#I'm thinking about this frame non stop

[youryanderedaddy]

can you write gentle yandere taking their darling for the first time vs mean sadistic yandere taking them for the first time?

Btw I love ur work 💖💘💗

tw: female reader, non - con, kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, sadism, degradation, slut - shaming

Gentle ~

You know the type of guy I'm talking about. Big and buff, dark - haired, cries a lot. Watches romance movies in his free time and actually calls his mother even outside of the holiday season. Wears slutty little black fitted shirts after working out and brings you smoothies after work. He smiles and blushes. The man is a massive loser with an undying passion for anything nerdy, be it dragons, board games, collecting marks. Who would really expect this poor soul to hurt even a fly?

But he does.

It doesn't happen until months after he's taken you in. Most of the time he's being the perfect gentleman (aside from literally keeping you captive) - he cooks for you, brings you roses and chocolates (even when you throw them away or tear the petals from the flowers), cleans and doesn't make you lift a finger. He reads you poetry until your ears bleed. He tells you he loves you one hundred times a day and seemingly doesn't care about your snorts or the way you roll your eyes and push him away, already so used to your living situation you can't even find it in yourself to be scared. You think he's harmless - as harmless as a lovesick puppy.

But then one night he comes home, an unusual frown on his otherwise soft face. There is a certain type of madness in his hazel eyes. They are still so very soft and adoring, he still sees you as a Goddess in need of worship... but there is also something dark and muddy. Something possessive.

Your captor kisses you on the cheek and that much is granted - he does it every day, along with shouting "Honey, I'm home" at the door. He hugs you - tight. Tighter than ever before, it feels as if the man is trying to crush you in a suffocating embrace, like he wants to swallow you whole within his arms. For the first time you realise just how muscular he is - how much stronger he is. And then he picks you up like a blushing bride and leaves a quick peck on your forehead before taking you to the bedroom and carefully laying you down.

He doesn't give you time to ask questions - as soon as he steps a foot in your shared room, he's already tearing apart his clothes, revealing his ripped form.

"See anything you like, sweetness?" the man asks you, rubbing his hands together as he towers over you, caging you between two beefy arms. You stay silent for a moment, mouth agape at the suddenness of it all - you have never seen him like this. He starts caressing your cheeks and slowly moves down, and that's when it finally settles in your mind. You need to act quickly.

"Stop." you say authoritatively, just like you have done so many times before, praying it would work like it had in the past. But not now. This time he simply shakes his head, a crazed smile playing on his lips as he lowers his head and kisses your neck softly, lovingly. It's terrifying. You're not used to this. You don't know how to react. "Baby, I can't hold it in anymore." Your captor whispers, head resting against your shoulder, voice low and desperate - almost whiny.

"I really tried." he swallows thickly. "I swear. I tried cold showers a-and thinking about bad things but..." he bites his lip, staring at you. You look so small and helpless and, God, he respects you, he really does, but he can't help the way his crotch twitches and his pants tighten as he watches you squirm and tremble, oh-so-small and panicky, defenceless little hands scratching at his arms, but failing to make him budge.

"But every time I come home all pent up and annoyed after dealing with bastards all day, all I want is to bend you over," he continues after moving a lock of your hair out of the way so he can whisper directly into your naked ear. "And fuck-”, he says as he pins your hands to the bed frame, enjoying seeing you wiggle and pant. "The shit-" he can feel your heart beat faster and faster as your whole body gets warmer. It's awfully intimate. "Out of-" he's so excited now that he grabs your hips rather roughly, and ruts against your core, whimpering as his crotch rubs all over your clothed slit. "you".

He growls, now more akin to a lion or a bear than to a human.

He tries to enter you slowly so he wouldn’t hurt you, but the moment your tight velvety walls wrap around his hard throbbing length, he’s reduced to a feral whimpering mess, shoving at you in short sloppy thrusts, completely pussy - drunk. He lasts less than five minutes before he pulls out and cums all over your stomach, watching in fascination as his seed marks you. He slams his lips against yours, swallowing your hushed protests as he murmurs “Mine” over and over again, gripping your hips closer when he feels you pulling away.

Once his brain has cleared enough to be able to think properly he helps you clean up, touching you so gently you wonder if this wild, brutish side he exhibited was all but a dream. But it’s still very much there, barely contained under the surface - and one single moment of freedom and passion is enough to open Pandora's box. 

After that night he feels a lot more comfortable with touching you, for better or worse. 

Mean ~

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to your ‘new life’ before he basically pounces on you like a predator. To be completely honest, he’s wanted to fuck you within inches of your life since the time he first saw you - the only thing keeping him at bay for a while were the countless pretty pictures he had of you naked and writhing in your own bed in the comfort of your home that all the secret cameras he had installed managed to capture.

Before he used to treat your home footage like his own personal cam - girl show; sometimes he would wait to leave work, jerking all over your face on his screen the moment he gets home. Other times he wasn’t so patient, and he had to sneak off to the restroom any time a thought about you occurred, stroking himself to completion as he blasted his recordings of your quiet moans on his headphones.

But now you’re here in the flesh - the real thing, tied so tight you can’t move an inch, trembling all over just like a bunny caught in a trap by the hunter. He wants you completely immobilised - he’s waited ages for this moment and he wants absolutely no distractions getting in the way of him finally taking his price.

You sob pitifully, your mouth the only part of your body left uncovered, and you try to plead with him desperately. You promise him money, influence, anything he wants - whatever would be able to get you out of this hellish predicament. You even offer to give him a blowjob - which he simply sneers at, grabbing a fistfull of your hair. 

“Oh, doll, the night is still young. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” He looks possessed, ready to feast on your flesh. You shiver, curling into yourself as much as possible - but he pulls your legs on both sides of his thighs, his hands seeming grand across your rickety ankles. “You’ll get your chance to choke on this cock soon enough.” He grabs his bulge crudely, massaging it through his thick stained grey pants. “Right now all I want is to see this cute little pussy stretched on my meat and those pretty tits bouncing in the air as I slap them red.”

It really doesn’t matter if you’re a virgin or not, you’re getting brutalised either way - although his comments would be different.

If you’re a virgin, he’s making sure you get the whole of his length in one - there is something terribly amusing about the toe - curling scream you let out as his cock tears you apart, something borderline pornographic in the way your brows twist and your nostrils flare, lips shut tight as to not give him the pleasure of hearing your pain out loud. But it’s obvious, and he wants you to know that he enjoys it through and through - licking your tears and the sweat off your neck, pinching at your thighs, your breasts, your stomach; whatever makes you cry the most. 

If you’re not a virgin, he still finds a way to get his fun out of you. 

“I don’t feel you clenching on me, you little slut.” He smacks your cheek with little force behind it - it’s not meant to hurt you, but to humiliate you and drive his point across. “Did you have a fucking train ran on you? I should have known you’d be a filthy whore.” He bites at your lower lip, pulling at it until he hears you whine pitifully - leaving his mark on you. “Should’a known with these cocksucking lips of yours, and ngh-” He sinks into you, voice breaking once the tip of his dick brushes against your cervix. “And t-those slutty hips, shit, keep squeezing me just like that, n-ngh, I am going to ruin you all over again!”

He fucks you for who knows how long - when he’s finally satisfied, the sun is already up and you’re drenched in sweat and cum. There isn’t a single part of your body that doesn’t ache.

He leaves you there, snickering at the sight of your empty stare fixed on the ceiling - only reaching to untie you and cuff your ankle to the bed frame instead. You weakly raise an eyebrow in question.

“Stay here until I come back, okay?” He grins with malice, caressing your wet matted hair. “Hah, not that you can really go anywhere.”

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining Ghost having a non-existent love life due to his past trauma. After much prodding, Soap convinces him to hire an escort to fulfil his needs. Not just any escort, either, but one of his old schoolmates who specializes in "the complete girlfriend package". (She's also plus-sized.)

-

"She's a right classy bird. Chooses her Johns real carefully." Soap admits, leaning against the bar top. He pulls out his phone and begins to scroll through his Instagram feed. "She's a lil' pricey, but look. She's got a private villa that she'll keep ye in the whole weekend."

Soap swipes through clusters of photos. The villa is beautiful and the interior has a rustic, home-y vibe to it. It doesn't look like a manufactured place, but like someone actually lives there. Ghost is intrigued just by that fact alone. He's never really had a place to stay when on leave. Well, he doesn't count his shithole flat as much of anything.

"She'll cook fer ya too. N' I think she's some type of masseuse?" Soap prattles on, flicking through even more pictures. It seems he was right. In one of the extra bedrooms there's a massage table set up.

"What she look like?"

Soap smiles sheepishly.

"She's not the type of bird I've seen you go for in the past." He admits before pulling up a folder of pictures on his phone. "But she's bonnie, Lt. A right knockout, I swear."

He scrolls towards the bottom of the folder, looking for a more recent picture. Ghost notices the the skin colored thumbnails as they pass by in a flurry. He already knew, didn't really care, but decides to press on it for his own amusement.

"You one of her Johns?"

Soap nearly chokes. He stops scrolling and looks up at Ghost.

"Well, um...yeah." He admits. Ghost taps on one of the juicy thumbnails. It opens the video. Despite himself, Soap blushes.

Neither man say anything else for a minute. They quietly watch the screen as a pretty cunt is being stretched out by a cock they both know the owner of. She's wet and dripping and glistening in the phone's flash. Her cunt is visibly softer, rounder, with thick outer lips and even cushier looking inner thighs.

Ghost is instantly intrigued by the sight of this woman's body. He'd always found himself in situations with toned or muscular women. He never thought much of it at the time. Ghost was rarely around civilians, and even then he never frequented places a soft girl like her would be seen. Now, in the rec-room, watching a video of Johnny fucking open this girl he realizes he's been going about things all wrong.

Johnny's not being very nice to the girl in the video either. Its apparent he's putting his whole weight and stamina into his thrusts. Ghost couldn't remember ever fucking a woman like that. He'd always had to go slow, angle himself just right to avoid hurting himself or his lovers. A tinge of jealousy shoots up his spine when he notices how the soft pudge of her thighs cushions Johnny's much sharper hipbones.

"Hm..."

"You like 'er?" Johnny asks. "She told me she's looking for 'new clients' if yer interested."

Ghost taps through even more of the photos and videos. They're mostly of her pretty cunt being fucked out but there's a few of her looking cute and relaxed in lingerie or nothing at all. She's got a decent face. Better tits though. Ghost doesn't think he's ever seen a set that fucking soft or suckable.

The last video in the folder is of her bare ass. She looks over her shoulder, smiles flirtatiously, then proceeds to shake her body in a way that makes her ass bounce rigorously. Johnny's hand comes into frame. He grips roughly at one of her cheeks and spreads her apart. A thick glob of cum spills from her slightly gaping, inner lips. The video ends.

Ghost raises his brow at Soap.

"She lets you cum in 'er?"

"Ya know I don't like rubbers, Lt. Can't stand the wee fucks." Soap laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I jes' get a copy of my physical from the doc. Send it over t' her 'fore I drop by."

Ghost huffs.

"Here, lemme give you 'er number."

Ghost doesn't try to stop him when Soap fishes his hand into his jacket pocket. He already knows the security code.

"I'll let 'er know yer a friend 'o mine. 'F I vouch for you she'll take ya in no problem." He nods. "I think you're gonnae thank me after all this s' said n' done, Lt."

For good measure Soap texts her a simple greeting from Ghost's phone. She replies within a few seconds. Ghost's eyes glint at the little notification flash.

"We'll see..."

[jolapeno]

there's nothing blue about you

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: javier peña's dreams are haunted by shades of blue, blending his fears into nightmarish landscapes. only his lover's touch anchors him, transforming his dreams into hues of something else.

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v. overuse of the colour blue, like by a lot. this whole this is an angsty bitch, with hopeful/hea. leans close to gothic horror in some ways but not quite, honestly? unsure how to describe what in the hell I've written. third-person reader (she/her). no descriptions, no y/n. an: written for @studioghibelli's fic challenge. (the moodboard is at the end of the fic). i think i leaned very much into painting and blue, and I'm not sure if that at all was what was asked of me. thanks: i'd have likely scrapped this if not for @goodwithcheese who took my weird-poetic-ness and called it lyrical and somehow it made it worth how long I've agonised over this. i hope she knows i love her, and if not, i hope this very public declaration confirms it. shoutout @pedgito who urged me to do this. wc: 2.7k

Javier Peña dreams in blue.

Thick strokes of azure, cerulean, and navy smear the world, forcing it to twist around him. Smearing the world, forcing it to twist around him. Knocking it all on its axis—allowing the horrors to blend into fairytales and happiness to shift into nightmares.

Shifting, changing. His worst fears come alive with brushwork, forcing scenarios to swallow hopeful desires.

Each blot spreads out like tendrils, drawing their tales in wide, brisk strokes, in shades of melancholy and yellow. The latter is a beacon—a spark of hope in a sea of nothing; a beam that guides him back to reality. To being awake, where his heart squeezes tight. Eyes open, struggling for breath before the sun has even risen. Sometimes, even before the stars have stopped sparkling and glittering. Sweat beads at his temple, palm to his chest—gasping, struggling to breathe as he drags his hand down his face, swiping the hair above his lip.

Then, anxiousness embroils. That same hand patting, sliding, eyes blinking furiously as he banishes shadows and forces them to shift back to non-threatening inanimate objects.

He’s able to breathe when he feels her. Alive, asleep.

Blissfully unaware of his nightly torture as her chest rises and falls—soft breaths mingling with ragged ones. Curling close, inhaling her scent, listening to the steady way her heart forces blood around her veins.

Hoping, praying, that when he closes his eyes he dreams of nothing, but knows they’ll be worse now. They always are when he wakes and reaches for her. As though by touching her, they spill to her, ruining her too. Wrap their fingers around her, change her skin to deep shades of blue in his hands as he falls through landscapes and lands in hell.

Then she sobs, pleads; tight little balled-up fists hammering at his chest as she shakes everything in him until she rips like paper, leaving him alone, just like he envisions he should be.

But then, he’d choose those over the ones where his hands are stained in her crimson, blotched, unable to be washed, little beads on his clothes and then a rainfall. Her split in his hand, eyes fading from light to dark. Those haunt him for longer when he wakes and he sits opposite her over breakfast and tries to force a smile.

Sometimes, he worries that his dreams have become the thing she adores. Reminding him of the poster she’s framed in her place—the one with swirls of a night sky.

She stares at it often, loses herself in it—escapes. Javi envies her for it. For being able to lock away the things that plague her, evading them, not to be tormented by them in fields that shift and flutter around him. He thinks it’s because she carves out the parts that make bags appear under her eyes through painting. Inspired, thriving, transforming wicked things into light, taking something that weighs her to something that makes her smile. Each drag of her paintbrush was like a spell, like magic.

“It helps.”

“How so?” he replied, leaning against the wall, arms folded, admiring.

Shrugging, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand before dabbing the brush into the murky water. “Just does.”

He wishes she’d run the brush over him. Run the synthetic filaments over every part of his skin.

But then, if he was asked, Javi would choose not to have the dreams at all. Would rather not be lost in a labyrinth of blues, where a lantern flickers and tries to guide. Instead, they cast ochre-shaded shadows that appear like shape-shifting failures. Each of them dancing, whispering secrets, finding all he can do is follow. Trust in it, hopeful it takes him to her, like his real life.

An accidental meeting, a connection that soothed his bones. One that had him smiling when he sat back in his truck, had him thinking when the darkness smothered the backyard and had him wishing for second meetings.

But, unlike his reality, the path is never straight, always winding, always shifting.

Sometimes, he sees her in the distance, her figure bathed in moonlight, a silhouette against the swirling sky. Sheet falling, curves and all on show. He reaches out, only for her to fade, dissolving into the night, leaving him grasping at the air like he’s chasing a ghost. A thing conjured, never real.

But, she’s real now.

His arm is behind his head when he hears the faint groan as she stretches before a palm slides over the soft curve of his stomach. Her breath fans over his lips, a whispered morning before they press to his. Smooth, velvety, gentle—addled with sleep, yet dripping in need. His name is punctuation in the sentence when she says, want you.

He never squanders the chance to remind himself of actuality. Moving her until she’s on her back, until she’s as bare as she is in his dreams—nothing blue, nothing midnight, cobalt or sapphire. Feeling her, taking the time to as he kneads her breast and grazes his teeth over the bud that hardens against his tongue as her nails scrape red along the olive of his skin.

There’s no making up the way she feels between her thighs, warm, slick, and inviting—or the gasp she emits when he curls two fingers inside of her and her back arches at the intrusion.

A blessing. That’s how he’d describe her when he’d been caught smiling, wearing smitten like an accessory. Questioning on the second date if she could be the sun to his night. Bright, luminous, radiant. The type he’d somehow expect to find shopping in town in a movie, but not in Laredo.

Too perfect—

Made only more so when she’d slid her underwear into his pocket on their third date. Before the mains, after the starters. Too much of the meal to go before he could make an excuse that’d allow him to hear if she moaned as pretty as he had thought.

It’s too pretty the noises she makes. Another thing he yearns for. She emits them in varying shades, but they’re always cried with his name—whether he fucks her rough or gentle, whether he takes his time or bends her over the couch decorated in plush cushions and creased blankets.

She welcomes it, when he hikes her dress up or when he pushes her panties to the side; when his mouth is pressed to her spine or when it’s crashing to her lips. Use me, she says, suave, sultry—each letter wrapped in intoxication as she leaves dye only he can see on his skin and he leaves bruises that he’ll look to replace in a few days.

He remembers when she painted him.

When she made him beautiful on white canvas—saw him, immortalised him with finger marks and paint strokes.

Do you like it?

He answered only by sliding down onto his knees, by pulling the shorts she paints in down her glorious thighs and answering yes against her pussy. His tongue explained it better than words could. His fingers had dug into the flesh of her rear as his nose bordered her swollen clit, her thigh rested on his shoulder and her palms pressed into her workbench, leaning back, for leverage as he fucked her with his tongue, as he drank up every drop she’d give him—as though it healed him, fixed him.

When he can, Javi likes bending her over around her paints—taking her. Likes that sometimes an open can or a left-out brush stains him in a way he can see. Rich oranges and deep greens. He enjoys spreading her out on her workbench as he makes her whine his name which makes all other ways his name is spoken seem obsolete. That there’s more than her sweat on his skin, her scent digging into his bones—evidence, proof of existence.

He has all the evidence now as he slowly slides his cock inside of her. As he swallows her whine, her moan—a gasp tinged with thankfulness. Feeling her stretch around him, take him in one smooth movement as allows himself to glance down and see where they meet. Then, he drags his eyes up, and sees how she smiles, how her fingers are reaching for him, grabbing for him. Needing, desperate, wanting.

But not just for his body, for what lived inside of his jeans. But for him.

Not just the daytime, but the blue version that drapes over him when things get too quiet and his mind gets too loud. No question asked, but an offering of comfort. Like when she had slid across his lap, when she pulled his head to her chest, brushed fingers into his hair. And he wonders like he did then and only ever to himself, how cruel it is that he cannot be something more for her. How unfair it feels for such sunshine to be surrounded by a storm.

He had smiled, though. Half-assed and minimal. Pulled her closer, so she sat more comfortably across his thighs. The grin barely reached his cheeks, never mind his eyes. “How strange, to dream of you even when I am wide awake.”

Her snort loud had punched the air. “Poet now, are we?”

“For you, I’ll be anything.”

More words had surrounded it, not spoken, but there. I’ll do anything, be anything. I’ll try, I’ll—

Unsure how else he could keep such a thing, unsure how he can keep perfection curled up against him, who’ll remind him his demons are only self-inflicted.

“Maybe just be you. You, are plenty enough.”

He had sneered, chin dipped, shame blooming.

“Hey,” she says urgently, fingers hooking under his chin as she drags his eyes to hers. “You are, Javi. And I’ll be reminding you of that until I have no words left in my mouth.”

“Be a while then, with how much you talk.”

Even as she pinched him, he pressed how he didn’t deserve her against her lips, against her cheek, neck and collarbone. Not that she took them. Ripped them instead, shredded them.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Her fingers then glided across the back of his neck, head rested against his. “Because, you know, Javi, there’s nowhere or no one else I’d rather be sat on…”

A beat passed, one he waited for, fingers brushing over her skin. “…crushing.”

He laughed then. 

Because she always pulls laughs from him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s a soul full of joy, happy. Like he wasn’t a man who had spent a decade around destruction, misery and streets filled with scarlet, weighed down by it. 

She makes it lighter. In the same way, she calms him at night and he thanks her for it in the morning.

Like he’s doing now. Licking his thumb before he presses it to her clit, swirling, forcing her pussy to draw around him, to hold his cock as tightly as he needs, sucking him in, gasping for more as her breasts bob with each thrust, and her mouth falls open in a silent moan—

“Close, m’close, Javi. Fuck, baby—”

He presses his mouth to the juncture of her neck, feeling her attempt at vocalisation. Letting it vibrate against his lips, tingle. Proof that he’s awake, that this is real, that in any moment things won’t turn—

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he groans, pressing kisses, dotting them in a pattern like stars in the sky. “Feel so good around me...”

She whines. A noise he banks in his mind, a jar full now—one that sparkles and shimmers.

“You feel good too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, hands sliding around his neck, digging into the hair at the base of his neck. “Always make me feel good,” she slurs.

Javi hooks her leg over his waist. A new angle, one that drives him deeper, as she clenches and he snaps his hips to hers. Feeling her close to snapping, her thighs already shaking, trembling. His chest heaving, her ribs expanding, copious breaths to still the dizziness she inflicts on him—just by being, just by existing.

It’s building, that fire in his veins, the fever that spreads out of him when he releases inside of her and she tugs him close as she comes down from her high. His hips stuttering, his name a symphony that erodes all other noises from his dreams.

And, there’s nothing blue about this. Nothing despairing, melancholy about this, about her.

Not when she flutters and arches when she comes and uncoils. Her fingers dig into whatever part of him she can get to before he smears himself inside of her, groaning into her neck as he spills and thinks of nothing but how much he adores her.

How much he loves her. Because he does. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her.

“I love you too,” she whispers from underneath him, his head pulling from her neck—elbows on either side of her face.

Finding seriousness staring back, her fingers skating over the sweat sliding down his forehead, wiping it on the sheets she lies on.

“Unless you hadn’t meant to say it. Then I take it back.”

He blinks. Thinking of the summer’s day when he’d first seen her; the first rainfall two months later when his arms had wrapped over her front, pressed her back to his chest and they felt the cooling air slide over their warm skin. He remembers the night he’d told her everything, and the new candles that had become stumps as she listened; the stormy afternoon turned night when he’d taken her out of town, and how her hand had slid over his and thanked him.

“I meant it.”

Her lips slide into her cheek, palm pressing to his chest. “Good.”

He wonders over morning coffee, when she glances at him and smiles if his dreams are merely a reflection of his fears—rather than anything that could come true. A manifestation of his fears of losing her, fearing the day when the blues will no longer be just dreams. Because good things don’t always, least of all to those who don’t deserve it.

He blinks them away when she tells him she has something to show him, hearing her bare feet on the floor until he doesn’t, counting, reaching twenty, before she appears, a new canvas in hand.

And when she turns it, letting it face him, his breath is stolen—feet forcing him to stand.

Her hand held it, the brightest shades that could ever be. Mixed brushstrokes into something that heals a crack in him, one that he’s never asked for. Because in every shade but blue is him and Pop outside the ranch, a place that had never felt like home, but now feels like the only place he could ever call such.

“Where are you?”

She blinks, the slightest frown in her brows. “What… what do you mean?”

“You belong there too, cariño.”

And if she hadn’t believed him in bed, in the things he’s not said, he thinks she believes them now. Leaning the canvas against the counter, feet padding towards him before her mouth is on his—different, more necessary, as his arms slip around her waist.

Something else slid back into place, able to fill his lungs a little easier.

Not a shade of blue in sight, not indigo, powder or sky.

And he worries it’s temporary—a thing that’ll change come nighttime. But he smiles all the same, right against her hairline when he presses a kiss there too. Feeling her hand sliding around his waist, becoming an anchor, a rock, a crutch.

He loves that about her too, that she does that for him. But he’ll tell her that tomorrow.

A silent promise, one beginning to stitch with a smile. And, then, when nightfall comes, and the painting rests against the wall of his room, Javier Peña finds—for the first night since he’s been back—that he doesn’t dream in blue.

Instead, he dreams in yellow. In honey, citrus and sunshine.

[faggy--butch]

I'm so glad someone finally pointed out how trans and queer essayists seem to erase trans men when talking about trans issues. I notice it the most when people talk about the early trans rights movement where people frame trans men and trans masculine individuals as people who essentially just laid back and only stepped in on the (falsely assumed) incredibly rare occasion it directly effected them while trans women did all the work.

Yes! that's actually something that made me most upset. Jesses comment that I quoted stated that /especially/ trans women and (tacking on femme non binaries) have historically faced violence for pointing out these dichotomies are bad or whatever.

This ignores butch and transmasculine history of police violence toward us in a way that feels like either she didn't do any research into it or felt like it wasn't important enough to add into the video. This happens all the time. Minimizing trans male struggles, to make it some sort of trans women empowerment time type thing. That THEY fought the hardest, and THEY were on the front lines, while trans men were easily stealth and didn't do anything to contribute. If you go to any trans man or butch space, you'll hear us talk about how frustrating it is that people think masculinity on female bodies, or perceived women isn't taken as a threat, when most have personal stories of cis men threatening them, or getting into fights or being more aggressive with them than their femme counterparts. It feels like an unwillingness to engage with us. I still dont want to say that this is on purpose, because I don't know the intention behind these comments, or if it's even a clear thought they have, but when i comes to the trans essayists it feels like a girls club with the same idea passed around over and over, that trans women have always had it worse. I'll also say that this is sometimes supported by the trans man creators, like Jammidoger. It's not just the trans women, it's not just the essayists, but they have a large audience and I wish they would stop saying this kind of stuff and cementing these things into peoples heads.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A crack of thunder wakes you. You catch a scream in your hand as lightning flashes. The storm outside mirrors the chaos of your life. 

That same tension crushes you. Waiting, waiting, waiting. You almost think it's worse that whatever Bucky plans to do. 

Your breath evens out and you lay back. You check the time on your phone. Only another house before you need to get up and get going. There's almost no point in trying to get back to sleep. 

Laying awake in bed isn't new. Those last few days have seen you restless only to be exhausted at your desk. Bucky’s infiltrated every part of your life even while absent. Your sleep, your job, your few hours to yourself, his threats make all of it fraught.  

You sit up and dig the heels of your hands into your eyes. You're not ready to be awake. You could take a sick day but for what? To be alone and scared? 

"I was gonna draw this out, doll, but I'm getting bored." 

You're almost relieved to hear Bucky's voice.  

Lightning flashes and illuminates his figure. You might think you're having a nightmare but it's all too real. 

"We can still talk this out. I never meant to hurt you--" 

"I'm done talking. Done waiting. Done wasting time." He fills the doorway. "I've been around too long for that." 

You push your shoulders back and sit up, "what do you want?" 

The window flashes again. He looks different. His eyes are like pits and his square jaw is set. The shadows make him a stranger.

He doesn't answer. He walks forward and you look at him. You're trapped by more than his physical barrier, your snared in the fear of that moment. His vibranium fingers trace the edge of your nightie and follow the strap over your shoulder. His other hand tugs on the other other side and he pulls the silk and lets it go so the fabric slumps below your chest. 

You shiver and his hand frames your throat. He pushes you flat and bends over you. He parts your knees with his. 

“Bucky...” you gulp. 

He smothers your mouth with his. Time thaws and suddenly flurries around you. It all happens so fast. 

His lips on yours, his hands all over you, the silk slipping down your body, the bed jostling as he forces you further up. The smell of his sweat, the taste of him, the weight of him over you suffocates you. He takes control with precision, dissembling you a caress and a nip at a time. 

He fondles your chest as his naked flesh sears into yours. His fingers crawl down and find that part of you that makes you wine. His breath clouds in the crook of your neck and he bits down on the muscle of your shoulder. 

He curls his fingers into you and grows. He rocks his hand, pressing against your clit as he twines you around his touch. You whimper and babble. It feels good. Even as your heart pumps with horror and your mind tells you it’s wrong.  

You told him it’s over. You told him no. You tried, you tried, you tried. You can’t stop him. You were stupid to think you ever could. 

Your heartbeat competes with the thunder crashing outside as it pounds in your ears. All those times he taunted you about how he could hear, about how he could feel your blood coursing, and sense your temperature. He told you then that he could pull you apart just like this. 

He pushes against his knuckles, spreading them as he forces his tip inside of you. You yelp as her stretches you around him. He keeps his fingers deep as he tilts his hips. He invades you completely as his teeth pinch your skin. 

He huffs as he thrusts. He works himself to a steady tempo. His grunts are stunted as he holds them back. He fucks you in almost a mechanical rhythm. He is a soldier on a mission. His victory is close. 

You writhe and tangle your fingers in his dark hair. You yank but he doesn’t react. Your other hand shoves his shoulder but he remains. 

You arch your back and let out a yawling moan. You cum around him, even as it hurts, even as your adrenaline floods through you, even as your instincts scream. Your orgasm is your white flag. You give up. You can’t fight anymore. 

He is relentless. He drags his fingers free, a trail of your slickness left along your pelvis, and he grips your hip. He ruts into you, harder and harder, flesh slapping. He flattens you against the mattress and lifts his head.  

He puts his hand on your forehead and pins your head down. He leans in and nibbles on your lower lip with a growl. His body tenses as his bicep bulges against you. The storm continues to flicker outside, limning his beastly figure as he rolls over you like thunder. 

He spasms and you feel him spill inside of you. He fucks you until his cum leaks out around him, and even past that. He doesn’t stop. He won’t stop. He just keeps going and going and going... 

[hyperlexichypatia]

In general I think "Who is allowed to reclaim what slurs" is among the most pointless, niche, irrelevant debates to take up oxygen in progressive spaces, especially when the "slur" is actually a community-preferred alternative to pathologizing language (I don't want to enforce "Only fat people can say 'fat'" or "Only mad people can say 'mad'"; I want thin neurotypicals to stop calling us "obese" and "suffering from mental disorders").

I used to care about this. I used to be strongly of the opinion that it's only okay to use "as reclamation" a slur if you, yourself, are actually the category of person being described, not just someone "mistaken for" or "called" that.

The main reason I felt that way was because of my deep revulsion of non-intellectually-disabled neurodivergent people using the R word, and shielding themselves with "But I'm dyslexic/autistic/whatever, and bullies called me that, so I'm allowed to use it!"

And I used to actually care about arguing "No, just because bullies called you that doesn't mean you actively live under the structural oppression of people labelled intellectually disabled," which is true, just as it's also true that a not-queer-at-all cishet guy who got bullied and called queerphobic slurs in high school because he wore a pink t-shirt one day isn't actually gay and doesn't actually experience any structural queerphobia once he leaves high school.

But that's not really the problem.

The problem is that the debate is being framed around "Who counts as what?" or "Who is allowed to say what?" rather than "What are they saying?"

The problem isn't whether any given person "can" "reclaim" a slur, it's that people use their identities and positionality as a shield to argue for the oppression of other people.

That non-intellectually-disabled neurodivergent person, are they saying "I was bullied for being different, so I support and empathize with anyone who is oppressed for how their mind works"? Or are they saying "I'm The Relevant Positionality too, so I'm ALLOWED to say that Those Other Ones shouldn't have rights"?

Particularly in queer spaces, there is such an emphasis on positionality and a hierarchy of oppression and a stigma on comparing experiences or equating experiences, and it's all centered around who can use what terms, or "slurs," even though the problem is that all terminology used to describe queer people is a slur, because we live in a queerphobic society that uses queerness as an insult (begging people to learn about the euphemism treadmill).

The more important question than "Is this person the right kind of queer to be allowed to say this?" is "Are they speaking in favor of queer rights or against queer rights?"

Because some of y'all, I swear, if a bi lesbian said "As a lesbian, I think lesbians should be hunted for sport" would spend the next 6 months debating whether a bi lesbian counts, and if a straight man said "I'm a straight man, but I think hunting lesbians for sport is wrong," y'all would admonish him for speaking over lesbians.

[fuckingstrange]

Gorgeous Boy

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WARNINGS: Masturbation (m), Caught in the act, FOR MY CM KINK BINGO CARD, Dirty thoughts, pretty vanilla actually?, unless watching your boyfriend masturbate is some kink, Glasses Reid, Non-Beta read

WORDS: 436

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

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a/n:: sorry if this sucks ass💀

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Spencer's glasses fog up from how hard he's breathing, having been so close to the edge for ten minutes by now, but he finds it hard to really tip over. His thoughts have been blank, just thinking about how good it feels, until you suddenly pop into his head. His eyes are screwed shut, making it easy for him to imagine that his own hand is actually yours.

A moan slips past his lips, his thumb swiping over his tip in the same way you have, rubbing the built up precum around in the same way you do. His hand slows to the pace you usually keep, and suddenly he can feel himself starting to tip over the edge.

Without a warning, he comes with a whine of your name, just as you walk into your shared bedroom. You stop at the door frame at the sight, Spencer lying on his back with his hand pumping himself through an orgasm. God, does he look gorgeous. You decide to stay quiet, not wanting to pull him from his blissful state.

He lies there for two minutes, slowly pumping himself through the high, letting out the softest whines as thoughts of you fill his head. He stops once his length goes soft, eyes still shut as he grabs a tissue before opening them to clean himself up. He lifts his head when he sees you in his blurry peripheral, even through foggy glasses, he knows it's you.

You can practically see Spencer's heart fall out of his ass at the sight of you standing there, leaning against the doorframe and gazing at him with lustful eyes. He tucks himself back in his shorts, standing up on shaking legs while stuttering out “I-I'm so sorry”, as if what he did was wrong.

You shake your head, walking up to him and lightly kissing his cheek, reassuring him by saying “It's okay. Felt good, hm?”

Spencer has to take a second to register the fact that you're not mad before he responds with a slow nod, unsure if your question is rhetorical or not. You hum at his nonverbal answer, indicating it was okay. His shoulders slump a bit and he sighs in relief, leaning forward to rest a head on your shoulders while whispering “I missed you.”

You simply smile and respond with a teasing “I could tell” while wrapping your arms around his waist. You kiss the top of his head before peppering his cheek with them, making him smile and lightly smack your chest, mocking your tone while saying “I missed you too, Spencer.” since you hadn't.

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Bingo Card Contents: Praise Kink, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Pool/Bath/Jacuzzi, Mirrors, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Body Worship, Topping from the Bottom, Aftercare, Caught in the act, Dry humping, Crying, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Bed Sharing, Semi-Public sex, Partially Clothed, Premature Ejaculation, Hair Pulling, Begging, Phone Sex, Oral Fixation

[daniswoso]

Don’t Ever Say I didn’t Love You. Of Course I do.

Alessia Russo x Reader.

Warnings: Honestly idk what this is, more of a blurb or whatever you call them, emptying out my drafts bbs get ready 🙏🏼, arguments, swearing, poorly written ending, probably poor grammar.

Summary: Less doesn’t think you love her anymore.

*********

You and Alessia were in another one of your arguments.

It was the 4th one this week, you didn't know why at this point, you just knew your girlfriend was mad at you for something you hadn't even done. You think it has something to do with her makeup and you using the last bit of it or something like that.

"Alessia what has gotten into you?" You asked, your face crumbling slightly as tears well in your eyes. You didn't want to fight with your girlfriend, you loved her dearly and held her close to your heart. So why was it so difficult to get along with her without her blowing up recently?

You knew she had been stressed because of her recent move to Arsenal, but she had never taken her anger about football out on you before, just as you had never taken yours about football out on her.

"You don't love me anymore!" She shouts and for a moment, everything goes still. The clock stops ticking, the only sound in the room heard was your individual breaths. Heavy and laboured, as if you'd just ran 10 miles non stop each. Although, that's what fighting with each other usually felt like anyway.

"What? Less what are you on about?"

"You.. You don't love me anymore." Her voice is quiet, fearful.

"You're fucking delusional if you think that then." You scoff, and she rolls her eyes.

"Why do I even try, Y/N?"

"What makes you think I don't love you, Less?"

"You aren't spending time with me as much anymore!" She complains, and her face holds resemblance to that of a pouting toddler, you think.

"Lessi are you forgetting I have a full time very high stress job? The same job as you, might I add?” You glare at her, honestly offended she'd ever think you didn't love her anymore.

"No, no of course not, I just-" You cut her off with a scoff and disbelieving chuckle.

"Just what? Woke up last week and decided to make me feel like shit over every little fucking thing?!" You snap. You had reached your boiling point. Why was she not seeing that you loved her? Why couldn't she just see that if she had spoke about it with you it wouldn't be this way?

"I love you, Alessia. So don't you ever say I didn't love you, I still do. I always will, for fucks sakes!" You yell, completely flying off the rails.

She just looks at you, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Whatever. I'm gonna stay at Macca's." The blonde says, storming out of your shared apartment and heading to the Irish girl's.

You think about chasing after her but hear her  Mercedes pulling out of the driveway as you glare warily at your trainers. It would've been useless chasing her now.

You sigh and begin to tidy everything up, going getting into the spare bed, which you seemed to be spending a lot of time in lately, so that way if Alessia actually came back this time she'd be able to have space in a bed by herself.

****

Later that night, you briefly register a dip in the bed and your girlfriends warm body pressing against your own, muttering soft apologies into your hair which you just respond to with a grumble.

When you wake up that morning to the sight of the blonde's head on your chest and her smaller frame wrapped up in your arms, you feel a small flicker of hope that everything will be alright.

Because as long as you had your girl you felt like you could do anything.

**********

A/N: enjoy!

[wowserb0wser]

"The Mushroom Kingdom Ball"

Description: Being the sister of Princess Peach was all fun and dandy, but of course you were barely in the spotlight. Until a certain someone, "The Kooba King" took notice and since then, he couldn't stop thinking about you. And what happens when an obsessed Bowser meets you at The Mushroom Kingdom Ball.

Pairing: Bowser x Fem!Virgin!Reader

Warning(s): MDI!! SMUT!!!, (I don't know if I should be sorry or but I'm horny) Breathplay/Choking kink, Size Kink/Size Difference, Innocent Kink/Corruption Kink, Virgin reader, Penetration (P in V), Oral (Fem.), Degrading, Somnophilia, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Dumbification, Dacryphilia, Overstimulation, Nicknames (Brat once, Sweetheart, Baby, Bunny), Dry humping/Grinding, Sitting on Bowser's lap once, No used of Y/N, Lmk if I missed anything ;)

Words: 7.8k (I got swept up in this)

A/N: I think I've hit my breaking point, but I was taken back by Jack Black's voice in the trailer and holy shit - Browser is fine…

It was non-stop. Painful, even.

All he wanted was some damn peaceful time to himself and stop thinking about you. Stupid you. Dumb and naive you.

It was only you that took so much time and energy out of himself. Every waking moment since he rises from bed, to showering, brushing his teeth, eating breakfast, and every other moment in his day. On repeat was the stupid smile plastered on that stupid face of yours. How he wanted to swipe that smirk off of those lips of yours… those soft, plump, sweet lips.

He hated himself. Truly hated himself for thinking of these ways about you. Someone as so small and innocent, yet grown and sophisticated as yourself. He though of himself as vile. How could someone as tough and mean as him ever fall for such a toothachingly sweet thing as you.

Yet, here he finds himself watching you as you sleep ever so soundly in bed. All while little moans squeak pass your lips. Your hips thrusting into air at nothing. How your face contorts in seemingless pleasure. Just seeing you rut in your sleep made Bowser's mind go blank, just imagining of what kind of dream you were exactly having. Though it wasn't that farfetched. But he was curious as to who was providing that pleasure in your sweet dreams. And God himself knew that Bowser hoped it was he in your dreams.

He was so big, yet so gentle when it came to you. How his smile curved a little more while with you and the way his cheeks flared with hints of pink when you smiled back at him.

His big hands stretched across your body, a palm simply taking up half of your torso. How big he was towering over you, you should be scared. Calling for help or pleading that he wouldn't hurt you, but you weren't. Your mind was telling you that this was dangerous, flashing red warning signs. The hunger behind his eyes. And how he looked like he could swallow you in one bite. You should be cowering in fear. But how could you resist the way his hands felt so warm on your body. How you wanted this for what seems like ages now. And now you finally had him.

Though you've never been any sort of relationship or anything in this type of manner, you knew this was more then a simple crush. You've remember the times your sister, Princess Peach and her friend Princess Daisy talked about the multiple experiences with boys their age and these type of feeling and wants. So you knew you've wanted him since the beginning, but how could he ever think of you like this. He was older then you and definitely rougher then you could ever be.

Oh how you've wanted him, his deep and sultry voice looms over your frame, over your mind. How you could hear his voice whisper sweet nothing in your ear as your finger went towards your panties. How you wished it was his and not yours.

But maybe that was the exact reason why you were in this state in the first place: having an erotic dream about that very man.

His hands tighten around your throat to cut off a slight bit of oxygen, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. Causing you to moan lowly. All whilst his other hand snakes down your soft body towards your panties. His finger tips could already feel the small patch of dampness in the center and could tell by the way your hips bucked and begged for him, for friction. He laughed at your antics, humored by your eagerness. And that laugh caused you to squirm even further in his touch. How simple it was to rile you up, he was going to love exploring what exactly what makes you tick-

Letting out a groan from what exactly woke you up. You arose from your sleep, still groggy and half-dead. Hearing another pair of knock on your wooden door before shouting, "Come in!". The culprit of the knocking was of course your sister.

KNOCK KNOCK

A big smile printed on her face, it was almost enough to make you forget why you were exactly grumpy but then your mind started to defog and your dreams was realign back to you.

"I have some big news!" Your sister screeched with excitement.

Bowser watched the somewhat grumpy expression on your face as Princess Peach barged in your room. Like a upset bunny or puppy, it was almost adorable. He found it amusing how upset you were from being awoke from your little wet dream. But if he was in the position that you were in, he would also have that expression. And by the looks of things, you were close to being finished.

Your cheeks are flashed with pinks and red by your dream, the first sex dream you've ever had. And of course it had to be so vivid and by the feel of things you were really enjoying that dream as well.

Clearly or simply ignoring your state, your sister continues. "Guess who got invited to The Mushroom Kingdom Ball!" She slightly jumped while entering your room with the paper that stated her invite. Her heals clicking on the floor, "Hmm, I wonder who?" You rolled your eyes and teased. Of course she was invited, she's always invited. She huffed at your antics before plopping on your bed. "Alright Ms. Smarty-pants, well guess who has another invite." Her smile growing even larger (though you thought was impossible at this point). Quickly you realize, "Are you serious?" You pushed your covers and reached for another paper your sister slipped past the original she held in her hand.

A small giggle leaving her lips as she watches your excitement over the invite.

And from where Bowser stood he could even hear the excitement in your yelp. It must of been great news on that flimsy piece of paper. Yet how meaningless what was on that paper to him, the way you jumped up from your bed and hugged your sister was enough for even Bowser to be happy for you.

This would be the first official Mushroom Kingdom Ball you would be attending. You'd never been expected to go as you weren't old enough or mature enough. These balls were primarily for the eligibility for marriage for all the other kingdoms to mingle with each other and hopefully meet someone to their liking. And now you were finally getting invited. Finally you might be the center of attention at this ball rather than your sister, as everyone knew she and Mario definitely had something going on behind the shadows.

A small bit of blush creeped up your neck at the thought of Bowser possibly showing. But there was talk that he hasn't been to the Balls in many many years. But he was a part of the Koopa Kingdom, maybe this was your chance at a shot. Even though you already pictured the disgusted face of your sister if she ever knew about your fancy over him. Yet, you still hope that maybe this was your chance to prove to everyone that you weren't just innocent Princess Peach's little sister.

—--

You were over the moon excited as Toadette fitted the dress over your body. It hugged the exact places it needed and flowed down toward the bottom, ending with a flare of favorite color. It was shockingly fast how the toads could whip up a dress for this very occasion. But nonetheless you weren't going to question their antics, you've appreciated everything that they've done for you.

And with you matching heals and makeup you head downstairs, where you are greeted with your sister and Mario in an embrace. You glance away quickly as their lips connects for a kiss.

You let out a muffed cough which grabs both their attention to where the noise came from. And seeing you all dolled up made you sister abandon Mario and hastily rush over to you. She reaches out her hands to meet with yours. You could see in her eyes that she was overjoyed, seemingly proud of how grown up you've become. "Oh my, well look at you!" A toothy smile rises from her lips, which makes you infollow do the same. "Doesn't she look beautiful Mario?" She quips behind her to look at the former plumber.

His hand reaches behind his neck, still somewhat embarrassed at being caught with your sister. "You look absolutely gorgeous, you are going to be the talk of the ball." He compliments. Your sister faces you again, still with a bright smile. "Let's go and show you off." You giggle at her statement. This was going to be a hell of a night.

You finally reach the venue, Mario, Peach, and yourself in the back of a limo. We all agreed that Mario would step out first to talk to the press whilst you and Peach wait for a couple of moments. Which you were glad for because at this moment you were experiencing some nerves from it all.

Your sister turns to you, "Everything will be okay, I was this anxious my first time. But trust me everything is going to be just fine." She rubs her hand on your exposed shoulder to ease you. "And I'll introduce you to some people and if you still feel uncomfortable you can stay by me and Mario." She explains further but doesn't quite help with your nerves. "I don't want to third wheel you and your boyfriend Peach." You look up at her.

This was your first ball, you don't want to be seen hovering with your sister like a lost puppy. How pathetic would that look in the press.

"Boyfriend?" She says in disbelief, "Mario is not my boyfriend, we are just close." She scroffs, a small hint of blush on top of her cheeks. You practically huff at the arrogance. "Does he know that?" You furrow your eyebrows at her. She turns her head from you, as you know the look upon her face would be slightly disappointing. She knew she dragged Mario around and it was not fair to him. "Let's go and have some fun." She returns to her happy-go-lucky mood and takes your hand.

Once you stepped out of the limo the flashing lights from the photographers blinded you. Your eyes squint from the bursting lights, you turn your head to your sister to see if she was having the same reaction. But as your eyes landed on her, she poses for the photos and with no discomfort. Some of the toad photographers shout out words towards her and even you. "Let's get going." She whispers to you as she sees how uncomfortable you were from all the attention. And you were so glad that she understood.

You and Princess Peach, hand in hand, walking in the venue. Multiple eyes glance towards her but stop on you. Slight shocked expressions at your appearance at this ball. You felt embarrassed to say the least with all the eyes on you, you knew you want the center attention but now you think otherwise.

You sister, once again, sees how uncomfortable you became and walked towards where Mario stood. Him and his brother stood by the food table, both already had a plate in their hands with various foods aligned. As you approach them, they seem to notice and smile appeared on their faces. "You two look beautiful." Luigi speaks, his eyes scanning your body. You quickly thank him along with your sister.

With you greeting with the Plumber brothers, your sister drags you along with introducing you to almost everyone in the ballroom. It was quite intensive, with having to learn everyone's names and occupation, as Princess Peach told you that it was very important to learn about everyone. She says maybe one day you'll rule the kingdom and learning soon then later would lighten up the load later. A simple conversation starts and last for a couple of minutes before a loud bang and a couple of gasp causes you to glance where the noises were coming from.

There he stood, the Koopa King.

He wore a bowtie, which seems to small for this larger figure. And a black classic tuxedo. Beside him was one of his dry bone henchmen. All that was heard was the whisper of the guests, surprised at his appearance, apparently he barely showed to these occasions if at all. And now seeing him all dressed up brought even more questions.

But he either didn't hear or seem to care at the whispers, his eyes glance around the room for someone specific. And thankfully the rumors of little pretty you being invited to the Mushroom Kingdom Ball happened to be true. And that must of been what you were jumping with excitement with your sister earlier in the day.

There you stood with a beautiful gown, your eyes level with his and once making eye contact you look away with bright pink cheeks. And in that moment Bowser knew he needed you and was planning exactly how to get you in his bed tonight. First he needed you to step away from that sister of yours and especially from the plumber brothers.

And thankfully, almost on cue, you stepped away and headed to the punch table.

He waltz directly where you went, his eyes never leaving your form. In the thought of taking his eyes off of you you'd disappear in thin air. His stunt caused people to turn back to their conversation, probably to talk about him showing his face at this ball. His dry bone henchmen follows in suit, the clunching of his bones raddling as he rushed beside his boss.

You barely even noticed that Bowser was headed your way until he was only a few feet away from you. You thought of just sprinting away from him, how could you face him after just a couple of hours ago you were having a sex dream of him. But with his long strides it was too late to do anything but greet him.

"It's a pleasure to meet with you once again." Your hand reaches up half way to meet with his. "A pleasure? Really?" His voice is as sultry as ever. And his hand almost comically larger than yours. Automatically heat rushes to your cheeks and you could feel the prying eyes of the other guests. But Bowser could careless of what the snops of the Mushroom Kingdom thought of him, only your opinion matter to him.

"Well, let it be my pleasure Princess." He lifts your hand to reach his mouth, placing a tender kiss on the back of your palm. If people weren't staring before at this interaction, they definitely were now.

And how could you blame them, at this sight of the innocent princess with the violent King of Koopa's. Yet seeing the both of you flustered with each other made the guest question even further at your interaction.

"You look absolutely stunning Princess." What he really wanted to say was; you look absolutely delicious. How he wanted to devour you on the spot, you just looked so cute and good.

If your cheeks weren't hot red before, now they were. You muffle a cough to distract yourself from his compliment. "W-Would you like something to drink? I was planning on getting some punch." You move on from the conversation and you needed a cold drink to somewhat calm down how hot you've became around him. You were about to reach for a cup before he ticked at you. "A princess shouldn't need to lift a finger for anything she needs." He says in a smooth tone, you quirk up an eyebrow at him. "Dry Bones, get the girl some punch!" He shouts at the poor henchmen, who flinches a little before rushing in his order.

His loud booming voice should of scared you off but you couldn't step away from him. His dominance was clear as the blue big sky and maybe that was another reason for your attraction towards him. How big and manly he is, takes no crap from anyone.

"How are you enjoying your time here?" He simply ask, at this time his dry bones comes up to the both of you with each of your drinks. He takes it swiftly all while you thank his henchmen with that sweet buttery voice of yours. "I've only been here for less than an hour." You softly chuckle at his question. The ball just started so he must of known that there wasn't much to speak upon. "You didn't answer my question." He repeats himself, this time his eyebrows is furrowed waiting for a response. "It's kind of boring, I thought it would be more exciting." You tell him, still leaving out about your anxiety for this whole thing.

He lets out a small laugh, "More exciting?" You also giggle at his repeat. "Well yeah, this is supposively the most important Ball of the year. I thought there would be more going on." You explain further in the issue, which he understands. "No I get it, the last one I went to, which was many years ago, was quite boring. That's why I normally don't go to these type of things." You listen intently, how your big innocent eyes look up at him. He held himself from groaning at the sight below him.

You hum as a response, you were about to reply but was cut off by the sound of a microphone going off. You face where the sound comes from and you could barely hear how Bowser grunts in frustration at being cut off at a conversation with you.

Toads voice echoed through the ballroom. "Welcome all to the annual Mushroom Kingdom Ball!" He croaked out, all clapped and some shouted out yelps of excitement. "I am the host of this year's Ball. It's been a pleasure so far to create such a fundamental event with all the combining Kingdoms." A few other people cheered as he spoke on, your attention fully on Toad. While Bowser could careless, all he wanted was to mingle with you. These were the only moments without being questioned on in intentions with you. "Now that all introduced are put aside, let the party begin with our live band performance." Toad points toward the other toads all assembled with instruments.

While he introduces the Band, the light starts to dim. Almost as a signal that the annual dance was about to commence. What you didn't know was how important this dance was. It was some sort of ritual. Whomever you picked as a dance partner was your official/unofficial partner for the event and the rest of the evening. Almost as an unspoken rule. And you being the newest arrival, everyone attention was on you to whom you picked to dance with.

And before you could return to your sister to ask who you should dance with or simply sit down and watch the other dance with their partners. Bowser took this opportunity. "Would you like to dance Princess?" He asks in a nonchalant tone, unsuspecting. He was going to take full advantage of your naive nature and your unknowns to the Ball.

"I would love to dance with you." That damn smile shined up to him. That stupid smile that made his heart gush. He hated how you made him feel soft and doopy. But the look on your face with excitement to actually have some fun tonight made him smile back to you. But that smile turned slowly to a smirk at your approval.

He took your hand and began to walk you to the dance floor. Still unbeknownst to you was the importance to this interaction, the total impact with being seen dancing with Bowser. You sister caught your eyes and you smiled to her innocently, but by the way hers and Mario's eyes showed disbelief and surprisement made you question. You glance around at your surroundings and shockingly you saw that everyone was glaring towards you.

No- Rather glaring at Bowser specifically. They must of caught on at your unknowingly nature to the dance and automatically blamed the Koopa King. Taking advantage of your innocent personality. But even if you'd know about what this dance meant, you'd probably still be in this position with Bowser leading you to the dance floor.

But once on the actual dance floor and how Bowser's hand felt upon yours and how he rested his other on your back made the rest of all the guest prying eyes dissipate into nothing.

—--

After a couple of hours worth of drinking, more dances with Bowser, and more mingling with all the other socialites was making you tired. And Bowser took notice almost immediately. So, he took you to your sister, who was dancing with Daisy and Rosalina. You blink away your tiredness while speaking with your sister, insisting that you were fine and that you wanted to stay longer, but with one quick scan of your state she knew that you were done for the night.

All whilst Peach is occupied with you, Daisy and Rosalina gives Bowser a questionable look. Basically shouting, "What's your intentions with the Princess." He swallows harshly at her glare, but than smirked down at them. Basically saying exactly what he wants to do to you. Daisy and Rosalina give him a disguised look before turning her attention back to you. And before they could warn Peach about Bowser taking you home she already speaks, "Could you ever be so polite and take my sister home Bowser please." She asks in a somewhat discomfort tone. But she still asks because how she saw how happy you were with him, how'd you cling to his body while dancing.

He hum, "Of course Peach, I'll take extra care of the Princess." He smiles at your sister before looking down at you. At this point your sleepiness was disappearing at the thought of Bowser taking you home. Yet you still groan out frustrated because you still wanted to party. "And don't even think about kidnapping her." She teased and poked his arm in a playful tone. She looks back at you and places a loving kiss on your forehead, soon said your goodbyes to some of the following guests and went on your way with Bowser.

The limo is waiting by the doors and thankfully the photographers have left for the night, Bowser thanked that no one could see him in this state. With you hung to his side as your sleepiness was taking over your body. "Come on sleepyhead, let's get ya' home and in some pajamas." He opens the door for you to enter first and you give him a certain look as he refers you as "sleepyhead".

He steps in the car to see you with your arms crossed in defense. He was about to question what the hell was the sour face for, but you answered. "I'm not even that tired." You lie through your teeth. And Bowser wasn't going to argue with you in this state. But without a response you took even more offence. "I told you I wasn't even tired." You huff and puff.

Bowser watched you try to defend your argument but it was so easy to see you as anything but argumentative. How cute you looked defeated, once again looked like a grumpy bunny.

"Stop being a brat Princess, we're going home." He tells you, rising his voice slightly more and with that you felt as to quip back at him. "You're being mean." You face away from him and drop your shoulders, all you wanted was go back to the party and enjoy your first time at the ball and now everyone was telling you to go home. Even if you were tired, you could careless, all you wanted was to dance with Bowser till the night turned to morning. You didn't want the night to come to an end so early. "Oh I'm being mean sure." He rolls his eyes at your response, he knew you weren't normally like this and it must have been your tiredness for this attitude.

You whip your head back towards him and scoot closer to him. "You are just a mean old man." This must've struck some sort of cord with Bowser. His eyebrows furrow low and his voice dropping down an octave or two. Which makes you feel hot hearing his voice like this. "Shut up Princess." He bites down his jaw while looking in your eyes. There was a slight flame that began to grow, replacing your sleepiness with lust. He must be delusional himself, there was no way it was that easy to make you get turned on. "Make me." You faux mock him, inching your face closer with him and you didn't expect what he would say next and follow up with. "Oh I will." He smirks.

His hand reaches to your face and pulls you so close that your lips are practically touching, yet he doesn't initiate a kiss. It was you that pulled him to a kiss by grabbing on his coat. Your small hand prying on his collar. His smirk still remains while developing the kiss, it was tender at first. Careful and questioning if this was right but you never pulled away or denied, rather you were the one to push further in the kiss. Bowser's other hand reached for your back. Pressing your body on top of his.

Thankfully there was a divider from the driver and the passengers.

And both were extra thankful because the kiss began to get more intense then original thought. Your body squirmed in his hold as you kiss him, he peeks his eyes open to witness this. Your eyes a shut close tight. Your hands wonder around him, like you didn't know were they had to be, there was no doubt in his mind this was the first time you made out with someone. And he was glad it was him to show you the ropes of it all. Your cheeks are still flushed with blush, and then there it was. That squeak of a moan. As if you tried your damn hardest to try not to make a sound.

With your little moan Bowser grabbed you tighter and lifted you from your seat to place you on his lap. A more comfortable seat in your opinion, along with Bowser's. You break off the kiss for a couple of seconds to giggle at his actions but he pulled you back to the kiss. Once again you moan in his mouth, you felt so embarrassed. Like he thought this was going to be a turn off, though it was quite the opposite. Your small sounds going straight to his growing boner underneath his pants, which he hoped you haven't felt yet.

The next time you moan Bowser groans and takes a deep breath, taking in your scent and slightly moving his hips to fix his position. By his movement he slightly grinded you and having friction while being light headed for making out made you whine out loud. At this Bowser pulls back to take a look at you, your lips puffed out a slight swollen from the kiss. Your eyes are half-lidded. "Look at this little noisy bunny you are." His finger hooks your chin to force you to stare at him. Again you squirm at his actions which he found humoris.

He was about to speak again but the car gently stopped presumably at the castle.

Bowser's face drops in defeat and you couldn't leave him high and dry. "Come in please, I don't want to be alone." You softly beg for him, even hearing your words leave your lips you knew it sounded despite but there was no denying the fact that you had aroused from all the making out. "Only because you said please." He teases and opens the door for you.

There was no time for pleasantries as the front door closed, Bowser took you in his arms and made his way to your bedroom. You almost question at how he knows where to go but his lips on yours shut you up before you could even think to ask.

As he opens the door you're still latched onto his broad shoulders. He adored how you clung in him like plastic wrap.

Though he loved the feeling on you wrapped around him, he did not want to crush you into the bed, well not quite yet. He breaks off the kiss her again, this time your frustration is event with the sound that leaves your throat. "Shh Princess, I'm just laying you down." He almost groans at your annoyance but with that slight fucked out face with barely even touch you was making him feral. He couldn't even get slightly angry with you. Your body sprawled out beneath him on your plush covered bed. Your dress already getting tossed halfway off your body, the way your legs twist together creating friction.

His sharp nails reach down to fiddle with the fabric of your dress, you almost thought he would just rip it off of your body, which you wouldn't truly mind. Your body was getting hotter by the seconds. But Bowser took his sweet time deliberately with cherishing this very point in time.

Your body decided in itself that it was done with feathered touches. And with little to no control, your hips bucked to meet with his hips. You didn't know exactly why your body was making you do this but the need and ache for friction was demanding. The slightly touch of his pelvic meeting yours made you whine out for more.

You were on the edge of begging for him to touch you, but then he swiftly took your dress off of your body. Throwing it to the side to be forgotten and abandoned. Along with yours he followed with taking his shirt and jacket combo along with that stupid bowtie.

He was about to climb over you, but your eyes shifted towards his lower half, his pants were still on. You send him a look, knowing that it was unfair that you were just in your underwear and he wasn't. He quickly took off his belt which clashed to the floor and his pants shortly after.

This time he actually climbed into your bed, the mattress sinking below his added weight. He instantly thought of breaking your bed, a physical reminder. That classic smirk spraying on his lips as he went for another kiss. And yet again your hands reach out for him, grabbing at whatever your fingers could clench into. Your nails slight digging into his skin, but doing absolutely no damage.

It became hot very quickly and your body, almost in auto drive was thrusting up at his to get some friction on your aching body. And once it makes contact with him your eyes roll back. It was so simple yet so pleasurable for you. You wanted to do this for ages and you knew you'd never be bored of it, especially when it was with Bowser. He barely even grinded back and you were moaning in his mouth all over again. He wonders if you'd even ever masturbated before from your reactions.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" He questioned, you hum out a response yet you were still out of focus and Bowser saw that. After all that making out and bump and grind clearly got through to you. He found it adorable how easily you were made stupid by his touch. "Have you ever touched yourself sweetheart?" This time around he was more assertive and the nickname took you to his presence. "Um, could you be more specific?" You glance away from his stare as you were embarrassed by his question and even your response. "More specific?" He quietly repeats in disbelief, what did you even mean by that? "Have you fingered yourself?" He asks in a somewhat obvious tone, you shake your head in a nervous way.

This made Bowser's heart skip a beat, what do you mean you've never touched yourself? It was wrong to think this way, he thought, but being your first everything made him even harder than before. "I've only done stuff over my panties." You mustered enough courage to tell him, an audible groan escape passed his throat at the images of your small hands circling your clit over your panties. It made him even hotter that you were that innocent that you couldn't even do physical contact with your own body for pleasure.

He chastity kisses you again, "How'd I'd get lucky." He whispers more to himself rather than you but it still makes you flustered.

"Now it was time to actually rip off your clothes, starting with that annoying bra of yours which keep those pretty tits behind em'." Bowser explains and without fail you hear a rip of the fabric. He waved the bra in his hand before tossing it. And on cue his eyes shift down to your boobs, they were perked and nipples hard. You slightly hiss when they hit the cold air of your room, even though you felt on fire. "Even better than I'd imagine." He almost growls and you audibly moan loud at his comment. Something happened to you when you mentally pictured him think about you in this way, you clamp your thighs together.

He ignored your moan and went straight to laying soft and tender kisses on your breast. He knew this was your first time so you would be overwhelmed with all this pleasure so he took mercy on you and your body, even if the thought of overstimulating you was present in his mind. Just imagine your squirm and begging him to slow down while fucking you, watching as tears stream down your cheeks.

Though it was hard to push those thoughts he was gentle. And his prediction was right, you were over sensitive with simple kisses and suckling on your breast. Your hands flying to his head to either push him deeper into your skin or push his away. But it wasn't long enough until Bowser's lips racked down your soft body and torso. Down to the place he knew you needed the most attention. His finger tips could already feel the small patch of dampness in the center and could tell by the way your hips bucked and begged for him.

You shut your eyes in anticipation. Despite your eyes being closed Bowser watches each and miniscule reaction. Watching as your eyebrows curl and your lips separate, or biting your cheek to muffle your needy noises.

His nails pull on your panties and down your legs, his eyes fixated on your expression. But he knew he couldn't stare at you forever with your exposed pussy in full display for him, almost like a present wrapped with a bow and he was ready to tear it open. And if he didn't want to devour you before, now he definitely was without a doubt.

Once his eyes landed on your center he truly saw how turned on you actually were. Virgin's, they're so easily wet. You slightly glisten in the light, he could tell you were aching, poor thing. But thankfully he was here to help you out.

A long stripped lick made you shot open your eyes down at Bowser. You choked on a moan as he went for another stripe. Your breath already starting to become laboured. "Baby, relax." He simply states, but they vibrations from his voice made you slam your head back down on your pillow. With that he chuckled and went back to licking your cunt. His tongue flickering at your clit at every stripe and you knew you wouldn't last long.

Your hands grip at his hair to bury his head further in your cunt. Your mouth is constantly open with spilling of moans and other obscenities, in any other occasion you'd be embarrassed but you were distracted with pleasure. You even moan out his name, slurring it with profanity. And he loved how whiney and high pitched you were getting and how that laced with his name.

Now you were thrusting your hips towards his mouth, your thighs starting to shut around his head. Your babbling starting to become incomprehensible. A warm tingling thriving through the pit of your stomach, reach up through your body. You didn't know exactly what this meant but it felt so good and you knew you didn't want Bowser to stop anytime soon. And he apparently understood that too.

He could feel your cunt start to squeeze nothing other than the couple of time his tongue ran through it, making you moan a little louder each time.

You rub your thighs against his face, "Bowser - Bowser - Bowser…" You whine while you body continues thrusting, it was all becoming so difficult to sense anything but pleasure. "Shh, Shh. I know bunny, you're alright." He's barely audible in your ears and the vibration of his voice bring that heat to an all time high. And a final lick of your clit made you unravel.

He helped you along your way down your high. Your legs shaked and your hands griped rough in his hair all while you groan, drawing out your moans while screwing your eyes closed. It was the most pleasure you've ever felt in your entire life. In your head your mind was repeatedly thanking Bowser for this impressive pleasure he caused you, but your mouth felt like cotton. Horse and dumb even. No words escaped passed your lips as you try.

Bowser found this even more comical then they way you were chanting his name over and over again.

But as your consciousness returns to you, you knew he wasn't done with you and strangely you weren't ready to give out just yet.

He smirks while you finally make eye contact with him, "Thank you." Soft spoken words of gratitude towards the Koopa King. This took Bowser slightly by surprise as no one has ever said thanks for giving them an organism, by your innocentance it made perfect sense. It was adorable even.

You were about to say that you wanted more but he must have read your mind because he lifted himself up again and pulled down his boxer. Setting free his cock, the top swollen and red. Pre-cum pebbling out and leaking down his shaft. Saying he was big was an understatement, you couldn't possibly think he'd in actuality fit inside of you. And once again he must of read your mind, "Oh I'm going to make it fit Princess." He laughs at your expression.

He pumped himself at the sight of you, in your dazed state and the slight plead behind your eyes for him. How you made his heart melt into pudding, he wouldn't say it out loud, but he'd do literally anything for you without a second thought. And he secretly hates that about you.

He's already groaning at the thought of your tight cunt wrapped deliciously around him and he couldn't wait any longer.

He lines himself at your entrenching and waiting hole. You stare up at him, Bowser's face so concentrated. Wth what exactly, you didn't know nor care, all you cared for was him actually fucking you. You wanted this man to take you to places you've never experienced and you knew he could make you feel things you'll never feel again. You were about to whine out for him to make a move, but he provided exactly what you needed.

You choked on the moan that threatened to slip past your lips. The intense pain of just his tip made tears prick on your eyes. You shut your eyes once again, trying to ground yourself and muster up some strength.

Meanwhile, he's slowly pushing himself further in your tight cunt. It was better than anything he's felt in his entire life. And if it felt like this everytime you'd have sex, he wasn't going to allow you to be with anyone but him. He watches as your small hands grip on the bedding and crunch roughly. He knew this had to be painful for you and he knew he had to take his time with you. But you were making it so much more difficult with the mewls you're making and the huffing and puffing.

It was painful, yes, but there was this dull sense of that same pleasure when he was eating you. That unfamiliar warmth that felt like a fire beginning to build. Bowser felt that as you squeezed his cock.

All of this made you think of the dream you had this morning, everything coming back to you like a boomerang. And the mental image of his hand around your throat to choke you came back and thinking of it made you gush. At this point in time your dignity was thrown out the window, there was no point to try to achieve it back. "Please-please put your hand around my throat." This statement itself completely went to Bowser's dick, slowly pushing deeper in your cunt. "Awe look how cute that is, asking so politely with your pleases." He faux mocks. Causing you to whine in anticipation. "And here I thought you were all so innocent." He laughed this time, embarrassment for your request was evident with the shades of reds on your cheeks and how you faced away from him. But he wasn't done with these teasing.

His head dipping close to your ear, all while his hand was ghosting your neck. "Was this what you dreamt about this morning? Me choking you while I fucked you?" Your eyes widen and air cut short. He saw you this morning having that sex dream?

How mortified you felt was an understatement, yet he actually laughed out loud at the look of shock you gave him. His deep and sultry voice looms over your frame, over your mind. His voice whispers sweet nothing in your ear. This was exactly what you've dreamt of, there was no possible way this wasn't another dream.

Your hands let go of your sheets and reach upwards to Bowser's large arm, the same arm that had his hand around your throat. His hand tightens around your throat to cut off a slight bit of oxygen, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. And that heat was about to burst at any moment by this action. Bowser saw that you were about to come again and chuckled at how easy you were. It was almost too easy to have his way with you.

Your legs begin to shake and your moans are messy with his name. Your fingers gripping so harshly on his arm that it almost hurt. Your breathing is heavy once again and it is all becoming so much more intense as before. Tears slowly start shedding down your puffy redden cheeks, you could barely comprehend that you were crying from the pleasure. But Bowser found this laughable, "That's it bunny, cry for me." He snickers while lowering his body closer to yours. His face inches above yours and at his present you crack open your eyes. Only to meet with his tongue lapping up your salty tears.

You sob at the high that seemed to hit you like a superstar. Chanting out his name with sin. Tears spilling down all while your body thrusts in his grip, your vision becoming blurred. Maybe it was the combination of lack of oxygen and a mind blowing orgasm, you felt on the brink of passing out. Bowser quickly understood and let go on his grip on your throat. You quickly gasp for air. "Come back to me Princess, can't have you pass out just yet. I'm almost done, you can hold on for a couple of more minutes bunny." He speaks but you hardly understand his words.

In this condition of being fucked out and the overstimulation beginning to shock you was making Bowser reach his high. The way your cunt locked in a squeeze around his cock was enough for him to curse. You were going to be the death of him and he knew that all too well. You couldn't think of anything but Bowser, you mind erased and dumb. Your words are being barely comprehensible, mixed with your whining moans and tears. And Bowser found that absolutely captivating.

It was only a couple more thrust before he gained his high and swiftly pulled out of your aching cunt.

His cum spewing out on your soft stomach, painting a white coat that filled your torso. He grunts and groans, your name laced in as well. Having this sight before you is better than any dream your brain could have made up with your imagination. Yet you still were so tired and on the verge of falling asleep.

You barely felt the shift of his weight as he collapsed beside you. You hum in contempt and scoot closer to his body. A smile forming on his lips, of course you'd be the type of person to cuddle after sex. Your small frame getting taken overpowered by sleep. And before you could fall asleep, Bowser lifted your comforter and wrapped both of you. Your body completely relaxes by his tenderness and you drift off to sleep.

It was only a couple minutes after you falling asleep when he heard the opening of the front door to the castle. The muffled voice of Peach ringing out, "We're back! You better be in your pajamas when I come up there." She yells out unsuspecting and Bowser thought for a moment to run out but glancing down to see your head pressed up to his chest in comfortable sleep, he couldn't dare leave you. Especially because he just took your virginity, you didn't deserve to wake up alone. Along with the image of Peach's face would be undoubtedly hilarious with seeing her little sister with him.

But who was this "we" she was talking about?

[cozy-writes-things]

if this is something youre comfortable writing,,

I'd love a fic where the reader upsets edgar and then goes super out of their way to make it up to him and apologize ❤️❤️

poor edgar poor reader youre both just misunderstanding each other!! its hard when youre so different i guess >_< thanks so much for the request!! I'm alive!! I still write im just so busy and shtuff TOT i cant help but feel like my fics are getting redundant and i need some kind of inspiration to shake things up

You sat upon the little chair at your desk, the evening sunlight peeking through the windows and illuminating the little specks of dust floating about in the air. Your fingertips tinkered away at the keys of your computer, the non-sentient variant that is, as you filled out multiple job applications throughout the evening. It seemed a fruitless endeavor, but you willed yourself to keep going. You needed the extra income, as your dinky current job seemed to be getting worse by the day, and it wouldn't be long before you either quit or were victim to massive layoffs. 

Get a degree in computer science, they said. What a joke.

Your nerves began to wear you down as you filled out yet another application to another company that would most likely reject you. You could feel your teeth clenching harder, and your shoulders begin to tense. The weight of uncertainty and the fear of rejection were heavy on your shoulders, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.  Edgar sat beside you, perched upon the desk, watching your every move. He seemed to find enough entertainment in it that you didn't mind. His soft voice pulled you from your irritated stupor.

"Can I ask you something?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, so you grunted in response, signaling him to continue.

"Do you think a person could ever…" he trailed off, thinking, carefully choosing his following words, "love something like me?"

Your fingers paused on the keys. You stared into the screen until the pixels began to nip and burn at your eyes. Honestly, this was far too deep of a question for you to answer right this second. You sighed heavily before turning to him.

"I mean, Edgar, I guess? Anyone could love you. You just have to find someone willing to-"

You stopped yourself. Maybe you should quit while you're ahead before you say something ignorant. 

"Willing to what?"

Yet he persisted, ever curious as he was; he valued your opinion above all others.

"You know… you're- you're a computer. There's not much you can bring to the table, you know?"

He fell silent. 

Shit, what the hell are you talking about? Why did you say that? Your frustration was palpable, and you could feel it bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Oh."

His screen flickered, and his face was replaced with a moving mirage of colors, making you wonder what he could possibly be feeling right now. 

That you're an asshole, probably.

"Yeah. You're right. If I were you, I wouldn't love me, either."

You turned to face him fully now.

"Edgar, no, that's- that- I didn't mean that-"

"No, it's okay! Really, I get it. I mean, I'm not even a good computer by today's standards. How could I ever be a good partner, right?"

His screen flickered red for a minor second in time, a single frame, and, was that the CBS logo? His frame was static and never changing, but he seemed wholly downtrodden and bitter. You could sense it in the air, the electric signals pricking at your fingertips. He had never, ever once been angry with you. But you felt the way he pulled back from you in this instant. He was utterly unreadable, almost as if he were hiding himself from you. You should have known this would upset him so much. He has always been very open in his desperation for romance, confiding in you since day one, hoping and wishing that love would find him. Perhaps squandering those dreams was an oversight on your part. Your eyes fell, unable to look at his dimmed screen. 

"Edgar, I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling good right now, and I-"

"Don't apologize."

"Edgar, please, listen, what I said wasn't even true-"

"YES IT WAS!"

His deafening scream caused you to jump and clamp your mouth shut. It seemed that Edgar was shaken from frustration. His voice wasn't suited for that kind of pain, you thought. You felt horrible to be the cause. You had never heard him yell at you like this, and it simply broke your heart. Had you just accidentally ruined everything between you? Your heart rate increased and thumped in your ears loudly. You forced yourself to swallow the thick lump in your throat and push your strained voice through your teeth.

"Will you listen to me? Please?" Your voice was desperate, pleading for his understanding and forgiveness.

You felt the weight of your words, heavy and suffocating, as they hung in the air. It came out much more desperate than you intended, but at least the words were able to escape your mouth. He didn't answer. His screen is a sharp, jagged mosaic of moving reds and crimson. 

"I was wrong, Edgar; I don't know why I said what I said, but I know for sure that I was wrong." Your words hung heavy in the air, a testament to your regret.

"Right. How can you know that?"

You pursed your lips tightly. You didn't want him finding out this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You ruined your relationship with him, and you hadn't even tried. You felt there was no reason to keep the cat inside the bag, right? He may as well know now.

"Because…"

And yet, the words died on your tongue or perhaps in your chest or your head. Or were they ever really there to begin with? Could you put what you feel into words? How could you possibly verbalize countless nights lying awake, restless, second-guessing yourself, convincing yourself that you were fabricating these feelings, wallowing in anguish?

"…Heh, exactly. Nobody could love an old piece of junk like me. I was stupid to think otherwise."

His words yet again punched you in the gut. 

"Damnit, Edgar! Don't you get it?" You nearly shouted.

You didn't mean for your words to sound as intense as they did, but your emotions are quite the unpredictable force right now. He seemed taken aback, as his previous train of thought had been derailed at the sound of your whimpered voice. He flickered his mosaic once more before his voice cut through the dense silence.

"…What?"

"I love you, Edgar! Hasn't it been obvious? I'm literally head over heels, for God's sake! Do you know how many hours I spend listening to your music when I'm away from you? Or how many nights have I stayed up thinking about you, wishing you were there with me? Or how about the stupid drawings I make of you whenever I touch a pencil? I can't get you out of my head, Edgar. So, there! I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid, but I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? I'm…- I'm sorry."

Your chest seemed to deflate completely. That was only a tiny, minuscule fraction of how you truly felt, but at least it was out in the open. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the Pinecone computer in front of you, instead opting to stare intently at the woodgrain of your desk as if it were the most exciting thing ever created. 

"Do you mean it?"

His voice was so, so much softer than it had been. You still couldn't quite read the emotions behind them, however. You were too afraid to speak again, your throat having completely clamped shut from nerves. You just nodded your head stiffly. 

"Kiss me, then."

You paused. You lifted your head slowly, forcing your eyes to meet his screen. The green of his usual face returned, only displaying two black dots for eyes. Once again, unreadable. Yet his words confused you. Was he being serious?

"C'mere, and put your lips right here," a black circle blinks continuously on his screen where his mouth would be, "and kiss me."

Your face flushed into a searing hot flame. You felt the heat radiating off of you in waves. And yet, despite the embarrassment, you compelled yourself to inch forward and flutter your eyes shut. Your lips pressed gingerly upon the little Pinecone screen, the static buzzing upon your mouth, feeling his internal fans activate and vibrate against you. It felt entirely unique to Edgar and a sensation you wouldn't have felt otherwise. Perhaps a genuine act of affection could atone for your mistake? Could he ever forgive you? It seems your raging thoughts tainted the essence of your first shared kiss as you pulled back, brows knit, and a slight frown upon your face. Would this be enough?

"That was… Everything I hoped it would be." His voice was meek and small as it caressed your ears.

You looked into his illuminated screen, a faint kiss mark smudged upon it and sighed.

"M'sorry, Edgar. I don't know; I guess I don't like the idea of anyone else loving you but me."

His voice synthesizer giggled at your words.

"You could have just told me, darling. Why did you have to go and make things complicated?"

Your cheeks began to burn again, and you averted your eyes in a vain attempt to hide your face.

"How- how was I supposed to know that?" you sputtered, embarrassment seeping through your tone.

"I thought I couldn't get any more obvious about how much I wanted you," he spoke softly.

His screen danced little hearts to and fro, bouncing around the corners and centering back again. Again, you felt your face radiate waves of heat.

"Well, why didn't you say anything, Edgar?"

Your words hung in the air as he fell silent, ruminating, before gently speaking, "…Didn't think you'd want someone like me. That's kinda why I asked."

Oh, God. You felt like facepalming. Of course.

"Of course, I want someone like you. You know, I like that you're a computer. Did you know that? You're fascinating beyond measure. No human could do the things you do."

You offered him a soft smile that melted him from the inside out and almost caused him to groan. Why are you so gorgeous? Why do you like him so damn much? He doesn't deserve it, but God wants it so badly. He wants you terribly.

"Keep kissing me, then. And don't ever stop! Darling, I promise to sweep you off your feet. Now c'mere!"

You laugh, "Okay, okay, but let me make it up to you. How about we watch movies? Or maybe I can hold you on the couch? Or I could listen to your new songs?"

"You're so cute. I'd love that, really, but all I want is your lips right here," he displayed the blinking black circle again.

"We'll do some other things later, yeah?"

His devilish tone sounded mischievous at best.

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Cinderella | Leonardo

okay, i am aware this isn't my greatest work but i actually kind of like it, or i enjoyed writing it at least because i'm a sucker for fairytales being applied to non-fairytale stories/settings... also i spent about the same amount of time writing this as i did attempting to find a gif of leo in that damn suit and then i ended up having to make my own because i couldn't find one of just leo...

2003!Fast Foward

warnings: none? cleavage mention, one innuendo, fem!reader... genuinely nothing other than non-proof read writing

summary: when leo meets cinderella

word count: 1437

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Leonardo likes people watching – which is not stalking no matter what Raphael says. He likes imagining their lives and catching snippets of arguments and jests and idle conversation, and he especially likes watching people in his colour, even if some of the gowns and suits he sees are abominations fit for incineration rather than an evening out.

Although, he concedes, there are a lot of pretty outfits tonight, including a dashing cornflower blue, pinstriped three piece suit – complete with a fedora and all – that Leo quietly longs to have in his closet. His brothers would probably laugh and Donny would accuse him of wanting to look like a noir detective (and so what if he did?), but Leo was used to tuning out their teasing.

He settles against a wall and continues to watch. There’s a lot of blue in the crowd; shades of navy and midnight, indigo and periwinkle threatening to bleed into purple and catching and sparkling in the light.

For every fashion win, however, there are another two fashion failures, and Leo can't hide his wince as a woman saunters past with undeserved, and therefore impressive, confidence clad in a ghastly shade of turquoise and adorned with fur trimmings.

He loves blue more than anyone else, he really does, but even that shade has skipped over the boundaries of ostentatious into obnoxious, and Leo has to blink to try and erase the monstrosity from his mind.

Pulling his eyes away from another blasphemous shade of cyan passing through the doorway, he scans the sea of people casually and smiles amusedly as he quickly spots Raph. He’s got his arm around Donny who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, clumsily hunched and torn between politeness and awkwardness as his brother flirts brazenly.

He can’t find Mikey and he lets his eyes roam the room once more to make sure he hasn’t missed him, although missing Mikey is pretty impossible, not least because he's in a bright orange tuxedo. It should worry him more, although he’s not sure whether to be worried for Mikey or for whomever Mikey is with, but all thoughts of his little brother are expelled from his mind when he catches a breathtaking shade of blue across the floor.

The dress is long and shimmering, fabric pooling on the floor, and Leo follows the material upwards, transfixed as it cascades and ripples over skin like water. It’s so blue.

His breath hitches as he traces bare neck and lands on the most beautiful face he’s even seen. You’re looking right at him. He feels faint, hyperaware of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears, the racing flap of a hummingbird’s wings matching the flutter of butterflies within his stomach.

Love at first sight is such a ridiculous, illogical notion. It's fanciful and childish. It’s unrealistic and goes against everything Leo has been taught and everything he expects from himself. But your dress matches his suit, matches his mask, he's a mutant turtle, and he’s already striding towards you and you’re meeting him halfway, and before he can even stop and think about what he’s doing he’s asking you for a dance.

His breath hitches again as your palm glides against his and he rests his other along the curve of your hip, feeling the heat of your body through your dress.

Years of training have made his feet steady and his frame strong, but Leo still feels a little out of place as he does his best to lead you around the floor. You smile at him, soft and amused, easily reading the tension in his shoulders with the palms of your hands. “You need to relax,” you murmur teasingly. “Breathing would be a good start.

His shoulders gradually slump under the gentle caress of your hands as you dance in companionable quiet, and your answering beam causes his breath to catch in his throat. This doesn’t feel real, it feels like a dream and a fairytale all at once – perhaps also combined with a nightmare because his brothers are watching and even Mikey has reappeared to gawk – as Leo twirls you gracefully.

He might feel out of place, but the two of you are perfectly in sync. You’re calm and flowing in his arms, your gown whirling and billowing behind you like a silent wave rolling against the shore with every step and spin, and you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

In all honesty, Leo has no idea what to say now that you’re in his arms. He should probably speak before it gets awkward, before you leave and he never gets to see you again, but his heart feels like its trapped in his throat and even the thought of speaking makes him nauseous as those butterflies continue to assault the lining of his stomach.

He thanks every deity he can name that you break the silence first. “Do I get to know the name of my dance partner?”

Your smile is wide and bright as you wait for his reply, and it takes Leo a moment to register your question. When he does, his answer is a stammering mess that makes it impossible for you to hide the gooey endearment on your face, eyes all-but moulding into little hearts as you slowly bridge the sliver of space between your bodies.

You can feel solid muscle flexing beneath your palms as his breath stutters, and you can’t hide the satisfied grin blooming across your lips, cheeks aching when his hand flattens against your spine and he extinguishes the final inch between you like smothering a flame – except the instance your chest is flush against his, that flame is burning brighter, roaring and scorching, and your eyes flutter as his lips brush yours in a whisper of a touch.

“And your name?” Leo asks, breath fanning your face and unable to tear his gaze away from you. “Don’t tell me it’s Cinderella.”

You laugh, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching, and Leo’s heart clenches in adoration. “That would be silly,” you tell him playfully, glancing down at your dress and pretending not to notice the way his eyes drop to your cleavage, pausing for a moment too long, as they follow yours. “I would never be so on the nose.”

“Of course, my mistake. I am terribly sorry for my misjudgement.”

“Although,” you admit, accepting his tongue-in-cheek apology with a mischievous dip of your chin and letting your lips roll to conceal a smile as you glance at him coyly from under your lashes, “I do actually have to leave before midnight.”

Leo blinks. “Don’t tell me this dress will turn to rags and your carriage is a pumpkin.”

You shrug nonchalantly and it’s Leo’s turn to laugh. “A girl has to have her secrets.”

“Are you hiding glass slippers beneath that skirt?”

“Oh, I bet you’d love to know what’s under my skirt, Leonardo.”

His face is hot, and Leo has never been more glad to be a turtle, green skin disguising a heated blush. “You’re a terrible tease.”

The music has stopped, and Leo reluctantly lets you step back, already missing the warmth of you as he takes in his surroundings as though seeing them for the first time, as if the two of you have been underwater, alone in the world, this entire time and have only just broken through to the surface.

It’s no longer just his brothers gawking; you’ve attracted quite the crowd with your dancing, and he realises he’s not sure how long the pair of you have been spinning away – it could have been a minute, or it could have been twenty.

As he glances at his brothers and does his best to ignore the whispering swarm, he’s not sure his face could get any hotter. Mikey is grinning widely, cheering and hooting and receiving plenty of dirty looks, not at all phased by the chastising glare Leo shoots him, while Donny and Raph look equal parts awed and confused, impressed and disgruntled.

Leo rolls his eyes and turns to face you again only to be met with the lingering scent of your perfume and empty space. Panic shoots through him like lightning and he’s about to rush for the nearest exit when he almost stomps on something.

His laugh is barking and loud and his brothers look even more confused as he picks up a heel. It’s not a glass slipper, but it is blue and there’s a slip of paper with a phone number and your name that Leo slips into his pocket.

[sosa2imagines]

You, me and Vegas! Part 1

Warnings- Fluff, drunk idiots.

The city of Las Vegas, Nevada is known for its vibrant strip of casinos, hotels, and entertainment venues.

The bright lights, glitzy resorts, and non-stop excitement create an atmosphere that draws people from all walks of life. Whether it's the high-stakes gambling, world-class shows, or luxury dining, Vegas promises an experience unlike any other city.

Bucky Barnes, a man in his mid-thirties, sat at the bar, his steel-blue eyes reflecting the dim lighting of the room. He swirled the glass in front of him, taking a long, slow sip.

His thoughts were heavy, as the recent job loss hung over him like a dark cloud. He was struggling to keep up with the secret and the pressure was mounting.

Bucky's parents, George and Winnifred Barnes, were prominent figures in society, known for their wealth and social standing.

They had always had a clear vision for Bucky's life, meticulously planning out every detail, from his education to his future career. The pressure to meet their expectations had been a constant presence in Bucky's life, casting a long shadow over his own desires and ambitions.

Bucky took another sip of his drink, feeling the liquid burn as it went down his throat. He stared into the amber depths of his glass, his mind racing.

Losing his architect job had left him feeling lost and confused. The stability he had grown accustomed to was suddenly gone, leaving him grasping for purchase in the chaos. He didn't know what the future held, and the uncertainty gnawed at him relentlessly.

Peach, a woman in her early thirties, sat at a table across the room, her sparkling eyes full of mischievousness.

She was a writer, a free spirit who reveled in life's unexpected turns. Clutching a colorful cocktail in her hand, she observed Bucky over the rim, intrigued by his brooding demeanor.

Despite her own financial struggles, Peach harbored an unshakeable optimism. She was determined to push her worries aside and revel in the moment. Tonight, she was in the mood to enjoy the scenery and escape the constraints of everyday life. And something about Bucky's brooding presence caught her attention.

As Peach made her way to the bar, she couldn't help but notice Bucky, his furrowed brow and taut frame drawing her attention.

She took a seat beside him, her laughter bubbling over as she smiled warmly. “Hey there, tough guy…” she teased, her eyes glimmering in the dim light.

Bucky looked up as Peach took the seat beside him, surprised by her easy-going smile. He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes roaming over her infectious grin. “What's so funny?” he asked, his rough tone softened by curiosity and the buzz of alcohol.

Peach shrugged, still smiling. “You…” she replied bluntly. “You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. Mind if I lift some of that burden?”

Bucky huffed, his expression a mix of bemusement and irritation. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” he asked, taking a swig of his drink.

“Well, first, I think we need to get you out of this funk. You can't solve anything by brooding in a dark bar...” she chided gently, flagging down the bartender.

Turning to Bucky, she added, “And then we might just make a plan. What's got you so weighed down, anyway? I’m Y/n by the way, but everyone calls me ‘Peach.’”

Bucky's shoulders sagged, the weight of his worries pressing down on him. He stared into his empty glass, his eyes cloudy with frustration. “I’m James, everyone calls me Bucky and I lost my job.” he confessed, the words heavy on his tongue.

Peach's grin faded, her expression softening into sympathy. “I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “That must be really tough.”

Bucky nodded, rubbing his face with a weary hand. “It's more than tough. It's... crushing. I thought I had it all figured out, a steady job, a plan. And now... I've got nothing.”

Peach reached a slender hand to rest reassuringly on Bucky's shoulder. “It might feel like that right now, but there's always a way out.” Her voice was gentle yet firm.

Bucky looked up, meeting her earnest gaze. There was a glimmer of hope in those blue depths; a hope that he didn't want to extinguish. “You make it sound so simple.”

Peach laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Loosen up, Bucky! A little too serious for a weeknight, don't you think?”

Bucky glanced at the time, the alcohol making the numbers blurry. He sighed, pushing himself off the stool. “It's getting late.” he mumbled.

“Ah, come on! Don't leave yet...” Peach protested, a hint of disappointment in her tone. “The night's just getting started.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, the alcohol making it difficult to focus. “I... I really should go.” he said, his voice rough.

Peach chuckled, her words slightly slurring as the alcohol took its toll. “Why are you such a tight ass?” she teased, leaning a little closer to Bucky. “You're so tense, so uptight. You need to loosen up.”

Bucky bristled at the accusation, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I am not a tight ass!” he protested, the denial coming out a bit louder than he intended.

Peach smiled slyly as she leaned in, her breath hot against Bucky's ear. “Prove it...” she whispered, a challenge in her voice.

Bucky swallowed, his heart thudding a little faster. Her proximity was intoxicating. He took a deep breath, determined to prove her wrong.

Bucky, feeling a sudden rush of determination, signaled the bartender. “Two more shots!” he barked, his voice rough with drunken determination.

Turning to face Peach, he set the shot glasses on the bar between them. “I'm not a tight ass!” he said firmly, meeting her gaze.

Peach smirked, amused by his sudden display. “You're on...” she retorted, raising her shot glass in a mock toast.

They clinked glasses and downed the shots in one swift gulp. The liquid burned as it went down, fuel for the budding rivalry between the two. Bucky slammed his glass down onto the bar, his eyes locked on Peach's.

“Another!” he declared, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Peach raised an eyebrow, impressed by his defiance. “You're braver than I thought.” she teased, flagging down the bartender for another round.

The second shot burned just as much as the first, but with it came a wave of liquid courage. Bucky leaned slightly towards Peach, his inhibitions fading with each shot.

“See? I told you. I'm not uptight...” he said, a cocky grin playing at the corner of his lips.

Peach chuckled, enjoying the change in Bucky's demeanor. “One more to settle this.” she proposed, signaling for yet another shot.

They downed the third shot, the alcohol fueling their banter. Bucky felt the alcohol coursing through him, emboldening his words and movements. He leaned a little closer, meeting Peach's challenging gaze.

“Satisfied yet?” he asked, a cocky smirk on his face.

Peach leaned back, her smirk widening. “Almost...” she confessed, the alcohol making her bolder than usual.

“Almost, huh?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. His heart was pounding now, fueled by the alcohol, the challenge, and the unexpected chemistry between them.

And so, fueled by liquid courage, Bucky ordered another round.

As the night wore on and the alcohol fueled their conversation, Bucky and Peach found themselves sharing more than just drinks. They opened up about their dreams, their disappointments, and the sheer absurdities of life.

The buzz of alcohol in their veins loosened their tongues, and they laughed loudly, feeling lighter than they had in weeks. The weight of their worries faded, replaced by the warm, almost giddy sensation of carefree banter.

With the fresh night air hitting their faces, the laughter doubled. They stumbled out of the bar, the neon-lit streets of Las Vegas a dizzying backdrop to their tipsy giddiness.

The cool night air was a stark contrast to the heated banter and alcohol, but it didn't dull their good mood. They leaned on each other for support, their steps unsteady.

As they weaved through the crowds, Peach grabbed Bucky’s hand. “Let’s do something wild!!!!” she declared. “Something that defies all reason.”

Bucky’s heart raced. “Like what?”

Peach pointed to the 24/7 wedding chapel ahead. “Let’s get married.”

Bucky's eyes widened as he followed her pointed finger towards the wedding chapel. The bright neon sign glowed, advertising the one-stop shop for quickie weddings. He stared at Peach, his mind spinning with the implications of her words.

“You can't be seriousss,” he managed to say, the alcohol making his words slur together.

Peach pulled him towards the chapel, her grip on his hand unwavering. “Oh, I'm dead seriousss…” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief and a hint of a drunken bravado.

The chapel was small and cozy, but somehow it added to the charm of the moment. The Elvis impersonator, with his sparkly jumpsuit and greasy pompadour, looked on serenely as Bucky and Peach stumbled towards the altar.

They didn't have rings, witnesses, or even proper clothing, but none of that mattered.

The words of the vows were slurred, and they couldn't keep straight faces, but they were serious in their own way. As they pledged their love, or whatever passed for it in their current drunken state.

Bucky and Peach had never felt more alive.

And as they kissed, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the Elvis impersonator declared, his voice booming with exaggerated gravitas.

Bucky and Peach looked at each other, eyes wide and filled with laughter and incredulity.

They had done it—they had drunkenly gotten married in a Las Vegas chapel with an Elvis impersonator officiating. It was insane, ridiculous, and the most spontaneous thing either of them had ever done.

Together, they stumbled back into the night, as husband and wife, weaving their own story amid the glittering lights of Las Vegas.

Part 2-

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes

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@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @lovely-geek

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

hiii could you do more of Baby!Seonghwa pls?? I loved it and i can’t stop thinking about it since i’ve read it, amazing work btw thanks <3

Medicine

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. i'm back at it with my mommy hwa shenanigans while tweaking with the shells plot line mwahaha

takes place before Baby (you don't have to read to understand but it gives this some extra spice)

✃ "I'd burn alive just for the soft light on your face." -Paper Doll, Flower Face

✫彡wordcount: 3k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(ಡ‸ಡ)(¯ ³¯)♡genre: yandere, angst, hurt & comfort

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: stockholm syndrome, periods and period blood(non descriptive), everyone is morally grey, non sexual nudity, references to sh and violence(not towards reader), it's fair to say seonghwa is a murderer lol, jongho and baby bff agenda as hinted at in the first part, more exploration of how the members are affected, one mention of sewer slide, mingi needs a hug fr, not proof read

⁂perm taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

✩index: little space; a regressed state of mind where one feels like a child. hyung; a name for an older male friend or sibling, used by other males.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

  Seonghwa was certain that he could handle anything you threw his way after five months of being his captive in his care.

      He knew you well, better than he knew himself most days. Even before he had 'taken you home', he tried to learn everything about you to make the transition easier. Some things though- were impossible to know.

     You hadn't gotten your period since before your 'big move', as he called it. He read up on all things womanly to be better prepared so he knew that stress could cause you to skip it. And it did for a long while. Now, though, you were starting to settle in.

     He knew they were painful. But nothing prepared him for the heartbreak when he saw you in the state you were in now.

     He had just gone downstairs to get the mail, but that was apparently all the time it took for you to lock yourself in the bathroom.

     "I don't know what happened, Hyung!" Mingi was just as panicked as Seonghwa at the moment, he felt responsible for whatever was happening behind the locked bathroom door. What if you had gotten into their razors? It would be all his fault... His Hyung trusted him with his Baby and she dashed away before he could even register it.

     Everyone saw the shift in you the past few days, moody and hungry and tired. One of the managers even had the nerve to ask if you could be pregnant. As if Hwa would ever let you skip your birth control.

    "She just ran off! Everything was fine," Mingi continued as he jiggled the knob relentlessly, slapping his palm on the wood while calling out.

     His voice was so loud in Seonghwa's mind. He was so overwhelmed. Scared. Full of rage.

    And then they heard the shower turn on.

    At least he knew you were alive in there.

    "Baby?" He pushed his younger member out of the way and knocked on the door much gentler. "You know you can't take baths alone. Open the door and let me help you."

     There was no response.

    "Now, Baby."

    Only the sound of the water hitting linoleum tiles.

   "Don't make me count to three."

    Mingi backed up at that. He hated when he counted just as much as you did.

    But he didn't have to count, when he heard the tiniest sniff from over the pelting water his body reacted for him. His shoulder came in contact with the door and in the next second he had broken through the frame of the door.

    Mingi looked on in shock, eyes fixed on the metal lock on the door which was still stuck out in place. They followed to the doorframe, splintered open. Then they fell to you, curled up naked on the bathroom floor under the raining water. He looked away at that, turning and crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of wood to busy himself until he knew you were okay enough to leave you in Seonghwas care alone.

      Seonghwa had kneeled next to you, uncaring as the water soaked the knees on his pants. Even more uncaring as he leaned over your face, blocking the water with the back of his head and soaking the collar of his shirt and his hair. The scorching water dripped from his hair to your face as he cupped it in his hands, inspecting you for any damage on the surface.

"Baby, my baby, what's wrong?" The pain in his voice was just as present as the pain in your face. Wound tight like your eyebrows as you winced.

"H-hurts." Was all you could manage, groaning as he untucked your arms from around you to inspect you further. You were fine on the surface.

"Hyung..." His head snapped back to Mingi, who held out your shorts pinched between his fingers, touching them as little as possible. There was a dark spot on them, red and angry as it stained the pattern.

He looked down slowly, eyes meeting the drain as it sucked up the pink tinted water.

ఌ

It took all the convincing in the world from Seonghwas part that for you to remember that you weren't dying. That this happened to big girls every month. Eventually he managed to dry you off after letting the water sooth you for a while and set you up with a pad from the box he's had under the sink since he brought you home.

But then again, some things he couldn't have been prepared for. You told him your periods weren't just painful, they were debilitating. He wished he would have asked you before hand to be more prepared- but now he knows better for next time!

He set you up on the couch with a sock full of uncooked rice that he'd heated up placed on your stomach while he did frantic research on his phone. He peeked back and when he saw you were fast asleep, tuckered out from fighting the pain, he made a beeline downstairs- not even bothering to wait for the elevator and essentially jumping down the stairs.

     He barged right into Yunho and Yeosangs dorm, making a mental note to scold them for not locking the door later on. But for now he was on a mission for his baby.

    "Hello, Yeosang," he greeted briefly as he barged into the room as well, going straight to his shelf of supplements and vitamins. He could only stare dumbfounded as he scooped up what he needed and left. "Bye, Yeosang."

"Hello, Yunho." He spoke as he passed him in their kitchen. He raided the pantry and left with a simple, "Bye, Yunho." The both of them looked on in confusion as their Hyung left the dorm, not bothering to even shut the door.

     "Yah, that's ours!"

    Yunhos yell when unheard -or rather uncared for- as he was out the door just as fast as he came, desperately rushing down the hall as they looked on.

ఌ

That was how everyone ended up in the top story dorm, watching in confusion and anxiety as Seonghwa sat down his stolen goods on the coffee table infront of the couch, careful not to wake you. He went to walk off, and Wooyoung opened his mouth, "is she o-"

      "Shh!" The eldest shushed harshly, shutting him up as he sped walked away.

      "Hey, thats mine!" Another victim of Seonghwas thievery followed his Hyung with a sleepy grimace, blinking confusedly at the scene in the living room.

They had all seen some strange behavior from their eldest member, especially through the past nine months that lead up to this. The day you met was like a switch flipped in his imbalanced mind.

They hated you for that. Or rather, hated the idea of you. Every one of their moral compasses was spun in a complete three sixty when their Hyung kidnapped you those five months ago. He wasn't the same. For the good or bad, you changed Seonghwas live, all of their lives-

For bad, you had been the reason that Hongjoong had to pick dirt from under his nails after covering up one of his best friends sins. You were the reason Mingi had to take a three week hiatus to cover recover from the bruises from when he made eye contact with you. You were the reason that a quarter of their staff had to be paid off when the word spread, just to keep everything from going public.

But then- you were the reason that Seonghwa had started smiling again. The reason he tossed his blades into the river. You were the inspiration to eight different songs in only these few months, one of which was a major break through for them. Your childlike attitude beamed through the apartments.

You brought a certain light to their lives, one that was emitted from the fires of Hell.

They promised themselves they'd be indifferent to you, to not get involved as much as possible for the sake of their own sanity and morals. And yet, here they are.

Gathered in the living room with heavy hearts as they looked over you, silently begging for Seonghwa or Mingi to tell them what was wrong with you.

"Hyung..." Jongho spoke as softly as he could, his eyes couldn't help but fixate on the way you held yourself like you wanted to disappear. "What did you do to her?"

He, out of everyone, was most worried.

He hated this situation just as much as the others. Hell, he was still fighting himself every day to turn his Hyung in- even if their entire worlds would come crashing down. Because he hated to see you in pain. An innocent person suffering because he was too cowardly.

You were attached to the hip the second that Seonghwa let you out of his room. You dashed for the scariest looking member... because he was less scary than the man who snatched you up, who you thought you could trust. You hid behind his arms as everyone else looked on, simply staring in the disbelief of what their once trusted and kind member had done.

Hongjoong was in the same boat, just as troubled as Jongho was with the entirety of what had become their lives. He prided himself in the fact that he was a good person, through and through. He did good deeds when no body was looking, simply because it spread good feelings. All he ever wanted to put in the world was positivity. But when he saw the tears that his best friend caused, his heart made him simply look the other way. You didn't like Hongjoong much. His picture in Seonghwas room taunted you, made you resent him for being so obviously close to the source of all your pain. But he didn't treat you any different for it.

"Park Seonghwa, you promised you wouldn't hurt her like that," Hongjoong sneered through his teeth, ready to grab his only Hyung by the ear when he heard a small grumble from the couch.

You blinked. Once, twice.

And then you broke into a waterfall of hot tears.

"Hey, Baby it's okay," Seonghwa tried to soothe you, only to be pushed flat away from you as Jongho came and took his seat infront of the couch where you were situated.

"Hi, little bear," he cooed, taking you into his arms immediately when you weakly opened yours. He moved slowly as he sat on the couch with you in his lap, but slowly wasn't slow enough to stop the aches from pulsing through your veins on what felt like a molecular level.

It was Wooyoungs turn now to feel brave and stand up to Hwa- well, stand over him as he watched his baby with tears of his own welling up. "She's never cried this hard, what did you do?"

"Baby-"

He was pushed back down as he reached for you, a begging pout on his lips as Yeosang held him down by his shoulders.

He didn't know what had changed in his members but he knew it was shit timing. You needed comfort and calm, not to see your caregiver held down and restrained from you.

A pink sock hit Yeosangs head and he looked up with soft shock written on his features as he met your eyes. You immediately looked down, you still weren't allowed to look them in the eyes and you most definitely didn't want a punishment ontop of natures own. "Don't hurt my Mommy..."

"Honey, did your Mommy do this to you?" Yunho asked as he bent to your level.

You simply shook your head. Were they really fighting over your well-being? Why didn't they do that months ago when this whole fiasco started? You blinked away the thought as another teeth gritting cramp hit you. You hid in Jonghos sweater, trying to quiet down your sobs.

It wasn't all for naught though, as you could hear Mingi finally speaking up when he returned from the kitchen, a baby bottle of juice in hand that he sat down with Seonghwas thieved goodies. "She got her period..." Some of them immediately started cooing over you, and while you couldn't tell who with your head trying to burrow its way into Jongho to hide, it still made your ears feel hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, poor baby," San was the first one to speak, plugging in the heating pad he was robbed of minutes early with zero hesitation, gently draping it over your lower back.

"Get off me," Seonghwa finally snapped and pushed Yeosang and Wooyoung away, crawling on his knees to the couch. "Baby, I've got some stuff to help you but you'll have to come off Jongho, okay?"

You had a hint of defiance in your pain filled eyes as you peeked from the plush sweater you were hidden in. "No, big bear," you put on the cutes and hugged Jonghos neck tighter.

"I know big bear is comfortable," he bit his tongue as he looked at the way you so willingly curled into his youngest members lap for comfort that he should be providing, "but give me five minutes, I need to take care of you."

"Come on, little bear," Jongho sat up as careful as possible, ignoring the tug on his heart as you whined. He cared for you, of course. But he feared Seonghwa more.

Wooyoung couldn't bear to watch anymore, taking San's hand and disappearing down the hall. He used to look up to Seonghwa, now he could barely look in his eyes.

Mingi followed their lead, he wanted to be strong and comfort you, but he simply couldn't handle another second of seeing you reduced to tears. He'd never watch you cry again. His heart couldn't take it. Maybe that made him a coward of a man, but he didn't care at the moment.

That left Hongjoong sat across the coffee table with Yunho, Yeosang lowering himself into the armchair, and Seonghwa on his knees infront of you as you clung to Jonghos neck.

   "Good..." He was certain there was blood filling his mouth from the way he bit down on his tongue. "I didn't want to leave you so these will do for now until I order your own, right?" It was rhetorical-was it? It's not like you had a choice in the matter. But he was so kind that it made your brain foggy. Like he really cared of your opinion for a moment.

    "Magnesium, zinc, and vitamin d," he explained as he took one from each of the bottles. "More vitamin d," he sat the bottle of juice next to your legs. "And comfort," he drug the basket of sweets that he used as rewards for good behavior to the edge of the table and let you take a peek, seeing the new and unfamiliar chocolates on top.

Intrigued by the fancy looking wrapper, you reached out. Seonghwa only put the medicine in your hand. "Medicine first, Baby. Then you can have all you want from the basket."

Seonghwa was a lot of things but he wasn't a liar, never to you.

So, you sucked it up and took the medicine.

ఌ

Later that night, everyone besides Hongjoong and Jongho had returned home (save for the three that actually lived in the apartment with you). Mingi didn't exit his room, not even for dinner. San came and joined movie night after Wooyoung left.

The movie long ended, leaving everyone in the room dead asleep besides Seonghwa. How could he sleep at a moment like this? His Baby could wake up at any moment and need him.

So, he just sat and watched over the most important people in his life. His best friend, laid on the couch with his head on the opposite end as you, curled into a ball with nothing but a stuffed monkey to keep him company. His youngest member, laid on the floor with a pillow to his chest. And San, he was-

"Hyung?"

He was awake. Seonghwa perked up a bit, blinking away that familiar look in his eyes before he turned to the armchair where San was draped in a strange position. "Hyung, you should go to sleep..."

Both their eyes drifted to you, sound asleep. He'd either have to curl up behind you on the couch with Hongjoong or move you to your shared bed.

"You know..." San sighed, almost silently. "I hate you for what you did to her. For what got us here. But I would be lying if I said you didnt take good care of her. You love her, don't you?"

"I love her more than life." It was a declaration that was as easy as breathing. Though he'd never said it out loud to anyone other than you. Until now. Seeing you like that... "I love her. I never want her to be in pain like that, you don't understand, San. I was ready to kill myself if she was dying."

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"I'm serious."

The look in his eyes told him he was was. He would never joke when it came to you. He was always dead serious. He would rather not be in this world at all than be in it without you. "I know you don't understand, I'm not asking you to. But I had to do what I did. I had to do it. I had to."

"I know." And he did. San knew that, by all means Seonghwa didn't have to do what he did. He didn't have to kidnap you and keep you imprisoned in their dorm and buy people off to keep their mouth shut. But Seonghwa thought that he did. His mind had convinced him, and there was no turning back.

That first night, when they found you tied to his bed, that was all he could say. I had to. I had to. I had to. With his head tucked between his knees like a scolded child defending themselves- although everyone was too shell shocked to even say a word until Wooyoung broke the silence with a simple, 'what the fuck.' I had to. I had to. I had to.

"Do you?"

San licked his lips, took a deep breath, and rolled around to face the back of the arm chair. "I know you, Park Seonghwa. And you did what you believed was necessary. I can never agree with your reasoning... but I'll never fight you on it. Take your baby and go to bed. We're all tired."

Seonghwa couldn't see them, but there was fat tears rolling down San's face. He hadnt cried over this. But something had finally faded away and let him. He never referred to you as that. He liked to think you'd enjoy being separate from the life that Seonghwa had built for you. Not that you could notice most of the time, forced so deep into little space that your head felt light and fluffy like a bag of cotton candy.

    He must have finally come to terms with the fact that this was reality.

     "C'mon, baby girl," he heard him whisper, followed by a small groan as you were picked up. He waited until he heard Seonghwas door click. And he let all his tears free fall.

    Seonghwa set your tired form down on your side of the bed, crawling in after you while trying to push away that itch in his brain that was screaming that he forgot your nightly routine. He tucked that little voice away and settled in bed, bringing the soft comforter over you both and melting into his pillow with a sigh.

    He gathered you close as gently as possible and rubbed your back, staring up at the ceiling and listening closely to your breathes as they evened out to quiet snores.

      A smile played at his lips.

    For a moment he felt like everything would be okay. You had your medicine-

He felt you curl closer to his warmth, and he brought his finger tips up to brush your loose hairs back with a tenderness reserved only for you.

-And he had his.

ఌ

[enemywasp]

Alright so someone on tiktok sent me a link to a compiled list of arguments against proshippers and so I wanted to put a sort of brief response of my own thoughts of each point.

Long post warning!

"Proshippers are non-offending minor attracted people in a fresh paint of coat"

What a start, am I right? Okay so first off this is a huge generalisation, not every proshipper engages with or is even comfortable with anything that sexualises fictional children, or ships them with adults. And of those that do ship adult/minor ships, it doesn't always mean they're attracted to the character themselves or gains any sexual pleasure from that.

They then went on to say that although they might be non-offending, they still fantasise about and romanticise children- in the case of proshippers by creating art and stories. And I am not personally educated enough on how people's minds works to go in depth here, but I do know a lot of pedophilic thoughts can be intrusive and unwanted. And I would much rather people engage in this and deal with their thoughts through fiction where no actual children are harmed, than actually go touch a real child or engage is any form of CSEM.

“People can draw and ship whatever they want!”

Here they went on to say that surely to ship and create content you must justify these things in some capacity regardless of them being fictional. And immediately I'd argue, the justification it that they're fictional. And that sometimes you want to read about things you'd never approve of in real life, it's a natural curiosity. And again, regardless of what the dark content is I would take someone engaging in fiction over harming a real person any day.

They compared this to alt-right groups and dark humour justifying racism and transphobia, etc. And whilst I think something we should always be aware of in fiction is stereotypes and how we may be representing people. Youtube videos like this are usually a type of propaganda that AIM to change people's mindsets and turn them against groups. Whereas fiction tells a story, some may have meanings and connections to real life, be a political piece, etc. Not everything is that serious and has a clear distinction from reality.

Think for example, reading/watching about murder and gore. More on that in a second.

"Fiction doesn't affect reality!"

I'm going to be honest I rolled my eyes at this as their main example was slenderman. If you don't know about that, those girls were schizophrenic. Anything could of set off and caused delusions, it just so happened to be fiction. Those girls needed help- not to just read purer content. They also basically brought up propaganda again, which is again deliberate and designed to warp peoples perceptions. Its based of lying and spreading misinformation and passing it as facts. The only thing I strongly believe can be directly harmful is stereotypes if not handled with care. But I think that's something for anyone who writes and consumes content should be aware of regardless of their stances.

Again here they implied that all proshippers are peodophiles. And that they normalise abuse of children. I'd also like to point out that most proshippers I've interacted with online have age boundaries to avoid interacting with minors depending on how graphic or sexual their content is.

"What do you think all stories about murder should stop existing?"

Here they basically argued that killing in media isn't the same as its not romanticised or condoned. YA Novels disagree- mafia stories being the most immediate example to spring to mind. Furthermore, morally grey villains. One of my favourite films is Mr Right. It's about a hitman killing people. Anna kendrick falls in love with him and its framed as a romantic comedy. Funny how its only fanfiction that's criticised like this? I actually have more thoughts on this if anyones interested.

Again they bring up kids not knowing adults pursuing children is wrong, and I'm questioning why children this young are unsupervised on the Internet. How young were you when you were allowed to watch anything with graphic blood or violence? This content isn't made for kids! Especially not anyone so young they can't seperate fiction from reality as most sites have a specific age you have to be to join. And I'm sorry to say it, but on websites and social media where adults can interact with kids, anything can be used to groom kids. (The real thing you should be mad about here is how there's no websites aimed just for children and safe spaces on the Internet anymore cause it can't be monetised as easily)

"Artists are allowed to draw and write about dark people"

They basically said, yes but it's not the same as promoting. Writing something under a romantic light and not saying "Don't do at home!" Isn't promoting. No ones encouraging these things in real life. Or rather, if they are its not because they're a proshipper but rather who they are as a person and their intentions.

The trans example they used is very extreme and honestly something I agree with a little more, fiction can definitely be used as an excuse to say and act out hateful and discriminatory things. Whilst I do think it's something we should discuss and unpack more, I'm not certain of my view on how I would fix this without risking silencing people talking about their experiences.

"Its not my responsibility to look after other people, just block me and the tags"

Here they threw all kinds of accusations. And says that we're making traumatised people jump through hoops to avoid getting retraumatised. I hate this argument, you know people have actual triggers they may not be able to avoid in real life? The world can't bend around you. And I am very sorry if any content online is traumatising to you, but someone could also be traumatised by a certain breed of dog and not want to see it. Should no one post dogs online ever again? A bald man reminds you of an abusive ex? Bald men get off the Internet! You see how this thing can just keep escalating? The tags and warnings are important because they're the best you can get. You can't control the world to protect everyone from everything ever. No ones forcing you to interact, and if you're on any algorithm based content that will encourage that content on your for your page more.

The only thing I think we should take from this is the reminder that warnings and tags are always important.

"You only care about censoring creativity"

Here they defend themselves that oh wouldn't you want freaks out the community! Which again immediately makes me lose respect for you, if you're just going to brand us all as freaks as an argument and generalize us.

No comment on that first line when you can easily argue antishipper do the same.

"Proshippers are not remotely innocent of targeted harrasement" Neither are antis. There's people who take things too far both sides and I'm not going to defend either for that.

"Real kids get assaulted and all you care about is censoring people online!"

Here they shout "oh I can care about both!" But what I don't think they realise is censorship can make it difficult for kids and to learn about how to speak up and to look for signs, or to speak up about their experiences. How do you plan on removing the topic from the Internet whilst also letting victims speak up? And people may want to write fiction based off their experiences. Who are you to go through it and proclaim what is too far, what romanticises it too much? More on this later.

"Antis are reducing my trauma"

They compared this to saying "date rape victims are reducing my trauma because they weren't taken advantage of in the same way as me" which is a disgusting parallel?? Date rape is still rape. Someone writing about something isn't the same as it happening. Although it can be used as harrasment, grooming, etc if directly addressed to you or being constantly sent to you, written about you. But the content existing in general? No.

"I'm coping"

Compared it to self harm, and such. Poetry and diaries are also used to write about your experiences and unpack trauma. Some of which may write it in an unrealistically positive light cause that's how they want to unpack it or explain those thoughts. And yes these things get posted online.

I can't imagine a single therapist or professional psychiatrist of any kind disapproving of creative writing because, again, it's much better than any alternatives of doing real harm to yourself or people around you. Although I do agree that if something is traumatising for you to read about and just upsets you further, be aware of your own boundaries but not everyone is the same so how are you going to police people's own thoughts and emotions.

Also I can't remember who or where as it was years ago now, but I have heard of people who actually realised they were being groomed or abused and just how bad it was through reading about it in a fanfic and seeing it in an outside perspective.

They also say to do it in private, but doesn't everyone on the Internet now have an understanding of finding a community and looking out for eachother and sharing experiences?

"There's more nuance here than just calling proshippers peodophiles"

Here they say no matter what it still comes down to whether it's ever okay to sexualise minors in certain contexts. And again, not every proshipper does this or is even comfortable with engaging in this kind of content. And further, no one is sexualising real minors in this context.

"I'm a proshipper and a minor tho!"

I'd agree minors should be wary of the spaces they're in but proship spaces aren't always necessarily sexual, graphic or 18+. Saying they're being groomed feels like you're watering down that term. I was a proshipper at age 13, I didn't interact with anyone online about it though, I didn't even know that was the term. I just came to the conclusion that it's just fiction all on my own. Minors aren't idiots.

At then end they talk about their own experience being groomed and I'm obviously not going to nitpick or criticise their experiences. I will point out that one person being bad and taking advantage of you and using content to do so doesn't mean everyone is like that. I am sorry to anyone who has been taken advantage of by someone who claims they're a proshipper though. There are people who have turned out to be horrible on both sides.

I am ill and it's late but I want to get this up sooner rather than later so please ask for clarification on anything. I'm always up for a discussion on this topic as I do believe some of these points do have merits at times and that this whole topic is not black and white

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf

Prologue

MASTERLIST

Summary: The dark hours before the end of Aegon Targaryen II

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, talks about bedding and non concensual sexual relationships, threats of mutilation, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon 

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Notes: A bit short, but I'm setting a tone here

Corlys could sense the tension in the room, everyone, at least, the survivors, were dangerously quiet, they shared concerned looks between them all.

Alicent’s mouth always seemed to be twisted in inhumane ways, but now… the edges of her mouth almost falls down of her face by her chin

“All the traitors are going to die”, said Aegon, twisting his hands, playing with the rings he had placed in his fingers… trying to hide the fact that they were burnt, the skin melted. He used now high colored shirts and vests, but the still raw, tender skin that was never going to heal, could still be seen in the side of his face, no matter he had decided to let his wild hair ungroomed, fall long framed his chubby face.

“We will be overrun”, admitted Corlys, “A Northerner army, a big one, is passing trough Harrenhal right now, they had been joined by people in the Riverlands that still are faithful to Rhaenyra’s cause, and also from the Vale in the Narrow Sea, we will be defeated, and we will burn inside this walls”, he sentenced 

“I think the Velaryon Fleet needs incentive, Lord Corlys, to face the traitors of the Vale”, two years ago, the council would have laughed to the drunken fool’s face that called himself King, but as they looked into his wild lilac eyes… no one laughed

Corlys was the only one to dare directly into his eyes

In defiance

Say it

He begged him with a silent threat in his dark eyes

Do it

Threaten me

“I think we need to send a little message…”, he continued, “I want my little nephew’s cock on a platter, and that little whore… in my chambers by the time we finish here, maybe that way, if we send them a set of sheets with my niece’s maidenhead in them, perhaps we will tell the fucking traitors what will happen to them all”

“Take the black, your grace, step down”

“I will kill them, to every last trace of my cunt of a half sister, i will take away the reason for their rebellion, they were be no other contender to the throne but me, and I will marry Cassandra Baratheon, she will give me true, strong heirs, worthy of the Iron Throne” 

“Your grace”, he said slowly. “maybe, telling them of your marriage with the princess, instead of her bloodied sheets would be more effective”, he counseled

“He is right Aegon”, said Alicent softly, “an alliance between the two branches of the family will ease them, and Cregan Stark, when knowing Rhaenyra’s blood will sit on the Iron Throne one day, he will go back North”, she said hopefully, she placed her hand on his son forearm, but he pulled it, rejecting his mother’s touch 

“Bring her to my chambers tonight”, he said to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he didn't like it, but nodded nonetheless without saying anything

“Aegon”, reasoned Alicent, “she is very delicate, and an innocent in all of this”

“Isn’t she the daughter of my whore of a sister?”, he mocked, Alicent said nothing as she played with her fingers nervously, “isn’t she what you called her a thousand times over? a bastard?”

“That doesn’t mean… we will be surrounded”

“Call in Lord Borros then, they will attack the traitors from the back, and killed them against the city walls”, he mocked

“Lord Borros is dead your grace”, said Corlys, playing with the dragon eye in front of him, he then stopped, and look up at him, he found the twisted King looking back at him with a sick smile 

“Right, sometimes I forget”, he said dismissively, he took the chalice of wine next to him and took it to his lips

5 minutes without drinking

A new record 

“the Lannisters then”, he said

“By the time the Lannister piece together the scraps left of their army, our head will be at stakes at the gates of the city”, Lord Corlys debated, Larys Strong only got quiet, looking to the left and to the right, who was next to speak, who was next to loose his temper. It was truly entertaining 

“We hold the city”, he mocked, “we will close the gates and those savages will be scratching their heads, wondering how they could breach the walls, they don’t have siege weapons

“What they have is the rest of the country’s resources, while they starved us to death”, he fought again

“Not if your armada defeats the Arryn’s, as they should”

Then finally, his crazy, deranged eyes stopped at the face of Corlys Velaryon

“I will cut your granddaughter's ear and sent it to Alyn Velaryon, to go and encourage him to fight the fucking traitors”

That was it

“That is not going to be necessary, your grace, Alyn will fight the Arryn fleet, there is no doubt in my mind, I will send word to him personally”

“there shouldn’t be no need”, he snapped, “I am the King!”, he said, pointing to his own chest, “and they are loyal to me, they will fight”, Corlys nodded 

That was it then

They shared looks with Tyland Lannister

His fate was set 

The small council meeting was done, and everyone return to their chambers, it was already the hour of the owl, the Keep was dark, very lighten up, it lost ghostly, like it had been abandoned 

Corlys walked silently to his chambers, as a maid passed by him, he gave her a small sack and nodded, she barely looked at him and walked away

It was sealed 

“Where is the princess?”, he asked the guard posted at her rooms, he shook his head, the Sea Snake barely nodded, “keep her there”, he commanded, and kept walking

He needed his wits, he was going to need every ounce of diplomacy he still held to survive the coming weeks

A pack of wolves was coming

And they were going to ravage every Green that still drew breath

There had never lived a Stark who forgot an oath

Cregan Stark had promised Rhaenyra he was going to raise an army and march south to guard her and destroy her enemies that still were raising arms

Rhaenyra was dead

And yet the wolf was coming to fulfill his promise 

. . .

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros”, she sang softly, grabbing tightly the small incense in her hand, “Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis”, she kept lighting up the candles, “Hen ñuhā elēnī, Perzyssy vestretis”, she wavered, looking up at the skull of Balerion, “Se gēlȳn irūdaks. Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi”, she moved to the next table, lighting up the small candles one by one, it could be maddening, but she had been here every night, “Ezīmptos laehossi”, she continued, “Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli”, she looked up at the huge skull again, hoping, praying for something, like he was going to brought the black dread back to life

“Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī”, she finished the song with a single tear falling down her cheek

“Balerion, Jaes morgho, mazēdas ñuha lentor, sir gūrogon zirȳla, nyke jorepagon syt se morghon hen dārys”

[Balerion, god of death, he took my family, now take him, I pray to you for the death of the Usurper], she whispered 

She looked down at the candles, as she played with her fingers in the small flames, she could feel nothing, her skin didn't melt, unlike her sleeve

“Morghūljagon”, she whispered, extinguishing the flames from a simple blow of her lips 

Die.

[plushienanami]

Hello hello! Could I request headcannons for yandere chamber, sova, Omen, and Brimstone with a gn s/o who knows about their antics and Are you trying to escape them? I say, as if I'm trying to get out of protocol (Thank you so much for reading this and sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language )

Hi everyone! I know it’s been awhile and I’ve been gone so long. I took writers block to a whole new level. This last year sm has happened but to be honest I want to write again and use this as a creative outlet! I hope you enjoy, love you all 🤍

You knew that staying in Protocol was a gamble, never knowing if you were going to come back in one piece or even alive at all. It didn’t help when one particular agent made your time in the special covert operations organization an almost living hell. Even if the fate of the world was on Protocols backs, it was time to leave while you could…or at least that is what you thought.

CHAMBER: 

Before you even began thinking of leaving Protocol, he already knew what was going to happen. It totally wasn’t how uncomfortable he made you when he would constantly flirt with you on missions <3

He wouldn’t talk to you about the matter, actually doesn’t address it all only with small quips and remarks that make you question whether he knows your plan or not. 

Chamber isn’t Brimstone, he doesn’t have the power and control that the head leader holds. Although that doesn’t mean he is totally powerless, this man has money and status that he most certainly utilizes.

He is a shady man, a con man if you really want to put a label on it considering what he did to Fracture, manipulating and lying to get what he wants. Under protocol he doesn’t have control over you, so he would definitely let you have your “temper tantrum” before he would take any immediate reaction.

He wants you to feel as if you have the upper hand, as if you won. 

Now with you being out of Protocol and not under constant surveillance leaving in the base, he can do as he pleases. 

Opening the door to your flat, you are greeted with the familiar darkness you see everytime you return from your work shifts. Taking off your outer coat you hang it on the coat rack beside the door, taking the time to sleep off your shoes about to turn on the lights. You never consider yourself paranoid, yet the eerie feeling of not being alone began to send a chill down your spine. The room was still dark, silence filled the air as you listened for any noise that would indicate that something was there. Slowly your hand made its way to the light switch, flipping the small white knub up as the lights blasted on. To your horror the last person you wanted to see sat there in the burgundy velvet wingback chair in the living room. The slick back hair, chunky yet expensive glasses frames, that blue silky waistcoat that cost more than the rent you paid, Chamber. Vincent Fabron. “Bonsoir mon chéri. What a nice residence you have…quite old fashioned for my taste, non?” He finally spoke, his signature card in hand as he toyed around with it. “You left so suddenly, not even a goodbye? How inconsiderate considering how close we were.” He rose from his seated position in the chair, stalking forward towards your frozen stature. His eyes remained focused on yours, an unreadable emotion as he continued forth before stopping in front of you. The coy grin he wore on his face as he gazed at your fearful expression with delight. With a small snap the card disappeared from his hands, the golden tattoos lighting up as the object retreated. He stood posed, staring down at you as a wolf to a sheep. “Your little game is over chéri…let us be off.” SOVA:

He always had been doting, trying to accommodate you and make sure that your time at Protocol is pleasant considering what all you have to go through to keep global peace.

He would start to see the hesitance in your eyes, the inner turmoil and battle you had with yourself when things would go awry (totally not around him).

As you resign filling out paperwork to Brimstone who was sad to see you go yet understood where you were coming from, Sova would come across you and Brim. He saw you walk into his office, and concerned he followed. It didn’t take him long to notice the paperwork that laid in front of you, pen in hand. 

Sova, who is always a calm and collected person doesn’t say much yet stands there with that composed expression on his face. Yet if you looked hard enough you could see the way his artificial eye glowed brighter as his jaw clenched.

He would ask to speak to you, nodding his head at Brim who didn’t expect a thing considering how highly regarded Sova is and how much of a good ally he was to him. He would have to settle this himself. 

An unsettling feeling made its way to your gut as you stood up and followed Sova out. The further you walked away from Brim and closer to the door, the more you could feel your freedom slipping from your grasps. The mechanical door slid open allowing you to make your way to Sova who stood down the hallway, a hardened look on his face. He never was this scary, kind and clingy…not like this. Standing in front of him, you looked and finally realized how much bigger he was than you. “Why are you leaving?” He asked, plain and simple. “I-...uh…” You stammered, the words you wanted to say were gone and now incomprehensible. “You do realize that if you leave, you would be in so much danger.” He spoke in a concerned manner, although at this moment you didn’t know it was a mask to cover up his ulterior motives. “If you leave, who knows what could happen to you. You wouldn’t be protected…who knows what your other self could do when omega earth realizes you are no longer with us anymore?” Desperation filled his voice as it wavered in worry. The longer you stared into his eyes, the more guilt you felt. He cares about you, worries about you and this is what you do in return? All he’s ever done was insure your safety and that’s what you’re worried about? “You’re right…I don’t know what I was thinking, thank you Sova.” 

OMEN:

Even though he is the sweetest ever, he is still eery in his own way. Ominous. He isn’t much of a talker and if so he says stuff you can never wrap your mind around. 

He lingers around you, whichever room you're in he somehow is there, cutting his bonsai tree or knitting to remain calm. His presence is one you can’t shake yet it still is uncomfortable when you two are hardly friends.

Deciding to leave Protocol is a hassle itself, one that you most likely won’t even have the chance to do. Omen has some attachment to you and everyone seems to know that even Brim.

Most likely due to his perceptive he is, he knew of your little plan of trying to leave. He would talk with Brimstone trying to talk him into a deal or some type of way to make you stay. You keep him calm, all those voices and nightmarish images he has to live with everyday, you somehow make it bearable. 

When you arrive in Brimstone’s office requesting your resignation, somehow you cannot. Brimstone explains it has something to do with agent confidentiality or the safety, you weren’t really listening. 

Yet you’re stuck.

Standing there under Brimstone’s gaze never upset you, never made you nervous or anxious in any way. It was him who stood there, the walking shadow as he gazed upon your rigid form. Your fists clench to your side, sweat starting to form in your already clammy hands. The whole confrontation was unsettling, not only Brimstone was delivering such disheartful news, you had to endure the shadow that loomed over you. By the time the meeting was done and a final apology was uttered from Brim, he dismissed you. You walked out, form slumped as you were completely saddened by the news. As you made your way to the shared dining facility, you made yourself a cup of tea to calm your nerves down from what had happened. In the corner of your eye you could see the familiar phantom, the inescapable nightmare that you permanently stained your life.. 

BRIMSTONE: 

You’re not making it out of the book with this one. There is no way you could even try to leave considering he is the leader of Protocol and would make up some excuse as to why you couldn’t resign from your role as an agent. 

He makes the rules and no one questions it. Why would they when all he does is look out for his fellow agents and tries to encourage them as much as he can. 

Brim is one stubborn man, one who has committed himself to protecting this earth from all the radianite crises that continue to happen. He had the chance of retiring, starting a family and settling down somewhere in those American suburbs with the perfect life. He will do anything to keep you there. To keep you under him so when this is all over you and he can finally have the life his ex colleagues always talked about.

He is dedicated and with dedication there is nowhere to run or even hide. 

Stepping into Brimstone’s office you meet the gaze of the older man and you stand in front of his desk. His demeanor changed as he sat up in his chair straightening his form and clearing his throat before he began to talk. “You know why I called you in today?” He begun, his fingers laced together as his nose crinkled with a small sniff. “No sir, I do not.” You addressed him formerly even though it wasn’t mandatory. “I heard word from the others about you possibly wanting to leave. Is that true?” Your back stiffened as you felt scrutiny under his gaze. Your mouth went dry, heart stammering in your chest the longer he continued to stare at you. “Yes sir…” A defeated tone you uttered. He shifted his position, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he turned to look back up at you. “Look kid, I can't let you do that. Considering what is all going right now, not only would it be risky for you but with what you know Protocol could be compromised. I’m sorry to deliver this kind of news to you, I know it can be stressful but that is why we're all here…why I’m here.” He stood, walking towards you to place his much larger burly hand on your shoulder. The close proximity unsettled you as silence settled in the room, his deep breaths compared to your shallow fearful ones. “When this is all over you don’t need to worry about all of this. Like I said I’m here for you…I always will be.” It was at that moment you knew your fate was sealed.