#no one is saving (kissing) the Doctor on her watch who isn't her

[capybaraonabicycle]

Omg I will of course leave the final fic choice up to you, but doesn't "True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)" sound like the perfect setup to a Twissy fic 👀

Thank you, love!

~1.5 k words, so much for "let me just write 5 sentences for you real quick". But it's, of course, because you are right, this prompt was made for twissy 🥰

I have not actually read this again, so beware. But here you go :)

[ID: gif of Missy's face in close up, smiling down like she is pitying someone mockingly. end ID]

“Can't you move a bit faster?”

If silly little companion pulled on her sleeve any more roughly, he was going to lose that new hand of his. Or maybe his nose, she wasn't really picky. The nose might taste better, Missy mused. She was quite sure it was the original one and not some cyborg-technology the Doctor had partly scavenged, partly cooked up himself. But that reasoning implied she had paid attention to the egg-head's babblings and she had a general policy never to do that.

It was lucky, comic relief had paid closer attention to her, however, because she didn't even need to voice her threat. Breathing out her nose audibly and baring her teeth sufficed easily and he squeaked, jumped, dropped her hand and hurried on a few inches further away from her.

“I am a time lady, snickerdoodle” she drawled, making a point of walking a tad more measuredly instead of hurrying up. “I always walk at the exact right speed.”

The Doctor's snack had the audacity to huff but he wisely chose not to talk back.

“It- it is just” he stuttered instead, “the Doctor, he is -”

“-dying?” she finished, already bored. “That's his usual Thursday, pup.”

“He asked for you!” the idiot-in-training blurted out and despite herself, Missy stopped and blinked.

“He did?” Now that were exciting news for a change. A bright smile grew on her face, simultaneously with the rising panic in plucky assistant's eyes.

“He said you could save him” he whispered, somehow managing to have his voice creak when he wasn't even properly using it.

“He did?” Missy repeated and by now her smile was positively giddy. Eggy started whimpering softly.

Missy didn't give him time to gather his bearings, instead grabbing his arm forcefully in turn, making him jump again. She brought her face close to his for good measure, revelling at the terror in his expression.

“Why. Didn't. You. Say. So. Immediately?” she asked, her voice stuck on the same note throughout the words, too high, too cheerful to be anything but disconcerting. “Hurry up, pet: I've got a day to save!”

He shuddered away from her and picked up the pace again, not looking back. But this time she was right there with him, excitement surging through her veins. The Doctor was in actual danger, helpless, pathetic and he had asked for her. Because he loved her. Because he needed her. And – most importantly – she would get to gloat. Once she had saved him. Which she obviously would. No matter what idiotic thing he had done, her silly sausage, she would get him up and running in no-time. She was his best friend, after all. His very best friend.

They reached the Doctor's office only a few minutes later, and Missy immediately noticed how serious the situation was. The psychic waves coming from him were all over the place – and not in the fun, chaotic way they usually were – they usually were a lot subtler as well, some things he had learnt in his thousand years of spacetravel – they were hurtful almost, full of pain and distress. She knew he was lying on the ground before she saw him, knew he was still conscious, too, even though his other little munch was convinced of the opposite. Missy paid her little mind how she was sitting on the floor with him, crying and mumbling affirmations. She only got in the way, really, with the way she was cradling the Doctor's head in her lap, she couldn't help him after all.

“I am here, oh, apple of my eye” Missy exclaimed dramatically, dropping to the floor at his side with great flourish.

“I don't, I don't think, he can hear you” girl-companion hiccuped through her tears, but Missy waved her interjection away.

“Of course he can, silly-billy” she huffed, reaching for the Doctor's hand that had come to lie on his stomach. She pressed it to her chest, holding on tightly.

“I am here” she whispered. “Tell me, Doctor, what do you need?”

Oh, she liked playing the hero. Being the one who held the Doctor's life in their hands. Being the one everyone looked at with those worshippy, wide eyes. She thought, right now, she could fathom why he had gotten addicted to it.

“We think he got cursed” supplementary fuss said behind her back. “We were on Tigella, and there was this sceptre. The Doctor touched -”

The last of the words died in his throat when Missy whirled around to him.

“Do you know what you're talking about?” she asked sweetly, but didn't give him a chance to answer. “No, you don't. So shut up before I change my mind and make a nice soup out of the three of you instead of helping. - okay?”

She fluttered her eyelids to emphasize the point and his mouth snapped shot, his jaw tightening.

“Thank you, much appreciated.” Missy turned towards the Doctor again, nearing her ear to his mouth. “Doctor, what do you need?”

“I need -” he rasped and french-fries-friendywend gasped when she heard him speak, almost making Missy miss his next words. Did these bumbling humans ever learn? “- a kiss. From – my worst enemy.”

“Awww” Missy bit her lip, drawing back. He needed his arch-enemy! And he had thought of her. “How very touching! I am so honoured, I am not even gonna bargain.”

He didn't answer or open his eyes, but there was a pleased twitch around his mouth that made her press his hand.

“I have to say though, Doctor,” she purred, leaning in again, “if you wanted for me to kiss you, there would have been easier ways to ask than going through the trouble of getting cursed.”

Now he snorted and measured by the state he was in, this tiny bit of banter was the greatest love confessions out of all the ones he had bestowed upon her today already.

“Come on, now - “ he coughed, “Missy. You would – have never – been content with – any – thing less – elaborate.”

“True” she smirked. She was hovering right above him now. “And I appreciate the effort, darling.”

His lips moved, searching hers, and she waited just another second, savouring the moment. Then human-thingy coughed pointedly and she drew it out yet another second, simply to antagonise her. But his breath was getting visibly shallower and there was a slight tremble in his hand. Plus, his lips looked chapped like burnt Earth and just as inviting. So, finally, she led their mouths together, her hand slipping across the extra's leg to support his head.

The moment their lips touched, it was like the life flooded back into him, his mouth's movement becoming more purposeful and his tongue meeting hers cordially when she slipped it past his teeth. His free hand even twitched, like he was trying to grasp her frock.

Of their own accord, Missy's eyes closed and for a moment she lost herself in the feeling of their lips meeting, the familiar taste of his tongue, the desperate way his breath fanned her chin and cheek, reminiscent of many breathless nights spent together, oh so long ago.

But then, his movement slowed, a distressed sound escaping his throat. Before Missy could decide whether to draw back – finally killing the Doctor by kissing him to death would have been an end she could have deemed worthy of their friendship – a rough hand was on her shoulder, pulling her away from him. She hissed and whirled around, biting hard into the offending limp. So, the sniveller had decided he didn't need this body part, after all, it seemed.

He cried out, pulling his hand away from her mouth with a pathetic whine. Missy spat out some blood and fake skin with a huff. It tasted as horribly as she had expected.

“What did you do that for?” he sobbed.

“Don't touch me, crybaby” she huffed, turning back around to the Doctor.

He was still lying motionless, if possible even paler now.

“Why didn't this work?” his pillow croaked, close to tears again. Missy drew her eyebrows together in agreement. Indeed. Why hadn't it? It should have worked, she had been supposed to save the day!

For some reason, the Doctor was smiling. Mind, it was barely visible, frail as he was, but Missy could read his face like a book in every incarnation and that so was his satisfied smile.

“Seems like,” he mumbled, “we aren't – strictly – enemies anymore, love.”

“Of course, we are, don't be stupid” she pressed out. Only now she noticed how desperately she was clutching his hand, it was almost like she was trying to imitate spare-parts over at the door who was licking his own injured paw.

“Don't smile” she told the Doctor off, and she was sounding more serious than she had any right to be. “You are dying and I am your enemy. You don't get to smile at that.”

She was sure, if he had had any strength left, his smile would have grown now.

“I am – sorry, Missy” he breathed instead, “but I must – ask you – to fetch – Da – Davros.”

Missy felt her mouth drop open in shock and humiliation. Davros? Fucking Davros got to save her Doctor??

This was rock bottom.

Thank you for reading, I hope it is about what you envisioned <3

[apomaro-mellow]

Hospitals still weren't Eddie most favorite place to be, even though they had technically saved his life once. He didn't give doctors the credit though. No, he reserved that praise for his husband who had literally carried him through hell, holding his guts together.

But alas, he was still only human. And thus prone to human ailments. Which was why he was currently in a hospital bed, preparing for a tonsillectomy.

"Steve, my love, my muse", Eddie took his hand and kissed it. "Should I not return from this-"

"Oh shut up. It's a routine operation." Steve could tell he was being dramatic to cover up the fact that he was actually scared. "You'll be fine. In fact, I'm going down to the cafeteria right now. You're not getting just any ice cream. I'm gonna bring you back a whole sundae."

Steve looked to the rest of the band, who had come for moral support. "Watch him please. And don't let him fall to hysterics." He left out, really hoping he wouldn't come back to an Eddie in tears.

"Sooo", Grant started. "If you don't make it, who gets your house?"

Eddie's brow furrowed. "Uh, my husband, duh?"

"Okay, who gets your husband?", Gareth asked.

Eddie saw the cavalry arrive in the form of Steve's true soulmate. "Robiiiiin", he whined. "You have to protect Steve from these vultures", he hissed the last word.

"We're just trying to hash out who has dibs on Eddie's hot husband", Jeff said.

Robin pointed to herself. "I made it clear to Eddie when he proposed that should the marriage end, either naturally or by divorce, custody of Steve would revert back to me."

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for Bucks, but as long as you keep Steve out of another man's clutches, I won't haunt you from the grave."

"Actually, I plan on setting him up with the first wealthy guy he meets", Robin said. "Thanks to your fame, I've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And also, Steve doesn't know how to be single."

The other CC boys nodded sagely.

"All the more reason one of us should get him. We can take care of him", Grant said.

"I can't believe this. This is a goddamn coup!", Eddie shouted.

Steve returned, none the wiser to their conversation. "You won't believe this. The cafeteria has chocolate syrup AND nuts? Isn't that wild? You're gonna have the best sundae of your life, babe."

He took his seat right next to Eddie's bedside and kissed his forehead.

"Angel, we're surrounded by snakes and thieves", Eddie said deliriously.

"What are you talking about?", Steve asked.

Having only Eddie in his line of sight, he couldn't see the others behind him. So he didn't see Jeff making kissy faces, Gareth making a circle with his hand and sticking a finger through it repeatedly, or Grant making a V with his fingers and flapping his tongue between them.

"Those traitorous lechers covet what is mine. And not even Robin seeks to protect your virtue!", Eddie said, desperately reaching out for Steve.

Steve kept his voice even and calm, trying to soothe his husband from whatever delusion he was having when the doctor came in. This guy looked like he played a doctor on tv. Chiseled jaw with perfectly manicured facial hair.

"Good evening", he greeted.

"Hi", Steve said, voice a little breathy.

"Oh he's perfect", Robin said, reading her friend perfectly.

"I'm Dr. Morip, I'll be performing your operation today."

"Morip?", Eddie tilted his head.

"Yes, as in 'more ripped than you'." Then he flexed and busted out of his scrubs and swept Steve off his feet, ignoring the cries of the invalid on the bed.

Eddie was tossing and turning even as Steve shook his shoulders to wake him up.

"You were having a nightmare", Steve spoke softly in the dim lamp light of the hospital room. "Was it 86 again?"

"Steve!", Eddie clung to him as best as he could. "You didn't leave me for Dr. Morip!"

"Dr. Morip? Eddie, her name is Dr. Hudson. And she's married and in her sixties."

Everything caught up with Eddie as his brain became more lucid. He'd already had the operation. That had all been a dream. The tension released instantly as he realized he wasn't about to die on the table and Steve would be scooped up by opportunistic friends.

"You're mine, you know that?"

"Really? Is that why I'm hand-feeding you ice cream?", Steve teased, holding up a spoonful to Eddie's lips.

"I love you", Eddie said, voice muffled from the food and a little watery too.

"I know, you dope. Love you too."

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Daddy’s Home (Dom!Gojo x Sub!Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

“Daddy’s home, baby. Now take your fucking clothes off.”

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It’s been 3 years. You believe your fiancé is dead. You’ve been attempting to move forward in your life without him there beside you. You try to grieve properly in order to move on….until he comes home. And he’s more than ready to make up lost time.

Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS; Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Grief; Mentions of Depression, Death & Suicide; Alcohol/Drug Use; Feral!Gojo; Rough Sex; Ripping Clothes; Dirty Talk; Cunnilingus; Forced Deepthroating; Face-Fucking; Multiple Positions; Gojo Giving You Deep Dick; Breeding Kink; Unprotected PIV Sex; Creampie; Cum Eating; Ownership; Gojo Makes You a Mommy; Aftercare; Degradation; Petnames: Baby; Little Girl; Mama; Sweetheart

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

*IMPORTANT NOTE: In the manga, Gojo is only sealed for 19 days, but in the time of the rest of the manga being written and illustrated, it was 3 years. So the timeline of his being sealed and freed will be 3 years.

Writer’s Note: I’m coping. AND celebrating my man's birthday!! The happiest birthday (and week and month) to my favorite boi! 💙💙💙 -Jazz

********

You’ve never felt such pain before.

It isn't pain that can simply be fixed with a band-aid or a kiss, like a scrape or a cut. It is a deep, cavernous, emotional pain that you have never experienced before...not before losing your fiance. The man you adored and cherished. Your best friend. Your soulmate. Your sunshine peeking through the dark, gray clouds.

But since losing him, all your days are washed with gray. You can't stand any sunny days now, knowing that he loved them and would want to do something–anything–to seize them. "C'mon, baby, let's go get some ice cream!" he'd cheerfully shout. Or "let's go biking" or "wanna take a walk in the park with me?"

Now, all you do is lay in bed and watch the days go by, the pain you feel too much. You've never experienced something so profound and intense. It causes you to cry every single morning into the night until the pink of dawn comes again.

It's been like this for three years now since you lost him forever. It still feels weird to say that: forever. You thought you'd have forever with him, but it was ripped away from you all that time ago during the Shibuya incident. It was a bloody war, from what you've heard; a massacre. So many innocent people perished.

The lives that were spared were among the other Sorcerers and his students, including Nobara who managed to survive Mahito's attack . You visited her all that time she spent in the hospital after the attack as the doctors worked to save her eye. In the end, she lost it, but gained a false one just last year that looks exactly like her real one.

Nanami also survived. It was a close call, apparently. Yuji had found him and attacked Mahito before Nanami could face his violent death. Half of his face and body are completely scalped, but he doesn't try to cover them. They are his battle scars; a reminder of what he is fighting for. He still resides in Japan though you've all been telling him to retire and go to Malaysia. "Not until he's back," he'd fiercely say. "I'm not resting until he's out of that damn box."

He checks on you as do Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, to ensure you're okay. Shoko spent the night with you a few times until you firmly told her to stop. "I'm not gonna slit my wrists or anything," you scoffed. Shoko pursed her lips at you as she smoked her cigarette on your balcony. "No, but you might drink yourself to death first," she mumbled.

And yes, you have been drinking. You've also been smoking. Weed and alcohol are all that cure the pain, at least for a little while. You don't have to see his dazzling smile or snow-white hair behind your eyelids when you fall asleep high as a kite. It's unhealthy and you know that, but what else can you do?

You have nothing to live for anymore. Your fiance is gone. You try to tell the others this, who have worked tirelessly all this time to find a way to bail him out. 'It's been three years!' you think. 'If they haven't found a way yet, they never will. He is never getting out of that box or the Prison Realm.' And that is the sad, horrible truth.

You curl yourself into a ball now, wrapped in one of his crisp button-up shirts, naked underneath. It is twelve in the afternoon. You haven't eaten or gotten dressed, only showered and brushed your teeth (after Shoko sent you a text to do so). Tears stain your eyes which still sting from your sob session the night before. "Satoru," you whimper into the pillows. "Come back to me, please."

You know this isn't possible, but you wish to God or whoever makes miracles happen that it was. How can you live in a world, in a realm, where your love isn't here? You were going to get married, in spring of 2024. He had promised you after a wonderful night of dinner, champagne, and dancing on a private yacht he ordered just for you two.

When he got down on those long legs, one knee propped up, and presented you with that box, you could feel yourself melt. "After all of this is over," he promised, "after I make this world safer for you, let's do it, baby. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you." He gave you that big, gigawatt, hopeful smile as you felt tears pour down your cheeks, ruining your makeup. "You up for seein' this face forever?" he joked.

That night, you answered him. Over and over again, making love until morning. Until you were both spent and ached so good from twisting your bodies in a hundred different positions. Until your thighs were soaked with his cum and all you could see, hear, and smell was him.

You were more than prepared to spend the rest of your life like that with him...and now, that's all gone. A fresh wave of grief overcomes you and you grip the pillow, stuffing your face into it. Once again, you say the same words you've been saying for three years like a prayer: "Satoru, come back to me. Please."

BANG!

The sound is so loud and abrupt that it scares you. You sit up immediately, your heart lurching into your throat. You look around the room only to find it empty, but then hear the familiar sound of the front door closing from downstairs. Someone is here. But who?

"H-Hello?" you call. "Shoko, is that you?"

No answer. It is completely silent all except for the birds chirping outside your window which only adds to the ominous feeling of the situation at hand. You never gave Shoko a spare key to your home and you're the only one who can get in and out. So who the fuck is in your house?

You then hear the familiar sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, one by one, as if the stranger is taking his sweet time doing so. You instantly reach for your phone to dial 911 and retreat to the bathroom across the room, but stop when a shadow crosses the bedroom wall, and then a figure appears in the threshold of the bedroom you used to share with your fiance.

You stare at the figure hard as if it's difficult for you to decipher it, but it's impossible not to know who it is. You can tell from how tall he is as he stands there, towering over you in the doorway. You can tell from his lean body sinewy with muscles under his black clothes. You can tell from his pale skin, snow-white hair you used to love to run your fingers through, and iced, blue eyes that stare right through you.

That same lovely, adorable, sexy, dazzling grin crosses his pillowy-soft, pink lips as he stares at you from across the room. “Honey, I’m home," Gojo chirps as if he just walked in from a hard day at work.

You stare him down, afraid to move or speak in fear of ruining this or exposing it for what it is: a trick. A mirage. A hallucination caused by too much alcohol or weed (unlikely, but still). Is this a dream? Are you dead? Did you go ahead and drink yourself to death like Shoko foresaw?

He walks toward you, slowly as if to not frighten you further. You stay on the bed, afraid to move. You're trembling. He finally stops just at arm's length from you, that same smile and warm gaze still on his face. “T-Tarou?” you whisper, finding your voice.

“In the flesh," he replies in that easy, sexy drawl that you've always loved. So careless. So laidback. His expression grows concerned, his brows drawn together. “How ya doin’, baby?” he asks. Your heart flips at the sound of that pet name. You haven't heard it in so, so long.

You scamper towards him, wanting to get closer to him, but then stop, afraid to. He doesn't react to either, still standing there and waiting for you to process this. “No,” you whisper. “This isn’t real. I’m just high as fuck right now.” You put your hands in your hair, gripping the dark coils/braids/locs/curls/twists harshly.

You know that this isn't possible. You haven't touched any weed since yesterday morning, wanting to give yourself a break. Gojo whistles as he nods at the bong sitting on your bedside table. “Well, judging from that, probably so. You got any left? I could use it after the 3 years I’ve had.”

You don't answer. You barely even breathe, afraid to do so in fear of putting a tear in the fabric of this moment and ripping it apart. You still can't tell if this is really happening. Is it a trick of your cursed grief making you see shit? Could it be that a Curse is here and has somehow taken over Gojo's body, and now, they're here to kill you? You would rather take that than this uncertainty.

Gojo suddenly raises his hand toward you as if to touch you, but doesn't. “Touch me," he encourages. Though hesitant, you lift a tentative hand and stroke your fingers over his veiny arm. All you feel is solid, soft, warm skin. Gojo's smile gets bigger. “See? I’m real. It’s really me, baby.”

And suddenly, the fog over your mind has been cleared and you can see clearly. All is for certain, including that the man standing here is your man. Your 'Tarou. “It’s really you,” you whimper. “Oh, my God….oh, my God!” You can't stop the tears or the blubbering as relief and utter joy wash over you.

Gojo opens your arms for you and he barely budges as you shoot into them, not even making him stagger. You bury your head in his chest, breathing in his scent and moving your hands over his back muscles. “I’ve missed you,” you sob. “I’ve missed you so, so much, Satoru! It’s been awful!”

He holds you tight to him, solid and absolutely real. “Shhh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he coos. “I would’ve come back sooner, but I had to take care of some things.”

You pull away to look up at him through your blurred vision. He doesn't appear hurt or bruised. In fact, he looks the exact same he did before he was sealed in that box. “What do you–“

“And I’ll tell you everything after I get some pussy.”

You pause, processing his abrupt words. “What?” you scoff. “But what about all that's happened? How'd you even escape the Prison Realm? Have you eaten or drank? What about–"

Gojo, impatient, presses a long finger to your lips. “Forget about all of that right now, Y/N. Worry about the fact that you haven’t seen me in three years and you’re dying for me to put you in the mattress again.”

Then that familiar, dark, lustful look crosses his eyes like an eclipse, taking over him. “I think you’re understanding me clearly," he says, his voice dipping an octave lower than usual. “Daddy’s home, baby. Now take your fuckin’ clothes off.”

You stare at him hard, wondering if he is serious. You haven’t seen him in three years. You have so many more questions to ask him. Like what did he do while sealed? Did he see Yuji, Megumi and Nobara before he came? Were they the ones that got him out? Is he okay? 

But from the way he is staring you down like he wants to take a piece of you, you can tell that all of those questions will have to just wait to be answered. Plus, the last one is already answered for you: no, he isn’t okay. He is fucking feening for you. He needs you. You can tell from the way his hands grip you closer and from the feeling of his semi hard-on pressing into your thigh from inside his pants. 

You can’t imagine what three years without sex was like and you don’t want to. So you’re more than happy to give him whatever he is looking for right now. “O-Okay, Gojo,” you softly stutter. Your hands move to his top to unbutton it, first starting at the bottom. But your hands fumble and shake as if this is the first time you’re doing this for him. 

“Takin’ too long,” Gojo growls, impatient. Tearing your hands away from his shirt, he immediately rips the $1,000 top off of you, revealing your laced bra and panties underneath. You squeak as he does so, alarmed. “Gojo, your shirt!” you gasp, especially when the buttons fly all over the place. 

“Forget the fuckin’ shirt,” he says, his voice all but a rasp. "I’ll get a new one. It’s not fair how sexy you look in my clothes, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to your chest, breathing you in for a moment. “God, I’ve missed your smell,” he sighs. “I’ve missed how you feel. I’ve missed you so, so much.” He pulls away then, looking down at your hand. “And you’re still wearing the ring,” he points out. 

You look down at your hand where the sterling silver engagement ring sits, its diamonds sparkling at you. “Of course,” you whisper. “I never took it off. I’m engaged to you.” You want to tell him that you always dreamed he’d come back, that you wanted him to see you with it when he did. 

“So there’s been no one else?” he suddenly asks, his eyes sizing you up. “You haven’t been with any other man besides me?” Immediately, you shake your head. “No, Daddy,” you whisper, immediately falling back into the soft, obedient, submissive state that you always slide into with him as if it’s natural to you. And it is. He makes you feel so safe and loved and kept. It’s impossible not to do so all for him. “There’s been no one,” you say. “No one can ever make me feel the way you do.” 

A crooked smirk crosses Gojo’s lips that has you quivering in between your thighs. “So one has played with this body but me?” he asks. “No one has played with that pussy but me?” Again, you shake your head, your breath becoming short and labored. His eyes seem to dark even more, becoming an ocean blue. “That’s what I wanna hear,” he whispers. Then his lips are finally, finally, on yours, his tongue dancing and swirling with yours, creating a wet, sloppy, feverish kiss that takes your breath away. 

You moan wantonly into his mouth, wrapping your arms around him. Oh, how you’ve missed this. How you’ve only prayed to feel these lips again. At some point during the dizzying kissing session, Gojo pulls his clothes off, breaking apart from you to strip himself of his shirt, pants, and shoes, leaving himself in his designer briefs that look way tighter than usual.

Actually, now that you’re noticing it, his entire body looks buffer than usual. Gojo has always had muscles but was leaner three years ago. Now, his muscles are more defined, pushing up against his shirt when he has it on. 

He smirks at your wandering eyes. “Something you like, mama?” he purrs. He takes your hand, running it over his hard abs and chiseled abs where his pink nipples are hard for you, ready to be sucked. “Something…different?” 

“It’s just…you’re so…” You shudder in delight as he slides your hand down his stomach that you could bake cookies on. “Big,” you decide, running your free hand up his forearm. “You don’t have much to do in the Prison Realm except work out and masturbate,” he chuckles. “I wanted to be bigger and stronger for you when I was finally free. And I wanna let you know something, baby.” He leans in then, pressing his lips against your ear. “It’s all yours,” he whispers. “This body…this cock…everything. All of it is yours.” 

You shudder again as his dirty words swirl in your mind. He pulls away, smirking at you. “Lemme show you what I mean.” Then, instantly, he is snapping off your bra and flinging it away before his lips and hands are latching to your nipples. He sucks and licks at your hard, brown nipples like a hungered man, his hands groping the sensitive globes and pinching your nipples with his long, piano fingers. “Look at these beautiful fuckin’ titties,” he says, more to himself than to you. “I’ve missed my girls so much.” 

Your head falls back and your mouth opens, captured by the pleasure he is giving you. “S-Satoru,” you whimper. Every graze of his teeth and lick of his skillful tongue has your pussy gushing. You haven’t been this wet in three years! Actually, you haven’t even been horny in three years. No one has ever been able to arouse you the way Gojo can. 

You find yourself rolling your hips against his knee as your hands grasp his broad shoulders for balance and leverage. Gojo hums as you grind your wet, panty-covered pussy against his knee, smirking up at you playfully. “Grindin’ that pussy on my leg, hm?” he tuts. “Even after three years, you’re still a little slut. I wouldn’t have it any other way though.”

He gives one of your titties one last suck before he shoves himself away from you. You stare up at him, confused, while he only gives you a stern look. “Get on the bed and open your legs. I need that pussy in my face.” 

You are helpless to refuse him, especially when your pussy is begging and sobbing for the same thing. You quickly hurry onto the bed and sit back onto your elbows as you open your legs for him. Gojo is between them immediately, his hands ripping off your panties as if they are no more than strings. As soon as he gets a look at your puffy, wet pussy leaking for him, he groans and his cock visibly twitches in his pants. “Shit,” he hisses. “I’ve missed her too.” 

And then he’s giving in like he would the cleanest, purest, bluest waters, his hands under your ass to give him a better angle and a better way to plunge his tongue deeper inside you. He laps and sucks at your pussy and sensitive clit, his tongue flicking and swirling around your hole like he needs it. Craves it.

You grab at his hair, pushing his head deeper into you as you wail and moan to the heavens above. “O-Oh, my God!” you cry out to the ceiling. “‘Tatoru, yes, more! Please give me more! Don’t stop!” 

Your voice bounces off of the bedroom walls, unbound and unashamed. You haven’t had this kind of pleasure––so intense and explosive––in so long. His wet mouth and soft lips feel so good. His nose brushing against your clit as his tongue swirls inside your pussy is beyond. You feel incredible…too incredible. Gojo works his mouth fast, pulling you quickly towards an orgasm that gathers in your core and threatens to tumble down over you.

“Wait, Daddy!” you protest. “Slow down! ‘M gonna cum too fast!” 

Gojo’s blue eyes peer up at you through long, white lashes as he continues to lap at your cunt. “Do it,” he demands. “‘Cause I’m finna make you cum as many times as I want to. I’ll make you cream your pretty brains out till dawn, baby. I’m making up for lost time.” 

He ducks back down, going faster, and even adding his long index and middle fingers inside of the wet, tight depths of your pussy. Your walls clench around him instantly as he expertly finds your G-spot and begins gliding his fingers up against it, encouraging you to cum with every stroke of his fingers and tongue. “Do it,” he orders. “Cum for me. Cum around my fingers and my tongue, gorgeous. I’ve got you. I promise.” 

And you know he does. He grips one of your hips with one hand as he finger fucks you with the other, humming “mm-hmm” and other encouraging words that are smothered by your pussy as he drags you closer to your orgasm. When it finally breaks, it crashes onto you like a wave, causing your back to arch off of the bed like you’re experiencing an exorcism. “Fuck!” you sob as you feel your body shake and shudder through your earth-shattering orgasm. 

Moans of Gojo’s government and curses to the stars leave your lips as Gojo carries you through your mind-blowing, body-shaking, earth-quaking orgasm…and even after, when your body aches and your heart is pounding, he continues to eat your pussy.

He continues to lap and suck at your lips, cleaning up the cum that dribbles out your hole and down your asscrack. He licks there too, moaning breathlessly and wantonly as he does. Finally, when he is good and satisfied, he pulls away from you and sits back onto his hands, breathing heavily with his chin and lips shiny with your juices and his saliva. 

A weak moan leaves your lips as your pussy twitches in delight and exhaustion at being stimulated. You feel so, so good. So free. You finally feel as if the sun has finally shown itself behind the gray clouds that have darkened your life for three years. You look at your man adoringly, wanting him to know how much you love him and how good he has made you feel. “Gojo,” you sigh. “That was amazing. I–“ 

“Open your mouth,” he demands. You button your lip, your words failing you immediately. You stare at him blankly, your post-orgasm brain not quite processing his words. Gojo sits up on his knees on the mattress, grabbing his cock in his pants. “You fuckin’ heard me,” he growls. “Open that slutty mouth, now. Don’t make me tell you again, little girl.” He pins you down with an intimidating look that is only intensified by his sapphire eyes. 

Once again, you can’t deny him. While still recovering from your orgasm, you open your mouth wide for him, your plump lips covering your teeth and your tongue out. Just the way he likes it. Gojo walks towards you on his knees and stays beside you as he unbuttons his pants. In one swift motion, he takes down his pants and his briefs, causing his cock to pop out. The long, thick, veiny appendage, bubbling with pre-cum from its pink head, lightly slaps you in the face, causing you to gasp. 

Gojo grabs your neck rather roughly, pulling you towards his cock without properly preparing you or waiting for you to prepare yourself. You stare down at his large dick, alarmed at how hard he is. The veins in his shaft throb as does his head that is quickly turning from a soft pink to an angry red. “Gojo, hold up–“ 

But your words are interrupted by his cock sliding between your lips. A hiss of relief leaves Gojo’s lips as he grips your neck, beginning to rut his hips deep into your mouth. “Sorry, mama,” he groans, “but I can’t be nice to that throat today. I’m just too pent-up. You understand, right?”

You can’t even answer. His cock is too thick; too big; it stretches your mouth out too wide, making your jaw hurt. But all you have to do is breathe through your nose and take it, which Gojo tells you to do so, as he begins to fuck your throat like it’s your pussy. Like it’s his own personal fleshlight. 

“Fuckin’ fuck yes!” Gojo loudly grunts, his voice completely primal and animalistic as he roughly fucks your throat. Though he has fucked your throat before, this time, it feels much, much different. He grips your hair and makes your scalp sting with how much he pulls it. He plunges your throat so fast and so hard in your sloppy throat that saliva drips down your chin and down your tits. He turns your face into his fuck toy, doing with it as he pleases. 

But though primal and animalistic, he is still completely involved with your pleasure. When you suddenly feel his fingers quickly rubbing your clit after licking his palm, your body lurches and your thighs twitch while you whine and protest feebly around his cock. “Theeeere we go,” he chuckles. “That’s what I want. Feel good with me, mama. This is where your weak, right? Right here?” 

He applies more pressure, rubbing your rosebud in time with his thrusts into your throat, his balls swinging against your chin. All you can feel, taste, and smell is him. Your senses are completely overtaken by him. “T-Tawou!” You moan around his cock. “Two mwuch! ‘M sensitive!” Your words are a muffled, jumbled mess around his thick dick, causing more spit to fall from your mouth as you try to speak. 

You go to close your legs, but Gojo’s hand yanking on your hair stops you short. “Uh-uh, sweetie,” he teasingly says. “Don't pull away. You owe me this.” He pushes your head farther down his cock, bottoming out in your mouth, causing him to moan so loud that it echoes in the bedroom. “You owe me this for stayin’ so damn sexy after so long. How is that even possible?” He questions you repeatedly as he fucks your throat harder and faster, grunting as he does so. "How's that possible, huh? Huh? Tell me, baby.” 

You are turned into a total and complete hole the more he fucks your mouth and flicks your clit, bringing you to yet another orgasm that has your thighs shaking. Finally, he releases your hair and lets you pull away, causing his cock to pop out of your mouth. “Gonna cum!” you whine, spit and cum all over your mouth. “I’m cummin’ again, Satoru!” 

Gojo stares at your pussy like a kid in a candy store as you cum once again, gushing all around his long fingers and all over the bedsheets. “Gooood girl!” he praises you. “Cum on these fingers, baby. Gimme what I want, but don't get too distracted, mmkay?” He takes his cock and slides himself back home into your mouth even as you moan and your body writhes on the bed. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, transfixed by the way your body moves and your pussy clenches. “That’s what I want. This is what I need.”

He rubs at your clit until he can feel your exhausted body jerking from the aftershocks. He finally pulls away from you then, cock and all, though he is still hard and throbbing. “I need to fuck you now,” he growls, desperation in his eyes. “And I can’t stop until I cum inside you, baby…without a rubber. Is that okay with you?” 

You blink at him, your sight slightly blurred from the two orgasms and your throat raw from it being fucked into oblivion. He must know that you will say yes. He must know that you’ll say yes to anyone he wants or needs. But yet, he still asks because safe sex has always been a priority with him in your relationship. He has always used condoms and has always made a point to not do anything involving PIV sex if he happened to run out.

But now, here he is, telling you that he needs to fuck you raw and cum inside you, possibly breeding you. And you find yourself burning for the same thing like a wildfire has lit inside you. You lean back against the pillows and open your cum-soaked thighs for him, showing him your glistening, puffy, sensitive pussy. “Yes,” you reply. “Fuck me, Daddy. Cum inside me. Breed me.” 

Gojo stares at your pussy, spread open for him like it’s spun gold. Suddenly, the loving, silly, goofy man you’ve grown to love is gone, replaced with one who is starved, rough, demanding, and merciless. It thrills and frightens you.

“Oh, you’re gonna fuckin’ get it, girl,” he growls before he grabs you, tosses you onto your back, and gets on top of you. “I’m gonna fuck you till you’re spent,” he promises as he throws your legs over his shoulders and prepares to slide deep inside of you until his balls touch your ass. 

When he says this, he means it. Baby, Gojo has you in every position known to man.

He starts first by fucking you in missionary, giving you deep, deep dick that nearly touches your soul and makes you see stars. One of his big, veiny hands wraps around your throat, squeezing gently on your windpipe, while the other pins your thigh open as his cock plunges in and out of your wet, sobbing cunt. He pounds you into the mattress, his big body pressing against yours and his hips nailing your pelvis. 

Then he has you on top in 69, his hands groping and smacking your jiggly ass while he, once again, stuffs his face in your cunt. You suck his dick in time with his tongue laps, gagging and slobbering all over his cock much to his delight. It is sloppy and dirty and messy…and you love every minute of it.

You love how his pubic hairs tickle your chin the deeper you slide him down your throat. You love how your eyes sting with tears as he tickles the back of your throat. You love the way his tongue slides from your pussy hole to your asshole, lapping at each one as if they’re the best things he’s ever tasted. 

He fucks on your back, hanging off the bed. He fucks you on your stomach, your ass tooted up while his feet are firmly planted on the bed, hammering his dick deep inside of you. He sucks you on your side, his hands cupping your jiggling breasts while his lips caress your neck and shoulder. And he makes you cum every. Single. Time. 

By the time he has you on your knees with his cock buried deep in your pussy once again and your arms pulled behind your back, your body is aching for rest and your pussy is a mushy, gushy mess around his cock. 

But still you persist, moaning and screaming at the top of your lungs the harder he fucks you. Your voice, along with his own, the creaking bedsprings, and the sound of skin slapping against skin, fills the air around you. “Yes, yes, Daddy, yes, fuck me!” you babble, your words a jumbled mess.

Gojo cackles from behind you, loving how slutty and broken you are on his cock. “You feelin’ good, baby?” he asks. “This dick makin’ you feel good? Don’t have to use those damn toys or those fingers anymore, no. You’ve got me now and I’ll take good, good care of this pussy.” 

He slams his hips harder against your ass, making it bounce and jiggle. The harder he goes, the more intense your orgasm gets and you find yourself about to have your sixth orgasm of the day…or night. Is it nighttime now? You can't tell. You’ve been at this for hours, fucking and cumming all over the bed. You don't even know what day it is anymore.

All you can think about is Gojo’s dick and cumming on it. “Shit, I’m gonna cum again!” you sob. 

Gojo’s hand circles around your throat, choking you. “Cum on this dick,” he demands. “Do it! Fuckin’ do it for me, baby!”

And you do. Like a puppet on a string being controlled by the white-haired, big-dicked man behind you, you writhe in the air and cum all over his cock. A weak, long moan leaves your lips as you come undone, all self-control leaving you. Gojo pulls out of you with a hiss, talking about how “fuckin’ tight” you are. When you’re released, your arms fall to your sides as you crumble onto the mattress, falling face-first into the pillow. Your body is hot and sweaty, your pussy is twitching, your ass is stinging from his assault on it. You are completely spent. 

Gojo leans down to kiss your forehead, smiling at your exhaustion. “Aww, is my baby tired now?” he coos. You weakly moan in response, too tired to speak. “Too bad because I still need to cum inside you. You did ask me to breed you and I’ve gotta make this count.” 

Before you can even protest, he is grabbing your weak body and forcing you onto your knees, hiking your ass up for him. He sinks into your overly sensitive, used pussy once more, drawing a moan out of both of you. You let him do as he pleases, too exhausted to fight or argue.

He takes hold of your hips and ruts into you like his life depends on it, nailing that spot again and again that makes you see the entire universe behind your eyelids. It feels so damn good. He fucks you at a breakneck pace, going faster with each second that passes. “O-Oh, s-shit!” you scream into the mattress. “F-Fuck, Daddy, f-f-u-uck!” 

Gojo’s fucking is egged on by your moans, his pelvis slamming into your ass and taking your very breath away. “Take this cock,” he groans. “Take all of this dick, baby. It’s yours. All of it is fuckin’ yours. It always was and always will be.” He hikes up his leg and fucks you on one knee, causing him to grow louder and his moans to become more desperate and needy. 

“God, I missed this!” he whines. “I’ve been fucking burning for you, baby. Needed you so, so much!” You picture him in the Prison Realm, his hand wrapped around his cock as he is surrounded by darkness and loneliness. As tears spring into your eyes, you lift yourself up onto weak arms to look back at him. “Then show me,” you whisper. “Show me how much you’ve missed me. Cum inside me, ‘Tarou, baby.” 

You begin to toss your ass back into him, meeting his every thrust. Gojo takes what you give him and serves it right back, moving in tandem with you. “You want me to cum?” he asks. You nod, moaning and whimpering as you feel his cock begin to swell inside you. “You want me to feel that pussy up?” he grunts. “Want me to make you a mommy? Want me to give you a kid? My kid?” 

He begins to pound your pussy into the mattress again, picking up speed. You can feel your last orgasm rising, ready to rip through you. “Say it to me, mama,” he demands. “Tell me you want my baby. Lemme hear it.” 

“Yes!” you cry out. “Yes, Satoru, I want your child! I wanna mother your baby!” That must please Gojo because he begins rolling his hips harshly against your ass, rutting into you like he’s trying to fit a home run. His handsome face is red and glittering in sweat, his snow-white hair plastered to his wet forehead.

“Can’t wait to see you full with me,” he groans. “Can’t wait till this tummy is round with my baby and those tits are full of milk. You’re gonna look so, so pretty carryin’ my baby, sweetheart. You’re gonna be the best mommy ever.” 

And he’ll be the best daddy ever. That is all you can think as you feel your own orgasm rising at the same time as him, like the sun and the moon rising in unison in the sky. Forever bonded. Forever together.

“Gonna cum,” Gojo warns. “Gonna cum deep inside you. You’d better cum with me too. Cum all over my cock, baby. Cum with me while I fill this little pussy up.” 

You nod and wail into the pillow, gripping it for dear life as another blinding orgasm rips through your body. Gojo fucks into your wet, cum-soaked pussy until he feels his own nut coming and he desperately fucks you to chase his high. “Cumming!” he babbles. “‘M cummin’, I’m cummin’, I’m cummin’!”

And when he fills you up, it’s explosive. It’s deep. It’s intense. It fills every part of you, filling you with warmth and the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. You weakly moan as you feel his cum fill your tummy, no doubt reaching your womb. He stills for a moment, plugging his cum inside you, before slowly and sloppily rocking his hips into you to fuck his cum deep into your pussy. 

When he is finally sure that you’re good and bred, he puts his hands on his narrow hips and whistles tiredly. “Shit,” he sighs. “I really needed that.” You moan in agreement. He then pulls out of you slowly, causing you to whimper quietly as your aching pussy is no longer filled.

He stares at it between your thighs, humming appetizingly. “Mmm, now that’s a sight: a pretty, fucked pussy drippin’ with my cum. Don’t mind if I do.” 

Then his mouth is between your thighs again, lapping gently at his and your cum mingled together all over your pussy and inner thighs. You arch your back for him, moaning softly at his soft, careful tongue strokes.

When he finishes, you turn to him, finding his semi-hard cock dripping with your mingled fluids. “You still got some left here, Daddy,” you coo before moving to lap up the cum you left behind on his cock. He allows it, his hand in your hair while he sighs about how good you are. 

Once you are cleaned up and all is said and done, the two of you finally lay side by side in your bed, together again at last. You curl into his chest, leaning your head against his heart and wrapping your arms around him. He welcomes it, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead “Welcome home, baby,” you whisper as you look up at him. “Now you gonna tell me how you got out?” 

He looks down at you, almost as if he forgot he was supposed to answer a bunch of your very important questions. “Oh, Itadori did that,” he explains like he’s telling you the weather. “He’s a smart kid, y’know. Say, you up for some sushi? I’m cravin’ some fish right now.” 

All you can do is laugh and kiss your man before getting the takeout menu that you keep in the nightstand next to the bed. All the important questions can wait.

For now, all you want and need is him.

THE END.

[netherfeildren]

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Dubious Consent; Dark Fic; Doctor/Patient Relationship; Forced Orgasm; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Power Imbalance; Exploration of Power Dynamics; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say.  I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too. 

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date. 

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died. 

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as. 

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now. 

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream. 

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait. 

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here. 

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else. 

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him. 

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence. 

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue. 

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.  

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too. 

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.” 

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch. 

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?” 

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come. 

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately. 

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red. 

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that. 

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it. 

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.” 

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go. 

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself. 

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical. 

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–” 

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat. 

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know. 

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad. 

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.” 

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess. 

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either. 

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you. 

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking–  “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum. 

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room. 

-

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever. 

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak. 

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready. 

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter,  trail off, voice small and unsure. 

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted. 

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel. 

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day. 

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought. 

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs. 

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you. 

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.” 

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know. 

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them. 

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

 And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now. 

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life. 

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless. 

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips. 

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it. 

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver. 

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him. 

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with. 

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.” 

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you. 

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be. 

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.” 

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear. 

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him. 

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.” 

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. 

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan. 

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more. 

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this. 

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give. 

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him. 

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this. 

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him. 

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.” 

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself. 

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking. 

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[yeahthatsonearthdipshit000]

things that I didn't expect in each Lockood & Co. episode

E.1: This Will Be Us:

The intro is fucking sick

THE DOOR ON THE LANDING IS IN THE INTROOOOO

The Locket was changed to a ring?!????

Everything else was insanely accurate

"Lockwood's a dick"

E.2: Let Go Of Me:

Ghost-lock is like...a really big issue??

"Yeah, she can be a bit...quirky,"

Lockwood didn't use his smiley giraffe toy mobile😭

Uh Lucy was literally possessed~

LOCKWOOD'S RED SOCKSSS

"He's a little shit, sir."

The boys freaking out at the end when they find out Lucy had the ring the whole time

E.3: Doubt Thou The Stars:

"You've got a real hard-on for him, haven't you?" "Well, if you want to put it like that."

Combe Carrey Hall is ELEGANT

THE GOGGLES ARE SO GOOFY LOOKING OML

They got "arrested"???

Penelope Fittes just trotting up to them at the Fitte's boy's funeral??

LUCY GETTING HER FOURTH GRADE

LUCY JUST FUCKING PASSING OUT AT THE END???

E.4: Sweet Dreams:

Lucy wasn't at the wraith cemetery at the beginning of the whispering skull😭

"And you just wanna watch him...die."

JOPLIN IS A WOMANNNNNN💅💅💪💅😭

Kensel Green was owned by the Bickerstaffs and their son - Edmund - was caught digging up corpses uhhhhh

Lucy's mental breakdown in kensel green

Bickerstaffs ghost being so fucking huge and like disintegrating lucy's rapier

The skull's voice being like warped and so fucking creepy oml

"and it proves that I am like-" "clinically insane?" "REALLY FUCKIN POWERFUL"

"I know I look like Anthony Lockwood, but I'm not. I'm actually a fully qualified doctor."

The episode went by insanely quick??? Like?

E.5: Death Is Coming:

The Tendy's badge??

Joplin is giving....pedophile

Also is her actor the same one who plays molly in sherlock????

MRS WINKMAN IS A FUCKIN BADASS

Nahhh cuz winkman's freaking voice-

LOCKWOOD WAS IN AN ELECTRIC CHAIR THE WHOLE TIME LMAO

ALSO WHY IS WINKMAN SO VIOLENT ISN'T HE SUPPOSED TO CARESS LOCKY'S HAND AND TELL HIM TO GO AWAY??

Leopold was abused😭😭😭😭😭

E.6: You Never Asked:

The ghosts of bickerstaff's patients like that was so creepy

The Golden Blade's manbun💅

Salt sprinklers instead of water sprinklers??? And they're gorgeous??!???

E.7: Mesmerised

LOCKWOOD HYPERVENTILATING AT THE AUCTION AND HIM AND LUCY HOLDING EACH OTHER AND THE "NOW PLEASE PLEASE GET BACK TO BEING A FLIPPANT DICKGEAD AND GET US OUT OF HERE"😭😭😭

Golden blade snapping Lockwood's rapier and then lucy hoping up behind him and absolutely annihilating his fucking back

Lockwood was wearing blue socks this time

"You me and herons, let's do it" AHSHSVSH I'VE ALWAYS SHIPPED GEORGE AND FLO ITS FINALLY HAPPENINGBKAJDBD

LOCKWOOD HELPING LUCY OF THE GROUND AND THEM LOOKING AT EACH OTHER LIKE THEY'RE GONNA KISS AND THEN LUCY SHOVING LOCKY AND StRuTtInG AWAY

E.8: Not The Eternal:

All of the circles George drew on the thinking cloth

Winkman taking his jacket off like a baddie💅💪

"And I'm Anthony bloody Lockwood"

Kipps having a panic attack and totally crying in the catacombs😭

Kat godwin being so fucking sexy with her rapier

"To save my friends." 🏃‍♂️"And Kipps."🏃‍♂️

Golden Blade shooting Lockwood and yeeting him down into the catacombs

Luce using the skull to look at the bone glass????

Lockwood in his normal clothes at the end and all of them bustling around like a little family😭😭😭😭😭😭

"Lockwood almost died a thousand times, but I think he's decided he's better off alive. Which is really good"

LUCY SHOVING A DONUT IN GEORGE'S MOUTH LMAOOO

AND LOCKY WASN'T WEARING SHOES

IN CONCLUSION I AM READY FOR THE HOLLOW BOY

[bluegalaxygirl]

One Piece Masterlist

Requests Open for Zosan, Zolu and Law- I don't do requests involving: NSFW (Smut), child/teen x character, domestic abuse in a relationship with the characters, couple fighting over reader (e.g sanji and zoro fight over reader) and Au's.

^ Clone wars + Bad batch Masterlist

^ Law Masterlist

^ KidKiller X Reader Masterlist

All straw hats + Law:

^ Caring for you - plot: Headcannons for how they would care for you before a procedure/surgery.

ZoLu X reader:

----------Headcanons -

^

^ Writer - Reader is a writer on the crew and loves books, but secretly writes romance.

^ Hugs and Kisses - Reader's the type to want hugs and Kisses at random times.

^ I want a baby - Reader tells the boys she wants a baby.

^ Morning Routine - What your morning are like.

^ Night Routine - What your nights are like from 6PM to 4AM

----------Stories -

^

^ Celestial wedding - P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - P9 - P10 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14 - P15 - P16 - P17 - P18 - Plot: Reader gets taken as revenge for Luffy and Zoro's defiance against the Celestial Dragons, they were just going to kill her to make an example but now theres a wedding????.

^ The Vault - P1 - P2 - Doctor who Crossover (On hiatus until life settle down) - Plot: The Doctor asks for your help when he finds out theres a base on earth holding alien tech and maybe some alive aliens. Luffy agrees before you do so you take some of the crew along to have a look but you don't reserve a warm welcome and this place seems to be hiding more than just normal aliens.

^ First Bath togeather - Plot: Your first bath with Zoro and Luffy gets you to open up about your past a bit.

^ A step too far - P1 - P2 - Plot: While enjoying a Night of music and relaxation in the aquarium bar a fight breaks out between Zoro and Sanji only this time its worse than ever.

^ Loyalty Test - Plot: Your sister isn't convinced that Zoro and Luffy wont be loyal to you so sets them up to be flirted with while she makes you watch form a back room.

^ Trouble Makers P1 - P2 - P3 - Plot: The new island you docked on seems peaceful until a strange rumble catches you all off guard.

ZoSan X reader:

----------Headcanons -

^

^ Little maker - Zosan with a reader that makes things for them and the crew.

^ Nightmares - How Zoro, Sanji and Reader help each other with nightmares, how they deal with it themselves and what they have nightmares about.

^ The Spicy Book - Zoro and Sanji find you reading a spicy book. Contains sexual content but no smut.

^ How it happened - How you, Sanji and Zoro got togeather.

^ Morning Routine - What your mornings are like.

^ Night Routine - What your nights are like from 6PM to 4AM

^ Annoying things you all do - All couples have things they don't like about each other but you put up with them because you love them. here are some things that you find annoying about each other.

^ The little things - Just some cute little things the three of you do togeather and how you interact with each other. Also threw in how the crew see's you three.

^ Homesick - Your feeling home sick so this is how Sanji, Zoro and the crew help you

^ Kleptomaniac - Zoro and Sanji with a kleptomaniac Partner.

----------Stories -

^

^ Obsession's Grip - P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - P9 - P10 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14 - Plot: After saving some of the straw hat crew from a prison, the crew help takes a young man away so he can have a fresh start in life. He's shy but seems to grow attached to Reader in an unhealthy way.

^ Wild Flower - P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - Bonus- Plot: While doing recon for the crew, reader's snake gets captured by a marine who knows more about her than her own crew but to make matters worse he can hurt reader through her Snake using some strange powers and deadly plants.

^ Hot-spring - Plot: Just the crew relaxing for a week at an exclusive winter resort.

^ New bounties - Plot: After Wano you all find out what your new bounties are.

^ Fear of abandonment - Plot: the fear of abandonment hits you hard and now you just want to leave before your friends and the people you love leave you.

^ Old Friends - P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - P9 - P10 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14 - P15 - Plot: Reader is the 9th doctors old assistant but soon moved on to other things, joining the straw hat pirates and falling in love but now their paths cross again (only he has a new face) when they go to see an old friend in a strange hospital. Unfortunately there's some one else there that wants to start trouble.

^ You get sick - Plot: Zoro hides being sick which causes you to get sick, not only do you have to deal with the symptoms but your ability to control the tattooed snakes on your arms makes things worse.

^ I love you - Plot: the first time you say I love you to each other

^ Your First time - NSFW Minors DO NOT read

^ Distraction - Plot: its your's and nami's job to distract some pirates in a night club while the rest of the crew steal from their ship. Theirs only one problem, those pirates get a little too handy. Basically you being super sexy in front of them

^ First Bath togeather - Plot: After being togeather for a long time the boys have never taken a bath or a shower with you. You work up the courage to join them but try to hid the scars of your past.

^ You and your wild plans - Plot:. Zoro refuses to dance even when Luffy try's his best to make it happen, so you hatch a plan to make him dance.

^ Don't get lost - P1 - P2 -plot: Zoro gets lost and its up to sanji and reader to find him and bring him back but there's one problem.

---------- Series masterlist links

^ Baby series

^ Halloween series

[upslapmeal]

The Devil's Chord

For context going into this episode, I can name off the top of my head.....3 Beatles songs? idk I'd probably recognise more but I was v much hoping this episode didn't hinge on having any actual emotional attachment to them lol

that kid is excellently cast, really looks the part

RIP Henry your great casting was cut short too soon

very chaotic vibes from Maestro!

the theme on the piano!!

the theme on the jukebox!!

‘I want to see the Beatles’ followed by the most cute serious face <3

sure Doctor you've never been to see them but you've had the space time visualiser!

lmao Ruby and Fifteen are so much fun

pure vibes and here for a good time!

1963!!

meanwhile One is busy kidnapping Ian and Babs lol

so. gonna guess from their faces it’s not an actual Beatles song

poor Fifteen dying at the orchestra and Ruby just 😐😐 *pat on the back*

hey it’s that lady again!

do these people look like the Beatles? I feel like they don't but again. I don't really know what they did look like

so my question with all this is.. why still make music if music isn't a thing any more?

why are the Beatles formed as a group and recording with someone encouraging them in the control room?

why even set up a recording studio at all?? I guess it speaks to the underlying human-ness of music

that even when musicality is gone, people are still forcing themselves to make some sort of music

yeah I feel like I should care more about the Beatles lol

Lennon and McCartney just. immediately baring their souls

feels weird watching this and knowing it's about someone who's still alive

'GEGGC'....ah ~~music~~

'we had bad smog in November ’62' I love how the Doctor speaks like a reminiscing Londoner bc that's what he was!!

Susan mention red alert!!!

‘timelords were murdered. :D I’M FINE’ sure

Ruby's theme!

interesting that in-universe it’s music she wrote for someone else

the giggle!!

‘you never hide’ I get that Fifteen and Ruby were instant besties but she's speaking like someone who's known the Doctor way longer than 3 adventures

the sonic screwdriver being sonic!!

RIP piano granny

‘defeating him took everything*’ * catching a ball

‘you always know’ idk if it's a symptom of the reduced episode count but it does feel like they've skipped over a fair bit of Ruby and Fifteen getting to know each other

‘I was born in 2004’ 👵🏻

oh so it’s been 6 months since the last ep??

again I guess the reduced ep count has meant speeding through but :/

‘where’s my mum’ :(((

I like the un-music that Murray Gold has going on for this bit. v effective.

child of the Toymaker??

‘now time for my ppt presentation about nuclear winter’

'the lost chord' - I feel like they could have done a lil bit more with that at the start bc it didn't feel as though the guy played anything particularly unusual or special?

lol Fifteen kissing the tardis better. I mean it seemed to work

the Doctor leaving Actual Musician Ruby Sunday in the control room while he tries to play a guitar

‘I thought that was non-diegetic’ lmao I guess it makes sense that the whole episode's music is being messed with

‘there’s a hidden song deep inside her soul’ hmmmm

...secret evil power Ruby??

excellent visual of her held up by the music in the snow

they're lucky Maestro doesn't seem interested in just. killing them.

‘music battle’ this is so weird. not sure if it's weird in a way I'm enjoying

this ep has felt a bit....meandering isn't the word but I don't know what is

lmao the nostalgic voiceover…not-Lennon totally unfazed by magical floating notes...reading them even though they absolutely cannot be read because there’s no stave

danse macabre!

it’s just so funny that it's the most boring-ass chord that defeats Maestro

the thing is the ep did v little to establish these guys as Characters To Root For outside them being Beatles and I just. don't care

I'd be interested to know if Beatles fans felt more about them saving the day

musical number!!

that shot of Fifteen vibing in the spotlight is so much fun!

and the one of him and everyone in the control room watching Ruby!

the world has been deprived of music for so long that of course it explodes into a musical number!!

and a certain Mr H Arbinger returns…I imagine that's not the last we'll see of him

what a fun end lol

I dunno about this one, it had good stuff but some of it was a bit all over the place and weird in a way that I didn't enjoy that much. And some of the music-specific stuff just idk. didn't land.

Also I rewatched the ep before editing my notes but I watched it as ep4 which honestly made Fifteen and Ruby's dynamic seem less rushed (and then there wasn't the weirdness in Boom of Ruby not going to a planet for the first 6 months of travelling).

I don't know. Mixed bag this one.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Ninerose (and/or tenrose if you have different opinions about it)

ninerose

how do i put this. i dont think it's an exaggeration to say that ninerose taught me what love looks like. like yadda yadda broken childhood home and all that, but whatever, i had my doctor who discs. and these two. oh, these two. there's so much about s1 and them that i return to again and again because it's so messy and so sweet and so. hopeful? you know? like here's the doctor, broken, and here's rose, glowing like the sun. and he becomes a better man for her sake. he makes himself worthy of being saved, yes, but she would have saved him anyway. because she loves him so, so much.

like, i know people get annoyed nowadays about how much rose there is in the fandom, how she can get a spotlight other companions never can, but like. god. she really did show up and rewire my fucking brain, and i can't even be mad about it. she's all that and more. and nine, obviously, nine's my. second favorite now, but the doctor closest to my heart forever. there's nothing that can improve my day like watching an episode from s1 and seeing the two of them interact, there really isn't.

tenrose

i do actually have different thoughts on these! simply because all variations of the doctor get slightly different thoughts. i mean, i don't really ship specific doctors with specific characters, if that makes sense? if they win the hearts of one doctor, then to me, they've won the hearts of all of them. so, i do ship rose with every doctor lol. but ten we got on screen so let me talk about that.

i think tenrose, the way it's written, is a perfect follow up to how ninerose set them up. you know, you've got a kiss on the doctor's side that killed him and only he remembers happening, and on rose's side, her doctor just exploded into a twink. i love how upset rose is by it. i've seen people talk about how unfair she's being or how unreasonable she is, crying because she thinks the man she was falling in love with is gone when the doctor's right there but. he exploded in front of her. she has no information on this, except to hope that it really is her doctor. god, the children in need special where they reconnect immediately post him regenerating is so important to me for this reason. this is upsetting! this isn't something that we should judge rose for not simply rolling with it! but in the end, that is her doctor. changed, slightly, to be loved is to be changed. but it's him.

and yeah, can we talk about the whole ten literally rebuilt himself to be for rose and how that fact fucks him up forever and ever <3 literally a disaster of a man, you can't do that, sir. that's not healthy!!! but i love him for that. it's so doctor-ish of him. in the wake of her becoming a goddess of time and space to save him, how could he not remake himself in her image. to be someone he thinks she will love, that can love her better. i just. sorry going to speak briefly on nine again, but i think about how the majority of the bad wolf scene is framed with every shot of him on his knees, looking up at her. how he only rises back up at the very end to kiss her and save her life in return. that's what i think ten is born out of, more than anything. that moment of terrifying, awestruck devotion, and then the choice to rise again and hope he's enough, know he's enough, to save her life.

and that is always ten. that's him in the satan pit jumping without knowing where the bottom is and then yelling in the face of the devil that he only knows of one goddess, and it's her. that's why when rose is in danger, nothing on this earth can stop him. that's why he burns up a star to say goodbye to her, because that's the only thing in the universe that could be worthy of being exchanged for even a glimpse at her. and it's him when he tries to snuff himself out during the runaway bride, and it's him when he spends so long not being able to see martha for how fantastic she is because all he can do is mourn rose, and it's him when he's so distracted by her finding him again that he gets himself shot by a DALEK.

insane to me, actually. he was literally born wrong out of love.

and not even to mention rose. let's not pretend she's not equally on this train. hello: woman who would have been okay with being trapped with him on the other end of time and the universe from home? woman who was going to ditch all the people she knew and loved in another dimension to stay with him? woman who started blasting herself haphazardly across dimensional barriers with a cannon to find him again? she's as bad as he is. i love her.

[put any ship in my ask box and i’ll give my brutally honest opinion]

[karizard-ao3]

It’s time for the school play and it’s Romeo & Juliet. Mikasa gets the role of Juliet and Eren couldn’t give a fuck about the play until he found out Romeo and Juliet kiss, in front of everybody. And now Eren is obsessively after the role, only he can’t act to save his life

There's this animanga from the late 80s/early 90s that I adore called Ranma 1/2 that has a Romeo and Juliet high school theater production arc and all I can picture is that but with Eremika as Ranma and Akane. I'm going to try to break free from that restraint.

Okay, so first things first, if Mikasa got the role and Eren didn't, that means she auditioned and he probably didn't bother. So he's shit out of luck by the time he finds out the guy cast as Romeo (Jean??? Maybe???) is going to be kissing Mikasa. This means Eren has two options: to make sure the kiss doesn't happen or to steal the role.

So, what does Eren do?

He gets himself appointed to the stage crew, of course, and begins doing everything he can to make Jean's life a living hell.

He's smacking into him with set pieces, sabotaging his props, he is orchestrating wardrobe malfunctions left and right. During rehearsals, every time they get to the kiss he knocks something over and interrupts them. The director is getting fed up but they also can't help but love watching the drama unfold before them, so they let Eren do his thing for the most part and wonder what is going to happen when the boy can't delay the kiss any longer.

Eren's already on top of that. He knows he can't keep dropping set pieces when there's an audience because he doesn't want to ruin the play for Mikasa, but he also would rather die than see her kiss another guy. Therefore, he needs Jean out of the picture. He concluded long ago that if he's going to keep Mikasa's lips for himself he has to give Jean mono. What better way to put him out of commission and prevent the kiss than the kissing disease itself? Eren loves the irony. Or, he would if he paid attention in English class long enough to know what irony is.

And so, Eren's quest to give Jean mono is already well under way by the time he enters the scene as a member of the stage crew.

But wait, you may say. How is Eren going to infect another kid with mono if he doesn't have it? You forget that Eren's father is a doctor. Eren knows from dinner time conversation that there's been an outbreak of it at a nearby high school and tons of those kids have it. All Eren has to do is get in touch with one of them and obtain their spit. He is not bound by the strictures of common decency or shame, so he starts hitting kids at the other school up, trying to find one who is just as depraved as he is who is willing to sell him their diseased saliva. And you know he manages to find one.

He cuts school takes the bus to the next town over , exchanging fifty dollars for a baby food jar full of saliva from a fellow unhinged teenage, then hurrying back to campus before the virus loses potency.

He arrives just in time for lunch and immediately gets busy contaminating poor Jean's food when he isn't looking.

Then he sits back and crosses his fingers that Jean's symptoms will hit before opening night (it takes 4 - 6 weeks for the infection to brew). He also makes sure to keep Jean's putrid lips off Mikasa. His on-stage kerfuffles have been protecting more than just his own tender heart. He's got to keep Jean from infecting Mikasa, lest Eren find himself onstage as Romeo without his Juliet.

Jean is looking concerningly healthy as opening night approaches, though, and Eren is beginning to think he's going to have to go back to the other kid's house and demand a refund when, with only two days to spare, Jean succumbs to Eren's machinations and falls ill with mononucleosis.

The director is freaking out. Jean can't be in the play if he has mono but who is going to fill in for him?

Eren to the rescue. Surprise, surprise. He has the part memorized.

The director has no choice. The show must go on even if it means Romeo recites all his lines like a robot and everyone in the audience can tell he's slipping Juliet some tongue when he kisses her. At least, the audience all tentatively agree as they try to find a bright spot in the mess of a play they just witnessed, the two leads have tons of chemisty.

[theesirenteller]

Reaper's Crow. 𝒯𝓌𝑜 ☞

Chapter One

🅦🅐🅡🅝🅘🅝🅖 Kidnapping, Gore, Abuse, Violence, Profanity, OCC, glorification of serial killings, mentions of sexual violence, smut, mentions of PTSD, Sociopathisim, graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, angst, slow-burn romance

▌This fictional piece is AU with very little amounts of canon. I understand if this fic isn't your cup of tea. Please do not leave hate comments. The story is set some years after season seven. ▌

"Well I figured it was about time you got a lady friend. She's fine now. No need to drain her eyelid again, it's all cleared up. Just have to continue to ice the bruise. Once her ribs heal up she'll be ready to get up and move again. What's her name?" 

"Bye Doc." 

"Aw come on-"

"Don't let the door hit you on your ass on your way out." The Reaper said sharply in his low, guttural throat. A Marlboro cigarette soon nuzzled between his pink lips. The flick of his lighter clicking as he flamed it on. The warm golden hue kissed the edge of the tobacco stick that caused smoke to dance in the air.

The elder doctor scoffed with an eye roll before grabbing his medical bag and making his way out the bedroom. Running his hand through his salt and pepper hair as he rushed down the narrow staircase and quickly rushed out the front door. 

The loud bang of the slam lock and door shaking from its hinges caused the bedridden woman to flinch and awaken. Her heavy eyes slowly opened. The dull gray midafternoon light peaked in from the black curtains causing her sensitive eyes to squint a few times before she had opened them once again. Her blurred vision began to clear as she looked around. The room, from what she could see─was modestly sized. Big enough to fit the medium sized dresser and bed she laid in along with a chair. A chair someone was sitting in. A giant man dressed in layers of black clothing was sitting in. He sat so casually smoking his cigarette as he watched her. His large, muscular thighs overflowed on the seat, making it appear smaller than him. The two eyed one another with emotionless expressions and unsure eyes. She recalled the night she saw him and suddenly her eyes grew wet. Her lower lids formed tear droplets as her lips pursed. "Who are you?...I-I don-t-t know anything", her voice horse as she strained words together.

She had first been met with silence. "I didn't save you to ask you questions, kid. I didn't come there for you." His voice was like liquid midnight. So sultry, so smokey. The words glide off his lips like butter and drew her in like a piperman's lullaby. When he stood up from his seat he made the room appear smaller than what it already was. The Reaper's appearance exuded strength as he was very muscular and tall. With the neck and shoulders of a wide receiver football player. Thick, golden eyebrows that were quite bushy and gave his icy blue eyes an intensely destructive look. He was made to destroy based on looks alone. His large hand grasped a bottled water off of the top dresser beside her bed and with ease he popped the top off. Luckily, she was laid upright so it came easy to pass it to her for nourishment. "What's your name?", The death dealer asked as he watched her take sips.

"I don't have one." She whispered after moving the plastic bottle from her lips. 

"Come on, Everyone's got a name." He replied roughly with smoke flowing behind his words.

"Whore." She kept her eyes on the bottle. "It's what I've been called since I could talk…I don't have a name unless that's it."

His left hand cupped her jaw. His hand was warm and rugged as he lifted her head with a careful touch as her eyes set on him. His left eyebrow raised "Explain. From the beginning. From your beginning."

The battered woman had a ghostly look flash across her face. Like a broken china doll. "I was created at a Hen house. A Hen house is where men pay to get 'custom whores'. Nobody can file a missing person's report or care about someone who doesn't exist in the rest of the world. Women are housed in large houses to get impregnated, those are called 'Breeders'. And the babies are sold off to whichever client pays for it. Some get sold at birth and some at different ages…all depends on what the client wants." Her lips turned to a frown before she took another drink of water.

"I came to my master very young. I don't know how young b-but i've serviced him since before i spoke my first word." She admitted. 

The woman's revelation─or girl he couldn't even be sure of, made his blood boil. His fists clenched tightly, so tight that his nails dug deep into his flesh enough to leave dents. The Reaper didn't reject killing Stolbatch. He only regretted not making the process longer. There wasn't much chivalry in his job but this was the closest he'd gotten to it in a longtime. Her sullen voice broke him out of his inner thoughts. "What'd you say?" he asked in a softer tone. More husky.

"I asked your name. You said everyone's got one." She replied.

"Reaper." He moved from his spot near the dresser and made his way towards the door. "You've been asleep for about a week now. I'll get you something to eat. Pain's gonna kick in soon and you'll be needing your meds." 

"Reaper." She called out from behind him, causing the giant man to stop in his tracks and turn his head to the side, "Thank you." her voice grew shaky as she fought back tears. 

He said nothing but nodded his head before leaving.

 It carried on similar to their first meeting for the next two weeks. She barely saw him unless he was bringing her soup and crackers or coming in with medication. Other than that Reaper was gone the majority of the time. He was a man of little words. He barely spoke more than a sentence at a time. She didn't mind it. The woman was settling into her own reality of being free. Whatever that meant. She didn't know. 

Today was dreary. Wherever they were it was cold. Cold and wet. The sky was shaded dark gray and raindrops danced against the window. Feeling stronger than she had weeks ago, The bushy-haired girl sat in the chair Reaper would usually sit at. Instead this time she had moved it closer to the window. Dressed in a plain white long-sleeved cotton teeshirt that fit her a few sizes to big, Her large breasts kept it from spilling off her shoulders, a pair of grey joggers warmed her lower half with long black socks, A heavy fleece blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she sipped on her sweet, hot beverage. Hot chocolate. Her thick afro sat on her shoulders and warmed her collarbone and neck like a warm scarf. 

"Dont'cha think it's about time you picked out a name for yourself, kid?" His baritone voice sparked behind her. 

"How about kid since you already called me that?" She replied with a squeaky tone.

Reaper chuckled and shook his head as he edged closer. "More like Mouse would suit you better." he muttered. He then took a seat on the edge of her bed beside her chair. Hunched over with his elbows on his knees as he ran his hands through his golden hair. Today, he was dressed in a pair of faded black jeans, bulky leather buckle boots that were stained with gruff dirt stains, and a black wool cardigan that hugged his large muscles perfectly, "Look at me…in the eye this time." 

Biting at her puffy bottom lip, she slowly turned her head and looked at him. She found it difficult to look into his eyes for too long. A fuzzy warm feeling would form in the center of her chest.  A heavy weight would form in her stomach that felt like a brick. Her palms grew sweaty. Her obsidian eyes stared into his bright sapphire ones before she narrowed her attention on the gray hairs that peaked out from his honey-toned beard.

"Scout." 

"Scout?" She repeated with an unsure tone. Popping her lips a few times as she repeated it. 

"Fuck, that's shit…uh…",His eyebrows knitted together as he curled his lips into a frown. "How about Birdie? Like free as a bird."

"I like Scout." She said quickly as she sat up straight. "Cookies…There were these cookies and I remember they were called girl scout's cookies. I used to eat them a lot."

"Okay." A smirk fell across his lips, "Nice to meet you Scout."

She smiled at him in return, "Nice to meet you Reaper."

The pair locked in their gaze at one another. A comfortable silence falling over the two of them as they stared. A fire sparkling in their stomachs as their eyes warmed. Only for that fire to be put out by the sound of his mobile ringing. Reaper's expression turned back to cold in the blink of an eye. Stoically, he quickly got up from his seat and left the room.

It'd taken Reaper awhile to come back but when he did he looked unsettled. Conflicted. "Where would you like to go, Scout?" he asked. 

She looked at him with a confused expression which made his eyes close and his nostrils flare. "What?" she asked.

"Where would you like to go?" He breathed out with his shoulders slouching. He suddenly turned and pulled open the top shelf of the dresser. Digging inside it before pulling out a stack of cash. "Look I don't know where you'll go but it can't be with me. You're free now. I'll give you some money and you can start over wherever you'd like."

Scout's eyes widened as she panicked. "Wait!", swiftly she stood on her feet and edged towards him as he turned around. Her heart starting to race. Tilting her head up and craning her neck back she looked up at him, "Look please just take me with you. I-I-I..I won't be a bother i promise!"

Reaper exhaled deeply and began to shake his head. "Look Sc-"

" I am as good as dead without you! Please Reaper, take me with you or…or kill me now because there isn't anything out there for me." Fat tears fell down the sides of her face as she wept. Wailing like a baby, like a scared child. It'd felt like he'd be throwing her to the wolves. 

The Reaper looked down at his shoes before looking up at her once more. He knew she was right. And a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that his life was going to go through another change. He wasn't looking for a partner but he wasn't going to push what he already welcomed in, away.

"So, where are we headed now Reaper?"

The Reaper let out a grumbling grunt before speaking, "Look, we need to set some ground rules since you're gonna be tagging along." He then proceeds to clear his throat, "Rule one; No asking questions, Rule Two do as i say, Rule three, do as i say and stay put without asking questions, and Rule four shut up and blend in. I work for some fucked up people in higher ranks of power." His facial expression grew stiff as he drove, "I used to think I had power. Law enforcement I thought had power. But not like these guys. This goes beyond Biker shit…outlaw shit…beyond it all."

His blue eyes caught her onyx ones as he looked her over, "We're just ghosts amongst the living; you and me." 

Scout began to slowly smile and reached out her fist. "Ghosts amongst the living, me and you." she agreed as the two bumped fists.

Character Visual : Scout

Chapter Three

Taglist ; @youflickedtooharddamnit @darqchilddaydreamz @darklydeliciousdesires @wabi-sabi1090 @danzer8705 @laurfilijames

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Can I request the cultists (Jio, Daia, and Cornie) having their injuries being treated by the farmer who they're crushing on?

(Also I love your work thank you for giving this fandom all this fanfiction its so good!!)

Of course you can, dear anon! 😃 Enjoy some RSV headcanons. And thank you very much for your kind words! I'm glad enjoying reading my silly HC! 💖🫰

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

Jio

From the ninja hideout, there would be constant grumbling outrages from Jio along the lines of "I can handle myself!" and "My wounds are not so bad," and "Stop babysitting me!". So even a patient one can bark at a fidgety elf who's always spinning in place and scare Jio either by promise to immobilising him or hitting him with a boot so that he'll finally sit down quietly and let Farmer treat his fresh wounds. Luckily, Jio, though grumpy, was moderately wise, and he didn't argue with Farmer any further. In fact, he was glad they'd volunteered to treat his cuts from the monsters' claws - no one else would be as trustworthy as Farmer, the keeper of the peace of the entire Stardew Valley, to whom Jio had a soft spot in his heart. But he just... doesn't like to appear so helpless and weak in front of them. Though being capricious and showing pride isn't better at all.

Daia:

"Oh, everything hurts so much! Can you look at my wound here? It's so, oh, it so hurts!" Something about all the moaning that Daia is letting out doesn't sound too much like painful moans from someone who is suffering from wounds. Although the wound is real, and quite nasty, it's as if the girl isn't paying much attention to it. But all her attention is directed to the face of the shy Farmer, whose cheeks are already flushed from all this flirting and Daia's ambiguous innuendos. Lady, you just almost got killed in Ridge Forest, can we take this a little more seriously? "Oops, that bandage slipped, can you wrap them tighter? Tighter~" She's hopeless. But Daia finally deigns to stop teasing Farmer and gives them a kiss on the cheek in thanks for saving her and giving her first aid. It's bad enough to think about, but Daia is ready to throw herself into a dangerous battle with the monster again if it means her object of affection will help her again.

Corine:

"Oh, wow... This is embarrassing." Yep, so unfortunate to trip over a booth in Pika's restaurants, spill all the drinks, scratch her arm and left cheek, all right before her crush, who was watching everything. The waitress felt someone's strong hands take her and help her sit down on the nearest bench, then gently treat her hand with disinfectant. It was the Farmer, whose clothes now bore a huge stain from Corine's spilled drink. The girl felt even more guilty, but Farmer assured her that it was okay, that the most important thing now was Corine's wound. They're so caring, and they're so close to Corine that it's hard to hide the blush. Just then Paula came up on a call, but seeing Corine look at her with a "not now, everything is okay" look that the doctor just smiled and stayed out of the way. Things had worked out much nicer than Corine could have expected.

[gojonanami]

western au is rent free in my brain

reader has no idea where they are once they escape and luckily they're out before the pregnancy is too far a long or that the scum bags ( looks at naoya because we gotta make a bad guy here ) realize theyre with baby and does something about that ( they'd be bitting so hard that she's tearing flesh if someone tried )

either way the settlement they make it to has a resident doctor named shoko, old friends with sherif satoru, she's quick to pick up the reader is with kid and takes them under her wing

its a while before the fact either of them know if satoru comes to light and theyre a bit farther in the pregnancy but either way, satoru's message more or less tells them to stay with shoko given, uh, situation back in the settlement they grew up in isn't looking great ( the old ranch was sold as it was assumed they were gone for good and no family left ), and, uh, moving is bad for the kid

he completely fails to deliver news that suguru has gone awol, shoko knows about this because satoru had a cry with her about this, but telling the reader about this might stress them out abbr hurt the baby, its only after the child is born do they get this news and theyre so crushed by this and how people they knew their whole life turned a blind eye to the chaos on the ranch the day they got kidnapped ( they GET IT tho, they didn't want to put their loved ones in danger too but it sucks ) but they're more worried about suguru, is he okay out there?

So when word gets around about Suguru being a hero and yet a bandit, cleaning up the zenin gang's mess, theyre all cheering for it and collecting clippings from papers that reach them and a wanted poster or two in a box under their bed.

Also in Shoko's settlement, men are trying to woo them left and right, their tike needs a father right? Who's gonna marry a soiled dame like you? I'm the best you'll get pretty thing! ( cue utahime bustin out her shop with a broom to beat them ) they obviously reject these advances saying theyre loyal to the love of their life, the father of their child.

So when a cluster of Zenin gang members roll up into the settlement and Suguru ( and Satoru into the background ) roll up to save the day, they're starstruck by this messy yet handsome man for a moment but quickly focus on their child, gathering them in their arms and kissing them, so glad theyre safe when the man calls out their name and watching tears weld up in his eyes, taking shaky and uncertain steps forward

They realize, oh, it's Suguru. He looks like a mess and they can't help but worry. They meet him half way and the moment their hand touches his face, tears begin to fall.

"Oh baby," they whisper so softly, so tenderly, as the wipe those tears away with their thumb. Suguru leans into that touch. Clutching that very hand, as if he's afraid he lets go again, he'll never see them again. "Ya look so tired. . . Come 're. . ." They give him a hug, like they always have.

Their child is squished between them and they dont really get it but their tiny hands try to hug their savior as well. After all, mama gives them hugs when theyre sad like this mister.

omg I love it — the reunion makes me 🥹🥹🥹 just so sweet and the baby just being like what’s going on, but hugging their dad unwittingly

god, and suguru so happy to see you alive but so sad to have missed so much of his baby’s life. honestly I can also see satoru not finding out reader being alive until it’s too late and suguru has cut off contact with him—

and satoru would try to tell him but suguru would blow him off or just not hear him out at all—and when suguru realizes this, he feels so guilty

[firephoenix2305]

This is a Rory Williams appreciation post

Because I have recently finished season 6 and I need to shout about it to someone.

(Disclaimer: Severe season 5 and 6 spoilers ahead. If you haven't watched them yet, run away very very fast. Or don't, it's up to you. But you have been warned)

Okay, don't get me wrong. I love Amy, she's great. And I love The Doctor, because well, he's The Doctor, and also Matt Smith, so he's great too.

But.

But. But. But

If I had to pick a favorite...

Rory. Fucking.Arthur. Williams.

I don't even know where to start with this man.

The way he loves Amy. The way he cares about her more than the entire goddamn universe. The way he DOES NOT BUDGE from her side even when she kisses another man the night before their wedding, then proceeds to severely third-wheel him in a very Mickey Smith sort of way for the better part of two episodes (which in retrospect isn't really that much, but STILL) and takes her sweet time to realize she is in love with him.

We are talking, ladies and gentlemen, about the Last goddamn Centurion. This is a man who willingly lived through every single second of 2000 years of human history only to protect Amy Pond. 2000 years without so much as a wink of sleep, or rest, or any synonym of the word. How does this man's heart not physically burst from the sheer amount of love he has for Amy?!?!

I just...I want one. I want a Rory. Does anybody know where I can find a Rory? Pretty please?

And another thing. I'm not sure what it was that Rory did to the writers of this show but JESUS CHRIST. Why so much hate?

And just to prove I'm not even exaggerating, here's a brief summary of some of the things which have happened to this poor guy in seasons 5 and 6. (From the point where he officially joins Amy and The Doctor in the TARDIS onwards, that is)

- S5E7. Killed by the Eknodine in the Dream Lord's fake reality. (And given that horrible ponytail, btw)

- S5E9. Murdered in cold blood by a rogue Silurian, then absorbed by a time crack and hence deleted from the memory of the entire universe. (Being murdered obviously wasn't enough, no)

- S5E13. This is a big one. Revived as an Auton, realized Amy doesn't remember him, then when Amy finally does remember he unwillingly kills her because of his programming (which he eventually breaks free from), stays with the Pandorica for 2000 odd years and finally, after all of that, gets erased from reality. Again. (But it's okay because The Doctor has rebooted the universe, so real Rory came back. Or, rather, never left in the first place. Doctor Who is complicated, okay?!)

- S6E3. To start off the season well, he drowns and practically dies, and is then transferred to a spaceship healing facility where he is essentially hooked to a live support system until Amy brings him back to life.

- S6E4. Tortured and "killed" by the thing controlling the TARDIS, who had a blast warping time and making him go crazy and ultimately making him die of old age. (Not sure if it even counts as a death, but his rotting skeleton was there, so I'm counting it)

- S6E6. Finds out that his wife is not actually his wife but is instead a bunch of sentient flesh which is pretending to be his wife; and that his actual wife is nine months pregnant and currently giving birth to their daughter God knows where. (I did say it was complicated).

- S6E7. Finds Amy and baby Melody, only to lose Melody to the creepy eye patch lady because having lost Amy in the exact same way the previous episode clearly wasn't enough torture for him.

- S6E10. Has "other" Amy (the older version) absolutely hate his guts for something which isn't his fault at all, and has to re-convince her that she loves him. Again. (Seriously, Amy?). Then, he has to sacrifice the other Amy to save his Amy, which was extremely painful for him. (Man, this season gets weirder and weirder, doesn't it?)

- S6E13. Suffers inhumane amounts of pain and almost dies (again) when he lets himself be electrocuted by the eye patch thingy to give Amy, River and The Doctor time to escape. (I know this wasn't technically the same Rory that went through all those other things, but I decided to include it anyway)

AND I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED SEASON 7 YET. Give the man a break! And stop killing him, for God's sake!

(I know this won't happen, because although I haven't watched S7 I accidentally spoiled the whole weeping angel business to myself, so yeah)

And lastly, this scene >>>

Do. Not. Fuck. With the roman.

I just love him.

That is all. Thanks for hearing me out, I feel better.

(@capinejghafa was the furthest back I could track these gifs, but I don't know if they were the one who made them).

[metacrisisdoctor]

tenrose is ninerose

the amount of ninerose shippers who hate tenrose is really depressing.

i understand having a preference in writing choice or in the actors and their chemistry and which you enjoy more, but to act like they're completely different relationships is so deeply unfair and incorrect.

when i first watched rtd who, what i really admired was how seamless the transition between nine and ten was. it still felt like the same show, the same characters and the same relationship while still allowing rose to grieve the ninth doctor and be confused and hurt with what happened.

i am someone, who if i HAD to choose, would choose tenrose. however, that's ONLY because tenrose is ninerose.

the only reason i feel the way i feel about the tenth doctor and rose is because of the story that they had already built. i don't think rose and ten fell in love, they were obviously already in love and then fell deeper in love as time went on (as it should be, no?) which makes my feelings for them stronger, but i don't see them as different relationships.

everything about tenrose - and ten/tentoo - only makes sense when you take ninerose into consideration. nine met rose immediately after having destroyed gallifrey. he is closed off, in pain, angry and hurt to put it mildly. he meets rose and she shows him softness and good in the universe again. she makes him feel like he isn't all alone. she gives him hope. he takes her to see the end of the world and she doesn't flinch, she stays. together, they can face anything.

as season one progresses we see how the doctor and rose discover each other, how they influence and bring out the best in the other. rose, just by existing and being her, helps the doctor remember who he is. she helps him heal, she makes him - the doctor - better. not a better person, but she makes him feel better.

and like she makes him better, he makes her realize she can take things into her own hands and be bigger and more powerful than she had ever imagined. so when she has to save him, she does whatever is necessary because she loves him as much as he does her.

because of how deep his love for her is he makes the decision to kiss her and save her life knowing it will mean regeneration for him, which is something he obviously did not want, but he accepts it because it was a worthy sacrifice.

nine dies out of his love for rose, and ten is BORN out of his love for rose. ten's entire existance quite literally revolves around rose and his love for her. ten's journey is about hope, because that is what she gave him. and in the end it is both his salvation (tentoo) and his downfall (ten) because since he was born out of loving her and this new family that he found, he is born with the need to be human, to NOT change. as nine he found everything he had been searching for, so as ten he is done searching. this is why he "shuts down" to a degree after school reunion and seeing sarah jane again. he loves all his companions, but rose is different. rose is everything, and he cannot bear the fact that he will lose her someday- but he also knows that he could never truly leave her behind.

this is why the only way to seperate them was with doomsday. all of this deep love and this desire to be with her in ways he never could ("the one adventure i can never have.") started in season ONE with ninerose ("street corner, two in the morning.") and shaped who he became when he regenerated into this version of himself who was everything he was because of her.

this doesn't invalidate ninerose or their relationship, because it's the SAME relationship. i don't have to pit them against each other because they're not seperate in my mind and i know this goes for most tenrose and tentoorose shippers.

in the end ten had to find a way to become human, even if in one life, and when he couldn't in another he had to regenerate because the hope rose gave him was becoming a vice instead of a virtue.

the doctor is always the same person (yes, including tentoo - argue with the wall) but there is no denying that the feelings and experiences that are happening when the doctor regenerates effects how the next incarnation of them feels and behaves. so when ten regenerated "died" because he felt things the way a human would and therefore he was able to move on.

this doesn't mean that rose and everything he felt for her or how she saved him from himself is meaningless. it means, in a way, it's eternal. he knows they get to be happy in another universe, and that gives the doctor the strength to keep going and open their hearts to new adventures with new people who are worth loving as well. she made him see that.

and it all starts with ninerose.

stop acting like they're not the same relationship and you'll understand why tenrose is "more popular" because some of us understand that the doctor is the doctor. period.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

One drop

warning : angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, kiss, some blood, no use of Y/n

Jonathan Reid x fem!reader

Everything was important. But something the rich and poor needed to survive in the dark days that had fallen upon London since the Spanish flu had struck them all. The first war of the worlds, the guns and the dead they all came to take the souls of the not yet fallen.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything is valuable in London. Everything is valuable in times of war. Whether it was just the daily bread that kept the poorest alive or something more valuable like money. Money kept the rich alive so they wouldn't go crazy that what they had was useless in times of war. Jewellery, medicine or potions were other things people seemed to need.

To exploit them and finally get their last hope. They needed help and hope which they got in the only place in all of London that was still full of hope and light. The only place where they would all get help, rich or poor, they would all get hope and help.

They got this hope, the light, the most important good at Pembroke Hospital under the direction of Dr. Swansea and the newest addition to the team, Doctor Jonathan Reid and a nurse from the nursing school. All three had access to the one good thing that kept everyone in town alive. Blood.

Blood the elixir of life that the rich needed to testify to the blue blood that got them into the hospital faster. That they were the true upper class. As well as the poor with their drunken and dirty blood that flowed through the same houses and alleys for generations. They all needed fresh new blood in their bodies after their injuries and illnesses.

This they got from the specialist in the field of blood transfusion. Dr. Jonathan Reid. But the nights he spent saving people around the hospital seemed to get longer and more exhausting. The alert eyes of the young new nurse who arrived almost at the same time as him, she had the same aura as the doltor, always seemed to be watching him.

She seemed to know exactly where he was, to know what he needed and yet. Yet there was something uncertain, emotional, dramatic between them. As if a drop of emotion would break them apart.

As if something between them would be broken. The secret that surrounded them both would be broken. It would come out that something between them was so much more than just a working relationship. But that night is still to come, isn't it?

As she continued her journey through the hospital, her eyes darted back and forth. Seeing all the different patients, the illnesses that surrounded them and seemed to be killing them all. Blood, they all need blood, she thought and felt a pair of eyes on her as she looked to her destination and found Jonathan already starting to tend to a patient. ,,Dr. Reid, I'm sorry I'm late, I had to take care of the medications and orders," she said and stood next to the other nurse who was cooling the patient's forehead.

Briefly she saw the nod as the green-grey eyes flitted over her, concern solidifying for a moment. Something seemed to have afflicted him. Shifting her gaze from concerned to accepting, professional and seeming in her job, she helped the nurse hold the patient still while Jonathan began to tend to the patient.

His fingers, deft as always, seemed almost too still until the end. The only thing she saw that worried her was the slight tremor that seemed to take hold of him. The grey-green eyes that seemed to appear slightly reddish in the light.

The only slightly bluish iris, the small pupils that hardly seemed to react to light. What have you done Jonathan? she thought with horror as the older man, now clearly losing control, slowly tried to draw blood from the patient.

He was not well and she knew something had happened. ,,Nurse, take over, I'll take Dr Reid back to his office, he doesn't seem well" she said hurriedly as she saw him looking at the drop of blood on his finger that had dripped onto it.

Licked his lips and everything around him started to become irrelevant. Everything seemed to be in a dark fog and only the heartbeat of his victims could be heard.

The older one nodded in agreement and started to take care of the patient while grabbing the doctor by the arm and almost dragging him away from the patient. ,,Dr. Reid please you are not well...Jonathan come on back I'll help you" she murmured to him and squeezed his arm lightly.

She felt the dead cold underneath and how his non-existent breath seemed to go faster. Walking up the wooden stairs with difficulty they managed to drag themselves towards the door to his office. ,,It beats so irresistibly," he murmured, his voice rough and seemingly full of hunger.

Hunger for the one thing that kept him alive. Blood. ,,Try to block out the patients," she began to talk to him as gently as she could in her panic as she closed the door behind her and moved from it to the workbench. She heard the suffering and struggling sounds of the older man on his bed, struggling against his new nature.

Whispering her name and whimpering when he seemed to need her. ,,It's going to be alright Jonathan, I've got another supply" she said eagerly as she came to him with the vial of blood taken from an almost deceased patient.

Something they had to do because Jonathan didn't want to kill people. Until now. Just as she was about to give it to him she felt cold hands wrap around her and pull at him, the blood vial breaking and landing clattering on the floor.

The blood spread over the light-coloured tiles and stained the room. It seemed to stain everything with the sin of his existence. ,,You saw it, didn't you?" he asked, burying his nose in the crook of her neck, smelling and seeming to taste the blood underneath.

Feasting on her, she thought she heard a low growl as she begged him as lovingly as she could to let her go. ,,You killed Jonathan...you killed someone" she said quietly and looked at the reddish eyes through the slightly scattered strands of hair.

The first drop of the hunt and the blood of a victim he had hunted there seemed to be nothing more beautiful for the vampire. She flinched and made an uncomfortable sound as his lips kissed her carotid artery.

He pulled her even closer, not worrying about the consequences. ,,Yes, it was the strongest I've felt," he began and she felt his lips continue over her aorta. Kissing her and enjoying her body and blood. She was his in that moment and forever.

Opening her mouth to say something she cried out in shock and pain as she felt his teeth digging into her throat. The grip on her seemed to get stronger and stronger, taking more and more of her blood. ,,Jon-Jonathan don't" she murmured and her hands pressed against his torso trying to get free.

To get free of the monster that had him under its spell. ,,But it is your blood that is most attractive," he finished his sentence and finally let go of her, the red disappearing from his eyes and the grey returning. His humanity returned.

He saw fear enter her eyes as she pulled away from him, always watching that he did not lapse back into the state of bloodlust. ,,My heart" he murmured and she saw the fright on his face as a drop of her blood dripped from his chin onto his hand. He slowly realised what he had done.

The mistake he had made. That his greatest fear had become. ,,,Don't Jonathan" she warned, holding her hand to her neck, wincing at the pain but still pressing on it. She knew she had to take the wound seriously. The bite.

The bite she knew would come sooner or later. Hurrying from the bed he came towards her but his heart only jerked back, bumping into one of the tables and going down in front of it. Frightened, she closed her eyes, not knowing how deep the monster in him would see and come out when he saw her like this.

Vulnerable and above all afraid of him. Something she cursed herself for. ,,I'm sorry I didn't-" she started and was interrupted when she felt his bloodied hand resting on her cheek. His coldness hit her cheek and she shivered. He looked in front of her as he slowly came closer, his other hand closing around her trembling one.

It was now the other way around. His trembling was over and she now had it too, he would help her. ,,No, don't apologise my dear for what is my fault. If I had acted earlier and eaten more rats this wouldn't have happened," he admitted and he lowered his gaze to the floor and saw the blood splattered all the way to the table. ,,One drop...I thought...I thought it wouldn't be so bad...Jonathan you made a mistake" she murmured turning her gaze back to him slowly no longer finding his coldness repulsive and seeing him again for what he was. Her heart, her lover, her infinity and vice versa.

Feeling his presence calming her again and helping her to think clearly. Not letting the fear take her over. ,,It's a mistake, it won't happen again, I promise. You have my word my love never again only the blood of patients and animals...I will never blemish you like this again" he promised and took her face gently in his hands.

He saw exactly how all fear disappeared from her gaze and she gave herself to him again, she felt comfortable with him. Their hearts seemed to beat again in the realm of the living.

Coming closer to him, stroking his cheek, wiping away the single bloody tear. Wiping away the drop of his grief, they passed the last moments between them and kissed.

The gentle kiss that had been tinged with fear was now full of love and care. The care for the bond between them that nothing would happen, not like this again.

But it was also the promise between them that held and when Jonathan and his heart both said ,,I love you" they knew it would be forever. The drop of their blood that had previously been laced with fear was now the element that bound them both forever. A drop of love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@thefictionalgemini , @beardeladyqueen ,@sashadeusxxx ,@writerwithlowselfesteem-blog ,@merry--jelly ,@storiesundercandlelight

[sunnyie-eve]

9 | Commotion

Series: The Benefits 

Paring: Coriolanus Snow x OFC Plinth!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mention of death and mischarge, thoughts of cheating, Coriolanus getting slight physical

| MASTERLIST |

~

Pregnancy could be hard, but when you hate being pregnant, it definitely comes with its own unique set of challenges. And Aurelia was one of those people at the moment. Of course the physical aspects was one of the factors, but dealing with a three year and still grieving over a miscarriage from six years ago was just to add to it.

When she had her miscarriage at 21, she never had time to grieve since she constantly had to act like she was depressed out in public. At home it wasn't much help since she was alone. Coriolanus was out working his way up and when he did come home he was no help really. He didn't know how to confront her but when he tried it was awkward.

"Ma, when bubba coming?" Alton pokes at her belly.

"Anytime soon, baby." She smiles running her hand through his blonde curls. He didn't get a drop of her genes, not even a little bit.

"Ma, when is daddy coming home?" He looks at her with his bright blue beautiful eyes.

"Sadly, I don't know. Daddy is a busy man." She kisses the top of his head as she gets a sharp pain in her belly causing her to groan in pain.

"Mommy?" Alton gets worried.

"Something isn't right." She groans getting up from the couch going to call Tigris, "Ty," She whines in pain.

"Aurelia, what's wrong?" Tigris asks worried.

"I don't know. It might be the baby but I think something is wrong. It hurts." Aurelia explains before shouting out in pain.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming!"

Luckily Tigris wasn't far and got there in no time helping Aurelia to the hospital. While Aurelia was taken back Tigris stayed with Alton and got someone to let Coriolanus know what was going on and that it was an emergency.

Coriolanus knew the horrors of childbirth. He knew the dangers, the risks. So when he got news about what was happening he rushed to be at Aurelia's side, "Where's my wife? Where is Aurelia?" He shouts at nurses who tell him to clam down and has to wait with Tigris at the moment. "What is happening?"

"We don't know yet, Mr. Snow. She came in bleeding and it's bad. They're trying to get the baby out safely." A nurse let shim know what they know.

Coriolanus' stomach turned violently, "What?"

"Mr. Snow, we're trying our best. Please just go wait."

Alton rushes away from Tigers' side over to his father with tears streaming down his face worried about his mommy in pain. Coriolanus picks him up holding him close to his chest rubbing his back, "Mommy is going to be fine." His chest too tight, painfully tight.

Aurelia grunted like an animal, tearing yourself into two, cursing and begging to make it stop, pushing hard as she could. The Doctors didn't know what to do. She was bleeding no stop, the baby was stuck, and if they couldn't figure something out fast they would lose both her and the baby.

"Mr. Snow," The Doctor calls Coriolanus over to him.

"Is everything okay?" He asks in a panic.

"No, your wife is bleeding no stop and we can't fix that till the baby is out, but the baby is stuck. We're sadly down to only two options. That means only one of them can make it. Your wife or your chi-."

Coriolanus cuts him off, "My wife. You go in there and save her right now!" He shouts so the Doctor goes back. Coriolanus couldn't lose her, he wouldn't. He wouldn't survive that loss. He hated the feeling, the helplessness that consumed him as he stood, wide eyed and shaking hands he clenched into fists.

Tigris watched him from where she sat hold little Alton trying to calm his crying down. She knew exactly what was going through his mind. He didn't want to lose Aurelia the same way he lost his mother.

Once they finally got news that they found the bleeding and fixed it giving her more, they were allowed to go back but she needed rest. The doctor said there'd be a lot of that in the coming hours. That she'd gone through trauma and she needed time.

Coriolanus sat in this chair as he watched Aurelia rested. Tigris left to go tell the Plinths what happened and that she was okay and just resting now, and take Alton home to babysit him.

Sitting alone watching Aurelia sleeping he couldn't understand what could have gone wrong this time when Alton's birth went so smoothly. They were happy that everything went perfect with Alton after losing their first baby. Now they lost their third but this time it was different from the first. That was was during her first trimester, they were barley developed but this one was ready to come out into the world.

They had asked Coriolanus if he wanted to see his the body of his dead son but he couldn't bring himself to. What once used to be loved for an unborn child turned to hate. He almost lost the love of his life because of that thing. He never wanted to get Aurelia pregnant ever again. He didn't want to risk what happened to happen ever again to her.

Somewhere in the night,  Aurelia woke. A rustling and a groan that had Coriolanus snapping out of his dazed sleep, head tucked to his shoulder, slumped in the chair beside her bed, "Don't move." Coryo commanded, eyes a kind of bright, frantic wide.

Her throat burned, head dizzy with the medicine they'd pumped into her system. Coriolanus' hands shook as he brought her the water, hand cupping her jaw gently to feed it to her. Aurelia blinked, bleary with confusion. "You're alright, my love." Coriolanus' heart swelled, suffocating in his own chest. She was alright.

"Coryo," She croaked, throat tight, rasping from before. She remembered the birth, most of it anyways, the blurry memory of all the pain, scream, and doctors and nurses running around before your memory failed. "The-The baby... Is he alright?"

Coriolanus' hand soothes down her matted hair, sticky with dried sweat, "They gave me the choice to either save you or the baby. I picked you. I couldn't lose you, love. If I didn't make a choice I would have lost both of you. With no hesitation, no second guesses, I said you. You're the light of my life and I know it's gonna be hard to cope with the loss of our baby, but I don't really know and love him. I can't imagine my life with you gone. And I can't just take Alton's mommy away from him."

Aurelia couldn't believe what happened what when wrong? Why did it all go wrong?

"I know I wasn't or have been the best with helping you, us grieve from the first time. But I promise, I'm not letting you go through this alone this time. I'm a terrible husband. Over working myself to distract myself from the reality of it for the last six years." Coriolanus swallowed the burn of his own tears down in his throat. He took a deep breath, holding her hand carefully into his own, thumb running over her knuckles.

Aurelia squeezed his hand lightly, her strength weaker than normal. It made Coriolanus' spine tingle with shooting chills of concern. "It's okay, thank you." She whispered, head leaning against Coryo's shoulder.

-

Three years later

"Is he in his office?" Aurelia asks entering the building to drop off Coriolanus's coat he left at home and asked her to bring it by later.

"Yes, Mrs. Snow. No little Alton with you today?"

"Nope, just baby Myla since Alton started his first day of school today." Aurelia smiles heading towards Coriolanus's office with their four month year old.

When they found out they were pregnant again they were terrified of something going wrong again like last time. Thankfully she came out easier than Alton. And Aurelia loved how she took after her this time, not get a single gene from Coriolanus this time.

"I brought your coat like you..." Aurelia enters the room to see Livia Cardew sitting up on his desk as they chatted, "Am I interrupting something?"

Livia just giggles seeing the look of Aurelia's face as she waited for an answer, "No, love. Cardew was just telling me about how her father wanted to work on a project with me." He gets up from his chair going over to her.

She tosses his coat at him to stop him from walking closer to her, "Enjoy making your deal." She leaves ignoring him as she walked down the long hall. Just making a deal her ass. Why did Cardew have to sit up on his desk? Why was her hand touching his? 

"Well isn't it Mrs. Snow." Aurelia runs into Clemensia walking on the way home.

"That's me..." Aurelia rolls her eyes.

"Not that great huh?"

"Well he's making a pretty touchy business deal with Livia Cardew at the moment." She explains to her.

"Excuse me? The Livia Cardew he hated in school? He's being touchy with her right now?" 

"She was sitting up on his desk giggling as she had her hand on top of his. He didn't mind it." Aurelia smiles, "I wouldn't be surprised if he changed if mind if it gets him higher."

"He married you, a Plinth. You're family is way more important compared to hers." Clemensia lets her know, "And your baby is adorable by the way."

"Thank you, she's four months. She gets her looks from me while Alton takes after Coriolanus." 

"I know we didn't chat that much in the past but if he keeps making touchy business deals. You're welcome to crash at my place." Clemensia walks off as Aurelia continues home.

Later in the evening when Coriolanus gets home, Aurelia had just  checked on Alton napping in his room while she got Myla's bottle warmed. Normally Aurelia would be welcoming him home asking about his day then tell him stuff about the kids.

"No welcome home?" He hangs his coat up as she ignores him, "I told you it was work stuff."

Aurelia crosses her arms, glaring at her husband as she sat next to their daughter, "I didn't know work stuff included her needing to be sat up on your desk all touchy. Her hand was on top of yours, and your other hand was on her knee!"

"It was nothing, you know I hate her. I was just doing whatever trying to seal the deal to work with her father."

"Would you sleep with her if that's what it took?" She sees him think about it, "Oh my god, Coriolanus! You have to think about that?" 

"Look.. I would never cheat on you." He starts out gently; he tries to calm her down and explain his actions, but as soon as he takes a step towards her, she stands up pointing a finger at him.

"You know what? I'm not surprise nor do I believe you. You kill in order to get higher, so cheated on me would be a walk in the park." She shout at him angrily, pressing an accusatory finger into his chest.

He can no longer control himself after she cross the line. His calm, collected mask falls away to reveal his own rage and irritation. He grabs her arms tightly, making her gasp softly in pain as he shakes her lightly and pins her against the wall. But he controls himself enough to not physically hurt her... at least not more. He just holds her there tightly, taking advantage of her moment of shock to explain his motives.

"Listen to me. I wouldn't do that to you. I was only flirting because I need this project with her father. When I do, it will prove I'm the best of the best. I need him to really like me. And what better way than to butter her up? It was only business nothing else."

Aurelia felt sick hearing his words; I was only flirting. "Flirting is a form of cheatings, Coriolanus Snow. And you only prove that you are as disgusting, cruel, and manipulative as I thought." 

His eyes darken as they have stare off still in the same position with him pinning her to the wall but lets go when they hear Alton come into the room asking what's wrong.

"Noting, sweetheart." Aurelia picks up Myla and walks over to him, "How about we get your bath ready after putting sissy down?" She smiles so he takes off then she turns to face Coriolanus, "You're not working with the Cardew's ever and you will not speak to her again. And, you will never touch me again like that or I'll make sure my family's money is no good to you."