#please give mercy on typos

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?

female anatomy for reader (no use of y/n, gender-neutral pronouns)

nsfw, fluffy smut basically word count: 1900~ english is not my first language. if you spot any mistakes (grammatical especially), any typos/misspelled words or if you have any advices for me in general: please let me know. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

art cr: @arcanescribbles

"Have some mercy on yourself," you mumble, wrapping an arm around his slender waist, and its thinness has you flabbergasted and somewhat concerned again. He doesn't hesitate. Allows you to place that weary head on his shoulder, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck — a pleasant relief in the guise of your heat, of rhythmic breath tickling his slimline skin.

"You can't work that much,” you remind him, trying to hide the evident worry behind a light-hearted chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of a proper greeting?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow, and his deft hand quickly grabs yours to do a thing that never fails to make your heart shrink: has you melting at the feeling of his dry, warm lips on your knuckles yet again.

“Hug is a proper greeting,” you protest with a slightly offended scoff, burying your nose into the gorgeous mess of his hair — all unkempt strands and a sturdy scent of something pleasant, yet not exactly definable.

“Not when it comes with scolding,” Viktor releases your hand, the touch of his lips lingering on the skin, and he turns around, forcing you to break the embrace for a second — which you do reluctantly. But now you get to face him, and that certainly feels like a much bigger win.

A win and a reason to give him a lecture. Viktor initiates eye contact, runs a hand along the perfect curve of your hips, hoping that his gentle touch is a good enough distraction from his terribly deep eye-bags — so treacherously confirming your concerns about his sleep schedule (or the lack of such, to be precise).

"You've gotten thinner," you state with a sad frown, looking Viktor up and down. "And you need a nap," you continue, tangling two fingers into his hair. "And a bath.”

“I’ve missed you terribly, and that’s the first thing you mention when I finally have you in my arms?” Viktor cooes, staring at you with a guilty smile — your love-sick genius, always exhausted yet so unexplainably handsome in his own special way.

You scoff again, wrapping your arms around his neck and gently pressing him against the desk — a small gesture of care that allows his body a better support without the cane.

“Have you eaten today?” you carefully ask, watching his expression closely.

“Maybe,” he grudgingly answers, and his amber eyes are lancing right through you in the dull light of his lab — tired, attentive, pretty.

“I don’t like that answer,” your voice is a sweet purr against his skin, and he winces as you slide a hand down his chest, fixing his vest for him.

“You’re being incredibly annoying today,” he informs you, pressing a quick peck to your lips. A brief one, barely palpable, too fleeting to give you a proper taste. “Perhaps I should appease you.”

“If you want to appease me, a kiss like that won’t do.”

“Demanding, are we?” he quirks an eyebrow, casually sitting down at his desk, squeezing your waist in a playful attempt to pull you onto his lap. But you don’t move an inch. Not until he kisses you properly, at least.

He gets the hint. Gently grabs your chin, pressing your noses together — kissing the right way this time, deep and slow, with his tongue brushing your bottom lip before slipping into your open mouth — it’s almost lewd, actually, since the small motion steals a surprised moan out of you. A kiss of a hungry, fervently missing his lover man. Your man.

“Better?” The question is rhetorical at this point. He knows he left you amazed and dizzy once again — your now out-of-rhythm breath is speaking for itself. But Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor if he hadn’t asked. The incorrigible tease at his best behaviour.

“Much better,” you give him the reassurance he’s been seeking, adding the missing touch to this affectionate gesture by nuzzling into his embrace, and he hums, satisfied with the solace you’ve brought him so easily with the mere power of your presence.

“So… is my darling appeased now?”

“Relatively,” you laugh, and a self-assured smirk plasters smugly across his face. “It won’t save you from having dinner with me tonight though.”

“Is that so? Well, I appreciate the effort, and the fact that you came here just to visit your sick, touch-starved man, but I’m afraid I still have work to do—“

“I’m not here just to visit you,” you cut him off, as one of your hands slips off his neck straight to cup his sharp knee, “I’m here to collect you. I’m stealing you home with me.”

“Oh no.” He cracks an exaggeratedly offended expression, but, judging from the still present on his face grin — he’s actually rather pleased with your intentions. “Being abducted definitely doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.”

“That’s right,” you nod, gently nudging him. “I’ll even hold you hostage if that’s what it takes to bathe you and get you into bed.”

“But what a horrific torture!” he pulls away, slamming a hand to his chest with a low giggle — it lands on his sternum with a muffled slap, right where his thudding heart is. “How ever will I survive that?”

“I believe your fate is inevitable, so you better just accept it.”

“How unfortunate,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, and you gasp, allowing him to lay his cheek against your chest. “Can’t wait to end up in that bath with you,” he whispers, and you hitch in breath, hands stop massaging his scalp.

“Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?” you tease light-heartedly, feeling his grip tighten around your waist.

“Me.” His response is firm and simple, yet still maddening enough for you to go weak in the knees. Apparently, his nap is being delayed again.

***

Bath with Viktor is a death sentence — a long and squirming one, of countless orgasms and moans loud enough to wake up the whole Piltover. You tried, you really did, to talk him out of it, to make him wait until at least after dinner, but he’s stubborn and knows damn well that you can’t resist him. So all your warnings about how he needs some rest first were muffled mercilessly by his tongue buried deep inside you. At this point, you’re not even sure whether he’s really that into devouring you, or if he’s just trying to prove you wrong, to show you that he’s never tired when it comes to eating you out.

He has you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, legs resting on his covered in crescent nail marks shoulders, and you tug, tug, tug on his hair as he tongue-fucks you through yet another insane release. If only he could smile right now, which was obviously impossible in his position, he would definitely give you the most provoking signature smirk. So you mentally thank his passion for giving head, since it’s the one to blame for his inability to destroy you even more with those grins and his witty dirty-talk right now. He has you right where he wants you: with your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, with your slick getting quite literally everywhere — his tongue, his chin, some on his chest, even. And when you slam your head against the wall, light-headed and breathless, he knows it’s time to do a particularly vicious thing — to suck on your abused clit so hard he might as well just suck the damn soul out of you while he’s at it.

Too much. Overwhelmingly so. And those sweat drops forming on his forehead, and the way he digs his wet fingers into the soft flesh of your legs, and the way he laps up so thoroughly—

“Gonna cum.” You gather the last strengths in your possession to mumble an illegible warning and the skillful bastard between your thighs only picks up pace, leaving you wondering how his tongue is still intact after all that frantic motions inside your cunt. But the technique is rather impressive. You stare at him, wide-eyed and with your lower lip bitten. His sinful gaze meets yours with a guttural rattle when you grip a strand of his dark hair so hard your knuckles turn white. You want to tell him how good his mouth feels, how indescribably hot he looks kneeling in the bathtub, how attractive his skin glistens right now, in the warm water. But the words are unnecessary. Your precious cussing as you come undone on his agile tongue is the best existing compliment to him.

So you deliver. He coaxes the third orgasm out of you. Leaves you throbbing, making one of your shaking legs slip off his slick shoulder into the water with a loud splash. He licks the remnants of you tauntingly-slow off his swollen lips, watching your every convulsion closely, and he’s proud, oh so proud of himself, that it almost re-turns you on all over again.

“Look at you.” His sultry whisper reminds you that his ability of being a smartass is back, now that his mouth is no longer full.

“Viktor—“ You suffocate, grabbing his shoulder to hold on for dear life, so you don’t fall out of the tub completely. He chuckles, carefully pulling you back into the water, thoughtful as always, like the gentleman he is. Well, if rearranging your guts with that tortuous tongue and thick cock could be considered something gentlemen do, of course.

He tastes like you now. His tongue is somewhat sour, much puffier in comparison to yours, and it’s not that animate anymore — he pushes it into your mouth rather lazily, evidently worn out by the intercourse.

“I thought the purpose of this bath was to get me cleaned, not dirty,” he whispers with a filthy giggle, wiping your slick off his chin. You roll your eyes, admitting that a single thing stopping you from biting him for that joke is a complete lack of energy. And the fact that he’d just one-upped every single man you've slept with before. Once again.

“Oh fuck you,” you giggle back, snuggling into his chest, and it feels so gentle — the lust is gone and the only thing left between you is pure affection; divine, immaculate, expressed through the softness of your body and the sharpness of his.

“I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t sound tempting, but I don’t believe you’re in a state to do so, my love,” Viktor teases, but you don’t talk back. He left you witless. Too fucked out for your own liking and just perfect for his. “Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?” he asks, pointing at your wobbly legs.

“Yeah.” You hesitate for a second, reluctant to get out of the warm bath. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Viktor shakes his head, and his response dramatically increases your urge to pinch him. That wasn’t the deal!

“No. Not a chance, you’re not skipping dinner again.”

“But I’ve already had dinner. Well. In a way,” he whispers, as the corners of his mouth curl into another insufferable smirk and it takes a good ten-second uncomfortable pause for you to understand the pun.

“Eating pussy is not an actual meal,” you frown, pulling away.

“And that’s so unfortunate, don’t you think? At least that way, I’d never skip them…”

“Viktor!”

[spookiekewchie]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: og form!Ryomen Sukuna x woc!reader

Summary: Sukuna has some points to prove.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: my poor attempt at coming out of retirement, monsterfucking bc sukuna, mean!sukuna (imean is there any other type of sukuna?), rough sex, restrained reader, crying, possessive behavior, there's a slap, biting, bloodplay (sukuna bites the reader with his fangies), p in v, this is literally just filth with no plot or reason, sorry not sorry.

A/N: Yeeeah so if this is trash my bad. It's been a minute since I wrote anything, but leave it to the walking red flag that is sukuna to drag me out of retirement smh. I gave it a look over but I might have missed some errors and typos. My bad if I did. The divider is by @cafekitsune

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. If you like it don’t forget to reblog and share with others who might enjoy it as well.

Sukuna laughs, the sound just as mean as it always is coming from him. It’s a mocking sound as he looks down on your panting form, a hard thrust of his fat cock spearing into you just for good measure, all so he can watch the way you tremble and choke on your screams. This is how he likes you, helpless, trapped under him as two of his hands hold your thighs apart and the other two hands keep your wrists pinned. There’s nothing you can do to escape him as he fucks you past your limits, using you until you think you might truly break apart on his cock. 

He’s obsessed with pushing you to this point, craves seeing that proud attitude of yours crumble as he fucks you mindless and reminds you of your place. Under him, at his mercy, his to possess and own because he can’t let you go. It’s not love, but merely obsession. The closest he can get to such a cursed emotion, and with every thrust that drives his cock deep inside you he punishes you for making him feel this way. You’re under his skin, in his thoughts, worming your way in so much so that you can push him to moments like these where his self control shatters. He can’t let you go because he won’t have his perfect pet used against him, and he won’t kill you because despite all his meanness he wants you close. 

You know it too, that’s why you push buttons, and do what no one else would ever dare to do. Because you know you’ll get away with it with your life intact. Your ability to walk on the other hand? Well that might take a day or two, at the least, to recover. This is your only real revenge against Sukuna, pushing him and provoking him to act on what he feels just so you know you aren’t the only one affected by his obsession with you. Funny how your revenge always ends up with you in tears though. 

“S…sukuna, please…” There it is, what he wants to hear out of you. That broken, tearful plea for mercy that he has no intention of showing you. The hands at your thighs move to push your knees to your chest, spreading you open more for his benefit than your own. The sound you make when he manages to sink even deeper inside you is like a sweet symphony to the King of Curses as he shifts both of your wrists into one hand so he can grip your chin with the other. 

He leans down, turning your head to the side. You shudder when you feel his tongue dragging over your pulse point before you feel his fangs dragging against it. Your mind is too lost to try and stop him, and you can only give another broken, sobbing moan when you feel him bite down. It hurts for only a moment before he soothes over the place he’s bitten, tasting the sweetness of your blood with a heady groan. You know he’s marked you in a place that you won’t easily be able to hide. You clench around him, so hard and so tightly that the formidable King of Curses lets out a deep rumbling growl as he lets his hips surge forward. “You. Are. Mine.” He punctuates each word with a hard thrust, and each one draws a broken cry of pleasure from your lips.

The grip he has on your chin tightens, your head snapping forward as he forces your gaze to return to him. Tears stream down your cheeks, and he swears there’s no more beautiful sight than you being brought to tears by his cock. Sukuna grins, fangs dripping red, and his mouth still bloody from marking your flesh. He uses his grip on your jaw to make you nod your head. “Say it.” He commands, and you have no fight in you to deny him. 

“Yours. Only yours.” You sob, the pleasure overwhelming and far too intense. You’ve no idea how many times he’s forced you to fall apart around his cock, but you can feel yourself reaching that impossible peak again. You feel as if you’ll go mad if he pushes you past it again, and you try weakly to plead with him once more. “Please…I—” He cuts you off with a growl that reverberates through your whole being and strikes you silent. 

“You can.” Sukuna tells you simply, “and you will.” He continues, his cock continuing to rock into you again and again as he claims what’s his. “Now.” It’s an order, and your body bends to his will, the climax hitting you so hard that your vision whites out and you let loose a raw, hoarse scream as your essence floods his cock. Sukuna chuckles darkly at the way you go limp under him, his perfect broken toy. The thought of someone as strong as you, as defiant, and difficult under him like this is enough to send him careening the edge himself. “Who am I?” He questions, giving your cheek a sharp slap to rouse you enough to your senses to answer. 

“My king…” You mutter, words slurred and barely above a whisper with how exhausted you are. It’s enough though, just enough to have Sukuna chasing his own release until he spills deep inside of you. The sound of your pathetic needy mewls as his spend paints your walls, earns a low hum of approval, though he doubts you’re conscious enough to bask in it. 

“That’s what I thought.” He says, hands releasing your limbs while he pulls himself from your warmth, admiring the way he leaks out of you for a moment before his thick fingers are pushing his cum back into you with a laugh at the way you whine. “Perhaps you’ll think twice before trying to provoke me again.” His words are mocking despite knowing this is a lesson you will never learn. Sukuna hovers over you for a moment, watching your barely conscious form. If you could see it you’d swear he was on the verge of kissing you, the thought of you opening your eyes to see him so close with a look of…near fondness on his face is enough to make the King of Curses pull away. Muttering to himself he stalks over to where he’s cast off his robe, shrugging back into it with a mildly frustrated grunt before he calls out. “Uraume!” 

The loyal servant of Sukuna appears in a near instant, obediently awaiting instruction. “Clean her up, tend to the bruises and…” He pauses for a moment, silently cursing himself for the impulsive mark he’s left behind. “And her neck.” It’s all he says before he stalks off to contemplate just how much of a mistake it was to keep you this close. He doesn’t see the way Uraume scowls at the task they’ve been given, he would hardly care if he did. He knows that they will complete the task to the best of their ability, and you’ll be cared for in the end.

[saeshualatte]

894 words ↬ drabble (?) ↬ scara x fem!reader

warning(s): edging, forced orgasms, overstimulation, semi-dacryphilia, fingering, mirror sex, vibrator stimulation, praise, degradation, pet names

a/n: omg this is so bad and it took me so long to finish & publish 😓 btw this is dedicated for my bestie @aspinyyy :P

not proofread!!! watch out for typos, grammatical errors and overused words, English isn't my mother tongue /*gen

(might be cringey 😬)

*smut under the cut*

how long has it been, a few minutes? hours maybe? you've lost track of time

you knew better than let your mouth ran but you did it anyway, that led you here; thighs quivering, eyes glossed with tears, and silk panties clinging to your core

"hmm, out of it already?" he hums, before pressing the vibrator harder

minutes in yet scara still hasn't taken off your panties, he's been edging you since. the scene is quite erotic and he loves it. he felt you tense up, a telltale you're close on the edge, so he ripped the vibrator away

"p-please let me....let me c..cum" you panted breathlessly after experiencing an intense pleasure just for it to be ripped away once again

"do you deserve it?" he cooed condescendingly, ".... y-yes" you plead, nearly close to tears on how long he's been throwing you on edge

"you're being quite a brat earlier, i don't think so" as he once again pressed the vibrator at your sensitive bud, making you jolt and instinctively close your legs

"uh uh, don't run away, my love" he coaxed, prying your legs open "you brought this upon yourself by being a whore, now you must take it like a good one"

"now be my good girl and look at yourself in the mirror" you lift your head up not wanting to disobey him and in hopes that he'll be more merciful on you

"now watch as i absolutely ruin this cunt of yours, hmm?" he whispered on your ear as he continued pressing the vibrator on your abused bud

"s-scara... hnggg.. ah- I'm cu-'' you tried to stop it, you really did but after how long he has edged you, you just couldn't hold it anymore

"did you just cum?" he questioned perplexed, you knew you'd be up for it 

"i- i tried to h-hold it–" not even giving you the time to explain in your ragged breath, he inserted two fingers on your neglected hole and started thrusting at an unrelenting pace

"w-wait ah– p-please" you tried to stop him by grabbing his wrist but the pleasure is too much, you're shaking like a leaf

"you wanna cum, right? my desperate little whore wanna cum? then i'll make you cum until you can't anymore" he battered your cunt, tipping you on edge "cum now my little slut and count, alright?" as if on cue, you reached your climax on his command 

"o-one" you panted, he suddenly halted his movements and leaned his head on the crook of your neck

"darling, have you gone cockdumb? you came earlier without my permission, no?," he teasingly murmured on your neck —chuckling at the thought of you going cockdumb despite not having a cock in you— "that makes it two" then proceeds to continue his ministration 

after being edged for so long and reaching your climax twice, your body is sensitive — making you cum for the third time

"three," looking at him through the mirror, tears glistening, pleading "c-can't anymore, scara, please" 

he continued his ministration—this time slower

—focusing on your sweet spot. trailing kisses on your neck and stimulating your nipples gently

"since when did my pretty girl become a liar?" feeling the familiar clench of your pussy, a sign that you're close

"f-four!" you squealed, feeling the mind racking orgasm wash over you

you gasped still feeling him stimulate your insides "no more" you managed to let out despite your heavy breathing "can't take it anymore" 

your pleas fell on deaf ears as your body betrayed the words that flow out of your mouth

"you really shouldn't lie princess, it's not good for your current predicament" he teased

"what number now?" he asked as he caressed your cheeks "five" you answered being lulled into the softness of his palm. giving a sense of tranquility and peace

you should've known its a faux one, because after a minute — you heard the familiar soft buzz of the vibrator

he placed the object on your overstimulated bud, making you jolt and instinctively close your legs and try holding up his wrist

"please, no more" glassy orbs looking at him hazily and lips adorned with a pout. "just two more, ok? then we'll rest, hmm?" 

"b-but... i can't" you try to argue but he doesn't let you have a say. you hear the familiar subtle buzz of the vibrator before you're writhing from the stimulation 

not even fully recovering from the previous orgasm, you were once again pushed on edge

"last one now darling" he assured you. while, continuously pinching your nipples with his right hand, the other holds the vibrator on your nub and sucking love marks on the sensitive spot on your neck

the familiar knot in your stomach snapping, scara is mesmerized. despite already reaching 6 orgasm, you still manage to give him toe-curling one

he snapped out of his thoughts when he feels you pushing his hand that held the vibrator. he complied, whispering soft nothings while you come down your high

you're about to close your eyes when he suddenly shakes you awake, "darling we still need to get you cleaned, come on". not having enough strength after all that happened, you just let him handle you like a ragdoll

the rest of the night was filled with him tenderly tending you until you fell into a deep sleep.

[yurinaa-world]

hello!! platonic dr ratio with a teen!student reader who excels at one particular subject but is bad or average on the others? also lacks social skills

(kinda inspired by me lol 💀)

Characters: Dr. Ratio platonic! x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: with student reader who excels at one subject but is bad at the others + lacks social skills

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes, got lil personal

𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜

He’s so strict about your grades, looking at you with disappointment as if a parent would when their child an F. What? does the information just go through and out one ear? (it does for me 😀)  Can your brain handle one sentence at a time since it doesn’t look like it to him with these embarrassing grades?

He immediately got you into summer school so you could at least try to get good at other subjects, one subject won’t get you a future. Even worse with fact you can’t even talk without staring endlessly at your paper contemplating just to ask him the most simple question.

The man knows no mercy, making you write out several essays over the whole summer but just like every teacher that wants to suck the souls from students he’ll make you plan every tad bit of detail, even refuse you from starting to write if one detail isn’t explained and well thought out enough for him.

Then oh don’t forget to make the rough draft of the essay (it’s more like writing the real essay itself with the way he’s being strict with every typo & grammar mistake, but oh don’t think you're going to get this using simple and basic words like “in conclusion.” or “well, I believe.” Throw those out the window along with every other basic sentence that people use to put up the word count or just get the whole thing over with. He isn't accepting it. No exceptions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Blank.

You’ve been staring at the next part of your sentence but unsure how to use the word “Magnanimity”. How were you even supposed to use this in a sentence?! (he made you pick several high-level words to use in an essay), you look up to silently curse your teacher, Mr. Ratio out in your head before immediately looking back down when your eyes connect.

You begin to contemplate, that maybe jumping out the window ain’t bad, it might be your only way to get out of here. you sigh, just giving up on your constant stalling, getting up from your chair (with your paper in hand) and walking over to your teacher, dreading every step you take.

Before stopping at his desk, “Mr. Ratio, could you tell me what the definition is for magnanimity again?” He just sighs, closing up the book he always reads. (You don’t know why he always reads the same thing, it’s so boring.)

“Magnanimity means the loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.”

you stare at him blankly, he wasn’t kidding, he seriously expected you to know what he was saying?! “I’m sorry but what does that even mean?” you whisper your voice cracking with frustration, you just feel a blood vessel getting bigger.

He sighs once again “Showing kindness towards an enemy or you had been defeated in battle. using it in a sentence would be like he showed magnanimity towards his enemy, understand?” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you Mr. Ratio” You nod taking in his words. “Let me see your essay.” He tells you out of the blue, holding his hand out to see your paper, which makes your mouth dry. “you have something written, correct? Let me see it.”

You give him your paper and watch in nervousness before he begins to read out loud “A great man once spoke mighty wor-“ “Mr ratio please read it in your head!”  you cut him off with panic, yet what a fool you are since when was he merciful? “a great man once spoke mighty words…”

Listening to him read your essay made you cringe and close your ears. He’s the worst!

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[undertale-yellow]

Experimental Patch 1.1.0

First, we would like to thank everyone for the incredible reception we've got for UTY 💛 it's been surreal in the best way

We do hear your feedback though, and have worked to address what we can in a new patch for Undertale Yellow. Please be warned, we haven't been able to test everything with this patch, but we're confident it should work in a normal playthrough

Thank you once again for playing and giving feedback! We realize these are not all the issues that have been brought up, but we will continue to work toward improving the game!

You can download Undertale Yellow version 1.1.0 on Gamejolt!

**This new build will recognize any ongoing save, so just make a new folder for the zip contents or replace the old ones and you're good to go

Changelog under the cut ↓

Major Changes

Added two new accessibility options: - Easy mode: When enabled, the Hats now provide DEF values for an easier experience (can be changed mid playthrough) - Auto Rhythm: When enabled, automatically hits the notes in the rhythm fight without having to press a button, if you are in the correct lane

Reworked the final pacifist boss fight attacks to be less chaotic and unpredictable

During a chase sequence, a character was supposed to slow down every time they catch you in the chase, it now works as intended

Added an Act heal to the final No Mercy route boss (Also fixed a crash caused by this Act option being partially implemented but not working)

Crashes and Softlocks

Fixed a crash caused by using the “shoo” command twice during the dunebud duo fight

Fixed a crash caused by interacting with an object while completing the minecart puzzle

Fixed being able to backtrack on the second steam puzzle, which could lead to a crash and your save being ruined

Fixed a crash caused by pressing Z on frame 1 of the attack targetting cursor

Fixed a crash caused by a demo saved game being present on your system

Fixed a softlock caused by blocking Mo’s path as he’s leaving

Fixed a softlock caused by interacting with the crystal tree in Snowdin from the left

Fixed a softlock in the final pacifist boss fight where the selection soul would disappear from the menu

Fixed a softlock caused by sending one of the mine carts off track

Fixed an issue that caused one of Cactony’s attacks to never end

Fixed a softlock caused by mashing through the text fast in the raft room in Snowdin

Fixed a softlock caused by turning around immediately upon entering one of the rooms in the lategame

Fixed a very specific bug that caused you to get stuck on a bridge upon retrying a fight under it

Fixed a crash during the Guardener fight that could happen on her last line of dialogue

Fixed an unrelated softlock in the Guardener fight

Fixed a crash on the final No Mercy boss caused by getting hit on the same frame as you defeat the boss

Other

Fixed the tutorial buttons being swapped in the arcade minigame, also added additional information to the tutorial screen

Changed the Delta Rune Patch gold requirement from 150 to 100

Increased the item stock in the final shop of the No Mercy route (Applies on save reset)

Fixed mistakes in the credits

Fixed several line breaks, typos and mistakes in the text

Altered one of Sir Slither’s act dialogues to make the sparing condition more apparent

Added an autosave post the final pacifist boss as a temporary help with reported performance issues in this cutscene

Added the Auto-Fire toggles to the death screen of relevant fights so you don’t need to restart the game and fights in order to change it

Fixed a mood ruining issue in the final act caused by an unintended random event

Other minor fixes

[just-some-random-blogger]

hey gorgeous! it's me! thank you so much for writing it! tbh, it's not what i expected but AGWHWHWG bc soft!daemon? i LOVE it!! such a cutie!! i still do need him to suffer more, though... what do you think about maybe a part 2? where he's the one who (finally) gets teased and gets the taste of his own medicine (reader flirting with HM ser stong?). so the demanded apology with tears on the knees (not nsfw) because this pretty prick deserves it :) again, thank u so much for writing it! sorry if it's too much, never wanted to make you uncomfortable! take care!

Since You Asked So Nicely

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Harwin Strong x Reader

Summary: Your feud with your husband was about to meet a swift and strong end.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of violence, daemon's still such a man, fem!reader, wife!reader, i love strong puns XD, married couple quarrels, harwin daddy, jealous!daemon, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: the title of this fic is my reaction to you nonnie. honestly i kinda felt both bad that my fic wasn't enough T_T LIKE PLEASE I TRIED then annoyed like HOW DARE YOU NOT LIKE IT THEN MAKE ME WRITE SMTH ELSE HADhASLHDA HAHAHAH nah but then you asked me so nicely so i thought ok fine i'll give it another wack i hope that i'll finally be enough for you T_T i guess our theme for today is petty 🥰 WIAT GURL THESE GIFS SIDE BY SIDE TOGETHER FUCK THAT SHIT IM DEAD BYE Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony Part 1 (which I think you should read) "It Takes Two"

We had not spoken since our struggle last night. In the flames of my anger, I woke up before him and made no effort to alert him of my errands or duties for the day. That of course, also meant, he was certainly riveting in annoyance and betrayal having woken up alone after pleading mercy to me until he and I both fell asleep.

In all his pride and morose wailing, still, he did not find it in himself to ask for pardon. He instead wasted his breath in trying to convince me he did it as a game, and that I should not have thought much of it, that he would happily get on his knees but for the exact opposite thing I truly want him to do.

And even now, the man is as insufferable as he can get. Since it seems it was nary clear that I did not enjoy the sight of him divulging his attentions to other ladies at court, he did, what? Yes of course, the very exact thing.

Each ear of his had a young lady giggling bashfully into it. I had gone a great many lengths to ignore it, but then it began to be unbearable when I finally noticed the lords and ladies turn from my husband to me, muttering and laughing under their breath.

Normally, I wouldn't even bat an eye over the opinions the pricks had of me or my husband. Here and now however, it was hard not to feel like a dunce, when I was the princess, yet I was standing alone, and my prince had ladies fawning over him left and right.

Enough.

I will not grant him the satisfaction of humiliating me any more than he has. I'm leaving.

Daemon watches, perking at the sight of the exit. He steps forward, away from the irritating voices, smirk falling, for it was never truly genuine in the first place.

His face hardens when there is an interception.

"My princess," a deep voice speaks, as a large man blocks me.

I lift my gaze and stop before we collide. Immediately, my spirits are lifted at the sight of the dark man's hair and beard, "Harwin."

His lips curve at the familiarity of my addressing.

"I thought you were off, doing gods-know-what again?"

Harwin chuckles, shaking his head, "the gods have allowed me to accomplish my tasks swiftly.

He raises a brow and places his hands behind him, "you're not leaving when the festivities have not even commenced yet, are you?"

I scoff, crossing my arms, "festivities are naught this eve, ser Strong."

"That is because," he steps forward, taking my hand slowly, "you and I have not yet shared a dance."

I roll my eyes at him, "you're a poor partner."

"And that is precisely why the festivities will commence."

I snort, smiling up at him, as he smiles back down. He takes my expression as wordless agreement. Harwin spins me once before leading me to the dancefloor. I chuckle at his theatrics. Poor he may be in dancing, he's always been good at making me smile.

I press slightly against him as his hand falls to my back, the other clutching my arm delicately.

"Tell me, Winne," I grip his firm shoulder as we glide with the music.

He snorts at my archaic pet name for him, rolling his eyes as he licks his teeth in amusement.

I am amused by his reaction, pleased to know that the name still held him tightly in annoyance, exactly like how it did when we were younger. I chuckle before deflating, "do men normally think it a game to toy with their wives' feelings?"

Harwin's amused expression fades. He grunts and spins me around, using the opportunity to eye Daemon, who was undoubtedly already looking at us.

When his eyes dart back to me, he purses his lips, "indeed this night is not at all festive to you, little doe."

I turn away from him, aimlessly looking at his collar to avert my glare elsewhere. He did not mean to trigger my anger, what he said was his pet name for me as children, but it had been since overshadowed by my husband's musing of the name; he called me his little doe in times he came to me as a predator and I appeared to him like prey.

My gut groans in annoyance.

Harwin notices my discomfort and does me the courtesy of changing the subject, "tis unfortunate for me to announce a tonne of men believe riling wives a thrilling sport."

I turn back to him; the darkness in my face melts when I catch the concern in his. I purse my lips tightly, pushing a stray curl away from his face, "and do you hold the same regard, Strong?"

"Hmm," he looks away to think, "my princess would be pleased to learn that as a child, I had a terrible playmate," Harwin turns back to me, raising his brows, "she was the most entitled little girl I ever met, was so viscous and strong."

I snort.

He mimics, "though perhaps not as strong as me. Still, I am aghast to ever think of crossing or treating a woman poorly, not even because I think it descent, but merely for I fear the rage of she."

I cannot help the fond smile that spreads on my lips. I tilt my head as we circle the room, continuing our movements, "I suppose it is the gods irony that the Strong boy fears a strong girl."

Harwin laughs, twirling me around once more. I break into a chuckle as he does so, a bit dizzy when he pulls me back close to him. I am heaving slightly when he pulls me close.

"I suppose it is, princess," he tilts his head.

In that moment, the song ends and each dance partner parts, clapping as they did, us included.

"Care for another dance, Winnie?" I ask, extending my hand to him.

"Actually," he leads me to the side, "I was wondering if you wanted a change of pace," Harwin brings us by a column, "I feel that, in all his pettiness, the prince has not yet told you that the flowers he requested for you have recently just been planted in the gardens."

"What?"

Harwin huffs, "I had the same reaction when I heard of it. Your husband is a fu-"

Instantaneously, I am pulled aside and a string of, what I knew to be High Valyrian curses, were muttered tightly. Daemon seethes, gripping me with his iron hand, "and what of her husband, Strong?"

Harwin is unfazed by the glare Daemon throws.

I wince at how rough his grip is on me, "unhand me!" I bark, shoving Daemon off me. He does not budge and tightens his grip further. It is clear to me Daemon is too blinded by his rage to realize he is hurting me.

It is because of this, Harwin finally steps in. He barks, yanking Daemon off me, stepping between us, "you're hurting your wife, prince!"

Of course the action only caused further injury to me, Daemon's nails grazed my skin, and yet I am thankful for Harwin's interception.

The vein on Daemon's neck flares as he presses forward, closer to his opponent, "you have no right to tell me what I do with my wife!"

The area of my arm that Daemon grabbed throbs in pain. Tears fog my eyes as I watch the two of them squabble.

"I have every right to protect the princess," Harwin flares, "especially from the likes of you."

"From the likes of me?!" Daemon narrows his eyes.

The crowd breaks into a shocked gasp when the prince lunges and grabs Harwin by the collar, muttering something in High Valyrian, then threatening, "I best kill you. Who the fuck do think you are to tell me anything, vermin?!"

"Daemon!" I quip, prying him off Harwin, "unhand him!"

"YOU KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!" Daemon seethes, hands digging deeper into Harwin's clothing.

"KEEP YOUR ATTENTIONS ON HER THEN!" Harwin barks back, overpowering him, twisting Daemon's hands off him and shoving him away.

The next instant, the attentions of the entire room is upon us. I feel my blood pump as my head spins, unsure of what to do next. I still manage to act swiftly before anything else can happen.

I walk over to Harwin, calling out to him. "that's enough, please just-"

"Why are you going to hi-" Daemon starts, grabbing me again. He cuts himself back and recoils when I whine and draw back at the contact he makes at my sore arm, the arm he most definitely bruised.

I snap at him, throwing him a hot glare. He looks bewildered. He looks guilty. He doesn't even meet my eyes and instead is staring at my arm. I point a finger at him, "I'll deal with you later."

I turn back to Harwin, placing my hands on his chest, pushing him away, "go home, Winnie."

Daemon's head cocks, his lips twitches in an unpleasant manner, "Winnie?"

Harwin gently takes my arm, leaning in, "he hurt you."

I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I fight them off as I whimper, "please, just go."

Harwin brushes his calloused hand on my injured arm before walking back and storming off.

When I turn back to Daemon, he is looking at me with a stoic expression. I grit my teeth and grab him, dragging him away with me as we leave this damned hall.

I take him all the way to our shared chambers, but I stop just outside the door. I finally release him and begin to berate him, "are you satisfied?"

Daemon stiffens at the sound of my shrill voice.

I heave, "not only did you ruin my night, you ruined everyone else's!"

His eyes evade me. His lips part when he sees my arm. He reaches out to me and I recoil, "don't you dare fucking touch me."

"I didn't mean-"

"YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO DO ANYTHING BUT YOU STILL DID THEM!" I scream. I poke his chest in anger, "you claim it's all a game to you, and yet you're the only one that ever enjoys it!"

"It's all that cunt, St-"

"IT'S YOU, DAEMON!" I flare, "It's always you!"

Daemon's face contorts. His breath hitches. He walks closer, "my love, please-"

"You hurt me, Daemon!" I word carefully, wanting it to finally get through his thick skull, "not just tonight, but for the past weeks!"

He calls out my name but I raise a hand to silence him.

"You're either sleeping on the floor or sleeping elsewhere."

He gulps, ready to plead his case again. I cut him off before he can even open his mouth.

"Speak a word in protest over my generosity and I will chose a far crueler fate for you," I coldly spit, walking toward the door, pushing it open. I look over my shoulder as I walk in the room, "what's it going to be, prince?"

Daemon cringes at the call, brows tightening along with his fists. He deflates and mutters under his breath, "floor."

I turn to him, eyes narrowing, "you were so loud a while ago, where did your fire go, dragon?"

"Floor," he utters walking in the room, stopping once he is in front of me. Daemon's expression is grave as he mutters again, "I'd much rather sleep on the floor, wife."

I pull away from him before he can even attempt to touch me. I walk towards our bed, grabbing a pillow, haphazardly throwing over to him. I glare darkly, "if you are cold, sleep by the fire, dragon."

Daemon calls out my name, wanting to begin his pleas again, but then he stiffens when he watches me walk toward the door, "where are you going?"

I scoff, "how cruel of you to think I'd sleep with a throbbing arm."

"I'll come-"

I turn to him, tears finally running down my cheeks. Daemon freezes in his spot. I huff, looking away from him, "do not show your face to me until I've calmed."

Daemon frowns.

"I mean it."

At last, he finally has the brain to no longer push the matter further.

[ajulisz]

Someone is trying to sell pets to our Lady

Relationship type: You're Alcinas pet

MC Pronouns: They/Them

CW: Slavery (trade, chained - but not you), mention of death, mention of cannibalism, chocking, pet names, collar, some petting for you at the end because you deserve it :)

A/N: Do I still need to mention that you have a dom/sub dynamics outside the bedroom even after all this warnings?

*Althought me and my gf re-read this, good to remind that English is not our first language so there's still probably some typos*

With an eyebrow raise your Lady's eyes snapped from you to the merchant in front of her, it was normal this time of the year for some travelers to request meetings with her, normally she doesn't even look at them, too bored with fiddling with the strings of your collar or amusing herself with their fear to find anything of theirs interesting. But the bare mention of her pets always caused a reaction on her, a kind of possessiveness always took control.

- Hello my Lady, I'm a mere trader, I came from far away because I heard that your... pets, are the most behaved ones.

- Yes, they are. Go straight to the point, what do you have.

- Oh, simply other 'pets', I travel the world collecting and selling them to the best leaders.

She liked the flattering, the immortals trying their best, getting on their knees bowing and begging her for the mercy that only she could concede because it was genuine coming from their fear and admiration. But adulation was out of question, and it was the first and last strike to make her lose interest.

Making them believe that she still cares was simply a fun way to keep them in line while crushing their hope and making it seem like it was their fault.

- Is that so? Why don't you show me then, let me see what you have.

From the chain in the merchants hand he pulled four men in front of him, hitting them on the knees to make them stay on the floor. Moving around he started to point to what clearly once was a muscular man, now was malnourished and had an ugly face which made the Lady's insides move with disgust.

- This is one of my strongest, he-

- Oh please, show me the women and the non binaries, not the men. And let me be the judge, no need for your stained percipience.

With a flush on his face he tugged again with his chain bringing three other people on their knees.

-Yes, I'm sorry my lady. These are the ones that I have.

Your mistress eyes slowly scanned their bodies, not only the men but all the other where in a clearly state of bad care.

- Look at their faces, it looks skinnier than a healthy person should, what kind of master are you?

You were put out of the picture when she was talking, sitting on the floor on the side of her chair like a dog would sit next to its owner.

You never cared to listen to the traders that came much less dared to speak without Dimitrescu's permission. It was how you were trained to do, "don't talk, don't move, don't look, sit still until I give you an order" and she tugged your collar which meant for you to get up.

- Do they know any tricks? Or at least are they obedient? Even my current pet, as you can see, is in a better shape than your strongest man.

The man's mouth opened to say something but he stopped at the moment she raised her eyebrow again with a glare. Your eyes were faithfully looking at her hands, just waiting for the minimum order that always seemed unnoticed to others "that's what makes it magical my pet, don't you think it's more enjoyable to see their shaking knees when you obey me without me using a single word? For them is like I took control of your mind, a fair warning that I could and will the same to them if it pleases me". The lady started speaking.

- You see... pets are mere reflexes of their owners, be a good owner and they will be a good pet, be a sharp owner and they will be submissive and agile. My pet is both of this things, they went through a rough training and made a lot of mistakes in the beginning, but you have to reward them for good behavior and provide their basic needs or they will stop obeying you at certain point... because they will be dead.

There it was, a different movement of hand when she started speaking and you got closer. Her hand was passing through your body tentatively, fingers and pointy nails poking the betweens of your ribbs and finally stopped around you neck.

- Isn't it better when they die for you? When you say just one word and, while they excitedly obey, you are able to see the life fading from their eyes and feel their pulse slowly stopping around your hands?

She said and looked deep in your eyes supporting her face on her hand on the chair arm while a smirk appeared and she started squeezing your neck.

The mans eyes got bigger, he was clearly scared but you couldn't even care enough about him or the others, all you could feel at the moment was your mistress full and overwhelming presence. The lack of air, the control she had on you, all of that made your head dizzy, your fingers slowly crawling up to hers, squeezing it, begging for more.

- I- I'm sorry my lady, it was not my intention to offend you. Bu-but my pets are really obedient, they're just like that because of the extensive travel-

- Shush

The Lady's eyes rolled in annoyance, she have forgotten that the man was still standing there, lost in your breathless lust sounds that kept her in a trance. She stopped holding your neck making you fall to your knees with the weakness and struggle of recovering the air that was denied to you and motioned for you to sit on the floor in front of her. Which you obeyed, crawling to your place.

- I do not see a world where your... slaves, would be a good suit for me, maybe try to make some other fool buy them because a thing in such state is not worth a penny.

- But my la-

- Goodbye.

Her hand slowly moved to your head, and she started scratching the behind of your ear which meant that you could relax, you backed a bit and rested your head on her leg with a satisfied smile and closing your eyes when she got back to petting the top of your head for her own comfort giving a tired sigh.

- Man things get even more imbecile with the years, don't you think little one? Girls! Come here!

A smoke of flies took the whole space around you and your mistress, making three heads peak out of it.

- Yes mother?

- In our path there will be a group of humans, you may hunt and kill the leader but bring back the chained ones, put them in the maids wing, ask the maids to provide them food, water and call Monique so she can attend to their medical needs.

- Consider it done mother.

The girls said giggling and flying to the exit in the same direction of the man which made you open your eyes and you look up at your mistress with a questioning face

- Oh please sweet thing, don't look at me like that, did I not promise you that I would not dispose of you? There ain't no way that Mistress is going to train a human again, too much trouble when I have you in a perfect shape, but at least the girls can have a feast in some months and we can produce new scarecrows for the vineyard with them.

[wordbreaker]

The Red Wolf ★ Prologue

For centuries, the Gods⏤Old and New⏤have flipped coin after coin to decide the fate of the Realm. Now that all seems lost, for the Dead are too strong, the Long Night, too thick, the Winter, too cold, it is now men's turn to play this terrible game. May the Red Wolf bend Time and Blood, Fate and Death before Winter comes and swallows the Dance of Men.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x GOT!Snow!FemReader* & Aegon Targaryen x GOT!Snow!FemReader*

*Y/N does have a given name at some point in the story, being a bastard and all.

Word count: 5.2K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief allusion to SA

Note: In honor of Season 2 dropping in a few hours... Enjoy a good ol' time-traveler fic from yours truly. As always, English is not my first language. I do apologize if some typos and grammatical errors managed to sneak into this.

HIDDEN BEHIND the few battlements where bodies were not yet piling up, you whispered a prayer to the Old Gods⏤your eyes closed to avoid seeing the battlefield that had become of your childhood home. Desperation made people do funny things. Stupid, naive things, like praying. The Gods had abandoned you long ago, for what kind of Gods would destroy their creation in such manner?

The Long Night had plunged Winterfell into a bath of fire and blood, with the singular smell of Death emanating from it and turning stomachs inside out. You had been soaking in the puddle of your own vomit for several minutes. 

It was too much. Too much for you. Death was coming for them all. An unstoppable Death. A Death that walked, that fought, that killed without ever tiring. 

You tightened your grip on your sword, Endbringer, forged from the blade of Ice, the last memento of your father, Lord Eddard Stark. It would not be long before you joined him. He and Catelyn and Robb and Rickon. The Stranger had feasted on the Starks without mercy. Soon he would taste your frightened flesh. Would you find them on the other side? Or did Hell reserve a particular place for bastards? 

A roar pierced the deafening din of the battlefield and the ringing of your ears. Up there, far from the burning barricades and piles of bodies, Jon, your twin, was riding Rhaegal and burning the White Walkers. 

But Death always came back. 

Winterfell, seat of the North, was ablaze with dragonfire. The irony would have pleased the rhapsodists, had they been there to sing the fable. 

The bards will sing no more when Westeros is but an open grave, a voice whispered to you. You buried it⏤along with everything else⏤under the smell of burning flesh and the clash of swords. 

You stood up on wobbly legs. A white strand of hair blocked you vision but you did not care, for nothing could be clearly seen anymore. The smoke from the dragon's fire, the bodies throwing themselves on top of each other, the Dead leaping into the courtyard, the cannonballs flying over the ramparts, the arrows whistling through the air, the buildings exploding. It was all chaos. You dived in it head first, sword in hand. 

You had lost sight of Arya an hour earlier. Your little sister was probably fighting for her life in the corridors. You prayed for her. You prayed for Jon, who was fighting the Night King. You prayed for Theon and for Bran. Most of all, you prayed for Sansa, imprisoned in the crypt, perhaps the only place in the North where the dead did not yet walk. 

Your thoughts drifted to your father, whose remains lay among the women and children, the weak and the new, the Ancestors and Descendants. As foolish as it sounded, seeing him reborn, even for a moment, in the skin of a White Walker, would give you the courage to fight. 

The Old Gods knew you sorely needed it.

You shut out your memories and stumbled to the entrance of the tower. Above your head, arrows pierced the wind and stuck into the ground made of flesh and blood. Enemies, allies, the dead, the living, all merged into one agonising, shapeless mass. Miraculously⏤perhaps the Gods had heard you⏤you managed to reach the tower and immediately rushed down the stairs. You stepped over the fallen bodies, for Death had already stained the stones of the castle, and counted the remaining steps. 

It would only take a few minutes to reach the lower rooms. 

Of Winterfell, you remembered everything. Seven years had not been enough to erase the precious memories of your childhood. It had gone too quickly, tainted by the horrors and scheming of the South. For a long time, you had wondered what had killed your carefree spirit. 

You had first thought your childhood had been crushed along Bran's legs but⏤forced to flee King's Landing at a mere four and ten because you were seen not just as a bastard but as the bastard of a traitor⏤you had soon realised the truth. 

Your innocence had died the day Jon Arryn had been murdered, for Death brought naught but bad omens and destruction. 

The Starks had gone South and, in doing so, had sealed their doom. 

You longed for the years before Robert Baratheon had visited and destroyed everything you knew and held dear. You⏤eager to forget the ravaging war⏤closed your eyes and let yourself be basked in what had been and would never be again. 

Sheltered by the porch at the entrance to the Great Keep, Vayon Poole, Maester Luwin and Father were discussing the affairs of the people. You, seven years younger and sitting next to Arya and Sansa, were trying to embroider a flower without pricking your fingers and lamenting over the fact that you could not join the boys who, further down in the courtyard, were practising their swordplay with Rodrik Cassel. Bran was still walking. Robb was breathing and Theon had not yet betrayed them. Familiar faces were everywhere: Hodor, Mikken, Farlen, Hullen, even Gage the cook. House Stark was alive, far from the shenanigans of the Lions and the capital that had damned them. 

In the distance, a frail voice mumbled tales from another age. 

Old Nan would always knit far-fetched stories.

Except they were anything but. The Long Night had well and truly begun again and, in its darkness, it would swallow up everything you loved: your family, your friends and your people, if they were not already walking with the dead. 

A growl echoed through the corridor. You raised Endbringer, ignored the trembling in your hands and continued forward⏤to stop was to die, you told yourself. In silence, you plunged in the darkness of Winterfell's corridors. You squinted your eyes, trying to make out a silhouette, a noise, anything, but the dead entangled on the floor remained dead. 

For how much longer? you thought darkly. 

Another growl, close by. You swallowed and turned. Two sparkling blue eyes were staring back at you. Shivers ran down your spine. Your hand trembled around your sword⏤your lifeline and perhaps your only chance of escape. You thought of Old Nan and, with only fear and adrenaline for a brain, attacked. 

The White Walker let out an inhuman scream, somewhere between a shriek and a hiss. 

The sound of Death. 

It was tolling your bells. 

It put so much force into its blow that you had to take several steps back when you parried it. For a brief moment, you wondered whether Endbringer would resist. Was Valyrian steel mere iron in the face of Death? 

Your years of combat training seemed to disappear. No reflexes, no tactics, just your survival instinct to guide and defend.

You did not stand a chance.

The pack survives, a voice whispered to you. But where was Sansa? Arya? Jon? You were the only one in the corridor⏤a Lone Wolf against Death. 

You raised Endbringer and brought it down hard on the Other's shoulder. It split the air and the putrid remains of flesh. Its arm fell to the ground, but it began to twitch and reached for your ankles. Its fingers snaked to avoid your heavy sole and came dangerously close to your heel. 

A kick and the arm disappeared further away, entangled in a pile of bloody limbs, but you knew it would be back, disturbing as that thought was. 

Exhaustion made you heavy and slow. Your blows grazed the creature in front of you without ever bringing it down. Death never wavered. It delivered blow after emotionless blow, the only evidence of the soul that once resided in its body being those two big blue eyes, too bright to be the work of the Gods. 

A guttural howl split your throat. Then came a stabbing pain, which burned through your flesh and blood. 

The Other had thrust its sword into your shoulder. 

You felt the blood trickle down your collarbone, colonising your flesh and armour. 

Then you heard it. Above you, a desperate voice screamed.  

Dracarys. 

You stumbled to the wall and snatched the nearest torch, throwing it at the White Walker. Immediately, the creature writhed in an agony that might have been pleasurable had you had time to admire it, for you seized your only chance of survival and, ignoring your heart pounding against your temples, ran. 

You ran and never looked back. To look back was to die, you repeated to yourself. And you, Y/N Snow, were not done with Life yet. 

Death would have to wait.

The thick walls of Winterfell were not enough to drown out the shrill cries of the dragons. They shook the centuries-old walls around and above you. The smell of burning flesh tickled your nose and stirred your stomach. The terrible smell reminded you of funeral pyres. 

Winterfell was nothing but a pile of rumble and dead, you realised as you passed the disjointed body of a young soldier, too young to fight. You prayed to the Old Gods to spare your twin, your other half, and continued your journey to the lower halls. You passed the library, stepped over more disfigured bodies and made your way through the burnt carcasses of the Others. Everywhere, fire and death embraced in a touch that gave you goosebumps.  

The journey from the tower to the halls took an eternity. Fear and fatigue slowed you down, as well as the weight of your armour on your slumped shoulders. 

Your body was giving up. 

At the turn of yet another corridor, you finally came across a small room, which you hastened to enter. Glancing around, you realised it was meant to be used by servants. The mattress still retained the shape of a body, which was probably no longer breathing. 

A sudden howl ripped through the corridor and startled you. Someone banged on the door but you threw yourself against it and held it shut. With a trembling hand, you closed the latch, then the chain, and kept your shoulder pressed against the wood. 

"Help me!" someone screamed. "Please! There's too many! I've got a wife... A boy… My boy… Please! Have mercy! Let me in!"

Already, the cries of distress had mingled with inhuman gurgling. You turned your head and closed your eyes before sliding back against the door and bringing your hand to your trembling mouth. 

Valar morghulis. 

You soon lost track of the minutes, as you weaved your agony through the darkest hours of Westeros.

Other soldiers pounded on the door, but all died at its threshold. Their bodies, still warm, rose up immediately, animated by an evil and ancient force. You ignored their nails scratching against the wood and the inhuman growls that shook it. Blood stained the stone-floor and snaked its way up to you, further staining your already-crimson armour, but you kept your eyes and lips closed. The black behind your eyelids was only slightly different from the Long Night, but it gave you an illusion of protection you could not refuse. 

With a trembling hand, you wiped your face, bathed in tears, blood and mud, but the wounds on your cheeks remained open and your tears, wet. The ringing in your ears continued to torment you. 

"Pull yourself together, damn it," you whispered angrily. 

But already your vision was blurring. The adrenalin had left your muscles, leaving you paralysed with pain and fear. Soon came the sobs that shook your shoulders and tore at your lungs. 

At last, your body and mind were coming together to cry out their agony.  

A whistle pierced the din of your sadness and put an end to it. You raised her head, frowning. You turned and, just in time, avoided the axe that suddenly slashed the door. 

You screamed.

The blade disappeared, leaving a hole large enough to see blue eyes, and came down on the wood again. A hand reached into the hole and tried to grab you, but you threw herself to the floor and crawled away. You clung to the mattress. Behind you, the growling intensified and sent shivers down your spine. No human could make that noise. 

The walls of the room closed in on you. 

The Old Gods had exhausted their mercy. 

It was time to die. 

The axe whistled through the air and lodged itself in the mattress⏤a mere centimetre away from your hand⏤scattering strands of straw and bits of flesh on the floor. 

How many men had lost their lives on that blade? How many throats slit? Decapitated heads? How many mutilated bodies? 

Your hands fluttered around your belt. Your fingers brushed against all the weapons within your reach without ever grabbing one. You looked up. The door wouldn't hold for long. The White Walker was pounding on it relentlessly. 

You grabbed the dragonglass dagger Jon had given you⏤I won't be there to protect you. Come back to me alive, he had told you, unaware of the years you had spent defending yourself alone in Westeros. Trapped in the cold at the Wall, how could he have known? How could he understand what had happened to you? 

You shook off these thoughts and took a deep breath before standing up on trembling legs. The biting north wind blew through your armour and chilled you, but the sweat dripping down your back still clung to your skin. 

You had to leave, but where? Your childhood home, reduced to a graveyard of endless rebirth, was falling into ruin. Soon, the White Walkers would have invaded every room and soaked the stones in blood. How many of your brothers in arms had already joined the Night King’s ranks? 

On the other side of the door, the Dead was going mad, his movements, more abrupt. You clamped your hands over your ears and curled up on the floor. You let the dagger drop. Your breathing quickened. You were going to die. Like all the others. 

Robb was dead. Rickon. Father. Uncle Benjen. Catelyn. Was Arya still alive or had she abandoned you too? What about Jon? What was the point of staying alive when everyone else was dying? 

Another knock rattled the door. You jumped and stepped back, but your shins collided with the mat. 

You did not stand a chance. 

The door burst open. 

The wood exploded in deadly splinters. 

The White Walker pounced on you. 

An unparallelled smell enveloped you. You screamed and struggled. You clawed at mouldy flesh, struck fragile bones and tore off dirty rags. Blood beaded on your fingers as you deflected a blade from your throat, which the creature's rotten teeth lunged at. You pushed against it with all your might. 

The Other fell to the ground and stopped moving. 

Your breathing was all you could hear as your heart raced. For a second, you thought it was over, but the White Walker suddenly stood up and crawled towards you. 

Death never tires. 

You tried to fight it off, kicking it wherever you could reach: on the head, on the shoulders, in the neck... but the creature kept moving. Axe in hand⏤when did he get it back?⏤its skeletal arm split the air and scraped your ankle. You fell to your knees screaming and, in a desperate move, plunged your dagger into its accursed blue eye. 

The creature exploded into fragments of ice. A few of them grazed your face. 

You swept them away with a wave of your hand. 

Down here, caught between your Ancestors and the Dead, victory had a bitter taste. You limped out of the room and wandered through the corridors, which you did not recognise. Winterfell was becoming unknown before your eyes, ravaged by Death and the despair of the unlucky Survivors. 

Several times, lone White Walkers blocked your path. You managed to get rid of them, but never escaped unscathed. Their dull blades always pierced your armour and flesh, leaving you aching. 

It was not until you reached the west wing of the castle that the screaming stopped and, at last, the calm of the North enveloped you in its thick cloak. The silence made you shiver. How it contrasted with the din of war... It was almost terrifying. 

Finally, at the end of a staircase, a new door. 

You wasted no time in entering and barricading the room. You slid the wooden palisade into its notches and stepped back, frightened to see a new axe appear. 

When you turned round, you gasped at the awful sight the Gods had painted for your eyes. The fireplace at the back of the room lit up a pile of tangled bodies in one corner. The shadows played and illuminated the severed arms, the decapitated heads, the men turned into trunks. Nothing on the canvas was complete; everything had to be put together to become human again. 

You staggered back, nauseous and swore before pressed one hand against your stomach. The other covered your mouth in a last-ditch effort to save you but the smell of decay, so characteristic of death, delivered the fatal blow. You turned your head and bent down to vomit your guts out. 

"A Wolf far from her pack," a seductive voice said. "Snow seems to have numbed the blood."

 You spun around and squinted but could only make out a red cloak. The flames swirled and licked at its ends, but always left the fabric intact. The stranger stepped forward and revealed a familiar face, a worrying face. Her eyes sparkled, hiding secrets that made you shiver. Stories of New Gods and diabolical powers, everything you hated⏤for you were a child of the North and the North prayed to nameless Gods. 

You placed one hand on Endbringer's pommel, sat down against the wall⏤opposite the bodies⏤and wiped your lips. The steel of your armour was an icy kiss against them. You relished in the sensation and remained silent. You no longer had the strength to answer riddles. You no longer had the strength for anything. 

You just listened to the Living and the Dead killing each other, head against the wall, eyes closed to ignore reality.

Minutes passed, until finally you grew tired of the sound of swords and the agony of men. You opened your eyes and immediately met the gaze of the red witch. Melisandre, you remembered. Ser Davos had said that name with such that you could not have forgotten it even if you wanted to. 

You jerked, your armour digging painfully into your ribs, and cleared your throat, but the witch's gaze never wavered. 

In the distance, a man screamed for his life. You winced and finally broke the silence. 

"I hear the clamour of battle, the cries of pain, the prayers shouted over the blows of swords, but the Night does not give way and the Dead still march. We won't win," you murmured. 

You met the witch's eyes but quickly looked away, towards the fireplace where the flames were still dancing, untouched by the torments of men. 

"Can't you ask your Lord to save us from this hell?" you mocked.

"The Lord of Light does not interfere with destiny," replied the sorceress, who chose to ignore your blatant irony. "The New Gods weave everyone's prophecies and they have seen just to–"

You scoffed. Your chapped lips stretched into a smirk. You shook your head and laughed. Your lungs hurt like hell but the hilarity made the pain sweet. 

"The Gods," you giggled. "Old... New... Seven or one... The Gods abandoned us to our fate a long time ago. Perhaps this is our punishment... to die here without even the comfort of Faith. Our shroud shall be neither prayer nor forgiveness, only the putrid smell of death and the warm bodies of our fallen brothers. Isn't it time to just give up?"

"Why aren't you out in the courtyard then? Among the corpses, looking for Death you so desperately seek? Why are you hiding in this room when your sister and twin are fighting hard against it and heading off to their destiny?"

You looked up at the witch.

"Arya?" you whispered hoarsely. "Did you run into Arya? Is she alive? What of Jon? Why is he here? Wasn't he riding Rhaegal just a few minutes ago?"

The witch sighed, suddenly so human, as terrifying as it sounded, and knelt down in front of you, who watched her with teary eyes. The red-haired woman took your hand and clasped it in hers. Her cold skin sent shivers down your spine, but you made no attempt to free yourself from the embrace. 

"Rhaegal is no more. Even dragonfire is no longer enough against the Night King. The darkness is already feasting on his scales."

You pressed your hand against your chest. A nameless agony seized you and tore at your heart. Poor beast, you thought. 

There was a time when dragons would only fly from verse to verse in the history books you loved dearly, the ones recounting the fables of the Targaryen dynasty. How many times had you told their fables to Arya, when your sister could not yet read? 

Dragons had danced in your imagination throughout your childhood.  

Then, miraculously, they had danced over Westeros, brought back to life by Daenerys Stormborn, whom your father had spared. You had not believed the tales at first and had regretted it when the dragons finally danced over Winterfell.  

Tonight, dragons no longer danced. Like everything else, they were dying. A tear rolled down your cheek. You wept for this majestic creature, who had also fallen victim to the War of Men. 

"No one is immune to the vicissitudes of fate, Rhaella, not even dragons."

You blinked, frowned, and tore your hand away from the witch's grip before grabbing Endbringer.

"My name is Y/N," you corrected, your voice sharp. 

"Are you quite sure? Didn't your twin tell you? Of his discovery? Of his destiny? I've told you. No one is immune to his vicissitudes," the witch repeated. "Not even you." 

"I don't understand..."

The witch moved closer and took one of your hair, wrapping it around her finger. You clenched your jaw but made no move to interrupt her. Don't struggle or it'll be worse, a snarling and masculine voice whispered. You closed your eyes and tried to bury the painful memories that were clawing to the surface. Hands on your body and in your hair. On your lips and cheeks. Under your dress... 

"Did you never wonder where that colour came from? Such white…. You don't see hair like this in those parts. Even your grey eyes, no doubt those of the Wolf, can't hide the warm blood that runs through your veins. Your twin was luckier in that respect, I must admit."

You violently shook yourself off and stood up, your eyes raging, vile memories once again buried deep.

"You do not know what you’re talking about, witch," you spat out the last word. "Flames make your head spin. My father was Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King. My mother was but a whore whose true name was lost when that cunt Joffrey Lannister killed my father. Stop this nonsense, or I'll not hesitate to kill you."

"And this fiery rage, this bloodlust? Does it come from the Quiet Wolf, whose honour and calm cost him his head?"

You growled and grabbed the woman's hair. You drew your dagger and pressed it against the woman's milky throat, ready to draw blood. Would it be the singular colour of flames or the common red of mortals? 

The witch grabbed the dagger with her bare hand and deflected it. Her fingers remained intact. No blood spattered against the flesh. You blinked, but the skin remained white, immaculate. 

Impossible, you thought. 

"I can show you. The truth, first. Your destiny, then."

You did not understand at first. It was only when the witch moved towards the fireplace that your eyes widened. You sheathed your dagger and took three large steps back. Your back hit the wall with the sound of steel and for that you were thankful. 

"I have no use of your false God."

The witch ignored you and pulled a coin from her cloak before turning to face you once more. It looked like a Gold Dragon, worn and battered. 

"Perhaps you would prefer to play a game, then. A game the gods have been playing for centuries, long before you were born."  

The witch threw the coin at you. You caught it by reflex and turned it over to look at it. For a while, you caressed it and enjoyed its rough surfaces. The dirt, which the endless passing of hands had collected, masked the King's head, but you knew it was neither that of Robert Baratheon nor of Cersei Lannister's Bastard. Frowning, you began to scrape the coin with the tip of your fingernail. It first revealed a notched crown, then a lean neck, long hair and, finally, a name.

A familiar name, engraved just below the royal silhouette. 

A series of shivers ran down your spine as your lips formed the cursed name. 

AERYS II. 

The Mad King.  

"What are you waiting for? Flip it," Melisandre asked. 

You opened her mouth, ready to insult her and demand her to stop jesting, but growls cut you off. You turned around. 

In the corner of the room, bodies were stirring. 

The coin was soon forgotten. 

You unsheathed Endbringer, but the sword had lost its frightening glint. It was a miracle of the Gods that it did not slip from your weak and trembling hands. You could feel the burns and wounds that lacerated your palm and weakened your grip.

"What's going on?" you asked as panic ran up your spine.  

Fear had already taken hold of your soul and made your knees buckle. Your stomach churned but you swallowed down the nausea. 

"The Dead are waking up," the witch simply said.

You could not find the strength to scream. A feeling of despair crawled through your body and numbed your mind. There was no respite from the horror. How much longer would they have to fight? How much longer before everything died and was reborn as something evil? 

The flames in the fireplace were still dancing. You glanced at the witch, but she was muttering unknown words, her hands clasped around her necklace. 

She wouldn't be of any help, you realised. Already, legs and hands were emerging from the hill of flesh. They charged at you. You stabbed them with your dagger and ran to the fireplace. Growls rose up behind you but you ignored them and buried your fear deep inside before glancing over your shoulder. One of the Walkers was already hopping on one leg in your direction. Melisandre still hadn't woken up from her lethargy. 

You did not have much time. 

You turned back to the flames, which seemed to whisper incantations to you. They glowed brighter, twisting in a hypnotic dance and brushing against your armour. 

Dracarys, they screamed at you. 

You did not think, for there was no time, and plunged your hand into the fire, grabbed a burning log and turned to throw it into the pile of Dead. You clenched your fist and watched as the flames engulfed the rag of one of the bodies before spreading to the rest of the pile, turning it into a pyre.  

The Dead began to sing out their agony. 

You begged them to shut up but they never did.

Several creatures managed to escape the deadly embrace of the flames but, each time, you were there to stab them with your dagger or sliced them with your sword. You defended yourself for what seemed like hours, throwing torches and firewood at the crawling corpses, stabbing the few spared with your dagger and even decapitating the rare bodies that were still whole. 

The Dead stopped singing after several long minutes and, at last, the pile of bodies came to rest. This time for good, you hoped. A naive thought, really. 

Down here, the Dead never stayed silent for long. 

You turned frantically towards the witch. 

"We must lea–" 

Air ran down your spine. You met Melisandre's wide-eyed gaze, fixed on a much lower point, and followed it. A blade was protruding from your armour. Not your dagger. Not Endbringer. A rusty, broken blade. You frowned and looked up at the witch. 

"What is–"

"Do not speak," she ordered. 

You touched your lower abdomen, suddenly dizzy. A warm liquid stained your fingers. It was only when you brought them into view that you realised what it was.

I was blood. 

Then came the pain. 

Everywhere. 

Unprecedented. 

"J... Jon..." you hiccuped. A wet cough shook your lungs. Drops of blood stained your lips and the witch's porcelain face. "I want... Jon." 

Before your frightened eyes, the witch picked up the coin from earlier and placed it in your palm. She closed your fist and enveloped it in hers. You watched her do it, eyes blurred by the pain. Your body was already giving out on you. It was cold, too cold… 

Winter is coming, your father said. 

My father is dead, you replied.

"Āeksiō ōños." 

A voice pierced the fog that was gradually inhibiting all your senses. You blinked. 

"W-what are you...?" you managed to whisper between coughs. "... doing?" 

Your breathing quickened. Your knees buckled. You tried to free yourself but the witch dug her nails into your hand. 

"Stop!" you screamed, terrified. 

"Āeksiō ōños. Āeksiō ōños. Āeksiō ōños!"

In your grip, the coin caught fire. The flames devoured the Mad King's head and, with it, your palm. You screamed, feeling your skin getting torn apart by the fire. Nausea turned your stomach. You choked on a mixture of blood and bile and staggered backwards, but the red witch did not let go. 

"Obūljagon se jēda se ānogar. Kostagon se mele zokla lilagon isse vīlībāzma se ērinagon toliot vējes. Lord of Light! Come to us in our darkness. Cast your light upon us. For the night is dark and full of terrors!" 

Everything went up in flames. 

When you opened your eyes, the dead were no longer singing. An entirely different cacophony resounded. Swords and screams deafened you. You tried to speak but your body, numb, remained motionless, your mind, confused, your lips, closed. 

Had the Long Night ceased? 

The lights were blinding. 

There was no light in Winterfell.  

Nausea turned your stomach in waves. Too weak to lift an arm, you let yourself drown in it and choked on your vomit before closing your eyes.

"...ko...b…sa?"

Someone was talking to you, you realised, but you did not have the strength to find out who. 

"Skoros aōha brōzi issa?"

Your voice faded in your throat. The metallic taste of blood colonised both your palate and tongue. You coughed, the wet sound hurting your chest, and tried to sit up but could not find the strength to do that either. 

"Stomach... Blood..." you managed to stammer out before everything went black. Again. 

[vendetta-if]

December 2022 Progress Update

For the past two weeks, I've been working really, really hard on Chapter 4 (one of the reasons I've not been too active on Tumblr lately, and I probably still wouldn't until Chapter 4 is done 😅). As of the time writing this update post, the word count is 23.6K words.

The talk with Yvette took quite a long time to write and it is indeed pretty long. Almost 12K of 23.6K words are dedicated to the talk with her. It's not only long, it also has a lot—and I mean a lot—of variations in responses depending on what your MC feels about her.

The last time MC decided on their feelings on Yvette, it was ten years ago during the comic book store incident. Now, your MC will be given an option to change what they think about her ten years later, before their very first conversation with her in their entire life so far.

The four different feelings MC can have on her are:

Hate Hate is straightforward; your MC still hates and is bitter about what she did and her neglect (not visiting MC for a decade).

Love-hate This is a more complicated feeling and I think it's a pretty good addition that makes MC feels a bit more unstable and add a bit more layers of complexity. Your MC still kinda hates her, but also yearns for her affection and mourns for the missing connection and relationship with her, and these feelings in turn feed into MC's hatred, anger, and bitterness against her.

Apathy/Indifference Pretty straightforward as well; your MC just doesn't really care about her and considers her a stranger.

Pity MC feels bad and pity for her and can sympathize with her plights. This might be the most positive feeling MC can have regarding Yvette, the second one being love-hate.

I spent a lot of time writing four different reactions and inner thoughts for MC based on these feelings they have about her. I hope I'll be able to showcase one of the variations in the Sneak Peek of the talk I'm planning to release tomorrow 😄

Also, in this chapter, you'll finally be meeting Skylar and Santana for the first time. Right now, I'm in the middle of writing the talk between MC and Skylar. After that, it'll be time to focus on Santana's talk instead.

These talks also take a long of time to write because I have foolishly decided to give six different options of responses every time MC talks with any of the ROs, half for different romantic responses and half for non-romantic ones 😭

I also did a lot of tweaking on the previous chapters (grammar & typo fixes, coding fixes, and adding some stuff).

First, by popular demand, MC can now choose their clothing style to be the same with Uncle Luka's style. The style is called "all-black".

Second, I tweaked and added some stuff with the Police Commissioner because it seems I missed the mark in trying to portray him as a grey character. Now, his involvement with the Nemesis Project will be more explicitly pointed out in the narrative than just implied subtly previously. Also, his other bad qualities, such as nepotism and hypocrisy.

Third, I tweaked MC's reactions when executing the commissioner—I think it's either your MC turns away and not wanting to witness the execution or your MC and Ash looking at the execution together in awe 😆 Now, instead of Merciful MC looking away and Ruthless MC spectating the execution, it'll depend more on your MC's choice in Chapter 2 regarding the mission (Ready to kill, reluctant to kill innocent, or don't want to kill).

Well, that's all I have to report for the month. As always, I just want to say thank you for all your support and enthusiasm for my story 🥰. I might not be able to answer a lot of asks in the coming days because I'll be hyper-focused on finishing Chapter 4 as quick as possible 😅

If you guys are interested in supporting me, getting some extra side contents on the side, including an early access for this upcoming chapter, please check out my Patreon!

[Patreon Link]

[kavaeroexe]

Yandere Star Wars characters when they find out your pregnant and someone threatens you?

OOOOO ANOTHER YANDERE PORTION-

warning: typos, bad grammar  

attention! please do not try to repost my works, I only post my works on Tumblr, if anyone sees someone stealing my works please inform me through the comments, tag me in the works, or message me!  

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Anakin Skywalker

“I’m sorry Y/N, can you repeat what you said?” he actually stuttered at his words, looking at you who’s inhaling, and then speaking, “I’m pregnant” there you said it again.

he went silent for a moment, his chest hurting, but then he looked at you and smiled. “Congratulation... I don’t know what to say, but I’m happy for you” he replied, he look at you smiling, but something was off...

He knows something’s off, something wrong.

why are your hands shaking?

well, he felt lost and broken a bit to know that you're pregnant

but he felt that he can do something that he still could do to make you his and only his

your shaking hands, there's something about it

to think again, your face is pretty pale

there's something with you, and perhaps, this pregnancy.

So he starts his searching all day, just to find out what's happening to you

where did you go for the last few weeks, who do you often meet up with, and what did you do for the last few weeks

so when he knows someone threatens you and makes you pregnant without the single of your consent (or you're being fooled by his love and you grow uncomfortable)

oh he goes mad

he starts with killing the man, no mercy when it is about your safety as always

then when you got the news, he'll look after your condition from day to day, and after you said you want to take care of the child, he grows to also like the child on your belly

"who's the favorite child? yes, it's you!"

once you feel a lot more comfortable with him, he loves every time you instant cling to him because of something that you think is threatening you

he finds it the best achievement of his effort to win your heart when you said that you love him, and thank him for everything.

the bigger your belly is passed every month, the more he loves to kiss your belly in private time

when he finds that you're in danger, he finds him more scared of losing you, remembering how fragile you are, he always rushing to find a way to save you

when he's finally able, he'll hug you tightly, remembering how he could have just lost you forever

“Y/N? Y/N!” he shouted, walking from one place to another. When he saw those slow, soft footsteps, he felt relieved, he was able to save you, he then hugs you and greets you with a big smile he could give to you, stroking your head and then placing a kiss on your forehead.

 “Thank god you’re here, are you alright? how about the baby? we should get you to the medbay as soon as possible.” he spoke and then carried you to get back to the ship.

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Obi-wan Kenobi

“Why are you being so distant these days?” he spoke for the first time after all of this time you being ignorant and trying to avoid him, you look at him, and you can’t stand his face.

“you avoid me, you don’t want to talk with me, or even look at me, did I do something wrong?”

you shrugged your shoulder and then sighed. “I don’t want to mess anything up” you replied, but he quickly places his hand on both of your shoulders and then talk to you by whispering...

“Is it because you’re pregnant?”

You stopped moving for a moment, just to look at Obi-wan and a bit of glaring at him, but he's your close friend for years

He understands your glare.

having a good connection and being a very close friend to Obi, you guys know a lot about each other

especially habit

Obi is a very detailed person, especially you

you're very close to him, the precious well-being he got

you give a different glare every day based on your mood, and he knows which one is good, bad, worried, scared, confident, hate, etc...

he knows everything about your newest condition, and he knows that you’re pregnant

but the first day he received the news and wants to congratulate you, you avoid him as much as you can, and sometimes just straight-up run away from him

so then he decides to search on what’s going on about you, or try to get help with his connection, makes it easier if you’re a popular person or an important figure.

so when he already knows what’s happening to you and who threatens you, he immediately researches the person as soon as possible

he deals with it and makes sure that the person has a scandal with the separatist because if he does, everything will go well for him

He solves it pretty quick

So when he's done with him, now he has to take care of you

When you received the news that you're no longer getting threatened, you could open up to Obi-wan again

In fact, you're the one telling him about your condition first as soon as possible

Now that you might possibly know that he's the one taking care of the one threat you, you can feel safe, extremely safe

Well you usually feel safe around him, but when it’s around your pregnancy time, your awareness of people increases, but you can feel relieved and safe when you're with Obi

And soon you realize he actually likes you

All of this time and he didn't tell me?

You thought he can't have love feelings so you don't want to bother him so much

Why don't he tells it you from the start?

Oke anyways, who cares?

I’m sure he's once asked are you sure to keep your child

When the moment you said yes, he definitely will support you, and help you from the start

From you waking up until you close your eyes again, and if he's free, he'll help you with everything she could

But sometimes when he needs to go because of a mission, there are some times for you when you got into an unwanted accident.

But with his help and your will to stay alive, you sometimes can handle the situation pretty well

"Obi? Obi!! " you shout, holding a blaster and passing each hall to look at Obi, when you beard a slashing sound and a droid crashing sounds, you immediately get closer to the source of the sound, but you hide until the fight ends

You could hear the sound of the lightsaber turned off, then you walked in to see who is it

"Y/N? You're safe!! " he approaches you and greets you with a hug, and then looks at you with a relieved face

"How are you? Can you still walk to go to the ship? If you can't.. "

"I could still walk! It’s okay, I just need your arms to incase I lose my balance to get the way to the ship"

"Sure thing"

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Luke Skywalker

"You're becoming a bit strange lately, you vomit often...  Do you not like it here? " Luke asked innocently, sitting right beside you, who's holding a big pillow on the bench

You gulped a bit, and then looking at Luke, next you shake your head "I think just the wind... It'll be over soon.. " you replied, patting Luke's head and then let out a chuckle

"Did somebody threaten you about something? You look pale and... You're not as open to me as you used to... "

he knows what's wrong with you

well he asked Leia anyway, so.

you're pregnant, that’s it

it’s just you hide it well beside the vomit

that vomit giving him enough clue what's going on to you

well he’s sad, disappointed, like why would you hide such things from him, do you not trust him? do you scared of him?

he then tries to find the reason behind all of this, who did that to you, and since when

actually since is not even important to him, no matter the time, since when, if it’s something bad happen to you, he doesn’t think he could hold himself any longer

you guys think he can’t just hurt people for his desire?

of course, he actually can, yandere remember?

on the other side, he’ll slowly make you open up to him, like comforting, and loves to take time for you so that you can talk about your problem or your pregnancy

if he can make you open up, he’ll be super caring since you already trust him by saying super important things

when you let him be around you, even more, he’ll cling even more

to the point where you don’t even realize that the person threatening you has vanished from the world

to the point he’s the only person you could trust around with the little baby in your belly

if something happens to you, he’ll immediately try to save you, keep you safe and kill the person that makes you in danger, your safety is his top priority

when you said he can be a father, he’s over the sky

imagine the butterfly tho

loves loves loves to carry you with the help of the force

also when you sleep, he’ll put millions of blankets so you can sleep comfortably, maybe for your back or when you get cold

grant every single of your wish

even though you’re not that needy since you understand the surrounding situation

when the whole rebellion knows, oh god everybody starts to hope they could see the little baby face

congratulation, the whole rebellion cares for you now from sunrise until another sunrise again.

“Where is Luke?” you asked after Leia puts you in a safe position, but Luke appeared before Leia could even answer your question.

“Wow Luke..” you greet, looking at him and then shrugging your shoulder, “Your whole clothes are in blood, where have you been?” you asked, showing no sign of disgust or scared, and not even worrying, cause you know Luke is fine, he doesn’t show any sign of injuries

“NO NO DON’T COME NEAR ME-” there you go, looking at him try to hide and put some distance

“why the kark are you doing that, I mean rather than doing that, I guess you need to clean yourself first” you replied, the next second he walks away, and then you sit

around 5 minutes after you sit, somebody closes your eyes with their hands, smells like fresh soap, but Luke just got away a few mins ago

“who is this...? okay if I’m correct I’ll get 20 credits, but if I’m wrong, you’ll get anything you want, alright- you’re Han.”

you could feel that hands about to get away from your eyes, but then you pull it again, “I’m not stupid, Luke.” the second you see his face, you hold your laugh. 

heh, look at that disappointed face giving you 20 credits, funny face, you like that

“Your hands smell fragrant, that means you just took a shower to clean yourself, who else? besides Han never really get his hands clean or smell good”

“Yall saying what about me?”

.

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Din Djarin

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” he asked while holding Grogu and putting him to sleep, you gulped for a moment, and then you shake your head. “No, not at all, why would I hide something when I can rely upon myself to you?”

“....” he went silent before he hummed and then he go up to turn razor crest on and prepare to take off to the next planet, for the next journey.

"tell me if there's something wrong," he claimed before he focused himself on controlling Razor Crest.

well he noticed something wrong from the start since he's visiting you on the earth (As you guys are a close buddy) and before you start your journey with him.

you're not this quiet before, so something must be wrong

but he doesn't want to talk that he tried to search more or less what's wrong

only took some time until he founds out what happen

so all of this time, you don't want to say it so he doesn't need to worry and you maybe need some time until you're able to open up about this matter

but you don't have to open up about it

now that he already knows

it’s easy to take care of it, really, he just needs to make sure that you should never know that he’s doing all of these just for you, killing, making people suffer, for your freedom, so that you deserve better.

let it be a secret just for him.

one day he just confronts you and asks if you’re truly pregnant

who are you to deny it when he already knows?

the next second, he starts to give you more comfortable places, warm clothes, and try to get a portion of good food for you and your baby.

literally checks on you every second, because he’s super worried that he might make you uncomfortable or hurt in any way, he never likes that.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m going outside, need anything?”

“Are you comfortable enough?”

“How’s your condition?”

“Feel any better?”

“Something’s wrong?”

when he needs to face again the situation where you’re in danger, he’ll rage more than he did the last time

he kills everybody that including your matter, right after he got enough information

but all of that rage and brutality fades away the moment he saw you, he’ll hold you tight and also hold your belly, to make sure it’s fine.

a sound of a door opening surprise you that are being locked, showing a silhouette of a tall man, but you can’t see it because all you do is hold your belly, and then look away, and the moment that man touches you, you immediately brush his hand away from you, from your baby.

“Calm down Cyar’ika, it’s me, you’re safe” that’s a sound from Din, he comes for you! oh how relieved you are, you immediately hugged him into a pull, but he then takes your action as a wish to be carried, so he carries you in bridal style

“Wait Din what-” you immediately replied, as he looked confused under his helmet, “Uncomfortable?” he asks, but then you shake your head “No why are you carrying me,” you ask back

“I thought you want to be carried, so I’m carrying you” he replied, the next 2 seconds you let out your laughter. “No, I’m not, idiot. But thankyou Din, I love you” you rest your head close to his armored chest, somehow you feel safe even though Beskar is cold, but the funny thing is, you don’t mind about it.

“Alright, let’s get you out from here.”

[notyour-valentine]

Philopator ~ Tommy Shelby & Daughter!Reader (Angst)

Summary: When Michael presents his offer to Tommy for a restructuring of the company, he mentions his daughter - after all, she is already involved, even if Tommy doesn’t know it yet

Note: Thank you for the request, anon - I hope you like it. This is my first time writing Tommy in this way and I've chosen S5 Tommy..-in this, Tommy’s daughter is ~ 15 (the child he conceived before the war) Here is my [Masterlist].

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Warning: Expect canon confirming tone, language and depiction of violence. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. 

Request: Please can I request a Tommy x daughter reader where she keeps rebelling and he finds it really difficult?

Wordcount: 4115

Water was running down the outside of the old pipe of the factory building right next to her. It could have been a distraction but her eyes were too focused on the scene in front. 

There, Isaiah was perfecting the art of acting- truly. He should be up on a stage, or on the movie scene, perhaps. He had the looks too, and not just the skill, not that she’d ever admit it. 

But he was good, almost too good. 

He kept his face a complete mask, without any trace of emotion, of mercy. 

“So, you thought you could steal from the Peaky Blinders, did you?”, he asked the factory front man in front of him, tsking as if he was scolding a child. As if this was nothing but a minor discrepancy. 

“Not stealin’, Sir, no, not stealin’, jus’ not tellin’ all, Sir!”, he babbled, bubbles of saliva forming at the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide with fear. 

Pathetic, (Y/N) thought.

She had soon learned that it was never good to let emotions show on her face, not outside. It would only show her weakness.

She had inherited her mask along with her name, from the man who had shaped them both. 

But she had inherited more than just that, and she licked her lips in anticipation as Isaiah hummed, pacing up and down in front of him.

“Just out of curiosity,”, he began, “what did you think would happen if we found out about your little…side hustle?”

He stretched the words out beautifully, just like she had told him too. But she had told him more. 

It was like a dance, really - one always knew which steps the other person might take, but in this, for once, she led and not the man tied up on the floor. And not Isaiah either. 

After all, she was the Shelby here. 

“They’d…they’d take me eyes.”, he stammered. 

Bingo, (Y/N) thought, knowing Isaiah’s voice and her words had created the perfect assist. 

Isaiah, ever the professional, didn’t even glance at her as he continued. 

Chuckling softly, he shook his head. 

“Taking the eyes, eh? Is that really what you thought? What you feared?”

All colour faded from the man’s face as his eyes widened. 

“No?”

Averting his eyes, he shook his head frantically. 

“B-but Sir, it wasn’t much…I’ll pay you back, I swear I will, I’ll do anything, I swear…please don’t…please, please don’t-”

He hiccuped pathetically and coughed up a mixture of saliva and phlegm as his desperate babbling continued

Bingo, (Y/N) thought. 

“I’ll do anything, Sir, please!”, he begged. 

“Anything, eh?”, Isaiah asked. 

“I swear I will - I’ll never do it again. I’ll do anything…”

With that, they had him. 

Isaiah instructed him that he would give them all the names of everyone involved in exchange for his life.

He not only gave them those names but also those of workers who had done as much as mutter a word against the Shelbys. 

Isaiah left his men to take care of it and walked out, (Y/N) closely on his heels with her head lowered and the peaked cap pulled far into her face, leaving little to be seen and almost nothing to be recognised. 

Once the car doors closed, Isaiah dropped his facade, glancing at her through the window. 

"Well done, (Y/N). Just like you'd predicted."

She had earned her smile as the car sprung to life. 

"What can I see? People fear nothing more than their own imagination. Nothing we could ever do or say would scare them more than their own nightmares."

As she spoke she reached for the bag she had brought with her when Isaiah had picked her up earlier. 

In it she found all she would need- a small mirror, a brush and a clip for her hair, a light blue dress and heels polished to perfection. 

"Straight to the location?", He asked as (Y/N) slipped out of the waistcoat and suspenders and pulled the shirt out of Finn's old trousers, while kicking off the old marred shoes. 

"Yes. I'd hate to be late."

Charlie was so proud of his concert and she wouldn't miss it for the world. 

During the drive she got changed, did her hair and even applied a little bit of the lipstick Lizzie had gotten her for her sixteenth birthday, behind her father's back of course. 

He could disapprove, but knowing him, he wouldn't show. 

Isaiah helped clasp her pearl necklace before sending her off. 

"I'll see what I can do about the paperwork.", She told him, instructing him to have it dropped off as the house. 

As always, he would slip it in between the pages of a fashion catalogue so that Frances and the maids wouldn't get suspicious. 

A scrawny young boy had climbed into the car with him, with scratched shoes and torn trousers, a shirt too large for him and a peaked cap with razor blades sewn inside. 

Out stepped a young lady with lace gloves and pearl earrings. 

But so was the life of (Y/N) Shelby. 

Her heels, imported from Paris, clicked on the steps to the concert hall where all the children from the most expensive music school Birmingham had to offer, would perform one by one. 

It wasn't difficult to find their seats. They were, after all, the best in the house. 

Ruby saw her first, waving at her excitedly. 

(Y/N) couldn't help but beam at her little sister as she opened her arms for her to rush into. 

She had loved both her siblings, but with Charlie excitement about his arrival had been laced by a sense of dread. 

She had feared her father would not love her anymore, now, with a new baby, and a boy at that. 

But she had loved Charlie from the moment she had seen him- with his round cheeks and bright eyes and nothing but love to give. 

Barely a year after he had been born they had been alone, two orphans in a big house with no trace of their father and just maids and servants to keep them company. 

She had sworn to him one of the nights where he had only calmed down after screaming himself to exhaustion that no matter what happened, they'd always have each other. 

Because both their mothers were dead and their father was gone. 

"Are you excited, Charlie?", She asked, stroking over his nearly combed hair. 

"My tummy feels funny.", He admitted. 

"That's alright.", She told him. "I know you'll be great."

That made him smile slightly. 

"I told you not to lift Ruby!", Lizzie told her impatiently, taking her from her arms. "It'll ruin your back!"

"It's not ruined yet.", She assured her with a grin. 

Lizzie clicked her tongue and shook her head. 

"When you're forty and hurting with every step, you'll think of me, mark my words.", She said, before guiding her to their seats- the best in the house of course. 

"I want to sit on (Y/N)'s lap!", Ruby insisted, climbing onto her knees as soon as she had sat down. 

Lizzie decided not to argue, instead smoothing down a spot she had missed on the back of her head. 

They all clapped politely when the teachers made the introduction and the concert began. 

As child after child went to showcase their prowess on the piano, flute or violin, (Y/N) let her mind wander to what else Isaiah had told her. 

She already had an idea but she'd need to think about it more, and to gather a bit more information before telling him what to do. 

But she banned all thoughts of smuggling when it was Charlie's turn, clapping until her hands ached even before he had started. 

His eyes found them and all three of them gave him reassuring smiles. 

"Good luck!", Lizzie mouthed. 

Charlie began to play that song they had heard more than a thousand times in the last few weeks, accompanied by his teacher on the piano. 

Each note he hit set of a firework inside of her, spreading tingling pride all throughout her body as she watched her little brother. 

She'd have cheered even if he had played so bad that the windows shattered but he really was perfect and so every bit of her cheering was deserved. 

Charlie seemed equally relieved and proud as he smiled at them once he was done, enjoying the clapping not nearly as much as seeing their faces. 

"Again.", Ruby demanded as soon as the clapping had died down, making laughter erupt from the audience of other siblings and parents. 

"Today he only plays it once.", She explained, giving Ruby a little squeeze. 

"Why?", She demanded to know. "At home he always plays it more times!"

To celebrate, they went out for cake and on the way back, Ruby fell asleep with her head in her lap, while Charlie couldn't stop talking about his concert and how much fun he had had. 

She handed Ruby over to Lizzie as they got out of the car and immediately went up to her bedroom, remembering what she had promised to Isaiah. 

The room she called her own was facing neither towards the carefully laid out gardens nor the path back to the village, but towards the woods, with their age old trees and treacherous shadows. 

To her it was a more welcome view than any fountain or rose bush could ever be. 

Her father had originally given her these two connected rooms- one bedroom and a playroom. 

But since she had turned the playroom into a small sitting room of her own, that and an office, complete with a desk and her own telephone connection from the main line. 

The shelves in the library were covered with novels, poetry, dramas and above all history and science books. 

History had never been her subject, not when men had tried to drill it into her. 

Once she had learned it herself, it stuck. 

But she cared little about Wellington, about Henry V and VII and their battles, about Richard III and his crusades, about Caesars and Alexanders- even if she had enjoyed the episode where he had claimed and tamed his legendary horse. 

Her history consisted of Elizabeth, of Maria Theresia, of Telesilla of Argos and Penthesilea, of Sappho, Hatchepsut, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Kaiserin Adelaide, and even tales about the political women of the United States. 

And their images graced her space, either as paintings on the wall, or even the miniature bust of Cleopatra VII that stood on her desk, her most proudest possession. The sharp and ever watching eyes of Egypt’s last Goddess-Pharao reminded her that one needed more than beauty if one hoped to govern a kingdom. 

She found comfort in the stories of those women who had once been forgotten and overlooked girls like she was, with the world trying to dumb them down with dress fittings and meaningless conversations.

And they had all become greater than anyone would ever have anticipated. 

(Y/N) drew strength from that and hope too- for her own future. 

Besides, she thought, as her eyes went to one of the portraits she had, no one in the world had known of Sophie of Anhalt-Zerbst. 

At first, at least. 

Just like she had expected, the catalogue had been delivered in the usual closed envelope. 

Taking her letter opener, she tore it open and slipped it out, but before she could flick it open, she heard a knock on the door. 

"Yes?", She asked, slipping the catalogue in the top drawer and twisting the key. 

It was one of the maids who had informed her that Finn was on the main line for her. 

"Apparently, it's about a certain horse race?"

Her heart skipped a beat. 

Neither Finn, nor Isaiah would say these words without cause. 

If something was about a horse race, it meant one thing and one thing only- an absolute catastrophe that meant immediate attention. It meant that the gun had already been fired and they, meaning she, had to react fast. 

"Put him through.", She asked her, her hand hovering over the hearer before she had left. 

The second it began to make noise, she ripped it up. 

"What is it?", She demanded to know, hearing Finn's heavy panting. 

"He knows!", He exclaimed breathlessly, as if he had raced to the telephone. "The meeting went horribly wrong. Michael offered a restructuring of the company, and himself in your father's stead. Tommy got so angry, I thought he'd cut him but-"

Finn stumbled over his words as he hurried to speak. 

"Michael told him and Arthur that their time was over. He talked of a new generation, (Y/N)! Fuck!"

She could feel the blood rushing in her ears. But she had to focus. 

"What did he say, Finn? I need to know exactly what he said!"

After all, she needed to know precisely what charges would be laid against her, what she would have to deny. 

"That Finn would be part of the next generation, a new generation of Shelbys with Michael at the helm. And with you already running the streets, it would be a smooth transition anyways."

(Y/N) spun, the hearer slipping out of her hand and crashing into the mahogany desk surface. 

Her father was standing on the other side of the desk, the polished wood creating a no-man’s-land between them. 

His piercing pale blue eyes locked in on her the same way a hawk would narrow in on his prey, but his face betrayed nothing. 

"Dad!", She gasped, glancing around and realising that he had closed the door behind him, having twisted the knob so that no one from the outside would be able to enter. 

"My daughter.", He said slowly, his voice as cold and rough freshly split marble, drawing the words out as if he was savouring it in a sick, twisted way, "running the streets of Birmingham."

~

(Y/N) Shelby felt her face burn, which was strange, because she also felt ice spread through her entire body, freezing her to the spot while her father just stared at her. 

“I told you,”, he said, his hands buried deeply in his pockets, with only his emotions hidden deeper, “Small Heath is off limits.”

She swallowed hard. That had been a ludicrous rule. She had been born there, had grown up there. It had been her home for almost half her life, and it was where her roots were. 

“I told you to start behaving respectably, just like they teach you at that fucking school.”

At the mention of that institution, she almost winced. It was a girl’s school, highly recommended, with the single goal of manufacturing the next generation of aimable, breedable, respectable young ladies - but she was a Shelby, first and last, and no amount of lessons, scoldings and punishments would ever persuade, manipulate or beat it out of her. She’d rather die. 

“I told you,”, he continued, “no fraternising with the foot soldiers.”

The way he said it made her want to slap him. Those weren’t foot soldiers, they weren’t even really soldiers - they were friends, family even and hearing her father dismiss them so cut deeper than a freshly sharpened blade. 

“So you lie to my face and go behind my back.”

He clicked his tongue. 

“Running the streets eh? Out with Isaiah Michael tells me.”

By his tone one could almost think he was mocking her, but she knew better than to think it was just that. 

She knew it was something far sinister. 

“I can explain.”, she said, but she didn’t get further as her father’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. 

“No you fucking can’t!”, he roared, his hand flying out of his pocket with his finger pointing at her as something snapped inside of him. “There is no explanation, no reason in the fucking world!”

His tone had made her flinch, but that wasn’t enough to make him stop. 

“You,”, he spat, “out in the fucking streets of Birmingham, looking for what, eh? Eh?”

He had gotten so loud, (Y/N) only hoped Ruby and Charlie were downstairs. If they were in the day nursery playing, they’d undoubtedly hear him. 

“Looking for some excitement, are we? Some rebellion?”

“No-”, she tried to argue. 

“This is Lizzie’s fault.”, he said, cutting her off as he began to shake his head like a mad man. “I told her, I fucking told her to keep you in line and this is what I get for it. Me own fucking daughter slumming around in the streets of Birmingham like some third class whore.”

“You keep her out of it!”, she ordered, her voice reaching a slightly higher pitch than it usually would. 

He only snorted, glaring at her with a strange mixture of disgust and rage and in that very second, (Y/N) realised it was hate. 

But instead of feeling hurt, the anger that had accusation against Lizzie had ignited in her only spread, rising to an inferno that threatened to consume all around her. 

“After everything I’ve done for her, for you - for this fucking family.”

“Don’t you talk about family, Dad!”, she hissed through clenched teeth. 

He froze in his tracks, all colour fading from his cheek. 

“What’d you say?”, he said under his breath. “What did you fucking say?”

She swallowed hard, realising that the line had been crossed, but she refused to back down. 

Not this time, Dad. 

“You always talk about family, but you know nothing about family, not about this one.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed, like those of a wolf about to bear his fangs ready to sink them into his prey, but her anger drowned out any sign of fear. 

“Don’t I?”, he asked, raising his eyebrow and for a split second she wished he hadn’t done that, but she was too angry to let it change her course. 

“What’s the name of the piece Charlie played at his concert?”, she asked. 

“I wasn’t fucking there.”, he spat. 

That made her chuckle in the most agonising way. 

“He’s only been practising it for the last three months.”

That and nothing but so that they were all sick of it really, or would have been, if Charlie hadn’t been so proud. 

“They all sound the fucking same.”

If you aren’t bothered to listen, maybe. 

“What’s the name of Ruby’s teddy?”, she said. 

“Why would I care about a toy?”, he asked through clenched teeth. 

“Because she cares about it!”, she snapped back. “She cares about it so much she can’t fall asleep without it.”

That was the reason why Lizzie, Frances and (Y/N) had spent three hours searching the gardens in the pouring rain so she could get it back. 

“Everything,”, he said, his voice dangerously low, but it didn’t stay low long, “everything in this fucking house in all your fucking lives is because of me so don’t you tell me what I have or haven’t done for this family. I do everything for this family!”

His eyes flashed once more, as if behind them the gates of purgatory had opened. 

“You,”, he roared, pointing at her once more, “you don’t get to talk to be like that, not when I went through hell for this family - for you!”

Usually that would have shamed her into silence. She had already been born when the war had started, too young to remember the man that had vowed to return to the motherless child he had fathered by accident, but she had remembered the aftermath. 

But they had gone too far to return to usually, the both of them. And there was no path remaining but forward. 

Her own voice was loud enough to equal his. 

“And why do you think I help Isaiah and Finn? Why do you think I solve their problems? Why tell them what to do?”, she screamed back at him, her treacherous eyes burning with tears.

“So you don’t have to!”

It had happened by accident. After a long day, which came after a long week she had seen her father asleep in his office chair when she had been on her way to fetch something to drink in the middle of the night and saw the lamp still burning. 

But soon she had seen the headlight of the approaching cars, which had carried Finn with news of some irregularities in the books they noticed. 

She had offered to give the papers so that Finn could go home and he, frightened of the reaction of his older brother in light of his mistake, had agreed. 

And yet, (Y/N) hadn’t wanted to wake her father, not when he was finally sleeping so she had sat down at her schooling desk until she had figured out just where the problem lay. It was all too write some instructions up on Lizzie’s typewriter and fake her father’s signature. 

Isaiah had been the one who had caught her out, but he too preferred her solution to her father’s wrath. 

That had been the beginning, but by now Isaiah came to her not only with problems, but with weekly reports and they worked together on ideas how to make things more efficient, easier and better. 

It had worked for nearly a year. 

Tommy Shelby’s lips twisted into a grimace mocking a smile. 

“Yeah.”, he scoffed. “Like you know the first thing about running the streets.”

The same way you know the first thing about this family, she thought, glaring at him. 

“If that’s the case then why are you even bothered?”, she asked, not bothering to hide the condescension in her voice. 

If he could do it, so could she. 

His jaw twitched dangerously once more. 

“I should send you to those fucking nuns in Switzerland.”, he snarled. 

That frightened her more than his anger had done. The thought of being sent away, to some monastery school up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere without her friends, without her family - without anyone that knew her made her stomach coil. 

“Lizzie won’t let you!”, she argued. 

She had promised her that when he had threatened her with it the last time around, when she had gotten a little drunk perhaps on the whisky he had lying around everywhere. 

“I am your father and you will do as I tell you!”, he spat. 

Without a moment’s hesitation he reached to the side of her desk and grabbed the telephone, pulling not just at the apparatus but at the cord as well until he tore it out of the wall, chipping the wooden panelling. 

It sent half the contents of her desk flying, scattering the letter paper, tipping over the picture frame of her and her siblings, and toppling the likeness of the last Queen of Egypt. 

“You will stay here while I decide what to do with you. In this room, in this house.”

While he still fought to gather the cord of the telephone in his grip, she rolled off of the edge of the table. 

She dented the ground, but it wasn’t enough to break her fall. 

With a thud and a crash, the image of Cleopatra VII Philopator shattering into a thousand little white pieces, spread over the floor like the first snow on a winter’s day. 

And with it shattered more than just her anger as tears burned in her eyes she only hoped Thomas Shelby would not see. 

“You know what?”, she asked, when he was already halfway out of her room and to her surprise, he stopped to turn at her.

She met his eyes, her eyes, the Shelby eyes - blue and pale and piercing, as unyielding as they were cold. 

“Sometimes I’m glad that I am the only one who has these memories with you.”

(Y/N) did not know whether it was the sudden softness of her tone or the words she had said, but confusion began to wash out her father’s anger, not completely of course, for that he was too suspicious and too smart. 

“Because at least Charlie and Ruby won’t ever know what it’s like to miss you the way I have to.”

Not even a single muscle in his face twitched, not a single sign he even cared, but it didn’t surprise her. She had known that long before she had dared to admit it, and all this while she had still held onto some form of foolish, childish hope. 

But she could see that hope now, in the shattered ruins of what had once been her prized possession. 

“Hell,”, she said, her voice just as void of emotion as Tommy Shelby’s face was, “Ruby doesn’t even have a Dad she could miss, even if she wanted to.”

End

~

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

Taglist

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Tommy

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @watercolorskyy @books-livre @chlorrox @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore

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[despairinthedeparturelounge]

The charmer

Aemond Targaryen x OC fem! Dahlia Hightower

Warning: common incest (i mean come on) nephew & aunt, a tiny tiny bit of smut at the very end, possible typos and bad grammar since english is not my first language.

Like & comments are very much appreciated

Dahlia Hightower, the youngest child of The Hand, Sister to the queen,

was considered fortunate and unfortunate at the very same time by herself, being the second born freed her from the heavy duty of marriage the way it trapped her sister, leaving her less valid and vulnerable to the preying eyes of others.

Dahlia spent most her times listening, observing and learning,

She became everyone's favourite in her very own way, seemed to have a knack for enchanting people to listen to her,

She even had prince Daemon in her mercy, some might say Dahlia Hightower is a witch casting spells on men of king's landing but those close to her knew better,

She was just a charmer, a dangerous one! So giving her what she pleased had become the only way. And her family knew it too well to let it slip through their fingers easily, for a bit of entertainment she would agree to act on her father's wish,

Or a simple favour asked by her grace, the queen.

She loved her family and was loyal to them there was no doubt in that, all the games and charms would be set behind the door the moment she entered the chambers where her niece and nephews were, she was there from the moment they opened their eyes, finding comfort in the messy yet full of life of the children's presents.

The kids grew up watching her, hearing numourus rumers about their aunt that mostly would bring the young boys blood to boil, people had eyes and it wasn't hidden from anyone how much of a fair woman she was, her beauty never failed to stun men whether it's the first or the last time their gaze land upon her, Dahlia's emerald eyes were a gift from her mother, bright and mesmerising completing with long raven locks of hair reaching almost to the back of her thighs, always designed or braided with gold clips or gem stones dangling from the front strand into her face, a sight to be hold even by the young prince who found himself unable to torn his eyes away from his aunt as she passed them by while training, catching him off guard.

She was the first one to hold Aemond's hand when he was attacked, when the maesters were stitching him she watched her sister panic, cry, mad and burst it out on princess Rhaenyra, but she remained there holding the boy's hand encouraging him to keep talking to her, "you're a brave boy Aemond!" Her praise muted every other noise in that room for Aemond, he could only hear her, see her, feel her.

For the next years Aemond grew so fond of spending time with Dahlia,

She, among all the people was the only person he trusted enough to remove the eye patch when he was with her, in earlier stage Dahlia would ask and learn how to clean and treat the scar so she'd be the one taking care of her nephew for it to soon become a hubby of them both, resting in each others presents, and before he knew he was long gone, lost into The Charmer's magic unable to find his peace anywhere else. "Princess Rhaenyra is traveling over to king's landing along side her family." He said walking towards the window, "mhm" was the only respond leaving Dahlia's mouth, drown in the new book Aemond brought her three days ago, "It's been years since either of them walked in this castle, shouldn't your answer be a bit more.... surprised, dear aunt?"

Closing the book she placed it on the table before turning all her attention to the prince, "you sound frustrated, this is their home after all, they would be back sooner or later" he turned back to her direction slowly approaching the green eyed woman sitting before him, "it concerns me, them being here" he admitted kneeling before her as she played with the silver strands of his hair, brushing them away from his face,

Aemond never spoked about the matters in his mind since he never thought of himself in a place to say something especially about his sister, or uncle to anyone, but Dahlia always had a look of enthusiasm for his words that he was addicted to,

She listens and guides him, "for your own good, dear nephew i assure you all Rhaenyra thinks about is his father," she said still having her fingers in his hair making him melt into her touch again.

"And Daemon?" He asked looking up at her face,

"What about him?" Aemond scanned Dahlia's face carefully, his eye wander all over her face before fixing it on her lips, watching them curl into a mischievous smile, "what's on his mind aunt?" Bending forward her face was just few inches away, he could feel her warm breath on his skin "none of your concern my dear, his business is his only"

"I never liked him neither his business, having to do anything with us" his words were low, careful but confident, "who is this us, Aemond?" He looked down for a second only to look back at her once more, holding her hand in his cold ones, slender fingers caressing her skin. Lips trembling, tempted to say words that want to fly out of his mouth so badly, she smiled watching the young man before her that had grown into a wonder, mind to body.

"Uh my dear nephew, my dear dear Aemond" brushing her thumb on his lips, her eyes soften when he kissed her fingertips, "you are a prince, an important man to this kingdom or even next! You need to be betrothal to someone that will add strength to this house!" Chewing on her bottom lip, she placed her forehead on his closing her eyes, they stood there for a minute or two before she spoke again, "we cannot surrender to our desire" she was crying and Aemond's heart ached hearing her voice like this, cupping her face with both his hands be shook his head, "this kingdom is ruled by desire..." He muttered kissing her wet eyelids,

"Don't...Aemond... i beg you..." he was quick to shut her by pressing his lips to hers, backing for a second she gave in to the kiss eventually, moving her lips to devour more of him, hands clutching to his collar to push herself further into his touch, feeling the skin of his neck under her touch she harshly broke the kiss and stood up, not looking back once she walked out of the quarters wiping her eyes dry with the sleeve of her gown, her feet were fast to make their way back into her private chamber, closing the doors behind her.

The guests arrived sooner than expected and as the events followed the other, a supper was arranged featuring everyone.

"This one my lady?" Lyla, the maiden that happen to be Dahlia's favourite carried a gown rather so carefully in her arms, she was of a smaller figure than Dahlia, a bit shorter too, so she was careful not to step on the dress, "yes Lyla, thank you"

"Should we gather all your hair up my lady? In a bun perhaps?" Dahlia frowned staring at herself in the mirror, imagining the picture. She then laughed turning back to face the blonde girl, "that would take ages and ten maid, Lyla!"

"What about a smaller one? Like half of it?" She spoke having the sweetest accent, no wonder why Dahlia was so fond of her, she was tireless just like her.

"That'll do it, thank you!" Dahlia smiled, stripping from the white sheer dress to put on her chosen gown, a navy blue dress with magnificent golden details drawn all over the sleeves to her chest, a slight open gap between them to show off more than enough cleavage connected with strings of the same colour, paired with a perfect diamond necklace, a dear gift from Aemond.

Not long after everyone soon gathered around the big table, princess Rhaenyra sitting with her husband and their children, then there was the queen and her father and the children leaving Dahlia no choice but the empty sit next to her father, next to Aemond.

"You look wonderful princess Rhaenyra, i hope you're not tried from traveling" dahlia spoke, a sweet tone and a genuine smile. She liked her there was no doubt Rhaenyra held the same mount of respect towards the young woman, "you as well dear Dahlia, the dress has served you justice" she smiled turning to Daemon, "I hope you enjoy your staying here as well"

"I appreciate it lady Dahlia" Daemon spoke calmly, treating her with a smirk.

It was tense but she would lie if she said she did not enjoy the gathering a bit too much, all the tension fed her amusement well all until Aemond stood up making a toast to his nephews,

"Aemond please..." Alicent begged her son to stop, giving Dahlia a worry look asking for help,

She saw the look in his eyes, Rhaenyra's boys and it all reminded her of the night when lucerys cut the wound deep into his face, Aemond, before speaking another word look over his shoulder to only to see his aunt staring at him, smirking.

He then closed his eyes tilting his head to the right, still holding up the cup. Oh things this woman does to him, the breathed out before talking again, "let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys,"

"I dare you to say that again" jace said from where he was standing,

"Why? That's only a compliment" he stopped before walking away from the table, and Dahlia tried her best not to look amused, "do you not think yourself Strong?" Aegon was first to smack the poor boy luce's head on the table,

"Enough!" Alicent shouted as Dahlia stood up from her chair, still watching as Aemond pushed jace on the floor laughing.

Dahlia's boys.

" -i was merely expressing how proud i am of my family mother" Dahlia stood there holding her sister's arm, an act to try to calm her down a little. "But seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs" Dahlia grasped Aemond's wrist and pulled him back and stepped in front of him when jace rushed forward,

"Wait, wait" Daemon spoke walking to jace to make him back off and with the princess's order all were gone, back to their quarters.

Daemon turned back staring at the boy with Dahlia still in front of him, gazing upon the older man she drawn a force pressure and led Aemond to walk away from them, still holding his arm in hers.

"I bet you're quite entertained for the night" walking in the dark empty halls Dahlia's hand ripped apart from his arm, "admit it Dahlia i know how to keep you on your feet" she turned back looking at the proud boy standing, "what were you thinking!?" She wasn't mad no, she sounded curious,

"You, wasn't it clear? You are all up in my mind" he confessed holding the woman's waist pushing her back carefully til she hit the stone wall, "consider it a gift maybe?" Pining her against the wall while caging her body with his Dahlia wasted no time to capture his lips with hers into a hungry kiss, Aemond hands moved from her neck to her waist squeezing and touching, "be my lady wife, and i shall have you like this.. wet and waiting for me every night"

Catching her breath, Dahlia moaned as his cold fingers made contact with her burning flesh, squeezing and stroking the soft skin of her thigh, "Aemond..."

"Is that a yes?" He teased his fingers above her cunt,

"Be done with the teasing i may consider it a proposal to think about" she panted, already breathless and half done, "your wish is my command lady wife" Aemond whispered entirely amused with the way Dahlia's body responded to him, and she most likely already had made up her mind into accepting it, although against everyone's wish.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

I peeped into your prompt list and was inspired to request a Billy Hargrove x fem!reader fic 👀

“I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that sort of thing”

And

“I really don’t like you”- “and I really don’t believe you”

But it’s an enemies to lovers trope where they end up being soulmates. Also, Billy survives the Mind Flayer. Please and thank you! 💕✨

Of course! This might be one of the only things I write tonight since I have surgery and wanna go to bed a little early but I hope you all like this.

This is lovely and non-canon so Billy isn't the worst ever in whatever universe this takes place in! :D Sorry for any typos!

"Max, stop, do not leave me to deal with him-"

"I'm sorry! Just tell him I went home with El or something!" The redhead cringes, throwing me a sorry smile before skipping away, hand in hand with Lucas, loud giggles leaving them as they hop on their bikes. They're gone as quickly as they came, leaving me alone in front of the arcade, waiting anxiously for Billy to show up.

Saving his life at Starcourt apparently earned me unlimited free rides.

But the only time that I actually take him up on the offer is when I'm riding home with Max but today she had other plans, leaving me completely at Billy's mercy, awkward and squeamish in his presence.

There's always been a sense of fear that I've felt in his presence, before it was because he was possibly the biggest douche a person could ever meet, but now it's because he's nicer, gentler, quieter. He's different than he used to be in all of the best ways but he still has a sense of humor that takes you off guard, flirty eyes and a wild imagination that he has written out across his forehead.

He's forward. I'm not.

My arms shake at my side as I watch him zoom into the parking lot, slowing down right in front of me as he rolls down his window. He looks around briefly, clicking his tongue as he slides his sunglasses off of his nose.

"She go with Lucas again?" He asks, a small smile on his lips as I step up to the car with a huff, hoisting my backpack further onto my shoulders with a shrug.

"I'm supposed to tell you she went with El." My eyes squint in the bright light of the sun that rests above me, blinding me from BIlly's heated gaze, his eyes traveling up and down the expanse of my frame.

"Not like I care anymore- get in." He reaches over to pop the door open, before returning to his cool composure, one hand on the wheel, one on his thigh. It's hard to ignore the way his fingers curl around the leather wheel, clenching so hard to the point where his knuckles turn white. "You all freaked cuz you don't have your ginger, emotional support child with you?" He teases as I slip down into the seat beside him, my whole body flushing at his implication that I somehow need Max to function around him. He's not wrong.

"Shut up." I mutter, clutching my bag to my chest as he puts the car into drive with a chuckle, shaking his head at my simple answer. A few moments go by, a shit eating grin on Billy's lips as he sneaks a few glances at me, looking at me above his tinted glasses.

"Ya know, I don't bite, not unless you're into that thing." He snickers, adjusting himself in his seat as his hand moves to rest on the shift, inching closer and closer to me with every minute that goes by.

"Billy, shut it." I huff, trying to keep my bashfulness at bay but the minute my words come out, they're quivered and nervous, completely evident that he's making me more nervous than angry.

"I'm so right, you know it. You're intimidated by me and maybe it's cuz you actually like me." He's not wrong and he knows it, his eyes knowingly glancing over my dumbfounded expression as my lips part in quiet shock. But the longer we sit at this red light and look at each other, the more I feel giddy and excited at the attention he's giving me, a happy smile eventually stretching across my face.

"I really don't like you." I whisper, his grin only growing at the lies.

"And I really don't believe you." With a smirk, he drives off from the red light before turning abruptly, laughing at the sight of my brows that pull together in innocent confusion "Come on, give me a chance. I'll buy you lunch." He nods at the small diner up on our left, eyes hopeful and excited. I bite at my lip as I ponder the possible options in front of me, but there's only one answer I can give.

If I were to say no, Max would have my head.

"Fine but the only reason I'm going is for food." I offer, folding my arms over my chest as he grins toothily, giving me a stern nod before pulling into the diners parking lot.

"Deal."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

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[sorcerous-caress]

"Beg"

The command made him shutter; Minthara's body flush against his back, hand pulling his head to the side, her voice raspy in his ear.

Jaheira between his legs, sinking onto her knees with his cunt laid out in front of the Harper. Her breath cooling the slick coating his thighs, Her hand stroking his waist as she begins to kiss his inner thigh, drawing out tiny shudders and mewls.

She’s not being slow nor methodical about this, letting hunger drive her down closer to his core nipping at the soft flesh there, sucking harshly along the way;

With the fervor of a women that has been denied for too long.

Another sharp tug of his hair pulls him away, back to his ilhar.

Her lips shift from his ear down to his throat, stopping occasionally to linger at any draconic scales she finds.

" Ilhar.. Varsh, please have mercy.." he croaks out.

Voice trembling as Minthara's tongue curls across his throat. Her teeth graze the skin, and he tenses in preparation for pain. It doesn’t come, however. Just the slightly too hard pressure of teeth gliding across his pulse point, and then shoulder.

She pulls away and clarifies.

"Mercy? Oh, please this is an indulgence ssindossa"

She growls it against his ear, making him tremble harder. She pauses before continuing, but she’s also nibbling at the ridges of his ear. He mewls embarrassingly loud, she chuckles and continues.

"Enjoy this while it lasts, because after this you'll have to serve, cry and pray for every drop of affection I'll give you from now on."

Before he could respond, he chokes on a cry that fades out to a sharp keen. A warm, soft tongue brushes over his folds, Jaheira had apparently taken annoyance at his lack of noise.

He tries to follow her face, but her vines hold strong. keeping him firmly rooted.

He sobs

The sounds pour out of his mouth as she devours him, voice becoming embarrassingly pathetic. She groans against him, causing another stream of cries

An unintelligible garble of Tirsu, punctuated by pleads for his Varsh.

She dips her tongue against his hole, he still can't buck his hips. moans are flowing together as a heat builds in his cunt. The pressure is becoming overwhelming, muscles tightening...

Then she stops and pulls away.Throughout the entire ordeal,He didn't seem to notice the second spell Jaheira was casting until he felt it.

Thick tendrils gliding across his cunt, Jaheira let's out a low moan as the tendrils slip deep inside.

Then he realizes that she can feel him through them.

It was gonna be a long night.

-githzerai anon

I finally finish this wip, it's been sitting in my notes forever. Not satisfied with it but it's nice to complete it. Sorry for any typos/grammar. Now I'm going back to writing angst

That's really beautiful, anon. I'm happy you shared your work with me, and we got to add to it and see it become a full story.

Here's my last addition too, this was a really fun experience <3

The hours blend into one another as they pass, the woods were ever cold and mercless at night.

But not for him, all he could feel was the blazing heat of Minthara against his face. Her wet folds grinding against his eager tongue and pushing him deeper inside, making him taste her pure lust.

"Swallow it all down, I do not want to see a drop wasted." Her harsh pull on his hair drives him deeper as he helplessly gulps down. Eating his ilhar out like any good boy should.

Even then, he couldn't focus. His brain stopped working long ago. All he could her besides Minthara's orders were the embarrassing squelching sounds of thick, smooth vines penterating both of his holes. They were relentless and merciless as they pumped in and out of him, dragging against his insides and pressing against his sensitive spots.

Jaheira had a feral look in her eyes, it must have felt as overwhelming for her as it did for him. She kept littering various bites between his thighs and marking his hips and stomach, controlling the vines with a glowing green light omitting from her hands.

Minthara would lean backward, pressing her hand against the bulge on his stomach and feeling the vines going in and out of him. Toying with his insides and making him squirm underneath her as she kept riding his face.

At one point, the vines were going fully out, leaving his glistening holes empty and gaping, before plunging back in and making the pain and pleasure wires in his brain cross.

Another hour went by, the sun was already up.

The vines have vanished by now, Jaheira having exhausted her magic. Instead, she cradled his upper body against her chest so gently as if she wasn't driving him to tears and loud cries an hour ago.

His varsh offering her breasts to him, making him look her in the eyes as he sucked on her nipples. Shame and embarrassment burning through his body as Jaheira caressed the top of his head, pushing him more into her breasts and cooing at his reactions.

"It's fine cub, let me take care of you." Her voice was confident, soothing, reliable even. It was hard to resist her, hard not to fall to sleep as he nursed and sucked on her chest, fresh tears staining his face.

But the soft embrace of sleep was tugged away from him as a harsh slap against his behind made him jolt awake in Jaheira's arms.

"Awake." Minthara lifted his lower body into her lap. His ass and wet holes on full display for her judging eyes as she spread him open, examining and inspecting his oversensitive parts.

Both of his mommies sitting on the floor in the forest. All he could do was obey stay on his stomach, spread out on top of their laps.

His sensitivity was so high that Minthara merely spreading his folds open with her two fingers was enough to get him wet again. Legs fully shaking and jumping at her slightest touch.

Aware of it or not, he kept sucking his Varsh's breast for comfort. Yet each time he would close his eyes for more than a blink, another slap against his plush ass made him jolt awake. His skin slowly reddning the more this kept going on, Jaheira merely tuted at him for disobeying his Ilhar and being a very bad boy.

"She is only trying to clean you, cub." A tender kiss on his forehead as Jaheira wiped away his tears.

Minthara didn't deny it, she kept running the cold cloth against his skin and wiping away all the dried cum and dirt. Paying speical attention to his holes and making sure nothing is left inside.

By the time it was over, he was too exhausted to keep his eyes opening. Fully surrounding to sleep as he felt himself being carried against strong arms. Minthara letting him bury his face into her neck and held him tighter.

"These clothes can't be salvaged, they are ruined beyond repair." Jaheira spoke as she walked next to her, holding the remains of what could be described as a mockery of githyanki warrior outfit.

"Throw them out." Minthara slowed down her walking to make sure not to wake up the sleeping githzerai in her arms, "we need to replace them with easier access clothes."

Being praded back to the camp, naked and snuggling deeply into his Ihar's embrace.

[pierrai]

It appears there may have been some evil force keeping me from sending my request! I'd like to ask for a scenario where Eliot grooms someone, either intentionally from the start, or unintentionally. :)

Oh no! That's really quite tragic! I'm not so sure it's evil though! :) But anyway, I thought I'd focus on this request even though it's quite recent, as Eliot is really quite easy to write for (he's not very complicated!). I hope the other anons (especially the rabid Al anons) don't mind! The end might have some typos but please enjoy!

Character: Eliot Word Count: 2584 Scenario: Eliot grooming an S/O Warnings: Unhealthy dynamic, underage, mild NSFW, religious imagery

Eliot

Eliot had been on the receiving end of a long list of grievances when he met you, and for a long time too. His mother gone, his cult destroyed, his guardian dead, and he himself left to wander the streets until some so called do-gooder district guard dumped him in a shelter filled to the brim with walking, talking embodiments of filth. When it was put that way, it was natural he'd drift to someone helpless like you.

Though the shelter was funded and occasionally overseen by Rin herself, it still homed criminals who barely had the decency not to hoard rations of food, water and clothing all to themselves. The strong dominated the weak, and you were among the weak.

Eliot liked to believe— he knew—he was one of the strong. He would go as far to say he was the strongest there. No one could trump a god, could they? When he'd first arrived 3 years ago at the age of 16, he'd made sure to stamp his authority right away.

But alas, being in a pack of heretics and non-believing scum, they'd laughed in his face and some even dared to lay their hands on him. It was only by his mercy did he decide not to kill them all right then and there. He could let someone else deal with rabble like that. They just weren't worth his time. After that whole ideal, they must've known to stay away from someone as powerful as him, as all they had the guts to do was snicker from a distance.

You, however, weren't as blessed. When you'd arrived, you were an easy target for those much older and taller. You were young, malnourished and dirty. Honestly, Eliot was disgusted by you at first. He didn't even want to think about how many germs you must have and just the thought of touching you turned his stomach. You were revolting. Weak. Pathetic. And slowly but surely, his disgust turned to something else the more he thought about how truly helpless and pathetic you were.

Someone like you needed guidance. You were still young, probably in your early to mid teens, and you'd likely been through your own hardships before coming here. What you needed was salvation, and who better to give it than a god?

He introduced himself in a way only a god should, that being laced in excessive praise, but you seemed more focused on the food he'd brought once your own had been cruelly stolen away by some thug older than you. Only after he'd handed over a decidedly small portion of stale bread did you finally listen to his ramblings and offer your own name in reply.

He'd initially thought you were going to be difficult, ravenously devouring the food he'd offered, dressed like a street urchin, clearly not giving him the respect he demanded and deserved, but once you'd finished eating, you were surprisingly obedient in listening to his sermons.

He told you about his godhood, the teachings of Filomena, and the position he once held in his cult before he was so cruelly wronged by those jealous of his power (he left out a generous amount of information on how exactly he'd been wronged, but you needn't know that right now or ever). The way he told it, he was the authority around here and everyone bowed down to him, but his bragging must've been the first 'kindness' anyone had shown you in days, months or years, because you seemed to believe every word he said.

Taking you under his wing worked to protect you, at least in the sense that Eliot was exhausting to deal with so anyone looking to go after you might as well go after someone else. This red-listing, while not bothering you who was none the wiser, just made it easier for Eli to keep you loyal to him while at the shelter. You didn't have much opportunity to talk to anyone else, but why would you need to when your god was already all you needed?

Eliot spoke to you like you were someone lesser. Someone who constantly needed guidance in case they did something foolish that they wouldn't even be aware they were doing until someone smarter came along to point it out. He'd chastise you over small things you'd done wrong and things that you couldn't have helped to begin with.

The longer you spent time with him, the more he did it, and when you slowly became downtrodden, the more he reassured you that this was just him expressing his holy guidance to you. He'd smile as he said it, so that must've meant he was being genuine and that he was right.

He always told you to stay in the shelter when he left to go outside, which he always begrudged and was seemingly just as glad as you were to be reunited when he got back, but every so often he'd leave quietly and come back with red-rimmed eyes, blotchy cheeks and a dour expression hours later. You knew not to ask about that after the first time it happened.

But being a teenager, you were naturally going to grow more curious about the world outside, just like Eliot was when he was a bit younger, so even when he berated you for having interests in stupid things, you slowly wore him down by subtly pestering him about wanting to go outside. He eventually gave in.

He gave in, but under strict conditions. You weren't to leave his side. You weren't to talk to anyone he didn't want you talking to; he'd reply for you. You had to keep tight hold of his hand. You agreed to everything, knowing there was no compromising with Eliot and you really just wanted to explore some more. There was the slightest amount of anxiety nagging at you, but mostly curiosity. This part of the underground was somewhere you hadn't been, but before you could properly explore it, Eli had come along.

From what Eliot had told you, all the people here were absolute filth, even worse than those in the shelter, so you needed his protection more than anything. But finally being out on the streets, it didn't seem nearly as horrific as you'd daydreamed. The people here were certainly rough around the edges, but they were just trying to get by. Your god seemed more anxious than you were, clutching your hand so tight his nails were beginning to dig into your skin and walking at such a quick pace you struggled to keep up

At one point, he seemed to specifically be avoiding something, and only when an unfamiliar voice called out Eliot's name did you realise what that something was.

The man the two of you turned around to face seemed to be one of the guards stationed around here. Eliot had told you over and over again that they were the worst kind of people (though, he'd said that about many things) and you should never ever trust them, but this man looked so friendly. Nevertheless, you shuffled yourself closer to Eliot's flank.

Eliot was equally on guard, accusingly asking the man what he wanted and then not giving him enough time to answer before he told him to go back to work (in his words: did your owner let you off your leash? Go back to your post, dog.) You expected an equally as vitriolic response from the man, but he just smiled awkwardly and brushed off the comments before his gaze was directed towards you instead. Eliot tugged your hand so harshly it might've popped out it's socket, and hid you behind himself for all the good it did. Vehemently, he told the man to go away again.

Once again, his words were cast aside. The man approached cautiously and peered around Eli to introduce himself to you. His name was Jun, and his smile was so friendly and his voice so gentle when he addressed you, you wondered if he really was a dog at all.

You didn't respond, so Jun smiled and told Eli he was glad he'd made a friend. He only got more glaring and hissed out grievances, so with a light-hearted laugh, he ruffled Eli's hair and then did the same to yours and he was off.

Eli looked so disgusted he must've been rendered speechless for a few seconds. Then he was letting go of your hand to run his fingers through his hair with muttered words under his breath, and doing the same to yours. That man is filled with sin, don't trust him. He's evil and awful and if you listen to him, only bad things will happen, only listen to me. Don't let him touch you. Not ever. Only me.

When you got back at the shelter, Eliot kept hold of your hand. That same night after he'd demanded the two of you wash up and he'd rubbed both of your skin raw with cold water and the soap he'd been proudly hiding away from the other residents, he told you to sleep in his bed and clung to you with an angry expression and eyes that didn't look at you. You didn't know what you'd done wrong, but you felt guilty anyway. You didn't like when Eliot was upset.

From then on, Eliot's mindset seemed to change. He didn't want to be apart from you, but he didn't want you near anyone else either. He wished to keep you inside but even when he did allow you to go out with him, he was careful to avoid running into Jun ever again. The thought that he'd touched you turned Eliot's stomach and made him want to rip out every strand of hair Jun's hands had defiled and claim the ones that grew back in their place so they'd belong to him instead.

He always made you sleep in his bed. He always had to be touching you somehow so he just knew you were there. That you hadn't left him. Sometimes he couldn't sleep, so he'd watch you sleep instead, listen to your breathing and let it remind him you hadn't gone anywhere.

He wished he could keep you away from everyone else in the world so no one but him could ever touch you. Or at least... if he touched every part of you first, he'd always have claim over you. Routinely, he'd lie across from you at night and run his fingers through your hair, then stroke your face with his thumbs. The flustered look you gave him both made his heart skip beats but also made his stomach feel tight and hot.

It's not a feeling he's deeply familiar with, but it's one he's heard about.

When he asked if anyone had ever touched you before, he was both glad to hear of nothing so intimate and angered to hear of some things more violent. People grabbing at your wrists to pin you and steal your belongs, soldiers tugging you along by the arm.

Since he's a god, he tells you, he can cleanse the sin they left behind on you. You were so blessed to have a god in person that could help you. The way he says it is almost loving, but his words have an edge to them.

You don't want to have other people's sin on you, so when he grabs your arm, you let him. You weren't entirely sure how he'd go about his cleansing, but you're definitely surprised when the brings your hand to his mouth and softly presses his lips to the skin of your fingers. He moves his way down to your wrist, then your arm, then he finally lets go with something of a smug look on his face.

Your sins are cleansed. You thank him. Then you both go to sleep.

Or you do. But Eliot doesn't. He spends the night watching you, wondering what he just did or why. He'd cleansed you, is what he'd said, but this wasn't standard practice in his cult. He'd just wanted to do that to you specifically. He'd enjoyed it, and he thinks you did too. And it's not like it didn't make any sense anyway... being touched by Filomena, even in a way like that would ensure without a doubt that any filth on you was completely eradicated. Perhaps it was something he should do often to make sure you were always pristine. Always cleansed. Always his. Then you'd always feel safe and reassured.

He suggests this to you, though it's less that and more him plainly saying he thinks he should do it. When you look uncertain, he asks if you don't trust that he knows what's best for you. Did you want to be covered in sin? Didn't you want Filomena's blessing?

You asked hesitantly if doing something like this wasn't a bit like... well... and your words trailed off as your embarrassment got the best of you, but Eliot knew what you meant. He didn't know how you knew about that sort of thing, perhaps the same way he did simply by overhearing it as Thysia had always avoided the subject with a light-hearted 'I'll tell you when you're older', but yes, doing something like this was a bit like... well... that.

He's not a creep or anything, but on some subconscious level, he must know what he's doing is perverse and wrong. He's older than you and you're oh-so-impressionable. Eliot isn't an immoral person. He doesn't lack a moral compass. Thysia always tried his best to teach him what was good and what was bad, and to his credit, some of it had stuck, but overpowering that is always Eliot's own narcissism.

Guiltily, he'll remind himself: what god plays by the rules of humans? If he wants something, he can take it. If he has to do something bad to get that something, it doesn't matter, because he can do no wrong. An act like murder wouldn't be called as such if he were the one doing it.

So he asks what you mean and when you can't manage to answer, he smiles and tells you it's all fine. It's part of the process of getting rid of your sin. Direct touch is the easiest way, and you want to be nice and pure, don't you? It even feels good, so he assumes. What exactly must feel good, he doesn't say, and he doesn't think you or him properly know either.

He just doesn't want anyone to touch you ever. He wants to be the one to do that. He wants to run his hands all over you and have complete control over when or how he does it. Perhaps there's other things he wants to do too, the things that make him feel the most guilty yet also the most excited, but he's caught between waiting to do something like that or rushing straight in and giving in to desire.

For now, perhaps these 'cleansing sessions' are better. Nice and slow. You completely at his mercy. It's only happened that one time so far, but he keeps imagining more, his mind wandering off to places it shouldn't, leaving him frustrated. Maybe he should ask if he can cleanse your face next. Your cheeks, your head, your lips. He's getting ahead of himself again. He doesn't want to scare you. He wants you to know he's thinking of what's best for you. It feels manipulative, but that can't be right. This is just all part of his holy salvation, and he's making sure each step is perfect.

[shiorinotshiori]

Finally Home (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

After four years, you were finally back in Hawkins. It's your turn to reminisce in places you and Eddie went to, including The Hideout. It just happens to be the same day that your ex lover's band was performing.

A fic inspired by the song "Green" by Cavetown

Part 1: You looked so good in green Req Ending: YCSMNNLYDB

Warnings: Swearing, slight mentions of anxiety Notes: ' ' means it is the characters' inside thoughts (Y/F/I) means your first initial in your name Original Ending Word count: 3k

Again, sorry for any wrong grammars/spellings/typos/etc ashdasdhd. Please, leave a comment if you have any thoughts about the fic! I'm still new to writing hehe sorry

I don't give permission to repost or translate my work please have mercy

Four years. It’s been that long since Eddie last saw you, or even talked to you. Four years and three months to be exact. Eddie never lost count- he never did, because even after achieving his own life goals, he still couldn’t stop thinking about you. ‘How are you’ ‘Where are you right now’ ‘Are you happy?’ ‘Were you enjoying college?’ those are just some few examples of Eddie’s thoughts every night. He couldn’t deny that he spent too much time on thinking about his past relationship, thinking about you, after all those years.

During those four years, Corroded Coffin started getting attention, they were still not that big of a band but- Hawkins sure did start recognizing them, thankfully; they never got to move to another state because of funds issues. Their usual crowd of five drunks became a group of teenagers who enjoyed metal music, then from there- The Hideout became filled with lots of people with the same music taste. At first, the band thought it was impossible; four years ago, they were just a bunch of freaks with a dream but now, they were closer and closer every day.

You, you managed to finish college- you were smart, you had no distractions, you were just focused on graduating on time so you could finally go home to Hawkins again. Originally, you had no intentions of going back but, you knew you left your heart somewhere in Hawkins. You never found the energy to return during summers, it was always your family who came to you. Now, after crawling your way up to the finish line, it was time. You were home.

You left Hawkins and came back to the same town you knew, it’s like you never moved away for a bit. It’s still the small town you remember, as if nothing changed- but then again, four years was not a big jump. You did change, a little. What didn’t was your feelings for a man you used to go to Highschool with.

The thought of running into Eddie, if he was still here, scared you. Years of no communication brought you anxiety, you couldn’t help but feel the small ache in your stomach. What will you say when you see him? ‘I still love you after all these years I want you back’??? Of course not! You couldn’t help but think that- what if Eddie’s with someone now? Jesus, it’s been years, surely he moved on. He was the one who broke up with you in the first place anyway.

After dropping off your stuff at home, you decided to reminisce around the town- see the few little places you enjoyed. It just so happened to be places where you and Eddie went to- whether it was a date, a spot to smoke, or even an area you could just lay with Eddie. One was the lake, oh how you missed the tranquility of this place. It was yours and Eddie’s favorite date spot, I mean- it was called Lover’s Lake for a reason. You just stood there, wind blowing your hair, and you admiring ripples in the water. You were well aware that this wouldn’t help you move on, reliving memories with Eddie you treasured. But what else can you do? You like to think that you didn’t know the cause of why the long haired freak still flooded your thoughts but, your heart wouldn’t be able to deny.

You went and also visited the bench in the middle of the woods, you sat down and looked for something written, or carved rather, on the table. ‘E x (Y/F/I)’, there it was, inside of a poorly drawn heart. You couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of laughing at Eddie when you told him how cliché he was to have carved that on the table. You said it was something that middle-schoolers only did but, Eddie was always that extra. You lightly traced your fingers against the letters, smiling to yourself- you missed being that Highschool (Y/N) who was in love. Sure, things ended bitter but, you were still glad to have experienced those moments before it fell.

It was getting dark soon, you could see the orange rays of sunshine in the woods, indicating it was sunset. You thought of visiting another place before you go home- The Hideout. Yes, you were scared of seeing Eddie but you thought the chances were low, it’s been years, right? Fate wouldn’t play with you like that. Out of all the days, this couldn’t be it.

Imagine your surprise when you entered the building, it was packed with people unlike before. Last time you checked, only drunkards went in there but there’s a whole variety now. As you walked towards the bar, you noticed the stage was set up with instruments. You began to feel nervous, it couldn’t be them, there could be other bands, no? You ignored the lingering feeling and ordered a beer. “One beer please, thank you” you smiled at the bartender, she looked intimidating but also replied with you with a smile as she handed you the beer “You here for the band?” she asked.

“What band-“ you began but you were interrupted, interrupted with a voice that sounded so familiar. The same voice that never left your mind. “Suuuuuup Hideout?! Sorry for the long break but! We’re here to perform our last song for tonight.” It was Eddie- yep, fate played with you like that. You turned to look at them, familiar faces in front of your eyes on the stage. Gareth and Jeff… you also missed them. It’s been years since you last played D&D with them, or last played D&D for that matter.

“This last song- is not our usual genre but, I’d like to dedicate this to a person I lost during Highschool… uh, yeah so-“ the band started to play “This is called ‘Green’ by yours truly”. You knew you should stop staring and run for the hills but you couldn’t, it felt like you were in a trance as you watch Eddie sing. Absolutely nothing changed, he still looked like the same Eddie you met during Sophomore year. The same Eddie you fell in love with. Only starting to regain consciousness of what’s happening, you realized he was right- this wasn’t the usual genre they played; this song was slow and mellow. Nothing about it screamed ‘Eddie’. Eddie once told you how slow songs bore the shit out of him and now, he’s singing one. ‘The hypocrisy’ you thought and chuckled to yourself.

It was nice seeing Eddie, the previous anxiousness you felt was now long gone as you were mesmerized. Eddie, and of course the band, was great at what they do. You felt extremely proud of the man as you saw people enjoying their music. But only then you realized what he said before the song started, ‘someone he lost… during Highschool?’ you thought about it hard. You listened carefully to the lyrics, ‘you look so good in green’ that was one of the compliments Eddie gave you that you will never forget. It was when he first saw you wearing the cheer uniform when you were dating. How could you forget the day he went to a basketball game? And it was only because of you.

You found yourself staring at him, trying to blink away the tears as his eyes scanned around the crowd. The fact that Eddie still thought about you, made you wanna cry there on the spot. He fucking wrote a song, with the genre he hated, just so he could sing about you. God, the things Eddie did, and will do, for you.

Eddie was pouring his whole heart into the song, knowing it was the only way to get his feelings across. That was until he met your eyes- he almost forgot the lyrics he wrote as he stared in your eyes. He will never forget his fair maiden’s face, you’re still as beautiful as the day he met you. You were actually there- you were actually watching him as he sung the song only dedicated to you. He was panicking inside, what would you think of him now? That he’s a creepy ex who wrote and performed a song, for you, in front of a whole crowd. Eddie’s overthinking now, was he gonna come over and talk to you? Would you even like that?

Thousand thoughts were running thru his head now but, it disappeared the moment you half-raised your hand to offer him a little wave. Eddie’s heart started to beat faster, he might have a heart attack on stage right now. He couldn’t believe it, he smiled at you as both of his hands held the microphone stand. The song was coming to an end and he still hadn’t thought about what to say to you. Finally, it was the band’s time to say goodnight to their audience.

Corroded Coffin went backstage, Eddie started panicking again and his bandmates couldn’t help but notice the obvious panic on his face. “Man, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Jeff lightly place his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his back turned away from him. Gareth watching the two as Eddie’s head whirled to look at them. “It’s (Y/N), she- she’s here!”

Gareth and Jeff’s body filled with excitement as their old friend was back. They didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye when you went to college. Hearing you were back, the two seemed thrilled, they were so excited to catch up with you- but their friend, was not. Eddie’s having a full-on crisis!

“What are you so nervous about? What’s wrong-“

“What? What’s wrong?! What’s wrong is that, that’s the same girl I broke up with! I haven’t talked to her FOR YEARS man! What am I supposed to do?! Go up to her and say Hi?!”

“Absolutely! Here’s your chance man, I’m tellin’ ya”

Eddie sighed and tried to remain calm, his friends holding him hostage, leading him to the backstage exit. From there he saw you, sitting at the bar, tracing your fingers against the rim of the canned beer. “Okay, mkay, I can do this.” He took a very deep breath before walking towards you.

“Hey-llo” Eddie mentally cursed himself for being so nervous he mixed ‘hey’ with ‘hello’. You turned to see Eddie sit beside you, it’s been like forever since you last saw him up close. Ah, those puppy eyes will still be the death of you. You chuckled, “Hi Eddie. You were uh- wonderful, up there. You actually got yourself a crowd now.”

“Yeah, well- years of hard work paid off I guess.” Eddie managed to let out a laugh, a timid one. You noticed he was just as anxious as you when you glanced down for a moment and saw him fiddling with his rings. You were thankful you weren’t the only one. It was hard to form sentences when you’re in front of your ex-lover. You bit your lip, turned your gaze to the bar, thinking of what to say.

“What about you, how was… college?” You let out a sigh of relief when you heard Eddie speak again, “Uhm, it was pretty boring… let’s just talk about you guys! I never thought I’d see the day that, the Eddie Munson, will sing a slow song.” Eddie tensed up, you just mentioned the song. “Uhhh, sorry. Sorry if that… made you… uncomfortable.” Eddie licked his lip.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Becaaaause the song was about- you?” You knew that it was about you from the start but, hearing Eddie confirm it made you blush. God, you were so thankful for the dim light. “But I- I liked it. Never thought I’d be able to be an inspiration to you Mr. Munson.” You teased.

It was Eddie’s turn to blush, he never told you, even when you were dating but, Eddie wrote a lot of song for you. He kept them hidden, thinking you wouldn’t like them but you were here now, telling him that. “D-don’t call me that. Sounds like my uncle, sweetheart.” He didn’t mean to let that pet name slide but it did. It was like a reflex for him and it stunned you. “Haven’t heard that in a while…”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to. Your- your boyfriend never called you that?” Eddie mentally cursed at himself, again. ‘Way to be subtle, Eddie’ he told himself. You raised a brow at Eddie, you knew that he was never slick with, honestly, anything. You were now aware that he was trying to know if you were taken or not, gaining a bit of a confidence, you decided to tease him.

“Nah… he did. But I told him he wasn’t allowed to call me that, only you can.” You thought that would make him smile but immediately felt guilty when you saw his face fell but, at the same time, you had a feeling that you weren’t the only one who hasn’t moved on. You started to feel giddy, and Eddie was the reason again.

“Oh.” Was the only thing he managed to utter. So, you quickly followed with “B-but not like it matters anymore, he’s an ex now anyway. It was just someone I dated for about… two months in uni. No big deal.” You explained with a nervous chuckle, worried that you were reading too much into it and that Eddie doesn’t probably care. He only nodded and stared at the bar’s display as if something about it was so interesting. He was pleased to know that you’re a free woman and it made him calculate his next move.

There was a long silenced that enveloped you two, you were slowly regretting telling him that. Eddie, on the other hand, kept thinking that it was now or never. He didn’t know when he’d be able to talk to you like this again so… he figured he was done running away.

You opened your mouth to say something but Eddie beat you to it- “I’m… I’m sorry for what happened between us by the way.”

“Eddie you don’t have to-“ Eddie raised his hand to stop you. “No (Y/N), you deserve an explanation.” The look on his face was serious so you just decided to listen. You were kept wondering after all, now you were about to learn the real reason you separated. You didn’t know what to expect and you were scared, scared that he might tell you the reason was because you weren’t enough for him or something.

“Your- your friends… said some things. That you… deserved better.” You frowned and thought what friends? Oh, the ‘popular’ crowd. You wanted to question Eddie but let him continue instead. “And I was young, I mean I wasn’t, I was a twenty year old High-schooler but- you get what I mean. It just.. got thru my head, I guess? Like I said, I- I was just a drug dealer in a band and you? You were you. You have a good life! I couldn’t bring you down with me, I couldn’t (Y/N)… I couldn’t let that happen.”

Imagine how embarrassing it was to cry in a bar, but you couldn’t stop your tears; thankfully, there weren’t as many people as before. But it hurt to know that Eddie thought so low of himself. Maybe you failed to show him how amazing he was when you were his girlfriend. You were hesitant but you cupped his face with your hand “I never doubted you, Eddie. I mean, look at you now! You actually got people to watch you! Because you’re so amazing… you’re so talented and I just- I regret it so much that I even joined cheerleading. I wish you could’ve told me because people there were such assholes and I wish I never gave them a second chance. If I didn’t, maybe- maybe there would still be an us, y’know? I’m sorry, Eds.” You offered a sad smile thru your tears.

Eddie leaned in to your touch and held the hand on his cheek with his own. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart. It was all on me. And-“ Like Eddie said, ‘it was now or never.’

“There could still be.” Eddie whispered, looking into your eyes. “W-what?”

Eddie let out a breath. “An us… look, I- I never moved on, aight? There wasn’t a day that I didn’t regret letting you go. But I knew that before I go back to you, I need to at least- I don’t know? Make sure that your future with me looks… promising?” You softly laughed at Eddie who’s trying so hard to think of the right words. Your heart warmed at the thought too.

“You were always gonna be the best for me, Munson. Even before.”                                                    

“Better than your ex-boyfriend in uni?” Eddie squinted his eyes at you, pretending to be upset which you find cute. You smiled at, assuming, your now boyfriend’s (again) silliness “Yes! A hundred times better! Y’know, he was sooo boring because- he wasn’t exactly the type to make a scene in a canteen. Not like you.”

“Mhmm. Good to know because I- love you. Sorry for wasting four years, princess.”

“It’s okay, I love you too. We have all the time in the world now, right?”

“’Course. If you think I’m letting you go again- be prepared because you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, babe.”

You were so overwhelmed with love that you just had to kiss the son of a bitch. Eddie went and grabbed both sides of your cheeks with his big hands, you felt the coldness of his rings. He missed your taste so much that the kiss went a little aggressive, as if to make up for the lost time. As if to erase the moments you two weren’t together. You both pulled away from each other, Eddie’s hand taking yours to intertwine them. “Now, ready to reunite with the Hellfire? They also missed you.”

“Oh my god, yes! C’mon, we got a lot to tell them!” You bounced from excitement, standing up from where you were previously seated. Eddie quickly gave you another peck before leading you backstage.

Finally, you were about to meet up with your old friends.

Finally, you were back with Eddie.

And, finally, you were home.

______________________________________

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