#fuck or die trope on the loose

[shatteredhourglass]

Sugarcoated - shatteredhourglass

When they’d burst into the room and told him that Izzy had eaten a fuckfruit, he’d expected… well, he’s not sure what he expected, but Izzy seems rather normal, apart from the demands that Stede have sex with him. Even those are still delivered with the same disdain he uses normally. From the explanation that Frenchie had given, he’d imagined something more dramatic.

~

Read it here!

[bratphilia]

note ✧.*‎ hiii so this is completely self indulgent so pls enjoy!! gonna post a couple fics that have been on my mind bc i wanna write when i feel inspired to as much as possible, but reqs will be answered!! anyways no thoughts just mr. afton eating it from the back.

pairing ✧.*‎ steve raglan / william afton x reader

cw ✧.*‎ stuck and fucked trope, oral sex (f receiving), knifeplay, knife fucking (insp by this post!), the usual perverted afton, death threats, dub con, slight daddy kink

taglist ✧.*‎ @dilfity @iikyutee @kissingrhi @jen-parker @kathxstuff @papyrus-the-poet @lowballbread @cecelovesbooks @bluebearieally @cybunii @van-van @iamunabletothinkofablogname @1ncidentdropout @ice-echo26 @officially-a-simp13 @all4kura @el-sol-sale-de-nuevo @littlexstarlightx @samlow23

synopsis ✧.*‎ while trying to escape the damn haunted pizzeria after a murderous rabbit comes after you, you stupidly try to leave through the vent, only to get stuck.

helpless (w. afton x reader)

you're running through the maze of halls as fast as your legs can carry you. what you're running from, exactly? some fuckhead in a rabbit suit with a knife, menacingly advancing towards you, with a cold, evil laughter reminiscent of a typical villain. there's no doubt in your mind he's set on killing you, and you can't help but feel like this position was a setup for that anyways. it would make sense why the average security guard stays no longer than a work-week.

you're headed to your office, the only place with a quick, sure-fire exit that leads directly outside the building: the vents. then you'll make a run for it to your car. it was an ambitious plan, yes, but it had to work. it was the only option you had, after all, given that the rabbit came from the normal exit.

you swing the door to the security office wide open and slam it shut behind you, cringing at the loud clang it makes when it hits the door hinges. the last thing you want is to alert that rabbit of your whereabouts. you instantly crouch down in front of the vent and unscrew it frantically with your fingers. when it breaks loose you crawl inside. the front half of your body works its way inside just fine. the bottom half of you? fuck.

it gets stuck half way around your hips, leaving no room to wriggle in or out. you were stuck. really fucking stuck. this couldn't be happening. panic washes over you in waves and you feel your sweat break out even worse. you slide your hands forward, desperate to move forward, but it doesn't help. tears form in your eyes. i'm going to die, you think, in the most humiliating position possible.

right on cue, there's a banging on the door. there's no doubt in your mind it's that fucking rabbit. in no time, the door busts open, slamming against the nearby desk in a loud bang. "there you are — oh. what's this?"

you let out a whimper in fear as you hear him shuffle towards you and bend down close by your body. you hear a shifting for a long period of time, and then his voice sounds much clearer. you realize that it was just a costume, different from the sentient animatronics you've been desperately trying to keep out of your office the past four nights. "i was planning to gut you... but i have a much better idea."

suddenly, a large hand rests on your ass, groping. you gulp, realizing his the implications of his touch. "what should i do with you, hm?" the man contemplates out loud. he pulls his hand away only to smack your ass, making you cry out and wiggle your hips automatically.

"what a whore. enjoying being at my disposal, knowing i could fucking kill you at any moment now," he spits at you. fuck, the heat at your core is becoming more and more noticeable the more he talks in that gruff voice of his threateningly. you scared, really fucking scared, and that somehow made this situation hotter.

his hand leaves your ass, then there's the sound of something metallic being picked up off the floor. "i wouldn't move if i were you," the man muses, "'less you want your sweet little body sliced open." before you can process what he said, he brings something to the seam of your pants and it slices through. your eyes widen and you shriek when you realize it's a blade.

you flatten your hands against the cool metal of the vent, already warming up with your sweat and prolonged stay there. it's even harder not to move when you're scared as fuck and can't grip onto anything. he stops once he's satisfied with the way he cut through your pants, and fuck, how will you get out of here with split pants? if you even make it out of here.

with unbelievable strength, he sticks both his hands inside the slit he made, runs the tips of his fingers teasingly along the center of your panties, before ripping the fabric of your pants even wider. when the sound of the fabric coming apart hits your ears, tears burn at your eyes from the shame of thinking about leaving like this. "beautiful," he comments, "what a fucking sight you make."

you blush at his words. he reaches forward to thumb at you through your panties. he prods his thumb at your hole, dipping in the fabric of your panties inside. you can't help but moan quietly. much to your dismay, he notices with a low chuckle. "like i said, absolute whore." you whimper at that. absolute whore. a tear slips down your face.

you forget all about that when he leans forward and presses a kiss to your panties. he lewdly inhales your scent, rubbing his nose against your panties before pressing another kiss there. fuck. you're whimpering uncontrollably. he's such a pervert; you should be embarrassed, but in your undeniable sex-craving haze, all you want him to do is pull your panties to the side and ravage you.

like you manifested it or something, he does just that. except he stretches your panties and the blade returns, slicing through the useless fabric. he lets out a low whistle at your supposedly shiny slick. "just as i thought. needy little slut, so desperate for daddy's touch."

"mhm," you murmur, resting your head down on your hands. you're so fucking horny at this point, that you want to be at the mercy of your captor.

"mhm," he parrots back to you. his face moves forward to slowly lick a stripe up your cunt.

"oh fuck," you mumble, shaking. he repeats the action, laughing slightly at your reaction while doing so. his hands come forward to part your lips, diving in fully. he shakes his face against your cunt and you feel the tickling sensation of a beard there, making you jolt.

the obscene noises he makes add to your wetness. he slurps around, suctioning his lips all over. he leaves no place untouched. he quickly smacks kisses against your clit before tongue-fucking your sobbing hole. he flicks his insanely long and tongue inside of you. you're crying and babbling incoherent words as he tortures you.

you're so close already. the way he alternates between sucking your bud into his mothing and then fucking into your hole is too much. thinking about the fact that you're completely at his mercy, nothing to grip on to, clawing desperately at the metal of the vent, practically tips you over the edge alone. just as you feel the pulse of your cunt quicken—

it's all over too soon. he removes his tongue and you cry out into the vent frustratingly, ignoring the way your voice bounces off the walls. he rests his head against your ass and listens to you sob and then coos, "aww, poor baby. i almost feel bad."

"please," you cry softly, tears running down your face.

"gonna have to be more specific, sweet thing, 'm not a mind reader, y'know." but you can't. you can't bring yourself to say you want him to fucking smother his face in your cunt. it's too embarrassing to utter, even after you shamelessly backed into his face.

he clicks his tongue. "no? well, that's a shame. if you can't say it, guess i'll just do whatever i want with you."

before you can question what the hell that means, something is shoved inside of you. not his cock, much to your dismay, but something blunt, something that stretches you out. you realize, the only thing it could possibly be, that fucking knife.

he slides it in and out, laughing at your reactions. fuck, he's so fucking cruel. your fear only adds to your arousal, and you're soaking the stick of his knife. you hate to admit it, but this probably the second best thing to his cock.

before you know it, you're drenching his knife with your orgasm. you cry out desperately into the vent. the way it echoes into the cavern is music to his ears. you slam your hands against the vent and shake uncontrollably. he slowly pulls the knife away, intentionally torturing you as you hiccup in sobs. you're fucked out already, in a state of absolute post-sex haze.

he presses a surprisingly soft kiss against one globe of your ass and rubs on it. as you calm down, he's cooing at you again, whispering about how you're such a good girl for him, did so well.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: okay so we all know Daemon wouldn’t be a great partner, but this is Tumblr and we take characters and form them into something ... other than what the author created them as. So here is a healthier version of Daemon Targaryen

Warnings; mentions of blood, violence, etc 

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ    

ESTP

Slytherin

Chaotic Neutral/Evil

Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Gemini Rising

SFW🌿

⭑ Daemon knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he loves doing so. 

     “Are you not listening on purpose Daemon? Gods! Some days I could wring your neck.”

 “I love you too, darling.”

⭑ He loves when you braid his hair; and massage his scalp during the progress. He’ll audibly groan when your fingers dig into his scalp. 

⭑ Loves seeing you in his clothes

⭑ He’s so incredibly protective over you and no one dares hurt THE Daemon Targaryen’s wife. If anyone tries, then they WILL die. It’s happened a few times actually. To go to the Targaryen’s, enemies would target you. But they had never landed their blows. 

⭑ You’re a tough woman, who doesn’t take crap from anyone. That got you into trouble with a lot of people at court, and you were hated by many people. 

⭑ You didn’t care though - why would you listen to the opinions of sheep?

⭑ And you aren’t scared of darkness within others. You yourself have some (don’t we all?) 

⭑ Daemon loves this about you - nothing shocks you. And he remembers the first time he fell in love with you; when he could tell you everything about himself and you didn’t flinch. 

⭑ Many would think he’s the dominant one in the relationship, but it’s you. It’s all you. 

⭑ You’re absolutely in love with dragons (I mean who isn’t) but you have such an admiration for them, that they were your fixation for most of your childhood. You’ve read everything you can about them, about the Targaryen history and how dragons came to be

⭑ Daemon loves that he has someone to tell everything to. You know many family secrets about the Targaryens (that always stay within the blood-related family)

⭑ You aren’t a Targaryen though. Probably a Baratheon, Hightower, or Lannister noblewoman who was sent to court. 

⭑ Daemon is actually really good at cuddling and likes it best when you’re on top of him - your head on his chest. He’ll mindlessly twirl your hair between his fingers, talking to you until you fall asleep. 

⭑ Your wedding was huge. And I mean absolutely - because Viserys was so happy that Daemon’s focus was on you. It felt like a relief that Daemon was marrying for love. 

⭑ Daemon buys you everything you desire - no expense spared. Literally, he’s gotten into trouble by Otto Hightower with how much he’s spending on you. 

⭑ I do think you have a good heart though, so a lot of the things he buys for you, you give to people who actually need it. 

⭑ Rhaenyra likes you a lot. You’re someone she looks up to - someone who has already broke tradition by being a bold woman. Who says what she thinks and damns the consequences. 

⭑ Viserys would hold some reservations (that were planted by Otto) about Daemon’s legitimacy with the succession. He would have a bigger claim if you bore children. 

⭑ But ultimately it would be up to you. Do you want kids? Okay, Daemon will work day and night to fill your belly. You don’t want kids? Fuck kids then. We have dragons and each other, that’s all we need. 

⭑ I think he would calm down in the sense that he wouldn’t be so brutal towards others. You’re someone who gives him confidence - he doesn’t need to prove himself. So when he needs help, he will take it. 

⭑ People are nervous around Daemon when you’re not there - he’s much more well-mannered and pleasant in your presence. 

⭑ He smells like smoke, basil and frankincense. 

⭑ Calls you ‘My darling,’ ‘Love,’ ‘Pet.’ 

Relationship Tropes: 

Villain/Badass Power Couple

Monster in Disguise (you; I mean c’mon you can let loose) x Incredibly Protective of You

Asshole to absolutely everyone except their significant other x Knows their s/o wouldn’t dare be rude to them because they’ll catch these hands

NSFW🔞 minors dni!

⭑ Daemon definitely has a breeding kink, and the thought of you heavily pregnant with his child turns him on to no end 

⭑ Is definitely into really kinky sex. He loves having hot wax dripped on him as part of foreplay. 

⭑ He loves blood-play. And when you’re on your period he asks you to ride his face. 

⭑ Hickies absolutely EVERYWHERE; Daemon’s favourite pass time when you’re alone is marking you. 

⭑ You love teasing him while in public - your dress slipping, showing your thigh/bending down in front of him to pick something up/’accidentally’ rubbing up against him while in other company

⭑ His favourite position is doggy; he loves when you’re on all fours, your ass in the air. 

⭑ Oh and he most definitely eats ass. 

⭑ I think Daemon would be up for anything. Nothing disturbs/grosses him. 

⭑ His favourite place to cum is either inside you or in your mouth/on your face. 

⭑ When you’re just about to cum, he’ll pull out and wait for your high-pitched whine. 

   “Daemon! Please!” 

⭑ Very rough kisses

⭑ He loves biting your ear lobe while he’s deep inside of you

⭑ Your smell drives him insane - like an immediate aphrodisiac 

⭑ He loves dirty talk and is absolutely shameless about it. 

     “Do you like me fucking you like a common whore?” 

⭑ He’s more dominant in the bedroom ... because you allow him to be. 

⭑ There’s always a hot bath waiting when you’ve finished having sex. You’ll both climb in, and bathe the other. 

[lizardboiii]

｡･:*˚:✧ANGER MANAGEMENT {Possessive!SukunaxFem!Reader}

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✧Summary: Anger management was by no means your strong suit. No amount of lessons or prayers could change that. In fact, it feels like you’ve been doing a lot worse lately with the appearance of a new neighbor in your next door apartment.

✧Warnings: 18+, NSFW, violence, vulgar language, terrible humor✧

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｡･:*˚:✧⤷Pairing: Ryoumen Sukuna x afab!reader

｡･:*˚:✧⤷Chapters: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v) (vi) (vii)

｡･:*˚:✧⤷w/c: 3.2k

｡･:*˚:✧⤷tropes: NeighborsAU!, AncestorsAU!

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｡･:*˚:✧⤷Chapter I : IRATE

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“You're an insufferable bastard and I hope you move.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Fuck you.”

The pinkette moved to slam his front door shut before you caught the painted wood with your hand. Its pristine white coating had already started to chip away on the side where, like many other nights, you’ve managed to catch the door and pry it open.

You snarled at his annoyed expression, “I’m not finished yet, Pinkiepie lookin’ freak.”

The vein in his jaw pulsated as he looked down on your smaller figure in disgust, “Piss off, rat. I didn’t steal your fucking package.”

Your grip on his door tightened. The familiar feeling of hot burning rage once again coursed through your bones, “IT’S ONLY ME AND YOU ON THIS FLOOR, DUMBASS!”

He let out his own frustrated growl as he swung his door back open, almost knocking you off balance, “I DIDN'T STEAL SHIT FROM YOU, WOMAN!” 

The world felt like it slowed down for a moment. The feeling of your bottled rage finally reaching its limit. From the tips of your toes to the top of your forehead, you could feel the urge to punch, kick, and scream. A calling to let loose all your feelings you held inside.

Now normally this is where you’d remember your anger management lessons. Countdown from ten to zero, take deep breaths, and blah blah blah. 

But no. Ever since your fuckhead neighbor moved in next door your rage has been through the roof. From his overly obnoxious music taste, to his various romantic partners, you couldn’t catch a break. So, what if you let loose a bit?

Your fist swung before you could even think about the consequences of your actions. Sure, you’ve gotten into plenty of arguments with your new neighbor. But never once have you raised a hand.

The satisfying thump of a head recoiling against an open door made your heart race. The feeling to continue on, to fight, to destroy was overwhelming. Alas, no feeling could ever beat seeing the stunned face of a man who just took a punch to the face.

Swiping the blood from his nose, he glared at you with new vigor, “What the fuck?”

Another swing, this time your hand was swiftly captured in a brawny fist. You clenched your teeth in pain as he squeezed your smaller hand excruciatingly tight, his other hand capturing your shirt's collar.

You struggled against his holds, brow twitching in agitation, “Where the fuck is it?”

The scent of mint flooded your senses as he pulled your collar closer to his face, “I don’t have your goddamn package. Now give me one reason why I shouldn’t paint the floor with you right now?”

You tore your hand away from his weakening hold and flipped him off, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Brother?”

Surprised, you both turned to another, much smaller, pinkette. An almost identical copy of the asshole still clutching your shirt. Though, this one was a lot easier to get along with.

The larger man sighed deeply above you before letting you go, “Yuuji, why are you here so late?”

You grunted as he harshly shoved you back. Shooting your arm out, you caught yourself on the doors frame. Cocky fucker. Grinding your teeth together, you decided to spare your shit neighbor because of one reason only.

“Hey, Yuuji. How’s university?”

You could feel a dark stare on the side of your head, relentless and unwavering. Yuuji smiled brightly at you as he came closer to the door.

“Great! Professor Gojo totally let us slack off all day today!”

You threw a smug smirk at the man still glaring daggers at your head. How’s it feel to be ignored?

As if hearing your question his grip tightened on his crossed arms.

“Megumi, Nobara, and I went out for ice cream after class too. I didn’t think it’d take this long though,” Yuuji scratched the back of his head embarrassed.

You smiled at his shy form only to stop yourself when you noticed the man standing next to you smiling as well. Bastard. What the hell is he enjoying life for?

“I see. Alright, come on I made dinner,” his eyes trailed from Yuuji to you, “for two.”

You rolled your eyes at his hostility. Like you’d want to eat his food anyway. Knowing him it probably tastes like shit.

Not sparing a second glance at him, you waved goodbye to Yuuji and strolled back to your humble abode. A satisfying conclusion until you realized you never got your damned package.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“I told you already, Mom. I’ve been getting better. I think my lessons are finally starting to work.”

“Are you sure, sweetie? You know if it ever gets too much again you can always come back home.”

You sighed heavily at your mother’s worried tone, “I’m very sure, mom. I mean come on, I just have one more day until my one month without an outburst!”

Your mother laughed slightly on the phone, but the thick layer of concern was still evident. Quickly dismissing any more of her anxiety, you wished her goodnight.

Shoving your cracked phone into your pocket, you hit the fourth floor button on your apartment complex’s elevator. With a quiet hum, the metal box slowly took you up to your floor.

The fourth floor was nice to live on. It was practically a penthouse. The reason being because you were its only occupant. Although, there was no sound reason for the building's vacancy, you just assumed no one in the area wanted to live in a second rate apartment. Especially when power outages were frequent.

That didn’t really concern you though. You had a home with zero people around. Not something you’d complain about.

Stepping into the outdated hallway, you took a deep breath of the stale air. Cracking a knuckle here, popping a joint there, you made your way to your lone room near the end of the hallway.

Automatically, your brows furrowed at the sight of large boxes decorating the floor around your door and the one next to it. You didn’t order anything.

Not so calmly making your way over to the mysterious boxes, you frowned as you realized the next door apartment’s door ajar. Neighbors?

A twinge of annoyance shot through your body before you quickly extinguished it. You thought back to the group lesson of today. The main focus was on allowing yourself to hear people out. Understand another person’s reasoning before you flip your shit. Having a ‘civilized’ conversation.

While someone moving in isn’t really what the lesson had been meant for, you figured you’d might as well give it a shot. Another step forward if you will.

Preparing yourself, you maneuvered around the scattered boxes in front of your new neighbor’s door. With a determined fist you knocked on the familiar white wood that matched your own. 

Movement could be heard coming from behind the door, yet there was no answer. Your jaw twitched as you knocked again causing whoever was moving to curse.

Just as you were about to knock again, the door violently flung open revealing a disheveled man. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have to pick your jaw up off the floor. 

The tall man loomed over your form threateningly. It was clear as day that you only reached the tops of his collar bones. An observation you confirmed after noticing the man’s lack of a shirt.

Speaking of which, you had to pick your jaw up again at the sight of a chiseled body. Saying he had the body of a god was no understatement. You could grate cheese on those abs. Even more striking were the strange black tattoos that marked his skin. You traced the thick black lines that covered his chest with your eyes. They only aided in the dark and mysterious vibe to him.

Begrudgingly moving your eyes up to his face allowed for a third drop of the jaw. Similar tattoos to his chest and arms only accentuated the sharp cut of his jaw. His eyes were a piercing deep red which matched perfectly with his surprisingly pink dusted hair. Did a Greek god just move upstairs next to you?

“Are you done checking me out yet?”

You felt your face burn as you glared at him, “I wasn’t ‘checking’ you out.”

A dangerous smirk pulled on his lips, “Listen, woman. I don’t have all day to play around with you. Get to the point.”

You felt a familiar rage spark in the pit of your stomach. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you threw him an exaggerated smile.

“I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself to my new neighbor,” you lifted your hand out in front of you for a handshake, “I’m (y/n) (l/n), I hope we can get along.” 

The man scoffed at you in amusement before taking your hand in his roughly, “Sukuna.”

The handshake was quick but firm enough for you to rub your hand after in soreness. The familiar twang of anger once again rose before you quelled it.

You clenched your fists, eager to just go back into your apartment, “I was wondering if there was anything I can help you with? With you being the new and only neighbor and all.”

You begged him in your head to say no. You weren’t sure if you could continue this ‘civil’ conversation for much longer.

“Sure,” you swallowed hard as he leaned against the door frame, “Do you know anyone decent enough to fuck around here or are there only women around here that look like you?”

You felt a cord snap, “What the fuck did you just say?”

A flash behind his eyes showed the clear amusement he was getting from your new attitude, “I said, is there anyone half decent enough to fuck around here or are there only noisy little pigs in this building?” 

You growled at his arrogance, “You’re one to talk, pretty boy. Do you normally piss off everyone you talk to?”

His smirk deepened, “Of course. Did you think you were special?”

Like a leaf in the wind your thirty day chip flew away from you. Bye bye progress. Back to the start you go~

White hot rage filled your senses as you poked a finger into his exposed chest, “YOU WANNA GO, ASSHOLE? THE FUCKS YOUR PROBLEM?”

Amusement slowly formed into irritation as he slapped your hand away, “You're even loud like a pig.”

You snarled at him, “Listen here you piece of shit, at least I don’t look like I crawled out of a fucking kids cartoon with that stupid ass hair color.”

Pissed, Sukuna stood to his full height and crossed his arms, “Watch your mouth, dwarf.”

You craned your neck up and shot daggers at him, “Watch your own mouth, motherfucker! God to think I was trying to be a helpful neighbor and see if you needed anything!”

“Helpful neighbor my ass. All you’ve done so far is yell at me in my own home.”

“We’re in the hallway, dumbass!”

Sukuna backed up and rubbed his brow, “I don’t have time to deal with a little kid's temper tantrum.”

As he slammed the door in your face, you caught the closing door by the edge, “I’m not a goddamn kid!”

Sukuna shoved the door closed harder “Then don’t act like one, bitch.”

Eventually his strength overpowered your grip and he flung the door shut. The sound echoed tauntingly throughout the hallway leaving you with your own thoughts.

You looked at your hands disappointed and sighed. Looks like you’ll need to wait another month, but with that asshole next door you weren’t sure if you could make a day anymore.

Greek god your ass, more like a curse.

--------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been a month since your dear neighbor Sukuna moved in, and without fail you two have argued in that hallway everyday. Today was no different, though maybe you took it too far by punching him.

You groaned and rolled around on your bed. You felt bad but no way in hell were you apologizing. Burying your head in a pillow you screamed into it. Why was that prick such an asshole??

Sitting up in your bed you hit your pillow repeatedly against your worn mattress. All this stress and worry was making you antsy. After jumping the poor pillow, you threw it against your wall harshly. The pillow hit the plaster with a soft thump before making its way to the floor. You growled in annoyance at the wall your pillow hit.

That very wall was connected to what you assumed was Sukuna’s room. With the amount of noise that came from it every night it had to be. 

Though the first few nights he moved in it was quiet, after a week the noise of various rock bands leaking into your room made you bang on the wall in anger. Though you figured this only fueled the desire to infuriate you as he turned it up even louder.

Another contender for why you figured his room was next to yours was the fact you had to sit through multiple nights of him railing the shit out of some poor girls. The first night it happened you remembered blindly walking over to his door and slamming your fists against the wood. 

-----------------------------------------------------------—

“Rick, I'm in love with you!”

“My dear Isabella, I can not reciprocate. For I have already fallen in love!”

“With whom, my love??? That skank Isabell!?”

“No, it is… Steffanie.”

“YOUR HAMSTER?!”

You snorted at your daytime tv while shoveling popcorn into your mouth. Your friend had been right about this channel. It really was absolute nonsense.

You watched as the woman on the screen fainted into her former lover's arms. Wow. Imagine being left for a hamster. Shifting in your seat you paused when you heard a faint noise.

Turning down your television volume you waited. Nothing. Huh, maybe you needed to get your ears checked-

“Ngh~”

The popcorn situated in your mouth fell onto your bed silently. What the fuck?

“Harder!”

Now that's where you couldn’t pretend anymore. Was your new neighbor fucking someone right now? At 10am? On a Sunday??

Your question was quickly answered by louder and whinier moans. Listening closely, you could just barely register the deep grunts of a certain bastard neighbor.

Oh hell no. You were not about to sit here and listen to some fuck fest. Abandoning your comfy bed, you stormed out of your room and over to a familiar door. 

Seething with rage, you pounded against the door harshly. The wood shook and rattled at the strength used against it. You growled at the silence behind the door and knocked louder.

“OPEN UP, FUCKHEAD!”

The door finally ripped open revealing an aggravated Sukuna, “What the fuck do you want?”

Your eyes widened as you took a moment to take in his appearance. Pink hair laid messily against his forehead, an unusual look compared to his normal gelled up style. Though most concerningly, he wore no clothes other than a thin white sheet lifted up to cover his manhood.

Trying to conceal your blush, you fumed at him, “Keep it the hell down! I can hear the goddam thrusting.”

Sukuna’s face twisted into a grin, “Jealous your dried up ass gets no action?”

You slammed your fist against the hallways wall, “At this rate I don’t need any action when I feels like I’m in a fucking threesome.”

You shivered at the deep chuckle he let out. You watched as his eyes trailed your form, feeling exposed to his watchful stare. The action made you regret not throwing anything over your tank top and shorts.

“Threesome?” He licked his lips when he returned his gaze to your eyes, “I can arrange that if you're begging for it.”

A shift of the sheet caught your attention. Sukuna lowered the thin fabric allowing for more skin to show. You felt your face burn. So the carpet does match the drapes. 

You flinched at his mocking chuckle, “Though I’m kinda busy right now, mind coming back later?”

You let out a frustrated yell and thundered off, “J-JUST KEEP IT DOWN!”

Laughter followed you as you slammed your door shut and slid down the cool wood. Fuck.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Shaking yourself out of the embarrassing memory you glared at the wall spitefully. Boiling in rage you threw your remote against the drywall. Piece of shit. 

A harsh knock back from the other side made you clench your fists. So now he wants to complain? You went to put your hand through the drywall and yank a kicking and screaming Sukuna through before you heard a grunt.

You furrowed your eyebrows. You swear to god if you have to sit through another bang session you would really get violent. Pausing for a moment, you waited to hear the usual high pitched sounds that came from his pick of the night. Nada. Slowly you crawled across your bed and pressed an ear against the wall.

Now, don’t get yourself wrong. You were not a creep in any way shape or form. Plus, this didn’t even count if it’s your wall right? You were just trying to figure out what he was doing. As a nice neighbor would.

A hushed groan made you flinch away from the wall before returning. Resting a hand against the wall, you felt your heartbeat pick up as your ears adjusted to the quiet noises. Was he-

A strained sigh confirmed your thoughts. You bit your lip as you leaned into the wall further. His sounds almost encouraged you to listen on. Against your will, the familiar feeling of heat between your legs rose. You clenched your thighs together, trying to get a hold of yourself.

You should stop. You should get up and leave the room. Even if you hate the bastard you're still invading his privacy. So why are you staying? 

A drawn out hiss pulled you back in. Like an incubus he drew you to him. Your hand slowly started tracing down your abdomen. Have you always felt this way? There’s always been tension but you’d always figured it was just to piss you off.

You shuddered as your hand crept its way under your waist band. You hesitated for a moment. Was this morally right? A rough curse from the thin wall wound you up again. Fuck, how could someone’s voice do this to you?

Shyly, you pressed a curious finger against your wet slit, dragging up against your heat to your throbbing clit. You let out a shaky breath as you started to rub timid circles against your bud.

Sukuna’s deep groans slowly became more aggressive, sending another throb to your lower half. You bit your wrist in an attempt to contain the needy moans that managed to escape. Quickly, your movements became more and more erratic as you chased your high. 

Eventually, Sukuna’s moans died out without you realizing. You were too focused on the pleasure you were indulging yourself in. You bit your wrist harder, drawing blood, as your hips grinded themselves onto your fingers. The thickness of your wrist barely contained your ragged breathing as you finally reached your peak.

Mouth agape, the cord in your stomach snapped as stars flashed in your eyes. Your fingers moved by themselves, helping you extend your high for even longer.

With a final gasp you leaned against the wall and pulled your hand out of your bottoms. The clear substance that coated them looked back at you with mockery. What the hell do you just do?

｡･:*˚:✧⤷

--------------------------------------------------------------

[darthgloris]

hello to my beautiful mutual! first of all, congratulations on your milestone, you deserve it! your writing is literally everything to me.

i’m more than happy to participate in your event, so i was thinking the letter “k” (nsfw alphabet) for the arranged marriage au would be so fun.

- max :)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) - suitless!Vader, arranged marriage AU

A/N: hi @antxlss :DDD tysm for participating, I love the arranged marriage trope!!! I'm gonna presume u mean suitless!Vader, otherwise send me another ask and I'll write that for u too 🥰 btw I accidentally wrote a little about the letter I (= intimacy) of NFSW alphabet so I hope that's okay :)

When the Emperor told him he'd be marrying a woman he barely knew, Vader was certainly hesitant: the memory of his deceased wife Padmè, however remote, still lived in the back of his mind, and the grief that had grown to hatred was gradually taking over his heart, making his ability to love scarce.

He didn't know how to go about in this relationship, the patented blend of touch starvation and lack of experience with romantic intimacy had affected his attitude in the past decade. He refused to berate or beat the woman, no, that is beneath him, but he couldn't force himself to fall for her, and he didn't want to: as proven by his previous relationships, it was going to end at one point, and he'd once again find himself abandoned by the very person he loved.

He was, however, well aware that the purpose of the marriage was to give the Emperor an heir to fulfill the Rule of Two, and the thought of a woman giving him a child was somewhat enticing to him, but without intimacy, it seemed pointless to him. A simple way to describe it would be that he was expecting for things to be awkward.

After the two of you get married, they are, in fact, awkward.

You don't know exactly what to say to each other, every form of affection feels forced, the meetings with the Emperor were draining. But slowly, little by little, you start to see him for who he really is. He's no Sith, no stoic and unfeeling man: he's affectionate and loving and would very well die for those he loves. So when one day you choose to call him "Anakin" instead of "Vader", his vulnerable side peeks through for the first time in your relationship.

Over time, you begin to grow comfortable with each other, and whenever you have sex, he'd get more and more passionate every time. He'd usually focus almost only on your pleasure, eating you out until you cry, fingering just the right spot to make you scream, holding your hand while he fucked you, peppering your face with kisses when you were both done, then pulling out of you and cleaning you up. 'The treatment angels should get', he says. But when the baby fever comes, any trace of rational thought was out the window. Of course, the thought of filling you with his children makes the blood rush to his cock in an instant.

He can't wait to stuff you full of his cum and wake up next to you every morning and seeing your belly swelling and growing within the next nine months. He loves it when you ride him, he wants to be buried into you as deep as he can to increase the chance of conception. The mere idea of your round, swollen stomach and breasts heavy from maternal milk makes him grip your hips and fuck his cock deeper into you, slamming his hips up into your loose, begging hole. He swears he could cum from hearing your screams and sobs of pleasure alone.

"That's my girl, good momma."

"You handled those kids so well, maybe I should try and fuck one into you."

"There you go, angel, there you go. Full of my cock, full of my cum... can't wait till you're full of my babies."

[actual-changeling]

one thing i really really like about txf is that they aren't afraid to kill off characters.

in most shows, melissa would make a miraculous recovery, mulder probably wouldn't lose both his parents, and there are all the episode-specific characters that are killed simply because

a) it fits right into the plot

b) they can and

c) it adds a layer of realism to it.

if you never kill any of the characters—even minor side characters/npcs—then at some point, the dangers will feel less dangerous, less real, because you know everyone will be fine anyway. but not here.

the stakes ARE real and we are shown and told so over and over again.

scully loses her dad, melissa gets killed in her apartment, mulder's dad is killed, mulder's mom kills herself, there is no miraculous, perfect return of samantha, scully gets cancer, OTHER (returning) characters get sick and die, and the list goes on.

nowadays, way too many people are incapable of consuming anything that isn't 99% "everything will be fine" because processing complex emotions requires complex thinking, and boy are people refusing to develop that skill.

ironic to say, but txf is refreshing in regards to that AND has better representation that most shows and movies being created in recent years. do you know how fucking rare it is to have disabled characters that simply exist? whose disability is right there, it's real, they're not somehow hiding it or trying to make it less obvious.

they are like any other characters, and unless it is in some way relevant to the plot, it's usually not even brought up or mentioned. no misery or inspiration porn, no weird "you're not disabled, you're [insert term that's fucking horrible]", nothing.

even with episodes like gender bender, there is no transphobia, no caricatures, it's treated like any other case with any other people.

you'd expect a lot of ableism in a show about the paranormal since "crazy mentally ill person is a danger to everyone" is a popular trope (disappointing but not surprising), yet as someone who has highly stigmatized disorders—not just in general, specifically in the medical field too—I don't think I have ever felt uncomfortable with any of the cases.

people look back on older shows and start criticizing the language but not only were the terms and concepts named differently and have evolved, i'd rather have a show use "bad" or incorrect language but have genuine, caring representation than someone using all the buzzwords and thinking that makes whatever they do not offensive.

(side note: language moves fast, especially in psychiatry but also in other scientific circles, and the same applies to what i'll loosely call 'community language'. as long as there's good intent and an open ear, i couldn't give less of a fuck if they say transgender, transsexual, or transvestite)

i'm rewatching 'the field where i died' and this episode has one of the best, most accurate portrayals of DID i've seen in probably. ever. is it played up a bit? yeah sure, but it doesn't feel mocking or otherwise disrespectful and it refuses to play into any existing stereotypes.

this post got away from me, but bottom line is that this show is genuinely good in a way few shows are.

[calypsolemon]

I'm usually of the opinion that its more satisfying to turn pre-existing characters into oc's once an au has reached past a certain Event Horizon of canon characterization. And it absolutely is boring to me when people kind of just slap a bunch of unrelated tropes onto any character or ship with 0 regard to what those characters are usually about.

That being said, I really Do Not Get people who act like its a fucking... issue of morality to get people to not mutilate their faves with fanon, or like you are somehow genuinely not being a creative person if you just play with characters like dolls and don't really give a fuck about canon. Like the sort of people who just get raging mad and go on long creeds about fandom being some sort of sinkhole where artistic integrity goes to die. As if somehow if we let people enjoy media in the wrong way our brains are all going to turn to mush incapable of making anything meaningful and humanity is going to lose the capability to make original art forever.

Meanwhile I just sit here feeling like. Aside from fanon/ hc's/ au's that have offensive implications, who really caaaares what somebody does with their fandom bullcrap. They are making free writing and art. They don't owe you anything. Sure you can complain about it in your own personal space, especially I understand complaining about it when it dominates a fandom. But like at the end of the day you have to understand, what may feel like creative bankruptcy to you is just... having fun and letting loose to another. And there is simply no moral imperative to create "good" or "meaningful" art that trumps people's right to... just make the sort of art they want to make. For fun.

[eremin0109]

listen im so fucking over the misogynistic trope of the lead woman dying for excruciating amounts of ✨️ m a n p a i n ✨️ BUT hear me out.

at this point in the story, Euijeong and her safety is probably the only thing tethering Junmo to continue on with this undercover mission. he started it off with a selfish intent, to get promoted and rub it in the faces of his ever disapproving in-laws. to prove to them, once and for all, how he deserves to sit at that table with them. how he's worthy of their daughter.

but then he took things too far and got too entangled into this dangerous business. and in turn, it gave him everything that he ever wanted. in the short amount of time he's been with the Gangnam Union, he quickly shot through the ranks, became Gicheol's Number 2, earned the respect of some of the most notorious criminals this side of Asia.

here, in this lawless world, no one cares what his father did. he and his boss have had similar childhoods, so Gicheol understands what it's like to live in the shadows of having a druggie parent, more than anyone–more than even Euijeong.

and Junmo can't help but get a little addicted to how powerful it all makes him feel. how easy it would be to cross over to this side in finality, stay at Gicheol's side who he knows would give him the world and beyond, who's already given him so much against the wishes of his officers, if he just stuck to it. it's so wrong, and that's why it's so fucking alluring.

and Gicheol? he too is on the cusp of everything he's ever wanted, or at least that's what he'd like to believe. he finally is reunited with Euijeong, his dream construction project will soon start commencement and he'd get to have that white picket fence with her. he has his man by his side, ready to protect him...them with his life. just a few loose ends, just the finalization of this deal, just those last few steps and then he could just leave this life behind altogether. for better one. for a happier one.

so euijeong is the catalyst to both of their goals right now. but what if she's removed from the equation? right now, she's in a more vulnerable position than she's ever been in. there will be forces gunning for her and there's only so much Gicheol and Junmo can do to prevent the other shoe from falling.

if she died, as a direct or indirect consequence of both Gicheol and Junmo's actions, what becomes of them? what would Junmo do, without his tether, without his anchor to the "good" side of the world? what would Gicheol do after having his dream decimated, after losing her yet again, this time permanently?

what would that mean for Junmo and Gicheol's relationship with each other? Would Junmo kill Gicheol and take over the organization for himself, justifying it as an act of revenge for Euijeong? Or would he come clean and take whatever punishment Gicheol sees fit for him because what else has he left to lose anyway. It would be fitting for him to die at the hands of the person who loved his Euijeong just as much as he did.

and what would Gicheol do? would he kill junmo? would he kill himself? or would he ask junmo to stay by his side and see everything to the end with him. for Euijeong. for each other.

[thegoodthebadandtheart]

eyy happy wincest wednesday to you too, bud. <3 a sort of tweak on your question: is there an episode that you think might've improved/gone different/just been funny if they had introduced a fanficcy trope?

heyy <3

here's the official list on how to make everything worse better:

s01e15 the benders - XY made them do it

s2e22 all hell breaks loose pt.2 - only one bed

s04e08 wishful thinking - undercover in a gay bar

s05e03 free to be me and you - coffee shop AU

s06e13 unforgiven - also undercover in a gay bar

s08e23 sacrifice - hanahaki disease

s09e13 the purge - amnesia

s09e20 bloodlines - snowed in/huddling for warmth (the episode doesn't happen, sam and dean are stuck in a snowstorm somewhere)

s10e03 soul survivor - accidental marriage

s10e22 the prisoner - animal transformation

s11e19 the chitters - fuck or die

s12e04 american nightmare - fake dating

s13e05 advanced thanatology - not a real trope but. cpr. jesus christ.

s14e08 byzantium - in vino veritas

s15e13 destiny's child - omegaverse

s15e20 carry on - magical healing cock

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Perhaps some of you remember that time I wrote up an entire essay for the TVTropes forums to get William cemented as a Magnificent Bastard because you literally have to get fictional characters vetted by people who care an absurd amount about this to add them to the trope page.

I am now back on my bullshit, and just got Albert confirmed (Louis is in the works, but the voting looks good for him so far). I did his write up today and it should be up later this week? I enjoy the short version as well.

And now:

The Work

Moriarty the Patriot is a (very loose) retelling of the Sherlock Holmes stories combined with James Bond set in the late 1800s, focused on Professor James Moriarty and exploring his motivations.

The Character

This post is to open a discussion specifically on Albert James Moriarty, older brother of Professor Moriarty (who we already confirmed) and one the Professor's Co-Dragons. Albert is the original "Moriarty" family member biologically who took the other two in as children, and is the leader of MI6 for most of the series.

Why Is He a Bastard

I mean, he kills his own younger biological brother and his mother by hand and then arranged for the entire rest of his family and servants to die in their sleep in a fire. So like. Is that enough?

He also took two orphan kids in, then basically said, "Hey, in exchange for getting your little brother heart surgery he needed to live, help me murder like so many people. Kthx."

He tends to come off colder than either of his brothers, which is sort of impressive since they're all murderers.

I like Albert, but he's certainly a bastard.

But Not That Bad?

Much like his brothers, Albert is trying in a very fucked up way to improve society by murdering people he thinks are making society worse. He is...trying to help in a Pay Evil unto Evil sort of way.

Honestly, Albert is the Moriarty brother who gets the least amount of sympathy from fans, although this shifted a fair amount after it was revealed he has severely untreated OCD, which is a massive contributing factor to his need to eliminate the hypocrisies of all these abusive nobles who keep going to Christian churches. But it's not like most people with OCD are murderers, so there's a limit to how far this Freudian Excuse is going to take him.

Is He Charming/Magnificent

Albert is, according to an official Japanese fan poll, the second most popular character in the series (second to the protagonist of the series, who won by a landslide). This seems to track from the interactions I've had with people. So people are charmed by him.

Albert is also in the series pretty much assigned to "socialization" on behalf of everyone else. He doesn't seem to really like it very much, but he gets along with people rather well. According to his official character profile, he's still getting asked out and courted even after losing his title and going to prison for the murders, so apparently people are really into him.

He also has a similar flair for the dramatic to his younger brother. This is absolutely a man who is going to revel in elaborate schemes and acting a part. While he often asks his brother to arrange details and plans, he always shows up to convince people that he's just so worried about his kidnapped brother, please help him, and oh, gasp, people have died, how tragic.

But Is He Brilliant?

This, I think, is a key factor in Albert's case here: Most of William's subordinates are very subordinate to him. It's made clear that William expects all of his crew to be able to think and plan for themselves and make their own decisions, but the series doesn't always take time to show that off for everyone. Albert does get that time.

Albert often sees opportunities before he engages William for a plan to make it work. Manipulating Mycroft Holmes into getting MI6 created so he could lead it was Albert's idea, and he executed the plan (and he leads MI6 when it's not doing Lord of Crime business), even if William came up with many of the details to help him out. Albert is the one who sees the potential in Adam Whitley and brings the topic up to William.

Also, Albert was the first person to bring William's dreams of killing nobles and creating a brighter world into fruition and set it into a tangible, real path. He and William are frequently tagged as the only two who originated the entire plan.

Albert is a brilliant opportunist and an excellent man to have making sure everything goes off without a hitch, even if the details of getting things done aren't really his forte.

He's brilliant.

What About His Competition?

Most of the nemeses in the series are focused on William, and Albert is his subordinate. Basically none of Sherlock or Milverton's attention ever splashes Albert's way. The person he really engages with in a competitive dance with is...Mycroft Holmes. And while Albert doesn't exactly win, neither does he lose to Mycroft. They come to a couple of agreements and passes to work together and watch to make sure the other isn't getting in their way.

Verdict:

Yes.

[lya-dustin]

A Coward Kills With a Kiss

Cw: murder, incest, infidelity, trauma, blood, period accurate behaviors regarding marriage, infidelity and lower class people and Aemond being book!Aemond.

Rated M

This isn't done with any hate towards Alys or Alysmond, this is just me exploring the Aemond cheats trope in an dark and angsty way.

The war wasn’t kind to anyone, least of all to her.

Her brother had been murdered by her husband when his resentment and anger led Vhagar to attack Luke, Aemma had learned that no matter how her visions plague her no one fucking listens and worst of all, that you cannot expect people to give you the loyalty you give them in return.

Aemond had promised eternal love to her, wed her despite his mother’s intent to drive them apart and she’d given him a son hoping that blood would be enough to stay the swords that came flying out after his father’s death.

Aemond who was made for her as she was made for him, who loved her since they were small children and wed her with fire and blood so that if they die in the war they reincarnate as lovers in their next lifetime.

But it was not enough.

She was not enough.

Harwin’s bastard sister, Alys, had become his paramour, impregnated her and worse still, he treated her as if he loved her.

That night Aemma wished he’d die in his duel with Daemon as she cried into her pillow.

But he did not die.

Vhagar died from her wounds, but Aemond managed to get himself loose and toss Daemon off him as their dragons fell into the Gods’ Eye.

Silverwing was the last of the castle dragons unless you counted Rhaena’s hatchling, and the egg little Aemon had been given by his father before he was even born.

They marched to Kingslanding expecting a hero’s welcome, thinking she’d be foolish enough to allow him inside with his whore and his bastard in tow.

But he was wrong, everyone who believed her a foolish little girl would be proven wrong.

“Have Prince Aemond allowed inside the city, but not his whore.” Aemma ordered and eschewed Queen Alysanne’s crown in favor of the one Queen Visenya wore.

She had Aegon the Conqueror’s Crown, but it was not meant for her as was the one her mother and grandsire inherited from Jaehaerys.

This was a new dynasty, after all Aemma was born a Velaryon with dark eyes and dark skin of the Merlin King’s daughter, Melusine and the silvery hair of Raemond the Valyrian, the first King of Driftmark.

She was as much a dragon as she was a sea horse, something even her husband forgot.

Aemma supposed they were all long overdue a reminder.

While he has come to love Alys and owes his life to her, the sight of Kingslanding is enough to remind him where his priorities stand.

And when the orders came that Alys be forbidden to enter the city, Aemond didn’t hesitate to obey knowing his true family was the one inside the walls not outside of it.

The witch knew he would never marry her and the babe ---if it’s born at all given her age and history--- would be a bastard sent to the Wall, to the Faith or the Citadel where he wouldn’t be seen nor cause trouble. Alys would be provided for as long as she remembers his place and their affair over.

Aemma could order her death if she pleased as it was her legal right as his wife and queen.

There was no use to Alys now that the war was over and he was king consort, besides he would have many more children with Aemma who would be of the right blood anyways.

It was a cruel fate for Alys, but she was his lover not his wife and she knew how the world works.

The ruins of the Dragonpit loom over as a testament of the war’s cruelty as he rides through with no parade or anything to show who he was.

People had lost their fear of him even after he defeated Daemon because unlike his wife, he no longer had a dragon nor an army. People had lost their respect for him when they learned the rumors of Alys being true.

They sneered at him, pelted him with rotten food and called him every name under the sun.

Even his mother wasn’t spared in the smallfolk’s insults.

But Aemma was adored, seen as the beautiful princess who avenged her mother by killing his brother with her dragon as mother was forced to watch.

Seen as the rightful ruler, as the savior of the realms and their family.

Aemond supposed he deserved some of it, but really, they act as if he was the first man to take a whore during wartime.

No matter, after he swears fealty to his wife ---who will forgive him for sure--- and is instated in his rightful place by her side he will make them all pay for this disrespect.

“I promised you I wouldn’t die, my queen.” The prince cannot help but smile when he sees her on the Throne.

His beautiful wife with thick slivery ringlets and lilac eyes wearing the red and black of House Targaryen.

Aemond almost forgives her for having him presented to her court as Prince Aemond the Kinslayer.

“That was the one promise you kept, husband.” She replied with a steely look in her eyes.

So his infidelity had hurt more than he had assumed it would. Aemond cared deeply for his wife, but he had spent an entire year without her, and he wasn’t made of stone.

Alys had been there to fill in the blank and help him cheat the Stranger if he kept her as his paramour. He came to care for her too, but never as much as he did for the girl he wed twice.

“And for that I intend to apologize for till the end of my days, my love.”

Aemma had always been the one he would love until his last breath and the only person Aemond would grovel at her feet for her forgiveness.

“Shall I prove it to you by swearing my oath to you, my wife and queen?” he asked taking Dark Sister, the sword he had claimed the night he survived the God’s Eye.

His own sword, the one Aemma had her grandsire find in Essos, had been lost in the water along with Vhagar, but Visenya’s Blade was more than adequate to replace it.

“You may.” The queen does not appear to have been moved, her dragon’s blood had shone through and provided the armor that led her to survive all their family.

But underneath the steel lies the soft beating heart of the girl he loved; all he must do was crack its hardened shell.

For all her claims of being strong, Aemma feels herself pathetically weak.

He speaks as if nothing had changed, as if he didn’t break her heart a thousand times even before he took the whore for his lover.

She doesn’t want to forgive him, even if the remaining greens demand he remain her husband and consort as part of their surrender.

There are no feasts, no sign of celebration about his return to her.

They are to have a quiet reunion and he will see the babe on who’s life he had sworn on when he promised her he wouldn’t kill her little brother.

She hates him.

She loved the boy he was but hates the man who stands before her thinking she would forgive him.

It pains Aemma to know their love was never meant to be anything but a tragedy, even as Aemond holds his son in his arms and the sapphire eye cries just as it would if it had been a real one.

Their son sleeps in the cradle they shared as babes, and it is the fact that he looks and even sounds like the boy she wed that has her hand shaking.

It is a wonder his dagger has not fallen from her hands.

“I am sorry for waking him, Aemee, I just couldn’t resist holding him after so long.” He apologized as he had tried to do earlier before she left the room claiming to have a meeting with the new stewards.

But the truth is she left because she cannot forgive him.

His touch revolted her, his mouth had tasted of the blood he spilled and made her spill and the mere idea of having to live with the man who trampled everything she gave him under his foot had made her realize what she had to do.

She was never meant to rule with her true love beside her, she was never meant to be happy, and he was never meant to live while her brothers are dead.

“Kill him!” Luke’s voice hissed in her ears.

“Avenge me and yourself, sister!” the ghost was joined by others who died because Aemond wasn’t man enough to stand against his fucking mother.

She doesn’t know when she raised the knife, Aemma barely registered what she had done when she plunged it into Aemond’s back.

“Aemma, what are you doing?!” He is shocked and bleeding and yet not fast enough to stop her from plunging it a second time as he tries to stop her.

“Aemee, please, this isn’t you!” He tries as the blood comes out of his wounds and yet she manages to stab and slash his torso as he fought her.

He tries not to use force, fearing he might hurt her, and she gives into her hysteria as she takes advantage of his pain and injuries to kill him.

“Aemma, I’m sorry!” he cries out before she dealt the final blow.

Aemma sobs violently and finally lets the knife fall from her hands.

The guards find her cradling his bloody corpse as she cries like she has never done so before. Her baby son echoes her cries as bloody as his parents on the nursery's floor.

The queen only hears the guards send for her grandfather and the maesters as she grieves for herself and Aemond and all they could have been if it hadn’t been for the fucking war.

“I love you, I’m sorry!” she begs the corpse with his face frozen in horror at knowing what she did.

“I killed him, I killed him, I killed him!” she sobs violently as her grandfather tries to pry her off Aemond’s body.

“You didn’t, the whore did, she wanted to kill the three of you because he discarded her as all men do.” The Seasnake takes control as any Hand would do and before evening the nursery is spotlessly clean and Aemond’s body wrapped in linen atop a pyre.

As far as anyone knows, Alys Rivers had snuck into the nursery with her so called magic and murdered the prince consort when she couldn’t kill her.

As far as anyone knows the queen was his loving wife until the end and no one mourns him as much as she does as she pressed her lips to his one last time.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Cute Noccoro tropes please?

Hi! I am not totally sure if you meant headcanons or tropes. If I answered this in a way you didn't mean, please let me know! I'm gonna answer with tropes I think work really well with nocorro though. So, let's get into it!

-Friends to lovers, this is just their lives. There is something so entirely wholesome about sweet children Neteyam and Spider just growing into each other despite all the adversity.

-Work adversaries, lol. This would have to be in that vague au where Spider was also an Olo'eyktan's son (I think we had Paz as the Olo'ekte for that) or one where Jake and Quaritch were business adversaries or something. Maybe Neytiri's family runs a non-profit that spends half their time protesting against whatever shady bullshit Quaritch's company is trying to achieve. The idea of Spider and Neteyam both being older children molded to be their father's replacements is so fun and juicy. Plot twist though, Neteyam is obsessed with living up to that image, and Spider wants to be as antithetical as possible. The drama comes from them both trying to figure out of they are using each other or not.

-Soul mates, I don't even have to expand on this one.

-Same with forbidden love/star crossed lovers.

-Second chance; okay picture this guys. Neteyam and Spider have always loved each other, and have always kept it to themselves. It isn't until Neteyam is dying, bleeding out on the rocks, that Neteyam tells Spider. He has nothing left to loose, he is dying. Tragic confession and then he passes out. He will be damned if he dies without them finally out loud acknowledging his feelings. Spider's crying and shaking him and saying he loves him back and he can't just say that and die! But, surprise surprise, he fucking lives. Now they have to awkwardly deal with the consequences???

Spider: obviously, I love you too, but why did you have to tell me in front of everyone??

Neteyam: Well, I didn't think I was going to have to lIVE WITH IT, now did I?

[stevenose]

heal

kinktober day 6 - sex pollen (steve x reader)

ao3 | masterlist

summary: you wake steve up with a painful fever, needing his help to quell it.

contains: gender unspecified reader; use of word ‘hole’ for reader’s genitals; reader is under influence of sex pollen; dub-con due to the sex pollen aspects (though as usual with this trope, love confessions at the end); rushed and confused penetration (reader receiving); fingering; helpful!steve; no prep; coming inside; nipple play; slight bit of size kink; lil indication of impregnation @ the end sorry i’m insane; aftercare

word count: 2.2k !!!

18+ only!! minors and ageless blogs dni!!

===

“Steve.”

Something in your voice sounds so dire that the tone of it is enough to shake Steve awake. “What’s wrong?” he asks. You’re sharing a bed like friends do after the world ends, both too tired to sleep anywhere else. He’s never heard you sound like this before.

“Something,” you say. You’re breathing rapidly. Steve thinks you might be having a heart attack and he sits up, shifting towards you. “I don’t feel okay.”

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks. The whole “not going to the hospital immediately after emerging from another dimension” thing has to stop. He reaches out for you and you gasp, then moan.

“Steve,” you say again. It comes out as a long moan. “I - I can’t -“ You push yourself against him like a cat, nearly purring at the closeness. Steve watches you, highly confused. His boxers are getting tight.

“I -?”

“I need you to touch me,” you cry. Your cheeks and eyes are wet with tears and you sound so desperate. “Steve, please. I really - please, I need you - need you to -“

“Where?” he asks, wanting to help but not sure how. He thinks you’re hurt - maybe you need a massage. “Is it your back?”

And then you’re kissing him, your tongue invading his mouth, and it’s not that he hates it, he’s just really confused. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek and he gasps, pulling away - you’re hot. He moves his palm to your forehead and frowns at the temperature. You whine, pulling him up onto you and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“I -“

“I don’t know what’s going on!” you cry, reaching for his shirt and trying to tug it off of him. “I’m so hot, I’m so - I feel so empty, Steve, like I’m going to die if I - I - if you don’t -“ You cry out and writhe, pressing yourself into his crotch.

“Oh my god,” Steve whispers, looking down at your red cheeks and the tears staining them. He’s never seen anyone like this, much less you.

“It hurts!” you wail, fingers still toying with his shirt. “Steve, I need you, please!”

“Where?” he asks again, but his hand is already sliding down to your pajama bottoms. His fingers rub against your hole and he’s shocked at how slack you already are. Like you’ve already been prepped.

“I - Jesus, are you sure?” he breathes. Steve’s so worked up at how desperate you are under him. He knows you hurt and he’s almost certain this has to do with earlier events, but he can’t help how hard his cock strains against his underwear.

You nod, mouth agape, about to urge him on again when he sinks a finger slowly into you. Your eyes roll back, arching up into his dick again.

Steve licks his lips at the feeling. You’re burning up even more down here and you feel so loose. One finger is nothing. He slips in two, pushing in down to the knuckle.

Fuck, you mouth, eyes wide. “More, please Steve, I need you.”

If this could be his job for the rest of his life he’d be happy. He slips a third finger in and there’s finally a tightness around his digits. You suck him in, pulsing around him, moving your hips in an attempt to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he breathes, heart beating fast in his chest. “You need more? This enough?”

You immediately shake your head. Steve crooks his fingers to hit your sweet spot and you moan loudly, pulling him down to kiss him again. You’re still trying to ride his hand, so desperate and needy. Steve never thought he’d see you like this, sweating and crying and clinging to him like you’d die if he moved an inch away.

“Fuck me!” you finally cry, head thrown back as the pads of Steve’s fingers continue to massage your sweet spot. “I need you to fuck me or I’m -“

Steve moves fast, throwing your pajama bottoms off and stripping himself bare. He spits on his hand before pumping his shaft - though he knows he won’t need lubrication. You won’t even need a moment to adjust to him - which is almost too hard to believe. He’s never had anyone take him without at least two minutes to just breathe through the stretch. “Are you positive?”

“I need you,” you assure, teary eyes looking into his. “I can’t do this myself. Please, baby, I have to feel you, might go crazy if I don’t.”

That’s all he needs. Steve pushes into you and settles balls deep in one fluid thrust. As expected, you need no time to settle. He doesn’t need time, either. Steve pistons his hips roughly, snapping into you over and over. It feels like he’s going a little mad, too, feverish as he watches your eyes cross and roll back. Something he’s thought of forever, but never anticipated ever seeing.

“Touch me,” you whimper, grabbing his big, strong hands and placing them on your chest for him to squeeze at your sensitive nipples over the cotton of your shirt. A drawn out moan escapes you as he does, pinching and twisting. “They feel so full, Steve.”

“Christ,” he pants, fucking you a bit harder. He leans down to suck at your neck. The scent of you is concentrated here and he feels intoxicated by it.

“Don’t stop.” You sound so deathly serious that it makes Steve’s hips stutter. “God, Steve, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “‘m here, long as you need me.”

“Forever,” you moan. “Need you in me forever.”

“Can’t keep talkin’ like that.” His hair falls into his eyes. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Come inside, please,” you beg. “I think - I think you need to - to - to flush out whatever...”

But there’s no way Steve’s doing that, even if it makes his balls tighten up. He’s the clear headed one and he knows coming inside of you is the worst possible option. Even fucking you raw like this is a bad idea. The least he can do is pull out.

“Stay with me,” he says, “just a little longer. Gonna help you cum and then it’ll stop. Right?” he adds, unsure of what’s really even going on. He might be fucking you for eternity. Not that he would contest it. Your walls are so warm and tight around him, gripping him like a vice, holding onto him so harshly that he’s hardly able to pull back to slam in.

“I don’t know.” You sound so defeated, eyes welling with fresh tears. “Please, Steve. Make it stop. It hurts.”

“What hurts?” he asks, moving a hand to cup your jaw again. His big doe eyes are laced with concern.

“My - everywhere. Need to cum.”

“I’ve got you,” Steve assures again, angling his hips to hit right at the spongey spot inside of you. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he continues to fuck you into his bed. He feels your fingernails dig into the skin of his biceps and he locks eyes with you. He’s never felt so good - in love - erotic.

“Going to,” you force out, fingers gripping him tighter.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, gritting his teeth. He’s so close, too, but he has to wait so he can pull out. “Let me see you.”

When the tension in your stomach finally snaps, you scream, throwing your head back into the pillow. Steve’s quick to kiss you, groaning as he does, trying to think of anything other than how good you feel while your walls milk him. He keeps up his pace until he can’t anymore, pulling out and cumming on your stomach. He wants to collapse, but the look on your face tells him something’s still wrong.

He says your name quietly, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. And then you cry, sobs wracking your body as you shake your head.

“Oh, God,” you wail. “It’s worse.”

“Worse?” Steve’s shocked. Did he not do a good enough job? Was it that bad?

Your hands fly to his cheeks, cupping them. A moment of clarity seems to grip you. “Stevie. You ... you have to come inside of me. Please. It’s the only way. I know it. I -“ You swallow hard, trying to breathe through the pain and tears. “I can feel it. Please. That’s the only thing that’ll make it stop.”

Steve searches your eyes for any signs of hesitancy and finds none. He swallows hard before lining up with your entrance again, cock already hardened. He’s surprised by his own stamina. He rubs the tip of his cock over your hole before leaning down to kiss the shell of your ear. “Hold on for me.”

He buries himself into you again. Your tears nearly stop entirely, replaced by loud moans and curses and pleas for Steve to cum. No one’s ever wanted or needed him so badly that it doesn’t take him long to get to the edge again, trying to bring you along with him. It takes a few tries this time to find your spot, but once he does, it doesn’t take long for you to clench around him and bite his shoulder to muffle your screams. The pain of the bite adds to his pleasure in a way he never thought possible, and a quick image flashes into his head. His cum leaking out of your spent hole, body flushed but calm, full of him and finally resting. With that, Steve cums just as loud as you, pushing so far in that he almost bends you in half. You can feel his spend entering you, warm and thick, and with each pulse of his cock you slowly come down.

You’re both panting together when he finishes. Steve collapses onto your chest, completely spent, mentally crossing his fingers that he managed to do the trick. His cock softens inside of you and he can tell immediately that there’s a temperature difference. Your walls clench up around him, too, not as slack as they once were. If anything, you’re closing up.

“Angel?” he asks, panting, listening to your heart slow.

It takes you a moment to talk. “Steve.”

He moves his head to look up at you. You seem dazed, eyes glassy and mouth open. He can suddenly feel goosebumps rising on your skin - most likely from the drop in body temperature. He slides out and off of you to lay beside you, sure to wrap you up in blankets before pulling you into his chest. You rest your head there, arm slung lazily over his hip.

“Are you okay?” Steve whispers.

You pause, then nod. “I don’t know what happened. I just woke up and … it hurt so much. I needed you. I think maybe …” You trail off. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking his head down to look you in the eyes. “I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

“Clearly,” you say meekly, sounding and feeling small. “I’m so sorry I made you do that.”

“Hey,” he says again. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, yeah? Rest for me, okay? I’ll keep you safe.”

You’re quiet for a while and your breathing evens out. Steve assumes you’re asleep, his own mind racing as he tries to understand whatever the hell just happened. As he tries to figure out how to protect you from it ever happening again. As he tries to figure out a nice way of saying that was very nice and you’re very beautiful and I have loved you as long as I’ve known you and I’m sorry it took us having Upside-Down induced euphoria to say something about it. But you speak up first.

“I love you,” you whisper, fingers playing idly with the hair on his chest. “‘m not just being nice.”

Steve’s shocked, breath catching in his throat.

“Please say something.” You sound tearful. “I can’t lose you. I don’t want to lose you over this.”

“You won’t,” he whispers back, finally finding some of his voice. He moves down to face you, taking your chin between his fingers. He kisses you softly and slowly, taking the time to feel your lips instead of pressing roughly against them. Wants to remember the feel of them, that soft-firm plushness. You both feel dazed when he finally pulls back.

“I love you.”

You blush and bury your head into his chest, unsure whether you should laugh or cry or scream.

“And it only took us having weird sex to say it,” he jokes.

“At least the weird sex part is out of the way,” you bite back. “And you already came inside of me. That’s endgame level stuff.”

You throw your leg over Steve’s thigh and he can feel his sticky, thick cum leaking out. He groans and buries his own face into the top of your head.

“Let’s talk tomorrow,” he repeats. “But tonight, just know I love you.”

You nod sleepily. “And I love you.”

As you rest, something inside of you grows.

[fights4users]

Where’s the “you have no memory if you loose your disk” come from?

I’m assuming it is in uprising and the fandom just ran with it because in the movies it’s blatantly false.

Greetings. The Master Control Program has chosen you to serve your system on the Game Grid. Those of you who continue to profess a belief in the Users will receive the standard substandard training which will result in your eventual elimination. Those of you who renounce this superstitious and hysterical belief will be eligible to join the warrior elite of the MCP. You will each receive an identity disc.

Everything you do or learn will be imprinted on this disc. If you lose your disc, or fail to follow commands, you will be subject to immediate de-resolution. That will be all.

Once again how Flynn was there for the speech “huh they’re giving this thing to a very specific few and no one seems happy about it” and then went “I liked the frisbees I’m going to put them in my world :)” is so wild to me. I know it was probably actually Disney higher ups who just…. Didn’t think about the implications of making it mandatory for all.

Classic-

In the classic grid it was assigned spesifically by the MCP to the video warriors, gladiators, combatants etc (whatever you want to call them).  Essentially it makes  eradication easier. If you were in the game grid you were one of three things:

1.) Religious

2.) rebellious/just want to do your function

3.) “useless”

Keep in mind the MCP was different from Clu, he wasn’t reprogramming he was assimilating. Took control of all your functions, made it so you wouldn’t want to complete them or talk to your user. You are apart of him now. Apart of one. If he found you useful. If not your in the games to eventually die there. The disks just make it easier to pick up what useful information a program may have while  simultaneously getting rid of the body.

You don’t loose your memory when you loose the disk. It’s a memory backup! Basically it’s a hardwired flash drive in your back!! If you loose it they just kill you (this is to prevent rebellious programs from destroying theirs or refusing it).

Legacy-

Ok well then is it different In the other grid? Slightly. Flynn didn’t intend it as a oppressive tool but it canonically serves similar functions later on, we here the later part of Sarks speech as a safety speel in the armory before Sam is sent to the games. “Take it off and well fucking kill you”. This is under clu. Under Flynn I’m imagining it was mainly memory back up and so he could have quick access to code/be able to code from inside.

If you still want to use the memory loss trope that’s fine. I’m just, really curious where it started because it’s not exactly the case?

[bisexual-horror-fan]

ok so. first of all, bex, hiiii! thanks for being a buddy, i adore your writing and your sense of humor ( ˘ ³˘)♥ i come to you with a mutual favorite boy!! i was wondering if you could write Leslie Vernon doing his thing, picking out his final girl (fem reader, i'm also getting self indulgent with this lol), but as he starts to plant seeds and lure her and a few friends in, she's guessing his twists, tracing the path to how he's trying to single someone in the group out (possibly doesn't know it's her until it's too late). the entire time, she's doing it with excitable golden retriever levels of interest. she's not eager to die, of course. maybe she's just too read up on the horror genre and a little shocked that she walked into one. maybe she just hopes that when it comes down to her that the killer will give her a good chase sequence. 😏 it can be nsfw or not, i'll leave the rest up to you because i know you'll do something great with this (sorry that i'm asking for a lot ;; ) so really!! tysm in advance!! ❤❤❤

Well helllloooooo Riri!

So this has been sitting in the ol box for a while but my God, I think this is totally worth the wait! I went really hard on this one and adore it, this is just like, my sexuality summed up, you know what I mean? Let’s not fucking waste time, let’s GO!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns Used. Warnings: Terms Like Final Girl Used. Stalking. The Reader Is A Confident Little Shit. Exciteable Reader. Supportive Eugene And Jamie. You And Leslie Match. Taunting. Discussions Of Horror, Meta, Tropes. Canon Compliant Violence. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Fighting. Struggle. Choking. Grinding. Dry Humping. Premature Ejaculation. 

—

How The Fuck?

— 

It is a frankly gorgeous day. 

The sun is out, it feels almost too hot considering how close fall is. He had just gotten some lunch, a BLT on toasted rye and a soda. His health is important, especially with the big night coming up so he has been severely cutting back on the smaller treats, but today was great so far, so why not indulge? 

He was in the front seat of his van, right now it was time to watch, he’d been observing for a while, and the core group was out and about on a Saturday, down town, doing what normal young adults do when free, light shopping, easy socialisation, grabbing lunch just like he had. 

After taking the first bite of his sandwich he was looking out the windshield, keeping his eyes sharp but still trying to look casual of course, he doesn't want to draw attention doing what he is. He had the window open and was leaning on one arm, resting on his elbow, soda held loosely in his grip and it took him a second too long to realise that you weren't with the group at the moment. Maybe you’d ducked into the cafe you'd all been sitting outside at for something? So unlike him to lose track of you when you were the most important one to watch, he looks down for two seconds for a napkin and this is what happens. 

He is of course going to wait this and subsequently you out until he hears a voice right next to him, saying loud and clear, a question of, “Why have you been following me and my friends for the past few weeks?” 

Leslie is not an easy guy to scare or sneak up on, usually that's his schtick after all but he manages to appear unaffected, a simple turn of his head, looking you up and down and he hasn’t actually been this physically close to you yet. He wasn’t expecting that to happen today, he wouldn’t let it throw him off his game however, careful planning can only take you so far, you still need to think on your feet and be good at improv, luckily he was amazing at “yes anding-” so there was nothing to fear, this was just a test of his skills. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked in a tone that read as confused, pulling his hand back into the car and taking a leisurely sip of his soda, and you smiled, a small cock of your head to the side, “Do I really need to repeat myself? Alright.” 

A small shake of your head, a hand comes up and tucks some hair behind your ear as you reiterate your question, “Why have you been following me and my friends for the past few weeks?”

“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking abou-” You cut him off and say with a laugh, “Come on, save it. I’m not stupid.”

He wasn’t giving up yet, he still kept on playing defence, “Listen, I really dunno what the hell you’re thinking but I can tell you that you’re wrong, it’s a small town! Is it a crime to be in the same place at the same time as you?.” He took another bite of his sandwich and you purse your lips in consideration before saying with raised eyebrows, “Not a CRIME no, but still, an awfully big coincidence for it to be happening for weeks on end.”

 A hand over his mouth as he replied, “Okay?” A lick over his lips, catching some stray mayo before continuing now that his mouthful was dealt with, he does his best to keep his tone even, “Stranger things and bigger coincidences have happened.” 

“Sure, sure. You’re right.” 

You let that hang in the air between you both, watching intently as he took another drink before speaking, “So your van-” You kicked the bottom of the door lightly for emphasis, an action that got a raise of his eyebrows, you don’t let it stop you. “-this van, was outside my friends house during our sleepover last week? Along with those scattered apples and the rather suspicious slashes on the tree outside her place we found the next morning.” 

That did make him stop. 

He caught your eye. Wide smile, leaning in a bit closer as you said, “Just coincidence again?” 

When no retort came you spoke again, “I think you’re up to something and I think I know just what it is.” 

“Do you now?” He asked, unconvinced, and you hummed, one hand slipping into your pocket, “It’s sooo clear. Just like, look at us-”

You turned, leaned your elbow next to his on the open window frame of the van and pointed down the street to the cafe’ where your friends were all seated. “-a healthy group of young adults, people you wouldn’t normally expect to hang out, but have history, investment, hit a few key demographics and tick a few boxes.” A flourish of your hand, he leaned closer, watching through your splayed fingers as they danced passing over the group before coming to yourself, a gesture down the length of your own body. You note that his eyes still follow your hand. 

A beat and then, you point to him, “A mysterious guy who keeps following us around, watching us, coincidentally always nearby, attempting to let his presence not truly be known, but felt,  however remaining ultimately unnoticeable before he really wants himself to be. Strange moments enacted by him leaves us all questioning, little clues and hints thrown out hoping to hook us, get us to do something, but what?”

He felt tense, was trying not to show it but he thinks he might be failing.

You press on, “It’s all too clear. I think you are after us for one purpose. You’re a slasher and we-” Another gesture from yourself and to your friends, “-are your target group.” 

He is stunned. 

How the fuck did you ever figure all this out?

He would need to clean this up, find a new group, this is going to totally fuck up his whole schedule, but then your hands are gripping the window’s edge and you are saying excitedly, “Ha! I Knew it! I can see it on your face! I guessed it!”

You weren’t…Scared?

No, not at all, you looked happy, barely able to contain yourself. 

You were talking a mile a minute, big grin and bouncing on your heels, “This is so fucking cool, it’s like stepping into a horror movie for real! I cannot believe you picked us, this is massively exciting for me, you have no idea.” 

You drummed your hands on the window’s edge and said, “I don’t wanna keep you from your ‘work’-”, putting air quotes around the word with a wink before saying, “-don’t let me stop you or spoil your fun, okay? I’m excited to see where this goes.” 

And just like that you were walking off, a wave over your shoulder and a call of, “Good luck!” As you made your way back towards your friends and all he could do was stare as you went. 

Fuck.

He looked down at his sandwich, some of the bacon grease had slipped out of the wrapper and onto his pants and he grimaced, suddenly his appetite was gone.

The rest of the session watching you was tense. You didn’t even glance in his direction. Just laughing it up and having a good time with your friends. He kept expecting you to give him some kind of acknowledgement but there was none and he wasn’t sure what he was meant to do in this situation. He planned for many things and situations and scenarios but not someone in his target group figuring out his whole bit without him wanting them to. 

He watched you and your friends leave and he sat there for another ten minutes collecting himself before he started up the van and put it in drive, heading off to the two people he knew could absolutely help him with this. 

He was now leaning back on the couch in Eugene and Jamie’s living room after having just spilled his guts explaining all of what went down this afternoon and his thoughts, going back over what happened before today wasn’t needed because he’d already shared the rest as it was going down over the past few weeks. 

“So what’s the problem?” Eugene asked and Leslie laughed, a frustrated sound, hand rubbing over his eyes and down his face before his arms crossed and he said, “The problem is she found me out so early! It’s gonna ruin everything, she knows and now-”

“And now what? She thinks she knows but you didn’t confirm anything. If anything you can use this to your advantage, Les. Plus, ever since those boys in California isn’t meta all the rage? Lean into it.”  Eugene said and Leslie actually considered it for a moment.

Meta was popular, it was modern and true while convention and tradition was important, newness always had to be introduced to keep things fresh and exciting, preventing things from going stale or stagnant was a must and it isn’t like he didn’t enjoy it, like or see the appeal of it. A chance to dabble more into it was exciting. Plus, Eugene hadn’t steered him wrong yet, he still had some lingering doubts, he asked, “Do you really think I can still pull this off with her being aware?”

Jamie had been listening intently from the kitchen, she had been plating up some cookies that she baked earlier that afternoon. She came into the living room, saying, “Leslie, c’mon now, if anyone can do this it’s you.”

She held the plate and offered it up to Eugene who took a cookie with a thank you. She set the plate on the coffee table in front of Leslie before perching herself on the arm of Eugene’s chair. He slipped an arm around her waist and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head with a smile as Leslie responded, “Yeah?”

Eugene responded enthusiastically, “Yes! You’re very smart, think of it as a challenge! Trying to pull one over on her when she is suspecting you and thinks she knows what is coming, it’s a chance for-” Jamie cut in, saying, “Growth.”

“Yes, exactly, a chance for growth, thank you.” Eugene praised with a squeeze of his arm around her, “Just think of how amazing it would feel to stick this landing. I think you are more than ready for something like this.”

He leaned forward, picked up a cookie, hunger, excitement and passion was reignited as he started, “Okay so help me out, which misdirect do you think would be better?”

The afternoon was spent then on planning just how he could get a leg up on you. 

He had to play this just right, had to be careful and take it easy, he took even more precautions but you just kept figuring shit out. 

No matter how well he hid, no matter the subtlety, there you were, picking up on it. He wondered if you were fucking with him, truly aware or it was just dumb fucking luck at some point. There would be some small moment that would make you stop, look around, and then somehow, inexplicably, look in his direction, point down to the clue he left in hopes of placing a quiet suggestion to pull you and your friends to the Vernon farm and you pointed down to it, before giving a thumbs up and mouthing to him, “Nice!” 

Then there was the night he actually scared you all in person, in full garb and everyone else’s faces were marred with a truly horrified expression but you were smiling so hard it looked like it hurt your cheeks, everyone else was so distracted they didn’t notice you clapping a little in your overeager thrill. But he noticed. He couldn’t stop noticing every little thing about you. 

It was infuriating. 

It was exhilarating. 

You hadn’t said anything to your friends. They were all totally ignorant, he wondered why, did you not care for them? Did you seriously think he wouldn’t go through with this? Or did you fear if you spilled the beans that this game would end? You really, really wanted to see this one through to the end and that pushed him further.

When the night arrived he was feeling a whole host of emotions, anxiety, nervousness, but mostly, he felt ready, proud, over the moon happy and joyfully enamoured with the entire process coming to a head. Tonight was even better because of your probing and pushing, it forced him to take this outing to greater heights and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for that. 

The night itself was very surprising. 

A few good twists and turns, some more improv and quick on his feet thinking but overall, it was going fantastically. Your friends were dropping like flies, there were many scares and running and screaming and yet you were still not that shaken for a seriously annoyingly long time until you came across your friends bodies in person. 

That managed to shake you. 

It was a very satisfying moment for Leslie. 

Seeing you actually scared, that cute little smile falling, the terror washing over your features, permeating into your eyes, God, it was just so delicious. It had him wanting more. 

Picking a favourite moment during this event was tricky. There was something to be said for the way blood splattered across the front of his outfit, the heat of salty iron contrasting against the cold fall air, or the pathetic sounds your friend made when he broke their neck from hanging them, but the best is of course, obvious. 

That second when you knew it was you. That one thing you hadn’t been able to work out, the one thing you hadn’t managed to figure out, who was meant to face off with him, who was the final girl? It took you entirely too long to realise that it was you. 

Witnessing the change he brought out in you was everything he felt he needed. The chase was a good one, you made your way through the orchard beautifully, strides had a good amount of confidence to them but the occasional stumble, sneakers slipping on mud did more for him than he thought even his vocabulary could capture. When you broke out of the orchard, frantically looking around, you called out to him, arms out, proclaiming you were ready. 

It was very “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” but you didn’t care, cliches be damned, this felt real and right in the moment. “I’m right here! I know you want me, Vernon! What are you waiting for?!” 

Weren’t you so bold? Of course he picked up on the reference, he appreciated it, helped solidify it was the right choice. He sneaks around, watching you carefully and when he was right behind you he came forward, he played it just right, making sure to step on a twig and snapped it audibly enough for you to hear. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide and you see him a few seconds before his hands are on you, a curse and your body jerks away, hands gripping the weapon you held tighter you try to turn as fast as possible to face him. 

You nearly trip on your own feet in the process but you manage, you stare up into that blue-grey mask, into those dark soulless voids that made up where the eyes should be and you breathed out, gaze hard and face lined with concentration and determination, “Finally. I’ve been dying for you to show up.” 

He was thankful for the mask, if not for it you might have seen how he was unable to stop his lips from almost twitching up into a smile and that might ruin the mood. He loved this, the fight you have been putting up, the little jokes, the aspects and bits of you that had been shifting, changing, clicking just so into place to become this new person he knew you could be. He wanted to say something back but he knew it wasn’t right, not the correct moment. The tension was thick, you could feel the weight of his stare even though you couldn’t actually see his eyes, and the next moment happened, the one he’d been craving, aching for God knows how long in pure anticipation to experience. 

You swung at him. 

Thick and heavy two by four laden with rusty nails that threatened tetanus gripped between your hands came towards him with an impressive speed and the fight began. The first blow was deflected but it still hurt, the way and the angle it hit his forearm causing a small shock of pain to his system. 

You weren’t deterred. You swung again and again, he swung back, managed to get a few blows in, your face was going to be a little worse for wear. You tasted blood and were thankful your teeth all seemed intact. 

The last strike managed to hit him hard. A few of those bent and twisted nails bit into his palm when he reached out and managed to grab onto it. He held back the hiss of pain, blood spilled, leaked through the puncture wounds of the nails and down his wrist and arm, he took advantage however and ripped the wood from your hands. He used his other hand to remove it, pulling hard to release the embedded nails, he flung the improvised weapon aside, and you managed to surprise him again, a small look away when he threw it meant that when he looked back he wasn’t counting on you racing towards him, you charged him with a yell. Your arms around his waist, hands locked behind his lower back as you tackled him, the slippery mud had already made your scuffle difficult when standing but you launching yourself with this much force makes his bare feet slide, your weight thrown into him makes him topple and he falls. 

It hurt you both, he landed on your wrists and you groaned from the pain, he grunted, wind slightly knocked out of him as well as the sensation of freezing cold muck already seeping into the holes in his shirt. You don’t stop, you need to keep this momentum, you were still in disbelief that you had gotten the drop on him, you pulled your arms out from under him, scrambling so you were sitting up, knees on either side, straddling him. He didn’t waste time either, even with you on top of him his hand found its way to your throat, grip hard, managing a good hold even with the slick scarlet straining his hand but your own hand barely faltered, as you fumble along his side. He knows what you are after, his other hand joins the first and he squeezes, air is stolen, eyes want to roll back, you don’t give up.

The lack of air begins to take hold quickly, his grip is bruising, he has so much strength, he could crush your windpipe if the angle was slightly different, if you weren’t sitting fully up right on him. You are mindful to sit straight as much as you can, if you lean forward you know he could do you in, your hand feels and just as you are truly struggling to breath your hand finds it. Fingers latched onto the well worn wooden handle and you pull it towards you, stealing his sickle from where it was resting on his hip previously and you look down at him, holding the weapon, his weapon, to his throat. 

A stand off with his hands on your neck and the curved blade pressing into his and you were praying he’d break first. His hands loosened when you broke the skin, his hands didn’t lift but they did ease, sucking down a few deep breaths you keep your eyes on him.

“I’ll do it.” You heaved, hair partially in your face, sweaty and smeared with mud and blood, looking down at him, “Don’t think I won’t.” 

He knew you could. But would you?

Your hips shift and he thinks you might be adjusting, gearing up to do just that but that first move, it was just that, the first of many. It starts easy, a slow rock, “When I knew you were really going to go through with this, I got so excited.”

A laugh breaks out, his hands slip further, truly captivated as you speak while sat astride him, “I mean it is pretty unbelievable. Being cast in a real life horror movie without even being aware I was ever auditioning?” You muse for a moment that your life was the audition you supposed, you continue speaking, “It’s like a dream, a sick, fucked up, totally twisted dream.” 

More moves, an outright roll of your hips and holy shit the realisation hits like a truck, you were grinding on him, you were getting off on this. “You really threw yourself into this! Gave your all, you had us all running scared, trying to figure out where this was going, picking it apart? It’s been ruling my thoughts for weeks.”

A quiet hum leaves you, it appears the seam of your jeans was doing everything for you and surely you had to feel the predicament you were putting him in, he was hanging off your every word, choking you long forgotten as he was starting to strain in his overalls. “Even with all my fantasising about this, I never, ever would have imagined I was the one for you, that I was the one you were doing this for, that it was MY attention you were trying to catch.”

Another strong buck of your hips and a quiet moan slips out before you admit, “Well you sure got it.” 

The urge to touch was too great, his hands locked onto your shoulders and he moves too, grinds up into you and you gasp. Your grip on the handle tightened, you forced your hand down harder, the small split in his skin deepened, blood welling up, beginning to pool in the hollow of his throat and he groaned. “That was the one move you coulda made safely without me slashing your throat wide open so good job.” 

You squirm on top of him, “But you're playing a dangerous game here. Better not move any other part of yourself or I’ll watch the life drain out of you right here.” 

This isn’t at all what he was expecting. 

Would he have loved for this shift to happen between you both eventually? Of course! But on the first night? You holding his weapon to his neck, about to slide deep and ruin him, all while grinding your clothed cunt on his almost painfully hard dick, still trapped in the fabric covering himself, it had him throbbing with need, it was too good to pass up. You’d already been showing him over and over again that true planning was good, necessary, but being able to work on the fly, improv, rolling with the punches had undeniable appeal and deserved its own place. 

So fuck the timing not being what he had initially thought it would be, he let himself indulge. 

The pair of you work together. A precarious and tentative dance, you and he were unable to look away from one another as you ground down and he moved up, working on stimulating yourselves and each other. Leslie was wrecked under you in short order. He had fucked people, of course he had but somehow, some way, this, right now, fully dressed and rutting against each other, caked in dirt and blood on the wet muddy grass just outside the orchard was by far the hottest thing he had ever experienced. 

The reasons as to why were all too obvious. The night, the exchange of power, the first overt expression of your sexuality that he was bearing witness to, the fact it was directed at him. You threatening his life with the sickle you stole off his hip with startling confidence and you, just, fuck, you.

It was doing his head in. Felt like he was somewhere between swimming and drowning, alive and electric. He was panting behind his mask, his breathing matching yours in pace and pitch as he watched, your brow creased, split bottom lip from where he had landed a good hit on you earlier tucked between your teeth. 

He watches the pleasure play out over your face, the emotion tinting in your eyes, you reach forward with your other hand, fingers hook under the bottom of his mask and he tries to turn his head to prevent you seeing his face. He wants it on, wants the game to continue, doesn't want to break the fantasy, you grunt, a shake of your head, “Uh-uh. Don’t fight it.” 

Another push of the sickle makes him relent, a reminder you could end this right here, he doesn’t want that, not yet, not till you fall apart on top of him. He allows you to peel his mask away, tossing it aside. You look down on his sweat stained and made up face. “There you are.” 

You looked pleased to see him, really see him as he was. He pressed down on your shoulders, forced you tighter to him, making it so the grinding on one another was stronger, more pressure, better.  

"Can't hide from me." It leaves you as if it is the sweetest melody, sing-songy and caught in the no-mans-land between a laugh and a moan as you swirl your hips.

The moans were breaking up your panting, you struggle to keep pace, and were you really going to? Was he going to get to not only see you cum while grinding yourself on him but be the reason that you experience such pleasure for the first time from another person? 

It proved too much. He is dragged to the edge in the blink of an eye.

His own head thrown back, hitting the damp ground, tendons in his arms and neck flex, sweat trailing down his temple and the tension breaks. A groan leaves him, his own hips stuttering up into you, eyes can’t leave as you watch him cum into the tight denim concealing him. Your own end is sealed by the knowledge that you made the big bad killer who gutted all your friends tonight bust in his overalls like he was a nervous and inexperienced teenager. 

“I got you.” You taunted, breathlessly before you tumble over the edge into hard earned bliss.

Your peak hits with a weak whimper, the pleasure spikes, back arching and even with your clammy and trembling hand, you manage to move it. You pull, dragging the tip that had already broken the skin earlier slice through. He hadn’t even truly finished cumming when you slashed, you were mid-orgasm yourself when you slowly split his throat open. The move was from left to right and when you reached the opposite side from where you started you jerk the sickle and with a flourish it pulls free, blood splatters over you just as it had to him earlier.

Another roll of your hips, drawing out your pleasure as much as possible, wringing out every ounce of sensation possible from your pulsing clit trapped against your soaked underwear. Your mouth is open, you taste salt and unfiltered him across as your tongue, feel his grip loosen, the sounds of him choking on his own blood and struggling to breathe acting as the soundtrack for your climax, a feast for your eyes as you watch the life drain from him under you, just like you promised earlier.

Sensation reaches it's natural end as does he.

Your hips slow and then eventually stop. Your chest rising and falling, you attempt to catch your breath, you drop his sickle beside him, it hits the ground with a thump .The bloody back of your hand wipes over your forehead, it smears crimson against the slick skin as you move your hair aside. You stay there for a moment. 

Just looking down at him.

Taking it all in. 

The cool evening air on your skin, the quietness of it all now that the struggle is over, the sense of finality. 

You make yourself get up on shaky legs, you move off of him and turn to leave him behind.

Before the entrance of the orchard you pause. A bite of your already hurting bottom lip you can’t help yourself. You turn, look over your shoulder and see he is no longer there. The only clue of your struggle and his body is flattened grass and spilled blood.

A laugh tears out, it makes you roll your eyes fondly, hands stuck in your jeans pockets, you turn forward again, start to walk the way you came in, as you call out, “You son of a bitch, I’ll get you next time!”

You leave with the taste of him still lingering on your tongue, outfit, including your underwear, completely ruined.

He was nearby, already wrapping his throat to stop the bleeding. You did a decent job but you didn’t cut nearly deep enough and missed the major arteries, all the same it was impressive, he couldn’t be happier. Even with the pain, the shaking fingers that were rushing to cover his wound, he smiled. This was going to scar up nicely, the first memento he got to keep from a hopefully long back and forth as slasher and final girl. 

He took off, hand on his throat, holding white that was steadily staining red, making his way to Eugene and Jamie’s to get stitched up properly. He thought about what you called out, he hoped you would get him even worse next time. If you were so smart and savvy your first time out, he can only imagine how you are going to be the following outing you shared, he’d need to plan well, step his game up if he had any hope of measuring up. 

You did have very high expectations and he’d be damned if he couldn’t meet them. 

Were it not for how much he was hurting and the fear that if he did that it would worsen his bleeding he’d be humming, “So This Is Love.”, as the events of the evening already wanted to replay over his mind. 

[miscelunaaa]

shell-ter | knj

pairing: hermit crab!namjoon x marine biologist!reader (who is also soft-bodied because reasons)

genre: crack, humor, smut, strangers to lovers, hybrid au, really just unabashed nonsense

summary: While walking on the beach and avoiding your responsibilities, you stumble upon a line of hermit crabs waiting to exchange shells. It should be an exciting moment for you, but instead there’s this random naked guy yelling at you to leave his friends alone. Why can’t a stroll on the beach ever just be a stroll on the beach?

rating: 18+ for maximum crabby goodness

word count: 6.9k

warnings: Scientific inaccuracies around the nature of crabs, hermit crabs, and other adjacent decapod crustaceans (I tried my best, I promise). Implied early pandemic setting. Writer plays fast and loose with hybrid tropes. Swearing. Crabby Namjoon lmfao. Meet ugly. Awkward public nudity, which is also very likely illegal wherever this is set. Joon’s crab friends leave him to die. Probably inaccurate descriptions of hermit crab mating conventions. Namjoon being casually naked the entire fucking time. Instinctually protective Namjoon. Lots of hybrid nonsense. Bittersweet ending?? Kind of??? Look, Namjoon plays by nature’s laws, y’all. This is perhaps the least feelingsy thing I have ever written. sexual content in the form of: Breeding kink. Oral, female receiving. Face sitting. Body worship??? Size kink. Big Dick!Namjoon. Dirty talk. Strength kink. Unprotected sex with other birth control in place. Rough-ish sex. Squirting. Possessive Namjoon. Hybrid nonsense. 

notes: this is all @thatlongspringnight’s fault, so everyone pls be sure to thank Julie. I ironically and unironically love hybrid fics, and this series is going to be my homage to the more ironic side. There will be more chaos!! I’ve got ideas for each member, some more than one! Please note that this is a significantly delayed crosspost from my AO3 pseud. I’m still trying to decide how to approach this space in a lot of ways and posting this is partially me feeling out how I personally feel about getting work out in this space anymore. 

Please also note!! I am no longer doing any tag lists. If you want updates for as soon as I post a fic, please subscribe to me on AO3. Updates go straight to your inbox and AO3 is way more stable than this fucking dinosaur of a platform. And this is to say nothing about it actually giving a shit about writers. 

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

The sun has only been above the horizon for a short while and already it feels like the sand’s been baking underneath its gaze for hours. The tiny grains each feel like hot coals as they wend their way between your toes. You scowl and try to step more carefully. Seokjin’s already fucked up the shower drain once or twice after neglecting to shake the sand off his body; you’d hate to be the next call to your cranky landlord.

It’s not a glamorous life, being a marine biologist, but someone has to do it. Or at least, that’s what you and Seokjin keep telling yourselves every time the university threatens to cut your funding and bring both of you back home. Someone has to study the beach flora and fauna, right?

Right?

“But why crabs?” you mutter to yourself. “Why the fuck did I pick crabs …”

Hermit crabs aren’t even real crabs, you muse to yourself as you step lightly over the early morning beach. They’re still crustaceans, just not “true” crabs like their sisters in the infraorder. Every time the university threatens to cut funding, you have to explain it to some bureaucrat who doesn’t think it’s important to know the difference. To the average person and their piss-poor science literacy, taxonomy seems like a lie anyway.

All things become crabs in the end. You’re more than ready to carcinize and join your tiny decapod brethren. Seems easier than waking up at the asscrack of dawn just to put on pants and a bra and see if you can catch them moving shells all at once. At least the crabs are nicer than anyone in the finance department so … take me now, crab daddy or whatever.

Today doesn’t seem promising. You’ve been trying to observe a vacancy chain for a week, with no luck. It’s not even for your thesis; you’re just fucking bored. Like fine yeah whatever you could be working on your thesis right now but why do that when you can avoid it and watch hermit crabs line up and wait patiently for shell to free up? They even naturally orient themselves!! They line up by size! That’s way more fascinating and way less depressing than talking about brachyura behaviors in wild environments versus commercial ones.

Maybe you should have picked the fake crabs instead. Maybe your advisor would let you change your thesis … for the third time …

Better not. It’s just easier to procrastinate the inevitable at this time.

Hours pass, and nothing’s happening on the beach. You’ve walked it up and down, you’ve reapplied sunscreen, you’ve finished both water bottles, and you’ve seen nothing, not even a lone crab sighing. You go home for lunch with a sigh, taking care to knock the sand out of your sandals before going into the dinky apartment. And then you repeat it all again, leaving this time with a sun hat and stronger sunscreen for the intense afternoon light.

You’d think by this time that the sound of the waves beating the shore would drive you nuts and remind you of your failures, but no. It’s the only thing soothing your annoyance at the lack of hermit crabs and your lack of will to work on your thesis.

Every once in a while, as the sun makes its way across the cloudless sky, you sit for a moment in the hot sand, dropping your notebook to the side. During these moments, you allow yourself to stare out into the sea and let the quiet flow through you. It’s nice, really. No one’s been coming to the beach because of the pandemic, so it’s personal nature hours just for you, the lone soul brave enough to venture out.

It’s during one of these moments, late in the day, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon after a long day of making things unbearably hot, that you see it. Or, rather, you see them.

Hermit crabs, perhaps a half dozen or so, beginning to queue up in the sand. It’s adorable, really; they’ve arranged themselves biggest to smallest, and they’re holding onto each other with their claws to make sure the order is maintained. At the end of the line lays a shell, just a bit too big for the biggest crab to move into.

The wonders of nature never cease to amaze you.

You watch from a few feet away, trying not to make any sudden movements, as a few more crabs join the line and the rest shuffle to make sure they’re in the right order. You turn to reach for your notebook.

As you’re flipping through to the first available page, you hear a little pop.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The angry voice makes you jump, your notes and pen flying somewhere as your hat falls off and you scramble to look dignified instead of very obsessed with crustaceans.

“N-NOTHING?? I-I waS—”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” The voice is angry, accusatory. Your head spins around to find its source before you’ve even located your pen and you’re too startled to care about the undignified shriek you emit when your eyes find it. Or, actually—if you had to make an assumption—him.

A man, tall and lanky and naked as hell, is staring down at you. His hands are on his hips, his skin burnished gold in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Good lord, he’s so fucking naked! And angry!! But mOSTLY NAKED???

Why is an angry naked man yelling at you on the beach?

Why is it also kind of turning you on???

(Maybe Seokjin was right, maybe you do need to get laid.)

“Do you fucking mind?” He’s tall too, glowering down at you with handsomely hooded eyes, his full lips set into a hard line that makes no sense with how soft they look.

This is not the time to be thinking about this man’s mouth!! What are you doing? Has the sun addled you? Say something!

“D-do I mind? Mind what?”

“Do. You. Fucking. Mind?” the man spits at you. His eyebrows furrow.

Don’t look down. Fuck. Do not look down.

“Do I mind?” Something in your brain finally fires correctly. “Do you mind?? Naked asshole yelling at me?”

“This is my natural state and this is my turf—”

You scramble up to stand, almost falling over because your head swims from doing it too quickly.

“Your turf? This is a public beach, dickwad.”

Dick. Don’t look down don’t look—

Fuck. You looked down. Ohhhhhh boy did you look down. Oh wow. That’s a peen. That’s a big ole peen out in the sunlight in public on this here public beach. Holy shit. He’s gifted and he’s naked and he’s on the beach yelling at you and fuck why is this making you so horny???

“Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you are but you’re on my turf, you’re scaring my friends, and you need to fucking leave so we can do our business and get back to doing what we do.” The man’s chest is rising and falling rapidly as his jaw ticks with frustration. He’s got really nice pecs and his n—NO. FOCUS.

“I’m sorry, what friends? It’s just you and me here on the beach.” Thank god. This would be hard to explain to the local cops.

He steps to the side and points at the ground, to the little hermit crabs in their line. “My friends??? The crabs that you’re disturbing, including myself???”

The incredulity in his voice makes it click for you.

“Oh. Oh my god, are you a crab hybrid?”

He puts his face in his hands and shouts through his palms: “YES.”

“I … okay, are you all hybrids? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I—”

“Save it, I don’t care. Could you just leave us alone now? You’re scaring the littler ones and we all just want new shells.”

You bend over to pick up your notebook. “I’m a scientist, I promise I wasn’t trying to scare you and your friends.”

“Fine, whatever, just leave us alone please? You’ve been walking up and down this beach for days and you’re disturbing the peace.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the sand stuck between your sandals and the soles of your feet. Your heart sinks. “Ah, yeah. I can … do that. I guess.”

It’s better this way, probably. You need to start working on your thesis anyway. Your notebook feels heavy in your hand as you secure your hat back on your head.

“Great,” the man says. His shoulders relax as he sighs. “Great. Thanks for understanding. I have to get back to it but if I see you around again, I’m coming for you. Got it?”

Did he have to say “come for you” while ass-fucking-naked on the beach and looking like a hunky dreamboat??? You feel something in the pit of your stomach pulse with need.

“Yeah,” you say as you abruptly turn away. Is the sun hotter now or is it just you? “I got it. Bye then, I guess.” God, this is just fucking weird. Hybrid crabs in the wild and they’re kind of hot too. Ugh. Seokjin’s going to laugh his ass off.

“Bye.”

You only make it a few steps away before a loud, frantic “FUCK” makes you whip back around.

The man is on his hands and knees, still very naked and human shaped, scrutinizing something in the sand.

“Um, is everything alright?” You keep your voice low and soft in hopes that your question won’t aggravate him further.

He sits back on his heels, throwing his head back with a groan. His throat bobs, and you try not to think about what biting at his resplendent skin might be like.

“No. No it’s not. I lost my fucking shell because these assholes—” he gestures wildly at nothing in particular “—finished the shell queue without me. The only one that’s left is way too small.”

And now the handsome naked man is pouting. He’s a hermit crab hybrid without a shell and pouting and distraught and now even more naked in a way. Good lord, is this a test? Is there a dude with a camera hiding somewhere recording all of this for reality TV?

“I’m sorry.” What else can you say?

“This is what I get for helping these ungrateful fuckers. This fucking sucks.”

If he doesn’t have a shell, does that mean he’s homeless?

“How long do you think it’ll be until the next vacancy chain forms?”

“The what? The shell switch?” He looks up at you. You’re still standing a little ways away, but the anguish is clear on his face. “I don’t know, it could be days it could be …”

Weeks.

Shit. You can’t just leave him out here like this.

Without thinking, you walk over to him and squat down to look at him at his level. “I’ve got a roommate, he’s a scientist too. I’m sure if we explain what’s going on, he’d be okay with you crashing with us for a bit. If you want, that is. I just … I feel bad. You lost your shell because you were yelling at me.”

The man bites his lip as his eyes trail away, lost in thought. And then, after a moment, he nods his head.

“Okay. It’s the least you can do, I guess.”

He’s hot. He’s kind of rude, but at least he’s hot, you think.

“Great,” you reply, hiding your slight irritation. You shrug off your sun protective button-up and hand it to him. “Tie this around your front to cover up. It’s just a five minute walk from here. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He looks at the shirt and takes it reluctantly.

“I’m Namjoon.”

The first thing you learn about your new hybrid acquaintance is that he has little regard for personal boundaries. The moment he steps into your apartment, he refuses to leave your side. You’d expected him to be skittish, maybe, but not clingy like this. You’d had to keep him out of your bedroom as you changed out of your beach clothes, and you’d actually locked the door to the bathroom for once because it took too much convincing to let him know that you weren’t going to suddenly disappear on him, leaving him alone in a strange place. You weren’t unconvinced that he wasn’t going to to break the door down. You could hear him pacing on the other side as you tried to pee in peace with mixed success.

If you hadn’t been convinced of his hybrid status before, watching him sniff at the air and scrutinize everything in your little apartment would have been enough to change your mind. And then there’s his proclivity for nudity, which just further proves his nature. His behavior is just that removed from what you’re used to from normative humans.

You’d also expected more questions from him, if you were being honest. Then again, just because Namjoon had been encountered in a wild environment didn’t mean he’d been born out there. He’d not been perturbed by the microwave or the stove or even the hot water kettle you’d started as soon as you got out to the kitchen. But fuck, he was weirdly clingy.

You frown as you wait for the water to boil. You don’t know much about hybrids, but if you had to guess, his clingy behavior likely has something to do with you being an available female and it being the mating season. August is primetime for horny hermit crabs; maybe his instincts are drawing him to you in some way because of it. If you’re being honest, you don’t completely hate it, though it feels a bit cringe to admit that to yourself. Even so, you try to shake the shame. So what if you enjoy the fact that he may or may not at this point in time consider you desirable in some way? Who doesn’t want to feel desired every once in a while?

As you reach up to open a cabinet above the counter and grab a box of tea, you hear something rustle behind you. Namjoon probably, still looking around while hovering.

“Namjoon, do you want some—”

Your voice catches in your throat as you feel a warm body press to your back. Large hands appear on either side of you, grasping the counter. You feel warm breath on your neck.

“—tea?”

A nose nuzzles into your skin, lips exhale a shaky breath.

“You smell really good, baby,” Namjoon says. “Smell good enough to eat, to …”

T-to what? You feel like you’re about to implode. To whAT??

“To what?”

Ugh, you sound pitiful with your voice all airy like that. You’re lucky anything managed to come out at all.

His hands don’t move to touch you, but his chest is scorching against your back. He’s close enough that you hear him swallow as his lips brush just barely against the shell of your ear.

“To breed.”

Namjoon’s voice is so low it brings goosebumps to your skin. A tremble passes through you, and you’re certain he can feel you shiver between his form and the counter.

“That exciting for you?” he asks. “The idea of getting your cunt fucked by a hybrid cock?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

His hands finally move, his weight settling against your back as he begins touching you, brushing his fingertips against your forearms and over your hips.

“Do you want me to mate with you, baby?”

“Yes.” God yes.

The scramble for your bedroom is a blur. All the way there, your hands are trailing over his skin while his are pushing your clothes up and off. You can feel how hard he’s gotten against you, but before you can get your hands on his erection, he’s falling back against your bed and pulling you on top of him.

Maybe you should be worried about how quickly things escalated. And maybe your conscience should shut the fuck up and let you be vaguely irresponsible with your feelings and body for the first time in months.

Namjoon groans as you straddle him, letting your hot flesh drag against his. His fingers sink into the softness of your thighs.

He murmurs a protest against your kisses. “Not yet, I want to—”

You realize he’s pulling you up his torso before can think to stop him. With stunning ease—damn that hybrid strength—he carefully positions your center over his face.

“This. I want this. I want your scent. I want you.” He looks up at you from between your thighs with those intense, dark eyes of his. Fuck. Fuck you want to die. This is fucking obscene. This is fucking—

The first suck against your folds makes your body pulse, and every movement after that brings you higher and higher into a stratosphere you didn’t even know existed. Namjoon is extremely skilled with his human mouth. It feels like you’re being devoured. It feels fucking amazing.

“Taste so ripe for me, baby. Breeding you’s going to be so easy,” he says against you. The vibration of his low, husky voice reverberates up your spine. Goosebumps spring up from your bare skin. Did your nipples just pucker?

Maybe you’ll leave out the fact that you’ve got an IUD. Maybe you’ll just let him have his fantasy about you. You’d hate to break his little paguroidean heart.

Namjoon licks wide stripes through your folds, each stroke culminating in a suck at your clit before he starts the motion anew. He groans into your flesh as if it’s the finest thing he’s ever consumed, as if he can’t help how this makes him feel. Each stroke, each tug, each movement and sound he makes pushes you closer to an edge you didn’t realize was there.

Your hands find their way to his scalp. You run your fingers through the dense hair as you breathlessly moan praises to him. It’s all you can do not to grind down onto his face; you’d hate to feel like you’re suffocating him. When his teeth graze your clit, however, you find yourself gripping his hair close to his scalp and grinding down anyway.

“Fuck, I’m so close, I’m gonna come,” you keen, your hips dragging along his lips.

“Come on my face, baby. Give it all to me,” Namjoon growls. His grip on you tightens and he starts helping you hump his face.

Suddenly, the wave hits you. It carries you past the edge and out into a realm of pleasure you haven’t felt in ages. You cry out, your body tensing as your cunt pulses with release. High as you feel, the emptiness makes it feel incomplete.

It’s like Namjoon senses this, because abruptly, he’s flipping you down onto your back. He towers above you as you whimper and reach for him.

“Please, I need your cock,” you say, fighting tears as your orgasm’s flood recedes.

“I’m going to fuck my spawn into you over and over, baby,” he purrs, his eyes trailing up and down your quivering body. “Gonna fill your soft, pretty body up with my seed. You’re not going to be able to walk for days when I’m done with you.”

You watch as his hand drifts down his torso to tug at his massive length. Will it even fit? You’re not sure. And will he actually wreck you the point of rendering you immobile? Who fucking cares?? You’re willing to see him try. For science. Yeah, for science or something.

You reach for him again, hands open and needy as you help him pump his length a few times before he finally lifts his eyes back to you. He looks hungry, perhaps as even as needy as you feel.

Namjoon finally leans over you, and you feel the tip of his cock start pressing into your cunt. You suck in a breath as slowly, so slowly, he pushes further inside. His size almost hurts; it toes the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and you can’t be bothered to differentiate between the two. Not now, not in this moment.

He groans once he’s finally fully sheathed within you, and the sound of his pleasure makes you clench. The squeeze makes his body tense.

“Cunt’s so tight, so fucking right around me.”

If you weren’t so breathless from being filled, you’d cry out praise in return. You don’t get the chance to catch your breath. Namjoon starts thrusting slowly, and the drag of his skin against your core makes you grip the sheets and press your hips into his.

For a moment, you wonder if this is it. This is hybrid sex. It’s normal sex but just a little bit better in all the right ways. Your hormones sigh in content, but your scientist brain is a little disappointed that it’s not something more.

After a few moments, during which you finally seemed to adjust to his girth, he stops and hooks your legs around his elbows. The stretch of your muscles is unexpected and before he starts to thrust again, you panic.

“Namjoon, I don’t think I can bend like tha—”

“Yes you can. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his face dropping to kiss your knee as you adjust. He’s got your legs bent up at an intense angle, making his thrusts even deeper. Because of his strength, he’s able to help support your weight on his arms and thighs so that you don’t have to support it yourself. You’re completely at his mercy now, and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.

He picks up his pace as you relax into the position. Every thrust has his hips slapping against yours, the wet sound of his cock fucking your cunt echoing into your tiny bedroom. You realize through the haze that your bed is creaking and hitting the wall behind it as he fucks you hard and deep. You can’t be bothered to care if your neighbors will hear. They can probably hear you moaning and crying in his arms too. The hybrid above you seems to think the same thing.

“That’s right, baby, let them hear you. Let them hear me breed this wet fucking hole. Let them hear me fill you with my spawn.” Namjoon’s breaths are beginning to grow raged. When he’s not grunting obscene, filthy things at you, he’s biting his lip. Sweat’s dripping down his temples and neck and beading at his chest. “You’re mine. This is my cunt, no one else can fill you like this, can they?”

“No one can. I’m yours,” you whimper as your hands trail up to grip his arms. “Only yours.” What the hell has gotten into you? Pre-thesis trip you could never.

His thrusts grow rougher still and you realize that the string within you has wound itself tightly again. Fuck, it’s never snuck up on you like this. Namjoon’s cock is dragging against every sensitive spot it can and at such a quick pace that suddenly, just as soon as you noticed it, the string is snapping.

You scream. You’ve never screamed during sex before. This orgasm’s even stronger than the last; your ears ring, your heart pounds, your cunt tries to squeeze around his length so tightly that he almost can’t move. And you’re wet, so so suddenly wet. There’s a trickle down your ass and into the sheets and you realize that this fucking hybrid’s still fucking you through it as if it’s nothing.

He doesn’t make it much longer after you. As soon as your orgasm begins to ebb, his hips begin to stutter, hard and fast.

Namjoon swears one last time and with a last snap of his hips, he comes, emptying himself within you.

Your ears continue to ring with the sudden silence. The sound of heavy breathing is the only thing reminding you that right, yes, you’re still alive, this isn’t a weirdly real wet dream at all. This actually happened.

You wait for Namjoon to pull out, only to realize that he’s looking down at where you’re still joined. His brow is furrowed, even and his chest rises and falls with recovering breaths.

Finally, you break the silence.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?”

“Yeah, just ... I didn’t realize you could gush like that.” His fingers brush along the stretch marks at your inner thighs as he looks down at the sticky scene.

“Yeah, it’s a bit messy, I’m sorry. It means you did a good job though.”

Namjoon grabs a pillow and places it under your hips before carefully pulling out. You whimper at the sudden loss of his cock.

“Don’t apologize, I just—”

Is he ... is he pouting right now??

He sits back on his heels and surveys your wrecked, tired body, the pout still playing his lips.

“I just wish you could have done that on my face. It smells so good.”

Your feel your face heat instantly. Not even his obscene dirty talk had you feeling this embarrassed. Does he even know what he’s saying right now?? You’re so stunned you can’t even speak.

Namjoon shrugs to himself before finally settling next to you in the bed and pulling you towards him with care.

“It’s fine,” he says into your neck. “The night is still young, it just means I’ll have to try harder when we go again in an hour.”

Your stomach lurches at the thought. You’re not sure if it’s horror or anticipation. “Again? In an hour?”

Morning comes sooner than either you or Namjoon expect, and with it, your roommate, also arriving sooner than you expect.

He makes himself known in his customary way, which doesn’t have the customary result he expects. Barging into your room, already recounting the wonders he saw out at the reef, goes over poorly when you’ve got a hybrid still sleeping in your bed, clinging to you under the thin sheet covering your naked bodies.

Seokjin yelps. You scream. These are normal and expected reactions.

But poor Namjoon … he does neither of those things.

“I’ve never seen a grown man skitter.”

“Well, you scared him. I think he’s got a right to be spooked.”

You and Seokjin are standing outside of your bedroom door while Namjoon hides under your bed, refusing to come out until he thinks it’s safe. Your roommate’s not wrong; the man had absolutely skittered into his new hiding place. He’d actually tried to drag you with him, but you’d resisted long enough to shout at Seokjin to leave before you tore him a new asscrack.

“His dick is … well, it’s huge.”

“Nice subject change there, you jerk.”

“What? You expect me to see an endowment like that and not say something? How did you even fit it inside you?”

“Please don’t say the word endowment. We’re stressed enough about funding without you comparing his dick to the massive amount of money we’re missing out on.”

“Fine. Unlike the rich white assholes back home though, he seems … nice? I guess? The whole hiding under the bed thing notwithstanding. Did he at least know how to use that enormous—”

You hold up a hand. “Just stop. The sex was great. Amazing even. But um, the hiding thing—”

“You’re about to tell me something weird aren’t you. Hon, you’ve got to stop bringing home your weird hippie types, like, you can’t just bring hot homeless dudes home. Living in a van is not the same as having a house! I hope you used a condom.”

“Jin. Ugh. God, that was one fucking time. He’s not unhoused and even if he were, what business is that of ours?”

Suddenly a voice comes from inside your bedroom. It’s muffled, and perhaps a little salty in tone, but it’s now close enough to make you think that maybe Namjoon’s gone from hiding under the bed to hiding under the blankets. “Well, technically I am homeless and it’s all your fault!”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow and levels a hard stare at you. “Talk.”

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back to the beach after being coaxed out from your bedroom. In fact, he’s not in much of a hurry to do anything besides follow you around the little apartment, wrapping his arms around your waist whenever he’s got the chance. He’s also not in much of a hurry to put on any of the clothes that Seokjin picked out for him.

Namjoon just looks at the garments and instead walks over to you and pulls your body into his chest. His body is warm against your back. The gesture seems sweet, but it’s beginning to get annoying. Seokjin looks the two of you up and down, your stiff form enveloped by Namjoon’s lanky, muscular one.

He shrugs. “If I had thighs like that I’d eschew pants too, I guess.”

You purse your lips as you watch Jin leave the room, leaving you with the very naked and needy Namjoon.

“Hey, so um,” you start, your fingers finding his arms to loosen his hold on you. “You’re really cool, but I’m not much of a … cuddler? Like casual cuddling is cool but this is a bit much.”

Instead of letting you shake him off, the hybrid’s hold around you tightens.

“I’m not cuddling,” he scoffs. “I don’t cuddle. This is protection. I’m making sure you stay safe until you can release your eggs in the ocean.”

It’s very hard not to roll your eyes and scoff back. This is an instinctual behavior for a lot of brachyura species, and apparently it’s something he’s displaying too.

You pat his arm, perhaps with a little bit of condescension. “Yeah, but I don’t have any natural predators, big guy.”

“True. But you’re still all soft.” His hand trails up from your waist to fondle one of your breasts. Your breath hitches while he continues to speak. “You still need protection.”

“Namjoon, I’m not going to suddenly sprout an exoskeleton.”

“Don’t care. Still gonna do my job as your mate, at least until you can get back to the ocean.”

“Buddy, we had mammalian sex!”

As much as you protest, it’s no use. At any given moment as the day moves on, Namjoon’s got his naked body entwined with yours, to protect you from predators like email pings from your computer and Seokjin (but only when he suddenly stands up or steps too close to you). It’s all you can do to get him to release you from the confines of his embrace so that you can use the bathroom. For his part, Namjoon seems to be content to spoon you on the couch as you mindlessly sort through thesis research.

It could be worse, you guess. You’re getting your touch fix for the next few months of thesis hell.

Seokjin tolerates the interloper as well as can be expected, but softens when he sees the delighted look on Namjoon’s face as he has instant ramen for the first time. It’s a humble dinner, but it does the job. After that, Namjoon seems to soften on Jin too, and finally, you can move around the apartment without requiring Namjoon’s protection.

The next day, the hybrid seems more restless. He’s not ready to go back to the beach, but if you had to guess, he’s close. Now that he’s no longer preoccupied with your safety, he starts inspecting things in the apartment with care. He opens cabinets and sticks half his big body in them, probably just to see how it feels. He smells and sniffs things like spices and soap. He touches the carpet and the couch and the different utensils sitting in the kitchen’s tool crock. Nothing is not worth his inspection, it seems.

At one point, you walk into the living room to see him standing in the box that Seokjin’s extra computer monitor shipped in. He stands in it as if it’s exactly what he’s supposed to be doing at the moment, while still naked as ever, his hands at his sides with his back straight. His full lips are pursed into a thoughtful pout as he stares off into space.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?” you ask gently, hoping you don’t startle him.

He blinks and turns to look at you.

“Yeah. Uh …” He pauses, and looks down at his feet in the box, and then back to you. “Does this box make my butt look big?”

It’s now your turn to blink and not speak for a moment.

This must be an instinct thing too. And it’s one you’re frankly unequipped to handle. How do you tell a hermit crab hybrid that he doesn’t currently need a shell, not in this form at least?

“Um, no, it doesn’t,” you say carefully but casually. “Looks great.”

Namjoon tries to hold your gaze but you glance away and try to make yourself look less perturbed by pulling out your phone and pretending to check the time. When you look back at him, his pout is even more pronounced.

“I don’t believe you,” he grumbles.

The rest of the day passes much like this, with Namjoon trying to see how it feels to cram his big body in various spaces. At one point, you find him sitting in your empty suitcase. At another Seokjin enters the bathroom and comes out screaming moments later; Namjoon had laid down in the bathtub and decided not to make his presence known until Jin had already lowered his fly to pee.

Your favorite might be the hybrid’s discovery of the colander in the kitchen. After inspecting it closely, he sets it atop his head. He thinks for a moment, rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight between his feet, as if to feel out how the colander might protect him from danger. Whatever protection it offers must be enough because after a moment, he nods, and carries on doing whatever it is a hermit crab hybrid does after finding suitable protection. In this case, it’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar with his bare fingers while you and Seokjin chip away at your research.

Later that evening, after you’d all eaten dinner and had gone to bed, Namjoon wakes you up and says, “I think it’s time for you to go release your eggs into the ocean.”

And who are you to argue with his instincts as a hybrid?

As luck would have it, the beach is vacant still, and the weather is having one of its rare mild days. There are no errant visitors escaping their homes for some sun. There are no beach patrols or lifeguards, no kids playing hooky. It’s just you and Seokjin and the increasingly agitated crustacean hybrid who just wants to make sure you deposit your eggs in the ocean like a good girl.

No matter how many times you tell him you’ve got an IUD and a mammalian reproductive system, he still thinks that he needs to see you leave his spawn out in the sea. He’d tried to pull you out of bed to do it last night, but you’d pinched his nipple to get him off you and made him compromise: if he put a pair of Seokjin’s shorts on and left the colander at home to come with you, he could escort you to the ocean to “deposit your eggs.”

So now it’s mid morning. You’re about to wade out into the ocean to please Namjoon’s instincts.

Seokjin had shaken his head and said, “The things we do for science” when you’d woken him. He’s not wrong, you sigh to yourself as you kick off your sandals and shrug off your bag. You set them in the sand next to Seokjin and approach the water lapping the shore. You turn, and see that Namjoon’s close behind you, but instead of looking out at the ocean, he’s looking at the sand underfoot, his brow furrowed.

“Everything okay, Namjoon?”

“Yeah, go release your eggs, baby.”

You hate that his casual language still makes you preen, days after he’d fucked you. It’s even more infuriating that he can make something like releasing imaginary spawn out into the ocean sound remotely sexy. And yet … the things we do for science … and for the people we’d probably come to love if circumstances were different.

The water is warm and comfortable as you wade out into the shallows. It soaks through the running shorts you’d worn and wicks up your shirt as you move deeper, so that eventually it’s up to your waist. You turn and look at the beach, Seokjin standing where the sand is still dry, Namjoon closer, the waves brushing over his toes.

You squat a little, trying to make your imaginary spawning look convincing. After a few moments, you stand and start wading back. As you emerge from the ocean, Namjoon smiles. Ah, he has dimples, how had you never noticed?

Seokjin trots forward and tosses you a towel as you walk further ashore. You wrap it around your middle as Namjoon moves to wrap his arms around you.

“Thanks for having my spawn,” he murmurs, his voice sweet and heady as he kisses your forehead and holds you for a moment. Your eyes meet Seokjin’s over his shoulder, and the man looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. He keeps his cool and swallows it down as Namjoon releases you and clears his throat.

“So uh, just a second, I think—” The hybrid squints and looks out across the sand. “—Yeah, one moment.”

He runs off in the direction he squinted, and suddenly stops and squats down. You and Seokjin watch as he picks something up and looks at it closely. And then he puts it down and picks something else up. The objects are too small for you to see clearly.

“Is he … is that …” Seokjin trails off and starts walking toward him, and you follow.

“It’s another vacancy chain,” you say as the two of you draw closer to the hybrid, just enough to see the gathering at his feet. You watch Namjoon’s eyes trail up and down the line of hermit crabs, who’ve already ordered themselves by size. “Maybe one of them is about to give up a shell that’s the right size?”

Your roommate throws you a glance. “That’s the hope, right?”

You nod. Is he expecting this to bother you in some way? For a moment, you zone out, wondering what you’re supposed to feel about all this. But it’s only for a moment, because suddenly your attention’s being stolen away.

“You fuckers, I’ll fucking fight you!” Namjoon suddenly shouts.

With a little pop, he disappears. In his place is a little hermit crab without a shell, its little spiral abdomen, soft and vulnerable, curled up to the side. Seokjin’s shorts flutter to the ground a second later, now empty. You and Seokjin watch as this little crab, presumably Namjoon, scuttles up to another crab similar in size, and starts to hit it with his pinchers. All hell breaks loose in the vacancy chain, and you loose track of Namjoon as the hermit crabs all swarm and start … fighting, you guess? It’s weird and kind of hard to look at, but you also can’t get yourself to look away.

After a few moments, a lone crab wearing a shell emerges from the scuffle and creeps toward you and Seokjin.

“Is that … Namjoon? Is he looking at you?” Seokjin groans. “This is fucking weird.”

You squat down to look at the little crab. It, or maybe he, waves a claw at you, almost as if saluting, and then walks off quickly. You let your eyes follow him down the beach as he moves away from the fray. When you turn to look back at the vacancy chain scuffle, you see that it’s broken up. The crabs are dispersing and going off to do whatever it is that they do during these late summer days.

Namjoon’s gone. And you can’t help but smile to yourself and wonder what the fuck just happened.

“Is that it?” Jin’s beside himself with laughter. “He’s just fucking leaving? No dinners or dates, just a fuck and run after you’ve fulfilled your purpose? Is there no romance left in the world??”

You stand and dust off your knees, watching your fellow scientist send the hermit crabs scurrying away as he walks up and reaches for his discarded shorts.

You sigh wistfully. “With the way the guy ate me out, I was dinner.”

“That’s gross. That’s fucking disgusting. I don’t need to know that shit.”

“Look I’ve seen things now, don’t knock hybrid dick till you try it.”

“Quit bragging, it’s unbecoming.”

“Fine. Just know that jealousy is unbecoming as well.”

As you walk back down the beach to collect your things, Seokjin squints out to the horizon. He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Well it’s good he was a paguroidea and not brachyura I guess, right? You didn’t like compromise your data or anything?”

“Oh god no,” you shake your head. “I will do a lot of things for science, but that’s not one of them.”

“Then, uh, what was all this then with Namjoon? An experiment of sorts?” He’s got a smile on his face, and a light, teasing tone. He’s trying to make sure you’re okay, it seems, trying to gauge whether or not you caught feelings.

“No, not an experiment,” you say, letting yourself grow quiet with thought.

“Then what would you call it? Like are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You really are, you mean it when you say it. “This was fun, I think. Just some fun and helping someone who needed it.”

“So is that code for schedule you a vacation for the next mating season around here or—”

Seokjin’s sentence is cut off by you throwing a sandal at him.

“You jerk! I can’t believe you’re supposed to be the uncle to my spawn and you’re treating me this way!”

Your roommate’s laughter peals through the air. “You’ll regret that when you need help coming up with names for your several hundred children.”

“Ugh, thank god for larval stages and precocious young.”

“They grow up so fast. Want noodles when we get home?”

“Please. Let’s head back.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: originally to ao3 9.10.2022, to tumblr on 10.26.2022