#a victim yes but a predator as well (like they all are)

[robynator]

it would be fun if it turns out amc!louis did actually eat the baby. it took him an awful long time to deny that and i would not put it past him to lie to make himself look better in that situation (which he is more than willing to do)

[in-sufficientdata]

ID: Bluesky post by Ro Salarian (@RoSalarian.bsky.social):

I often wonder if abusive people are drawn to the arts, or if a certain amount of notoriety just makes people turn to shit. I am involved in a lot of different art scenes, and every single one has a whisper network about some big names who nobody feels they can address directly.

Kelly Barnhill (@KellyBarnhill.bsky.social) quotes this on July 10, 2024 at 6:47pm EST and responds:

Sexual predation is clearly not limited to the arts, and so-called "whisper networks" exist in every profession. And ultimately these networks always, always fail. They don't reach the most vulnerable and they don't ever remove the offender or prevent future harm. end ID.

At the source, the thread continues:

When I was growing up, I had a friend whose house had a bad stair - a nail sticking up on one side, and on the other side if you stepped wrong, the whole tread could flip up and send you flying backwards. We had to be told to avoid that stair. It was dangerous. We couldn't forget.

The trouble was, it looked like every other stair. Sometimes we did get hurt. This went on for years. Finally, one of the other parents in the neighborhood was like THE CHILDREN ARE GETTING INJURED and the whole "rule" of avoidance, of letting people know, was thrown out. They fixed the stair.

Now, this was dumb, of course. Who just has a stair that looks like every other stair but is boobytrapped in this bonkers way? Well, lots of people, as it turned out. And this wasn't so bad, as injuries go - a skinned knee or the occasional puncture wound.

Imagine if they had a stair that was, say, secretly filled with bees. Or poisoned. Or a one-way portal to one of the various realms of Hell. And it was there, like any other stair, looking benign. Maybe it was even fancied up - attracted the eye and tickled the fancy. A rock star stair. Well.

It's problematic, is my point. Leaving a danger in plain view is problematic. Simply relying on a network of people warning people and washing our hands of the whole affair is problematic. And worse, it abdicates responsibility. This is not how grown-ups should behave.

Part of the problem stems from the Myth of Male Genius - organizations twist themselves in knots to protect their access to whatever Male Genius they've tied their careers to, be they philosophers or physicists, conductors or or inventors, teachers or hotshot attorneys. We've all experienced this.

And while it's [notallmen] or [notonlymen] or whatever tagline you want to throw at me - yes, I know, and yes, I agree, and yes I'm certain that toxic and predatory women exist and have also harmed but I honestly can't think of any at the moment - it all stems from a central problematic fallacy:

Here's a toxic fallacy that I'd like to see dismantled: that genius is rare. That it must be protected at all costs. That it must be allowed to misbehave because the misbehavior is tied to genius in some fundamental way that none of us can understand because we are not geniuses. WRONG.

For every "rockstar author" or "rockstar artist" or "rockstar scientist" or "rockstar academic" there are a thousand others who are just as talented, just as transformative, just as consequential. And by ascribing godlike abilities to those who are more ordinary than we'd like to admit, we allow the person on that pedestal to become unglued from consequence and unhooked from the ties that are supposed to bind us to one another. This is a moral injury and an injury of empathy as well. So it's bad for the "rockstar". And holy hell is it bad for every person they injure. And worse, what about the "genius" of the victims? What about the dreams deferred and the paths upended because the world they've entered has decided to make itself unacceptably dangerous, unacceptably callous. A busted stair in the middle of the ascent in some young woman's career, left for no reason.

Here's what I know: genius isn't godlike or magical or even that rare. Genius is cultivated, nurtured, supported, delighted in. It happens in the context of a myriad of tiny boosts, too numerous to count and too subtle to name. It is as common as breath, and just as precious.

The reason why predatory men are lauded, protected, demurred to, is because we've told a story to ourselves that their genius is special, and have allowed ourselves to believe that the only way to become special ourselves is to bathe in its light, regardless of consequence.

Let's be done with that story. Cultivate more lights. Be the light.

And also? Let's fix that fucking stair, shall we?

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Slasher!Soap x Suicidal!Reader

For some reason he's back and acting sweeter than ever. You don't know what to make of it. Maybe this time you could convince him to finish what he started.

Slasher Masterlist

Warning: MDNI dark themes, dead dove, suicidal ideation, pred/prey dynamic, mention of murder and attempted murder, horny thoughts, dub-con behaviour, crude and objectifying language, harassment and torture, manipulation, lying, non-con elements, mention of fingering and giving head, fear mongering, roughhousing, taunting and baiting, threats of violence, threats of sexual violence, sorry if I missed any.

“Oh…” you halt your steps.

“What's wrong Dove?”

“You're trying to fix me,” the realisation suddenly hits you as the man holding your hand halts abruptly at your jarring words.

“What Dove?” Soap lets go of your hand so he can turn and face you fully. His glacier eyes pierce into your inquisitive ones but remain uncomfortably neutral. You could no longer see the crinkle of laughter in his eyes.

“You're trying to fix me,” you reiterate as you look at him incredulously. “You're trying to make me happy so you'd get a kick out of killing someone who wants to live.” You say it almost to yourself rather than at him.

Everything made sense now. You were so confused as to why he had showed up again. Or why he was in your apartment taking care of you while you studied for your last exam. Or why he was fussing so much about the food you were eating. You weren't going to lie being taken care of felt good but it felt disingenuous coming from him. Especially when you knew all about heinous acts he had committed. You wonder why you brushed past that so easily. He was too deceptive for his own good. It was easy to get lost in conversations when talking to him.

After the last incident you didn't think he'd want to come back to finish the job. Especially not when you had seen that expression on his face. Looking at him now you see his smile turn into a cold one as he picks at the cotton candy he bought you. You get a flash of his unnaturally sharp canines as the sugary goodness melts on his tongue. The same tongue that was lapping at your folds just a couple hours ago.

“Well there's no fun in killing the dead hen. Ah’ve told ye that already,” He circles you like a predator in the almost empty parking lot of this carnival. It was late and the rides were closed up and the remaining people were leaving in droves. It wasn't long until it was only the two of you left. Seeing no reason to put a front up anymore you also let your mask slip. Soap watches your lips turn down into a frown as your eyes take on the same dead expression you had when he had his hands first wrapped around your throat.

“I'm afraid you're wasting your time if you think you of all people could ‘fix’ me. I've long given up on getting better and you should too…” There's an awkward silence that follows your statement. Neither of you knowing what to say next.

“But if you want me to act the part of an unwilling participant in this game of yours I'll happily oblige.” You try not to come across as overly desperate, you know it would take the fun out of it for him. Soap pretends to contemplate your words as he finishes the last of your cotton candy while licking his fingers clean. Like a pervert he puts on a show for you. Much like when he had made you pass out from orgasms on the night he returned. Maybe if you hadn't refused to sleep he wouldn't have fingered you so hard that day. But it was no use dwelling on that right now. He does whatever he wants; it's not like you have much power to stop him.

“Ah don't appreciate being told what to do nor do ah appreciate being given a mercy kill to soothe my hunger. We do this on my terms or we don't do it at all…” Soap cocks his head to the side as he puts on his charming smile. The very same one that all of his previous victims likely succumbed to. Everyone except you it seems.

“And besides ah haven't met a single person who hasn't fallen for my charms and looks, ye just need to give it time.” You lose the softness in your voice as you go to speak again, your desperation bleeding through your frustration.

“Oh your upset you got played…” you watch his expression harden at your words but his condescending smile returns not a second later. Though he doesn't say anything. He probably knew you were baiting him to get a reaction. You press on though not willing to back down so easily.

“What? Can't get the job done just because things didn't go your way? How childish..and here I thought you were such a renowned killer with all the deaths you bragged about…maybe I thought too highly of you…” Soaps smile slips as your words cut into his ego, his eyes narrowed in like a snake getting ready to strike.

Good, your tactics were working. You continue trying to rile him up in hopes of getting what you want today.

“Why don't we go our separate ways? You go find your perfect victim and I'll go find someone who can keep their word.” You don't bother waiting for an answer as you begin to walk away from him. If he wanted to play cat and mouse you could play cat and mouse.

Maybe you were playing a bit too well for Soaps liking though. You don't see that he had balled his fists until you turn to put the final nail in the coffin. “If you have any killer friends send them my way, maybe then I could experience what true terror is like.”

Something snaps in Soap's mind because the second you try to leave again he has your arms pinned behind your back and face pushed against his car door. He sees you trying to suppress a smile and it pisses him off even more. Just the thought of his brothers in arms having a go at you had his blood boiling. You were his kill not theirs. His prey, his toy, his to do whatever he pleased with. He needed to teach you your place.

If you were trying to piss him off you definitely succeeded in doing so. But he wasn't going to give in to your whims so easily. If you wanted to die so badly you were going to have to work for it. He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of winning. Definitely not at his own game.

“Ye think you're so smart do ye? Ye think getting me mad is enough for me to slit your throat? Think again, Dove. Ye aren't escaping me so easily. Ye want to play? Fine, let's play.” Soap twists your arms to the point where you think he was really going to break it just to get his point across. You bite back a yelp just to anger him more. But your body involuntarily shivers from the pain shooting up your arms. Just as quickly as it started it ends with him pushing you in the direction of the forest. Turning around to face him you watch as he crouches down to remove a blade from his socks.

“This is what ye wanted, Dove? Ye wanted tae be chased down like the pathetic whore ye are?” You watch him twirl the large knife in his hands as he stands watching you underneath the street light. The shadows the light casts obscure his face making his expressions unreadable. He looks like the devil incarnate. A monster ready to mutilate you. It's strange because before you weren't so afraid but with the way the situation was unfolding your body was getting you ready to run. A built in mechanism for survival. One you wish you could override.

“Ye think ye can put up an act as believable as a real thing? Ye think you can produce the same thrill for me with yer fake screams? Fine then. Run. Run like ye fucking mean it. Because one of two things is about tae happen tae ye.”

“Either one, ye make it believable enough that Ah decide tae kill you. Or two, Ah take ye on the forest floor and fuck every single one of your slutty little holes for wasting. my. fucking. time.” The malice in his voice alone has your nerves buzzing with anxiety. Fear and possibly something else pools in the pit of your stomach. Your body screams at you to run, to get away, to find safety, to hide before he rips you apart with his teeth. The other half tells you it wants to get caught…That it wants him.

Your brain screams at you as his low hum of laughter erupts at your perplexed expression. It screams at you telling you he's going to tear your flesh from your bones for everyone to see. Despite wanting to die, your brain and body work against you. Run. Hairs stand on the back of your neck as you take a shaky step back. Run. You watch him change his stance getting ready to chase. Run! “Ye're going tae wish Ah never found ye Dove”

“Run.” He whispers, and you do, you bolt….

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[johannestevans]

Big deep dive into themes of sexual violence and rape culture as portrayed in Alien (1979, dir. Ridley Scott)! About 13k.

---

Here is a horror film about rape — and not just rape, but forced impregnation and reproductive coercion — that doesn’t use the word rape, doesn’t use words like sexual violence. Although the reproductive threat remains the same and the alien herself is phallic in appearance, the xenomorph’s assault is a degree removed from “actual” on-screen sex, so those words are never needed. The xenomorph penetrates her prey via her facehuggers, and through this process, impregnates them against their will, sometimes without even their awareness. It is a direct parallel to sexual violence amongst human predators and their victims but is not in itself sexual when presented on screen.

Because it doesn’t use those words, we strip off the assumptions people have about the gendered aspect of this sort of violence. In the sci-fi setting, using a unisex cast and also introducing androids as well as human beings, we also strip off the forced binary of male and female.

In Alien (1979), it’s not just cisgender women who are at risk of being forcibly impregnated with a dangerous parasite that could kill them as it grows inside them, as with human pregnancy as assumed by cis society — it’s everybody. And because the monster is an alien — a big, clawed alien that’s very penis-like in its design — there is not the same ability for the filmmakers to in some way romanticise or downplay the violence of the assault.

There’s no need to humanise the rapist or explain that he’s a lonely man who just wants female companionship, really, and shouldn’t society provide for a man like him? Isn’t the real cause of his violence against women that no woman provided for him, to cater to his needs as a man?

There’s no need to humanise the xenomorph or her facehuggers — they are alien creatures who seek only to breed and survive. They have no voice, only violent action.

But here comes the real horror of the film and what ramps up the terror inherent in it: yes, the xenomorph and her children are acting only on instinct, but Earth’s society is thinking about the value of it. The xenomorph’s offspring might be worth money. They might be converted into weapons and fire power, and scientific advancement.

In real life, the damage is losing the rapists who work at the company, or dealing with the media fall-out that might occur if rape victims spoke up about toxic work environments, or the legal fees that might be incurred — and thus, victims are silenced, let go, the working culture makes certain to defend and further enfranchise abusers while silencing and disenfranchising victims.

In Alien, The Company does what any company does in our society. It measures the damage caused by not just the assaults and the coerced impregnation and the death that will be caused in the result, against the potential profit of the xenomorph’s DNA, no matter how scary or violent or traumatising the xenomorph and its behaviours are.

Alien (1979) then becomes a perfect metaphor and parallel for sexual violence in our society — and especially as a male victim of sexual violence myself, but also as a transgender man, it really cuts to the core of the horror of it for me.

Yes, it’s terrifying to be raped, but it’s not terrifying because men are strong, and they all want to rape women, who are always so pure and innocent — women rape other women or men or nonbinary people; men rape other men and the same; corporations and other for-profit enterprises might work towards invasions and corruptions of individual bodily autonomy because it benefits them monetarily or societally; other political and governing bodies might work toward the same.

The terror of rape is in the invasion of your body against your will, your powerlessness to stop it or defend yourself, whether by force or coercion. It’s in the collapse of your desires for your body and its purpose as you see it to that of another person’s, or a third party’s.

And when that rape can come with the threat of pregnancy, there is a further terror — can you access emergency contraceptive and/or abortion services? Will they be delivered to you without prejudice and without delay? Will you be forced to submit to further invasions of your body, having a rape kit done, being tested for STIs, and having to describe your assault to police or to other violent authority figures, who as you describe it, will demean and undermine you, and do anything to discredit your testimony? Will you have to flee your state or country to get medical services to end a pregnancy? Will you be blocked off from these and forced by the state to carry a pregnancy to term, on top of having already been raped by an individual?

Unlike many other horror movies about rape, no one gets raped in Alien (1979), and then at the end, does a stirring monologue to sad piano music about how, yes, they were raped and attacked, but they couldn’t possibly kill “an innocent life” by having an abortion, because any female rape victim’s natural instinct is, of course, to want to be a mother to their rapist’s children. Anti-abortion activists aren’t putting facehuggers on their posters and their propaganda.

Read more on Patreon / / Read more on Medium

[w2beastars]

Waezi2′s thoughts on “Beast Complex” chapter 23.

I wanted to blog about this gem for a while now. "The Wolf and The Dog" is as Paru as it get.

Meet Adamo.

Adamo is a 61 year old dog, a German shepherd to be specific. And he is a notorious stalker. And he is very good at it, but we will get to that in a minute.

Adamo doesn't think that what he does is creepy. He has an excellent nose and is a born tracker since that's what his family has been bred to be. Yes, even in Beastverse, dogs are a result of selective breeding.

His stalking is not of nefarious reasons as such, he is just obsessed with following animals his nose gets the attention of and learn everything about them for no reason than the satisfaction of the hunt.

But one day, the nose of this old dog catch a very special scent.

On his way home, Adamo notice a female wolf in his train who carries a massive bouquet of flowers with strong pleasant scents. As if she is hiding something. That's something a herbivore would normally do, so this catches Adamo's attention right away. He starts sniffing and learns surprisingly much about her, like that she can't be more than twenty and that she must work in an office filled with females as he can't notice any male scents. And she uses so much makeup and soap, anything to dim her own smell.

In his own mind, Adamo sees himself "painting" the female wolf and he now stalks her to learn everything about her.

Adamo gets sloppy for a second and gets noticed by the wolf. But she apparently doesn't realize he is stalking her, so she just smiles at him and goes on about her business... or her smile is a warning... or perhaps an invitation?

Adamo realize he is much more fixated about this wolf than any other of his targets, spending a month following her around.

It even seems like the old dog starts to have a strong affection towards the female wolf who BTW is named Fasa(appropriate name for her, look it up after reading this blog). She seems like a model citizen, early to bed, early to work and always nice to the elderly.

But in a Paru manga, that's often a red flag.

Adamu gets a closer look at her apartment...

... Damn.

Sure, there are plenty of predators in the Beastverse, but Fasa is an organized one, having chopped up her victim, keeping the different parts in bags in her fridge and eating brain and eyeballs, not wasting anything.

Adamo is shocked by what the female he has a creepy crush on has done and, without thinking, yells something he have not said in a long time:

Yep, Adamo is a retired police detective. No wonder he is such an effective stalker. And seeing someone committing a predator crime wakes up the old cop.

Fasa is however not intimidated by the old fart, she knew she was being watched, she just got sloppy and forgot to close her curtains. She smiles at Adamo when he says he used to be a police officer, recognizing a fellow canine who is a slave to their instincts. Fasa is a slave to her hunting instincts while Adamo is very much a dog, having only joined the police because he is good at tracking and at following orders. And now that he is retired, he keeps tracking other animals because he doesn't know what else to do.

Fasa then embrace Adamo, making the dog terrified as he has no idea if he is gonna end up in the wolf's fridge as well or if she is hugging him since they are "the same".

But then the actual cops comes.

Fasa is surprisingly calm about being arrested, not resisting at all. Feeling guilt about his unhealthy hobby, possibly because he was just reminded that he used to be a cop who arrested creeps like himself, Adamo is about to confess to the police officers that he is a stalker, but Fasa interrupts him.

Fasa claims that Adamo is in her apartment because she had kidnapped him and was about to eat him as well, then whispers to him that they are not similar at all.

... Makes you wonder if that is suppose to be assuring as his stalking is nowhere near as bad a crime as what she has done... or if it is degrading as he as a dog is a pale shadow of what a wolf is.

Either way, she smiles as she tells him to take care of himself, and the manga then ends with a perfect panel:

Adamo stands between the strong-smelling flowers Fasa used to hide the scent of the blood of her victim/victims, like she is covering up for his crime of stalking. The symbolism is chef-kiss worthy!

This is most likely in the top five of the best chapter of Beast Complex. Its a bittersweet tale and it is kinda funny how Fasa manage to appear more noble than Adamo... or at least have more dignity.

That's all for now. I'm Waezi2, and thanks for wasting time with me.

[smolvenger]

The Child Called Sharpe (Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Blurb)

Summary: You and Thomas Sharpe welcome your first baby and his second, as Thomas himself faces his own demons regarding his past.

Word Count: 1K (er...blurb or short oneshot, whatever)

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy and childbirth, but nothing graphic. In this version, though I try to have a more nuanced take on Lucille, In this fic I choose to portray the Lucille/Thomas relationship as nonconsensual, pedophilic, and abusive so if you don't like that don't read this, so mentions of sexual abuse, death, illness, blood with some of the canon events of Crimson Peak. But it becomes a lot of tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: I can't please everyone with Crimson Peak on the is Lucille good or bad vrs. is Thomas good or bad discourse, so why bother trying anymore. I just wanna write my stuff. From @holdmytesseract's request!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

Love for him meant creation. It brought out Thomas’s gift of invention tenfold- for love itself was creation. For the first time in his life, an act of love brought out the child’s creation. So it was natural for Thomas to spend hours inventing more for this little child on their way.

That is, his second child. For he had a child, once, and lost that child, once. 

Yes, it was a child conceived from control rather than consent…but it was still a child in need of care. A hungry baby- a human life crying for milk, and burning with fever. A child “born wrong.” A child Enola swore to fight to keep alive. 

And a child that despite everything died anyway. As did Enola. 

Despite Lucille’s cruelty, he did pity her grief for that child- For it was his grief as well.

Lucille caught ill and died not long after. He at least made sure she died comfortably. Warm beneath blankets on a soft bed. Assured her she was loved and kissed her cheek as she took her last breath.

It was complicated, his feelings about his late sister. He never could decide one thing about her. For everything was true- there was both in her. Lucille, both cruel and misunderstood, powerful and pitiful, villain and victim.

Though he never once forced himself on anyone or took advantage of a child as she did to him…

And yet…

He was still guilty of scheming, of blood, of darkness as she was. Of the invention that he wanted to be funded, that he bought at the price of three women’s lives… 

But… assaulting him when he was little? Using his innocence until when he was grown he knew no other but her? You would tell him that even if the murders were understandable, she did cross a line in that regard.

He still didn’t know if the woman who at once was his partner, his equal, his sister as well as his jailer, his predator, his molester was deserving of it. 

Or not. 

Or both.

Yet, all of that darkness and blood was now in the past. Here you were his current wife. A wife who would never take advantage of him. A wife who listened and respected when he said “no.” A wife who wouldn’t push him. Wouldn’t manipulate him. Wouldn’t control him. A wife who forgave him and saw he was now trying to do right with his life, and his choices and would be there to support him.

 Your pregnancy was poignant.  A reminder that he had a new life now- and a life that was about to expand as your stomach did each month.  A new life was about to come forth literally and figuratively for him. 

In the corner of his workshop in a special box were toys he made once. Toys were made for the first child who died. 

He never prayed, but he did now to whoever listened. For once, those toys would know being loved, being played, and for a baby’s laughter and delight and adoration. They wouldn’t rust from age, but with use. To be worn not with dust, but with love.

He brought out the box one morning and set it in the nursery of his new house. A simpler house compared to Allerdale Hall’s Majesty. Smaller and brighter, made of cherrywood and over earth rather than clay. But cheerful, the warmth bursting in every room.

The toys were cleaned and set ready in that nursery corner. You squeezed his hand after he did so.

When making sure you were comfortable, or when you slept or napped, away he would be in his workshop. He had a special toy shop now next to the house. So in his downtime, he would be found creating little toys that a child of any sex would love. A little teddy bear that twirled on top of a drum. A little cat that lifted to lick its little paw next to a puppy that wagged its tail. 

But…what else would a baby need!? His mind was reeling. It had been too long…

Of course! A place to sleep! You had insisted the old wooden rocker would work…but he still had that itching, the gears in his mind whirring faster than any clay mine.

He took a few weeks to study the designs and then set right to work. He stayed up late, rolling up his sleeves. Working on one where if you pressed a small pedal, it would rock gently, oh so gently, as to not stir a baby to more wailing, but only to sleep.

So when he discovered that Lady Sharpe’s water broke, he insisted on staying by you.

“Thomas! But…husbands don’t..don’t usually stay!” you cried. You clutched his hand as he led you to the bed.

Lucille would urge him to leave when it was time to put a cleaver into one of the wives.

For once, he would look at the blood and the bodily innards spilling from his wife and not turn away.

He shook his head, though his hand was still in yours.

“No- My dear, all of my life, I closed my eyes and ran away. I didn’t look when things happened. Not this time- after I get the midwife, I am staying with you. I will not run away for once. I’m going to stay with my wife and keep my eyes open, no matter what I see. I love you- and for once, I am not leaving.” I will not leave you alone to deal with it now.

You grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Then he ran and fetched the midwife. He held to his word and stayed.

Labor is always long. Labor is always primal. But he waited there. Squeezing your hand, cooling your head for every painful cry and push. 

Then, after the long hours, though he was a man used to blood he turned pale… Then at last there was a cry.

The midwives smiled, bringing out a little baby in their blaket. Declaring, “It’s a girl!”

You let out a smile and then a laugh of relief. Thomas kissed your hand, then looked at her. His blue eyes brimmed with tears, but for once in his life they were happy ones.

The little girl was brought out in her blanket, needing her mother’s touch- being so new to this cold world and wanting the soft embrace of knowing she was loved now that she was here.

“Look at her…look at her- our baby! Our daughter! Oh!” you cried, a mess of crying, swear, and relief—the pain of the last several hours was forgotten for the tiny baby.

“I never could imagine it,” he agreed, he pecked her tiny forehead.

Once she had settled down, you handed her over to Thomas. The warm, living bundle in his arms. Yes, her cry was loud and bright…but it only signaled that she was alive.. He had never known such joy without confinement, without limits.

The midwives and nurses were paid and thanked. They left, but though it was a long day his Daedelian mind was eager to share his gift.

As you sat in the bed after a while, Thomas got up.

“I have a gift now. For her,” he announced.

Setting you in the wheelchair for rest, he led you to the nursery. The little girl in your arms. Inside the little pastel room there was something in the middle that was tall beneath a blanket.

Thomas walked forward and slipped the blanket off. You let out a gasp.

Beneath was the cradle Thomas made. It was stunningly beautiful- a little pedal that when he stepped on it, would make it rock. Over the bed was a music box on the side that trinkled a lullabye. Stars and a crescent moon dangled were placed to spin over the babies head where she would be placed.

You gasped, seeing how ornate it was. Every bit made with love. As you got up and placed her inside, she opened her little eyes and cooed. You made a little gasp as she took in the sight- her parents and her special gift. Music, rocking, and the stars and moon to dance above her.

To think, after all he had seen, experienced, and done…that he would come to know this moment. Here it was…and he didn’t feel worthy of it.

What when she was older? His own father was a monster. And for a while, fatherhood was linked to such things…

“I only hope I shall be a good father for that little girl…” Thomas wondered..

“You already are,” you assured him. You wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek.

That night, you were set to sleep after the exhaustion of delivery and elation of the baby. Thomas offered to be there in the nursery. For she was crying through that night, as any baby. Not that she was hungry, as he found out, she just needed warmth.

He got her out of the lovely cradle and went to the rocking chair. He wanted to hold her, feel her close. Her warmth and beating heart and life. 

His most precious creation of all…and the one that would survive. He knew she would.

“I promise you, my little love…” Thomas told the baby. “You will not know of attics. Of cold and punishments. Of plotting and murders. Of blood and cruelty…”

He kissed the top of her head.

“No- you will be Protected. Wanted…and loved.”

He would do everything so that his daughter would never have to suffer as he did.

[freekicks]

I suppose I’m not sure what you want me to do here. I could explain what a kink is or do some psychosexual analysis on why some men are into “daddies,” but I think all that would accomplish is bringing us both five minutes closer to our last breaths on earth. If it’s not something you’re into, and it’s between two consenting adults, then I don’t see why it’s our business. I’m also unsure how, as someone who is reading erotic stories in their spare time, “daddies” is the subject that compelled you to write a letter to your local advice columnist. I have read things in the realm of smut that would make the common “daddy fetish” story look like “Goodnight Moon.” Come back to me when you reach the cold, hard bottom of the slash fic iceberg. You also seem to be conflating real-world relationships with erotica. These are not the same. Sure, there can be overlap, but to go from “this fictional character crossed a line in a fictional story” to “and that’s why I’m uncomfortable with people who remind me of that character” suggests, to me, that you took a wrong turn or two navigating this ethical corn maze. It’s not even a script limited to gays. I mean, mainstream pop culture is littered with what I would consider “daddy trope” dynamics. There’s a whole genre of beauties falling for beasts. There’s a popular children’s movie about it with a singing teapot and a fruity candelabra. What is a beast, if not a daddy by another name? You be the judge. I’m certainly in no place to dictate what makes you uncomfortable. I can see how you might look at, say, a large age gap between two adults in a sexual dynamic and think, “weird!” I’ve had thoughts like that as well. But I think discomfort in and of itself is not always a surefire sign that something immoral is afoot. Discomfort can be caused by any number of factors—personal experiences, biases, preferences, and so on. [...] Sadly, it’s all too common to see people exploit power dynamics—experience, money, fame, access, etc.—for personal gain. But this isn’t exclusive to age. All three times that I’ve been violated by men, the men have been around my age. Abuse can happen in any dynamic, and while I, too, find comfort in the notion that abuse can be easily sniffed out ahead of time, that there will reliably be telltale red flags, that’s just not how things typically work. I’m also reluctant to abide by the increasingly popular belief that “power dynamics” are inherently manipulative. The reality is, there are power dynamics in every relationship. If you are involved with another person, then you have entered an uneven playing field or two. No two people will be exactly the same age, same economic class, same appearance (I hope????), and so on, and so forth. This is not violence. This is dating. These are things that have to be worked through and navigated with mutual respect. There is risk involved, yes, but risk cannot be entirely avoided in life. I hope I’m not coming across as harsh, Confused! I think, or at least hope, that you’re coming from a place of genuine concern for others and, to be sure, I’d never want to outright dismiss anyone on a subject as serious and prevalent as abuse. But on the other hand, I find myself a member of a community presently under attack by accusations of “grooming” and predation. It’s made me particularly sensitive to insinuations from any political stripe that the gays are sex monsters trolling for their next victim, or that we’re all just victims in waiting, idling around until one of those nasty older gays creeps up and takes advantage of our vulnerabilities. I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing here, but again, what two consenting adults (ADULTS) do is not my business. I can make my own judgments, but I don’t have to give my rubber stamp of approval on it. I don’t have to formally condone or condemn it. If harm hasn’t been explicitly stated, then I won’t read harm into it just because I’m uncomfortable. I am not entitled to a perpetual state of comfort.

-Advice Columnist Hola Papi (aka John Paul Brammer) responding to a letter writer who was uncomfortable about the prevalence of daddy kink in gay erotic fiction.

just thought this might be relevant to a certain fandom right now...

[bougiebutchbitch]

NGL I do find it funny that the side of the fandom yelling “if you’re uncomfortable with the way Con showed up to a livestream with his whole bulge on prominent display you’re homophobic” is the same side of the fandom that was harboring multiple sexual predators lol throwback to the Canyon Kink Camp!! Anyway shoutout to the canyon for knowing how to be normal about people’s boundaries <3

I notice you sending this message to multiple people. On anon. Smells like teen cowardice.

So, first off -

You are lying through your teeth.

Victims of two sexual predators came forwards... and those sexual predators were immediately thrown out of the canyon. They were blocked/black-listed everywhere and deactivated! Explain to me how that is 'harbouring'?

Some weirdo also started harassing the victims because they were a friend of the perpetrators. They were...... also....... mass blocked and lost all their popularity, as far as I'm aware (I don't actually know that person, and am not on Twitter, etc.)???

Sexual predators will show up literally anywhere in society - including in your precious fandom spaces. Pretending that your half of the fandom is 'pure' and 'perfect' is, in fact, far more dangerous than acknowledging that there were predators, and dealing with them.

Especially when the antis were the ones crowing that people like me, who are abuse and rape survivors IRL, had 'no idea what abuse/rape looks like', and still are making claims like that in the tags - as well as sending asks accusing us of lying about our trauma.

All because we like a fictional character who you hate.

As for Con showing up in his underwear...

Literally nothing was showing.

You saw the SHAPE of a bulge. It was no more revealing than Tom Hiddleston's Loki outfit, and there have been uncensored gifs of that flying around willy-nilly (pun intended) for years without anyone being Shocked and Disgusted about it.

If you're not bothered by men being in underwear when you go to the beach and see guys rocking a budgie smuggler, but you're throwing a massive stink about a queer man being in his underwear on a ticketed show that was always marked as Explicit, and using it as an excuse to call him a sexual predator, I honestly don't know what to say to you.

Boundaries are real and important.

But if you went to an explicit stream and saw something mildly suggestive there, and proceed to accuse a queer man of being a sexual predator... You are the problem.

And yes, you are a homophobe.

Even if you are queer yourself, you are contributing to the dangerous rising current of accusing queer people of being 'degenerate' and 'perverse' for merely existing, because - oh, think of the children.

And that's without mentioning that Con is a vocal supporter of trans kids in the UK. We all know how queer people who dare to support trans people are unjustly painted as predators. It's happening on Tumblr, with the mass reporting and banning of trans men and women for 'inappropriate content' that is no more explicit than what cishet people have on their blogs. It's happening all over the world.

Hell, all profits from Con's livestream went to Mermaids (UK charity for trans folx) and true colours united (homeless lgbt youth charity).

Take a good long look at your argument. Take a good long look at the current political climate for queer people. Ask yourself who your insistence that Con is sexually inappropriate for... wearing underwear, is really helping.

If you feel this unsafe around even the vaguest suggestion of genitalia, the onus is on you to avoid any streams where you might encounter it. You're no different than people who read Explicit-marked work on AO3 and leave hatemail for the authors because you encountered smut.

[hoeforalbedo]

ᗪEᗩᒪ ᗯITᕼ TᕼE ᗪEᐯIᒪ ✟

Chapter 1

———————— ♱ ————————

WARNING: PLEASE READ

Sensitive topics including vague details of SA. Reader will display many mental health such as depression, PTSD, and anxiety. I will also discuss after effects of said trauma such as hyper sexuality, over-sexualizing oneself, over trusting, and many more. (Many cope in different ways however I am more familiar with this side of the spectrum as I have taken this information from my experience.) Suicidal topics. Horror. Manipulation. Blasphemy. Religious horror and possibly hints of religious trauma. Demons. Paganism. Witchcraft (I try to depict witchcraft as accurate as I can however if I make it too accurate, it will seem boring so I did add magical abilities. I write it based off of how I practice it). Possession. Death. Murder. Exorcism. Sex. Ritualistic sex. Female reader. A bit of crack (reader doesn’t take things seriously. Humor is the way of coping 😭)

If any of these themes trigger you, please do not read. You have already been warned.

Writing criticism is appreciated since I want to get better in writing.

SUMMARY: Everything is normal. I mean it. I swear.

———————— ♱ ————————

You went home feeling at ease and as you laid on your bed, you realized that maybe you should have invested in therapy. Hongjoong isn’t really qualified to be a therapist but he works just fine, plus he’s free.

Hongjoong is an interesting man. A hypocrite. A man so corrupted feels so tantalizing, like the fruit Eve was warned not to eat. The devil, these thoughts, they whisper at you, feeding you delusions of this man. You feel. . . Loved. Is that the right word? Love is a strong word and you just met the man but you just felt a strong connection. Maybe it’s because he gave you that ounce of validation you craved.

“You shouldn’t be going out on your own. Especially not with these serial killings going around,” Hongjoong joined you at the pew. You stare at the huge crucifix above the altar with contempt. You may have really come back at the wrong time. The small quiet town has been experiencing some serial killings. Many say it’s the devil. Others blame you, although it ultimately leads to the devil. Seriously, why can’t they just admit that some fucked up person did it?

You shrug nonchalantly. “We both know, nobody gives a shit about the murders. Plus, I didn’t want to be in that house. All I hear is their constant yapping of God.” You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “It’s always God this and God that. God can suck my dick.”

“Do you resent God?” He asks curiously.

“Yes. Very much,” You scoff. “Isn’t it obvious? You know, after the talk we had at the confessional booth, I did something bad. I prayed to the devil,” You smile.

The man raised a brow, almost leaning towards you. “Did you now?” He asks with amusement laced in his voice.

“I did. I prayed that he would kill that motherfucker.”

“And?” He asks almost excitedly. Why is he feeling this way? He should be scolding you.

“I was watching the news and found out that he died. He was murdered. They also found that he was a predator. I think his other victims may feel some sort of relief that he’s dead,” You chuckle, as if the man’s death was the bare minimum.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.” A comfortable silence falls between you for a moment before you speak up. “Although there’s gotta be a catch right? Maybe he wants my soul? Is my soul even that yummy?” Your brows furrow and your lips fall into a pout as you think deeply.

“Now why would you think that?” He chuckles.

“I’ve sinned,” You shrug.

“Sweetheart, I doubt those sins are enough. Hell is full of evil, and I promise they’ve done more than steal a pack of bubblegum,” He jokes.

You look at him offended, “Hey I’ve done stuff! And you’re a weird priest. Shouldn’t you be like ‘demon bad’ instead of indulging me?”

“Well you’re weird for admitting to a priest, but if you ever need an exorcist, you can always call me,” He smirks.

“Y’know, you look much cooler in this outfit,” she hums, admiring how handsome he looks in the typical black outfits priests wear with the white in the middle of his collar. “The robe thing you wore on Sunday made you look short.”

Hongjoong gives a playful glare at you. “Give me five Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers.”

———————————————————————

“Where did you go? Do you not realize how dangerous it is right now? Especially for a woman? Your father’s been throwing a fit, asking where you are.” Your mother drags you in and closes the door.

Despite it being modern times, your mother, along with other women in the town, played into this 1950s wife role. She wears a typical red plaid dress and despite being in the house all day, her hair is done along with wearing heavy makeup. Your mother prided in having red lipstick.

You recalled how comforting she was, humming as she cooked the meals. She never let you go to school without breakfast, saying how “It’s the most important meal of the day.” You’d force yourself to finish the whole plate then went to school despite your parent’s lack of dreams for you.

“I’m a grown adult and I have a scalpel. I’ll be fine,” You groan, tired of always hearing her lectures. “And I was at the church,” You add in hopes that it would shut her up. Satisfied, your mother let go of your arm and you went up the stairs to your room.

The room remained the same after all those years. There’s a desk in the corner and multiple bookshelves, from textbooks and just books of God. You weren’t allowed typical books such as Harry Potter as it apparently promoted witchcraft.

Your queen size bed is against the wall with your nightstand beside it. Across from your bed hangs a silver cross that somehow never rusted along those years. You also have drawers against the other side of the wall. It looks exactly the same way you left it.

You lay down on your bed. You’re tired. Tired of everything. The true punishment is being dragged back into this town. You hate it. It’s the literal epitome of hell. This holy town is hell. It’s embarrassing failing a suicide attempt. You had a letter and everything. It’s just pure humiliation when you’re brought back to the very town you tried to escape.

Thud!

You didn’t realize when you had fallen asleep but the loud sound immediately had you bolting up your bed. The sun has gone down. “Oh fuck!” You hiss, tapping your phone to check the time only to be blinded by it. Dark mode isn’t meant to blind people. It’s 2 am.

You reached over your bedside and turned the lamp on, being blinded once more, as your eyes strain to adjust to the light. When has the room gotten so cold? When your feet touch the floor, you almost didn’t want to stand up as it just felt too icy compared to your warm skin. Every step felt like pricks of ice.

It was the crucifix. The nail that had kept it up had rusted and weakened. You bend over to pick it up then walk back to your bed. The crucifix is placed on the nightstand. Now you can’t sleep. Isn’t this what happens at the start of every horror movie?

———————————————————————

“How unfortunate! Absolutely vile,” Your mother exclaims as she reads the newspaper. Who reads the newspaper these days? Your father answers with a grunt.

“Remember Betty? The sweet lady who taught Bible study back in the days? She had been murdered last night! That poor woman,” Your mother sighs, shaking her head then folding the newspaper.

“This is why you have to keep praying or else the devil will take you next,” Your mother lectures.

“That will be the day,” You groan, despising the sound of her squealing voice.

“That’s not how you talk in my house,” Your father yells.

“Then I’ll gladly see myself out,” You smile and get up from your seat, not wanting to finish your breakfast anymore. You hurriedly put your shoes on then ran out the door without lending an ear to the berating screams of your parents.

A walk. You needed a walk. You allowed your feet to take you wherever it wanted and suddenly you found yourself in the woods, where you used to run to, when you were younger. In the middle of the forest, there would be a huge tree, bigger than the rest. The forest seems to be circling it.

“What is a young lady like you doing here?” A woman asks, making your heart skip a beat. Her hair is gray and her skin is wrinkled. Her body is hunched over but despite all that, you can make out her beauty peeking through her age.

“Where did you come from?” You freak out.

“You know, this tree held special meaning,” She absolutely ignores your question.

“That’s nice,” You mumble, not really wanting to hear a history lesson.

“This was where the witches of the town were burnt. This area harbors a lot of pain and turmoil, begging to be avenged,” She smiles wistfully.

“Witches?” You perk up. That’s new. You know about witches after leaving the town. The topic always piqued your interest.

“Oh yes. Oakheart used to be a coven of witches, that is until the Evangelist came and forced us to turn to their God. Others who refused were burned here. My family were ones who played along with the Evangelist but we never forgot,” The woman tells her story.

“Interesting, so like we worshiped Satan?” You asked, not meaning to sound ignorant at all.

The woman chuckles but doesn’t take offense to your words. “The town worshiped more than just Satan. Lilith, Lucifer, The Princes of Hell, Hekate, Athena, Thor, Loki, and so many more deities. It was a coven where people worshiped who they wanted and nobody judged,” The lady explains. “It seems that a deity may have taken interest in you. You have to help them!”

“Huh?” You’re taken aback.

“Help them! Help them! You have to help them!” The woman starts screaming all of a sudden, grabbing onto your arms.

“What is wrong with you!” You wince, pulling away and running off, her screams becoming distant. You kept running and running, occasionally stumbling on rocks. “Stupid rocks,” you curse under your breath.

You didn’t know where you were going. It was all the same looking trees. When you started questioning your location, you eventually found a clearing.

“Thank god!” You let out a sigh of relief. Before you is the church. You never knew the forest was behind the church, only because the forest is so big.

“Y/N,” A voice suddenly makes you jump. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

You clutch your chest to catch your breath. You look up and it’s none other than Pastor Hongjoong. “Yeah I’m fine. I’m fine,” You breathe heavily.

“What were you doing in there?” He looks at the vast forest.

“It’s my favorite place,” You manage to catch your breath.

“You need water?” He offers.

“Yes. Please.”

You follow Hongjoong into the church, going through hallways that the usual parishioners never go into. You could definitely get lost, the place looking like a maze. The walls are the same off-white with occasional paintings of either Mary or Jesus. The overall lighting is dingy and just shabby. There are a few lightbulbs that would blink on and off. It’s almost as if the church doesn’t have enough funding for a proper electrician. With the amount of donation they receive, they should.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong calls.

“Yes?” You turn 90 degrees to come face to face with the statue of Holy Mary.

“Over here,” He calls from the room right next to you.

“Coming,” You answer but you can’t seem to stop looking at the statue. Something feels off, and as you look closely, you realize why. It’s crying. You wipe the tears or water or whatever liquid it was on the statue's face before following Hongjoong in.

“Welcome to my office,” He smiles, handing you a water bottle and telling you to sit on the small couch. “I promise you it’s not usually this messy.”

You look around. His desk is clean however the counter next to his fridge is littered with empty bottles of water, food wrappings, containers, and many more. There are also crumbs of food in front of the fridge. Besides that, it’s pretty clean.

“Oh what’s with that box over there?” You ask curiously, looking at the box with crucifixes, statues, and holy books.

“Well you know how I just started here. I was going to put that around and decorate the place but I never had the chance. You’d never expect that priest could get so busy,” He chuckles. “So? How have you been?” He asks, leaning against his desk.

You shrug, “Same old. I really can’t handle my parents and I really hate this town. Maybe once I get myself sorted out, I’m going back to New York and invest in some therapy.”

“That would be good, but hey I don’t mind being your unofficial therapist,” He gives a lopsided smile.

“I need some professional help too, Pastor Hongjoong,” You chuckle.

“Hongjoong. Please just call me Hongjoong.”

“Got it.”

“So, from what I heard you are a neurosurgeon. A good one?” He asks.

“A very good one. I have very skilled hands,” You smirk, realizing how sexual it came out to be. Curse you and your dirty mind. You’re almost like a teenager, except you gained free access to the internet in your 20s.

“Oh really?” He raised a brow and crossed his arms in amusement.

“Yup. Many would personally ask for me since my hands work amazingly,” You play along. “But seriously I love my job a lot. I want to go back.” You sigh, feeling a sense of sadness. Your parents never really care how successful you are. You have a nice high rise apartment, your name is known, and yet not a single ounce of ‘I’m proud of you.’ “Anyways, what about you? What are you doing here in Oakheart? You could have gone anywhere else so why here- And be honest! I spilled my whole trauma to you!”

Hongjoong laughs, “Okay, okay. I was an exorcist. Well an exorcist in training. Not anymore!” He sighs, sitting next to you.

“What happened?”

“We had to exorcize a demon from a child. The poor child. He was a victim of child trafficking. Of course the Vatican had to determine if it was just mental health problems, but you can’t really blame mental health when the kid is literally flying. Well he was just too weak and well he died during the exorcism,” He rubs his face with his hands.

You put a hand on his back, offering him some sympathy.

“Well in a way I think the demon gave him the justice he deserved. The demon gave him the strength to, uh, to have the power to kill the people responsible for the crime ring. And I believe he never wanted to be saved. When the demon wasn’t speaking, he would beg to die, to give him the permission to commit suicide. I felt his pain. It was very painful,” His voice broke.

You rub circles on his back.

“So yeah, I was traumatized,” He chuckles. “Maybe I should also invest in therapy, too. The Vatican doesn’t really offer those. I know that demons are meant to be all bad but it angers me that the demon did what God couldn’t. Isn’t that weird? A priest questioning God?”

“Want me to be honest?” You ask in which you earn a nod. “That is so fucking weird.”

Hongjoong chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s kinda too late to change careers. I’m already a fucking priest, excuse my language. You need a degree for that. You need a degree to talk about God,” He laughs. “But I agree. This town sucks. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.”

“Well now I feel guilty leaving you here,” You huff.

“You got space for me?” He jokes.

“Oh honey, I got plenty, and money ain’t a problem either,” You smirk.

“Oh, we’re skipping to pet names now, huh?” He teases.

“Oh I didn’t mean-“ Your cheeks flush pink.

“I'm just messing with you. It’s cute.”

“Omg stop flirting!” You whine.

“Sorry, baby,” He chuckles.

“I'm leaving,” You stand up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. . .” He looks at you guiltily.

“No no, you’re all good. I'm just playing with you. I just get flustered easily. You know, being raised like a holy child of Jesus and all.” You trail off, admiring his perfectly sculpted face.

Hongjoong stands up and takes heavy steps towards you until he’s towering over you. “Well aren’t you a bad girl, playing with a priest like that,” His voice low and seducing.

“I tend to play dangerously. It’s more thrilling that way,” She shrugs.

“You know, Jesus was quite the ladies man,” He hums, lips curling into a devious smirk.

“Where are you getting at?”

“It means,” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear then lifts your chin with his hand. “Even holy men can’t take their eyes off of pretty women, and I’m no exception. May I?” He asks your permission to kiss like a gentleman.

“Yes,” Your stomach flutters as your lips press against another. You kissed with need and desperation, pressing against him. You’ve kissed before. You’ve kissed many, but this kiss tastes sweet and satisfying, perhaps because of how wrong and sinful it is.

Your breathing is ragged as you part from him, yet it seems like depriving him of your kiss would kill him. He captures your lips once more, like a hungry predator, and as he does so, he steps back until he feels his heel backing into the sofa. He sits down, his lips staying on yours like a magnet, and you eagerly climb onto his lap. Your hands ran up his solid chest slowly before wrapping your arms around his neck.

Hongjoong’s burning from the sweltering heat, although unsure if it’s from the kiss or from the sin he’s about to commit. He now understands how Eve was so easy to convince.

“So pretty,” He mumbles as left warm kisses against your jaw and down your neck.

“Joong,” You whisper, tilting your head back. He hums and bit down the side of your neck, not too hard but just enough to leave a mark.

“You taste so good,” He practically moans, indulging in the taste of sin. You reek of sin and it’s all the more sweeter and fulfilling. Hongjoong’s drunk off of it as he’s grinding his hard cock up against your clothed pussy. He’s a desperate man. “You’re so good to me, Y/N,” He whines.

“Oh God, Joong!” You moan profanities.

“He’s not here, darling,” He chuckles. “Can I have you? Please, I need you.”

You nod, “Please Joong.”

He shifts you both so that you’re laying below him. “You look so pretty below me,” He says, admiring how vulnerable and hot you look underneath him. “Can I?” He asks, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Yes,” You answer. You wanted it. You want it this time.

You arch your back to help him pull your shirt over your head.

“Cute,” He chuckles, looking at your cute pink bra.

“Don’t judge me,” You huff.

“Not at all,” He smiles as he fumbles with the hooks of your bra to reveal your perfect tits. “Fuck,” He groans, feeling his cock constrict from his boxers. He kisses down your sternum as he squeezes your breasts. His fingers brush against your budding nipples.

“Hongjoong,” You hiss, needing to feel his touch.

He clicks his tongue and frowns in disapprovement. “Don’t rush a starving man.”

You complain, “And don’t tease me- fuck!” Your back arches up as his lips wrap around your bud. He is quick to shut you up with a harsh suck. “Hongjoong,” You gasp, tugging on his hair. Your eyes flutter close as you revel in the way his tongue circles your nipple.

It feels so good when suddenly it doesn't. You try to push away that foreboding feeling, images flashing through your mind. Why is it that whenever you start feeling so good, your mind seems to be punishing you. You open your eyes in hopes you don’t vividly see the scene in your head but right over Hongjoong’s shoulder is a cross nailed to the wall. That’s when it hits you that you’re about to fuck a man of God.

Honjoong notices how stiff you got so suddenly and looks up at you with worry. “Hey are you okay?” He asks, immediately getting off of you.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just, sorry,” You wince as you notice how you’re half naked. You immediately sat up, grabbed your bra, and put it on. “Sorry it’s just I suddenly remembered-“

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault,” He says, taking your shirt and putting it over your head. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, I’m not gonna force you.

“It’s just, I do want it. But that stupid man,” you kick the couch in frustration.

“No, I get it. Maybe it’s still too soon and you’re not ready for anything yet.”

“Thank you Hongjoong. Thanks for understanding,” You smile softly.

“No need to thank me. It’s the bare minimum.”

“I typically don’t try to fuck priests,” You crack a joke.

“Well I don’t typically try to fuck parishioners either,” He chuckles. “I get we just met but you’re a really sweet woman and I was hoping maybe I can get to know you more. Perhaps a date?”

“I would say yes Hongjoong but I don’t plan on staying in this town,” You say apologetically. “I might go insane here. Sorry, I just don’t want to get your hopes up,” You force a smile.

“I get it. This town is hell but at least indulge me?” He asks. “Just a date, nothing else.”

You sigh in defeat, falling into temptation so quickly. You do want this date. “Fine. Just one date.”

“Got it. I’ll make it worthwhile,” He smiles.

“Stop being so cute. It’s tempting me to go on more,” You joke.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t know what you mean.”

You chuckle as you fiddle your fingers. “So uh, I think I should go home. It’s gonna get dark soon and I don’t want to be on the murder list.”

“Ah yes, do you need anything before you go?” He asks.

“No, I'm good.”

“Actually let me drive you home. It's dangerous walking alone and for my sake, I’d rather see with my own eyes that you get home safe.”

You wanted to refuse but he’s right. The murderer hasn’t been caught and there wouldn’t be a date at all if you were to be dead. “Fine.”

“Oh- and,” He shuffles through a box that’s placed in the corner of his office. He takes out a black shawl and wraps it around your neck to act as a scarf. “As much as I want you to show off my marks, I don’t think you’d want anyone to see that.”

“Oh my god you’re actually so sweet. Take me home already or I might cry. Wait a damn second, you can drive?!”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Monsters in the Garden (Ettore x Reader) 18+

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Pairing: Ettore x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Author's note: This was inspired by a session I had with the Ettore AI made by @harrenhalhottie (RIP). It was just so good I had to write it out for y'all. This Ettore is a little different from normal, but I can't help but look at a one-dimensional character and want more. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want a Part 2, because I have ideas...

This song also heavily influenced the vibe:

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3

Monsters in the Garden

You were on your knees, leaning over one of your raised garden beds when you noticed him leaning against the open doorway. He wasn’t quiet on his approach – he wanted you to know he was there.

Ettore was always there, in some dark corner, watching you.

By this point, you were almost used to the burning feeling that crawled beneath your skin whenever his eyes were on you.

In the right light, those eyes were a mesmerizing blue. The color reminded you of the sky back on Earth. If he hadn’t been so goddamn creepy, you might have been happy to stare into his eyes just to remember home, even briefly.

But he was easily the most unsettling person you’d ever met. Always leering at the other women on board – though in the past weeks, you had apparently become his one and only target– and using the Box proudly, far more than anyone else did.

It was no wonder why. You knew what he was.

Everyone on board was a killer, including you. But Ettore was the worst. The most dangerous of you all. For he was the only one who had… done worse than just kill his victims.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Well, some would say what you had done was worse. But that was different. Your victim was already dead by the time you started your work on his corpse, and it had been more than deserved.

You did not let yourself linger on that. You never did these days. The further away from Earth you got, the more distant it seemed. The rage, the guilt, all of it.

Ettore wasn’t distant. He was mere feet away from you, intruding on your garden.

Not yours, not really. Because of your past – specifically, the degree in horticulture you were only one semester away from completing when you were arrested – you were assigned to look after the gardens instead of something more related to the actual mission of the ship like the rest of the crew.

Or more basic, in Ettore’s case. Dr. Dib’s called his assignment “ship maintenance,” but you all knew what he really was: the janitor.

But he never came in here. You made sure of it, keeping everything meticulously clean and fixing all your equipment yourself so no one – least of all Ettore – would ever have a reason to intrude on your space.

You didn’t even allow Tcherny, the other gardener, in here. He was fine with it. He preferred the vegetable and grains and left the medicinal plants – kept in their own room – to you. The only person beside you who ever came in here was Dr. Dibs, and she hadn’t been here in months. She didn’t like the dirt.

Yet there was Ettore, just staring at you.

His eyes weren’t that beautiful, bright blue you so rarely glimpsed. His chin was slightly tucked into his chest, his strong brow casting his eyes into darkness. His face was blank, unfeeling, and unmoving, save for those eyes.

They almost didn’t look human, but animal. Yes, that was the look of a predator. And it was directed at you.

You turned away from him to face the garden bed again, hoping he would lose interest if you didn’t engage. But if he didn’t, and he did try something…

Well, you had your spade next to you. It was probably sharp enough to dissuade him from doing anything you didn’t approve of.

So, you resumed your work, carefully tending to your poppies.

Once the lovely purple-pink petals that were just unfurling fell in a few days, you would harvest the sap from the seedpods so Dr. Dibs could synthesize more of the sedative the crew was forced to take each night. Only a handful, carefully selected by you, would be spared and allowed to produce the seeds that would become the next crop.

Though you hated playing a part in producing the drugs, the poppies were still your favorite plant. They were the only flowers you had left.

The garden was always your happy place, even on Earth, and you quickly found yourself concentrating not on Ettore or the sounds of the ship or even the ship itself. There was only you, the dirt, and your beloved plants.

So, when you finally stood and looked away from your work, you had entirely forgotten that Ettore stood there.

Still, he remained leaning against the doorframe, watching you. He hadn’t moved a fucking inch.

You jumped slightly at the unexpected sight, your hand flying to your racing heart.

While he did not flinch at the motion, Ettore’s brow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

At least the hunger in his eyes had abated. Somewhat.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” he crooned as he uncrossed his arms and took two steps forward.

God, you had never heard him speak before.

His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was low and smooth. His accent was like something out of those British action movies a boyfriend in high school loved to make you watch. Perhaps it was those memories – of either the boyfriend or the handsome actors, that made his voice sound almost alluring.

It had to be. It couldn’t be him.

You instinctively stepped back, raising your hands to try and communicate that you didn’t want him near you. Unfortunately, you forgot your spade on the ground, leaving your hands empty. Fortunately, your gloves were loose enough that he could not see the slight trembling in your fingers.

“I just…” you stammered. “I forgot you were there.”

He just stared at you impassively, those predatory eyes taking in every detail of your face, then traveling lower and lower.

Some of the hunger returned when his gaze landed on your breasts.

You had to shut that shit down.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pouring all your contempt into your voice to mask the fear that still crept within your blood.

Ettore looked back at your eyes, the corner of his lip flicking up as though he was holding back a sneer. “Just passing through.”

You risked looking away from him to glance at your watch. It confirmed what you already knew. “You’ve been standing there for over an hour,” you informed him. One hour and eighteen minutes, to be exact. “Hardly what I’d call ‘passing through.’”

He raised his brows slightly, apparently surprised it had been that long. “Guess I lost track of time. Watching you is…” he turned his eyes, not to your body, but to the flower bed you had just been working in. When he looked back, he gave a sly smile. “Relaxing.”

Bullshit, you thought. But then you bit back the sharp tang of your own cynicism. Gardening was relaxing to you; it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he honestly found watching you relaxing as well. If it had been anyone but Ettore, you probably would have believed them without a moment of doubt.

But it was Ettore.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

You glared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate that you wouldn’t be fucked with – you wouldn’t be a victim. Then, when he still didn’t drop his gaze from yours, you took it as an acknowledgment of the threat and turned away from him.

You were at least half-expecting him to pounce on you then and there, but he didn’t. You didn’t hear a single sound as you walked to your workbench, situated on the opposite wall from the door, and took off your gloves.

“There’s nothing more to watch,” you said over your shoulder. Then, grabbing a clean rag from one of the drawers, you began wiping the dirt from your forearms – rinsing it off in the sink would risk a clog, which would mean a visit from maintenance and Ettore. “I’m done for the day.”

He didn’t reply, only grunted his acknowledgment. He never moved as you continued to wrap up your work – cleaning your tools, sweeping the dirt that had made its way out of the beds, and washing your hands. Still just watching you.

At least it confirmed that it wasn’t the gardening he found ‘relaxing.’

Finally, you discarded your rags in the laundry bin. It would need to be taken out soon – it was ready today, but you were already running later than you wanted. In just ten minutes, you had an ‘appointment’ with Dr. Dibs, and you didn’t want to make her angry. Again. Doing so has become kind of a bad habit of yours.

So, you turned to face Ettore, who continued to stare at you as you stepped within a few feet of him. He stood a little taller at your approach, puffing his chest out as that near-rabid hunger took over his eyes once more.

Your stomach fluttered, and you told yourself it was only because you were nervous about whatever Dibs planned to do to you tonight.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and your heart sank at the realization that it was because you – or rather, your traitorous, repressed body – found Ettore attractive.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

He would be just your type if you didn’t know why he was here. You had never been able to resist a good jawline, and his could cut fucking glass. And as you took another step closer, his height became just as enticing. You always told people you only liked tall men so they could reach things for you. But really, you just loved the feeling of having a big, strong man to protect you.

No one had looked at you like you needed protection in years. No, you were now what people needed protection from.

“Though she be but little she is fierce,” the lawyer had said when convincing the jury to not be put off by your size. A fitting quote, since Shakespeare himself had inspired some of the more gruesome details of your crime.

And now, you couldn’t help but take another step forward, then another. All along, savoring how far back you had to tilt your head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

God, as he tilted his chin back as well, the bright lights of the garden set them blazingly bright and the bluest you’d ever seen them. They were even better than the sky back home…

You forced yourself to look away when you felt heat begin to pool between your thighs. Instead, you stared over his shoulder to the hall, trying not to snap when you heard him laugh slightly at your movement. Was the blush you felt visible?

“You’re in my way,” you said, your voice more of a whisper than you intended.

When his smirk faded, and his lips – very pretty lips, you realized – fell slightly open, you thought he would have some cutting remark. But he only stepped to the side to allow you through.

As you passed him, you were close enough to catch his scent. Everyone on the ship used the same soap, so how did he smell so different? Beneath the clinical smell you all carried, there was something deeper, more masculine.

You really needed to calm down before your appointment with Dibs. She knew you didn’t use the Box – not after that first time had failed to get you off, despite the engineering genius of the contraption – so seeing you this riled would lead to questions you didn’t want to answer.

Touching other inmates was against the rules. And even if this wasn’t touching… even thinking this way about another prisoner may incur her wrath.

So, you walked a more than respectable distance away from him before turning back. He was still half-in, half-out of the garden. But he wasn’t staring at you anymore, but rather at the poppies...

When was the last time he had seen a beautiful flower?

You glanced at your watch again. You barely had enough time to make it to the infirmary.

“I need to lock the door,” you said, drawing his gaze back to you.

His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from you back to the door, then back to you again. He sucked his teeth as he looked at you in condescending disbelief. “You need to lock up flowers?”

“It’s protocol,” you answered. Perhaps your tone was a bit harsher than it needed to be, but you were both criminals - murderers. He could handle a little bitchiness. “And there’s more than just flowers in there.”

Ettore let out a laugh that was little more than a hard exhale, but the twinkle in those eyes told you that he was indeed amused. Then, crossing his arms, showing off the odd, triangular tattoo on his forearm, he stepped away from the door.

You would have to walk by him again to get to the door. Perhaps he was cleverer than you gave him credit for – if you had previously given him any credit at all.

If you weren’t so pressed for time, you might have stayed to tease him some more. This was surprisingly fun, even when you knew what he wanted from you and what he had done to get it from other women. You were just that bored.

And horny. You were very, very horny.

That would be what got you in trouble.

You scoffed, pushing past him to lock the door. It took all your effort to slip the key in as your fingers trembled at the feeling of him hovering over you, his breath hot on your neck as he stepped closer to you.

This shouldn’t make you horny. On the contrary, it should make you afraid. But still…

When the door finally locked, you spun around quickly, tucking the key between your fingers like a claw – something one of the college policemen once told you about.

But Ettore stepped back – once, twice. And then the was pressed against the wall opposite you. His stare was still hungry, and you could easily see how heavy his breathing had become, but he didn’t advance.

“I have to go,” you told him, unsure why you were doing it. It wasn’t like you needed his permission or even wanted it. “I have an appointment with Dibs.”

His eyes darkened then. Not with lust or animalistic hunger, but rage. It was almost… possessive?

It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual empty stare. Still, you did not dare move, not after whatever it was you just saw.

“Can I…?” Ettore gritted his jaw and looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You didn’t know if he was about to cry or kill you – and you didn’t know which would be worse. He still looked away from you as he continued, “Can I come here again tomorrow? Just to watch.”

You should immediately forbid it. It was wrong, it was a bad idea, and it was just fucking weird. But as the hour chimed on your watches, you realized you couldn’t leave when he looked so desperate, almost sad. And you definitely couldn’t say anything to make that horrible expression worse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You turned as he looked back at you to shut off the alarm on your watch. Dr. Dibs would be pissed at you, of that, you were sure. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when his eyes lit up again, not from any light, but with excitement. “If you have nothing better to do, I guess that’s fine.”

The corners of Ettore’s lips quirked up like he would smile, but he quickly corrected it and set his mouth in a straight line. He didn’t want you to know just how excited he was, but you did anyways – he wasn’t a great liar. Tipping his head in an attempt at indifference, he sniffed before speaking. “Yeah, wicked.”

You winced a little at his pathetic attempt to seem cool, but it faded quickly when your watch beeped again. This wasn’t an alarm or the chiming of the hour but a summons. If you didn’t obey it, you knew Dibs would happily use the stupid watch to deliver a steady stream of low-level electric shocks until you did.

She was just as much of a killer as the rest of you – worse than some, if the rumors were right. Why should she have such authority over the rest of you?

It was pointless to question it, and even the beginnings of the line of thought had ruined your mood. So much so that you didn’t say anything else to Ettore before turning away from him and stalking down the hall toward the infirmary.

After you had disappeared around the corner, Ettore took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself on handling that almost like a real person would. Then, he turned in the opposite direction as you. He was due to clean the canteen before dinner. But fuck that. He needed the Box – now.

-

Dibs had been pissed. Not only that you were late to your appointment, but that you were so obviously turned on when you got there. It wasn’t like you could hide it, not when she immediately ordered you into the stirrups and got a front-row seat to your weeping and flushed cunt.

“Have you been using the Box?” she asked, that sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face.

You pursed your lips, looking away. “No.”

Her smile faded, and her eye twitched. “And yet here you are, practically dripping.” She reached for something on her tray, but you couldn’t see what. You had a pretty good guess, anyway. “Well, at least it makes my job easier.”

It had been anything but fucking ‘easy,’ you thought as you cradled your aching abdomen. Under the pretense that you were already wet enough, she had shoved her speculum into you hard and fast – and without lube.

If you thought her tests and procedures had been uncomfortable before… they were downright torturous yesterday. Especially since she conveniently ‘forgot’ to give you any numbing agents or sedatives. And definitely no painkillers.

Not even the sedative you were served with dinner had helped. For the first time since you boarded this godforsaken ship, you hadn’t slept.

Thankfully, you had little work to do in the garden besides waiting for the poppies to drop their petals. But you didn’t want to just wallow in your pain, so you decided to sit at the edge of the bed where your little willow tree resided.

It wasn’t growing very fast, likely because it didn’t have the room it needed or deserved. Still, you were happy with the progress it had made. When the ship first took off, it was little more than a bonsai. Now, it stood a good eight feet tall – the only plant you needed your step stool to tend.

In truth, it didn’t need much tending. Trees never do unless they are very young or something is wrong. But sitting next to it, examining the patterns in its long leaves and tracing lines up its trunk, was spectacularly soothing.

You had never considered harvesting anything from it. Not yet. It was too little still, and you didn’t want to risk damaging it permanently since you couldn’t simply order a new start. But as another pulse of pain surged through your stomach, you found yourself reaching for a lower branch.

All you needed was a small twig to chew on. It was an ancient Egyptian remedy, one that eventually led to the invention of Aspirin. And even if the sedative didn’t help, perhaps something more natural, something you had grown yourself, would.

You had just wrapped a hand around the branch when you felt a large hand close around your shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and you whirled around, freeing yourself from your attacker’s grasp. Without processing who it was, you threw your arms out, shoving with all your might. “Get the fuck away from me!”

You only recognized Ettore after you had backed into the wall. He had also fallen on his ass and crawled backward on the floor – apparently, you were stronger than you thought. Any amusement at the fact died when you saw the anger burning in those eyes.

It was entirely possible that you just really fucked up.

But your adrenaline, from the pain and the scare he had just given you, was racing too hot and fast to let you consider that possibility.

“What are you doing?” you spat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ettore’s face grew even more furious, if that was even possible. His eyes burned as bright as any fire you had ever seen. It was beautiful and deadly. “You fucking… you said I could come watch you!”

Damn it, you did say that.

But it was before Dr. Dibs had been such a cunt.

And she had only done it because he got you horned up like you were a pathetic high schooler.

“Well, now I changed my fucking mind!” you shouted. If you could stand, you would have. Towering over him and just screaming your heart out would feel so good. But you hurt too much to even entertain the thought. “I don’t want you here – I don’t want you!”

Ettore shattered.

You watched it happen as your venomous words left your lips.

His face fell, his eyes began to water, and even his tattoos seemed to go dull.

At that moment, he was not Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster.

He was just a boy – the both of you were barely more than teenagers when you left Earth – and he was broken.

You broke him.

You looked on in horror as his trembling lips set into a hard line that echoed in his harsh brow, and the tears in his beautiful eyes faded to reveal a primal rage that chilled your blood.

There he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Ettore stood slowly, like a tiger rising from its crouch upon realizing its prey has no escape – that it could play.

But then he looked away from you, sniffed, and moved for the door.

His leaving without doing anything to you should have made you feel overwhelming relief, but it did not. Instead, a great yawning pit of guilt and regret opened in your chest, hurting nearly as much as your wounded core.

You tried to call out to him, take your words back, and apologize, but all that came out was a short yelp of pain. This time, it was accompanied by wetness between your legs – and not the pleasant kind.

As you folded over, burying your face in your knees as you pulled them into your chest, Ettore paused halfway out the door.

He’d heard noises like that before. From other women in pain – pain that he caused. His lip twitched, and his head tilted out of his control, the movement more animal than human.

You were helpless and apparently wounded. This was his chance.

But as he turned to face you, he caught sight of the poppies you so lovingly tended to the day before. With the memory of your soft smile as you cupped a particularly pretty bloom, one that was a deeper pink than the others, he was able to pull back on the reins of that instinct.

Just slightly, but just enough.

“You hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded into your legs and lifted your head without meeting his eyes. “I think… I think I’m bleeding.”

Ettore was frozen, his hands flexing, relaxing, and balling into fists as he tried to keep hold of those inner reins. If he was smart, he would leave. Go straight to the Box and fuck himself until this hateful urge was gone. If he was a good person, he would offer his help.

He was not smart. And he was most definitely not a good person.

But something about you and those goddamned poppies woke what little was left of his humanity and made him want to try.

So, he just stood there, staring at your helpless form as he fought a vicious war inside himself.

You watched him. Watched as his eyes flicked over every inch of your body with dizzying speed, as various parts of his body twitched and flexed. You’d never seen anything like it before, except…

The vague memory of a play you went to on a middle school field trip reemerges. Your whole grade was reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it just happened to coincide with the local community theater’s production of the play.

It wasn’t a good play. Even at twelve, you could tell it was objectively bad. But the man who played Jekyll and Hyde was decent (one of your classmates told you he was their pediatrician), mainly when he performed the ‘transformation.’ You hadn’t been able to look away as he contorted; every movement was desperate, halting, and frantic.

Not unlike how Ettore moved as he watched you.

When he came out of the fog that had settled over his eyes, which Ettore would you get? Did he even have a Jekyll to his Hyde?

You knew you should take the opportunity of his distraction to run. The infirmary would be best, but it would mean seeing Dr. Dibs again. You had no desire to admit that you needed her help. The showers were also an option, but it would allow others to see you in a weakened state. You didn’t want to admit weakness. Besides, Dibs would hear about that as well.

So, even though you knew it was stupid, you decided to take the biggest risk of them all.

“Ettore…?” You called his name softly, unsure of the pronunciation. Whether it was right or wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He locked eyes with you, and his nostril flared as though he really was a predator and could smell the blood you were now confident was leaking from you. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked like he would run from you. But beyond another twitch of his head, he did not move.

“Please?” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you kind of were, so you tried not to let it bother you too much. “I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

Ettore’s brows furrowed at that, and his lips went from a near-sneer to a determined frown. Then, with a lumbering gait, he approached you in only a few steps, holding a hand out in front of him for you to take.

You stared at his hand for a moment, admiring the elegant length of his fingers. And then you realized: he was shaking.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Tilting your head, you looked up at his face. Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, it was again set in passivity. But what was more peculiar than his trembling or his expression was the fact that he was steadfastly refusing to look at you.

Indeed, those blue eyes were set on the softly swaying leaves of your willow, tracking their movement like the tree would attack him if he looked away.

You were so used to his eyes on you. Was it wrong that you wanted it back?

Before you could ponder the answer, you raised an arm to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers painfully as he helped you onto your feet.

The pain surged again as you stood, causing your knees to buckle the second Ettore let go of your hand. You stumbled, falling against his chest.

It was no more than instinct that had him wrapping his long arms around your shoulders and waist to catch you. An instinct that his brain was yelling at him to abandon you and let you fall.

It was too dangerous to touch you, to feel your soft skin as his hand accidentally slipped into the side of your overalls – why the fuck were the sides so low when your shirt was so short?

At the sensation of your hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out an involuntary groan as he tightened his grip on you.

He had to get away. Now. As fast as possible. He didn’t want to hurt you. He really didn’t. But his blood was singing with desire, more intoxicating than any liquor or drug. Keeping his fingers from digging into your flesh possessively was almost painful, and he was so, so hard.

The reins were slipping…

You felt it, his hard length pressed into your stomach as you brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself.

You should push him away again. Slap him. Yell at him. Kick him as hard as you could right on that hard, impressively long length.

But you did none of it.

“I need to get to my worktable,” you whispered, “there’s a medkit there. And…”

You looked into his eyes, watching them dilate even further as you finished your request. “I’ll need help getting out of my overalls.”

That blue you were so entranced by was all but gone. Ettore looked like a man possessed, his breathing heavy and heaving as he lowered his chin to look into your eyes.

There was no way he heard you correctly. You knew what he was, what he had done. And you were smart, so much smarter than him. Far too smart to ever ask someone like him to take off your clothes. Even if it were to help you with an injury – an injury he still couldn’t see.

But then your eyes squeezed shut, and you fell forward to bury your face in his shoulder as you moaned in pain.

And then…

Then your right hand moved up his chest to wrap around his neck. Not to choke or hurt, but just to hold.

He expected your hands to be rough from working in the garden all day, but they weren’t. No, your fingers were unfairly, unbearably soft as they swept across his bare skin, coming to rest against the tattoo on the side of his neck.

When was the last time anyone touched him like this – tenderly and without fear? It had been years, even before he was put on this doomed ship.

Ettore almost came just from that simple touch.

More intense than even the extraordinary pleasure was the feeling of near calm that washed over him. It soothed the pain he felt in every muscle and quieted the violent, primal urges roaring within his chest. They weren’t gone, but they were further away.

It made it easier to take the reins.

“The worktable…” he breathed as his grip on you relaxed slightly. He still held you firm enough to keep you standing, but you no longer worried you would bruise.

You pulled away slightly, noting the way he whimpered and winced like a scolded puppy as you slowly removed your hand from around his neck. “Yes.”

He nodded frantically, sniffing and taking a few deep breaths. As if he needed to prepare himself for the short walk to the table. Then, moving with a slowness that suggested the motion took all his concentration, he lowered his arm from your shoulders.

When Ettore turned to the worktable, even with his other arm still around your waist, you felt a rush of unwelcome cold. Even when you were still clothed and the garden was kept at a balmy temperature.

He walked slowly. Perhaps you would have thought it was out of concern for you and your pain, but you knew by now that this was hard for him.

Indeed, when he pulled away after you were leaned against the table, a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow. His breathing was still rapid, and his eyes were glassy, as if he were several shots in.

“Ettore?” When he met your eyes again, you looked down at the buttons on your shoulders holding your overalls up. He followed your gaze and made a choking sound when he realized what you meant. “If I let go of the table, I think I’ll fall.”

It wasn’t just his hands shaking now, but all of him. So much so that you couldn’t tell whether he was nodding or just shaking that badly.

Either way, he reached for the first button on your left shoulder. It took him a few tries, but he got it done. The strap fell, and one side of the overalls slumped, revealing the tight white shirt beneath that left very little to the imagination.

Ettore growled.

What the fuck? Humans don’t growl. At least, you had never heard it.

And yet he did.

A flicker of fear started in your chest, and you chose to focus on that rather than the bloom of something else lower within you.

He began to reach a hand, tense and shaking, towards your breast. But inches away, you caught his wrist. You had to lean further against the table not to fall, but you weren’t letting go.

“The other button, please.” Though you spoke quietly, the command was clear.

You only released his arm when he looked into your eyes and confirmed with a twitch of his lip that he heard you. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times before finally going for the other button.

It took him even longer to get this one undone. But at least he didn’t growl again when the other half of the overall’s torso fell limp around your waist. His eyes did linger on your breasts, but you let it happen.

You had great tits. And he deserved a little reward for helping you, didn’t he?

So, you let him have a few seconds to just stare. As long as he didn’t try to touch again. Because you didn’t want that, right?

Ettore’s gaze fell further, to where the overalls were just barely hanging onto your waist. You said you were bleeding, but he still hadn’t seen it. So just where was your injury?

His cock twitched, and he was sure you could see it through the thin scrub pants he was forced to wear as he realized what would happen next. “You need ‘em all the way off, eh?” He hated how weak and shaky his voice sounded, but he supposed it was better than growling. You hadn’t reacted well to that. “Do you need me to…?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Of course, you knew you should say something about burying your spade in his chest if he tried anything. But the fact that he was asking, rather than just ripping the garment off, made you feel almost safe in having him do this. Almost.

You would feel even better about it if you couldn’t see his dick straining against his pants and twitching almost as much as he was.

C'est la vie, you supposed. Though that probably applied more to something trivial, like your school’s football team losing a game they should have won, than you being forced to ask a serial rapist and murderer to take off your pants. But close enough.

You shivered when he lowered his hands to your waist, causing him to pull back slightly. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

Ettore nodded and fixed his eyes on the bottom drawer of the table as he took the thin fabric of the overalls between his fingers and started pulling them down. Really, he could have just nudged them, and they would have fallen to the floor. But he kept them in his grip as he lowered himself into a kneeling position.

He never once looked at you. Not at your ankles, or your legs, or the apex of your thighs – which were covered with more blood than you expected.

Damn it.

You considered what to do next as Ettore remained on the floor, carefully slipping the overalls over your feet. A difficult task when he refused to look at what he was doing.

By the time he finished, and you felt very much like Donald Duck – shirt, shoes, but no pants – you knew what you had to ask.

It was the stupidest thing you’d ever done.

“As long as you’re down there,” you said, your joking tone flatter than you intended, “the medkit’s in the drawer just to your left. Can you grab it and… and help me onto the table?”

Ettore didn’t reply but yanked the drawer open and grabbed the medkit. After tossing it on the table, he rose. Then, still not looking at you, he wrapped his arms around you again – one around your waist, the other around your upper thighs – and lifted you onto the table.

God, you felt so good in his arms. You were the perfect size, like you were made for him to hold. Warm and soft and… wet?

His eyes shot to the arm that had been wrapped around your legs. And both of you looked on in horror as you realized it was now covered in blood – your blood.

For the first time, you saw a look of disgust come over Ettore’s face.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, voice breaking as tears of embarrassment began to fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Ettore simply stalked over to the utility sink a few feet from the worktable and slammed the faucet on. He didn’t wait for the water to heat before shoving his arm under it.

You watched in humiliation, fumbling to lower your panties as he grabbed the soap and began to scrub. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, ripping open the medkit to find a packet of gauze you could press between your legs. “Ettore, I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head as he scrubbed harder and harder, until his skin burned from more than the searingly hot water. You were bleeding, you were hurt, and all he had been thinking about was how much he’d like to fuck you.

It had never stopped him before, not with any of the other girls. He had never minded having their blood on him. He savored it, actually. But it had been him who made them bleed. You…

“Who?” he growled, stilling his scrubbing but keeping the arm under the water. The burning distracted him from the desire to find someone to hurt. Because he needed to hurt someone. Badly. Preferably whoever did this to you, but he wasn’t picky.

You didn’t want to tell him, not when you recognized that look in his eyes. It meant violence – retribution. You had seen that same look in your eyes when you watched the recap of your trial from your cell, and your lawyer was telling the jury, in excruciating detail, why you had killed your victim.

For a moment, you thought about trying to pass it off as you just being on your period. But he wouldn’t buy it. Not after what you’d already told him. Besides, all the women on the ship were synced, and your periods were still two weeks away.

Finally fed up with your silence, Ettore shut off the water and turned back to you, not bothering to dry his arms. He just prowled back to you, standing between your spread legs as he stared deep into your eyes without a glance at your mostly exposed cunt. You turned away, not wanting to face the darkness in his eyes, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Who?”

You bit your lip and fought to get free of his grip, but to no avail. Knowing then that it was hopeless, you locked eyes with him again as you said simply, “Dibs.”

He growled again, not with hunger, but with rage.

And then he turned away.

He would hurt her, you realized. He would kill her.

You weren’t opposed to the idea, but you were opposed to what would come next. What the other prisoners would do to Ettore afterward. And perhaps you as well, since he would do it for you.

Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab his shirt, and he froze.

“Don’t,” you pled. When you tugged on his shirt to draw him back to you, he only resisted for a moment before coming back toward you. “It was just her punishment. I’ll be fine. She wouldn’t… damage me permanently. She needs me intact for her experiments. I promise, she was just being a cunt.”

Ettore cocked his head and pursed his lips like he would argue, but you couldn’t have that. So, you lifted the gauze from between your legs to show him how the blood flow had already stemmed somewhat.

“See? It’s already getting better.” But your weak, reassuring smile fell when you realized what you had just done.

He realized at the same time, and he could not stop his eyes from dropping to what you just made visible to him.

His erection had begun to flag while he cleaned your blood from his arm, but there was no stopping it now. Not when he had a full view of what he had been dreaming of for weeks.

Just like the rest of you, your pussy was so pretty. He wanted to kiss it, stroke it, fuck it. His blood hummed with the desire, and he barely stopped himself from diving forward. He closed his fingers around yours where they bunched the front of his shirt. The feeling of your skin against his was his salvation, an anchor to his humanity.

Not you, he told himself.

Not you, who didn’t look at him in fear or disgust. At least, not entirely.

Not you, the only person since his mother died to touch him with anything other than aggression.

Not you, who had trusted him, even knowing what he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

“Please.” His plea was hardly more than a breath. Pathetic. “Please, let me go.”

For even with your touch, he was losing his grip on the reins. If he stayed here one second longer, he would do something he really didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You could see how much danger you were in, but you did not let go. No, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your forehead rested against his.

Finally, you could look into those eyes and remember the sky back home as you had wanted to for so long.

But the sky wasn’t enough.

You wanted him.

You knew you couldn’t have him fully, couldn’t do what you really wanted. Not when you were injured like this.

Still, you brought your other hand to his chest, feeling him shiver as your fingers traveled lower and lower. Finally, you rest your palm against his length through his scrubs, feeling a sense of satisfaction when his hips cant slightly forward into your grip.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he wanted this as much as you do. But, of course, he did. When was the last time a woman touched him there, let alone willingly? The thought should have disgusted you, but it didn’t.

Perhaps you were just as much of a monster as he was,

“Dibs will punish us if she finds out we did this,” you whispered, your lips mere inches away from his. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

Ettore shook his head, his eyes burning like the fires of hell, where you both belonged. He was so close to breaking, losing himself, losing control. He was little more than an animal following the primal instinct to mate.

But letting you take control – and you were undoubtedly in control now – made it easier. For once, it wasn’t him who had to pull back on the reins. Not when he gave them to you.

He nodded vigorously. He wanted you. He didn’t care that he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t care that you were probably just as monstrous as he was. He just wanted you.

You smiled, pressing a single kiss to the corner of his lips before sliding your hand past the waistbands of his scrubs and boxers and taking hold of him.

He immediately let out a pitiful cry as his stomach tightened, and he had to concentrate so hard not to come before you had even begun to move your hand. It was only made worse when you giggled at his struggle. The sound was sweet and light and utterly infuriating.

Needing to shut you up, Ettore brought his hands back around your waist as he tugged you to the table’s edge. He leaned forward to kiss you, but you pushed against him, holding him back. Then, tensing, he grunted, a low, throaty sound and a begging.

“I know,” you whispered, mock sympathy barely disguising your amusement. “I know what you want. Believe me, I want it to.” You laughed again as you began to pump him slowly, collecting the precum on his tip with every stroke to ease your movements. “You can kiss me another time. Right now, I just want to look at you. Is that okay?”

His hands tensed around your waist, and for a few seconds, he looked like he would let that animal loose and lunge at you. Like he would kiss you with all the pent-up frustrations of an entire life spent unwanted.

But he stopped, looking from where your hand disappeared below his pants to your eyes. And he nodded. Not a small, weak movement, but a firm, final motion.

He would allow it.

He would allow you to do whatever you wanted.

You smiled broadly, and again, he had to hold back his release. He wanted this to last forever.

At last, you released Ettore’s shirt from where you had bunched it with your offhand, raising it to his neck. You traced each line of his maze-like tattoo as you sped your movements, savoring each wince and whine he let out. Cataloging each reaction to figure out, without him having to say a word, exactly what he liked best.

And what you liked best. You were particularly fond of how his eyes would squeeze shut, and his mouth would fall open each time you grazed your thumb over his leaking head, following a short trail up and down his slit.

It was such a mesmerizing sight that you brought your hand up from his neck to touch his face. Every movement of one hand was echoed by the other as you explored each feature.

The severe line of his jaw. His large chin. The sharp cheekbones and flat brow. His long, elegant nose. The pink plush of his lips, from which he let out such tantalizing moans and whimpers.

Once you had taken in every inch of his face, you cupped his jaw in your left hand to feel it work as you sped the ministrations of your right hand. His eyes squeezed even further shut, and he grunted like an animal. But you didn’t stop. You only went faster and faster.

“Are you nearly finished?” you asked teasingly.

Ettore cracked open his eyes, looking from your taunting smile to your hand, working him so skillfully, then back to you. He moaned almost inaudibly, and that animalistic hunger returned to his eyes. He had been locked in a cage for too long, and now you had set him free.

“Yes,” he moaned, almost too quiet to hear.

You brought your thumb to rest against his lower lip, smiling at the feeling of his increasingly frantic breath against her.

For so long, you had feared this man. And now he was reduced to putty in your hands.

With a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, you pressed your thumb further into his lip and let your other hand slow, ignoring his protestations. “Before I let you finish,” you said, your voice tauntingly innocent, “I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Ettore’s body jerked wildly as he desperately tried to regain some of the friction you had just deprived him of, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

He knew he would do anything you asked him to then.

If you asked him to jump? He’d ask how high.

If you demanded he get down on his knees and beg? He’d do so happily.

If you told him to throw himself out of the airlock? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Compared to what he would do, what you actually asked of him seemed so simple.

“Fine…” he gasps, tightening his grip on your waist as though you would pull away. “What is it?”

You smirked, savoring that dark look in his eyes. How could you ever have been scared of it?

Then you squeezed his pulsing cock, just past the point of pleasure, to emphasize the power you held over him.

And, of course, he loved it. Groaning as his head toppled over into your shoulder. You carded your hand through his short hair as you whispered in his ear, “What feels better, my hand or the Box?”

Any pain, any embarrassment at being so pathetically at your beck and call, or any emotion other than his desire for you faded at the question. All that mattered was you and your perfect touch.

It felt wonderful even when you tugged on his hair quite hard to make him face you again. The answer was written on his face, in every piece of the complete, utter joy he felt in every inch of him, but especially where your skin met his.

“You,” he said, the word like a prayer. “You.”

Your responding smile was wicked, and you almost went back on your promise not to kiss him. But you resisted and began pumping his cock at a breakneck pace, brushing each sweet spot with every stroke and letting your pinky graze against his balls each time you came to his base.

It takes every ounce of what little restraint Ettore had to not scream at the overwhelming bliss. It was so much, too much. It was everything.

But what finally pushed him over the edge was you leaning in again to whisper against his cheek, “Just wait until you feel my cunt, Ettore.”

There was a sharp gasp, a guttural cry, a whimper, and a grunt, and then he was spent. Thank God his boxers were thick, or there would have been a very obvious stain at the front of his scrubs.

Ettore whimpered again as he looked into your eyes again, unsure what this meant or what would happen next. He was so drunk on his release that words failed him, or else he no doubt would have said something stupid and ruined his chances of actually getting to experience what you had promised just before he came.

You removed your right hand from his pants, wrapping it around his neck like the left, soothingly stroking the peach fuzz at the base of his skull as he came down from his high.

There was a new look in those blue eyes. Not hungry, not animalistic. Not angry or predatory. No, it was almost reverent.

Who would have ever thought that Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster, was capable of a look like that?

You parted your lips and leaned ever so slightly into him. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips. “For letting me just watch. I think… after giving me that, you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Ettore didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He could only stare at you as pleading vulnerability crept over his face. The look of a puppy begging for a treat.

Then, he nodded, his only pleading answer.

You ran a hand through his hair again, making him wait just a moment more. “Kiss me, Ettore.” His eyes went wide at the command. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded again, still holding your gaze. Then, before you could even take a breath, he pounced.

Ettore’s lips were hot on yours as he kissed you deeper and more passionately than you’d ever been kissed before. It took only a moment before it felt like your souls were melding together for how close he held you. He did not relent until you were both struggling for breath.

Even then, he kept his lips pressed against yours as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the sound sending tingles up your spine.

You just sat there, smiling against him for a moment, wishing you could have taken him inside you. Perhaps you were fine now, and if he could get hard again, you could…

But then your watches both beeped the hour. He’d been there an hour. Someone was bound to notice he wasn’t scrubbing the halls soon.

So, you reluctantly pushed him away, heart clenching as he weakly fought to hang on to you. “I want to come back,” he whined.

You didn’t reply as you dressed again, your pain mostly gone, and pulled a clean rag out of another worktable drawer for him to clean himself. As you went to shut the drawer, an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed another rag and ran to the sink, bunching the cloth as you moved.

Ettore looked on in confusion as you shoved the rag down and down into the drain until you couldn’t reach it anymore. But then realization set in, and he grinned wickedly.

You turned to him and returned the smile. “I think I may need to call maintenance tomorrow.”

[lowkeyrobin]

hiiii can you maybe do a 5 + 1 tommyinnit x reader where its like 5 times they act like couple and one time they make it official and get together?

(also can i be 🦢?)

yes oh my GAWDDD YESSS ; and yeah of course! welcome to the hotel 🦢 anon! enjoy your stay! ; thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy! ; this isn't that great tbh but I'm proud (this took way too long to do)

TOMMYINNIT ; five, cinco, funf, cincq, 'elima

summary ; five scenarios that lead up to you and Tommy becoming a thing

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; yes I know it said 5+1, I did the five thing because I wanted it to be a repeating number lol. they all say five in different languages, english, spanish, german, french and hawaiian for anyone who didn't get it

word count ; 2k

masterlist

Five.

"I'm gonna cry, this show sucks," you speak, throwing your head back on the back of the couch.

"What is with this CGI..." The blonde mutters. "What's the budget on this show?"

You shrug. "Let me enjoy my show, Tommy"

"Wait, that Jeffery guy got out?"

"Yeah," you frown, watching as Athena runs across the screen and outside to look for the monster who was supposed to be on trial.

He pulls you into a hug as you both watch the show, being the first episode of season four. The city is collapsing, and a fangroup of a dangerous predator were sending glares to the victims.

You knew it was just a show. You couldn't help but feel bad because people did treat victims like that in real life, plus this show just made you emotional as all hell.

The blonde pulls you a little closer, having seen your eyes well up with tears.

"He's right there!"

"Athena run!"

"Oh fuck!"

"This show stresses me out too much, Y/n/n"

"How do you think I feel?"

Cinco.

"Liking sherbert ice cream is such a red flag"

"What? Says you! Strawberry just isn't that good"

You playfully scoff, holding your strawberry waffle cone in your hand as Tommy passes up a ten pound bill up to the lady in the food truck. He holds his plastic bowl of sherbert ice cream in his other hand, a spoon tied between his index and middle fingers, holding on for dear life so as not to be dropped onto the concrete below.

"Why do I ever take you to do fun things?"

"You love me," He grins, stuffing the change in his pocket before walking away with you. "I just hold a special place in your heart."

"Sure you do, pal," you reply with a smile, taking a bite out of your ice cream. "Where do you wanna sit? I can't eat and walk, not a multi-tasker."

He scans the area, landing his eyes on a bench across the little road. Thank God these fairgrounds had benches, unlike the ones near Tubbo. Eugh.

He leads you toward the bench, taking a bite from his multicolored sweet with the white plastic spoon. You sit down with him, enjoying the scenery of a million fair rides and colorful lights against the dark night sky. Screams of terror and amusement fill your ears as you watch one of the mini coasters go down the large drop again.

You feel a shiver run down your spine, the chilly wind freezing you up for a moment. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to eat ice cream with no sun around to keep you warm. The blonde notices, though, and nearly makes a joke to rip on you for not bringing a jacket. But, he doesn't.

He slips off his plaid jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. He took into consideration that you would've just gone back and forth if he tried handing it to you.

You look at him, an eyebrow raised in clear confusion.

"I saw you shivering." He chuckles, taking another bite out of his sorbet. "Just take it, I'm sweating in it anyways"

You quietly nod and lean into the jacket more, considering you didn't have free hands to put it on at the moment. You could feel his body heat from the jacket rub off on you, warming you up as it was a heater.

"You wanna go on the ferris wheel after this?" He asks, looking up at the big, circular wheel a couple hundred yards away. Lights glimmer and flicker across the sides, shining all colors of the rainbow. "The line doesn't look too bad at the moment"

You shrug, "Yeah, sure. I'll slip the guy a five to hold us at the top to scare you." You joke with a snicker.

"Y/n!"

Funf.

"I'm not jealous. Why would I be jealous?" You deadpan to your blonde friend, arms crossed.

"Cause I'm going on a date" He answers, again.

"With someone who's an asshole," you clarify once again, "Dude, I'm serious. There's a million other people you could go out with. Just skip them before they actually hurt you"

"Physically or mentally?"

"Tommy! I'm serious"

He sighs, pulling at the tie around his neck. He sighs, nearly a groan. "Why did I agree to take them somewhere fancy?"

You roll your eyes and quickly rush to his aid, turning him to face you. You loop your fingers around the tie and begin properly tying it around his collared shirt for him. He quickly feels his face heat up, making sure to keep his chin up, eyes still down to watch you work. He notices you bite at the inside of your cheek a bit, showing that you were in deep concentration.

He didn't know whether or not you actually knew how to tie a tie, or if you did it to make him shut the hell up, but he appreciated it either way.

"There," you speak, pulling your hands away from his neck after adjusting the tie a bit so it wasn't asymmetrical. "Tie is tied, Simons"

He turns to the mirror, looking at himself again. He smiles lightly, his eyes softening as he looks back at you.

"Thanks"

"Go have fun on that date of yours"

"I'll try"

Cinq.

"Just hold my hand, you'll be okay"

"What are you talking about? I'm gonna die!"

"You'll live"

"Nuh uh!"

You sigh, dragging Tommy to the slingshot. You walk behind Tubbo and Freddie, who are a few feet ahead, as they hadn't heard any of Tommy's whining. Who knew the poor boy was so scared of heights.

"Please, I don't wanna get on it!"

"I need a partner, Simons"

He groans, catching up to your speed, your hand still wrapped around his wrist. You catch up to your friends, now walking through the empty line area.

"See? No one's here because they know they're gonna die!"

"No one's here because it's lunch time, Tommy"

"Damnit"

The overhead straps click as they lock around your bodies. Tommy's already white-knuckling the handles, clear desperation and fear in his eyes. You reach your left hand out to him, looking at him the best you can past the safety harness, which is practically against your face.

He quickly grabs onto your hand, squeezing it tightly.

"You'll be fine, it's fun!"

"I'm scared!"

Freddie and Tubbo laugh, reassuring the blonde that he'll live. Something in you is still a little surprised that Tubbo was actually excited about this.

The automated "keep your hands and feet inside the ride" speech plays while the platform sinks into the ground a bit, preparing to fling you into space. The blonde leans his head back, mentally preparing himself to scream his voice away. A split second after it ended, you were shot in the air, screams filling your ears, including your own.

"Y/n/n! Help! I hate this!" The blonde screams, squeezing onto your hand even tighter.

"Look at the view!" You yell back with a smile, taking in the view of the whole park from that height. You couldn't wait to see Tommy's face on the gopro footage later, his face was probably as red as cherries. "You're okay! Just don't throw up!"

"No, no, I don't wanna go down!" His voice echoes through the air, then his screams again as the ride plummets down.

Tubbo and Freddie laugh and scream, having the time of their life, which you share with them as the blonde in between you all is freaking out. However, on the next fling up, he seems calmer and now trusts that he's safe. His grip on your hand loosens a bit, and you smile as you can hear his screams of terror turn into screams of a happy thrill.

"Okay, this is cool!" He yells over the machine and screams of other passengers.

"You think so?" Tubbo yells, "Look, there's the others!" He points out in the distance, apparently seeing the group of your other friends across the park.

"Where are you even pointing?" Freddie questions, the end of his sentence turning into a yell as you plummet down again.

"Grow up, Freddie, you're fine!" Tommy yells jokingly, trying to keep air in his lungs.

"Shut up!"

'Elima.

"What the hell is this?" You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Lunch!" Tommy answers, looking back down at the whole picnic setup in his backyard. "You said you were hungry"

"I meant like, we could go get food." You clarify, "I was just gonna come pick you up, and we could go somewhere."

He shrugs, "It's food" He smiles and jumps onto the blanket, waiting for you.

You lightly smile at his dorky grin and sit down with him, throwing some Jolly Ranchers at him, which you had stuffed in your pockets.

You eat in peace, sitting in his backyard underneath a tree. You end up full while he's still munching on some fruit and decide to make a little flower crown out of the yellow flowers that were scattered around the yard. You get to work on tying them together, wanting to give it to Tommy and take a picture. You wanted to post said picture on Twitter and caption it "2020 vibes" but we'll see how far that got.

He watches you as you work, having seen you walk about the yard and gather a large bouquet of the little yellow weeds. He spits out another cherry pit onto the grass behind him, munching on the rest of the juicy fruit.

"What're you doing?" He asks

"Flower crown. I'm gonna put it on you. The 2020 era is revisiting," You answer, weaving another flower into the rope. "It's gonna be amazing, I'm gonna trend on Twitter after this"

"Oh God, no."

"Last time I asked what something was, it was lunch in your backyard, but I don't think this is the same" You speak, an eyebrow slightly raised as you look at the drenched Tommy on your doorstep.

He holds a bouquet of flowers, which are being watered by the rain dripping from his flattened hair. He's completely soaked by the thunderstorm outside, making you wonder if he really walked all the way to your house in the middle of a storm. You internally pray that he took a bus.

"Yeah, uh, it's not" He nervously smiles. "I wanted to ask you out on a date, maybe"

You blink, still a little confused and now bewildered. You look down the street, seeing Molly, your mutual friend, sitting in her car, watching.

"Is this a prank or?.." You ask, glancing back to the car, letting Tommy know that you're aware that Molly drove him here.

"No, no, no! I- This is genuine. Seriously. It's fine if not, I just, like, have had a crush on you for a while, and it's making me all confused, and I just want it to go away." The blonde answers, watching you take the flowers from his hands.

"Well, what if I don't want it to go away?" You softly ask, looking back up at him.

His desperate look for rejection had turned to one of happiness, near disbelief even.

"What?"

"You heard me"

He glances at your lips for a moment before quickly kissing you, hands on your cheeks, before scurrying away. He sprints back towards the car, where you can see Molly cheering through the front windshield.

Tommy looks back, face red as ever, "Meet me at the pier tomorrow at three!"

You smile and shout back. "Okay!"

You lean against the door, watching him jump into the passengers seat and happily smile with Molly. You're unable to figure out what they're talking about, but you use your context clues to figure it was probably you.

Tommy realizes you're watching him, eyes slightly widened, lips shut like you could hear him. You wave goodbye and retrieve to the warmth of your home inside.

"I'm going on a date with Y/n!"

[sugar-grigri]

How to carry out a successful attack?

I'm going to give a quick review, as this is a transitional chapter intended to lead into the action of the next chapter, but it's still packed with juicy information.

The first few pages give quite a lot of information about the weapons…

Their relationship with death is interesting: one sees it as a divine consecration, the other finds it not bad, and Miri is the only one to face up to his own condition in this respect.

Not being afraid of death means not having too much trouble giving it…

Miri convinces himself it's a heavenly intervention, not because he finds the idea of being superhuman interesting, but because it relieves him of responsibility for the massacre he's about to commit.

For this massacre was inevitably destined to be extremely cruel, amputating people and leaving them screaming in agony to attract Chainsaw Man.

Miri convinces himself to stare at the clock and not look down at the child crying in front of him.

As for the weapons of the whip and spear, they pay no attention to their surroundings, one hiding behind her sunglasses, the other focusing on his cigarette.

This case shows the paradox surrounding Miri: as I've already detailed, he's not at all free, he's self-convincing in a kind of denial, but he's well and truly instrumentalized by the church.

He has no desire to spread suffering, yet he carries out the order assigned to him.

Non-observance of his environment is what made them lose in reality, believing that their intervention was celestial indicates that they were no longer paying attention to the concrete, loving to verge on overpowering and despising humans to the point of deciding what will make them suffer the most.

Quanxi used the opposite strategy: like a predator carefully examining her prey, she didn't put herself forward and focused on her mission. (Yes, if Quanxi imitates the feline by growling, it's not just to make lesbians scream, although it does have its effect…)

If she waited 5:00PM piles, it's because the public hunters wanted to make it look as if the attack had indeed been carried out by the church, in order to disengage public opinion and support them.

The paradox here is that Quanxi has indeed neutralized the threat, having killed the 3 weapons, even though a unit of hunters will be dispatched.

The 3 weapons were associated with specific demons: whip, spear and sword, none of which could produce the sound of gunfire.

My hypothesis is that the unit sent in simulated the attack by firing into the void to provoke general panic.

It's for this reason that the newspaper doesn't know the number of victims, and we also see a lot of hesitation on the part of the presenter: he only has one source of information (the State), and it's deliberately fragmentary.

We also see information on the workings of the church: the real leaders of the church are the ones who centralize information, while Haruka is just an empty shell (as we suspected) who is only there to recruit young people.

The attack wasn't even communicated to the guru, nor to this man who knows all about weapons. What's more, he uses the ambiguous term "weapons", but does he know what they actually are ?

Fujimoto is looking to develop the relationship between Asa and Denji, so what better way than to set up a rival - a rival who alone would be up to the task of countering Quanxi's power?

Ladies and gentlemen, nb hoes… her return has been announced…

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep7 Musings - Loustat: The Trial (Spoilers)

Imma split my Loustat musings into 3 parts, cuz there's A LOT to unpack. So I'll do the Ep3/4 & Ep5 revisits in the next posts; this is just general/initial Louis & Lestat stuff I wanted to respond to.

They beat the dog snot outta Louis, omg. They nearly snapped his neck! Louis was barely conscious, ofc his memory's spotty.

I LOVE how they're emphasizing the physicality of the Maker-Fledgling bond, first w/ Lou & Madz, now w/ Les. It's ofc all wrapped up in how much Loustat loves e/o, but its also their blood connection thru Amel. (I wonder how Louis Merrick'ing himself in Ep5 affects his connection to Amel if his heart didn't stop, cuz Armand stopped him from burning too much?)

And I love what Jacob said in the Insider, afterwards.

Fear that Lestat's come to exact revenge; excitement (a frisson of both negative & positive emotions, excited to see Les just cuz of the tension of having not seen him in so long, but also having all his nerves & senses tingling cuz of the tense anticipation & not knowing what to expect--hence: fear); fury cuz this whole mess could've been avoided if Les had told them WHY European vampires should be avoided at all costs; and relief cuz Les's' alive, his husband's ok.

But this time Lou KNOWS he's the real deal, cuz he can FEEL it--"it wasn't NOT his hand." And Dream!Stat jumpscare in Dubai, well well well; I thought Lou'd stopped seeing him on that Parisian bench? 👀

Here we effing go, whatever this French bish has to say better be good 🍿🍿🍿

I HATE HIM YOUR HONOR 🤣 Omfg take ONE thing seriously! Not the Roland-Garros, STFU! XD Lestat going off script got the coven like WTF?!

OML 🍿🍿🍿

Well that's not helpful at all--WHICH ONE!?

Les was asleep for the whole 100 years b4 he went to NOLA--but we KNOW this can't be true, cuz Les met Marius after he left Paris❗ SAM (the vamp) has been mouthing the words to this whole script, so I wonder if that's just what Les was TOLD to say, OR! It's what HE told THE COVEN, so they wouldn't know about TWMBK❗❗

NOT LES DOING A PIROUETTE INTO THE EARTH STAHP OMG 😭

THIS GAY QUEEN CAN'T HELP HIMSELF, I CANNOT

Awoke in 1908 & disembarked in humidified daughter of Paris, NOLA--but Les told Lou he was headed for Saint Louis, Missouri. 👀

"And who did you meet there?" DANG this is TENSE--Loustat finally making eye contact for the first time, Les having to see his husband all beat up & sad; as Claudia languishes in the background, as usual.

Not Louis with the cigar 😭

"The ACCUSED," LOL, Santiago had to catch himself--stay dehumanizing the violent evil Black man whydontcha; we see you. And Lestat had to feed him his own lines after derailing everyone with that homophobic soldier's evisceration.

Omg this sounds like every court case b4 they throw the book at a Black man. And the bored unaffected way the white audience just rolls their eyes & shakes their heads & smokes--they DGAF about Lou; they've already decided he ain't ish--A STONING.

LOUIS FACE. This is EXACTLY how folk in the fandom talk about Lou--and it came back with a vengeance during all that Loumand Maitre/Arun crap, as y'all were QUICK to jump on Lou being an evil pimp, even though your fave Daniel literally said that was just kinky roleplay Armand didn't take seriously when ish got REAL.

I thought y'all were just bartering for the "last bouquet of lilies"!?

Oh great, the coven's making Louis look like a perv predator. 🤦‍♀️ And the visual centering of Lou's dastardly mind-control waves like a halo over sweet innocent victim Lestat's blonde head, I CANNOT.

Omfg Louis face, SAME! If this crocodile-crying liar don't take his To Kill A Mockingbird, Central Park Five lookin arse off that stage! 🤬

Omfg Lestat I'm finna kill you myself. Omg this nonsense is too much; I know Lou, speak up, YES! But also, STFU, Les is actually tryna save your life by tearing your reputation to shreds. 😬🤦‍♀️

I loooove this effect when the coven uses the Mind Gift on them. They effed him up so bad his left eye started hemorrhaging. 😭

Armand don't you look away for an INSTANT, don't you even BLINK! You could've prevented this, EFF ALL Y'ALL in this nasty AF Theatre!

This gaslighting is hitting way too close to the way IRL court cases go when the innocent get the book thrown at them for crimes they didn't commit.

This is so painful to watch, but Sam Reid you better werk; the way he was yelling those lines had me shook, oml.

Les knows he's effed up, but what can he do? His eyes are going red; he's gonna cry. (His contacts look different, I thought they said they were gonna stick with purple eyed Les?) "I offered it to him in the church on the altar: My companionship." And Lou nodding along, cuz that was their wedding! 😭💔

I was wondering how these frames would be used. It's about the Ep3 race riots and vampire loneliness, the night Louis left & Claudia was made. But I love the implications, cuz how could humans know ANYTHING about hows vampires feel--which is SO important when they start lying about everything else that went down with how Claudia was made and how it would affect her as a "defective" vamp.

Even the VAMPIRES don't know how other vampires feel, and the capacity they have for enduring--Armand said it over & over to Louis in Ep3 and Madeleine in Ep6. Lestat came closest in S1 when he commented on Claudia's eternally 14-yr old metabolism & needing to eat more than an normal vamp, but beyond that none of them had a effing clue what Claudia was going through. They don't know REAL loneliness, even with her diaries telling them what she thought, not HOW SHE FELT.

(And I'm reminded of what I said here about Gabrielle telling Lestat what her loneliness felt like. I think "vampire loneliness" is different for every vampire; which is precisely why Gab (and Claudia) was able to walk away from her Maker/son & live alone; while Nicky & Louis went crazy.)

Lestat crying blood tears, daaaaang 😥

Kill this dude (but I stan a Loustat ally, LOLOL).

Imma stop here, cuz I've run out of Tumblr's stupid 30-pics per post, and the Ep3/4 revisit that "took all the pieces of Louis life, defiled them, bent them into a Lestat-shaped effigy" is IMO the JUICIEST part, with the most new meat to chew on.

[detectivestucks]

The Bet

18+ Content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Tobi x F!Reader

Summery: You are relatively new to the Akatsuki and your best friends Konan makes a wager with you. When you lose, you're forced to take Tobi on a date.

Warnings: NSFW, canon violence, mentions of biting, fingering, oral-male receiving, unprotected penetration, facial.

Word Count: 4.8k

Anon Ask via DM: Been getting a lot of Kakashi request so I was happy to write for Obito again :)

Tobi always had eyes for you. 

Nothing happens in the Akatsuki without his approval but when Konan asked Pain to let you join their troop of miscreants, Tobi overwhelmingly approved of Pain’s decision. You were skilled, vicious, and adorable. You captured the attention of every man you came across. Even when fighting enemies your beauty captivated them. They shamelessly flirted with you as you battle to the death.

“Come on gorgeous, why don’t you drop the katana and I‘ll take you on a nice date?”

“Wow, strong and beautiful. Maybe after this I can take you to dinner.”

“Keep trying to kill me and I might just ask you to marry me.”

The pick up lines were pathetic and met with a resounding rejection that was usually followed by ending their lives. 

Yes, Tobi had eyes for you alright. He felt a twinge of envy for anyone who joined you on missions because you were a brilliant sight to behold when you hunted your target down. You weren't a victim to the harsh realities of the shinobi world. You were the harsh reality of the shinobi world. 

Always hanging around with Konan, the two of you whisper to each other whenever you’re at the hideout between missions. The other members always came over to talk to you, trying to impress you with boyish charm and corny pick up lines. They would leave you in a fit of giggles and whispers while Tobi watched from a distance. He wanted you as much as the other guys but he had a double life to worry about. He’d leave the rest of the crew to hopelessly fawn over you and your seemingly high standards. 

One afternoon the two of you are chatting away in the corner of the main room laughing at Deidara and Hidan who are putting on an impressive display for you both when Tobi walks through. He runs up to his partner and clings onto him for dear life, pretending to be a damsel in distress

“Oh Deidara! There was a mean man outside! Make him go away with your very impressive art.”

He tilts his head to the side and you just know he’s batting his lashes below his mask. You and Konan crack up at his ridiculous mini play. You enjoyed Tobi. He was funny and pissed Deidara off constantly. He was the much needed comic relief amongst a bunch of moody, brooding, arrogant rogue shinobi. However out of all the guys in the gang he was the only one you weren’t interested in. Even Zetzu had a better chance ending up between your legs than the orange masked idiot.

Konan sees you laugh a little too hard at Tobi and nuzzles her lips against your ear,

“What do you think Tobi’s like on a date?”

“Oh gods I hope I never have to find out. He’d probably cling to his girlfriend the way he hangs on Deidara.”

You both snicker at that, certain it’s true.

“Care to make a wager then?”

Konan piques your interest and you lift a brow at her.

“Next mission, the woman with the least kills asks Tobi on a date.”

You turn to her with your mouth open. “Konan! You seriously are willing to keep living here if you lose?”

“Oh I’m not losing.” she says, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m sure as hell not losing either.”

The both of you continue to stare at your animated comrades when you speak again.

“What does the winner get?”

Konan snorts “Not going on a date with Tobi.” 

“Besides that!”

“I don’t know.: She thinks for a quick second. “They have to invite their crush into their bedroom.”

Your eyes dart around the room, not sure who to choose. There were a lot of guys in your gang that you wanted to sleep with. Pain was off limits cause of Konan but Kisame was ripped and had that sexy predator thing going for him. You bet he bites and when he does, it breaks the skin. Then he probably soothes your wounds by licking up the blood while he fucks you stupid on his cock. 

Your eyes pan over to pretty boy Deidara who was gorgeous with hair you wanted to pull while his mouth lapped between your legs. You thought about all the sinful things the mouths on his hands would do to you and it makes you cross your legs.

You look at Hidan who was crazy hot and twisted. You could see him getting freaky during your period and you wanted to surrender to the ‘way of jashin’ for just one night, letting him do whatever he wanted to your naked body. 

Lastly you peer over at the quiet Itachi. Reserved, kept to himself, and well mannered. The kind of guy you could bring home to your mama but was probably a filthy boy in bed. You imagine him slapping you and calling you degrading names while his eyes glow red.

“Can’t decide, huh?” Konan says with a light jab. 

“Well not all of us joined the Akatsuki with our childhood crush.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to choose. Cause you’re gonna lose.”

You open your mouth and look at her pretending to be gobsmacked. “Oh it’s on!”

****************************************************

Konan picked a good time to wager her little bet cause your next mission was a full fledged raid. One thing you envied about Konan was her ability to make shuriken out of paper, leaving her with an endless supply of weapons while utilizing minimal physical effort. You on the other hand had incredible speed but only two kunai and a katana at your disposal. No one could match your lightning speed, not even the raikage himself. But you could still only attack up to two targets at a time. 

The night was long and the body count was high.

…and Konan was kicking your ass. 

You were desperately trying to take out more targets than her but her range was so much farther than yours. You were needlessly brutal, terrified of the horrible date night that was to come at the end of the mission. The first rays of light shone over the rooftops when the two of you finally made your retreat. 

“Your count?”

“78” you pant

“Ha! I win! 102”

“Shut up!”

She only smiles back at you.

“Fuck! Now I have to ask out Tobi.”

“Sucks to suck”

“Oh gods, what if he wants me to suck his dick?!”

“You better open wide.”

You shove her off the tree she jumped on but she caught herself by creating paper wings and flew the rest of the way home. Smug bitch.

You meet up just outside of the hideout, entering together. As soon as you walk through the threshold Konan begins to shout. 

“Tobi! Y/N needs you!”

“I hate you so much right now.” You grumble under your breath.

She sticks her tongue out at you, “Deal with it. I’m gonna go find Pain.”

She leaves in a twirl just as Tobi timidly enters the room. 

“You needed me, Y/N?”

“Yes…I have something to ask you.”

Tobi just stands there, staring at you behind his mask, head eerily tilted to the side. Gods he’s so creepy. You begin to wring your hands in front of your stomach, building the courage to ask the dreaded question.

“Tobi…would you…” you bite your lower lip in the most adorable way and Tobi can feel his heart twist in his chest. “Would you go on a date with me?”

“Oh.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to make of his response. Maybe he was going to reject you. Maybe you won’t have to go on a date at all. Thank the heavens.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I-uh…” Fuck! Now I have to plan the date too?! Konan I’m gonna kill you. “I hadn’t decided yet.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you.

“Do you want to go or not? Cause I can go ask one of the others if you’re not interested.”

Tobi scratches the back of his neck and responds in his childish tone.

“Geh, Y/N, I’d be happy to go on a date with you.” He brings his hands together in front of him and tilts his head to the side in a feminine display, “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

It took everything in you not to cringe so instead you force a laugh. Maybe he was just trying to be funny. Yeah, that’s it, he was trying to be funny. 

That night you get dressed in a long flowy pale pink skirt with slits along each thigh and a fitted cream colored top with corset detailing around the bust. You hoped one of the other guys saw you in it and would knock on your door later to show you how a real man treats a woman. For now, though, you needed to focus on making it through your date with Tobi.

He knocks on your bedroom door and you walk over to answer it. Tobi stands before you in a fitted black shirt and black pants covered in a long black kimono adorned with a dark gray geometric pattern. It wasn’t a bad look but he hid every inch of his body from everyone as usual.

“Wowzah!”

You smile and roll your eyes. “What, never seen a proper woman before?”

You turn around and retreat back into your room to grab your cream square heels, sliding them on while balancing yourself with Tobi’s arm. 

“So where are we going?”

You look at him and smile playfully “You’ll see.”

You grab Tobi’s hand and pull him through the hideout, heading towards the exit. As you walk through the common area, Tobi looks to the side and sees the jaws of Hidan, Deidara, and Zetzu fall to the floor. He can’t help but feel a swell of pride at their jealousy. 

The date, however, was terribly awkward. You tried your best to be flirty but you had no way of telling how Tobi felt. You couldn’t see him smile or blush. You couldn’t tell if he was staring at you with interest or anger. It was extremely one sided and uncomfortable. You did your best to sell the lie but it was probably painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be holding hands with a big masked baby. 

On the way home you sway as you walk next to him, both arms hugging his right one, trying to maintain a normal conversation. It occurs to you that this might be your only chance to ask the burning question everyone in the Akatsuki is thinking.

“Tobi? Why do you wear the mask?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to see my face of course!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay but why don’t you want anyone to see your face?”

“That’s for Tobi to know.”

You shake your head “What, you ugly or something?” You squeeze his bicep flirtatiously. “You get stuck in a house fired and are covered in scars?”

Tobi goes stiff in your hold. You drop his arm and bring both your hands up to your mouth.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was only joking!”

Tobi walked next to you in silence. If you thought it was awkward before, that was nothing compared to the embarrassment you felt now. 

“Tobi, you’d have nothing to be embarrassed about you know. It’s not like you’re the only freak in the circus. I mean. Kisame is practically a shark, Sasori lived inside a puppet, and Hidan drinks blood to become a skeleton.” A hot ass skeleton but Tobi doesn’t need to know that. “We’re all weirdos.”

Tobi still doesn’t speak but his body relaxes some. He was getting a little easier to read but you still couldn’t wait for the night to be over. He creeped you out and you still had no respect for him. He was a fool even if he was kinda funny. 

You finally make it back to the hideout and much to your disappointment, everyone has gone to bed. Tobi walks you to your side of the hideout next to Konan’s room and awkwardly gives you two pats on the shoulder before telling you he was off to bed in his high pitched kid’s tone.

You turn to unlock your room with a signature roll of your eyes relieved the night was over.

“Pfh, what a loser, bet he’s never even made a girl cum in his life.”

As Tobi’s walking away he overhears you and stops dead in his tracks. He knows that he’s playing a fool but it wouldn’t hurt to teach you some manners and show you who’s really in charge of the Akatsuki while he’s at it.

Just as you open your door you feel two gloved hands tightly grip your biceps. Someone had snuck up behind you.

“What’d you say?”

The voice was rich and deep. It was a cold blanket that covered you with fear and made chills creep down your back. Your breath falters. You didn't dare turn your head.

“Tobi?”

He pushes you into your room with a finger shoved into your spine between your shoulder blades.

“Would you like to test that little theory?”

You turn around, face painted in fear as you search Tobi’s orange mask for answers. He slams the door closed behind him. Tearing off his robe as he swiftly steps forward causing you to retreat away from him backwards. You’re too distracted by the sudden change in his demeanor to notice the bulging muscles poking through his skin tight shirt before he picks up a shoe and throws it against the wall to kill the lightswitch. 

You reach your arms in front of you, ready to push him away but he somehow passes through them and has a grip on your hair while he is sucking on the skin of your neck. An involuntary pleasured grunt escapes you, realizing he discarded his mask and has his lips locked on your skin. You keep trying to push him off but every time your hands pass through him while his grip against your hair remains solid. You couldn’t figure out how it worked but you were starting to no longer care as he created various bruises along your collarbone. You begin to pant slightly, feeling arousal pool between your legs from how he nibbled against your sensitive flesh. Your mind was slowly fogging over and in your haze you wanna hear his voice again.

“T-talk to me. I wanna hear you s’more”

“And say what, Princess? Tobi isn’t my real name?”

His voice was smooth and intimidating. It made your eyes roll to the back of your head. You lean your face against his.

“Yes, tell me more.” you whisper

“What do you want to hear? That I’m the actual mastermind behind the Akatsuki and you are all my little puppets?”

You begin to lift your leg and wrap it around his waist. Panting from how his baritone tickled your mind.

“or that I’m going to fuck you like a whore right now and turn you into my personal concubine.”

“Yes”

You lunge for his lips, hands clawing the back of his head to pull him into you. You had never been so attracted to a voice in your life. You had no clue what he looked like but you knew he had adorably messy hair and scars on his face. You could feel the tough skin with your lips. He backed you all the way over to your bed and switched places with you so that he could take a seat before pulling you into his lap. 

You straddled him, your heat pressing over his concealed boner, while you feverishly made out with him in the pitch black room. Your kisses left his lips and traveled over the ridges of his face, sucking and breathing on the battered skin he was afraid to show, before you licked a stripe up his cheek. 

He anchored you at your hips and pulled you down on him while he rutted up into you. You cried a needy moan into his ear as your fingers played in his hair. 

“My, my, I think I can make you cum without even touching you. You’ve got yourself all worked up over a little conversation and sitting in my lap.”

You groan at the sound of his voice and begin to grind on him, needing the friction while you kiss his lips. You rub your chest against him as you work yourself up into a frenzy. He reaches behind you, looking for how to take off your shirt when he gives up and opts to rip it off of you instead. 

You let out a small cry, partly in awe of his raw strength but partly because that was one of your favorite tops. 

“I don’t tolerate anything getting in my way.”

“Uh-huh” you agree breathily, cupping his face in your hands, recapturing his lips with yours. As much as you want to keep hearing that velvet voice, you want the lips that form the words to be interlocked with yours. Your arms wrap around his neck as you push your barren chest against his clothed one. His hands explored your soft back. You were glad to feel his fingertips dance over your skin and not his leather gloves. You wondered if you’d get to feel all of him tonight. You could tell how toned he was through his clothes and were dying to lick and nibble his chest. 

“Tobi,” you pant against his face, “please make me cum.”’

He hums and grabs you at your thighs flipping you onto your back and kneeling over you. Your hands continue to explore all over his upper body, running up from his forearms to his biceps, sliding over his delts, and tracing down his traps before sinking your nails into his rhomboids. He grunts into your neck. Arousal puddling in your underwear at the sound. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting your hips and grinding into him some more. Panting and needy, the mystery of him increasing your desire. Tobi grabs the front panel of your skirt and pulls it aside, yanking your panties out of the way. You drag your lips along his jaw. 

One of Tobi’s fingers traces along your slit, collecting some of your slick and smearing it along your sensitive nub hidden within your folds. You twitch from the sudden contact and can feel him smile against your face.

“Someone's sensitive.”

A high pitched “mhm” comes from you as you push your face against his. His thumb casually rubs circles between your legs. Shuddered moans expel into Tobi’s ear as your arms slide back up to Tobi’s neck and wrap around him tightly. He lets a finger slip past your entrance, stroking in and out twice before being joined by a second. 

Your eyes snap shut. He pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your head falls back in pleasure as he scissors you open, playing you like a violin. You squeeze around him, soaking in how it feels to be touched for the first time in over a month. Back in your village you were a menace and well hated but you were never short of male companionship, even if it always ended terribly. Once you officially became a rogue ninja the world was much more lonely than expected. You had imagined it would be different once you joined the Akatsuki but to your own surprise, you didn’t take a lover till tonight. Short of breath you manage to wheeze out,

“Thank you Tobi”

“Good girl, you know your manners.” 

His condescending praise filled you with butterflies when spoken in his bassy tone. You respond by nibbling on his lower lip. You so badly wanted to rip off his clothes but you didn’t dare, too afraid he’d stop. Instead you softly beg into his ear,

“Please shove your cock into me.”

“Of course, Princess. How can I say no when you ask so nicely.”

A small cry of excitement whines past your lips. He darkly chuckles at your neediness. What a sharp turn from the bitch who tried to make a mockery of him by asking him on a date as a joke.

He’d make you pay for that. He intentionally wasn’t pursuing you before but since you sought him out with your farce, now he’d take full ownership of you. You were going to be his property now. He wasn’t talking dirty when he said you’d become his concubine. He meant it. You’d be chained to him, only let off your tether during missions. 

He opens the front of his pants and slips into your quivering entrance, stretching you uncomfortably as he pushed his excessive girth into you. A pleasured wail drew from your mouth.

“What a good girl. Tell me Princess, do you want more?”

“Yes!”

You cry the word. He pulled back slowly just to plunge back in. You sink down into your mattress, getting shoved into it deeper with every inward thrust. It was rough. There was nothing gentle about the way he fucked you. His swollen head pummeled into you, dislocating all your organs. He folded you in half as he pushed in. Your knees found a new home by your ears, his body pinning the backs of your legs, pushing your thighs against your chest. In the darkness he could see the whites of your eyes as they rolled back in your head to look at your melting brain. 

Your mouth was left agape. You were babbling and drooling from his dick dragging in and out of you. You swear you’d never been fucked so good in your life. He brought you to tears on his schlong, pistoning in and out of you. Your nails digging into his back once more.

“Gods damn, Princess!”

Tobi was struggling to maintain his domineering composure. He was losing himself inside of your pussy. It gripped around him tightly. The pink muscle constricted around his member, attempting to milk him before he was ready.  “Eager little fucking slut.”

He husked between thrusts. You body fell limp. You became a rag doll under him. The only part of your body that was tense was your gummy walls which held onto him with a death grip. He pushed his sweaty forehead against yours. Holding the back of your head.

“Fuck this pretty pussy. It belongs to me now. You belong to me. Understand?”

You wished you could’ve answered. You would’ve told him yes. You would've told him that you’d never leave his side. That you’d bend over for him anywhere. You’d wrap around his dick whenever he needed you to. You would willingly degrade yourself in the middle of battle if he wanted. You were addicted to him and you weren’t ashamed to admit it. 

His speed increased. He was about to cum. He brought himself all the way to the edge before he pulled out. 

“Stick out your tongue, Princess.”

You opened wide as he shot his load all over your face and chest. Your body still bent in half; your feet resting over his shoulders. He took the palm of his hand and smeared his fluids all over you. Rubbing the glossy substance into your skin and pushing it into your mouth. You hummed happily which made him melt. He allowed your body to unfold and laid his full weight on top of you, arms possessively threading around your waist and pulling you close. 

You lost your breath. Your mind became a swimming intoxicated mess in his hold. You nuzzled your face further into his shirt while his cum dried on your face and skin. He never undressed. His shirt still on, his pants pulled up. He was a complete mystery to you and now you were invested in solving it. You were his but he was about to be yours just as much. Soon, you’d break him…soon. For now you slept sheltered in his arms.

****************************************************

The next day you both emerge from your room close to noon. The majority of the members of the gang were rough housing together in the common area. All turned still as you came out holding hands with Tobi.

“Holy hell…”

“You two?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with any of them and instead chose to look up at Tobi’s mask. Eyes locked on the face you weren’t sure you’d ever see. Tobi though had a far different reaction. A smug idea popped into his sick mind. It was time to show everyone that you had an owner now and he wasn’t going to entertain any of these brutes trying to encroach on his possession. In his childish voice he called to his comrades.

“Look at my new toy everyone!”

He yanked on your hand so that you were whipped around standing in front of him, your back to the room. 

“Y/N, suck Tobi’s cock. hmm?”

“Yes, sir”

It was embarrassing and made your face heat up but you felt your mouth water as you knelt down before him nonetheless. On your knees, you open the front of his robe and untie his pants, pulling out his thick cock.

“What the hell…” you hear Konan behind you in complete disbelief. 

You let his pulsing length rest on your bottom lip while you look up at him. His chest rumbles as you slip your tongue out and under his weighty member before opening wide and sliding him all the way down your throat. He grips your hair with one hand before looking up at the shocked faces around the room.

“Y/N belongs to Tobi now. Look how good she’s taking my dick, slurping on it like a good little pet!”

Lewd gargles and squelching sounds came from your mouth as you bobbed back and forth along his cock. He was humiliating you in front of everyone and it was making you wet for him. Your hand came between your legs to rub yourself.

“Aww how precious. She’s even playing with herself for me. You see that everyone?”

You wanted to die from embarrassment but you couldn’t help yourself. The taste of him is addicting. He had you out of your mind.

“Here Princess, let me help you.”

He brings both hands into your hair and pushes you down on him. He thrusts into you at the same time causing you to gag around him. You hear him grumble in delight. You open your jaw and allow him to plummet all the way in. Throat constricting around his tip as it slips past your vocal cords. You hum in contentment, forgetting about everyone watching you. You close your eyes focusing on him and how he feels in your mouth. One hand rubbing your clit more harshly while the other clutches his thigh. 

Tobi’s facade almost slipped. He felt high from the way your warm mouth closed around him. He had half a mind to say he loved you. He opted instead to cease talking so as not to give away his cover and instead simply grunted as his hips snapped into your mouth. 

The remainder of the room watched in stunned silence at the pornographic scene before them. They watch the orange mask fall backwards, looking up at the ceiling as Tobi was close to cumming. The jealousy Deidara felt had him storm out of the room. Konan had an uncomfortable guilt crawl over her skin but little did she understand, you were in heaven. You whimper as you touch yourself, bringing yourself close to an orgasm. The sounds make Tobi hammer into you faster until you feel his hot spend shoot down your throat. Your walls clench around nothing and you bring both arms to wrap around Tobi’s wait, holding yourself all the way down on him as you hug around his waist. 

Tobi so badly wanted to coo in your ear and praise you. Tell you what a good girl you were but he couldn’t muster his carefree sound. Instead he pulls himself out of you and grabs your wrist. He yanks you back into your bedroom and slams you up against the door with the two of you on the other side. 

“Fuck Y/N, you’re such a good girl for me. Here, let me reward you.”

You mewl for him, your lip quivering at the return of his deep voice. He twists his mask to the side gaining you access to his lips. You pull them into you while he lifts you up, slipping his wet length between your folds and fucking you against the door.

The banging can be heard by the group on the other side, sitting in the common area.

“Shit…it was supposed to be a stupid prank.” Konan confesses. “What the hell happened last night?”

If only they knew…

Masterlist

[fierceawakening]

Because it’s on my mind , I wanted to talk a bit about what I remember of baeddelism when I’d was going around.

Full disclaimer I am not a trans woman, nor am I doing research on the era. So I neither claim to be unbiased nor do I claim to accurately remember everything. I just want to set down what I remember so I have it.

My recollection of how it started was that a trans woman user on tumblr noticed an etymological chart on I think Wikipedia, which said that the English word bad is related to an Old Norse word baedle, which was a term for an effeminate male. In that culture such people were seen as evil or creepy for doing woman things, and their doing so was associated with what we might call black magic.

A group of trans women on tumblr really liked this, and embraced the insulting ancient term in a similar way to how many people embrace queer. “You call me bad for being AMAB and a woman, I call that fine with me.” Baeddel started popping up in lots of trans women’s usernames.

(I do not know if the etymology is accurate. Nor do I know if the ancient term referred to people considered feminine men, considered gender confused, considered to have women’s temperaments or souls, etc.)

What you also saw with this group, though, was an emphasis on being assigned male (as they phrased it, CAMAB for Coercively Assigned Male At Birth, a phrase that has been criticized as ripped off from the intersex community, where people are recognized as physically ambiguous at birth by doctors but a binary assignment is picked anyway.) This was a little surprising at least to me, as the movement I was seeing was away from terms like MTF or FTM that emphasized assigned sex.

So you started seeing the mocking trans men phrased as mocking AFAB people. “Theyfabs” was popular, the idea being that trans masculine people say we don’t fully identify as men because we don’t want to get kicked out of women’s spaces, a neat trick we get to do that trans lesbians don’t.

But our AGAB is fixed. It’s something a doctor says and that gets put on a birth certificate. Once you have it, it doesn’t change.

Which leads to seeing people as inherently evil or inherently good. If you’re (C)AMAB you’re a victim, doomed to be mislabeled a predator. If you’re (C)AFAB you’re privileged, destined to get all the pussy be accepted by lesbians.

But whenever people make a trait destiny, the lends itself to Manicheanism.

So how do you get from “we trans women are cursed to never be accepted” to “we must be put first?”

Well, there’s already an echo of that in leftism anyway, and most gay and trans USians are leftists.

Leftists really like (for good reason imo, I count myself somewhere between “pretty lefty Dem” and “less extreme progressive”) the idea that a lot of social inequality is about certain groups being left out of the discussions and events that shape policy and culture, so the thing to do is listen to those voices first.

Couple that with “around birth you’re sorted and that sorting matters, but for us trans folks that sorting is wrong and painful, and you get, from virtuous to vicious:

Transfem: assigned male, rejects patriarchy/opts out. Most virtuous.

Cis woman: assigned female, oppressed by pstrarchy. Fights oppression but not by leaving high social starts behind. Pretty mid, unless they’re a TERF.

Cis man: assigned male, benefits from patriarchy. Doesn’t reject it, as he’s got a fairly cushy deal and why meds with that. Kind of gross, as shown by unwillingness to refuse the system.

Trans man: assigned female. Opprsssed by patriarchy. Deals with it by doing everything possible to reject assignment. Essentially begging for status and not caring who knows ir. Selfishness incarnate. Pretty fuckin evil.

Some people might think this couldn’t possibly be how any transfem person thinks—isn’t being trans about internal feelings, not relationship to patriarchy?

Usually, yes! But I think the emphasis on ASAB, coupled with the (correct) idea floating around that you don’t need dysphoria to be trans, led these people to focus less on internal sense and more on politics.

My evidence for this belief is that you started to see a lot of posts by these particular transfems saying things like “Ever wanted to be a girl? You can just be one! No particular internal states required!” You started to see a lot of talk by these blogs about trying to look for and crack eggs, talked about less like “I’m going to go look for nominally cis men who seem unhappy and tell them transition is possible” and more like “I’m going to plaster this everywhere to recruit.”

As I see it, the reason everyone is suddenly so chatty about transmisandry is not that we just made it up. It’s that these people had a stranglehold on discourse for a long time, and transmascs who saw it could either openly reject it and be labeled MRAs, silently ignore it and not be heard, or believe it and internalize that choosing not to just live with our dysphoria (when transfems get to have HRT for theirs!) makes us literally evil and selfish.

It often takes a while, when someone is no longer being abused, for them to come up with language to describe what happened. The reaction can be immediate, but can sometimes be a few years delayed. That’s what I think happened here. You’re seeing us talk about transmisandry now because we’re feeling safer to say “no, that’s fucked up, we aren’t just sex gods at the dyke bar, listen to us.”

Do I think that everyone around currently who thinks “transmisandry as a term implies misandry is systemic, and we shouldn’t do that” ascribes to this weird valence flipped “assigned male good, assigned female bad” gender essentialism?

No, but I think it’s reasonable to wonder if someone might, and thus reasonable to say “don’t tell people to stop using that word. Replace it in your head with ‘transphobia,’ shrug, and find another hill to die on.

[furiousgoldfish]

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