#and of course. i drew error

[sunshine-biter]

I can keep him in my wallet now

[minimoll7]

The one thing I like about drawing slimes in that simple, chalk style, is that its nice and quick. A huge reason why I don't really post art that much anymore at this point is that I don't like how long it takes, I start a lot of stuff but never really finish them

But this drawing style is a lot quicker and doesn't hurt my hands as much. I'd love to apply it to other stuff tho, not just Slime Rancher art. I just don't know how well I'd be able to pull it off. It is lineless art but because of the brush I'm using, some colors don't stand out as well as they otherwise would. Not sure what exactly I'll do but I think I can figure something out, eventually

[muchlovekatia]

✧ ˚ · . 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄.. 🎶 —

˗ˏˋ꒰ muchlovekatia ꒱

.ೃ࿐ . .

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔹

theo nott x reader: ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the lipstick trend ( on tiktok )

〰️

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

as soon as you said yes, theo shot out of bed and sauntered to your vanity, picking out a lipstick and forcing you to swatch it on your hand so he could see all the different colors and choose his favorite one. after much trial and error, he settled on a rich and deep red you didn't particularly wear but he absolutely loved on you, and pulled you closer.

"sit," your boyfriend demanded softly, smiling giddily. you rolled your eyes, grinning and huffing a laugh as you climbed onto his lap and straddled his hips, allowing him free access to your face. he lightly grabbed your chin and angled it down so he could swipe the crimson across your lips, his free hand on your thigh. up close, you could see a dust of light and occasional freckles scattered here and there across his face, his eyes so extraordinarily blue. "so pretty. you should wear this one more often," he commentated as he closed the cap and abandoned the tube on the desk.

you turned your head and inspected his job in the mirror, which was, surprisingly, not too bad. "who taught you how to put on lipstick, huh, theo?" you joked, turning back and lightly pecking his cheek, which transferred the red. he breathed a laugh. "been practicing for this?"

"i thought it was obvious."

you grabbed his chin, angling his face away from you and moving it as you kissed and kissed, leaving marks in your wake. his hands pulled you closer by the waist, and he hummed as you circled down to the corners of his mouth, his grip tightening. when you felt you were done, you pulled back, grinning widely. "my pretty boy." you left one kiss at his temple for extra measure and grabbed your phone from your pocket, opening tiktok.

"alright, you ready?"

he watched you find the audio, pecking your forehead and humming an approval.

"ready," he confirmed.

"okay, then." you uncapped the lipstick with one hand and shifted on his lap, so you sat facing the mirror. pressing the record button, the sound came to a start and you reapplied the slightly-faded red onto your lips again and made sure you missed a little, unable to contain your giggle. theo’s hand came into frame and turned your face, his thumb wiping away the smudge. you made eye-contact and as the video drew closer to the end, he pulled you in and smothered you in kisses, eliciting laugh after laugh from you and making a mess of your faces.

"theo!" you shrieked as it stopped and the finished video began replaying.

"perfect." he laughed after you, allowing you to turn to the mirror and inspect the damage.

"mm... this better have been worth the stain."

from the reflection, you saw his expression drop. "stain?!" for his face was covered in red.

of course, the video turned out adorable. of course, it took a good hour of scrubbing to get the lipstick off of both of you.

.

rah rah rah rah rah rah

[sister-lucifer]

A Bullet in the Chamber

Proxies (Hoodie, Masky, Toby) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Horror/Dark Angst 

Summary: They want you to prove your love, to prove that you truly believe you’re meant to be together…with the help of Tim’s revolver, of course.

Content/Warnings: God, where do I start…obviously massive use of a gun, they play russian roulette, descriptions of gore, the proxies are super manipulative and emotionally abusive to reader, just a super obsessive not healthy relationship, this is NOT a feel good fic, it’s implied reader is being held captive 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“We just wanna…play a little game with you, that’s all,” Tim drawls, his voice deep and lazy as he looks at you from behind his mask. 

You’re nervous suddenly. Unbearably nervous. A cold chill runs throughout your body and makes your stomach convulse in an agonizing manner, and you don’t know if you’re going to vomit or pass out first. You don’t know why. He’s only just started speaking. Maybe it’s the way he drew out the last part of that sentence, or the way he immediately tried to soothe you before you’ve even fully understood what’s going on, or just that look in his eyes that says ‘I want to fucking gut you.’ 

There’s a reason you learned to keep your guard up around these three.

Suddenly the little circle you’re all sitting in on the floor feels much, much tighter than is comfortable, and it doesn’t help that Toby slides in closer, bumping your shoulder with his and flashing you a knowing smirk. What exactly he knows, though, is a horrific enigma to you.

Brian is on your other side, and although he doesn’t move, for a split second he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze returns to Tim. He’s managing to hold a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth just barely twitching as he internally fights to keep the emotion bubbling beneath the surface at bay.

There’s silence for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, but you don’t realize they’re waiting for you to speak until Toby nudges you.

“I, uh…what, um— what kind of game…?” You stammer, immediately regretting your question despite the curiosity that’s gnawing at you like a starving animal. You shudder when Toby giggles, clearly trying to stifle the sound as he bumps your shoulder again. 

Tim thinks over his answer for a moment, scratching at his stubble in a manner that is far too casual. You think he’s going to speak, you’re expecting it, but he doesn’t say anything at first beyond a tired sounding sigh. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as it reaches behind him, and when it emerges once more it’s holding onto the grip of Tim’s revolver. 

“There’s one bullet in the chamber.” 

The world is spinning suddenly as you watch him place the weapon on the ground, and the sound of it sliding across the floor to you makes you sick. You bite back a gag as it slows to a stop in front of you. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as you struggle for words, desperate to pull out some sort of protest to what you know he wants but no sound comes. 

They watch you grapple with yourself for a few moments before Brian places a hand on your knee. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, and normally it would be, but now it feels like a threat. 

“Hey, don’t freak out so soon,” He says, lips curled into a subtle smirk, “We did this all the time when we were younger, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

Unsurprisingly, this does little to quell your fears. You’re shaking now, unable to wrap your mind around how they could be acting so nonchalant about putting your lives on the line like this.

“Listen,” Tim huffs, “I’m gonna be straight with ya, kid. We know how you’ve been feeling recently.” 

That hardly narrows it down. You’ve been feeling a lot of things recently, none of it good and all of it confusing. That’s just the sort of conflict born from this kind of captivity. You shrug, unsure what to say. 

“We know you w-wanna leave,” Toby clarifies, “I saw you staring out t-the window the other day…you just s-sat there for hours.” 

That…made you feel a bit guilty. You shouldn’t, but you do. You could’ve at least made it less obvious. 

“We trust you, hon,” Brian adds with a nod, “But we also think we could all use a little…what did you call it?”

He turns to Tim, who yawns before answering. 

“…Group bonding.” 

You shudder at the phrase. Disgusting. 

“I…I don’t think this is the best way to…t-to do that,” You murmur, but your words hold no weight when you can’t even look them in the eyes. You’d never take the risk of making any sort of real fuss anyways.

Tim shrugs, seeming to consider your words. 

“How would you do it, then?” 

You…don’t have an answer for that. Why don’t you have an answer for that? 

“I-I don’t know, I mean…can’t we just have awkward group sex like other, uh…groups, or whatever?” You ask, hesitating to call your dynamic any sort of relationship.

You make sure to tack on a nervous laugh at the end to make it seem lighthearted, but no one is amused. Toby giggles, but he’s laughing at you, and it’s painfully obvious. 

“Don’t stress about it,” Tim says, “Just think of it as a…a test, you know?” 

He sighs when you shake your head no.

“Ya know, like…a way of proving yourself. I mean, you trust us, right?” 

You hesitate to answer that, but nod quickly when Tim narrows his eyes at you. 

“Good. Well, think of it this way: if we all survive this, it’s a sign that we���re…meant to be together.”

“There has to be a better way—“ You blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Brian instantly takes to calming you. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His other hand comes up to your face, holding your head against his shoulder.

“Calm down, baby,” He says softly, “Don’t jump ship so fast. I told you, we’ve all done this before. We’ll even go first to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”

He’s not really giving you a choice. 

You nod.

Maybe you’ll be able to just get this over with. If you sit here for much longer, you’re gonna be sick. 

Toby reaches out to grab the gun first. That doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s never been one for forethought, or common sense in general. One day his hubris will get him killed, you think, but for once you’re hoping it won’t be today. 

Not today. 

Not here.

Not right in front of you. 

Brian doesn’t let you go, continuing to hold you against him as Toby makes a show of spinning the chamber, letting it run until it stops on its own. He giggles with deranged amusement as he presses the end of the barrel to the bottom of his chin, looking back at Tim with a crooked grin. 

There’s silent for a few moments, and you can’t look away from him until you follow his gaze to Tim, who is staring back with furrowed brows.

He’s still for a beat, and then he nods. 

A signal. 

Go. 

You have a split second to process Toby preparing to pull the trigger before you bury your face in Brian’s hoodie and he, in turn, covers your face with his hand and squeezes you tight. It’s hardly comforting, but it’s better than nothing. 

The soft click of the trigger seems to echo endlessly in the silence that follows. 

Silence. 

You quickly look back up and are immediately met with Toby’s hazel eyes looking back at you, their corners crinkled with the wide smile that’s spread across his pale face. 

“Lookie there,” He drawls with a laugh, “This h-handsome face is still in tact.” 

“Hardly the better outcome,” Tim mutters with a roll of his eyes.

This prompts Toby to slide the gun to him next, crossing his arms in feigned hurt. 

“You go n-next then, wise guy. If you blow y-your brains out, at least we’ll know you h-had one.” 

“Shut up,” Tim hisses back as he, too, brings his hand up to spin the chamber of the revolver. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t think they’d be so eager. 

You’re gripping onto Brian’s hoodie so tightly your knuckles burn as you watch Tim press the barrel of the gun to his jaw, angling it upwards toward the dome of his skull.

He’s not nearly as giddy as Toby. He’s straight faced and silent, which isn’t odd, but something in his eyes is darker than you ever remember it being. You can only see his eyes with his mask on, yet you know his expression exactly. He’s staring right at you, and you’re imagining his brains dashed against the wall behind him, his face and any identifying features that once made him human reduced to a splatter of viscera that barely resembles the pieces of a person. 

And when it’s all over, you think, you’ll surely be the one left to clean the mess of what used to be Tim. You’ll be left to scrub the red stains from the floorboards while the others continue on as if nothing has happened, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

The world stills as once more the trigger is pulled with a click.

Then relief hits you like a shockwave when that click is followed by silence.

Silence.

Your lungs fill faster than you were ready for, and you cough and sputter as your chest heaves with newfound breath. Brian rubs your shoulder gently, his other hand reaching out to grab the revolver as Tim slides it to him. The gun is exchanged without a word, only piercing eye contact as Brian lifts the weapon and spins the chamber, just as his companions had done before him. 

It seems so natural for all of them. In the half a second it takes for Brian to lift the gun you wonder how many times they’ve done this, if you’re the first  person to witness this ritual, and if not, what happened to those who came before you. 

You don’t find any hope of getting answers, though, as you watch Brian press the barrel to the side of his head. He gives you a squeeze, and you can’t tell if he’s assuring you or saying goodbye just in case. 

You still haven’t released his hoodie despite the throbbing pain in your fingers. You’re barely a thread away from tearing out a patch, but you can’t let go. You don’t look at him this time, unable to pull your head away from where it rests on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze like you’re trying to crush him, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair in response as if he’s amused by your terror. You’re a scared kid to him, a foolish little child running from an imaginary monster despite the very real threat. 

You can hear his hoodie shifting as he adjusts the position of the gun. You can hear the slight scratching against his hair as the barrel moves against his head. You can hear him suck in a quick breath as he readies himself to pull the trigger. 

You hear the click. 

And then silence. 

Silence.

You’ve never been so grateful for silence. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when Toby claps and laughs loudly, practically howling with wildly misplaced celebration. He shakes you in his excitement, unable to get any intelligible words out through his giggling. 

“Shhh,” Brian says with a finger to his lips, “We’re not done yet.”

He’s right. Goddamnit, he’s right. Not everyone has played yet. You were hoping that maybe just this once the higher being that trapped you in this hell would have this minuscule mercy on you, but you were met with a resounding no. 

Brian places the gun on the floor in front of you. You can’t hear the sound of the metal gently knocking against the wood floor, but it makes you feel ice cold. Your world is rapidly going dark as you struggle to make yourself breathe. 

You can feel the others’ eyes on you, three pairs of eyes staring right at you and boring a hole through your skull that’ll surely be identical to the one the bullet will leave. Maybe they’re imagining it, too. 

It seems you’re not moving fast enough for them.

Toby reaches out and grabs your wrist a bit too roughly, forcefully placing your hand on the gun. You wince like you expect it to burn, but you’re left with only the cruel sensation of metal on your palm. 

You weakly curl your fingers around the grip of the gun. It feels impossibly heavy as you lift it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You force your other hand up, placing two fingers on the chamber of the revolver as you prepare to spin it.

You press the pads of your fingers against the metal, pushing down in an attempt to spin, but the gun slips from your shaking hands and clatters to the floor. You yelp in surprise and clamp your hands over your mouth, tears suddenly forming in your eyes but refusing to flow over. 

Brian sighs. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just disappointed. He picks up the gun, and you think that maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you out, grant you some small reprieve and tell you you don’t have to do this. 

Instead he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close, and his other hand presses the barrel of the gun right to your head. 

“I’ll do it for you,” He says, as if it’s nothing serious. Like he’s just grabbing a box off a high shelf to be nice. 

You feel like he’s strangling you. He might as well be. It would be a more humane death. 

He’s going to kill you, you think, you’re going to die in this godforsaken house with these bastards, you’re going to die in isolation with no one to honor your body. 

They’ve sentenced you to death. 

You think back to that question of how many have come before you. Is this what they thought about, too? Is this the first, third or twentieth time someone like you has been here? How many unfortunate circumstances have stained the floorboards red over the years this cabin has stood? 

It doesn’t matter. 

None of that matters. 

You’re going to be the next. 

That’s all there is for you to be now. 

A stain of red on the old wood floors will be your only legacy. 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you look up at Brian. His expression doesn’t move an inch. There’s no trace of the humor he always seems to have, not even a hint of feigned compassion or sympathy for your position. He’s not letting you out of this. None of them are. 

You reach down and grab Brian’s hand where it rests in your hip, your nails digging into his knuckles. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even move beyond adjusting his finger to pull the trigger. 

Each second seems to go on for an eternity, yet at the same time everything is moving far too fast. You can’t process what’s happening but you just want it over with, that’s your only choice. 

He’s lifting his finger, preparing to bring it down on the trigger. 

He’s pressing the barrel of the gun into your skin just a bit harder as he readies himself for whatever happens next. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is…

The trigger clicks. 

Then there’s silence. 

…it.

Silence.

And then Toby erupts with animalistic, ecstatic laughter. It rings in your ears and echoes around your skull in an almost painful manner. You can’t stand the sound. 

You’re alive. 

The game is over. 

All at once relief floods your body in such an overwhelming manner your vision goes dark. You can’t speak a word before you’ve gone limp in Brian’s arms, and he barely has time to put the revolver down and catch you. He holds you in his arms and makes a half hearted attempt to wake you, but when you don’t respond he looks up at Tim with a smirk. 

“Out like a light.” 

Tim can’t help but chuckle, and for a moment it’s even a full on laugh. This only encourages Toby, who’s flopped over onto his back as his body writhes with mirth. 

Brian groans as he stands, pulling your body up with him. He throws you over his shoulder and nods to the others. 

“I’m taking this one up stairs, gonna put ‘em to bed. I’m sure they’ll be whiny when they wake up, and you two better deal with it.”

Tim and Toby nod and wave him away. Toby’s finally stopped laughing enough to pull himself off the floor as Tim picks up the revolver. He shoves it into Toby’s chest, nearly pushing him over. 

“Go put it up,” Tim orders. 

“Or what?” Toby teases as he takes the gun, “You g-gonna get mad ‘cause I won’t clean up y-your toys?” 

“Just do it,” Tim demands with a growl, clearly not amused. Toby rolls his eyes and huffs like a defiant child, but nods. 

Tim starts to walk away, headed upstairs to his own room, but he pauses on the first step and turns to Toby. 

“Oh, and don’t forget to load it,” He adds, “If it’s empty the next time I need it, I’m gonna kill you.” 

[fanaticsnail]

Killer Watchdog

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,700+

Synopsis: Studying at sea was never an easy feat, especially while travelling under the captainship and serving alongside the unruly crew sailing on the Victoria Punk. As you complete your intensive over Den-Den, you notice the silence and choose to investigate the cause.

Themes: Killer x gn!reader, fluff, sfw, studying, flirting.

Notes: @ushoppu said they wanted some Killer fics to help through studies. He is such a supportive blorbo, and everyone deserves a Killer watchdog to guard their valuable study time.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

The silence reverberating in your room had a subtle ring of tinnitus echoing in your eardrum. It was quiet. Too quiet. The most quiet it had ever been in all your time traveling and serving beneath Eustass Kid and his unruly crew. 

Never one to give up on your dreams, no matter where the vessel drew you towards, you took to earning your merit and continued to study despite your career in piracy. As your intensives drew all the closer, to say you were stressed was a gross understatement. 

The crew was loud, their ruckus was boisterous and unhinged, and there was no way you could ever aim to complete your final timed report over Den-Den with your assessor aboard the Victoria Punk. At least, that was what you thought. A call of your full name and title through the mouthpiece of the snail drew back your attention. 

“Are you still with me?” the voice called, snapping you back to reality, “You have another fifteen minutes for the final assessment. Do you require more time?” Drawing your eyes back to the page, you noticed your penmanship and calligraphy was almost completely concluded. All you had to do was flicker through your notepaper and cite your references, and your assessment was completed. 

“I can get it done in ten,” you smirked to yourself, the snicker through the mouthpiece from your assessor was emitted in response to your confession. 

“Well then,” the smirk they were wearing was depicted in their tone, “Make my day. Get it done, you've got this.” You hummed, steadily locating all of your quotes, highlighting your final masterpiece and running over your paper for any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. As the clock’s minutes ticked over, you huffed out a sharp exhale and nodded at the snail’s eye lenses. 

“It’s done, stop the clock,” you smiled, presenting your sheet up to the snail's face for your assessor to shutter the final flicker over your page. You hum enthusiastically, turning through the pages and allowing a moment for several flickers to resound before removing them completely. 

“You’ve done well for so little time,” they praise you, their voice distorted in the crackled hum of the den-den speaker. “Especially considering the captain you sail under.” You huff, scoffing at the transmitter end of the speaker and glaring into the glaring lens. 

“Who I serve and sail with is none of your business,” you snarl into the snail, your aura turning dangerous and resolve dark and unwavering, “All that should matter to you is the merit of my marks, and quality of my work. That was our agreement, was it not?” The voice chuckles into the snail, the crackling voice reassuring you with a soft hum. 

“Of course. All I was saying is your companions have been awfully quiet during your intensive. I feel like the silence aided the quality of your work,” they relay on you, the rustling of printing paper and clinking of several pens retracting from a ceramic bowl over their desk while adding, “I will assess your etchings and research here and get it back with your final tally. Dismissed, and good job."

The click and muffled silence had you exhale in relief, slinking back into your chair and releasing a breath you didn't know you were carrying. The gentle rock and sway of the ship had you more at ease as you rose and fell your breath with each softening swell. Closing your eyes, you focussed on the sounds of crashing waves meeting the wooden hull, and noticing the absence of your captain's barking roars, and your crew's daily spats and roughhousing. 

Silence, the encumbering depths of uncomfortable unfamiliarity. Reopening your eyes, you furrow your brows as the silence grows more intense. Finally plagued by the bewilderment enough, your curiosity needed to be sated and you could no longer tolerate the unknown. 

Removing yourself from your chair, you cast the wood backwards and hastily stalked towards your door and flung it wide enough to indent the knob in the door beside it. 

“Why is everyone so fucking quiet?” you yell into the wooden hallway, your agitation and disdain for the silence forming in a rough grimace. 

“And here I thought you'd thank me for it,” you yelped in shock, jumping as you snapped your head over to the voice and gruff cough. Reclining beside your door, arms folded and feet outstretched on the hallway wall in front of him, his dual sythes lay beside him and itching to be claimed in his hands. 

His mask lay bobbed and downturned, his shoulders squared but his back arched in a concave atop the all-too-small stool beside the wall. Your lips parted as you attempted to reign in your grin. 

“You're keeping everyone quiet?” You gasp back your shock, gently reaching down and giving his shoulder a gentle nudge, “What made you decide to do that?” He gruffly grunts back his displeasure at the gruff motion, shrugging off your movement and seeming to pout with his biceps curling ever tighter.

“I enjoy being your watchdog,” he mocks his tone, shimmying his shoulders with pride at such a title, “Guarding you as you study, given what happened last time with your Den-Den presentation, has been my top priority.” He stands from his recline hastily, his hulking form immediately towering over your smaller stature. 

“It's true, Bubblegum’s shanties are still the talk of the lecture hall,” you give a gentle nod, smiling up at him while he steps all the closer to you. “I can still hear the chorus in my mind each time I try to recite my finals. I'm glad to have such a killer watchdog in you. But why do it?”

Slowly reaching for your chin with his scarred left hand, he steadies your face with his index finger and thumb while stooping over you. Drawing his mask all the closer to you, you could feel the whisper on his tongue before a sound was ever truly made. 

“I want to see you thrive,” his voice held sincerity and a gentle, soothing hum, “You’re the best of us, and we're all so, so,” he leaned in further, the blue of his eyes shining and glimmering between the circular holes, “Proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

You felt your breath stolen from you, as your eyes darting over the divots and indents within his mask. He held you captive, your lips parting within each moment he drew you up to him. 

As you stepped up to your toes in an attempt to make your distance close further, the sound of your crackling Den-Den printing immediately drew your attention away and back to your desk. Spinning on your heels, you sprinted to your desk and immediately clutched the papers in your hands. 

“I-... I-...” your eyes scanned the papers, darting over the page and noticing your final grade marked and annotated in bold. Your hands shook and shuddered the page, prompting a steady hand to cradle your arm from his presence behind you. 

“You…?” he whispered behind you, gently coaxing you to steady your hand, “You, what? How did you do?” 

“I did it,” you whispered, reaching up and clapping your hand over your lip to stifle your glee. Turning in his arms, you shriek your glee up at him, “Kil, I did it! I did it! I passed the- Kil, put me down!” 

Immediately hoisting you up over his shoulder, he stomped with heavy footsteps out of your room, your eyes wide with horror and shock as he chaperoned you like a sack of flour easily over his body. Marching upwards, you finally made it to the deck, glancing at the retreating darkened hallway beneath the stairs. 

“We got a pass!” Killer’s voice bellowed with glee in his tone, cheering your name in a hefty boom, prompting the crew to join him in celebrating your accomplishment. He spun you, earning a shriek from your chest as he twirled you so easily on his shoulders before grappling your waist and pinning you facing against his broad chest in a warm embrace. 

“That mean we can fuckin' speak now, Kil?” The captain bellowed in a gruff snarl, “Not gonna withhold our rations anymore? Gonna stop treatin’ us like children?” 

“You were going to withhold rations, Kil?” you slapped him in the chest with a soft pout on your features, “Why would you do that, big guy?”

“To ensure you had every opportunity to do your best,” he uttered nonchalantly, a soft shrug in his tone and a hidden smile on his lips, “And it paid off, didn't it?” Your heart began to flutter and flood your chest with a warmth unmatched. You offered a soft smile as your eyes began to glaze over. 

“Oh Kil, I could just kiss you right now-,” you began, your voice being cut immediately by a bark from your captain go break your attention away. 

“-Yeah, yeah. Food now, big guy. Hungry,” Kid brushed aside your moment together and marched over to your side, “Take our little scholar with you down there. Have ‘em in the kitchen with you for all I care. As long as I get some barbeque, I don't give a fuck. Food. Now.”

Both chuckling, Killer switched you to cradle his arms behind your knees and around your shoulders to make you more comfortable in his arms. 

“Alright, little scholar,” Killer whispered huskily into your ear, gently escorting you below deck, “Come put your hands and mouth to good use. You get first bite for being such a clever little scholar.” 

His rumbled purr rose peaks of goose flesh on your neck, your heart palpitating with each spurred moment. You attempted to stifle your nerves and gulp back your rising fluster. 

“Only if it's from your fork, big guy,” you flutter your eyelashes and feel the tense swell of his broad arms tighten their hold on you. 

He coughed his nerves back behind his mask, finally reaching the kitchens and placing you down on the stool at the kitchen island before walking to the other side of the island and beginning to ready the meal preparation for the crew. 

“You just sit right there,” he purred at you, gathering tongues, forks and several pots and grilling plates, “Be my muse, clever little scholar. Let me make you a reward.”

“Watching you work is all the reward I need, big guy,” you quirk back at him, leaning forward on the bench and slowly raking your eyes over his figure and watching him prepare the flames and fires. 

Killer attempted to stifle his soft, nervous giggle behind his lips to now avail, but he was ever thankful to have his blush hidden behind his blue and white mask. He couldn't wait to grant you a sample of the meal he'd been marinating for two days just for this occasion.

He would do anything to earn him that sultry and possessive gaze, alongside that smile he had come to pine for. The willingness to guard you as you worked stemmed from the fact that he was truly and deeply infatuated with you, and hoped you might be willing to reciprocate his affections eventually.

If not his stance as your noble knight clad in mask and leather, then perhaps his cuisine could grant him that final push to earn a more intimate look from you. For now, he could settle for flexing his muscles as he prepared your meal, and watching that hunger grow in your eyes for not only his barbeque, but for Killer himself.

[cambion-companion]

Echoes of Orpheus

I wanted to write. It's been a while! Exploring the idea that after Tav dies, Raphael isn't okay with just letting their immortal soul slip away.

Raphael x Tav!reader (gn)

The Hero of Baldur's Gate they had named you, dragging you time and again back into the spotlight of a fame you never wanted.

Survival.

That was all you had wanted. The will to escape the worm inside your head had evolved and taken on life of its own until you were teaming up with angels, devils, druids and warlocks to take down an Elder Brain.

With glory and infamy alike you had lived.

Just like every mortal, your body grew weak around the soul it harbored and eventually passed on.

Like a gossamer thread, your soul was freed from its mortal coil, slipping into the next world gratefully. You felt light and young, strong again.

Echoes and shadows surrounded you, an inexorable pull drawing you down into unknown space and time.

Stars whirled around your vision, hues of azure and lilac danced and merged to create a midnight sky. Up ahead, you saw a white light and knew that was your destination.

But something was wrong.

The gravitational pull guiding you to safe harbor lessened, another sensation arose. You heard your name whispered behind your ear, turning your head to see only a vast abyss that drew fear into your heart.

A familiar smell, a purple light replacing the white-golden rays up ahead. You willed yourself toward it, apprehension and excitement roiling through your being.

So close now. You reached out and a large hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you forward with a great heave.

"Raphael." Your first words uttered since your death. In his ironclad grip you felt almost alive again, awakening the tethers to your mortal life. To him.

He wore the crown of Karsus, the source of that purple glow. The silver metal twisted perfectly amongst his sharp horns, his eyes familiar and blazing hellfire-gold.

"Not even a word of farewell?" Raphael did not relinquish his grasp on you. "I taught you better manners than that."

You did not know what to say, shock holding your tongue as you fought to understand how he could interrupt the natural course of your spirit. "The crown." You whispered.

Raphael nodded. "I understand death has not dulled your wit." He intoned dryly, then tugged you a bit further into his plane. "Nor will it succeed in taking you from me. We still have work to do, you and I."

"You have no right to my soul, I made no deal with you."

"Therein you are most grievously in error." Raphael smiles, dangerous and sharp, the touch of his hand becoming more heavy and real with each passing moment you stayed in his presence. "I am your past. I am your present. And I am your future, little mouse. No mortal frailty will alter that law."

Another tug, the draw to him inescapable as it had been in your previous life. Your palm found the front of his chest, pressing until you could feel the fabric of his velvet tunic.

Raphael tucked a finger beneath your chin and raised your gaze to his once more, his tone softening to that familiar sultry purr. "I will give you life anew, more than any god could offer. You were mine since the moment I laid eyes on you, little mouse."

The old nickname sparked a flame within you, defiance and desire. "I will not be trapped in one of your gilded cages, or placed on a pedestal to be drooled over by your incubus."

"There you are." Raphael squeezed your chin before releasing you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Already coming back to yourself, it seems. And no, dear...you will be put to use, not shelved with my other prizes." He held out a hand. "Now come. Worlds anew wait for us to conquer."

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Echo asking for Reg Manuals early on in his deployment with the Batch wanting desperately for normality. Only to find out that his shitty little brothers cannot care for anything. ever.

Hunter sheepishly hands his over and Echo just stares at it, watches the drool drip from a bite mark in the cover and goes "What the fuck did you do to it." and Hunter mumbles "I was hungry."

Never asking Hunter for anything again, then.

Wrecker looks at Echo like he grew another head and yells: "TECH, WHA'S A REG MANUAL?" which gives Echo all he needs, really. His disappointment turns to "what the SHIT" when Tech oh so calmly points to the very much ruined and indented copy of the Reg Manual that is currently the ONLY thing holding up Wrecker's bunk leg.

The brawler laughs while explaining how THAT happened while Echo tries to figure out why they didn't just.... fix the leg.......

Crosshair doesn't even say anything, just points across to where his is pinned to the wall, blaster bolts shot through the book as it's open on a diagram of a trooper. It was MEANT to display armour, but Crosshair wanted to practice for mess fights.

Echo simply sighs. Because of course he would do that.

Tech, thank the MAKER, hands Echo his Reg Manual and it's completely and utterly pristine. Echo nearly cried with joy, and Tech very expertly dodges his bone-crushing hug of thanks. He just asked for it back later.

Echo plops down in his hammock, ready to kick back and take a much needed trip down memory lane...

....only to find Tech's neat scribe COVERING the pages.

It's fine, Echo swears as he tries to read past it. Just, it's a bit hard when Tech's made so many damn corrections, pointing out errors Echo had seen himself so many times, his writing so lovely and so well tucked to the margins that Echo mistakes it for the actual text.

The deeper he goes, the bigger the notes, and on the blank pages at the front and back, Echo notices the rest of the batch scribbled and drew for each other, obviously following Tech's strict guide to not writing on the actual pages themselves.

It's.. kind of cute, actually.

Its sweet, just how much personality Echo can see in the few messy hearts Wrecker dotted along the sides, or the small reminders Hunter jotted down, for himself and for Tech. The stickman with the crosshair shooting another, goggled stickman doesn't go unnoticed, either, but the date indicates that its been years since that drawing.

At the very end, Echo's forgotten to be so upset at how defiled his usual precious Regs are, instead finding himself smiling at the drawings he found, hidden between pages. To be fair, its mostly plants, diagrams- but Echo can see Tech's handiwork in the messy drawings of Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker. They're younger, but it's them.

Tech didn't sign the drawing, but the attention to detail makes it rather obvious who was responsible. Echo smiles, tucking the page back lovingly to its spot, and returning the Regs with care.

Tech doesn't mention it. Echo doesn't, either. He borrows it some more, and mourns its loss when Kamino disappears.

[wistfulcynic]

the inn is a metaphor

They are terrible at running an inn. 

In the beginning. 

They don’t know the first goddamn thing about the hospitality industry. Or carpentry, plumbing, invoicing, logistics. Anything, really. They know nothing. 

They learn. 

There’s a lot of trial, even more error. But by the first time the Revenge returns for a visit they have something. A roof that doesn’t leak. Un-rotted floorboards. Nooks and crannies free from feral beasts of any kind. Zero spiders. Twin armchairs in front of the fire and a bed just big enough for the two of them. It’s a start. 

The Revenge comes bearing gifts. Wee John has knitted them some afghans and Frenchie sewed an enormous quilt, which takes pride of place on the bed. They’ve towed in another ship as well, a wreck whose timber they all pitch in to rebuild into an extension and some outbuildings. Roach helps them plant a kitchen garden and a medicinal one. 

Jackie gives them business advice and contacts for her old suppliers. Lucius has a guestbook for them, with marginalia he drew himself. Some of it at least is appropriate for guests to see. The rest…

“Are you planning to have guests who’ll faint at the sight of a cock?” Lucius inquires innocently. “Because I’ll be honest with you, that seems unlikely.” 

The idea of guests of any kind is still a long way off, but they’re getting there. They can envision it now, and not just as a wild fantasy they spin each other at night as they lie entwined with sweat cooling on their skin. They have actual plans, concrete ones, and a decent understanding of how to realise them. 

They get to work. 

Jackie’s contacts prove invaluable. Soon they have a liquor supplier, deals with local butchers, bakers, candlestick-makers, and even a reliable fisherman to give them first dibs on his haul. 

(It’s not Pop-Pop.) 

A few survivors of Zheng’s old crew hire on as housekeeping and kitchen staff. The soup is phenomenal. Ed learns how to make it and how to cook a fish without burning it. They have fresh-smelling towels, expertly folded. They have guest rooms, and soon they have guests. 

It’s an adjustment, having new people in their space. Some of the guests are gawkers, eager for a piece of Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate. They reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, namely those particular assholes. But other guests are much more pleasant. Locals looking for a bit of a mini-break, people from nearby islands wanting a getaway, even the occasional European who doesn’t know who they are. 

The guests are mostly happy with their stay. There’s excellent soup and decent fish, fresh linens and great views. The walls could be a bit thicker, perhaps, for everyone’s comfort, but the hosts are always most apologetic in the morning and offer copious marmalade in exchange for good reviews. 

The Revenge returns frequently, each time with some new trinkets and finery for their former co-captains. In exchange, they host bonfires on the beach with music and dancing and wine, until they all fall asleep together in a pile, so like the old days on the ship that Stede watches them in the soft light of the embers with tears in his eyes. 

“All right, love?” Ed asks him. He slips an arm around Stede’s waist. Stede tugs him in until Ed’s head is nestled against his shoulder. He strokes Ed’s hair. Ed sighs and snuggles closer. 

“I’m all right,” Stede says. “A bit nostalgic is all.” 

“You miss it.” 

“I miss the crew. I wish they could visit more often. I suppose I miss the sea, though of course it’s right there in front of us. But I’m happy, Ed. I have no regrets.” 

“Really?” The whisper of doubt in Ed’s voice has Stede pulling back to look down at his dear face. 

“Yes really! Do you doubt it?” 

“Kind of.” Ed shrugs. “It’s easier for me, I think. I was ready to be done with it, Stede. Desperate to do anything else but be Blackbeard. But you—you had just got started. You could be out there now with the crew, pirating away. You could be famous. You could—” 

“Ed Teach, you listen to me.” Stede’s got his Captain Voice on now and the sound of it has Ed’s stomach turning cartwheels, his dick leaping to attention. “I don’t care about any of that. I only wanted to be a pirate for the freedom. To escape my old life. But I have a life now that I would never want to escape. Do you know why?” 

Ed shakes his head. 

“Because I chose it. I chose you. I love you and I would be happy anywhere you were.” He cups Ed’s cheek in his palm and kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips. Ed moans and presses closer but Stede pulls back, just far enough to whisper, “You make Stede happy.” 

They spend that night alone in the inn, no guests, far enough from the beach that when they serve breakfast to the crew the next morning not a single smirk or smart remark is sent their way. 

They wave goodbye to their friends that evening and stand together on their porch to watch the ship sail off into the sunset. Stede turns to Ed with a smile. “New guests checking in tomorrow,” he says. “We should probably fix the creak in the door hinge of Room 1.” 

“I’ll do it,” says Ed, “if you polish the candlesticks. Fuckin’ polish makes my nose itch.” 

“Deal,” says Stede. He turns to head inside. “What’ll we have for dinner?” 

“Got a nice turbot we could roast.” 

“Ooh, fab.” 

The inn’s front door closes behind them. 

It’s still a bit rickety, their inn. It’s old, it creaks, it springs leaks from time to time. It’s hard work, keeping it going. But they are devoted to the task. Whatever it takes, they will see their inn thrive. 

It’s what makes them happy. 

[griffonsgrove]

General Dating Headcanons | Dr. Flug

Dr. Flug X GN!Reader

fandom: Villainous/Villainos words: 1457 cw: none!! just cute tooth-rotting fluff!

a/n: aaa!! following the theme with villainous, I HAD to do our favorite scientist!! Also I'm open for requests!! I'd love to see what yall would send in!!

(Platonic): 

Dr. Flug was the one initially responsible for hiring a new employee for the organization after he had groveled at Black Hat’s feet, begging for an assistant to help lighten his workload.

Reluctantly, Black Hat agreed, but not without scaring the daylights out of the poor doctor first.

Flug thanked the high heavens.

And thus began the search for a new assistant, he sent out multiple ads and flyers, and in little to no time, there was a flood of applicants. Having to sift through each applicant only added even more stress to his ever-growing mountain of work. Most of them didn't really seem to stick out.

That was until he got to yours.

He wasn't quite sure what drew him to your application, maybe it was your astounding track record, accomplishments, and references, or maybe it was because he thought your appearance was pleasing to the eye, something about the gleam in your eyes told him that you were a reasonable, logical and pleasant person to be around.

Which is exactly how you ended up at the front gates of the manor, ready for an interview.

Of course, the first person you met was the doctor himself, he had to disable the alarm system to the manor before letting you in. It’s there that he gives a very brief, albeit awkward introduction.

He unfortunately doesn’t socialize much. 

Everything about his energy, to his stature just screamed nervous wreck. It's from there that he leads you to the Lord’s Office. Surprisingly the interview went well!! If getting demeaned and thrown insults was a norm. But! You got the job!

Now you’re in Flug’s hands, you follow alongside him as he leads you to his lab, listing off all the responsibilities he wanted you to be in charge of some of them being: Organizing files and client paperwork, taking calls from new clients and scheduling appointments, also taking customer reviews, and some minor tidying and organization.

And based on the state of his lab you had a LOT of work to do…

I know some people think Flug is an anxious mess 24/7 but that could not be further from the truth. He’s actually quite egotistical and snarky from time to time, and of course a know-it-all.

He's like the “erm actually ☝️ 🤓” guy in physical form.

IS NOT afraid to correct you over minor errors. He’s very particular about how his things are organized in his lab. He likes to call it his organized chaos. So, if anything gets misplaced, he will get snippy or irritable. 

SO..as long as you inform him of how you do things and WHERE you put them, then all is good!

Overtime as you work alongside him though, he genuinely does start to appreciate the work that you do, he's pleasantly surprised when he finds that all his files and blue prints have been organized alphabetically and by color, or that his tools had been rearranged neatly on his workbench by size and shape, and overall his lab was so much cleaner and tidy than he ever could imagine it to be.

No surprise here but, the doctor is AWFUL at taking care of himself.

Which is why you step in to do small little gestures to help him out.

Whether it be bringing him another cup of coffee or making up a small snack for him to eat throughout the day, he even noticed you had draped his lab coat over him when he fell asleep at his desk one night.

He had to admit he wasn't quite used such small acts of kindness; it was a foreign feeling to him.

Did I also mention he’s tired like 24/7. Let this poor man sleep!! 😭

Believe it or not, he’s grown to quite enjoy your company, maybe it was your relaxed nature, but he felt somewhat at ease whenever you were around.

You’ve both actually held some decent conversations from time to time, both sharing your interests that lead into a ramble about his favorite airplane models.

(Romantic):

His confession was actually quite a funny story, and he wasn't even the one to do it! It was 5.0.5 surprisingly. The sweet blue bear wasn't blind, he began to notice that his papa would longingly stare at you, that he would mumble to himself in his sleep, secret confessions he would never dare say consciously. So, the bear came up with a little plan.

5.0.5 loves to draw, Flug practically keeps every drawing he’s ever given him. He decided that he’d make a love note, from Flug to You. He spends a generous amount of time on it, putting such care into the cute little card, and when he’s deemed it perfect enough, he drops it off to you, happily growling.

You're taken by surprise at first, but then you open up the heart shaped card covered in glitter and are pleased to find an adorable childlike drawing of you and Flug, surrounded by a bunch of pink and red hearts. How sweet!

When you confront the doctor in his lab, showing him the card, he flushes, and at first denies such feelings, slightly embarrassed that his fuzzy son was the one to do it instead of him. It’s then that he decides there's no going back and spills out everything to you.

Which is why he’s shocked when you tell him you reciprocate his feelings. What?? Him?? Really????

Things start if really awkward btw, the doctor has been without physical contact for so long that WASNT being beaten down by his boss, that he honestly forgot what it was like to experience affection, aside from the crushing hugs that 5.0.5 would give him.

He’s very fidgety, doesn't quite know what to do with his hands, where to put them or how you’ll respond to his touch.

Please give him a hug :(

He’s also very respectful of your boundaries, as you are with him, he’s not quite comfortable taking the bag off his head, which you don't mind in the slightest.

Things seem to continue almost as normally, but the two of you spend more and more time with each other, taking your breaks together, having lunch and spending your evening time hanging out when neither one of you are slammed with work. He quite enjoyed having movie nights with you, the sci-fi films are always his favorite btw. He heavily critiques the machines and inventions.

You both try to keep your relationship on the down low, Black Hat would blow a gasket if he found out. Demencia on the other hand was a huge tease. She frequently mocked the two of you, mostly Flug, however. You’d stick up for him of course and tease her right back, much to the doctor's surprise.

Queue the heart eyes.

Dr. Flug expresses his affection through small, thoughtful gestures, like leaving little notes of encouragement or surprising you with inventions tailored to your interests.

Speaking of gift giving, he prefers to hand make your gifts. His ideology is that there's no point in getting you a meaningless gift that you’ll throw out in a couple of weeks, so why not make you a meaningful one that you can make your life easier???

Which btw he's VERY observant, it's actually quite endearing from time to time, and he takes note of all your special interests, favorite foods, etc.

Mans is touch-starved. Sorry I don't make the rules. 

PLEASE HOLD HIM. 

He’s pretty hesitant to touch at first, but the second he gets a feel for physical affection he's latching onto you like a koala-bear. He likes holding your hand, his hands are surprisingly soft underneath his gloves. 

When you’re both hidden away in the evening from prying eyes, is when you can finally cuddle and be more affectionate with each other. SPOIL HIM PLEASE.

You become one of his biggest supporters, encouraging him and giving him the long-deserved praise, he aches for. When he’s with you, he’ll admit that you have substantially helped boost his ego and confidence which really pays off in his work. Not that Black Hat would ever give him the satisfaction.

Overall, Dr. Flug really is a sweetheart on the inside, especially with those he's grown to love and care about and getting him to open up to you about his insecurities is one of your best accomplishments, he feels like he can be vulnerable with you and that really says a lot. The man has a lot of inner demons and has willingly put his life down the path of villainy, but he feels with you by his side, that things will be a little bit better...

[ghostsy]

Dearly Beloved

WARNINGS: yandere, possessiveness, imprisonment, slight infantilization, non-consensual implications, abuse, nsfw, smut, dub/noncon

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! TODOROKI SHOTO X READER

“Please, if you have any information…”

She wanted to throw up. Or pass out. In any particular order she didn’t really care, just anything to stop this. Her legs had long gone numb strewn over his lap, the dewy stains of her despair spilled across his slacks, her hands secured tightly behind her back.

“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Whatever joy I had disappeared with her that day. Please, I just want her home. We just want to bring our daughter home. She deserved…she deserves better than this…”

The device responsible for her torture was still buzzing excitedly at the swollen source of agony between her thighs. A sudden silence filled the room, television screen freezing on sobbing faces, and her heart leapt to her throat.

“You’re not paying attention.”

The vibrator clicked off, and his hand came to rest on her thigh, the other still secured around her waist to prop her up, squeezing at her hips. Though, the circles he drew on her skin weren’t in any way a comfort.

She couldn’t see his face from her place in front of the screen, but she hardly had to guess his expression, hardly had to guess his feelings. His reputation preceded him. Hot and Cold. She’d learned through painful trial and error that it was meant in more ways than one.

She licked at her cracked lips, “I am. I am–please–I promise, I am,” Through the breaks, her voice was sugar sweet, innocent, docile. A thinly veiled search for mercy.

“We’ll rewind.” Though, it seemed he would give her none as he coaxed her gaze back to the television in front of them.

Right. There was another source of agony–of torture–he’d been keen on subjecting her to today. It was her fault, she supposed, for being foolish enough to believe that unlocked window to be anything other than a test. A test that she’d, of course, failed. 

“Nearly one year after the sudden disappearance of a Tokyo woman, friends and family are struggling to hold on to hope. Our journalists caught up with…”

She closed her eyes, swallowing the salty tears fighting their way up her throat to join the streams on her cheeks, and opened her mouth to speak, hiccuping on her sobs.

“Please, I’ll–I’m sorry. I can’t take–I’ll never–I won’t–promise I won’t–”

“I don’t see the problem,” He’d made a career out of patronizing her, she’d discovered, “You wanted to see your friends and family, right?” The growing heat on her thigh meant it wasn’t rhetorical. 

She hissed at the burn, forcing a reply through gritted teeth, “I didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t mean…? You’re hardly in a position to be picky,” Shifting his hold on her, the vibrator, still latched to her pulsing clit, clicked on, two of his fingers dipped down, circling her glistening hole, teasing, “I’d say it's plenty gracious of me to give you even this,” Calloused and cold, they shoved themselves inside her, setting an unforgiving pace. 

She nearly keeled over from the sensation, cursing under her breath, “I’m–It wasn’t–Can we please just–”

“You think you’d be happier, right?” His canines grazed her neck, threatening to break through the skin, “That you’d feel better out there. What’s anyone out there ever done for you?” He scoffed, “What have they done to earn your love?” The tremble of his voice reminded her of his barely contained, and building, rage. She had to do something.

“No, that’s not–” She begged with his name on her lips, “I just–I just wanted–”

“All you need to do is convince me,” There was electricity building in her veins, though a pit of dread forming in her stomach, “Your happiness depends on them? I’m really so terrible?” The murmur of the television was turning to static in her ears, “Get through one interview, then,” He huffed out a humorless laugh, “Just one, I promise,” Voice low and sultry, “Without gushing on my fingers while you watch them cry.”

She choked on a sob, but the ache in her limbs and the tightness squeezing its way from her chest to her throat significantly damped any anger she would have–should have–felt. 

“She was my best friend; she wouldn’t have just up and left.”

She just wanted this to be over. Find her panties, curl up under her bed covers, and let the roaring tides in her lungs pour out her eyes, and scream. Scream ‘till she passed out, hoping to find peace in the abyss of unconsciousness.

“Was? Are you saying that you think she’s passed on?”

“...I—Well, it’s not—It’s just, it’s been so long, and I–if we, the people who care about her, are going to have any chance at healing…”

Alas, fate was never so kind to her, and she was reminded of another, more humiliating, tide pooling in her gut.

Two fingers inside her became three, and she bit her tongue to stifle a whimper as they reached that once special, now cursed, spot inside her. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t. It didn’t.

Sighing, he brought the hand around her waist to pet at her hair, “Don’t you see?” He tucked the strands behind her ear, hot breath hitting her skin, “They’ve given up on you. What will it take for you to understand, lovely?”

“I’m just so tired. We all are. But I love her, really I do.”

He snorted, “Love you. They don’t love you,” Angling his face downwards, hair tickling her cheek, “Family. Friends,” She was panting now, eyes going crossed from exertion, “They mean nothing. They are nothing.” She wouldn’t come; she couldn’t. But the clenching of her walls against his fingers betrayed her, and she felt his lips pull into a smirk against her throat.

“There’s just…what else is there left to do? I can’t–I don’t–scouring woods and swamps and–to try and find…try and find what? I just can’t–I can’t do it–I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t–”

“No one takes care of you like I do.” 

Vibrator still buzzing, a numbing, pulsing, ache formed between her legs, and his fingers, wet and crystalline, sped their pace, squelching as they fucked in and out of her weeping entrance. There was a ringing in her ears as she felt the floodgates start to open. Please no. Not again. 

What would they say if they could see her now? Mewling and moaning like a whore on her captor’s fingers while their worlds upended? How disgusting she was–if only her body agreed. 

“Take your time. If this is too hard–”

“No. I can at least do this for her. So people remember her. Remember her name. She would have wanted at least that.”

“No one knows you like I do.”

He was trailing wet kisses up her neck, tongue and teeth coming together to form scattered bruises in his path. Her thighs were spasming, flexing in an attempt to stave off the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her.

“It’s clear how much she means to you. How lucky she must have felt to have someone care about her so deeply.”

“No one loves you like I do.”

His teeth sunk into her earlobe, and her vision went white, nerves exploding as her walls clenched, desperately, gratefully, if not ashamedly, fluttering around his digits for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Though the relief, like any momentary pleasure he’d bestowed upon her, unwilling or otherwise, was short lived. Coming down from her high, she blinked away the tears weighing on her lashes, and blurring her vision, lungs heaving in an attempt to gather her bearings. The vibrator clicked off, and his fingers pulled themselves from her, dewy and gleaming.

“Suck.” He pushed them through her lips, and she choked on their length, licking at the sticky substance, and swallowing to assuage his anger. He removed them with a pop, and she held her breath, praying to whatever god she did or didn’t believe in that he would release her. He’d made his point, right? 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” She gulped in air to stifle the shake in her voice, and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck, wetting the skin with her tears, pathetic, “I won’t–”

“You didn’t think we were finished did you?” Her heart dropped to her stomach, “You’ve failed to convince me, you know.” 

“I’m convinced!” She winced, realizing the volume, but found he was waiting for her to continue, “I’m…I’m convinced. You were right. I shouldn’t have tried to leave…I wasn’t–I wasn’t thinking.”

The second of silence was months long, but a soft laugh tinged with delirium broke through the static noise. Cold fingers clutched at her jaw, angling her face towards his own.

Forced to meet his gaze, she hated to admit it, but he was so pretty. The allure of mystery twinkled in those mismatched eyes, hiding the promise of something no man or woman or person could possibly hope to resist.

“No,” Sighing, his free hand squeezed at her waist, “No, you were never really good at that, were you?” She nearly didn’t hear him, lost to her thoughts, wallowing in self pity and hate; why hadn’t she seen it before?

She just wished she could have left well enough alone. Let that mystery pass her by unsolved. A promise can be hollow, she’d learned; a vortex of nothing that pulls you into the blackness, greedy in its emptiness to steal any soul or love or light from its captive, leaving them to drown in the inky darkness, dead, but never alone.

A stinging pinch at her side motivated her to sputter out the prompted answer.

“At what?”

“Thinking.”

She could say something, she realized. Anything. Anything but what she knew she’d let slip from her lips. Fucking coward.

“No,” Coward, “No, I wasn’t–I’m–No, I’m not.” 

He hummed, eyes twinkling, amused, “Anything else?”

Her teeth sunk into her lip, bloated and salted with her tears, canines piercing through the skin to let drops of red bubble to the surface. Still, she forced out another meek placation.

 “I’m sorry,” But cowards don’t get burnt and they don’t get frostbite and they don’t get hurt, “I’ll–I’ve learned my–my lesson, now. I promise, please–”

“It’s cute that you think anything you say matters,” Cowards don’t get hurt, she reminded herself, but the stinging of shattered pride in her chest argued otherwise, “Besides,” He motioned towards the television, “We’re not even halfway through.”

No. No no no. She’d done what he’d said, hadn’t she? Please. No more. The knot in her throat was making it hard to breathe, twisting and growing, “Please–”

He sighed as he shifted a bit behind her, and she felt it, more present than before, “What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t follow through on my promises, lovely?” The clink of a belt buckle ripped at her heart, “And, really, how can I resist,” Fingers trailed back down to swipe at her puffy and abused and dripping entrance before pulling away, flexing his fingers as the dewy substance stuck in webs to the digits, “When you’re practically begging for it.”

She felt like a ragdoll, what little fight or resistance or hope beaten and torn from inside her. A firm hand bruised her waist as he lifted her, and shuffled out of his pants. He turned her face back towards the screen, a trail of frost creeping at her jawline as he released her.

“If there’s anything you’d say to her if you could–anything you think she’d want to hear…”

“There’s just one thing.”

Something too big and too hard and too familiar prodded at her sore and tired entrance, and her fingernails made crescent moons in her tied palms.

“Wherever you are. Whatever happened.”

The wetness allowed him to slide in rather easily, but the girth was accompanied by a burning stretch. She should have been used to this by now, and while the feel of his cock throbbing inside her was all too familiar, she found herself dizzy, unfocused, nauseous. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream, but that inky blackness of his had filled her lungs. 

“I hope you’re somewhere warm and bright, even if it’s above the clouds.”

She was drowning. Drowning and hurting, and clawing for just a hint of light from the abyss of broken promises. Wasn’t drowning supposed to be peaceful? How long did she have to wait until it was peaceful? 

“I hope you’ve found peace.”

“Oh,” He sighed as he bottomed out inside her, “This is my favorite part.”

Her limbs felt heavy, and she felt so tired. Was this the good part? Give up and it won’t hurt. Give up and let him do as he pleased. Give up and drown prettily. Become as empty and hollow as the pit she was trapped in, and the hurt would stop. Feelings and pain and everything. Make it stop.

“And I promise, I won’t ever stop loving you.”

[gaybitchfx]

✰𝓩. 𝓘𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓶𝓲✰

you showed me things—★

I've only seen in dreams

★—and there's something magic

about this whole thing —alice phoebe lou

𝓣𝓦: a/b/o au, spelling and grammar errors, intentional lowercase

✰ ILLUMI who was forced to attend a ball by his family due to them wanting an heir and for him to get married as the eldest son of the zoldyck family, a very well known last name amongst the kingdoms.. all the different scents there bothered him, some smelt musky, others smelt artificial but there was one that stood out from the rest. it was sweet and bitter at the same time. before he could even follow the scent your parents came with big smiles on their faces. “good afternoon, mr. zoldyck.” your mother and father said before moving their daughter, your sister, in front of them. “good afternoon.” she said with a smile that mimicked her parents. “afternoon.” he said plainly as he looked over the three, he found their smiles irritating, but didn’t say anything as to not be rude. “i’ve heard your here to look for a potential wife.” your mother said as she glanced at her daughter. she looked like a chandelier had gone wrong due to her wearing far too much jewelry. “yes, i am. now if you’ll excuse me i have something to do.” he said as he bowed his head a little before walking away to go and look for the person who had that peculiar scent.

✰ ILLUMI who was now struggling to find them grew agitated. it was as if whoever had that scent kept moving around farther and farther away from him making them hard to find. it didn’t help how your sister and parents kept pestering him, it was clear they wanted her to marry him and be apart of the zoldyck family since it came with benefits. as your parents talked to him the scent grew closer and more stronger until—“mom, when are we going home?” you asked as you yawned, arms folded over your chest as you had a look of annoyance spreading over your features. it finally clicked, you were the one producing such a sweet and bitter scent that drew illumi. his gaze stayed on you as he looked you over, examining your features and your attire, you were the youngest amongst your family. “not now (name).” your mother said through gritted teeth as she looked at you with a smile, of course it was fake. “so, your name is (name)?” illumi finally said as he approached you abruptly. “yeah? who’s askin’?” you mumbled as you looked at him with a raised brow.

✰ ILLUMI who was beyond happy and ecstatic to have finally found the person with the scent he’s been looking for all night. he was also happy that you were quiet the beauty as well and an omega nonetheless. it was clear your family was upset that he was now paying attention to you, even the look on his face annoyed them due to it h showing how interested he was in you. “may i take your hand in marriage and make you my wife?” he asked, his tone soft as he examined your face, noticing how your eyebrows raised and how your eyes widened just a smidge. “but..but your highness, he’s our youngest (20yrs) let alone a male omega, why not take our daughters hand in marriage? she could—” “no thank you.” he said sternly, cutting your father off making a look of shock spread across his and his wife’s face. “so, (name), do you take the offer?” he asked as he gently took his hand in yours. you glanced over at your parents who were enraged and hoping you wouldn’t agree to his proposal. but of course you felt like being petty since they never really paid attention to you and this was your only opportunity to actually have some recognition in this damn family. “yes, i’ll accept your proposal.” you said with a smile, illumi’s scent had a hint of excitement to it as he nodded his head. “very well, tomorrow we’ll have all your items transferred to the zoldyck families kingdom. as for the wedding it’ll be in a weeks time, i want to marry you as soon as possible.” he said as he released your hand, a small smile forming on his lips as he looked at you.

✰—tags: @jkloserdazai @reallyromealone @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[sophocless]

Will someone read it?

Of course, it’s not reasonable to have so many in one post, but I just want to share and tell a little about each sketch

(Slightly darkened to show color, sorry)

I like to draw Error the traditional way, and after that I always have dirty hands from markers, pens and pencils. I rarely drew Dream and therefore I don’t remember how he looks and because of this I didn’t finish drawing, but what a beautiful Nightmare

Three drawings for a single character. In Fresh, I like to draw boots (I love to draw boots and feet, although I don’t always succeed). The Outer didn't turn out... But I still love him like the colors I used for Art. Ink... I have mixed feelings for him, but this is the first sans I drew back in 2016.

Bad boys, I have nothing to say, I draw them quite often lately.

A small addition in the form of a gaster and a bunch of mini sans (I explained to my friend about them, she liked it and now she understands all this!)

And a lot of mini-sketches with some sans (I don't know who he is and from what universe, but he exists in my head) And then quite mini sketches of different sans

Thank you

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Locked Out (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, language, mentions of blood Word count: 4.2k

Summary: When you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, Anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

Author's Note: Inspired by true events that involved all the frustration but none of the fun 😜 This was just an idea that rooted itself. A silly little fic outside my usual style. Thanks to @faye-tale for chatting with me while I waited for a locksmith. 😊 And thanks to @colettebronte who always has the right JB pic for the job. 💜

You knew this would happen. You had never trusted the smart lock ever since Anthony had installed it. Either some criminal masterminds would hack the whole network of them, or the battery would die and leave you precisely where you were now, standing on the stoop in the chilly air as midnight approached, the moon and your phone as your only light sources. Again you wondered what was so bad about traditional locks as your phone flashed the error message. But Anthony had to get his way, as usual. One news story about a burglar three towns away and the next day he had bought every ‘smart’ home security device on the market.

Well now the stupid lock didn’t work. The first time you had pressed the button you assumed you had tapped something wrong, given how distracted you were. Anthony was crowding against you, one hand slithering over your backside while the other moved to wrap lightly around your throat. He was breathing heavy in your ear, licking your neck with his untamable tongue, a move that always made your eyes cross a bit. But now you had tried three times to unlock the door and it clearly wasn’t working.

“Anthony…”

He just rumbled in response, biting your lobe.

“Anthony!” You nudged him back with your hips, trying to snap him out of it. “The damn lock is broken.” 

“What?” Of course he then had to inspect it himself for a full five minutes, trying every trick on his phone that you had, to no avail.

You stood with your arms crossed. “Where’s the spare key?”

Even in the dim light you could see his jaw set with aggravation. “Inside.”

You scoffed, “You didn’t hide it outside like you said you would?”

“I don’t want to leave a key to our property lying around for anyone to find. This thing was supposed to be top-of-the-line.” He growled.

You couldn’t help your eyes from rolling. “Anthony, that’s why you hide it…”

“Let me try the back.” He jogged off the steps and around the house through your garden gate. You both knew full well that he had rigged your back door with the same space age lock as the front and wasn’t likely to have any success. All you wanted was to get inside, to get warm and have a glass of wine. You looked up at the glare of the full moon. That must be to blame for your misfortune.  

You weren’t going to wait forever and searched the number for a 24-hour locksmith. You were just about to dial when the sound of shattering glass echoed over your lawn followed by a loud curse. Oh good lord…

Before you could even detect which side of the house it came from, Anthony stepped out of the shadows, holding a forearm aloft.

“Anthony Bridgerton, what the hell did you do?” You hissed as loud as you dared, mindful of disturbing your neighbors.

But you knew exactly what he had done when he drew closer and you could see the bloody pulp that now constituted his knuckles. More alarming was the long, jagged tear in the sleeve of his shirt through which you could see the matching slice on his skin, blood already seeping out to darken the fabric.

“Broke the side window,” he grumbled. 

“And how did that work out for you, genius?”

His eyes flashed. “The damn latch is too high. I couldn’t reach it inside.”

Excellent. Now you would need to replace your window as well as hire a locksmith. Your simple date night was turning into quite the misadventure. The cold was starting to seep in. Not expecting to spend time outside, you wore only a dress and no coat. You were so tired and irked you were bordering on a tantrum. But your husband was bleeding, quite a lot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ream him out while he was injured.

“Jesus,” You huffed, taking his good arm and pulling him over to your car in the drive. Fortunately this piece of your property had a keyfob, making it your only form of shelter at the moment. “Sit down,” you ordered, opening the driver’s side door and pushing him into the seat. You crouched next to him and turned his wrist to inspect the damage. It was ugly, the whole sleeve from the elbow down stained red already. 

Before you even suggested it, he tugged the cuff of his other sleeve with his teeth, slipping his whole shirt up and over his head until it hung only on his bloodied limb. 

“Haven’t you ever watched movies?” You chastised as you began to wind the fabric around the gash. A gorgeous knit shirt ruined forever. “You wrap your arm with your shirt before you punch through glass.”

“Well I’m sorry for trying to solve our problem.” He snipped. You responded by pulling a tight knot, causing him to hiss. 

But your frustrated energy threatened to redirect into something else entirely as you surveyed him. Even after all this time together, you went a bit speechless whenever you saw him shirtless. It really was obscene for someone to be so attractive. Broad-shouldered and muscular, with the most perfect patch of soft hair across his chest. Running your hands over him had reached the level of compulsion, beyond mere desire. Seeing as his torso was streaked with blood from his haphazardly bandaged arm, you gave in under the pretense of tending to him. You drifted your fingers up his carved abdomen and onto his chest where his movements slowed under your palm, his breaths deepening. 

“I don’t have anything to clean you up with.” You were more agitated than apologetic. How fast were you going to devolve into naked, bloodied neanderthals all because you didn’t have a house key?

“It’s fine.” He laid his good hand over yours, holding it in place. You could feel the strong thrum of his heart. He knew what he was doing. Trying to dissipate your anger by turning himself into a distraction. But you wouldn’t let him. Someone had to remedy this situation. 

You quirked a brow. “Should I call the paramedics or the locksmith?”

His pursed-lips look of annoyance was one you saw often and always relished. It was usually the only way he admitted you were right in a spat. Nudging him a few inches, you perched next to him on the seat.

“How long will they take?” he asked when you hung up.

“Half an hour.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You knew that silky edge to his voice and turned to look at him. His eyes, always dark, glinted most dangerously at night. Darkness suited him much more than daylight and even though you knew your husband was putty in your hands, one flash of those eyes made you feel like prey.

You shivered, due to him as much as the wind. “Whatever we do, I’m staying in here. It’s too cold.” You wouldn’t give in that easily. You stood and moved to walk to the passenger side but an arm curled around your waist and tugged you back onto his lap, then the door was pulled shut beside you. 

“Imagine how cold I am without a shirt on.” His low voice reverberated through the enclosed space and soft lips landed on your shoulder. His arm was still banded around you, holding you tight. The devil. 

You twisted to face him again, already knowing you would lose this battle. He smirked, just a glimpse of teeth in the blue glow of the fading dash lights lending fangs to your predator. Wasn’t he the wounded one? How did he gain the upper hand so quickly? You rested your hands on his chest again and knew he was lying. He was warmer than you and heating up by the second, his breath gusting over your forearms as you stared each other down. Each time you touched one another in places otherwise typically clothed, it brought out your animalistic tendencies. But seeing him like this, cast in shadow and roughed up, was causing something especially carnal to simmer inside you.

“We can turn the car on for heat.” You argued, never wanting to grant him the last word.

But then he pressed himself against you, hands spreading wide to grasp your bottom as he nuzzled his jaw against your cheek. He knew all of your buttons. One pass of his short beard across your skin and it was over. 

“Mmmm…” he hummed in your ear, the baritone he reserved to devastate you. “Bad for the environment. We can keep each other warm.”

Then his tongue resumed its journey up your neck, leaving you gasping until he traced it into your waiting mouth.

Damn him. You hated and loved how easily he made you go to pieces. If you were being honest, the feelings worked in tandem. It was often when you were the most aggravated with him that you reached the highest peaks in your lovemaking. As your tongues swirled around each other, you knew this would be one of those times. But you’d have to be quick unless you wanted to put on a show for the locksmith. This was reckless, juvenile, but you didn’t care. 

“I suppose you’re right.” You murmured over his lips then pushed him roughly back against the seat. His eyes lit with excitement as you maneuvered to straddle him, hiking your skirt up your thighs, kicking off your heels and underwear as you went. His splayed hands ran up to your back and crushed you to him for another hungry kiss. You moaned into one another, overcome with the rush of it all, with the risk you may be seen. As you held his jaw possessively, you wormed a hand down to the seam of his trousers.

“Do you have enough blood left to power this thing?” You smirked, nipping at his lower lip.

“See for yourself,” came the husky reply. Pressing down, you felt the bulge and rocked your palm against it. His responding noise caused a familiar jolt of desire to shoot through your every cell. You knew you were already soaking, aching and ready for him. In a flurry, the two of you fought off his belt and buttons and shoved his clothes down his thighs until his cock sprang free, rigid and hot in your hand. Positioning yourself, you swiped the head across your entrance, gathering the slick then swirling it around your throbbing clit. Anthony groaned, biting his lip and gripping you tight by the hips as you lined up and sank down onto him, your cry seeming all the louder in the small, insulated cab.

There was a reason you had given him the private nickname ‘Logsplitter’. Getting far too candid over too many drinks one night, you had told him how fantastically split open he made you feel. Had described that meniscus seal between pain and pleasure and how his body drove yours to it perfectly and kept you dancing upon it until it fractured and plunged you into liquid bliss. The next day you had been mortified but he eased your anxieties by making it the most enduring joke in your relationship. The bastard had even woven it into his wedding speech, announcing that he would still find joy in life’s mundane tasks with you, whether it be laundry, dishes, or log splitting. Public mentions of it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, but in practice behind closed doors it sent heat rocketing under every inch of your skin. He was so stiff and formidable, stretching you so splendidly. You began to move so that you could savor every inch.

Planting your hands on his shoulders for leverage you began to ride him at a steady clip, reminding yourself that you couldn’t dally. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips as his breath turned staccato with whispered curses. You gave a passing thought to the fact that his injured arm was probably streaking blood across your dress, but thankfully it was black and therefore might be saved. 

As much as you were enjoying yourself, this was still a ridiculous situation. Bleeding and rutting in the driver’s seat of your car like you were criminal lovers on the lam and not just idiots who hadn’t kept a spare key to the house. And you were on a timeline. Fueled by a potent blend of frustration and arousal you began to move faster, pistoning on your knees as the leather squeaked. There wasn’t much extra space on the seat for your legs and your increased pace made you slip, pitching forward as one shin fell off the side.

Anthony caught you, hands moving up to your ribs as he chuckled. “Woah. Do I need to strap you in, baby girl?”

You could have slapped him. He only used that name for you when he really wanted to get you riled. Clearly he was enjoying your little tryst, finding the fun in this mess that he caused.  You’d like to see him try and fuck you in the front seat. Glaring, you stepped on the recline controls and he stuttered in surprise as he sank backward until he was supine beneath you. Steadying yourself again you doubled your efforts, riding him hard as you held him pinned at the chest.

“You’re enjoying this too fucking much.” You ground out.

“What?” He played the innocent.

“We could be inside,” You panted, every word bouncing with your movements. “In bed. Uninjured. If you had just hidden the key…” Your breath caught as you tilted your hips and felt him strike against the deepest part of you, a twinge that increased your ache. “...and not changed the stupid locks.”

“So this is my fault?” His voice was all seduction, no remorse to be found. His eyes, what little you could see of them, gazed up at you as a hand moved to knead your breast.

“Yes.” You moaned, starting to climb the ladder as his fingers and his cock simultaneously found all the right spots to make you mindless. 

“And you’re mad at me?”

“So fucking mad.” You gasped, leaning forward into his palm and angling yourself just so, feeling the ridge of him deep inside start to massage your center of sensation.

He craned his neck to ghost his lips over yours and whispered, “How can I apologize?”

Then his hand moved below your skirt and his fingertips found your clit. Pierced with sensation, you screamed some garbled syllables of his name.

He chuckled, warm and dark. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Oh, he was awful. Driving you to delirium even when you were the one on top. You had found your rhythm, rolling your hips to sink him perfectly into place over and over. Coupled with the press of his circling fingers, you were shooting up the ladder, your blood beginning to hum with anticipation. Maybe you could pull this off in time after all. 

“Fuck you…” you hissed.

“You certainly are.”

“Anthony, shut up!” You clamped a hand over his mouth, bringing the other to claw into his shoulder. You had assumed Anthony Bridgerton, man of refined tastes, would have found this all as debased as you did, but he was evidently having the time of his life. Maybe the laugh riot was precisely because he knew you were so flustered, which just made you angrier. But the anger was consigned to your mind only, as your body delighted in him. Warm and firm beneath your palms, he started to move with you, thrusting ever so slightly while his mangled hand pulled you down at the hip, slamming your bodies together as tight as he could on your every descent. His fingers swirled faster, just where you needed them, and soon enough you reached the top rungs, everything surging within.

Anthony mumbled something against your fingers, his breath hot and short, matching yours as you hovered over him. You released him, your mind too clouded with pleasure to fight him anymore. Your thighs began to quake while the rest of you started to tense.

“It feels like you’re about to forgive me.” He purred, and all you could do was whine, squeezing your eyes shut as your hips bucked against him desperately. “Come on then,” he coaxed. “I think I’ve earned it.”

One more thrust and circle of his fingers and you peaked, crying out as your nails sank into the flesh of his shoulder and your other hand scrabbled for purchase in his thick hair. Release radiated out from the epicenter of his touch, spasms clenching around his cock which now felt impossibly huge, fanning out through every muscle. You writhed, circling your pelvis against his as you rode it out and moaned.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled from the darkness. “That’s my girl.”

Gasping, you collapsed on top of him, basking in the warmth of his bare skin and the caresses of his hands across your back as aftershocks curled your spine. As you floated, you trailed your fingers into his chest hair. You contemplated extending your forgiveness verbally too, but when you propped up to look at him you saw a flash of headlights through the back window. A truck was turning down your street. 

You cursed under your breath and glanced a kiss across Anthony’s lips before pulling yourself off of him and opening the door, stumbling out into the driveway, your mind still swimming. You tugged your skirt down and tried to smooth your hair as Anthony scrambled to hitch his clothes back over his stark erection. 

“Stay here,” you cautioned and closed the door.

The truck was indeed the locksmith, a very beatific fellow named Lumley. He didn’t cast any judgment as you explained your situation. He professed to having seen it all and you believed him. But you might have been added to his list of unusual encounters after he deftly popped the door lock and let you in to turn on your lights. That’s when his eyes widened and he asked if you were alright. You looked down and realized he was gesturing to the blood streaks on your exposed arms. The way he fixated on your chin, you suspected you had a streak there too.

You laughed to calm him, explaining that your husband had cut his hand (you elected not to tell him how) and that you were both perfectly fine and would clean up now that you could get inside. A little shaken, he politely wrapped up your transaction and drove away. You were too relieved to be embarrassed and went to collect Anthony from the car.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You swung the door open to find him still reclined. His trousers were back on thankfully, but he was slumped, eyes closed, cradling his raggedly wrapped arm. “Anthony?” You put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

He blinked his eyes open and looked at you blearily. “Feeling a bit woozy.” He mumbled.

Fantastic. Not only had he lost blood, he had sent whatever remained shooting down to his cock and now there was none left in his brain. You didn’t think you were strong enough to carry him indoors if he collapsed, but you wouldn’t leave him in the damned car any longer. Tugging him by his good arm to slowly stand, you then draped it over your shoulders and steered him inside. He could walk just fine even if his head was drooping a bit. 

You kicked the door closed behind you and walked to the sofa, easing him onto it.

“Aright, sit down. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

You turned but were immediately halted by a hand around your wrist.

“There’s only one thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

The next you knew, you were on your back on the sofa, Anthony pressing you down as his lips consumed yours. He vocalized his want down your throat as his beard rasped against you. What happened to woozy? Maybe being horizontal was the only way he could function at the moment. He rocked his hips between yours, his unsatisfied stiffness insistently seeking entry. Within seconds you were ignited again, helpless against the weight of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. 

“Anthony, if you stain the couch too, I swear…” You mumbled as he sucked at your neck. Tallying the cleanup that remained between the shattered window and your ruined clothes, you would not sacrifice your plush upholstery too. Reaching behind your head, you dragged the throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and quickly bunched it under his blood soaked shirt bandage. He didn’t seem to have heard you, or perhaps he just didn’t care, as he balanced on that elbow and used his other hand to tear open his trouser buttons. You lifted your skirt and helped him, as eager for this as he was. 

You groaned in stereo as he sank into you once again, the sensation more overwhelming now that he was on top of you. His tongue dove into your mouth as well, the most delicious parts of him penetrating you as deeply as they could simultaneously. Vanilla as this position may have been in comparison, you loved it. Being completely underneath him, crushed, consumed and controlled by him. You had taken your pleasure and now you wanted to be a ragdoll in his arms. You didn’t know if your desires were romantic or perverse, but you didn’t care. The feeling of being filled and surrounded by the man you loved made you wildly aroused. 

With no pretense, Anthony went to work pummeling you, chasing his release as urgently and selfishly as you had chased yours. You opened your legs wide, locking your ankles around his back and letting him plough even deeper. You still found this entire ordeal comical, but the man deserved some relief. In the span of an hour he had been chastised, injured, exposed and now blue-balled. This was his only reprieve until you had to undertake the ghastly business of dealing with his wound. And he was bringing pleasure to more than just himself. Predictably, his every thrust teased your clit, his sizable cock pulling all of you so tight that every feeling was heightened. While he panted harsh in your ear, you ran your nails down his rippled back and pert bum, leveraging with your wrapped legs to push up into him, the two of you grinding into one another as you whispered encouragements.

He was splitting you, sending you back to that place where all of your focus zoned in on the feeling of him inside, the relentless pounding of his body into yours that promised to quell every need of your flesh. Your whispered filth turned into small cries and then into silence as he drove harder and harder, his movements frenzied as he started to growl, pushing for the finish. All you could do was hold on as your whole body shifted beneath him, wearing tracks into the upholstery under your shoulders. You held your breath as your mouth fell open, unfailingly stunned at how he could propel you to the edge so easily. He shifted to look down at you. His hair was growing damp with sweat, a chestnut curl falling beautifully across his forehead.  His dark eyes locked into yours, molten. You could read it in each other’s faces - you would come undone together.

Sparing Anthony the balancing act, you brought your hand between your legs and in seconds were breaking, tossing your head back as you succumbed. While the rest of you trembled, you clung to him with your limbs, luxuriating in all the hallmarks of his orgasm, triggered by your own. The way his back arched under your hands as his hips stuttered between your thighs. You loved how his whole body went rigid just before you felt the pulsing inside. He made the most beautiful gasping sound, so contrasted with his animalistic growls leading up to it, his mouth hanging open against your cheek, hot breath stirring your hair.

Absorbing each other’s tremors, he melted into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck and going full dead weight. You tightened your hold around him before he rolled onto the floor. You wound a hand into his hair, tracing patterns across his scalp as you both caught your breath. You looked over at his maimed arm and grimaced. It was a bloody mess. How he had been in the mood for not one, but two romps without a single complaint about an open laceration was a level of stubbornness and libido possessed only by Anthony Bridgerton. Now playtime was over. You had to be adults and handle this.

You kissed the top of his head. “Anthony.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even grunt in acknowledgement.

You felt a stab of alarm and shook him lightly. “Anthony?”

Then he groaned, nuzzling closer into you. “I think you’re right,” he slurred against your neck. “I need stitches.”

You rolled your eyes but rubbed his back reassuringly. It appeared the adventures of the evening would continue. You just hoped he could still stumble back to the car.

“Okay. I’ll get you another shirt and then drive you to the hospital. And we are taking the spare key with us.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

[theravenmuse]

🚨 CRACK FIC ALERT!!! 🚨 

The Great Flood

CW: Explicit smut attempted, too much wine, too much … other fluid, and inappropriate use of euphemisms (seriously)

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are drunk far beyond dolphins and whales and decide this is the perfect time to get it on. This is a grave error. One of Aziraphale’s spicy miracles goes terribly awry resulting in one angel, one demon, and one bookshop splattered beyond recognition.

Excerpt:

“Angel, ‘ave you ever had sex this drunk?” Crowley drawled. The demon was splayed both backwards and upside down over the sofa with an entire bottle of wine clutched in his hands. It was lucky that he hadn’t opened it yet, because the bottle was also upside down. He’d given up his glass when that had spilled three times, each time because he’d turned it to match his current orientation. The bottle, he’d thought, might serve him better, but he couldn’t get the cork out with his teeth – nibbling was only shredding it – and he didn’t know where the proper tool had gone.

Aziraphale stared down at his own glass of wine, which was now empty. Crowley usually refilled it for him, but the demon wasn’t being of any help at the moment. Aziraphale didn’t know where the corkscrew had run away to either, so he snapped the entire top off the bottle, shattering it with quite a bit more force than he’d meant to, and poured it. A little glass wouldn’t harm his corporation; he could always just miracle it away when he was sober again. 

Sober.

“You were saying… being drunk?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley scowled at the fresh glass of wine in Aziraphale’s hands. He was too far away to ask for a sip and he didn’t trust himself to find his limbs enough to move. 

“No. Said some ‘bout sssex,” Crowley hissed. He frowned. “Sex. And drunk. D’you want to? With me?”

This is a Patreon exclusive fic! Read it here!

(Available now to all paid nsfw tiers. Available to free members in about a week.)

A special thanks to the GOAD Writer’s guild for supplying me with so many of these horrible euphemisms. Apologies to the several of you who innocently wandered into the chat asking “what are we baking?” only to be informed that sadly there is no actual food involved, unless you count the aforementioned inappropriate amounts of wine. I don’t remember everyone’s contribution because frankly there were too many of them, but feel free to brag on yourselves in the comments or wail about how your glorious suggestion didn’t make the cut. 

The final euphemism count was: 💦: 32 | 🍆: 18 | Others efforts: 2 | Os: 2

And of course, thanks to Gleafer who heard me say “what if Azi was drunk and accidentally miracled his 🍆 to make fire hose levels of 💦?” And instead of running for the hills, said “and what if I drew it?” You can see the first few pages of her work on her Patreon, but I have the honor of giving you a teeny tiny tease below:

@goodomensafterdark

[elvirable]

Ambrosia (Act 2)

[ Astarion x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 3.9k | status: ongoing themes/tags: no smut this chapter, mainly fluff and angst, feelings realization, trust issues ofc, soulmates, fluff, written as a glimpse into his mind during each act

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For decades, men and woman succumbed to his charms; each wilting petal after petal, as if they were roses, against the grasp of his thorns. So, which one would you be: petal or thorn?

In other words: A delve into Astarion's thoughts, continuing the more he gets to know you. [Act 1 link]

———– A/N: thank you for all the supportive comments! you have no idea what it means to me (and also the imposter syndrome i have now lol). i apologize if you find any errors this chapter since i've been dealing with health issues as of late; also, i plan to post another chapter that deals with act 2 events.

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It was cliché, but Astarion had never trusted love  — or really, any notion he had of it.

Delicate breaths, starry-eyed crooning, careful whispers; within a heartbeat, every precious detail could mutate into a terrifying, stinging sword. After all, who would know better than the one who held the blade? 

Oh, how he wielded it exceptionally well. Syllables dripped like sugar from his tongue, and pretty prose hummed into bashful ears as second nature. To many chaste victims of his ardor, he was a captivating vision; a gentleman who stole them away with one well-planted kiss. As if each was a rose, petal after petal wilted against the grasp of his thorns. 

Even without the blood staining his hands, he had also witnessed how others despicably wielded such power. A harsh aftertaste always lingered in its wake; whether it be couples bickering with poison on their tongues or the welts that peppered young, gentle faces after a drunken outing turned sour. Horrific renditions had darkened the world around him decade after decade  — so anything that alluded to the pure reputation of love felt like an insulting, foolish fantasy.

So, which one would you be: petal or thorn?

The question plagued his thoughts since the moment he laid eyes on you. Beautiful and altogether lovely, especially as he later learned the touch of those careful hands and every tone hidden in your irises. Assuming you for a petal, he stumbled with doubt as his observations grew. For instance, you never initiated anything intimate aside from considerate conversation and, oftentimes, you had volunteered your neck for the sole reason it would improve his strength and mood. Where men and women in days past couldn't get enough of him, there you were: without an ounce of insecure obsession or malice on your lips, only serving to confound him more. Regardless, he had always prepared to expect that impending sting.

Only time could tell, of course  — but it had never arrived.

Nothing about you was petal, thorn, or even a rose at all, from what he struggled to gather. He couldn’t decipher any hidden motive, and you were buoyant against his charms; he had had you lost in throes of blissful pleasure, but you never demanded more the next morning. Everything about you seemed so plain yet inexplicable, as if he couldn’t make head nor tail of what laid before him. 

What he did know, however, was the captivating radiance that had had gradually engulfed him. Subtle it was when his smile piqued as he heard your laugh or when he began to learn your language well; the way your face contorted in provoked thought, or that your lips drew into a taut pout when nervousness preoccupied you. 

It had dawned on him one late evening, realization cascading over him at all once, when he noticed the slightest shift in your glance. Lamplight flickered against your bare skin when he had asked a simple question.

“My favorite things? Well..,” you mused quietly. “I love lavender and a generous glass of tethyrian wine  — oh, and the way the air smells before a thunderstorm.”

“And what would that be?” he had asked, half-lidded eyes studying your expressions.

“I’m not quite sure how to describe it,” a smile flitted across your beautiful face as if you could conjure the scent from memory. “It’s oddly warm and sweet, but.. refreshing.”

And Astarion thought that such a distinct description suited this newfound radiance; intricate, warm, and refreshingly natural.  

==

Now that he had given it proper thought, it had been awhile since they had wine.

Earlier, on a whim, Astarion suggested they pocket every carafe they found that day. A resounding collective enthusiasm filled the group; recent days had been fraught and demanding to say the least, so it was needless to say such a suggestion was welcomed. And by their luck, they had stumbled upon the jackpot that afternoon: full-bodied wines, waterdhavian cheeses, and a wonderful curation of spiced meats  — all within a deserted Zhentarim storehouse.

Two hours had barely passed when the entire camp had become boisterously inebriated. For once, other members embraced Gale’s attempts to break ground with superficial conversation starters such as vague inquiries into their past or favorite meals. 

He had been surprised at the pleasant sensation, being surrounded by chattering comrades. Tales of their past and insights into their character had piqued his interest, inviting him to alter certain preconceived opinions. However, the person who interested him the most hadn’t uttered more than a few sentences.

While you had shared some casual anecdotes, relief had eased your face when Gale began to digress about the constellations freckling the sky. He was keen to notice such a successful evasion, as it was one he had practiced countless of times.

It wasn’t long before the others slinked into their tents, eager for the comfort of their beds. Astarion waited to hear the steady pace of Gale’s snoring to quietly gather the surroundings; only the two of you were left to the quiet of midnight, with embers of firelight keeping the warmth beneath the stars.

“I noticed,” he prompted, slowly turning his head towards you, “that you refrained from sharing your life ‘before the worm’ .”

An amused breath pushed from your nose, humored by the phrase the group had used earlier. Your brows then raised, smile on your rosy face as you matched his stare. 

“You really want to know?” 

“Only if you’ll oblige,” his tone was soft before he enunciated. “Do spare me the details, though, if it's all family excursions and Maxwell the family dog. ”

Your quiet chuckle faded off as you turned your gaze upwards, briefly leaving only the crackling embers to fill the air. 

“Okay, okay  — but it isn’t.. nice ,” you conceded with hesitant words.

And you had only summarized for about fifteen minutes, but each word was succinct and precise; about the darkness that felt forever, the silent spirals, and the long-gone silhouettes that had hurt you like it was nothing. As he attentively listened, he didn’t need further detail for his face to melt into a soft frown with shared understanding  — Heavens, the heartache that coiled in his chest as he imagined all the tragedy you had endured as a little one; how a heavenly being could have such a haunted history.

“But you must think my woes pale in comparison,” you cleared your throat, in an attempt to act unbothered while turning your gaze to him, “.. given all you’ve shared with me.”

There was a softened, appreciative gaze that you both shared  — where he felt as if you peered inside at the boy he had once been, and vice versa.

“Hardly, I was actually just thinking how nice it is that..” his voice was almost a whisper before he continued:

“Neither of us are alone anymore. We have… each other.” 

== 

The cost of freedom was always high, but would he be prepared to pay it? 

And besides  — hadn’t he paid enough already?

A nauseating trepidation rushed over him as Raphael’s voice echoed in his head; relentless and heavy, like the rain that quieted the camp that afternoon. Leadened with the weight of reality, Astarion sat motionless amongst the linens covering his bedroll. His pale hand was drawn to his face, running across his lips with an unease. The patter of rain against the tent was the only comfort he had in the heavy silence, for it was as if the Earth shared in his agony. 

“The only missing ingredient is you.”

Ugh, Raphael’s smug grin curdled a disgusting frustration in his throat. 

Fate had gifted him a blessing and a curse; what was once mere fantasy now brushed his fingertips. He knew the beginning and the inevitable end of this tale; the will of the Gods had swept him from those chambers and presented him his only chance to strike down Cazador. However, the middle had always been painfully opaque – until a deal with a devil made it tangible and clear. Such an undertaking called for impeccable execution, and countless possibilities haunted his mind. It was a terribly overwhelming feat to take on alone. 

Yet, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone. 

He had that tinkering brain of yours. Receptive to his every rant and rave, you were no stranger to a majority of his worries and frequently mellowed out the frenzied ones. There was structure to every word that left your mouth, and you never hesitated to lend your blade when he had made his decision. He had gradually grown to feel that he performed infinitely better when you were by side.

Though, while he previously would have never blinked an eye at sacrificing his fellow spawn  — it was now your influence that caused him to grapple with uncertainty.

Sodden steps approached, rousing him from his silent ruminations. 

“You’re.. quiet,” you observed, the tent rustling while you entered. “It’s unsettling, given how much you love to fuss about the rain.”

Silence hung briefly in the air, cushioned by the padding of rain. The warm smile on your lips faltered to a weaker one, the dread sullening his face evident. 

“I wanted to ask about Cazador’s ritual. You must be thinking about it?”

“Oh, the thing that will decide my fate forever more?” His tone sharpened, anguish fizzling into frustration. An icy whiplash caused you to pause before settling beside him. He continued, shuffling to make space for you amongst the furs and pillows.

“ Yes , it has been on my mind – why?”

“I just want to know what your intentions are.”

“What? I’ve obviously thought about it – if I was the one who completed the ritual, I’d have such power. And I could walk in the sun without fear I’d turn into a mindflayer.”

“I don’t think you should do it,” your voice was solemn with caution, as if you sounded each word out carefully. 

“A pity then,” his sneer fell from his tongue without thought, “that it’s not your decision to make.”

Pangs of remorse immediately crawled up his throat in the aftermath of his outburst, and he internally recoiled at himself. Catching the short flit of disappointment in your eyes slackened his jaw, rousing the contrition further. Every word escaped him while his marbled eyes flickered across your face; your lips were taut with dismay, brows giving way to disconcertion, until it eased into a vacant expression.

Rising onto your feet, you began to leave from his tent with a flippant wave.

“You’re right,” you muttered, dropping the subject. “I’ll see you later, if you’d like.”

All he could do was dwell in the silence as he watched you disappear into your own tent. Faster and heavier the rain fell, and he threw his head back with a miffed sigh. His lips pursed while he replayed the entire interaction in his head.

Of course, he had every reason to be angry and bothered. He should’ve been helped long ago, way before any of this had become the fate thrown onto him  — but there was no proper excuse to flare up at you. You were the only person that had shown him any sympathy and loyalty. 

Astarion knew you spoke with good reason, that your weary expression revealed you weighed your comment from private consideration. There was a vast cavern beneath those eyes, full of fierce emotions and earnest sincere spirits; eyes that did not judge, but watched and learned. Your presence alone was enough to soothe him, and its absence immense.

It had become so natural to remove his confident mask around you, he realized, especially now when he had let the ugly side slip.

[leonsthunderthighs]

Simple Sketches

I drew a picture of him and bro is GORGEOUS (probably taking too much pride in it but no matter-)

☆RE4R Leon era <3

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"Alright perfect, stay just like that" You giggled through your words. Your eyes quickly focusing on Leon's smiling expression and back to the off-white sketchbook paper.

"Gotcha" He focused on keeping one expression and kept his eyes on you. A smile pursed your lips as you slowly admired his features and dragged the pencil imitating what you see.

Leon loved the concentration you had trying to perfectly capture his handsome portrait. The smile slowly fading while your brows furrowed, craning your neck closer and closer to the paper. His eyes wandered down curiously watching your process.

You glance back up seeing your boyfriend leaning from his position, "Leon quit being nosey, we just started." You bantered pushing back his face with your pencil against his forehead.

"Fine fine, as you wish." He said while slightly laughing and leaning back to his position. Before going back to drawing you fix his head position by gently tilting his chin, "There."

You quickly went back to drawing, the pencil scratching the paper letting you capture his features. His parted blonde hair that sat perfectly around his jawline and high cheekbones. The beauty marks that freckled his cheeks down to his neck and Adam's apple. The warm sunlight accentuated parts of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his pretty lips that always has something smart to say. His dark circles that formed over the course of years made his pearly blues brighter, eyes being windows to the soul is a phrase that's almost been overused but you couldn't help but think it was true for Leon. His eyes matched the fighting spirit he has, you looked up to and admired his strength, whether it be physical nor mentally. Just the utter thought of having to do the grimey work he's forced to put through leaves a sour taste on your tongue and a heavy sense of dread weigh in your stomach.

Your focus was broken as you stared back at his lips trying to capture the soft shading. They were such a deep peachy color and the warm light only added to the sight, your eyes didn't come back down to the paper to imitate what you see so you stared at the curling smile forming on his lips. "It's rude to stare you know", his words came out smoothly in a quiet breath.

"You really make it hard not to Leon." You continued to just lovingly memorize portrait. A quiet chuckle came from the back of his throat as he left a gentle kiss upon your lips. You hummed gratified by the feeling of him pressing his lips against yours, the pads of his fingers rubbed circles against your skin.

Comfortable silence fell within the house as Leon pulled his head back to rest his forehead against yours, basking in your presence and wishing he could stay like this with you.

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Sorry I disappeared on you guys 😭 I have a lot of drafts but none of them end up getting finished and they just collect dust BUT I GOT THIS ONE DONE tho its a little short but still its so soft to me </3

Also if you see any spelling/grammar errors just pretend you didn't see that