his leg. 

"No?" He lets her hair go in favour of scratching her neck. "We can change that." 

You return with way too much ice cream and twice as many donuts to find her squealing and cornered in the booth, curled up into a ball like a pill bug to evade Eddie's cruel hands. 

"What are you doing to her?" you demand. 

"I'm cuddling her. What's it look like to you, mister?" 

"Mister? You sick freak." 

"You're the sick freak, freak. Sit down and give my girl one of those donut holes before she keels over." 

"She's already keeled! Get offa her, the ice cream's melting on my hands." 

He stops tickling Roan and she finds the strength to sit. You're ecstatic to see her happy again and you show it with a grand proferring of sweet treats and three plastic spoons. You've bought a whole lotta donuts and an ice cream boat with chocolate fudge and cherries, and you let her maul it without complaint. It's a good time, a great one, to watch Roan teach you how to dip the still-warm donuts in your ice cream, and to watch the two of you try to eat them without getting powdered sugar and chocolate all over your fancy clothes. 

He ties the cherry stem with his tongue and mystifies Roan, who spends the next ten minutes trying to do the same. He feels so sorry for her that when she sticks her little tongue out with an untied stem for the tenth time, he meets your eyes and nods and the two of you cheer like crazy. 

He hadn't brought his bag, a rookie mistake, so he nabs some napkins from the condiments table and gives Roan the good old spit and polish. 

Clean-ish, he takes her hand and she stands on the bench, hopping off and landing with Munson grace (her knees give out). You take the long way around the grotto so she won't have to see Santa again and come across the mall's huge Christmas tree. 

"Woah," she gasps, enthralled. 

Eddie really should've brought the camera, even if he only has two pieces of film left. He wants to remember this forever, her face still soft with baby fat reflected back from a giant golden bauble, tinsel bouncing light all over her skin like a mirrorball. You bend down beside her and grin. 

"Eddie, look at it from down here." 

He suspends his disbelief and kneels down. 

From the floor, the tree looks bigger than any skyscraper, and it shines like a star. If you follow the tree all the way to its angel at the top, you can look past it into the skylight, where the dark night shines with pinprick stars. 

"Our Christmas tree doesn't look this good," you say. 

"Yes it does!" Roan says, turning to you with a stern scowl. "Our Christmas tree is the best one they ever made." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. And I got to put the star on." 

"Yeah, you did." You rest your hands on her shoulders and the two of you look up together. 

I need a fucking camera, Eddie thinks hotly. 

— 

Petsmart is like an aquarium at 6PM. The lights have been lowered, the fish tanks glowing bright blue and bubbling in the dim light. A hundred white and red babies swim erratically, their fins a blur in the top tank. Underneath, there are tanks filled with algae-eating snails that move surprisingly quickly. To the left, the big black goldfish with puffy cheeks lavish in their more spacious tank. 

"Where's the ones with the raspberry head?" Roan whispers. 

Your eyes follow a beautiful red goldfish the size of three fingers. "I don't know, little lady," you mumble, entranced by the goldfish's graceful arc. 

"Do you think Lucky would have a crush on him?" 

You look to where she's pointing at, little finger chasing a telescope fish. 

"I think he'd love him. He's a big one." 

"I thought Lucky wanted a girlfriend?" Eddie asks. 

"But all these ones are boys, dad." 

He frowns, endearingly confused. "How can you tell?" 

"I just know." 

You love the way she says it, love every little word she says. She sounds confident in her declaration but the way she pronounces her words harbours the clumsiness that comes with being a young kid, 'know' carrying a lot of weight, of humour, like she can't believe Eddie would say something that silly. 

"What about that one? She looks kinda girly, no?" 

The three of you watch the fish in question complete a small loopty-loop. 

"Nah," you say, "that's definitely a boy. He has abs." 

"They're called gills." 

"Do they have any pink fish?" Roan asks. 

"Maybe not. They have pink plants. Hey, I saw the ornaments on the way in, they have a castle. Think Lucky would like that?" 

If Petsmart didn't close at 6.30 you could stay and watch the fish tanks with them forever. You hop along to the ornaments and try to catalogue all the ones Roan expresses an interest in. Buying them won't count as spoiling her, it'll be spoiling Lucky. Eddie can't possibly be irked over that. 

"Don't even think about it," he mouths. 

You remember Roan's unhappy face when she was confronted with the horror of the mall Santa up close and decide she can't leave empty handed. 

"Why don't we get him something now? You can put it in his tank tonight before bed." 

"Really?" Roan asks. 

"Go crazy." 

Roan hesitates, spoiled for choice, hands feeling over the ornaments one at a time. Eddie tells her she can't pick anything from the tip shelf and you're glad for it, because it is Christmas coming and they're extortionate hand crafted things you cannot afford. 

"This one," she says. 

She picks up a heavy looking Christmas tree glued to a white plate, multi-coloured presents nestled at the trunk. It's a glorious twelve dollars. 

You let Roan carry the bag out of the Petsmart. She turns to Eddie and says, "Please make sure Santa gets Lucky a girlfriend like the one with the big eyes. And please tell him that I have the best new mommy and the bed and the new house, please." 

He beams at her. "We can strike those off the list, for sure. What do you want now you got all the stuff you asked for last year?" 

"Pink hair." 

Eddie whistles through his teeth appreciatively. "Gnarly." 

"And a bounce house," she adds. 

He shakes his head at you before you can ask.

[littlefreya]

Undercover

Prompt:

How do you Henry would react if *said person* blurts out "Oh Geralt" or "oh yes August" or "yeah Clark" (or any other character he played) while having sex with him? 😂

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Words: 773

Warning: 18+, RPF, graphic, dirty, rough sex, role play, creampie, some fluff.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.* 

A/N: Okay, it’s lunch break and I forgot to buy food so might as well feed on your arousal instead, because that’s what succubi do. Enjoy and don’t forget to reblog if you enjoyed 🖤😘

Title: Undercover 

Rivulets of sweat dribbled down his nose and landed on your cheeks as he rotted into you with the unbridled vigour of a starved man. Sex with Henry would usually range between gentle-rough to what you called ‘bruising love-making’, but tonight he was on the verge of becoming berserk. On and on, he plunged into your core, his hands forcing your wrists to the sides of your head while his thick cock assaulted your taut little cavern. 

At one point you were convinced he was aiming to split you asunder.

“Good girl, my good, good girl,” his smooth baritone praised in a chant, backed by the carnal symphony of sin that was the mixture of bodily fluids splashing between your wet thighs.  

And perhaps it was the way he held you down and fucked you so dominantly or the shadow of an early moustache that graced his upper lip. But as you clamped around his cock so wantonly and your rapture threatened to rip through, you accidentally howled a name...

“August!”

Shock sparked his sapphire-blues, his breath hitching so loud you felt his cock twitch inside you along with the hiss. 

Fuck. What have you done?

“I didn’t... I...” Still panting, you sought in your mind for an apology when suddenly you found yourself flat on your chest and your ass and knees manoeuvred upwards. 

“Want August to fuck you, is that it?” Henry asked in a distinguished American accent as he rose to stand on his knees. 

Before you could muster an answer or even turn to meet his gaze, his pulsating shaft speared you with such might you screamed into the cushion. But Henry gave no mercy nor left any escape from his onslaught. Reaching his hand to your nape, he etched his fingers around your flesh and hauled your head up just as he slammed into you with might.

“That’s right, angel,” his laughter thundered with arrogance while he watched you shake and caved to his dominion. Forcefully, he pummeled your cunt, the cheeks of your behind rippled against his slapping hips, and your cries were nothing but a sort of a helpless wheeze. Pleading for his seed, your walls suckled around his gift, and your convulsing tightness milked low guttural groans from his throat.

“You want big bad August to come inside you? Fill your pure little pussy with his dirty cum?” Henry asked and punished your lack of answer with harder, faster jabs. “Yeah, that’s right, scream princess, I’m not stopping even if it hurts, I’ll fuck you to tears because you are pretty when you cry, and once I’m done fucking you, I’ll fuck up this world too.” 

For a moment, you were genuinely terrified, his act so convincing it made your lungs empty with fear. Not to mention, he never took you this rough before, uncaring of your helpless yips. Feeling the crown of his cock seeking to breach through the sealed gate of your womb, you faltered into delirium; your entire body quaked as waves of bliss engulfed your every sensation, filling you with nothing but feral euphoria. 

The tingling spasms of your cunt around his swelling girth and the clenching grip quickly urged him to follow. Giving you three last violent thrusts, Henry finally slammed himself all the way in and spent himself within the abyss of your greedy womb. 

You moaned again as you felt the hot and thick stream ooze inside you, little creamy ribbons leaked out of your seams while he continued to grind himself in, making sure to plant his seed as deep as he could.

Lingering inside you until the very last drop, Henry groaned and granted you with a playful smack on the ass.

“You liked that? Liked being fucked by someone else?” he provoked in his fine British accent and then carefully pulled out and moved to lie by your side. 

A glint of concern sparked your eyes at the terrible thought that you might have offended him, turning on your side, you noted his face, but no rage appeared in his shimmering sapphires but only the sight of playful content.

“I’ll always prefer my boyfriend,” you assured him huskily and then nibbled your bottom lip, “but this... role play thing?...”

“Yes?” Henry crooked an eyebrow as if he already knew what was brewing in your brilliant mind.

“Are you open to trying that again... with other characters?”

Henry flashed his teeth at you and huffed amused, “I don’t know,” he moved his fingers to caress your damp cheek gently, “would you ever be open to pretending that you’re a Night Elf from Warcraft for me?...”

[flamingbluepanda]

Alicia my love please let’s talk more about tongue piercing Mickey!!! You can’t bring it up and not share more thoughts!

Oh my god okay so last night I was thinking a LOT about Mickey experimenting with gender like!! There's so many things he always wanted to do and explore!! He always wanted to dye his hair and get piercings and the tongue piercing was his first drunken foray into "fuck it, Im gonna do what I damn well please"

Ian 100% goes with him to get the tongue piercing put back in, and Mickey gets his right ear pierced on the same day -- it hurts way less.

A few weeks later, Mickey gives in to Franny's longest standing request and let's her paint his nails. Next comes a little eyebrow piercing, then some highlights to his hair. He paints his nails a dark red instead of black. He gets his other ear pierced. He changes his tongue stud for something else. He lets his hair grow long enough for a lil ponytail.

One day, months into Mickey trying new things, Ian comes home to find Mickey locked in the bathroom.

He frowns, knocks gently. "you okay?"

"yeah," a beat, "no. I mean, yeah, I'm fine, but... I did something."

"... Something bad?"

"maybe?"

"okay," Ian says. "Do you wanna tell me?"

"... I wanna show you, but you have to swear not to laugh or tell anyone."

"I promise," Ian says quizzically, confused because he didn't laugh when Mickey got a plug stuck in his ass, they're past laughing at eachother in inopportune moments-

Mickey opens the door.

The dress is black, with lacy cap sleeves and the bottom flares out around Mickey's knees. There's a white ribbon around the waist that's clearly meant to be tied, but it's hanging at the sides. There are some shiny sequens on the chest.

Mickey looks utterly terrified.

"you," Ian says after a long moment, low and serious, "are the most handsome, beautiful person I have ever seen."

Maybe Mickey never wears them outta the house, maybe he uses they/them pronouns for a bit, maybe he buys more dresses.

It's new, it's different, and it's him, fully.

[seijorhi]

Inexorable ♕

My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy​ and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh

Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um... implied murder?

He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.

Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.

Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.

You’ve heard them snickering about it when you hastily dart past, all but slamming your front door shut. 

And it’s not that you’re scared of him. There are people who play at being dangerous, and ones who are. Iwaizumi doesn’t strike you as somebody who enjoys playing, and while you don’t doubt for a second that he is dangerous, he isn’t to you. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt or scare you – you’re not even a blip on his radar – but what Iwaizumi is, at least as far as you’re concerned, the reason your step quickens and you can’t bear to meet his eyes, is intimidating.

Tall and broad shouldered, with those piercing green eyes. You’ve only seen him smile once, though it was more a quirking of his lips than anything else – usually he just stares, his expression halfway between impassive boredom and a scowl. 

No, Iwaizumi doesn’t scare you nearly as much as the bouquet of flowers you find sitting on your doorstep, a handwritten note tucked in between the roses.

—

The calls come next. You block one number and he rings from another, followed by endless texts. Cute little messages you suppose are meant to brighten up your day. 

Hi baby, love the skirt you’re wearing today. You know blue’s my favourite on you, always look so damn pretty. It’s like you’re trying to drive me crazy haha

Morning babe, I was thinking about you last night. You remember that trip we always said we were gonna take in the summer down to the lake? I can’t wait to bring you there.

Why won’t you answer my calls? I just wanna talk to you, hear your voice again. Let me make things right. I love you.

Don’t you miss me? I miss you. So, so much… You look beautiful today, by the way.

Baby, I love you, but you really shouldn’t be staying out so late with your coworkers for drinks. I just want you to be safe.

They’re not all soft and sweet though. Sometimes he just sends you pictures, and those creep you out most of all.

You change your number, and it doesn’t make a difference.

—

It’s hard for you to try and convince yourself that you’re imagining the prickling sensation on the back of your neck as you go about your day. You know he’s watching you – the messages and the voicemails just drive that home, but what else are you supposed to do?

You can’t just pack up and run again, and what good is a restraining order when you have no proof he’s violating it – and by the time you do, it probably won’t help you.

Kazuma’s always had patience, but only up to a point.

The final nail comes the day you arrive home to find one of Iwa’s friends heading out from his apartment – the tallest, with the curly dark hair. Barely spares you a glance until he seems to think better of it.

“Didn’t realise you had a boyfriend, sweetheart.”

He says it so casually, but the words make you falter, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

And for a moment, he looks half surprised that you’ve bothered to reply – so far you’ve done nothing but pretend to ignore him and Iwa and every last one of their friends. But the mirth slips from his expression quickly enough once he gets a good look at yours, “Blonde guy with a shitty dye job, tall-ish. Saw him leaving your apartment an hour ago.” 

But to walk out of your apartment, he had to have first gotten into it.

“Guessing he wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he says, eyeing you with an odd look. But you don’t respond and after a short pause, he simply shrugs and continues on his way. 

You couldn’t care less.

Kazuma was in your apartment.

Leaving flowers at your doorstep is one thing, but now he has a key. 

And it feels like there’s somebody else moving your body as you stumble towards your apartment, your hand shaking so badly that you fumble and drop your own keys twice before you finally manage to slide them home and push your way inside.

It’s waiting for you inside your bedroom, sitting atop your pillow; a pretty blue box wrapped with white ribbon.

Your phone flashes to life a minute later; an incoming message from an unknown number. 

Did you like your present, baby?? I hope you don’t mind, I kinda borrowed a little something too… 

With your heart in your throat you watch those three bouncing dots as the image comes through. 

A pair of red lace panties – yours – scrunched up in his fist, wrapped around his–

Your stomach heaves, and you barely make it to the bathroom in time before you’re hurling your guts up.

—

You’ve always had an impulsive side, and more often than not it’s landed you into trouble.

So you force yourself to calm down and think before you do anything rash. You head to the police station the very next morning to file a report, fresh off a sleepless night. The officer seems sympathetic, but you know before she even opens her mouth that there’s nothing they can do.

There’s no proof of a crime committed; nothing was taken (nothing you can prove, at any rate) and because your door wasn’t tampered with and the windows weren’t smashed, there’s no evidence of a break in. She suggests changing your locks and going to stay with some friends or family for a few days and you don’t know whether you want to laugh or burst into tears.

And instead of going back to work, you call in sick.

Iwaizumi isn’t sitting on the front steps when you get back home, and why would he be? You’re not supposed to be home for another few hours – so instead you head to his apartment door and mustering every last ounce of courage you possess, you raise your fist and knock.

Silence greets you. 

You wait for a moment, a heartbeat, not daring to breathe, but there’s no answer. Which, really, shouldn’t be that surprising considering it’s mid-morning on a Tuesday, but you can’t help the crushing sense of disappointment that washes over you. The thought of trudging back to your apartment to sit and stew alone for the next few hours while you wait for him to come back makes your skin crawl. You can’t just sit still and twiddle your thumbs, not when–

Abruptly, the door in front of you swings open, and you find yourself face to face with a glaring Iwaizumi. His expression falters, momentary surprise flickering across his eyes at the sight of you standing in his doorway.

This time you don’t avert your eyes. Your heart’s pounding, your hands clammy and trembling by your side, but this is the only choice you have left. And so as a single eyebrow cocks and Iwa falls into a lean against the doorframe – the only invitation you’re gonna get – you steel your nerves, take a deep breath, and speak.

“I-I need a gun.”

To his credit, Iwaizumi doesn’t snort. “You planning on shooting somebody, princess?”

They’re the first words he’s ever spoken to you, and they make your cheeks burn, your stomach twisting into a knot. It’s not a dismissal, but there’s a tinge of amusement colouring his tone and you can’t help but wilt a little under the weight of his gaze. 

Better sense would tell you to turn around, walk back to your apartment and curse your own idiocy for entertaining this stupid idea to begin with But Iwaizumi’s staring at you like he’s expecting an answer and all you can think about is the fear that gripped your heart last night, how you couldn’t bear to turn the light off, half terrified that at any moment Kazuma would come back – and this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with just some panties.

You can’t live like this, and you can’t just pack up your life and wait for the same thing to happen in the next place, and the one after that. Kazuma won’t stop, you know that. 

“I…” you chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze so that you’re staring at his chest instead of those piercing green eyes. “I don’t, I-I’m not–”

“A killer?” he interjects, and you almost flinch at his bluntness“Yeah, no shit.”

Taking another breath in through your nose, you force yourself to meet his gaze, even as your nails bite into the palm of your hand and your heart skips a beat. “I just want…” but you can’t even bear to say the words aloud, not without your voice shaking like a leaf. “It’s for protection. I don’t know who else to go to. Please,” you beg.

Iwa exhales heavily, a crinkle appearing between his brows as he frowns, “This got anything to do with the blonde asshole that’s been sniffing ‘round your place?”

Your bewilderment must show, because he snorts, finally stepping back to let you inside. “Mattsun told me,” he says, answering your unspoken question. 

The unmistakably hard edge to his words takes you a little by surprise, but you nod anyway, gingerly taking a seat on the couch when he jerks his chin at it. “Oh, uh, yeah. He’s my ex, kinda. We… didn’t end well.”

It’s the understatement of the century, but you somehow doubt a man like Iwaizumi gives two shits about your past relationship with a stalker. Your fingers play with the hem of your skirt as the imposing man settles down beside you. “So does this mean you’ll get me a gun?” you ask. “I can pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have some money–”

Iwa scoffs, cutting you off. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near a loaded gun, pretty girl, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for.”

You reel back as if he’s slapped you. But Iwaizumi’s staring at you with that steely expression and blood rushes to your cheeks. Why are you surprised? Did you actually think he was going to help you – a veritable stranger – just because you have some sob story? Why even bother letting you in if he was just gonna make you feel like an idiot? And for a moment you forget the gnawing terror that’s kept you up all night, letting yourself become awash with indignation. You have no control over the hurt noise that leaves your throat, but the ‘Fuck you’ that follows; that one’s intentional.

You don’t have time to regret the insult as you jump to your feet; his hand shoots out to wrap around your wrist, jerking you to a halt the moment you try it. 

“I didn’t say you could go,” he tells you, and you can’t fight the shiver that rolls down your spine at the unmistakably commanding tone. “Sit.”

Wordlessly, you comply.

“Look at me.”

Again, there’s that harsh undercurrent in his voice that tells you he’s not asking, and you lift your gaze with a tense swallow. Iwa still hasn’t released your wrist, the warmth of his calloused palm searing against your skin. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, olive eyes studying your face intently as you force yourself to sit still under the appraisal. “I said that I wasn’t going to give you a gun, not that I wasn’t going to help.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, “What–”

“I’ll take care of it,” he snaps, cutting you off once again. And as you inhale sharply, you realise that it’s not anger you see burning in those pretty eyes, but sheer, unrelenting fury, an icy rage that you don’t understand, that terrifies you as much as it enthrals.

Because you feel like it’s on purpose. Like he’s finally letting you get a glimpse of what silently seethes beneath that impassive mask of his. Are you scared now, sweetheart?

“H-how much?” you ask breathlessly, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

“I don’t want your money,” he says quietly, his voice low and husky. And just in case there was any confusion as to what he does want, his other hand comes up to your face, a broad thumb tracing along your bottom lip as he cups your cheek.

Iwaizumi leans in slowly, as if he’s giving you time to shove him away and tell him that you’re not that kind of girl. Part of you – the part that’s terrified, frozen stiff and regretting the very moment you decided to step into his apartment and cross that line – wants to. Even now, as those hooded olive eyes drink you in, his warm breath ghosting across your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake, you’re afraid that it’s too late for that. You’ve opened a door that should never have been opened and there’s been a fundamental shift between you and him. There’s no going back for either one of you.

And the other part of you revels in it.

“Don’t kill him,” you murmur the second before his lips meet yours. “Not unless you have to.” You don’t even know if he heard you, and as Iwa deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours you find that you don’t care. You lose yourself to Iwaizumi as he leans closer, gently pushing you to lie back on the couch.

He isn’t satisfied with just your lips for long, planting hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, sucking on the sensitive flesh. His teeth nip at your collarbone as he busies himself unbuttoning your shirt, but your gasp sounds more like a needy whine than a plea for him to stop. 

He laughs a little at that, his chest rumbling against your stomach, but he makes no moves to slow down. Instead he turns his attention to your bra, his hands far less gentle with the delicate lace than he was with your shirt, and then his mouth is on your tits, licking, sucking, biting. Tomorrow, your skin will be littered with pretty red and purple marks, and judging from the single minded focus glinting in his eyes as he stares up at you, that’s exactly his intention. Iwa drags the flat of his tongue along the swell of your breast, circling it around your nipple before he sucks it into the wet warmth of his mouth, and the whimpering moan you give him in response is a thing of beauty. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Such pretty, perfect tits.”

Your back arches when he cups the other in his hand, and you cry out when he roughly tugs the sensitive bud. He waits until the sting fades and you relax, sagging back against the cushions with relief before he does it again, harder this time. The sharp, searing pain ripples through you, your breath seizing in your chest as you try in vain to writhe away from his touch, but it’s followed by a flood of pleasure so strong it almost makes you dizzy. The fleeting kiss Iwa bestows on the supple flesh a moment later could almost be taken as an apology – if not from the satisfied smirk curling at his lips. He has no desire to be gentle with you, not today or any other day. That’s not who he is. 

Large hands ease down your side, reaching for the hem of your skirt. Iwa doesn’t bother trying to pull it off of you, merely flips it up, exposing your soft thighs and the delicate panties lying underneath. 

In an attempt to be helpful, you lift your hips to allow him to drag the lacy scrap of fabric down your legs and discard it, but Iwaizumi seems perfectly content with leaving them where they are. Even so, it takes you by surprise when his mouth descends on your cunt, the wet, pink muscle laving along the seat of your panties. You shiver in response, one hand instinctively reaching out to tangle in those spiky brunette locks, but if you’re about to tell him to stop teasing, the words are robbed from you when Iwa pushes the fabric aside and buries his face in the heat of your pussy.

His nose nudges at your clit and you jerk at the first lap at your folds, already shamefully wet for him. There’s no rhythm or rhyme to the way he eats you out, letting a long, thick finger slide into your cunt while he suckles and licks at your clit, but you can’t deny that it’s working. Your thighs tremble and quake beneath his hands, every second of his attention dragging you closer to unravelling entirely. And you’re awash with pleas, little whimpers and moans as he chuckles, the low vibrations making your fingers tighten in his hair as another burst of pleasure flutters through you. Your hips rise and fall against his face, desperate for more when he finally slides his tongue inside of your heat, eager to taste your cunt properly. You want more, you’re desperate and aching for it; but Iwaizumi’s grip tighten bruisingly against your thigh in warning. 

You’re at his mercy, and he’s in absolutely no hurry.

The first time you cum, it takes you by surprise. It feels like an endless build-up, Iwa’s tongue lapping at your pussy like it’s heaven sent, his mouth working diligently to drive you insane. Every touch feels unbearably good, from the long, slow strokes to the way he drags the tip of his tongue along your clit. Your toes are curling, your tits heaving with the desperate breaths you choke down, and all of a sudden his mouth latches onto your clitoris and he sucks hard at the swollen nub. You almost black out right there and then, stars bursting behind closed lids as pleasure wreaks havoc over your body. But as good as that feels, it’s not until you open your eyes and catch sight of the hunger blazing in Iwaizumi’s eyes that you tip over the edge, cumming into his waiting mouth with an earth shattering moan. 

At some point he must have let you go to rid himself of his own clothes, and your panties, but you’re boneless, basking in the afterglow as he shifts you once more, lifting one of your thighs up to hook your leg over his shoulder as he settles back onto the couch.

You just watch through hazy eyes as Iwaizumi gives his thick cock, already hard and flushed an angry red, a few cursory pumps. And his eyes are fixed on yours as he leans down, guiding the tip to your sopping cunt. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this, princess,” he grunts out. 

Warning bells sound in your head once more, your gut clenching uneasily, but any protests you might have voiced fall by the wayside as he slowly presses into you. It’s the girth, more than anything else, that takes you by surprise. It hurts, stretching out your poor, oversensitive cunt as his cock fills you up, inch by agonising inch. 

Iwa hisses from between clenched teeth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to breathe through the pain. It won’t last long, you know that, and until it does you just have to grin and bear it.

You can feel it twitching inside of you, every ridge and vein, the way your slick walls hug his cock. His thumb strokes along your hip, soothing you as your face screws up and another whimper slips out. You think you hear him say something, praise maybe, or encouragement, but all you can focus on is the way his cock throbs inside your pussy when he finally bottoms out and stills.

And for a moment, he doesn’t move. A small kindness, letting you become adjusted to his size before he fucks you the way he’s dying to. 

“Look at me,” he says, and while his tone isn’t as sharp this time, it’s no less of an order.

Your eyes flutter open as Iwaizumi turns his head just a fraction without breaking eye contact, pressing a soft kiss against your calf. His eyes are glazed with feverish lust, pupils blown wide, almost swallowing up that thin ring of olive green entirely, and you wonder whether you should feel afraid right now.

You don’t have the words to describe it, the distant unease that seeps through you as you stare into the eyes of a man who’s clearly not in control anymore. If you screamed right now, tried to fight back or stop him, would it make a difference? 

Do you actually want to?

“You’re mine,” he growls out, drawing his hips back and slamming them forward ruthlessly as you choke on a scream. 

He’s relentless, hissing out curses as he fucks you like a rag doll, filling your wet, tight little cunt again and again and again. It’s all you can do to fist at the edge of the cushion, one hand wrapping around his back, your nails raking down his skin, drawing blood in their wake.

And Iwa doesn’t care, tossing his head back as he pounds his cock into your needy cunt, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. “Iwa,” you plead between gasping breaths, clinging to his broad frame. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, not as he grabs you by the hips and lifts you up, hauling you closer so he can fuck you deeper. And you can feel his cockhead rutting against your cervix with every vicious thrust, the painful stretch of your cunt as you’re forced to take his fat cock. It hurts, it does, but holy fuck you can’t focus on that when his fingers slip between your legs and he starts to rub at your puffy, oversensitive clit.

You’re whining, mewling, hips shifting as you rock against him, desperate for more friction. “Please, Iwa,” you moan.

The sound of it, the lewd slaps of skin against skin, the wet squelching as he drives his cock home again with an unforgiving pace would be enough to make you burn with embarrassment, but you don’t care because you’re quickly losing yourself to mindless pleasure. Every stroke fills you completely, it’s hot and thick and the drag of his cock against your plush walls, the way it kisses that sweet perfect spot with every thrust is driving you to insanity.

“Fuck!” you cry, clenching tightly around his length as you hurtle over the edge for a second time. You’re gushing, convulsing, back arched up off the couch, lips parted and–

Iwaizumi stops with a growl and you barely have time to process it before he’s flipping you onto your front, yanking your ass up into the air and hammering his cock back into your swollen, abused little pussy. It’s a bruising pace he sets as he chases after his own end, your name falling from his lips in harsh, breathless grunts. 

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become sloppy, your cunt sucking him in and pulsing around his cock. And you don’t have the mental capacity to beg him to pull out, not as his muscular chest collapses against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist and he pumps you full of his seed.

Neither one of you move straight away, both fighting to catch your breath and calm down in the afterglow of your orgasms. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he can reach. It’s an intimacy that doesn’t belong here, but you find yourself arching into it, a small, tired smile curling at your lips as Iwaizumi lavishes you with affection. 

And you can only whine softly when he finally pulls his cock out and stands, lifting your boneless form up into his arms, chuckling quietly when you bury your head into his chest. Your head’s empty, your thoughts a jumbled mess as he carries you into his bedroom, depositing you carefully onto the bed. 

Iwaizumi leaves you there like that, and when he returns a few minutes later he’s dressed again. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something oddly content about his expression as he stops by the doorway and takes in the sight of you; naked and thoroughly fucked out, curled up amongst his covers. 

“Iwa?” you ask sleepily, stretching your aching body to make yourself more comfortable as you nestle further into the soft mattress.

He doesn’t answer you as he strides in, but you watch through half lidded eyes as his expression hardens. Stopping by the bedside, Iwaizumi reaches for you. You think he’s going to cup your cheek again, maybe run his fingers through your hair, but instead his hand slides between your thighs, gathering up some of the cum that’s seeped from your pussy with his fingers and slowly pushing it back inside of you, humming when you whine and shift under him.

“I’m leaving for a bit,” he tells you, your gut clenching as you remember why you’re in this position in the first place. “You don’t leave this apartment until I get back. You don’t answer the door, you don’t tell anyone you’re here, you don’t leave this bed unless you have a goddamn good reason. Understand?”

Weakly, you nod.

“Such a good girl for me,” he breathes, and this time when he leans over he does kiss you, sweeping your hair back from your face before his warm lips meet your cheek. He lingers there for a beat longer than necessary before pulling away with a sigh.

And as the door swings shut, the sound of the lock clicking into place behind him, you begin to question whether you’ve made a mistake. You don’t doubt for a second that Iwa will follow through with his promise. Whether it’s tonight or tomorrow or a week from now, he’ll find Kazuma; him and his friends, and they’ll make sure he stays away. And until they do, you won’t leave this apartment.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that despite your pleas, Iwaizumi’ll kill him. 

Not because that’s the only way for this to end, though you realise that that’s always been a possibility, but because of what you glimpsed in his eyes today. Stupidly, you’d thought you had Iwa pegged. But there’s something that lurks beneath that facade, something more dangerous than you could’ve possibly imagined and the moment you opened the door to Iwaizumi it sunk its teeth into you and now you’re not sure if it’ll ever let you go.

And as you lie back in Iwaizumi’s bed, covered in the marks he left behind you wonder whether you’ve merely traded one monster for another. Perhaps it was inevitable. Inexorable.