#so I can devour this whole meal of a series!

[respectthepetty]

My Stand-In Trailer is out

I am ready.

#my stand in #my stand in the series #I am ready #I am seated #I have my snacks prepared #so I can devour this whole meal of a series!

[astroboots]

*oliver twists voice*

“Please sir may I please have some more?”

hamster steven 🥺 my little sister asks for updates all the time lol

Series Masterlist | Moon Knight Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader

A/N: omg nonny! this is the world's most effective way to make me write more Hamsteven content! How could I ever deny your little sister... and a Charles Dickens reference?!?!? Aye aye!

Summary: You try to create a special meal for Hamster Steven so he can regain some normalcy.

You will be the first one to admit that you spend way too much time on tiktok. It's a slippery slope, and ever since you looked up tutorials on hamster care tips, your FYP seems to have picked up on the trail and now every two videos you flick through is hamster related.

Hamsters in tiny teddybear hats. Hamsters put in elaborate escape labyrinths, Crystal Maze style. Hamsters being treated to miniature meals inspired by human meals.

The internet is a wild place.

There's a squeaky noise next to you on the pillow that interrupts you just as you are about to scroll onto the next video.

You peer up from your screen, to see the big shiny eyes of your boyfriend-turned-hamster, standing on his hind-legs, as he's staring back at you. You're not sure if it's just your imagination, but he doesn't look happy. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was giving you the stinkeye you for spending so much time on tiktok.

You glance up at the clock on the corner of your phone. 00:51.

Okay, maybe it's not just your imagination. You've somehow unwittingly spent more than two hours on your phone, without paying attention. Steven is definitely judging you for that.

"Sorry, Steven. I must've lost track of time," you tell him, and at your apology he lowers himself back on all four paws, waddling over to your chest and curls himself up on the curve of your breast.

It's become his favorite spot to rest... certain things don't change regardless of what form he takes.

You run two fingers over his head, stroking the soft fur and he seems to melt at the touch, the round shape of him going flat with relaxation. It's adorable. Steven has always been fond of having his hair stroked like a particularly cuddly pet.

It really does seem like certain things haven't changed much at all despite his transformation into a hamster.

... Except, that's not really true though is it.

In the past few days since Steven has turned into a pet, his limitations has been more than apparent. Because of his tiny size, he's in constant danger.

You had left the window open to air out the flat while you were cleaning, only to have a particularly menacing seagull make a dive for him and had to chase it out with a flyswatter so it wouldn't devour your boyfriend whole.

In his current form he's not quite able to do any of the activities that he normally enjoys, reading is out of the question, even if he could turn his own pages (which is difficult when you do not have opposing thumbs or no grip) you're not sure what his vision must be like, the letters must read gigantic to him.

He doesn't seem to particularly enjoy the yoghurt drops you got him from the pet store, and the enthusiasm he had at first for the almonds and walnuts you'd given him seems to be waning and on more than one occasion you've caught the wistful and longing gaze Steven has had on his expression when you sit down for a meal by the table that he couldn't partake.

But ramen doesn't really seem fit for a hamster's diet, so you could hardly give him a taste.

Poor Steven has had little to no normalcy left since his transformation and as the days go by and the solution to his dilemma isn't anywhere near in sight, you feel a pang of sadness for him.

Absentmindedly, you continue to pet his fur as you pull up your phone again and scroll through the videos when your eyes linger over the video you saw earlier of a hamster being treated to miniature spaghetti meal.

The video has a full on painstakingly detailed tutorial, step by step, on how to make the tiny meal. Cutting regular sized spaghetti into tiny lengths, Sizzling small portions of minced meat on the frying pan and huh... who knew that hamster are actually omnivores, and likes eating meat... you always assumed they were vegetarians. In the video, the person takes two cherry tomatoes puts them through the blender for the sauce and it all looks rather simple.

You look down at Steven in his hamster form, sound asleep on your chest. He's curled up into a little ball, his nose and whiskers twitching in his sleep as his hind leg kicks back in response to whatever dream he's dreaming.

Adorable as he is, the pang of sadness from before returns as your chest constricts. You want to give him a sense of normalcy after everything he's been through. However small.

Carefully, you scoop him up in the cup of your hands and place him gently on the pillow. Luckily Steven is a sound sleeper and sleeps right through it as you move into the kitchen to prepare the meal according to the video instructions.

There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge, saving you from having to boil it fresh. You forego frying any meat, because even though hamsters may be omnivores, your Hamster Steven is a full blooded vegan.

You also decide to forego the blender. It's late and you don't want to wake up Steven so instead you end up trying to smash up the cherry tomatoes with a mortal and pestle that leaves an absolute mess.

With your sad attempts at a culinary effort completed, you pick up the tiniest little sauce bowl you can find in the cupboard, as you start to plate up the spaghetti and mashed tomato sauce, topping it off with fresh basil that you had luckily picked up from Sainsbury the other day.

It looks nowhere as good as the video, just looks like wilted spaghetti with a tiny pile of crushed tomatoes rather than a miniature version of spaghetti bolognese. but you guess that's why you're an office worker and not a hamster content creator. You try to tease the spaghetti back into place with your fingers until it looks a bit more decent.

Better.

But it's still a long way to go from the special dinner that you had wanted to make for Steven to make him feel pampered.

Turning to the kitchen drawers, you try to find the small tea candles to set the mood. It's as near a romantic ambient as you are able to create for Steven.

Then you find one of the nicer dinner napkins stowed away in the back of the drawer and set the table. While you're at it you grab several sprigs of rosemary and whatever fresh herbs you're able to find in the fridge and set them in a shot glass that you use as an impromptu mini vase, for the bouquet of herbs you have gathered. You place down your creation in the middle of the table, then you stand back admiring your work.

Not too shabby.

Almost looks like a tiny hamster restaurant.

You return to your bed, where you had left Steven to sleep. Paws still twitching peacefully in his sleep when you gently wake him by picking him up, and set him on the table.

He blinks slowly and blearily, sleep still clouding his gaze, not fully taking in what you are trying to show him. It takes a few moments, until his eyes clear and then they go wide at the meal in front of him and he darts forward like a sprint.

His little paws grabs at the straw of spaghetti voraciously, as he slurps up the spaghetti, flecks of red sauce painting the fur around his mouth. He eats it with an enthusiastic frenzy, gobbling up the whole of it and drops it in his excitement only to round the plate and pick it up again to eat the remainder.

"Is it good?"

His head pops up to meet your face, with the tiniest of nods.

He squeaks happily, then he dives right back into stuffing his face and you can't help but smile.

It's a little moment of normalcy even in this craziness and that's good enough for now.

Dedications & Credits: To my lovely @guruan / @guruan-is-not-here who has finally been freed from tumblr jail. This chapter is dedicated to her because she sent me the cutest video of a hamster having a tiny bowl of pasta and sitting on a chair like it was a restaurant.

#🐹 hamsteven #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight #marvel mcu #oscar isaac

[pauking5]

Addicting Taste

Synopsis: Enishi Yukishiro was on a mission to execute his piece de la resistance. A plan to avenge his beloved sister. Until you showed up. Will you be a part of his downfall or will you try to save him?

Pairing: Enishi Yukishiro x reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, sunshine and sunshine protector, slow burn, a lot of fluff (later chapters), occasional smut

Words: 3k +

A/N: I couldn’t hold back anymore and had to make a fic for Enishi. It won’t exactly follow the Rurouni Kenshin timeline for now but it will later develop into it. This is the first chapter in the series with more chapters coming. It is a reader insert as I couldn’t help but indulge myself in it completely. Powered by Mackenyu’s outstanding portrayal of Enishi’s character in Rurouni Kenshin: The Final, I hereby present you a story ripped from the figments of my mind. I hope you’ll love their story as much as I do. Enjoy lovelies, Paula.

Also thank you @eureka-its-zico for supporting me with this and getting me writing again 🫶

Next Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Bonus Chapter 6

“Just how stupid are you?”

A loud smack echoed in the room.

“You thought you could just get away with it?”

Another heavy punch collided with his face making him drop to his knees.

“You’re a fool.”

An uppercut dug under his chin throwing him backwards. The force of the blow made blood pool in his mouth and he spat it out through clenched teeth. The man standing tall before him left his face full of cuts and bruises. But that was the least of Enishi’s worries right now.

Many months were spent tracking down the biggest shipment of weapons set to leave Shanghai for Kanagawa. Enishi’s men were supposed to rob the storage by the docks tonight before the ship set sail in the morning. But it turned out to be a harder task than it was intended to be.

The mission encountered several problems and it was nothing short of a total fail. It was also what led to his current position with his hands tied roughly behind his back, on the floor of the most secure precinct in Shanghai.

A few hours ago

“These dumplings are amazing,” you sighed happily while munching on three baozi dumplings at once.

The lady vendor grimaced at your manners. You were practically inhaling the soft dough in your hands like a grizzly bear. Leftover crumbs were decorating the edges of your lips. You couldn’t help but forget all about etiquette when the food literally melted in your mouth.

A little boy was walking by with his mother when he caught sight of the dumpling cart. He stopped to look at the steaming dumplings in awe and adoration. But when he saw the way you were devouring the small pastry his face turned to pure disgust.

You were getting slightly annoyed by his staring, so you shot the little boy a threatening look and he started crying, running off somewhere in the depths of the street. His mother regarded you with a condescending look and followed after her child.

“Can you leave before you scare all my clients away?” said the vendor lady, irritated with the fact that you’ve been hogging her cart for the past half an hour.

“Listen lady. I could buy your whole cart if I wanted to. Just let me enjoy these,” you said with your mouth full.

“I’ll be the one leaving then. You might spoil my dough from raising if I stay here any longer,” she said as she started to put away the steaming buns away and gathered all her tools.

“Wait! You can’t just leave.” But by the time you yelled after her she was already gone. There went your only meal for the day. At least it was a nice filling one to last you some time. You patted your stomach in a comforting manner and sighed, turning to go on your own way.

The crisp air of mid-October made its presence known as a breeze blew against the sleeves of your dress making them flutter. Your attire was nothing short of inappropriate for the lingering cold season. The chilly weather made it harder to do any jobs and you weren’t requested as much either. You never knew where your next meal would be coming from most of the time, so you powered through with anything you could find. Though your money was running out you always made sure to keep some aside for your snack cravings.

The once bustling street turned awfully quiet. It was the norm in this part of the city. Vendors were quickly packed away and activity was slowly coming to a halt in the wake of the coming night. Any normal person in these parts would know that being on the streets when the last flicker of daylight disappears wasn’t safe.

Who would want to be out in the dark with the Shanghai mafia having a full blown war with the commander in chief on the streets until the early hours of dawn?

Clutching the rest of your dumplings closer, you made your way down the narrow pathways circling the outskirts of the city. The place you resided in for the time being was just a street down from the docks. It was a modest room at the top of an abandoned jewelry shop, furnished with a desk and a small wardrobe. It was not the comfiest nor the safest place in the world, but it provided a space to roll your futon for the night.

The buns you bought were all different flavours with all kinds of fillings you haven’t tried before. Just thinking of taste testing all of them made your mouth water.

Whilst getting lost in your pastry daydreams, you were shaken back to earth by persistent yelling. As you were making your way further down to the docks, more agitated shouting ensued. The growing commotion piqued your curiosity. It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look, right? It was in the way anyway.

Inching closer to the edge of the docks entrance you hid behind an abandoned fishing boat supported by empty crates. Tucking your petite form well enough so you wouldn’t be spotted, you looked over it to see what was going on.

Moving your eyes around you counted about twenty masked men. They were frantically rushing in and out of the storage holding cases filled with… guns?

As more of them came out you realised it wasn’t just guns. Long and short range artillery, fuses and all kinds of artisanal bombs. It was like heaven for pyromaniacs. Whatever these guys were planning was nothing short of mass destruction.

“We’ve secured all the weapons, Master,” a shushed voice spoke in Japanese from your right. He came closer to stand just in front of the boat you were using as a hiding spot. He looked about half a person in height. If a wild gust of wind blew his way he would most likely topple over and become dust.

“Good work,” said a deep voice from the left as he approached too. The way he spoke those simple words was enough to make tremors run down your back.

Trying to get a better view of the owner of the voice a tangled mop of white hair entered your vision.

Damn, this guy was long overdue for a haircut.

Trailing your eyes further down you took in his sturdy physique that was outlined through the clothes he was wearing. You could tell he was trained in some kind of martial arts. No one just had heaps of muscles like those. You could easily draw a map of the world between those wide shoulders… Snap out of it, Miyu.

The loud crash of crates rattling to the floor brought you back to reality. You needed to get out of there.

You couldn’t risk getting caught and brought in by the commander in chief. If he wasn’t alerted yet he sure got wind of things by now. That man definitely has mutant senses.

The last thing you needed was them catching wind of your location. You spent so long staying under the radar and now was not the time to advertise your whereabouts.

I am void. I don’t care. I haven’t seen anything.

I am not getting involved with this.

While repeating the mantra several times in your head in order to calm down, you had to figure out a way to sneak out as smoothly as possible without alerting anybody. Especially the strong muscular white mop of hair who hasn’t moved at all from his spot right in front of you.

After a quick scan of your surroundings you came to two choices: going left, straight through the docks and to your hideout located on just the other side; or going right, having to circle around the whole city to get back. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one was safer. You’d rather go around the whole city as many times as you needed if it meant staying away from whatever these people had planned. You just had to wait for the right time to make your way out.

After a while, the two men blocking your view headed towards the rest of their squad. This was your chance. All you had to do was get set, ready and sprint the hell out of there before someone caught you and made you fish food. If only things would play out like that.

In your rush to escape you missed a teeny tiny key detail. The dark brown fishing cord extending from the boat to the empty crates behind you.

You barely made it two steps before your leg tangled in it and you were falling face first to the hard concrete floor, taking the crates with you. The steaming buns you tried so hard to keep close spilled all over the floor in the process. I’m so fucked.

“What was that?” growled one of the goons.

Mophead turned around swiftly and locked eyes with you. Lifting your own gaze from your uncomfortable spot on the floor, you connected it with his. Eyes akin to predators that lurk in the dead of night pierced yours. They screamed murder. The ‘chop you apart for funsies’ kind of murder.

But something about them caught you off guard. The blue hue outlining his pupils. Something about them though eerie and giving you the eebie jeebies was so familiar. Where have I seen these eyes before?

He seemed to be stuck in his own reverie. A tilt of his head signalled his confusion to your presence. You don’t even know how long you were both stuck soul searching each other’s eyes as the deafening sound of gunfire descended down on the docks.

Breaking your staring contest apart you tried to locate where the firing came from. Then it dawned on you. The commander in chief was here.

Mophead set off in your direction to possibly grab you but he only managed to take a step before bullets lined up a few feet in front of him. With a low grunt, he spared you one last look before retreating back to his gang.

The bullets were flying closer and closer to your spot and the intense smell of gun powder filled your nostrils. This was your cue to exit stage.

You got to your feet, saved what was left of your steamed baozi and made a run for it. A few bullets narrowly grazed the ends of your dress but you quickly made it to the safety of a dark alleyway close by. Checking on your precious dumplings you saw most of them were unharmed and let out a breath of relief.

The pounding of guns suddenly stopped and you peered over to the docks from the corner of the alley. Assessing the situation you observed that half of mophead’s party was shot down by the commander’s force. Some of them managed to flee the scene when the firing started, but the rest were caught and put in restraints together with their leader.

Something felt off. Maybe it was the smug look on the commander’s face as he rounded up the thugs. Or the way most of his force came out from what looked like stationed places at the other end of the docks entrance. It almost seemed like they knew mophead and his crew were going to be here tonight.

No way. Was this a set up?

————————————

Back at the precinct

Enishi was fuming. It all went sideways too quickly for his liking. Someone talked and he was going to make sure they weren’t seeing the light of day. Once he made it out of the shithole he was currently held in.

“I’m going to ask you again. Why were you stealing weapons?” asked the commander. He was getting irritated and it showed in the way the veins on his neck strained. But he could press on as much as he wanted. Enishi wasn’t going to give him shit.

“Either you talk or your good for nothing squad will suffer in your place.”

“I don’t give two flying fucks about them,” spat Enishi.

This only earned him another punch to the stomach. The guards who were holding him let him drop to the floor, more blood dripping on the side of his mouth.

“I guess I’ll have to beat it out of you then,” said the commander, cracking his knuckles.

Bracing for the commander’s punishment, his thoughts kept wandering somewhere else. To the girl who was there tonight, hiding behind the boat. He wasn’t stupid. He sensed someone was eavesdropping.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You were a wild variable in his plan that he couldn’t have predicted. A handful of questions swarmed around in his head, but three of them stood out the most.

Why were you there tonight?

Who were you working for?

And where have I seen you before?

—————————————————————————

Ten armed guards at the front of the building. Another two securing the entrance from the inside. Five more moving around the halls. None on the top floor. Bingo.

Sliding open the glass window on the roof of the precinct you snuck in. You landed down swiftly, arching your heels to keep you steady. Stealth mode switched on in your head as you carefully inspected your surroundings.

Tightening the grip on your twin Remingtons closer, you advanced to the walls opposite to the railing overlooking the entrance. As you rounded the corners you spotted a staircase going down to what looked like a meeting hall.

Raspy shouting and what resembled the sound of slapping was getting louder as you descended. Someone was either receiving a beating or they were just into kinky shit.

You were on the last three steps when a guard passed by. Straightening up, you glued yourself to the wall, becoming one with the shadow. As he got further away you tilted your head towards the glass ceiling and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

This was a terrible idea. What were you even doing here in the first place? This was not your fight. But your conscience convinced you that you were somehow responsible for the unsuccessful outcome of mophead’s mission.

You weren’t supposed to be there tonight. It was just incidental. Your stupid craving for dumplings made you come out of your extremely comfortable refuge and one thing led to another as you found yourself in the middle of crossfire.

Without thinking too much of your bad choices for the day, you geared up to save mophead. You didn’t know why you were going this far for someone you didn’t know. But you felt needed for once in a while and like you finally had a job to do.

There was something else that bothered you about your encounter. The moment mophead locked eyes with you was scorched into your head. Your brain replayed it over and over again for no specific reason until it drove you crazy. Those eyes bugged you to the world’s end. There was something so addicting and familiar to them. But you couldn’t recall where you’ve seen them before no matter how hard you tried.

You needed to find out who this man is. So, like any normal person looking for answers, you went to ask him. As soon as you busted him out of the most secure precinct in Shanghai.

—————————

In the meeting hall

“This would be so much easier if you just talked,” yelled the commander in chief.

“How about… fuck you. Good talk,” said Enishi with a sick grin.

“You son of a—,” the commander was cut off by the sound of shots being fired outside the meeting hall. Suddenly, everything turned quiet. Everyone’s ears perked up listening for what could follow.

A powerful kick thundered against the golden door to the meeting hall that made it come off its hinges and cave in on itself. The door fell with a loud thud and you stepped over it, the click of your heeled boots bouncing off the echo in the room. All eyes were trained on you.

“Who’s ready to have some fun?” you chirped, enthusiastically twirling the guns in your hands.

“Who are you?,” asked the commander in chief.

“Let’s just say I’m someone you don’t want to mess with,” you said confidently.

“You’re just a stupid girl if you think you can just come in here —“

“This stupid girl just took out most of your guards on duty. It will be her utmost pleasure to take you out too,” you said with a smirk.

Enishi was watching the exchange, his head swimming with confusion for the second time tonight.

Just who exactly were you? And why were you crossing paths again?

You first show up as a hindrance to his plan and now you’re here to probably mess up more than you already have. He was also kind of blaming you for the situation he was in at the moment.

At least you proved useful in distracting the guards and the commander so he could work on getting his hands free of the rope tugging at his wrists.

Looking over at mophead you notice he freed himself. You haven’t worked in a team before so you threw him a look asking for guidance on what to do now. What he saw was more of a weird face that kind of creeped him out but he quickly caught onto what you meant.

He wasn’t sure whether to trust you but he didn’t have the luxury to audition for partners right now. So, sending a silent nod your way, you let the fun begin.

—————————

Mophead lunged for the commander in chief while you preoccupied yourself with the five guards in the room. You easily took out the first one by the couch at the side of the room.

Pointing your gun to the next one you pulled the trigger but nothing happened. You tried the other gun receiving the same response. You were left without bullets. Strapping the guns back to your belt you took a fighting stance. Hand to hand combat it is.

The guard lunged at you and your fist connected with his nose. A loud crack was heard and blood started seeping through his hands as he cradled his nose.

“You bitch—,” you cut him off by hooking your leg to the back of his neck, dragging him to the floor.

“Did your mother not teach you how to speak to a lady?”

He got back up and got ready to throw another snarky remark but you wasted no time in shutting him up with a nearby chair. The wooden chair broke to pieces as it made contact with him. Once he fell to the floor motionless you directed your attention at the other three guards. They started circling you from different sides. Showtime.

You let them come at you. The taller one came first, swinging a bat at your head. Ducking successfully to avoid having your head turned into a baseball, you went for a roundhouse kick to his head. He got projected to the other side from the force you put into the move.

The last two attacked you at the same time. One of them had a knife that managed to get a few cuts through the sleeves of your dress as he kept swinging at you recklessly.

“I just got this one,” you huffed disappointedly as you lifted a slashed piece to check the damage.

Getting annoyed with his incessant flailing about, you caught his hand just as the smaller one came from behind you. Kicking back your right leg into the stomach of the smaller one, you got a chance to take the knife throwing it away. You turned and elbowed the knife wielder in the stomach, directing another knee at his ribcage letting him fall flat to the floor. One more to go.

Standing face to face with your last enemy, you spared mophead a quick look. He was struggling with the commander as he was pushed face down on the big wooden desk. He quickly turned and got him into a deadly chokehold.

You didn’t even notice his outerwear was discarded and he was left only in a tank top. His huge biceps were flexing dangerously as he tightened his hold on the commander’s neck. Sweat was piling like rain drops down his arms and you found yourself drooling. You were suddenly digging the white mop of hair.

You were snapped out of your fantasies by the small garden goblin running towards you with a spiked staff.

Do these guys not have one normal weapon on them? Where do they get all this ridiculous stuff from?

You dodged his attacks until he got tired and his swings turned sloppy. Finding an opening you caught the end of the bat with your right hand and turned your left into an uppercut diving it to his chin. The impact was so hard he flipped back and landed in a star shape on the floor.

Just as you were finished with him, mophead finally squeezed the living daylights out of the commander and let him fall splat to the floor.

Sensing the ruckus, the guards from outside started piling up into the hall. You both walked towards each other until you were back to back. In other circumstances you would’ve loved the way your heavy breaths mingled and the way your shoulders shyly grazed each other. But now was not the time.

“Any chance you have a plan to get us out of here?” asked mophead. Guards were surrounding you from all sides and the only way to escape was fighting your way out.

“I’m guessing breaking some more necks wouldn’t hurt,” you replied hastily.

“You take the ones on the right. I take the ones on the left,” he directed.

With another nod you both got into position and watched as the guards descended upon you.

A storm of fists came your way. You tried blocking them as much as you could but five to one was too much to handle without a weapon. Mophead noticed your struggle and quickly tried to get rid of the three bat swingers in front of him. With a low sweep kick to their ankles they all fell over, hitting each other with the bats they were holding.

You were holding onto three bats with all your might, when two guards sneaked behind you ready to deliver a dangerous blow. Enishi intercepted them before they could carry out their plan, catching their arms mid swing and twisting their arms to an inhuman angle.

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to hit a lady, especially from behind?” he said as they writhed in pain and scrambled to the floor.

You finally managed to throw the three men backwards, taking to delivering a kick to each of them. By the time you were done with them you were breathing heavily. You were a good fighter but your stamina was always holding you back. Mophead seemed to be more trained in that field though as you saw him cutting through the guards with ease.

Another five guards circled both of you.

“Give me a hand,” you said as you ran towards mophead.

He sensed your idea right away. Latching your hand with his you created enough momentum for him to pull you around in a circle to kick down all of the guards. Once you got both feet back on the ground you noticed the secured hand on your waist. Looking up at him you noticed he’s about a head taller than you. Feeling you tense in his hold he quickly dropped his hand from your waist and trained his gaze on the broken down door.

“We have to go before more come.”

“What about your crew? Are you just going to leave them here?”

“They can get out just fine by themselves,” he growled.

And with that he grabbed your hand and you made a run for it.

—————————————————————————

Next

Thank you for reading! Comments, notes and reblogs are always welcome :)

#Addicting Taste #enishi yukishiro #enishi yukishiro x reader #enishi yukishiro x you #rurouni kenshin #enishi yukishiro fanfiction #fluff #sunshine and shunshine protector #badass mcs #stay tuned

[malavera]

Dad's Best Friend, pt. iv — Tom Cruise

↳ Tom Cruise is your Dad's Best friend. Your dad is a businessman in Hollywood, and he happens to be friends with your teenage year crush. You're legal now, what happens when you can finally live out your desires?

summary: Tom invites you to dinner with the intentions to catch up with you, but is that really all?

pairings: dbf!Tomcruise x female!reader

warnings: mature content, smut, oral m/receiving, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, creampie, praisekink, age gaps, the use of a word 'princess', daddykink. KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w.c: 3608

tagging: @helloitstsyu @tomsf18 @moondustfairies @deanscroissant @elenavampire21 @gypsymoon548 @call-sign-shark @katherineswritingsblog @love2write2626

CHECK OUT THE SERIES

Shifting the gear to park before you turn off the ignition, you just had to release the loudest sigh ever. The palm of your hands collided to your face, rubbing off the tiredness and the excess oil from your skin. Your eyebrows scrunched together as you gave yourself a mental time out, What the hell did you do back there? You couldn't help but cringe when your brain takes you back to the actions that you just pulled.

"I just sucked my Dad's Best Friend's cock." You muttered to yourself.

Unconsciously biting your bottom lip, your eyes darted to the clock displayed in the monitor of your Benz that showed 6 PM. But, you're not done. You brought yourself back to think about the event that happened hours ago, Do you like it? From the way the corner of your lips tugged back into a small smile, your fingertips grazes across your lips, your tongue slightly poking out touching the flesh of your fingers, the memory suddenly flashes back to remind you of how empowered you felt back then when you were on your knees devouring his cock. You swallowed every bit like it's the last meal on earth.

You chuckled to yourself as you have decided, that you liked it and you would do it again in any given chance. Shaking out of your thoughts, you bring yourself back to reality as you hurried out of your car to get inside your house. You don't have much time where in fact it almost slipped out of your mind, Tom has invited you for a dinner alone with him. Just the two of you, no one else.

“I’d like to take you out to Dinner, tonight.”

He appeared from behind, dragging his fingertips against your delicate skin from your shoulder blades to the nape of your neck—ghosting a kiss. You smiled and chuckled watching him from the mirror, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Turning your whole body towards him, as he wrapped his arms around your waist instantly.

“M’yeah? Why not?” He tipped his chin up, a sly smile on his face. Cheeks slowly turned rosey, your lips quiver slightly attempting to suppress a big smile that’s dying to be expressed.

“Because, people might photograph you dining with your best friend’s daughter—without the best friend. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“If that’s what you’re worried about, then I’ll cook.” Tom insisted with a shrug, you catch your tongue in between your teeth giving yourself a second to consider his proposition. He did said he wanted to spend more time with you right? Besides, you would never know when you could have another day off without worrying about your work.

You accepted his invitation. A kiss was left on your cheek before he left you alone inside the room, and as you drove back home and had a brief moment giving yourself time to think—that’s when you realize that you really are doing this, with him. He’s not a dream anymore, he’s real.

The weather became windy once you set your foot out against the pavements. Pushing yourself out from your car, you realize you hadn’t picked out what you wanted to wear for tonight. Sighing, fumbling with your keys you stopped yourself once you caught a glimpse of a big black box with a silver ribbon wrapped around it so beautifully. A note was attached to it as you bend down,

Wear this for tonight, I'll pick you up at 8.

I can't wait to see you, darling.

— T

A smile creeped on your face that you barely realize, pulling your attention away from the piece of paper before collecting the box. Sighing once you plop it down on your bed cushions, you unwrap the box to reveal a black dress. Grabbing them by the strings as you lift them up, it’s a simple black dress with a fabric that feels so soft. The dress is backless, and the body of the dress is ruffled on each sides—it’s the ones that would follow the shape of your body. You bring them against your chest, facing your full length mirror to find out it ends on your mid thighs.

Laughing to yourself as you thought, very cheeky of him. You realize you won’t get much time to get ready when you give another glance towards the clock on the wall. Throwing the dress away to your bed, you hurried off towards your bathroom to turn on the shower and let the water stream for a while to get it hot. Hands went to gather your hair as you put them into a ponytail and start cleaning your face with a cotton pad soaked in micellar water. Taking your sweet time, you realize you’ve been neglecting something that should’ve been thought of.

Why is he on board with this?

Why is he welcoming this whole thing as if he’s got nothing to worry about? As if his life is not on the line? Hypothetically, his life is not on the line—you’re a grown woman. Though, you are aware that if this thing gets out to the world, everyone might find it weird because the man technically was like a second father to you. Everybody, knows your Dad. He’s a successful producer in Hollywood, he’s good friends with everyone in the business. Not to mention, you are also quite famous yourself with your Beauty brand being successful across the United States, there’s no way escaping this. If you’re really going to do this with him, discreet is not even the word anymore, but you and Tom really have to restrain yourselves from each other.

Running your hands down to your sides feeling the soft velvet fabric of the dress, smiling to yourself as you thought damn, not only I looked good in this dress but the man knows a great one. The final touch was to choose a color for your lips. You eventually decided to go with a red one, and just on time, your doorbell rung. Your heart skipped a beat as you shut the cap to your Chanel Lipstick and grabbing your purse. Giving yourself one final look in the mirror, fixing your hair a little bit.

When the door swung open, the sight of you in the black dress that he personally handpicked, took his breath away. He took a good minute to admire your appearance tonight—your Make-Up’s done in a bold yet subtle look, your layered long hair sits perfectly on your toned shoulder, and of course he noticed the red lipstick that he’s never seen you wearing one. His eyes stares at your lips, unconsciously his tongue poking out swiping against his bottom lip. All of a sudden he forgot what he was here for, he yearns to have that red lips wrapped around his thick cock and watch your eyes bloodshot with tears as you gag on them.

A small chuckle he lets go of to break away the tension. “You look beautiful.” He complimented.

Your cheeks tinted slightly rosey, a blush had crept in from the compliment. “Your choice.”

“Yes, my choice indeed.” And he meant it as a compliment.

“Shall we?”

The ride towards his house wasn’t what you expected. You’d expect it will fill with awkward tension, but in all honesty, it’s just you. You thought it was going to be embarrassing considering that you just sucked his cock literally a couple of hours ago, of course nobody would expect anyone to be well this—his left hand on the steering wheel the other is on your thigh. His thumb rubbing circles while he listens to an 80’s pop song on the radio.

He was being fun.

And he proved to be right, he did cooked. Once you got inside, you were greeted by a very beautifully decorated table. “It’s not much but I remember how you used to love my Spaghetti.” He stated, lifting the lid from the medium-sized bowl to reveal his famous Spaghetti Meatballs that he used to make for when he joins your family night.

You turn to him with a bright smile on your face, as you kiss him on the cheek. “I never stopped loving your Spaghetti, in fact I asked my assistant not long ago to look up how would you cook ‘em. Because, I was craving one.” You gushed. This time, a bright smile displayed on his face.

"Well come on, dig in." He helped you pull your chair before you settle down and wait for him to serve you your plate.

"So," He started as he poured you a glass of wine. "How was school?" Your shoulders slumped as you looked at him with a really? you're joking right? kind of face as he laughs before he goes towards his seat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He put his hands up mocking a surrender, before sitting down on his seat.

"Have a bite." He gestured.

Twirling the pasta on your fork, you lift it right in front of your mouth as you watch him, waiting for some kind of response. He nodded his head for you to proceed. Your mouth went agape as you feast on your meal. Your heart flutters in your chest once you tasted the perfectly cooked pasta. A content sigh with your eyes closed, your head slightly tilted back while munching on the food. That familiar warm feeling creeps into your body once you digest the meal down in your stomach. It feels like home to you, and you don't know whether you should be happy, sad, or scared.

Tom smiled, receiving your reaction. "I still got it then." He muttered to himself.

The dinner was filled with small talks, Tom did try to create a conversation but watching you feast on your meal is more to what he imagined the whole dinner would be. "You did have food all this time you're living alone all by yourself, right Y/N?" He cracked a joke as you laughs and cover your mouth.

"I'm sorry, it's just- It taste so good I almost forgot how it taste like." You explained yourself, grabbing your glass of wine.

"How's everything after the release of Top Gun? Are you still living the moment, or you're ready to wrap it up and focus on your next big movie project?" You opened up a topic.

"I do still live in the moment of it as well as working on my next Mission Impossible." Tom answered with a smile. "But, I don't wanna talk about work." He stated.

"I wanna talk about you."

You halted your movements that were about to grab another bite, your eyes peered up to meet his as you decided not to have another bite. Reaching for a napkin from your lap, you gently dab your lips with it.

A smile slowly formed on your face, "What do you want to talk about?" You challenged, grabbing your wine.

"I wanna know what we did back there, is not the last time that I could feel you." Tom didn't waste no time as he points out his desire.

Your breath gently exhaled from your parted lips, your eyes never leaving his as you place your napkin that were on your lap on to the table. You stood up, the foot of the chair dragged against the floor. Hand holding your glass as you walk towards him, your lips meeting the tip of your glass before you take a small gulp, only to leave the room and make your way towards his living room. Tom had expected that you were making your way to sit on his lap, but he was wrong. He softly chuckled to himself before wiping his mouth with the napkin and grab his glass.

He leaned against the wall, watching you browse through his bookshelf. Your delicate fingertips drag across all kinds of books. Turning away from the bookshelf to find him with his eyes already set on your frame. You stared back at him while sipping on your wine while sitting down on his leather couch.

"Why do you ask?"

Tom's lips parted, a small smirk on his face. "Well, maybe because I liked it." He pushed himself off from leaning against the wall, making his way to sit beside you.

"Yeah? What do you like about it?" You inched closer to him.

"I liked how we both know, that there's something more to it. Something more than that. Something that I know, that you're gonna be the death of me." Tom softly spoke, as he placed his glass on the coffee table before caressing your knee.

"Please do, enlighten me." You urged.

A mischievous smirk now appeared on his face, "Your mouth on my cock, nearly gotten me a cardiac arrest. But, your pussy.." He trailed, his fingertips dragged from your knee up to your thighs. "Your pussy would send me straight to meet my creators."

Your lips quirked before you place your glass down. "Well," You started, adjusting your dress to your hips as Tom watch you straddle his lap. His hands instantly went flying to your hips.

"I hope you've done enough prayers for your sins, Sir."

"I'm about to create more, Princess."

Without wasting any time, you felt his hands snaked around your neck to reach your nape, closing the gap by connecting his soft lips against yours. You've experienced an unfamiliar feeling through your whole body, your brain, you like the way his lips feel against yours. You like the way he's very skillful with his tongue, swiping against your bottom lip asking for entrance which you granted. Your hips started to move on its own, feeling his growing tent underneath your panties. Tom broke the kiss to switch from your lips to your neck, tilting your head back to give him more access, your hips never stop grinding on his lap.

"Tell me, Princess, do you want this?" Tom muttered against your warm flesh before pulling his face away from your neck, one hand reach for your throat as you throw your head back with a moan. Tom looked down and watch the way you move your hips, his lips pursed suppressing a grunt as he feel could feel his cock getting fully erect where he needs to free 'em.

"Mmh.." You hummed, Tom pulled you closer.

"Is this just like one of your dreams?" Tom whispered, a smirk on his face.

"I bet you always dream about me, yeah?" He added.

"Answer me, pretty girl. Do you really wanna do this, huh?" As he added more pressure around your throat, you snapped your eyes open choking out a gasp as you tried to nod vigorously.

"I need words, Princess."

"Yes.. Yes, Daddy. I want this. I want you." You mewled, fully melted in his arms.

"Well, have at it then. Show, Daddy how much you want him." Tom released his grip on your throat, adjusting himself as he unbuttoned his blue blazer. You halted your movements as you watch him undoing his belt and leave it there for you to proceed. Your brain didn't have the time to consider whether this is a good thing or a bad one, all you could think about is how does his cock feel inside your tight cunt.

Hurrying yourself off from his lap, you stand on your knees to undo his pants. Pulling them off to pool on his feet along with his boxers letting his cock sprung free, standing in full pride. You lick your lips as your minds yearns to feel him. But, being a good girl you are, you still stand on your knees. Your hands went to reach for his cock, giving him a pump, before you decided to put him in your mouth.

Tom sighed in relief, his hands on top of your head, caressing your soft hair. "Thaat's it... That's a good girl." He praised, your thighs clenched against each other as you could feel yourself wrecking your own panties.

You made sure to suck his cock sloppy, you learned how he likes it dirty. You spit and played with his balls, giving him a good blow before you decided to stop and to give your pussy a turn. You let him out with a pop, gasping for air, wiping the mess from your saliva on your chin. You straddled him back and grab his hand, aiming it towards your soaked panties.

"You feel how wet I am, Daddy?" Tom groaned once he felt how wet you are with his fingertips as they instantly rubs your soaked pussy.

"Can my pussy suck your cock, Daddy?"

Tom rolled his eyes back and throwing his head, "Yes, Princess. Give it to me."

No need to add more lubrication as your pussy is already soaking wet, he helped you ripped your panties off, pulling it away from your hips before tossing it somewhere in the room. You watched how his eyes darkened, you could feel his breathing erratically, anticipating your next move. You hunched your dress up to your hips as you aim his throbbing cock against your entrance before you sink down to his cock.

Gasping, your hands on his shoulders to support yourself. Tom received your whole reaction, it is something that he wished he had a camera with him just so he could rewind it all over again. You feel so good, your pussy welcoming his pulsating cock engulfed with tightness. Tom had to grip your hips to stop himself not to take matters into his own hands as he wants you to hold the reigns.

Your lips tremble as you take your time adjusting to the size of his cock, he's not long, but he is so thick. But, that's just how you like it. "Princess, can you please move?" Tom grumbled underneath his breath.

You bit your lips and nod your head, your knees digging against the couch to support you as you slowly went up and down on his shaft. You moan as euphoria has entered your whole body. You liked how his cock hits the right spot, a rapacious feeling suddenly appeared inside your body. You wanted more, your pussy wants more. Your pace fastened, his grip hardened. Tom's mouth went agape, watching you bounce up and down on his cock, moaning. His hands went to reach your top to release your tits, a hand went to your toned back, gently pushing your chest closer to his mouth as he wants to capture one of your nipples.

His eyes screwed shut, feeling the way you fuck yourself to his cock. His lips sucking on your nipples, tongue swaying and dancing to give a tingling friction down through your whole body.

"Ah! Daddy.. Daddy.. Daddy!" You chanted.

Tom gave your nipple a slight graze with his teeth, "Yeah, baby? You like calling me Daddy, huh? Keep going, Princess. I am your Daddy." Tom hissed, one of his hands went to spank your ass. You whimpered, receiving his dirty talks.

"Look at you, such a good girl for me. Your pussy feels so good around me, baby." Tom coaxed you even more.

"Thaat's itt... Just like that baby. Come on, faster. Make a mess on my cock. I know you want to, I know you've been dreaming about this." You gasped, your hips snapped faster grinding then bouncing on his cock like your whole life depends on it. Your main focus is to make yourself cum, you wanna feel yourself make a mess all over his cock.

"Ngh! Daddy... I'm close." You yelped, gripping his shoulders hard.

"I know, Baby. Come on, be a good girl, and cum on my cock." Tom panted, watching the way your face scrunched reaching your orgasm.

"Daddy, Daddy, I'm coming!" You moan loudly, as your ground your hips down on his cock, feeling yourself orgasmed. Thighs shaking, body trembling. Tom groaned as he could feel your spilled release on his cock.

"Daddy's turn now baby." He whispered against your lips before he helps you adjust by having you lean forward against his chest. You hugged his shoulders and gasped once you feel him drilled his throbbing cock in your pussy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cursed, gripping his hair.

Tom moaned to the feeling, from the way you grip his hair almost pulling them out from the roots, your pussy warm and tight as ever milking his cock.

"Taking this cock like a good girl." He panted in your ear as you moaned.

"Yeah that's right, pussy made for me. Only my cock could get to cum in this fucking tight cunt." His dirty talk is to boost his ego, and being a good girl that you are, you give it to him.

"Mmhm.. Daddy. Only for you," You gasped in his ear. You rolled out your tongue to glaze it against his skin. "Pussy made for your cock. Your big, fat, cock." You whimpered.

"Urgh! Fuck, I'm coming baby." He grunted, his hips snapping upwards.

"Come in me, Daddy. I want your cum inside me." You mewled.

Tom moaned, gripping your hair before he stilled his hips to shoot his release. He gave one and two last thrust to ride out his orgasm, milking out his cum.

"Oh, fuck." He cursed.

You gasped as you can feel his cum leaking out of your pussy down to your thighs. Pulling yourself away from him to look down in between you both, you giggled at the mess you both made. Tom breathlessly chuckled, as he caress your cheeks.

"Is this what you dreamed of, baby?"

#tom cruise #dbf!tomcruise #dbf series #tom cruise smut #tom cruise fic #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise dirty imagine #tom cruise imagine #tom cruise movies #maverick smut #maverick

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 2

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ SMUT, angst, toxic relationship dynamic

a/n | gonna keep writing for this pathetic, sexy, messed-up man, that is all

Steve Harrington is puzzling. That’s the only conclusion she’s really reached. He’s taken her on more than a few dates, now seeing each other for a little over two months, and the stark contrast between the simply sweet gestures - always showing up with flowers, always opening doors for her, insisting on paying for her meal - and the downright nasty, bordering on violent sex sends her head reeling. She’s having a hard time discerning where he ends and where these staggeringly high walls he’s built begin. She knows he’s the last thing she needs right now. Her last year of college, grad school tentatively on the horizon. But Christ, she just can’t seem to get him out of her system.

She’s meeting him at the station tonight since his twenty-four hour shift ends at six. They’re going out for dinner. She’s learned that he doesn’t like movie theaters, concerts, or crowds in general, only tolerating bars when he’s good and drunk. She’s learned that she doesn’t like him very much when he’s drunk. So, most of their dates have been in quiet, hole in the wall restaurants, usually leading back to his uncharacteristically nice apartment. She didn’t think firefighters were exactly swimming in cash, but he seems to be quite comfortable. He had explained to her how he’s only on shift at the station three or four days out of the week, the rest of the time working at a mechanic’s shop. She knows he served, growing quickly accustomed to his dog tags dangling in front of her face, but he’s never told her anything about it. It’s difficult to get Steve to say much about himself. 

When she reaches the station, she finds the garage open, Steve just stepping down from one of the trucks, all geared up, his jacket undone to show the damp, clinging t-shirt beneath. The first thing she notices is the soot smearing across his face. She hovers just at the edge of the garage, anxiously wringing the strap of her purse, the other men too focused on getting out of their ashy uniforms to notice. Steve glances her direction before doubling back to fully take her in. He always looks her up and down when he first sees her, like he’s practically devouring her whole. It makes her squirm.

He lets out a sigh, shuffling over to her in his heavy boots. He reaches for her, but his hands flex, thinking better of it as he’s still so filthy from wherever he just was. 

“Hey, doll. I’m real sorry. We got called out this afternoon. Massive blowout in an apartment building. Can you give me like ten minutes? Just gotta get cleaned up for you and I’m all yours.” She swallows around a thickness in her throat.

“I-it’s fine. Steve, are you sure you’re ok to go out?” She reaches her hand up to tuck some of his damp hair back behind his smudged face, but he somewhat unkindly swats her hand away, she flinches.

“I’m fine. Just need to clean off. Why don’t you come wait inside, huh?” She nods, feeling both frustrated and floaty at how easily he takes control, renders her meek.

He guides her into the station. It looks like how she’d expect a house full of middle-aged men to look, comfy, lived-in, if not a bit sparse. She sits down in an armchair in what she supposes could be called the living room, watching Steve’s figure retreat up the stairs. 

She’s starting to regret the dress she wore as the other men start to filter through the station, letting their eyes linger on her bare legs a little longer than she’d like. 

“You Harrington’s girl?” An older man with a thick mustache walks up to her, sizing her up like a piece of meat. She clears her throat, trying to make herself as big as possible.

“I suppose I am, yeah, what’s it to you?” The man chuckles before letting out a low whistle.

“He better keep a close eye on you, sweet thing.” His grin makes her stomach twist unpleasantly. Another man sidles up, sitting down on the armrest of her chair. She leans into the other side, jerking away as he takes a strand of her hair between his fingers.

“What’re you going out with Harrington for, baby? Pretty little thing like you could do a whole lot better.” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest after flicking his hand away. 

“Well, I’m really sorry, gentleman. I didn’t mean to bother you, but I’m just trying to wait for my date. So if you could, you know, fuck off, I’d appreciate it.” The men both laugh at her bite. Mustache shuffles forward, bending over until he’s level with her face. She does her best to meet his gaze, unblinking.

“Harrington better teach you some manners, honey. That’s no way to be talking to men. I suggest you show us a little more respect.” He grins again, crooked, beer-stained teeth and breath that reeks of cigarettes.

“And I suggest you get the fuck out of my face.” 

“Now listen here, you little–”

“Michaels, Cahill, I see you’ve met my girl.” Both men immediately back off. Her stomach drops, knowing that Steve is not going to like what he heard one bit. He didn’t like her swearing, sure, but in the brief time they had been together, she had also learned that Steve was a violently jealous man with a very short temper. He offers his hand to her and she takes it, getting pulled into his side with his arm around her waist.

“You’ve got a real spitfire on your hands there, Harrington. Gonna have to hose that one down to handle the heat.” The two men laugh, slapping Steve on the back as they walk away, Steve’s face set in a tight smile that really looks more like a grimace. She sees the way his jaw is ticking. He pulls slightly away from her, taking her hand to lead her out of the station, a muttered “let’s go” is all she gets. What a great start to the night.

He hails them a cab outside, and when they get in, she furrows her brow at him when he gives the driver directions that are definitely not to the restaurant they were supposed to be going to. She goes to question him, but he cuts her off.

“We’re going back to mine. That ok with you, spitfire?” She swallows hard, a cold weight settling at the base of her spine. She nods, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. The hand not draped over her shoulder reaches up to grab her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“I asked you a question, bunny. And I expect an answer.” She does her best to steady her voice, but it still comes out a little shaky.

“Yes, Steve. That’s ok with me.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, Steve’s hand coming to wrap around the swell of her thigh. She hates to admit it, but even as much as his tough guy act upsets her, it also makes something in her twist, heat already starting to build.

Even when he’s pissed, Steve is still polite. He gets out of the cab first, jogging around the side to open her door for her, holding her hand all the way up to his apartment’s floor. But once they get inside it’s a different story.

The second he closes the door, he’s got her pinned up against it, palms framing her face. Normally, she’d play along, fine with skipping the date and going straight to fucking. She liked it as much as he seemed to, the intensity. But tonight, she was exhausted, hadn’t eaten since this morning because of her stupid class schedule, running around all afternoon trying to console and advise her hopeless freshmen, and had been really looking forward to at least some quiet, simple time with Steve. Plainly put, she wasn’t having it.

She shoves lightly at his chest, huffing above his head that had already dipped to bite and suck at her neck.

“Steve, Steve. C’mon, j-just slow down a bit. There’s no need to get so f-fucking worked up.” She knows it was the exactly wrong thing to say right now, but quite frankly she’s too tired to care. He freezes in what he’s doing, letting out a low scoff before leaning back to peer at her. 

“What did I tell you about that mouth, baby? Embarrassing me in front of those pricks. Tell me, is that how you talk to all your little college boys, huh?” He’s brought one hand to rest right at the base of her throat, thumb pressing up the length of her neck.

“Wha– what are you talking about? What boys, Steve? I’ve only been seeing you. You know that.” He laughs and the edge to it makes her stomach clench.

“I don’t know, doll. With a mouth like that, I find it a little hard to believe you haven’t been whoring yourself out. Spreading your legs to whoever’s looking. Such a stupid slut.” This is new. Sure, Steve can be degrading in bed, but it’s always superficial stuff, never crossing some unconsciously agreed upon boundary. But this is starting to graze bone. She shoves him again, this time successfully dipping out from his grasp before whirling around to look at him.

“Jesus christ. You need to grow up, Steve. Quit being such a fucking tough guy for five seconds,” she scoffs lightly, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I need to sit down.” She turns to walk over to his couch but he quickly grips her wrist, pulling her back to him until her forearms are crashing into his chest.

“You don’t fucking walk away from me. You’re my girl. Mine. And when you talk to me you’ll do it with some fucking respect–”

She’s doing it before her brain can even process, arcing her free hand out and slapping him clean across the face, his head jerking to the side. He lets go of her, a look of shock dragged down his face.

“You sound just like them and it makes me sick.” She storms off down the hall towards his bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Truthfully, she has no clue what she’s doing, or what she just did. She should have marched right out the front door, but now she’s stuck, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands. She can’t help the sobs that start to softly roll through her, a culmination of a terrible day.

She’s startled by soft knocks at the door.

“Baby? Baby, please come out. I’m so sorry, honey, please– will you please come out? I didn’t mean it, baby, I just– you know how I get– just still worked up from the job this afternoon, that’s all. Please, pretty baby, let me make it up to you? Please, honey.” Steve’s voice is soft, a mumbling murmur of pleas slipping under the door.

She doesn’t say anything. Wouldn’t know what to say in the first place. For now, she stays seated, counting her breaths, trying to calm down, to figure out what to do next. She can hear him let out a long sigh, and the sound of feet shuffling. It’s been maybe forty five minutes when she opens the door, finding him sitting right next to it, his back against the wall, his forehead resting on his drawn-in knees. She can’t help but notice how small he looks.

His head shoots up and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had been crying.

“I’m sorry, baby.” She sighs, kneeling down in front of him.

“It’s ok, Steve. I-I forgive you. But you can’t get like that everytime something upsets you. What you said really hurt. You call me your girl and I am your girl, but you have to trust in what that means.” He swallows thickly, nodding, allowing her to take one of his hands in hers.

“I do trust you, pretty. It’s everyone else I don’t trust. S’just, you could have anyone. So fucking smart, and beautiful. Sometimes I don’t get why you’re with me.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer to him.

“Steve, I want you. Don’t care about anyone else. But I need you to trust me when I tell you that. Need you to talk to me about what you’re feeling instead of just taking it out on me. I do want you, baby, but not enough to stick around if you keep treating me like that.” Steve nods hard at that, slowly shifting to stand up, bringing her along with him. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. Her cheek squishes right above his heartbeat.

“I’ll be better, baby. I promise. Be the kind of guy you deserve.” She sighs into his chest, letting herself relax into his arms a bit more. Steve pulls back just slightly to look down at her.

“You hungry, pretty?” She smiles, a bit sheepishly, nodding up at him.

…

They order chinese and have dinner on his couch. He feeds her bites of his lo mein and she can’t help but feel a sense of whiplash, looking at this sweet man who just a few hours ago was an angry mess. But he is sweet, just enough to put earlier this evening out of her mind. 

He takes both their finished containers and sets them down on the coffee table, turning to look at her lazily smiling at him. He clears his throat.

“I really am sorry, pretty. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Never wanna hurt you.” She reaches out to card her fingers through his hair and his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“I know, baby. I accept your apology. Just don’t do it again, yeah?” He nods, shifting on the couch until he’s pressed up against her, his arm around her shoulders. He drops a soft kiss to her lips.

“Wanna make it up to you, doll. Will you let me? Let me make you feel good?” She takes a sharp breath as his hand on her thigh starts to skirt up, her dress riding up her legs along with it. She nods, a hummed “mmhmm,” all it takes for Steve to slide down onto his knees in front of her.

He brings both palms to splay over the softness of her thighs, dragging them up and up until he finds the band of her panties. He doesn’t even have to say anything, she lifts her hips for him as if on command, letting him slide the light blue cotton down her legs, tossing them off to the side. It’s quiet, save for her broken exhales, as he guides the backs of her knees over his shoulders, shifting her hips down to the edge of the couch. He lets his lips drag along the insides of her thighs, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his simpering wake. He keeps getting frustratingly close to her cunt before dipping back to nip and suckle at her thighs. She lets out a long whine the next time he does it. He grins up at her.

“What is it, pretty? You gotta tell me what you want.” She huffs at his teasing.

“I want you, please.”

“You got me, baby. Gonna have to be more specific.” She pulls the one card she knows will stop his toying with her.

“I want your mouth, daddy. Please, daddy, need your mouth.” She can see the corners of his mouth flickering. Got him.

“Good girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you. Anything you want, baby, just gotta ask.” He mumbles the last bit as he dips his head down, drawing a long arc through her folds with his tongue. She preens under the sudden contact.

Steve works her over with a desperate hunger, only pulling away to spit roughly at her cunt before chasing after the pooling wetness there. There’s a lewd squelching sound as he suckles on her clit, making her throw her head back in a low moan, digging her heel into his back.

“That’s it, bunny. Let daddy hear how good it feels, give it all to me.” He dips lower, fucking his tongue into her cunt and she gasps, fisting one of her hands in his hair, earning a low thrumming groan from him that burns through her core. His nose is catching her clit just right as he continues to lick into her before he draws his mouth back up, letting two fingers slide in where his tongue just was. She lets out a broken cry when he finds that spot inside her, stroking it with each thrust of his hand. He’s panting when he comes up for air.

“Want you to come on my fingers, bunny. Can you do that for daddy? Make a fucking mess of me, baby.” She whimpers, nodding frantically, her eyes scrunched shut as she rocks her hips against his face and palm, chasing a high that’s teetering dangerously close.

“Open your eyes, pretty. Want your eyes on me when you come. Be a good girl.” She does what he says, eyes blowing wide and the sight of him, hair a mess, cheeks damp with her, his pupils blown out, is enough to send her right over the edge. She cries out, hips lifting up, pulsing around his fingers before slowly melting into a breathless mess. Steve sits up on his knees, pulling her in for a kiss and she groans at the taste of herself on his tongue.

He murmurs for her to wrap her legs around him and she does, always surprised by his stolid strength when he lifts her up off the couch, carrying her to his bedroom. He lays her back on his bed, caging her in between his forearms as they meet in another kiss. He presses his hips firmly into hers and she can feel his hardness as he shunts his hips forward, dragging along her sensitive cunt.

She fumbles for the hem of his shirt before he gets the hint, peeling away from her to yank it off by the collar before unbuckling his belt. She quickly pulls her dress off over her head and when he dives back down to meet her, his mouth goes to lick over a peaked nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. She sighs, pressing her chest up towards his mouth, giving him the space to reach around and unclasp her bra before sliding it down her shoulders. He pauses for a moment, slack jawed, as he takes her in. His hand comes to her jaw before running his thumb over her bottom lip, he sighs.

“So fucking beautiful.” She takes his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it, earning a low grumbling moan from him before he takes it from her mouth with a startling pop.

He shuffles his jeans and boxers down his legs before hovering back over her, pressing the fat head of his cock through her folds. They both groan at the contact. 

“P-please don’t tease me, daddy. Need it so bad.” He scoffs at her crumpled expression.

“I know what you need, baby. Daddy’s got you, huh?” With that, he lines himself up with her entrance, pressing forward. It always has been and continues to be a stretch, a pleasure that dips into pain as he digs his hips into hers, bottoming out. She draws her nails down his back, feeling him shudder under the delicate scrapes he’s sure to be left with. He dips his face into her neck, pressing chaste kisses along her jumping tendons.

“Can I move, pretty. Are you ok?” She gasps out a “yes” and he rolls his hips experimentally, a long, digging thrust that makes her eyes roll back. He grabs onto the plush of her thigh before guiding her leg to wrap around his hip, spreading her out for him. The pace he sets is slow but harsh, punches of his hips that send her rocking up the length of the bed. They’re wrapped in the sounds of their heavy breathing, the sloppy wetness of his thrusts into her, and the headboard lightly banging against the wall.

He brings the rough pads of his fingers down to swipe across her clit and she cries out, clenching hard around him. Everytime they fuck, she’s reminded that she’s never had anyone press this deep into her, a feeling that churns her insides and sets pleasure pooling in her stomach.

“Need to feel you, baby. Need you to come on my cock. Come on, pretty, let go.” His groaned words are all it takes for that pleasure to spill over for the second time, her arms pulling him down until he’s practically laying on top of her. He continues to grind into her, fucking her through her high in a way that keeps her pleasure thrumming at an almost unbearable high. 

He presses up onto one hand, the other holding onto her hip in a way she’s sure will leave bruises. His hips are starting to stutter and she can tell he’s close.

“You’re mine, right doll? Tell me you’re mine.” She gazes up at him, dragging her fingers through his hair.

“M’all yours, daddy. All for you, baby. I’m yours.” He lets out a broken moan at her words, digging his face back into her neck.

“Fuck– say my name, baby. Say my fucking name.” “Steve, want you to come for me– p-please come for me.”

“M’close, baby– fuck– s-so close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside, wanna feel you, Steve– give it to me, baby– please, wanna feel you f-fill me up.” He lets out a warbly curse before pressing his hips into hers bruisingly as she feels his warmth start to spread inside her. He sighs into her collarbone, letting his lips dance across her skin.

They lay entangled for a few moments, listening as their breaths start to slow down. She winces as he pulls out of her, immediately feeling the way his spend drips onto the sheets. Thank god for birth control. He presses a firm kiss to her lips before getting up and stepping into the bathroom, coming back with a warm towel to clean her up.

He murmurs a sorry into the soft swell of her stomach when she hisses under his ministrations, already feeling the ache settling into her hips. He tosses the towel into his hamper, sliding on a clean pair of boxers and bringing one of his t-shirts over to her. They move silently, they’ve done this many times.

She offers him a soft smile as she slides the worn-out shirt over her head. Steve settles back into bed, pulling her to rest her chin on his chest. They share another small kiss before descending into silence. There’s nothing left to say. She wants so badly for him to have meant what he said earlier, that he’ll start to let her in a bit more. But she also knows they had a very similar conversation just last week, when they had gotten back to Steve’s place with him nursing a set of bloodied, swollen knuckles from the face of the poor guy who had tried to talk to her. Everytime, she swears that the next time he pulls something like that, she’ll leave and not look back. And everytime, he draws her right back in. There’s something in her heart for him that she’s not yet ready to press on, to speak aloud. Too afraid of what it could mean.

He falls asleep before her, the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath her cheek. She shifts slightly to gaze up at him, one of the rare moments when his features are soft, at peace. She thinks that maybe there’s hope for Steve Harrington yet.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut

[devnmon]

The Overnight Reckoning.

Chapter Eight: Written in My Stars

Summary: The aftermath of the walker attack has left you and Daryl exhausted. You'd barely gotten sleep the night before, and it does nothing with the reality of the situation at hand. Is the camp's safety screwed to hell? What's next for the Quarry folk?

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Series Masterlist | Playlist

Chapter Warnings: typical twd horror, mentions of walkers/dead bodies, some violence

wc: 7.3k

After the night you all had in camp, the day ahead was, unsurprisingly, looking even longer.

The whole thing began later in the evening, hours after Daryl and the guys had left to return to Atlanta for Merle, who'd been handcuffed to a roof in the city.

Boy, were they in for a surprise upon returning.

You, along with the familiar members of the group had been enjoying a quiet night around the campfire, hands warmed by the fire despite the cooler temperatures.

Elbows propped up on your knees, you reached to the flames, palms absorbing the crackling heat of the fire. Usually, the fires at night were kept low, as not to draw attention from afar. This time, thanks to Morales, who built up the stones around their fire pit, the flames were bigger, therefore spreading more warmth amongst you all in the chilled air.

“Hey, Morales,” calling over to the man who'd been the reason for this warmth, “Thanks for building up the fire pit so we could have the flames higher. It’s really helping.”

“Oh yeah of course. I just.. didn’t want to hear Ed complain about it being too cold anymore, but," he glanced around for a moment, “He isn’t even around, so enjoy the warmth and silence while it lasts.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly when he mentions the abusive asshole that is Ed Peletier, and the events from earlier replaying in your mind.

A violent image in the back of your mind scratches the surface.

Hope I never have to see that prick’s smug face again after what he’s done to that woman and her daughter.

Before the more graphic images from today wedge their way into your thoughts, your eyes squeeze shut, grounding yourself to recognize the discussions of the group you’re surrounded by.

With the skill of both Amy and Andrea, the sisters had caught enough fish to feed the whole group that evening. You all had been enjoying a fulfilling meal whilst in the company of one another, sat between Jacqui and Lori, tuning into the friendly conversations while shoveling every morsel of food on your plate into your mouth.

Sure, the fish was bare of any flavor or seasoning, but you appreciated its way to sustain you and halt the incessant hunger poking at your brain.

Since the fish fry gave you all fresh, hot food, you decided to deal with the plain taste and be grateful for that moment. Surrounded by kind people and their company presently made your eyes soften as you devoured your meal.

As soon as you'd finished, the sound of Dale's voice rambling on about some Faulkner quote grabbed your attention. Silence rings out as he finishes speaking, eyes darting around awkwardly at the lack of sound, until someone speaks.

“You are so weird..” Amy’s one liner makes Carl and the other kids laugh as they finish up their food.

“It’s not me, it’s Faulkner, William Faulkner. Maybe my bad paraphrasing..”

The chuckling ceases, quiet dimming over the group, while the younger blonde stands up, gaining the attention of her sister.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to pee. Jeez, you try to be discreet around here..”

This time, more of the group giggles at her remark as she trails back to dale’s winnebago. sipping at her beer again, Andrea tries to stifle her own laughter. A few moments pass, hearing the door fling open, Amy’s voice trailing from where she stood.

“We’re out of toilet paper?” is the last thing she says before a shrill scream leaves her, and Andrea is turning towards the sound faster than she can register who it is that’s screaming.

You don’t know what’s worse in the moment: the fact that Amy had got bit or the walkers treading into camp. A drop in your stomach makes your heart beat faster with your adrenaline pumping, hand reaching for the knife sheathed at your hip. Your eyes dart to everyone around you, grabbing each other and running in the opposite direction.

Walkers flooded into the camp, bombarding the area and wiping out any idea of a safe haven you had found here. Suddenly, the pit in your stomach makes the internal sounds in your mind overtake any sounds outside of your head, heart pumping louder now.

The sound of Ahane's shotgun hadn't helped your grasp on the situation at hand, until you realize the chaos that's broken out. It's not until your eyes lock on the group huddled together a few feet away, heading for the r.v. as safely as possible.

Morales was swinging a bat at the dead to take down the ones surrounding him, running for the group as they advanced.

Just before there were more walkers in camp than living people, the sounds of multiple gunshots rang out from further away. Searching for the source of the shooting, your eyes gazed over to the four familiar men who had gone to the city earlier in the day.

Daryl, Rick, Glenn and T-dog trampled up the hills of the Quarry just in time to step in and help Shane and the others take out each and every one of the small herd.

To see Daryl back and alive was the only thing you could think about, as a slow smile made its way onto your face.

Then you remembered they went to the city for Merle, and he wasn't with them.

You had no idea what Daryl had seen out there, much less if he saw what happened to his brother, and where he was.

Silence rang out, pulling everyone's attention to Andrea and who she was crouched over. Amy had bled out from the bites on her skin just moments ago, the life draining from her body in her sister's arms.

Grief was upon the group for the first time, and the way it had all happened was so hideous, nobody spoke for the rest of the night.

That night was one of the longest you'd had since being in the camp. restlessness came from the images of walkers in your head any minute you'd dozed off to sleep.

Though, morning finally came, and it was time to wrangle up all the bodies for disposal.

Ed Peletier was one of the unfortunate-fortunate victims of the attack last night, as well as Amy Harrison, and some others you didn't know who'd gotten bit or bled out from their injuries.

Daryl rose the next morning bright and early, the look on his face pensive as he got right to work helping the other men clean up the camp.

Drained from last night with a lack of sleep, you didn't dare go near any of the corpses, heading directly over to the other side of camp, where Lori, Jacqui and a few others sat and ate their breakfast.

Your surroundings felt surreal, eyes heavy with each blink and attempt to stay awake. Unsteady feet shuffled over to where some of them sat, out of view of everything happening on the other side of camp, for some peace of mind.

"Hey, morning. You alright? Sleep any last night?" Her voice was soft and sweet, unlike the violent images that had kept you up since before the sun rose. Your mouth opens to answer, but a yawn comes tumbling out before you can.

"I'll take that as a no." Lori was quick to grab a mug with hot coffee in it for you, watching you take a seat on the grass, palms covering your eyes as your legs crossed.

"Uh... no.. no, I uh, couldn't sleep. Tried to, but every time my eyes closed, I'd just wake up again. Fucking nightmares..." Cursing low enough so Carl wouldn't hear, your head lifted as her footsteps approached. Lori sat down next to you, the warm mug in her hand being given to you.

"Well, if you can't sleep, just try to get through the day, okay? Here, coffee."

"Mmm.. coffee." The warmth spread through your fingers, its strong scent wafting into your body as you took a sip. "Thanks, Lor. This'll help, maybe I'll get better sleep later."

Lori's hand rubbed your shoulder before walking back over to Carl and walking him over to a different part of camp.

There you sat, legs crossed with the cup of warm liquid in your hands, sipping slowly until your mug was empty. Caffeine ran through your veins now, prompting you to pull your still somewhat tired figure from the ground.

After a while, some of your group gathered a distance away from Andrea, who was still crouched over her sister's body. Dried blood covered her shirt and arms, some was even in her straw-blonde hair. The sight of her like this was something you hadn't expected.

Just a few feet to the left, Daryl was hunched over, plunging a pickaxe into the deceased bodies, in prevention of their reanimation. The one he'd just pulled the axe out of had been a random walker that came out of the woods. Dragging it over to where T-dog stood, he grabbed the other side of the corpse, hauling it into a pile of burning walkers.

Lori finally walks away from Andrea, trying to explain enough to her that makes her say something, anything. She hadn't spoken since Amy died in her arms.

You currently sat near Dale and Rick, accompanied by a few others, observing Andrea's state of shock from over by one of the campfires.

"She's been there all night. What do we do?"

"Can't just leave Amy like that. We need to deal with it, same as the others."

"I'll tell her how it is."

Rick sauntered over to Andrea, speaking in a low, calm voice, until she abruptly turned towards the sheriff, pointing her gun at him.

The only thing Rick could do after seeing the pistol aimed at him was apologize profusely to her, as he backed away tentatively.

He'd turned back to the group before letting out a sigh, with the shake of his head. You stood up, glancing at Shane and the others before speaking.

"I don't think we should bother her, not right now. She's still in shock, which is why she reacted that way, same thing when Lori tried to talk to her, too. She's in a fragile state. The only thing that's gonna help her is time."

"And how do you know that?" Shane questioned, narrowing his eyes at your sudden outburst of knowledge. Besides the fact that Shane's remarks towards you were always misogynistic, he never asked you anything about yourself.

"Believe me, or don't believe me, but I studied trauma and psychology in college, it's what my Master's degree is on. You're not the only one that knows shit, Shane."

"Oh, pardon me." He only sat back down, watching you roll your eyes and sit back down.

It was then you saw Daryl wander over into the part of camp you're at, pickaxe still over his shoulders. His skin was covered in blood and dirt and who knows what else for who knows how long, butting his way into the conversation.

"Y'all can't be serious. The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick's drawl questioned Daryl's words, taking a step closer to Rick before lowering his voice pointedly.

"Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here!" Daryl continued on with reasons as to why they should, but Lori interrupted him.

"No. For Gods sakes, let her be." Lori sat down, also covered in dirt and blood from moving bodies. Daryl scoffs in disbelief as he walks away, too hyped up in his own anger to have a civil conversation at the moment.

He makes his way over to where Morales and Glenn are moving bodies into separate piles. Daryl leans down to help morales with one of them, dragging it into a certain area before Glenn calls out at them.

"Wait- What are you guys doing? This is for geeks, our people go over there." Glenn points to a pile a bit to the left of where they had dropped the body in the first place.

"What's the difference? They're all infected." Daryl's strained voice speaks, looking at Glenn before he's speaking again, his voice breaking a bit as he repeats himself.

"Our people go in that row, over there. We don't burn them! We bury them. Understand? Our people go in that row over there."

Daryl and Morales pick up the body again, and after the weight of it left his grip, he walked off with a huff of hot air and anger.

"Y'all left my brother for dead! You had this comin'!"

Daryl can't help but let himself become heated over the slightest thing, having returned from the city without his brother only set him off more.

He doesn't get far, overhearing Jacqui claim that Jim had been bitten, approaching with concern and a few other people in the surrounding area. You stood close by, next to Glenn as you watched Daryl pull Jim's shirt up as T-dog restrained his arms, revealing the bloody bite on his ribs.

"Oh, shit." You mutter under your breath, almost stunned to see that the group was going to lose another one of its members, after the night you all had.

The next course of action was to figure out what to do with Jim and Amy, who still hadn't reanimated in her sister's arms yet.

Though, Daryl suggested that they take out Jim and Amy to be done with the group's situation as fast as possible. When you overheard this, it made your eyes widen at the words you heard from someone you thought of as your friend. Your thoughts about what Daryl had said weren't lost on you, but the decision to keep them inside was probably the best one at the moment.

"Zero tolerance for walkers. Or them to be."

It's then that Rick mentions the CDC, the fact that they could be working on a cure.

Of course the next thing out of Shane is that it's a stretch, and that the group should head to the army base at Fort Benning, instead. The only thing about that was that it was about 100 miles in the opposite direction than they were now.

"The CDC is our best chance, and Jim's only chance."

Daryl gets so frustrated at the constant back and forth arguing about what the group should do, that another instinct takes over him in a form of harsh rage.

"You go lookin' for aspirin, do what you need to do. Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!" Overlapping yells sound out as Daryl lurches towards Jim with his pickaxe raised, hearing the click of Rick's gun.

"Hey, hey, hey! We don't kill the living."

Turning his head towards Rick, eyes scowling as his voice lowers.

"That's funny, comin' from a man who just put a gun to my head."

Shane finally convinces him to drop the axe, trudging off in a huff to get rid of more bodies. You saunter through camp, gazing over at Andrea, Dale next to her now. You had wondered where Daryl was, until you spot him stood behind Carol as she plunged the axe he'd been holding into her dead husband's head.

Damn, Carol. He was awful to you as a husband, but you cry over his death. Strange, but endearing. How you can have compassion for someone after they treated you like that.

Your thoughts tore your eyes away from the scene, remembering how it was to lose someone like that before. Shaking your head to focus on the world around you once again, the RV came into view again.

A shot rang out from where you had been looking, assuming Amy finally reanimated and was put down by her sister. The realization washed over you, in a way you didn't like.

To pass some time, you holed up in your tent for a while, entranced with the book you'd been reading when Daryl had interrupted. About an hour or two passed before Lori checked on you in your tent, telling you how they're going to bury the bodies.

Soon enough, your boots are on again, laced up as you step out of your tent, catching up with Lori and the others as you walk down in a group to where they've already dug the holes. As you tread down the hill, past the truck with glenn and carl, you overhear Daryl arguing with the two sheriffs.

"These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are."

"There are no rules."

Lori butts in then, in defense of the group.

"Well, that's a problem. We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do."

You notice Daryl chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listens to Lori speak.

Andrea goes first, dragging Amy's body into the grave, placing her head lightly on the ground as she saunters away, shaken up and sniffling from crying. It's then that all the other people drag the rest of the bodies into the hole in the ground. There's a moment of silence, and then the men begin to shovel the dirt over the corpses.

As you all walk back to camp, the constant cries and sniffles of tears is heard, as Daryl saunters behind you, your fingers wiping away the tears that managed to slip down your face.

Before more threaten to drop from your eyes, you scurry away from the group in a hurry, hiding out behind the Winnebago.

You hear some muttering from Rick and Shane about the severity of their situation, waiting patiently for their bickering to cease. After it came to a halt, and their agreement stood, they hauled off into the forest to search for stray geeks possibly roaming around.

With the work around camp halted, you grew bored with no tasks to do. You thought of picking your book up again, but instead you wandered around camp until finding the archer peering at everyone sat around the campfire.

"Daryl?" you happen to startle him, twitching slightly as your words broke the silence.

"What'dya want?" Daryl's voice is gruff and low, with a hint of frustration growing in his gut. Truth was he'd been in a bad mood ever since arguing with Rick earlier.

"Do you know if we're um- staying here, or- or leaving? Cause after everything that happened, I don't know what we're gonna do-"

"Man, why don't you ask someone who cares? I ain't in charge around here, girl.. Don't bother me for shit I don't know." Daryl threw his arm in the air, aggravated in the moment and getting revved up, his voice raised, startling you to some extent.

Your shoulders dropped at the realization of a different side of Daryl coming out to play. You had no clue he'd be rash to you, like he is to everyone else. Though, you never thought you'd be on the back end of the harshness.

"I-I just thought you might have known..." You sigh, becoming a bit intimidated of him, "Sorry for annoying you."

He watches your face drop, heaving a sigh from your chest in your turn away from him.

Daryl chokes, when he realizes just what he's said to you and how he's said it. It's not what he meant in the moment, letting his ego and rage take over instead of calming down before talking with you.

Walking away from daryl, you spotted everybody gathered around the largest campfire pit, as Rick and Shane returned from their outing finally. Walking over behind Glenn, you listen intently as Shane goes on about how he trusts Rick's instincts, and that the most important thing was to stay together.

"Those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning, okay?"

Everyone nodded, the agreement set as the group turned in for the evening.

Before the night sky made its way darkening the forests, Daryl headed out in the woods, tracking the path he'd made previously, carrying a can of gas as well as his bow to keep himself safe.

Soon enough, he'd made it all the way back to where Merle had left their truck, the same one with his motorcycle on the trailer. Sure enough, the camouflage had done its job in protecting the rest of their supplies in the truck bed. When Daryl rummaged through one of the bags, he found a leather jacket and vest, one with two angel wings on the back. He rummaged through enough of everything and compiled what he found to be useful, and shoved it all into a bag.

Daryl decided the only thing worth driving back to camp was the bike, so he'd taken it down from the trailer, using the gas can to fill up the tank. After starting the engine, a sound he hadn't heard since before the world ended, he drove off with his belongings and a slight smile on his face.

If Daryl Dixon was going to survive the apocalypse, he figured why not ride in style?

After returning to camp, Daryl cooked up the rest of his squirrel for dinner that night. On account of not apologizing for snapping at you earlier in the day, he would have to make you squirrel stew another time. A promise he was willing to keep to you.

In doing so, he would also have to apologize before they left, since Daryl didn't want to have any reason not to talk to you.

You were the reason he was with this group, after all. He was grateful in a way, that things ended up the way they did.

Daryl spent the evening packing up the inside of his tent, wanting it to be the last thing he puts away before they hit the road tomorrow. The bag he'd packed was tossed in the winnebago with everyone else's.

Exhausted from the day's prior events and holed up in his tent for the night, Daryl decided to pull his journal out and jot down some of the thoughts he'd had today.

Day eight

We're finally leavin the Quarry, heading to the CDC tomorrow. Thank fuck, I hated stayin' out there in the open. Not to mention the walker outbreak got to Jim. Don't know how to deal if anyone else dies. Feels like I need to protect them all now. Y/n was terrified though, the night before. I guess there's more to her than just another scared person. I mean, we're all scared more or less. But she's tough. She deserves more of a life than just some damn camp. They all do.

Daryl closed his pen in the book, shoving it into his bag once again as he drifted off to sleep the minute his eyelids closed.

Before he knew it, birds chirped and the daylight shone through his tent, waking him a little before rising and realizing that everyone was probably up already. His cot was the last thing to pack up, exiting the tent to put it in the trunk, before he saw you lingering around T-dog and Andrea, as the group gathered to hear what Shane had to say.

Daryl got closer to hear as well, overhearing him explain how to get the group's attention on the road. It's then that Morales is speaks up to say they won't be joining them on the road, mentioning family in birmingham, before Rick and Shane are handing them a gun and half a box of ammo for the road.

The group says their goodbyes as Daryl watches you trail off to pack up the rest of your stuff.

This was his chance, to apologize, for everything.

"Hey, uh, you got a minute?" Daryl's fiddling with his hands, anxious in the moment to how you'll take his apology, wondering if this is the very last chance he'd ever have to talk to you.

You aren't facing Daryl when he calls out to you, not really thinking he would even talk to you after the events of the other day. Though, your eyes brighten the moment you do see him, turning your body to face him with a backpack slung over your shoulder. He's dressed in his usual brown pants and boots, a maroon (probably sleeveless) flannel under his leather jacket and vest. Mouth falling slightly open, you hesitate before speaking.

"Daryl? What're you doing here? I... assumed you didn't want to speak to me again after what you said yesterday." A puzzled look scattered across your face, wondering why he approached you on the last day in camp.

Daryl looks different, but you can't figure out why he does.

"N-Nah, I uh," Daryl paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "I came here to talk about that, actually."

A hand of yours pushes the hair in front of your face behind your ear as you look to him, eyebrows raised the slightest bit.

"Okay, so talk." One of your shoulders slips the bag off as you sit down on a nearby log, Daryl doing the same. Your hands rub down your pant legs, only slightly nervous at what he had to say.

"I-I know I was rude to ya, an' I just wanted to say 'm sorry. You don't deserve to be treated like that. It's- everything that's been happenin' recently's got me on edge all the time, so much that I don't get a lotta sleep. Maybe a couple hours here and there but, I don't wanna lose your friendship over somethin' that stupid. I really didn't mean it."

The tone of his voice was genuine and sweet, like he had put so much thought into apologizing to you. It warmed your heart, breaking whatever part of you was still upset with him.

"Oh.. Daryl, it-it's alright. I forgive you." you speak, Daryl's frustration with himself scratching the surface.

He finally looked up from his hands to you, light in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, promise. Friends make mistakes, you're a good one, Daryl. Just be careful next time, since I am the one who knocked your brother out. I could probably do the same to you, so just watch your back."

A sly smirk plastered on your face, knowing you'd never actually hurt him, even if you tried to. You just couldn't risk any imperfections on that face of his.

You realize then: Daryl looks different because he's wearing a leather jacket and vest, and it suits him in a way that lets you read him like a book.

"I don' know 'bout that.. but it'd be fun to see ya try." The both of you chuckle, smiled glances being shared, feeling like forever in those moments of eye contact. Every time you peek away though, you're pulled back to reality.

Daryl's studying your body language before he speaks again, his words coming out easier than the apology.

"There's somethin' else I wanted to ask ya, too." Rubbing the back of his neck, sore from how he'd slept on it.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I'm drivin' this bike of mine to the CDC, and was wonderin' if you'd wanna ride with me."

"You ride bikes?"

"Well, do I look like I drive them tacky sport cars? Hell yeah, I ride bikes."

That drawl of his comes clear and present in his words, just the sound of him speaking has an effect over you.

"Definitely not. I just didn't know you were that type of guy."

"What typ'a guy did you take me for?" Daryl's curious now, wanting to know more about himself from your point of view.

"Just- nothing," you scoff, "But the answer to your question? Is hell yeah, I'll ride with you."

Daryl Dixon, a motorcycle man, it all made sense now.

You shake your head and scoff, accepting the invitation of riding a bike for the first time in years.

Daryl's eyes raise just the slightest bit at your acceptance of his question, catching him off guard. His chest felt lighter, filled with some different type of feeling, as he realized you'd be pressed up against his back while on his bike.

He raises from the log, Daryl watches you wander over to one of the edges of camp that led down to the quarry.

"Alright, I parked her out by everyone else's vehicles, an' they're all heading out pretty soon. Ya wanna go now?"

"In a minute. i just love this view, don't think I've seen anything like it since before. I'm gonna miss it.. just this pretty part, though. I don't think I could stay another night out here." You say with a sigh, Daryl's blue eyes taking in your expression.

You were right, the view was gorgeous. But to Daryl, you were becoming a better view to him every day.

Not only were your features alluring in the way you held yourself, it had also been the moments during conversation where you spoke to him like he was the only person around.

The moment of silence passed as you hear Shane calling out from where everyone had piled into their cars.

"C'mon, let's move out." Shane says to the group, extra loudly since spotting the two of you out by the edge.

"Oh, shit. We'd better go." You look to Daryl, his eyes tearing away from your figure as you begin treading towards the cars.

Everyone heads to their vehicles, taking one last glance at the place the group had called home for the past few months. A content smile on your face, you tread behind the archer heading to his bike.

Daryl swung his leg over the seat, pressing his weight into the bike as he sat, watching you do the same. The engine roared with the turning of his key.

The rumble of his bike's engine sent your mind into nostalgia, remembering the time your father had taken you out riding for the first time. Sat on this bike with daryl made the two realities shift together in your brain, finding comfort in sharing the joy of bikes with him.

"Ohh, I haven't heard that sound in such a long time.. Do you know how long it's been since I've been on a bike, Dixon?"

He looked back to you, eyes filled with something different.

It was bright, more alive, and stronger.

This was not the Daryl Dixon you found in the woods with his skeevy brother that day.

No, this Daryl Dixon had lost and found greater things in life than he could ever imagine.

"Wait a minute, you're telling me you ride bikes?" Tilting his head to one side, completely in disbelief at what he thinks is true.

Someone like you into something he likes as well?

A rush flows through Daryl, peering into your eyes as the visual excitement scatters across your face. When the corners of his mouth started to turn upward, you knew the gaze in his blues had been hope.

"Hell yeah, I do. Well, used to. Haven't in a long time, but I've been ridin' since I was old enough to drive."

A real laugh flutters from his chest in the moment, filled with content at how you'd so easily became his favorite person ever. He flips his head around, the leather wings on the vest he wore, facing you now.

The way his body is made just for this jacket and vest...

The way it adorned his broad shoulders and muscular back was mesmerizing enough, other than the fact that you couldn't resist tracing the outline of one of the wings with your finger ever so lightly.

The gears on his bike shift, his feet lifting off the ground and onto the clutch pedal, as Daryl drove the bike in line with everyone else's vehicles, heading out of the campsite forever.

The summer sun in its finals hours of light for the day burned bright and hot against your skin. Wind from the speed of Daryl's bike brought a breeze, cooling your body as much as possible.

Since being on the road, your forearms were clutched around Daryl's torso, the rest of your body pulled away from him, rather than pressing your own body against his and make the heat worse.

The leather of his jacket was almost sticking to your skin with how sweltering the Georgia heat had been tormenting the day, as its hours ticked on.

In an attempt to save yourself an awkward conversation of the way you're wrapped around him like that, hunched over while you try to not let your hands rest blatantly on the man's torso. It was awkward, and way too personal for a couple of people who had been getting to know each other.

With that, you let your arms release from wrapped around his waist, hands resting there now and pressing lightly into the jacket's sides, fingertips sticking a bit. Hesitating a further grasp on Daryl, you hadn't wanted to blatantly hold him in a way he didn't like.

The bike jolted forward a bit, and that's when you hear him call back to you.

"Aye, you better hold on tight, we're gonna pick up speed."

Without thinking, the palms of your hands press down on his scantily waist, the sensations of something jolting all over your skin, feeling more like electricity than anything else. Your sensation completely internal, you only stare down at the angel wings on his vest again, before squeezing your eyes shut to try and rid your mind of the thoughts in your brain.

With every mile the two of you rode, the sun shone brightly, warming your skin against the sticky leather of Daryl's jacket.

It's an hour or two before one of the vehicle's horns blares out loudly, pulling the trail of cars to a halt.

"The hell? What's going on?" You ask Daryl, his bike slowing to a stop before seeing people walk out of the Winnebago.

"Dunno, wanna go find out?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Your arms retreated from around Daryl's waist, hopping off the bike as you heard its engine halt. The sun was still hot on your necks, burning bright as you walked towards the Winnebago.

"Hang on a sec, I'm comin'." You glanced back as Daryl grabbed his bow from the back of the bike and caught up to you. Walking up to the front of Dale's RV, a bunch of your group members were already standing around. You spot Andrea and Glenn with concerned looks on their faces.

"Hey," you said to the blonde, "What the hell's going on?"

"Something's wrong with the RV, I don't know. Dale and Rick are talking about it over there," She points to where the sheriff and other man are talking.

Walking around the others, you spot Glenn and give him a slight punch on the shoulder before stand next to him. Daryl's glancing around anxiously with his bow in hand, watching the landscape for any incoming predicaments.

"I told you we'd never get far on that hose. I needed the one from the cube van." Dale says to Rick, as the engine continues to smoke and make a slight hissing sound.

"Can you jury-rig it?"

"That's all it's been so far. It's more duct tape than hose. And I'm out of duct tape."

"I see somethin' up ahead," Shane speaks, standing on the other side of the van with T-dog, looking into a pair of binoculars. "Gas station, if we're lucky."

It's then you hear frantic steps coming from inside the Winebago, and Jacqui is the one who steps out in haste.

"Y'all, Jim- it's bad. I don't think he can take any more," She breathlessly states, before retreating back into the RV.

"Hey, Rick, you wanna hold down the fort? I'll drive ahead, see what I can bring back." Shane states, hands on his belt as he looks to his partner.

"Yeah, I'll come along, too. Back you up." T-dog's looking through the same binoculars as Shane was a moment before, vouching to go with him.

"Y'all keep your eyes open, now. We'll be right back." Shane states, before Rick climbs into the RV.

Now left with the remaining members of your group, it seemed like the predicament with Jim wasn't solvable. It was just a matter of time before he died and came back as one of those... things.

Can't imagine what he's goin' through, Daryl thought. It's gotta be the worst thing in the world to die at the hands of a geek.

"Do you think the CDC will be able to save him?" You asked the group, wanting to hold on to any sliver of hope that you had left.

"I think that's a damn pipe dream at this point." Daryl responded, although a part of him wanted to believe differently.

"Come on, you can't really know that..." You responded, wanting to believe in hope for society. A part of you knew that it was only a zero to one hundred shot for any kind of cure.

"Hell if I know CDC's even worth the trip." Daryl scoffed, pacing around.

Before you could retort back to him, Rick emerged from the RV with news about Jim, nervous look on his face.

"So, what's the verdict?" You asked, as Rick looked at everyone standing around.

"He said... he wants us to leave him here."

Your eyes shot towards the sheriff, disbelief at the words coming from him. "He.. what?"

"It's what he says he wants."

"And he's lucid?" Carol asks, concerned for Jim's wellbeing.

"He seems to be. I would say.. yes."

"I would never... go along with callously killing a man.. This doesn't seem right," your words came out in a breath, terrified that your group would just be leaving a man to die on the side of the road.

"Well, I guess we know what Jim wants, there's our answer."

"But we just leave him here? Take off? Man,, I'm not sure I could live with that," Shane says to Rick, before Lori retorts.

"It's not your call. Either one of you."

The next thing you knew, Shane and Rick were carrying Jim out from the RV, laying him down under a tree. The two men insist to him that they don't need to leave him like this, but Jim insisted on it.

"The breeze.. feels nice," Jim stated through shallow breaths, before Jacqui leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

Once more, Rick walked over to the man, "Jim, do you want this?" He asked, offering him a gun to put him out of his misery.

"I'm okay, and you're gonna need that."

The rest of your group shared solemn looks amongst one another, as others said goodbye. You noticed Glenn's expression turn to sadness as he walked away, joining him in walking back to the vehicles on the road. As you walked, you only saw Daryl looking at him from afar, giving him a small nod, then turning to walk back to where you were.

The rest of the drive to the CDC, sat on the back of Daryl's bike, was lengthy and your skin burned under the hot sun. Drenched in sweat, you were sure the archer in front of you was suffering just as much, maybe more than you were. But then again, you were both pushed up against each other on the bike.

When the CDC building came into view, a filthy stench came with it. The rancid smell of a dozen or more dead bodies surrounded your head, and it made you sick to your stomach.

"Ugh, that's the worst thing I think I've ever smelled." You said, hand cupped over your mouth as Daryl's bike slowed down behind the Winnebago and rest of the vehicles.

"Yeah, well we're here," Daryl shut off the bike engine, hopping off as you did the same. Crossbow in hand, he waited for the rest of your group to exit their cars before advancing any closer to the building.

The nonstop buzzing of flies surrounded each of the carcasses, littering the road and lot ahead with unmoving corpses.

"Oh, god." The smell of each rotting body flooded your head, in a way you didn't want it to. "I think I'm gonna be sick..."

But you tried your best to keep whatever food you had in your system down. Breathing through your nose now, you stepped around the bodies, making your way to the building. The whole group coughed at the stench, but persevered anyways.

Keep moving, stay together, was the only thing you could hear in whispered voices amongst the others.

You finally approached the building, glancing behind and around you for walkers or any other kind of threat. There were two white shutters down, blocking any entrance to the building. It seemed like there was nobody there, like your whole journey had been for nothing.

"There's nobody here." T-dog said to Rick, as he hurried around to find another way in.

"Then why are these shutters down?" He banged on the door, until you heard growls coming from behind you.

"Walkers!" Daryl shouted, shooting one with an arrow as the young ones cried out in fear.

"Rick, this is a dead end," Shane stated, walking towards his partner with anger in his voice.

No.. there can't be nothing left... you thought. Having come all this way, on basically nothing- no. There has to be something here for us.

"Where are we gonna go?" Carol said, clutching her daughter in her arms.

"Fort Benning, Rick- still an option." Shane returned his idea to the table.

"On what? No food, no fuel. That's 100 miles!" Andrea retorted, pointing out how royally fucked you all were.

"A hundred and twenty five. I checked the map," Glenn said, shotgun in hand.

"Not helping, dude." You said to Glenn, glancing back at you for a split second.

"Forget Fort Benning, we need a place tonight, now." Lori said, panic in her voice.

Come on, let's just get out of here. We gotta go.. Multiple people said, over each other, beginning to walk back to their vehicles before any more walkers showed up. You noticed Rick standing still, continuously staring at the door.

"The camera- it moved." He stuttered, glancing back at his wife.

"You imagined it," Dale retorted.

"It moved." The sheriff said, taking a few steps closer to the door.

"It's an automated device, it-it's just gears. They're winding down. Now come on.." Shane attempted to drag his best friend back with him, but he persisted nonetheless.

He didn't say anything more, before pounding on the shutter, quite loudly that it probably caught the attention of more walkers.

"Rick, you're gonna attract walkers!" You yelled out, but he didn't listen. Everyone else began yelling out a plead for him to come with you all to leave, to find a better place. Even if there was someone in there, why would they help you all?

"I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Please, we're desperate. Please help us, we have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left." Lori stepped between her husband and the door, trying to pull him away once again. But still, he persisted.

Oh my god, we're out of options. Fuck, fuck fuck.

"Theres nowhere else to go! If you don't let us in, you're killing us! Please! You're killing us!" The tone of Rick's voice is strained and frantic, out of options and this was the only thing he could do.

There's nothing left.. we're stuck out here and quite fucked, if Rick's chasing a pipe dream...

It isn't until Rick pulls himself away from the door that it finally lifts with a loud sound, bright white light shining from the inside.

On reflex, your hand went up to block the light, as everyone's yelling finally diminished with the door opening.

Holy shit.

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#written in my stars ff #ryesff #devnmonwrites #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x you #daryl the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl / reader #daryl dixon / you #daryl / you #twd #the walking dead #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic

[jozor-johai]

Revisiting the Rat Cook part 9 of 9: The Sons of the Sons of the Sons

The final part of the series. This part be read alone, even if you haven't read any of the series so far, and explores legacy, Lannisters, and Dany's reign in Slaver's Bay.

If you want to read the series and fully explore all of the symbolism I'm building on here, you can find links to the full series here. I hope you enjoy reading this part, and if you've read the series, thank you for taking the time and I hope you've enjoyed reading my analysis.

To anyone who is reading this part first, "Revisiting the Rat Cook" is a series built on the understanding that GRRM's use of metadiegetic legends provide a "road map" of symbols and meaning, used in their abstract form, which we, as readers, can use to better understand the relationships between symbols, motifs, and themes as they recur throughout ASOAIF as a whole. The Rat Cook story is about a rat which eats rats, or a cook who serves kings; The Rat Cook story is about fathers and sons, about cannibalism, about trust, about vengeance, and about damning one's legacy.

The Sons of the Sons of the Sons

Through this whole series, I’ve examined how a certain power dynamic plays out across ASOIAF, exemplified in the “Rat Cook” story. Meals, vulnerable and human, reveal the true intentions of the parties present. “Rats” may kill Kings, but it’s only in response to the Lords employing their dogs to enforce their absolute rule. In cannibalism, all is revealed at once—food and violence and power wrapped in one.

At the end of the last part, I pointed out that regardless of how many rats get skewered, roasted, hunted, and cut down, there seem to be more rats to replace them. Such is the reality of the Rat Cook, as Bran relays in ASOS Bran IV:

He had roamed the Nightfort ever since, devouring his children, but still his hunger was not sated.

An endless supply of rats replaces the insatiable hunger of the Rat Cook. His curse is not just his own, but his entire bloodline’s, forever after.

As Old Nan reminds us, the Rat Cook had a right to vengeance, and therefore he too must have been wronged. The implied past of that deserved vengeance and the known future of that curse point to the true scale of the story: the events around the Prince-and-Bacon pie are only one part of a much longer, ongoing struggle.

In that regard, the Rat Cook’s punishment does not only mirror his crime in eating children, but also in that same endless, infinite fate of self-replicating violence. The conflict between the cook and the King existed before the cook ever killed the prince, and, as the story goes, the ramifications of that act carry on for the rest of time.

To tell this story of the next generation reaping the violent, unwanted rewards of their predecessors’ actions, the Rat Cook story employs a metaphorical cannibalism of one’s past sins and one’s future legacy.

If this seems like a potent image, return to Arianne from AFFC The Soiled Knight:

"Have you ever seen the arms of House Toland of Ghost Hill?" He had to think a moment. "A dragon eating its own tail?" "The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again.”

The arms of House Toland are the diegetic version of ouroboros within ASOIAF. The dragon eating its own self signifies the endless cycle of death and rebirth, of history repeating itself and creating its own repetitions. Like the dragon of House Toland, the “Rat Cook” story, too, has no beginning nor ending—the King eats his past sins in his son, and the immortal Rat Cook eats his future forever.

-

We need only to look at Dany’s story to see how the ouroboros imagery connects even more directly to the rat symbol from the Rat Cook story. After all, rats and dragons are usually quite different (although in the last part, I pointed out how those allegiances can change).

After Dany burns the undying—another avatar of immortality and the stagnation of time—Xaro Xhoan Daxos tells Dany of the chaos that she has caused:

Ghost grass grows in the Garden of Gehane, phantom tortoises have been seen carrying messages between the windowless houses on Warlock's Way, and all the rats in the city are chewing off their tails.

Rather than dragons, we see Dany leave in her wake rats reenacting the ouroboros pose, rats eating their own tails.

That image stays with Dany, as those rats reappear in her thoughts in ASOS Daenerys V:

I am the blood of the dragon, Dany reminded herself. Her thoughts were spinning in circles, like a rat chasing its tail. Suddenly she could not stand the close confines of the pavilion another moment.

Even without literally devouring themselves, the visual imagery repeats. Outside Meereen, Dany’s spinning thoughts are like a rat-ouroboros, head chasing after its own tail.

Interestingly, Dany’s rat-thoughts, in the same way as with Tyrion, show a shift in her mentality. In the last part, I argued that Tyrion becoming “a rat scuttling through the dark” was first preceded by rats replacing his wits in ASOS Tyrion XI:

“You'll have to help me with my last words, my wits have been running about like a rat in a root cellar.”

When Dany’s thoughts turn into rats, Dany leaves her pavilion—symbolically stepping away from her place of power—and it is immediately afterwards that she conceives of her plan to take Meereen with her “sewer rats.”

-

It’s fitting that Dany be consumed by thoughts of this ouroboros of rathood, as that ouroboros is her story.

Rhaegar, Aegon VI, and Rhaenys were all killed in vengeance for the reign of Mad King Aerys II; Daenerys and Viserys, in turn, are driven by force of legacy to retake the throne in their father’s name from the “Usurper’s Dogs.” But Robert Baratheon is dead, as is Ned Stark, as is Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, Jon Arryn. Who is left to answer to their actions but their “princes,” when these dragons-turned-rats return and fire the ovens?

Like the Rat Cook’s children, though, this fate is Dany’s curse, not her glory.

She struggles with her place in this ouroboros of legacy in ADWD Daenerys X:

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros. "It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl." No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.

Dany was “made to be” the queen who would use war to return to Westeros and to her forebears’ legacy. That onus is her blood, though, is not her wish.

All Dany wanted to do was plant olive trees—and trees escape this cycle of time, as Lord Brynden tells Bran in ADWD Bran III:

Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak.

Rather than be the dragon of Toland, these olive trees would represent a different future for Dany, one where she escapes the cycle, staying unmoved against that river of time. Like the Rhoyne in The Sorrows, that river would otherwise bring her back to the very place she came from, and in the flow of this river, she would avenge the vengeance her father deserved to suffer for, and so repeat the cycle.

But, as Dany reminds herself, dragons plant no trees. Dragons burn trees down.

If we trust House Toland, dragons are as bound to this cycle as the rats Dany sets off in Qarth, as the Rat Cook and his children, as the King who ate his son.

Dany knows that dragons are the wrong tool for peace and for breaking the cycle. She knew it as early as ADWD Daenerys II, faced with the prospect of an endless legacy, represented here, just as in the Rat Cook story, by endless numbers of children:

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman's pain.

The Rat Cook took his vengeance, but he leaves behind a legacy of rats, the Rat Cook’s sons, and sons of the sons, and sons of the sons of the sons. Dany could use force to eradicate this iteration of the rebellion against her, but there are thousands more rats to kill, and thousands more that will be created in their wake.

Consider the futility—and cyclical nature—of her administration’s response to the Sons of the Harpy. Confronted with an anonymous, faceless, vigilante group of pro-slavers terrorizing her rule, Dany concedes to the Shavepate’s horrible suggestion to respond in kind with a practically-identical counter-force of anonymous, faceless, masked militia. Of course, the result of this response is only for each side to mutually succeed in continuing the cycle of death. Dragons can kill, but hunting all of the rats does not remove the Rat Cook’s curse.

The misery of her people cannot be burned away, it is a void demonstrated by being hungry enough to eat rats. Compared to Dany’s realization about the sons of the sons of the sons, the “Rat Cook” is telling the exact same story. She can kill this generation, and the next, and so on forever, but it’s futile to attempt to protect her people that way; the Rat Cook has been eating his children for one generation after another, but has never been sated either. The dragon of Toland, too, can eat its own tail for all time.

-

This story of cyclical action and reaction, of vengeance and revenge, is being told and retold throughout ASOAIF.

Dany must return to Westeros to take up her father’s place, but she’s not the only rat-child left seeking vengeance for her family’s death. Oberyn Martell arrives in King’s Landing in ASOS Tyrion X searching to avenge Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys, and upon his arrival Tyrion also realizes how infinite this cycle is:

It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads.

Hoster Blackwood, well-spoken and bookish lad that he is, gives Jaime a history lesson about the Blackwood-Bracken rivalry that offers a sober insight into the nature of this cyclical conflict in ADWD Jaime I:

We've had a hundred peaces with the Brackens, many sealed with marriages. There's Blackwood blood in every Bracken, and Bracken blood in every Blackwood. The Old King's Peace lasted half a century. But then some fresh quarrel broke out, and the old wounds opened and began to bleed again. That's how it always happens, my father says. So long as men remember the wrongs done to their forebears, no peace will ever last. So we go on century after century, with us hating the Brackens and them hating us. My father says there will never be an end to it.

It’s fitting, too, that the Blackwoods are represented by a weirwood which died to the Bracken’s poison. A tree—a weirwood especially—might have been unmoved by this cycle, but their tree has been poisoned by revenge. The Blackwoods and Brackens are thousands of years deep into the kind of conflict that Dany wants so desperately to avoid.

Even if the King wronged the cook first, the cook now killed his son; even if the Rat Cook took his vengeance, the Rat Cook leaves behind children to bear the memory of his grudge forever. The tale of the Cook and the King are simply one moment in a history and future of cannibalism and counter-cannibalism, just as much as the Bracken’s siege of the Blackwoods—and the Blackwood’s rat-eating resistance—is only one moment in the endless cycle of wrong and counter-wrong between those families.

As is evident in Robert’s Rebellion and its aftermath, when the formerly-royal Targaryen dragons turn to rats for allies, even the roles of King and rat may switch, but the cycle of conflict remains.

-

The Rat Cook did have a right to vengeance. Nevertheless, the Rat Cook is still unequivocally responsible for dooming his entire bloodline and legacy to a life as rats scrabbling in the dark. The King, too, suffers the same fate and the same responsibility, where he, too, consumes his own son-and-legacy as retribution for his own wrongs. For both sides, it is the actions of the father which result in the father consuming his own children.

Tyrion himself arrived in King’s Landing as a King’s Hand and left as a “rat,” as mentioned in the last part. As Tyrion himself says, though, he is only a puppet dancing on the strings of those who came before him, and the Lannisters as a unit replay that same timeless story of the sins of the father borne by the children.

I’ve covered almost all of these quotes before, but it’s worth revisiting these moments as a chain of cause and effect where the crimes of the father result in the rat-dealings of the son, starting with Tywin Lannister giving the order to burn the Riverlands in AGOT Tyrion IX:

Tell them I want to see the riverlands afire from the Gods Eye to the Red Fork.

Burning the riverlands sends smallfolk fleeing to King’s Landing for shelter from the war… but the Lannister children hold King’s Landing, and have to deal with the refugee crisis and starvation that Tywin’s brutal methods have caused.

As we saw, eating rats signifies this starvation in ACOK Tyrion I:

What little produce he did see was three times as costly as it had been a year ago. One peddler was hawking rats roasted on a skewer.

Struggling to control a city that is devouring itself, Tywin’s children turn on each other, just like the Freys, just like the Rat Cook eating his children. Tyrion imagines Cersei as a master of rats in ACOK Tyrion X:

If Cersei has someone stalking me tonight, he must be disguised as a rat.

Cersei, in turn, imagines Tyrion a rat as he escapes with Varys in AFFC Cersei I:

She imagined Tyrion creeping between the walls like some monstrous rat.

The imagery that she imagines, Tyrion the monstrous rat, also evokes the Rat Cook “as huge as a sow”, off to punish the Andal King by feeding him his own son. Although the son kills the father this time, Tywin “loses” a son in the process, as he says in ASOS Tyrion XI:

“You . . . you are no . . . no son of mine.”

This, too, is the Rat Cook story, and the ouroboros: Tywin, the Hand, dies at the hands of the Hand he created in his cruelty. The lion eats its own tail, too.

Of course, Tyrion is eating himself alive by killing his father as well. All the power that Tyrion knew came from his father; his gold, the influence of his name, and even his Handship was his father’s. In the end, Shae proved the truth of that, because if all she wanted was a sound place at court, Tywin was the fount of that security, and Tyrion was just dancing on strings.

Even Tywin’s “funeral pyre” in AFFC Cersei III is poisoned by his children’s distrust of one another:

“If the gods are good, the fire may smoke a few rats from the rubble." Jaime rolled his eyes. "Tyrion, you mean."

While the Hand’s tower burns, any honor that Cersei means to give Tywin’s memory is undermined as she imagines herself outpacing Tywin’s legacy as the Hand who ruled the King:

Cersei thought of all the King's Hands that she had known through the years… …her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, her father most of all. All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom.

As Dany well knows, though, fire can kill, but not change the course of the river of time.

Despite what Cersei desires, Tywin’s legacy cannot die with him any more than the Rat Cook can die. Instead, his children continue to reap what he sowed, even after he is gone and the fires have gone out. Jaime faces this in AFFC Jaime IV in the fields his father burned:

They will be eating rats by winter, unless they can get a harvest in.

Simultaneously, Cersei suffers humiliation at the hands of the smallfolk uprising fueled by religious zealots displaced out of the Lannister-burned riverlands… a humiliation that echoes Tywin’s legacy, too, as it was identical to the one Tywin himself forced upon his father’s lover.

Irrespective of the Lannisters’ victory in the war, they are now cursed with the weight of Tywin’s actions, and each of his children are now in the company of the vengeful rats that Tywin’s actions birthed. Tyrion rides down the Rhoyne with one child survivor of Tywin’s massacre during Robert’s Rebellion, and travels to Meereen to join with another. Jaime has been cornered by the “rats” that have infested the burned riverlands, and Cersei’s power has been “stripped” by the sparrows who flew from Tywin’s fires.

-

Appropriately for a queen who began her conquest of Meereen with her mind a rat-ouroboros, Daenerys spends her reign struggling against the same cyclical trap like the one we see the Lannisters in.

Even as she frees the slaves in Astapor, Dany finds that she cannot free the city from the cycle of cruelty. In her absence, Astapor reinvents its former slavery, as Dany hears in ASOS Daenerys VI:

“King Cleaver's thugs have seized every highborn boy in Astapor to make new Unsullied for the trade, though it will be years before they are trained."

All that happened in Astapor was the exchanging of roles, not unlike the Targaryen dragons left in the dungeons below the Baratheon throne. The highborn became the low—and so here too the sons of the slavers pay for the sins of their fathers—but the violence has not changed nature, only subject, and the dragon has not stopped eating its own tail.

Dany immediately thinks that she’s seen this all before:

The thing that surprised Dany most was how unsurprised she was. She found herself remembering Eroeh, the Lhazarene girl she had once tried to protect, and what had happened to her. It will be the same in Meereen once I march, she thought.

Dany left rat-ouroboroses in her wake when she left Qarth, and Astapor, too, devours itself and repeats its own history. Dany shocks herself with her jaded recognition of the familiarity.

But if it was a mistake to burn the slavers of Astapor, not burning Yunkai the slavers of Yunkai was worse—and those failures compound on one another when the remaining slavers of Yunkai massacre the people she left behind in Astapor.

Or, as Dany reflects a book later in ADWD Daenerys V:

"And all I did in Astapor was make ten thousand Eroehs."

-

Dany tried to rescue Eroeh during Khal Drogo’s raid on the Lhazareen settlement in AGOT Daenerys VII. Only a few steps above a slave herself at the time, with very little agency to take advantage of, Dany could only save Eroeh by invoking Drogo’s authority as Khal:

"I will not have her harmed," Dany said. "I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”

The Rat Cook’s story is only one instance of vengeance in a history that stretches through time, beginning with the subjugation of the cook and continuing through his rat-children. Dany’s ability to save Eroeh, too, only lasts for one moment as part of a much longer cycle of violence.

As Mirri Maz Duur explains for her own case, in AGOT Daenerys IX, stepping in for one moment does nothing for the past:

"Saved me?" The Lhazareen woman spat. "Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me?”

As Dany discovers, it may mean little for the future too. The violence was inherent in the system before Dany saved Eroeh, and since the only tool she had was the promise of the Khal’s systemic violence, the violence remains afterwards, too.

The Khal’s authority is a poor tool to stop abuse with because that same authority is what enables the future Khal Jhaqo to rape and kill Eroeh once Drogo dies, as Jhogo reports in AGOT Daenerys IX, an early mirror of the report of Astapor:

"Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo's bloodrider now," said Jhogo. "He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat."

If it was the force of the Khal which could stop Mago, that same preserved power-of-the-Khal allows him to deliver Eroeh to an even worse fate now that the Khalship has changed hands. Dany could not break the system, nor Eroeh’s fate, so long as her power derived from the Khal, and the Khalhood derived from that cycle of violence.

In Slaver’s Bay, Dany has the force of her dragons, which gives Dany more power, but more responsibility too—and Dany fears that Eroeh was Astapor on an interpersonal scale. Dany can use that force to intervene for one moment, but should her power ever waver, the systems of violence would return tenfold, because Dany does not know how to use dragons to break the cycle behind it all.

-

Dragons are an especially powerful image in Slaver’s Bay because, on an even larger scale, the injustices plaguing the entirety of Slaver’s Bay result from cycles that have repeated in generations upon generations back. The same way that Daenerys is only the latest puppet dancing on the strings of the Targaryen legacy, the Targaryens were dancing on the strings of the Valyrians before them, and Dany is dancing on those strings, too.

Slaver’s Bay knew Valyria, remembers Valyrian dragons, as Dany considers in ADWD Daenerys III:

The cedars that had once grown tall along the coast grew no more, felled by the axes of the Old Empire or consumed by dragonfire when Ghis made war against Valyria. Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds.

The entirety of Slaver’s Bay in its current state was post-Daenerys Astapor only four centuries prior. In the past, Valyria defeated Ghis and made its people into slaves, and even after the fiery destruction of their former overlords, the region remained so damaged that the whole of Slaver’s Bay had little choice but to recreate their own abuse and reinvent the Valyrian’s slavery.

Even the tree metaphor is the same as Dany’s olive trees. Valyria burned their tall cedars and, without them, the very ground was cursed.

Although she won’t say it outright, the Green Grace comes close to explaining how the abuse of their culture wrought unto them into the abusers they have become:

"It was these calamities that transformed my people into slavers," Galazza Galare had told her, at the Temple of the Graces. And I am the calamity that will change these slavers back into people, Dany had sworn to herself.

Puppet that she is of Valyria’s legacy, Dany’s only tools in Astapor are the weapons of slavers past, just as her only tool in Drogo’s khalasar was the Khal’s force. She desperately wants to plant trees, but she has no idea how to use these weapons to break the cycle she’s caught in, if she even can—there is no way that a “calamity” could ever “feed a hungry child” or “ease a dying woman’s pain.”

Too much force leaves a precedent for force and an Astapor ruled by King Cleaver, but too little leaves a Yunkai intact with slavers and armies. In Meereen, she tries to use no dragons at all, believing that might break this pattern, but having no tools at all leaves her impotent.

All these factors and more Dany understands as early as ADWD Daenerys II, but she also knows that dragons are all she has to hold Meereen and protect her people:

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

When Dany comes to Slaver’s Bay, she tries to solve the issue of slavery with the weapons and force of Valyria, slaver empire. It’s as if she tried to replant the Riverlands using only swords and torches.

-

The truth of Dany’s thoughts—that you can kill the sons of the sons of the sons but never feed a hungry child—warrants revisiting the Rat Cook story once again.

The Rat Cook may have had a right to vengeance, and no one would punish him for taking it, but he had a full kitchen of tools and ingredients—”onions, carrots, mushrooms, lots of pepper and salt, a rasher of bacon, and a dark red Dornish wine.”

All Dany has are the knives and ovens, and she desperately wishes for more. She might have a right to avenge her bloodline, but if she had a full kitchen, she would only feed the hungry under her care.

The Rat Cook’s cardinal sin, rather than the vengeance, was violating guest right. Dany’s tragedy is that she wants to feed the hungry, but she only has the tools to kill. The Rat Cook promised to feed, and killed instead.

-

And so the Rat Cook is cursed, and the sons of the sons of the sons try to run away from their father even as they are tied to their his curse like Tyrion’s puppets on strings. The Lannisters burn the riverlands and so ruin King’s Landing even as they claim to defend the city. Ramsay torches Winterfell to overthrow Theon and undo the Starks, only to be stuck defending a ruined and freezing castle during the onset of winter. Cersei grants swords and axes to the Faith Militant, who return to capture her.

Dany wants to do something else, something different than her forebears. Valyria left eddies of abuse in its wake like the tail-chewing rats Dany left in Qarth, and Dany wants to stop those cycles, but how can she? Dragons are flaming swords that cannot be reforged into plowshares.

-

It makes me appreciate the Gravedigger. The Hound dreamed of killing his brother to avenge the burned face that his brother gave him, but the Hound died, and Sandor has a chance to escape that cycle.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #rtrc #jozor thoughts #rat cook

[broodybuck]

The Game of Love | Series Part 5

Series Summary: Bucky must save his career with the perfect relationship. He'll have to fake it with budding artist Steve Rogers. Bucky doesn't foresee ever falling for his fake boyfriend, but Steve shows him a side of love he didn't know he could have.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, celebrity AU, no powers AU, fake dating, sexual tension, artist Steve, actor Bucky, top Steve, bottom Bucky

[Masterpost]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

Finally, he has total freedom to grind on top of Steve. And lying on the bed with their bodies flushed makes it even better. Bonus, Steve's full on making out with him now. Not just one or two nice kisses, no it's his whole mouth and tongue devouring his.

Bucky can't get enough. Steve flips them over and Bucky instantly squirms as Steve makes his way down his body. Kissing skin then removing an article of clothing to find more skin to kiss. Until Bucky's naked and the last place to kiss is the head of his cock.

Steve slips it into his mouth, swirls his tongue over the slit.

"Fuck, Steve."

Steve smiles and then sucks lower.

"I'm — supposed to — be blowing — you," Bucky pants.

Steve pulls back up.

"After I eat you out," Steve says matter-of-factly.

Before Bucky has a moment to respond to that his thighs are pushed into the air and Steve's tongue finds the rim of his hole.

He shudders as Steve eats him like a meal. Literally licks every last inch he can reach then he adds a finger. Bucky gets his hands in Steve's hair right as Steve decides to kiss up the shaft of his cock while adding a second finger and spreading them apart.

"Jesus, fuck," Bucky hisses then arches back when a third finger is added.

"Gotta get you ready for me."

"Can't believe you're finally gonna fuck me."

He feels all three fingers slip out of him and looks up.

"Thought you were gonna blow me first," Steve grins.

He moves on his knees, making his way to Bucky's chest. Hovering over Bucky with his legs spread and his cock hanging in front of Bucky's mouth.

"Fuck, yes," Bucky breathes and grabs his cock to slide between his lips.

Steve groans hungrily as Bucky sucks him halfway. Steve's fists dig into the mattress on either side of Bucky's head. Bucky can tell his control's slipping.

He grabs Steve's ass and pushes him forward trying to communicate how badly he wants it. Steve's eyes go a bit wide, his mouth is hanging open in a permanent oh when he moves his hips in shallow thrusts, pushing in and out of Bucky's mouth.

Bucky moans around him, eyes squeezing shut right before a deep groan rips from Steve's throat and then he's fucking his throat fast and hard. Bucky chokes on the first thrust and tries to hold the tears back but he can't. Steve slows down and wipes a tear from the corner of his eyes. Bucky opens them and watches Steve slide out of him.

"I could..." Bucky sucks in a breath, "take more."

Steve frames his face, brushing away another tear.

"Wanna fuck you, sweetheart."

"Okay," Bucky mumbles dumbly.

Steve kisses his forehead, then slides back down his body. Bucky drapes his arms around his neck and Steve pulls him up so he's over his lap. Bucky kisses him as Steve pushes inside. Bucky sits down to the root and moans with his eyes closed. He grinds back and forth slowly, trying to adjust to Steve's girth.

Steve lies Bucky back down, not pulling out, and eases his cock in and out of him. Bucky's still holding onto him trying to bring him in for a kiss. Steve leans down, kissing him sweetly, then pulls back enough that Bucky has to let him go.

Steve fucks him in earnest then, never breaking eye contact. And it's the first time Bucky's ever felt it during sex — fondness, admiration — Steve really cares about him. He's not just here to get his dick wet, he feels this. He wants Bucky to feel it. And Bucky feels himself cry before he comes.

Lying in Steve's arms when it's over is another new thing for Bucky. Most guys would flee to the bathroom right after, some would cuddle briefly only to appease Bucky and pull away much too quickly and all of them would claim they had to get up early, get dressed, and leave before breakfast.

Steve's arms feel like a second blanket because it's been over twenty minutes and he's been holding him like he never plans on letting go.

"Sorry, I cried," Bucky whispers softly.

Steve kisses behind his ear. "Never apologize for that."

Bucky relaxes with relief. What is it about Steve that makes him feel so safe?

"Thanks for cuddling with me," Bucky says next.

"You don't have to thank me for that either," Steve says only tightening his hold around him.

Bucky winces a bit with embarrassment, "I'm just not used to this."

"You can have this for as long as you want," Steve says and turns him onto his back so they can look at each other.

He leans down and kisses him once more. It's so soft Bucky wants to cry again but he holds it back this time.

"I want you for as long as you'll have me," Steve says.

Bucky can't stop the tear that falls this time. Steve brushes his thumb over it, then kisses the wet skin.

Bucky closes his eyes and turns toward Steve to hug him. Steve holds him, letting him burrow into his chest. They stay like that until they fall asleep.

~~~

Rick plans another public another public event for them to attend. It's easy now, Bucky realizes as they stride across the red carpet. Every touch is real. Every kiss means something and it makes butterflies live in his stomach the entire night.

On their way home, Bucky kisses Steve long and slow in the backseat of the car. Steve smiles at him, sliding a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket, when they hear a ding from Bucky's phone.

Bucky reads the text with wide eyes.

"What is it?" Steve asks.

"I got an audition."

Steve kisses him the most earnest he has all night.

That night, they make love again. That's what Bucky calls it now because he's never felt anything like this. He can't call it sex, he's had enough sex in his life. All he wants now is to make love to Steve Rogers and cuddle until the morning. And that's what they do.

The next morning, Bucky wakes up alone and for the first time in a week, his heart sinks with fear. He shoots up from the bed and looks around when he hears Steve's voice in the living room. He sounds... excited.

The door to the bedroom opens and Steve rushes in with a huge smile. He jumps onto the bed.

"I just got invited to display my art at an exhibit this weekend."

Bucky instantly matches his excitement, his fear vanishing in an instant.

"Holy shit, congratulations!" he says kissing Steve right on the lips.

Steve kisses him again then straddles him. They don't get out of bed until noon.

~~~

Bucky attends the art exhibit with Steve and he's never felt more proud. Steve's so talented, he thinks as they stand off to the side of his paintings watching every bystander admire them.

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand, he meets his gaze.

"You know, I've been thinking," Steve says.

"Hm?"

"We don't really need that contract anymore."

Bucky smirks. "We definitely broke your one rule."

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile, his cheeks blush.

"Yeah, clearly. Which is why I'm saying maybe we should rip the thing up."

"Rip it up?"

Steve shrugs and bites his lip. "I don't want you to ever think I'm with you 'cause of some paper I signed."

Bucky's smile drops, he leans into Steve.

"I'd never think that."

"Good 'cause this is as real as it gets for me," Steve tells him.

"This is as real as it's ever been for me," Bucky counters.

They lean in to share a kiss.

"Contract officially null."

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfiction #stucky series #series part 5

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 10: Lessons in Larceny Only a mischievous kitsune could turn a lockpicking lesson into an innuendo fest.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

“What do you think of my gift?” Mitsuhide gestured to his former personal quarters, which now sported a few feminine touches – a low table filled with cosmetics, a rack displaying the recently purchased peach kimono, and a delicate tapestry.

What it did not contain - a window.

With Sho next to me, oohing and aahing over the surprise gift, I could not tell him exactly what I thought about his room switching gambit. “I am overwhelmed, Master Kyubei.”

“After all, with your new wardrobe arriving soon, I believe you should have more space.” He paused and then his Kyubei disguise was marred by a smile that was pure Mitsuhide tease. “Perhaps some might say I’m spoiling you, but this is what you deserve.”

More space… ha!

The new room did not appear any larger than the previous one. In fact, it seemed smaller, with the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon pervading every corner. It would be like sharing a room with his ghost – or astral projection (not that I believed something like that was possible, although if it had been possible, I completely believe Mitsuhide could and would practice it). Crowded in, with no means of escape. Now that Mitsuhide slept directly under my old window, in the room closest to the stairway, I would not be able to sneak out in the night without waking him up.

The curtailed freedom on my end resulted in curtailed conversation for him, as I gave him the silent treatment for a few days, and our meals devolved into me glaring at him while he devoured a series of increasingly disgusting smelling meals.

(It’s possible that he didn’t consider eating in uncomfortable silence a loss).

Whatever he did while the sun was up, I had no idea. While I suffered days of beauty regimens (apparently my skin needed ‘help’ and my hands were ‘hopeless’) under the guidance of sweet but uninteresting Sho, he would, in that long dark wig, disappear in the morning and not reappear until it was time for Sho to return to the house she shared with her mother and siblings. I couldn’t leave the house with her, in case she was a spy for Shojumaru, nor could I leave her alone for the same reason.

Needless to say, the whole beauty routine was mind-numbingly dull. I had never enjoyed the twenty-first century version, and the Sengoku stuff was even worse. Thankfully, the merchant class that I would be moving about in didn’t conform to the aristocratic customs of shaving off their eyebrows and blackening their teeth.

So when after five days of repetitive afternoons and silent evenings, the first of my outfits was delivered, I was nearly tempted to kiss it in relief, even though it was pale pink. At least it meant that Mitsuhide would take me out.

Somewhere.

Anywhere…

“…the meeting of the Kaigoshu?” I was impressed in spite of myself. “How did you manage to get an invitation to that?” Even Francisco, who had been based in Sakai for several years, hadn’t managed to break through that barrier (or maybe he had, but didn’t realize what it was).

“Another spice merchant owes me a lot of money.” That was all he had to say about the matter. Gambling was illegal, so I was left to wonder what the spice merchant had done to get in Mitsuhide’s debt. Potentially that fell into the ‘you don’t want to know’ category.

“And you’re permitted to bring me?” Sounded fishy. I doubted that anyone else would bring a courtesan to what amounted to a city council meeting.

“I am certain you’re aware of the concept ‘it is better to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.’” It was the night prior to the meeting, and rather than go back to my room to sulk, I had allowed my curiosity to get the better of me and had followed Mitsuhide into his office. “In my observations, it appears to be your primary mode of operation.”

“I’m familiar.” I could not deny that I’d found myself asking for forgiveness a lot.

From the look he gave me, Mitsuhide had expected that answer. “Not that it would make any difference in this particular situation, for Kyubei is not the type to ask for either permission or forgiveness.”

Yeah. I’d figured. “Do you have a particular plan? Or is this simply for reconnaissance?” Maybe he already had a theory to test out. Who knows? I wasn’t in the loop.

“Oh my, I see you’re talking to me again. Did we get bored with the silent treatment?” He didn’t look at me when he asked, preferring instead to unroll a scroll of paper, and read (or pretend to read) it.

“I’m talking to a co-conspirator about a mission. As soon as we get those details figured out, then you will become invisible to me once again.” Well, he probably hadn’t been invisible since birth, but I would give it my best shot. “So? Plan? Generalized snooping?”

He put down the scroll and sighed – theatrically, so I am sure he didn’t mean it. “If you can wander amongst the Portuguese merchants and listen to their conversations, that will allow me to concentrate on the Japanese ones.” He didn’t mention Shojumaru specifically, but I figured the man had to be at the top of our suspect list.

Ok. Cool. Was that so difficult to tell me? “And if it looks like you’ve gotten into trouble, I should create a diversion so we don’t have to fight our way out? Not that I couldn’t fight if you need me to.”

“Dear me, are you questioning my competence? I will not get into trouble.” He picked up the scroll again and I am certain he was just using it to shield himself from me.

I took no offense. I was just happy that I was finally going to be permitted to do something. Well. Tomorrow I would be doing something. Tonight… I couldn’t face another night staring at the windowless walls of my new room.

It wasn’t until my third circuit of the office that I realized I was pacing.

Mitsuhide glanced up and distracted me from my walkabout. “Is there a reason for your prowling? One would have thought that you went through here thoroughly the other night.”

“The other night I was looking for something in particular.” I paused in front of a neat display of musical instruments – a flute, a koto, and a biwa – arranged neatly among some Noh masks – had these, like the furniture and décor, belonged to the previous tenant? They looked too exquisite to belong to whomever had painted the walls red and black, and owned that gruesome screen in my former bedroom. Something told me that these were Mitsuhide’s, although I couldn’t back that up with any evidence. Just… a feeling. “Now, I’m just looking.”

He finally put the scroll down. “Any competent spy ought to be able to perform both at the same time.” He motioned me over to his desk, opened the drawer for like… three seconds… and then slammed it shut again. “What is in the drawer, brat?”

Oh.

A game.

A puzzle game.

I love this stuff. “A pot of ink, a spare brush, three locks – probably Chinese in origin, a roll of paper, and not my letter, which you really should return to me.”

He raised one eyebrow. Ok now you’re just rubbing it in that you can do that and I can’t. Then he opened the drawer again and peered inside. “You missed four items.” He pulled them out of the drawer as he named them. “A small clump of dust… a crumb of… mm… is that dried rice?” He popped it in his mouth and bit down on it (and… ew). “Still unknown. And a set of lock picks.” He held up a few metal rods of varying lengths and thickness.

Oooh. Lock picks. That was interesting. I wondered if he could show me how to…

He derailed my thought by asking, “what does this combination of items tell you?”

“That the desk is commonly used by a thief who writes a lot of letters and rarely dusts? Particularly a correspondence thief who also has a cast iron stomach.” I sent him a look of contrived innocence along with the snark.

“Consider the order of the items in the drawer. The placement shows that the locks were used more recently than the paper.” He laid them next to each other on the desk. They were all rectangular shaped padlocks, one with kanji characters written across it, although I suspected it was Chinese, not Japanese, simply because most locks in this era were made in China. “You do appear to be interested in these – considering brushing up on your burglary skills?”

Hey, a girl’s gotta have a parachute.

“Aki says no knowledge is ever wasted.” Show me. Show me. Show me.

The eyebrow went up again. It was getting a workout tonight. “Yes… you are indeed uncharacteristically fixated on these. Dare I suggest a lesson in larceny?”

I mimicked his bored tone. “Why yes, I believe I would find that a pleasant interlude.”

Aaaand of course he took my wording and ran with it. “Oh my. If it’s a pleasant interlude you want…”

Walked right into that one.

He smirked and patted the cushion next to him. “Sit down. Observe. It’s simply a matter of sliding a shaft,” he held up one of the metal rods, “into a tight chamber, and finessing it until you gain entry.”

That totally deserved an eyeroll, so I provided it, but I did want to acquire this skill, so I sat where indicated and waited for him to begin.

“A very eager pupil indeed.” He set the three locks in front of me. The one with the kanji opened by combination, and would be impossible to pick, but the other two were keyed locks, with the keys already resting inside the locks.

“The bolt is spring-held in place by its shape, wider at one end than the other. The key is generally used to push the spring open.” He pulled one of the keys out, fastened the lock, then slid the key back in. “Listen to the sound it makes when it hits the spring.”

Click.

“However, the process is easier to feel than it is to explain.” He locked the lock and handed me the key and the pick. “First unlock it with the key but slowly. Get used to how the motion feels when the key presses on the interior sides to free the bolt.”

I have in fact unlocked locks with keys before, even these antique (though not at the moment antique) rectangular ones. Unlike modern padlocks, which rely on rotation, the locks used in this time require a bit of force to open, especially if the pin sticks – which it did in this case. In the end, I had to jam my palm against it to exert enough pressure on the key.

“Some things do require a bit of sensitivity.” He locked the lock and returned it to me. “Try with one slow, smooth stroke. Caress the inside of the lock.”

Seriously?

I side-eyed that one, and received from him a look of such theatrical innocence that I’m surprised the Gods didn’t smite him for it. Great. And I’m sure that if I called out his wording, I would be the one accused of having a dirty mind. Fine. I returned my attention to the lock and put the square key back inside, trying to pay attention to the moment the key depressed the spring enough for the lock to disengage.

Click.

“Now the keys to these locks vary somewhat in shape.” He held up the key I had just used which was basically a square tube. Then he showed me the other key, which was two horizontal double bend curves, running parallel with about a quarter of a centimeter between them. “They operate in the same fashion – to compact the spring on the other end.” He returned the curved key to the other lock and the bolt disengaged. “As you have no doubt already surmised, if you want to go about opening locks, it’s impossible to carry with you the number of appropriately shaped keys in which to do so. Hence, these.” He lifted up two of the two metal rods.

Returning to the original lock, he inserted one of the picks on the left side of the square keyhole and pushed it all the way through. Then the other pick on the right. With a minimal amount of wiggling, the bolt slid out.

Hm, that seemed almost too easy. I repeated his actions on the lock…

Click.

… it was literally that easy. “I don’t understand. What’s the point?”

“There’s a reason why most people carry their most important valuables on their person, or hire armed guards.” Mitsuhide handed me the other keyed lock, the one with the curved hole. “Although this one should take slightly more effort.”

In seconds I had the other lock open.

“Of course, it’s also true that most people – most honest people - don’t expect to encounter a lock, or they find themselves unexpectedly in chains. So, one must improvise.” He pulled two of the sticks from my hair. Of course, my hair immediately jenga’d into total entropy. He relocked the locks and gave me back the hairsticks. “Try it with these.”

I blew my hair out of my eyes and got to work. With the wooden hairsticks, it was a bit more difficult – I was afraid to put too much pressure on them because –

Snap!

“Damn.”

“Such language.” The tone was teasing, but I got the sense he really did not appreciate me swearing.

With half of my hair stick now wedged in the lock there wasn’t much else I could do. Reluctantly, I turned the lock back over to Mitsuhide who shook it until the reminder of the stick fell out. He silently handed it back over to me. I suppose he didn’t want a souvenir of #lockpickfail.

“Now this one.” He held up the combination lock. It had five rotating barrels, each with four kanji characters on them. “There is no key, it will open when you arrange the letters in the correct order.”

Yes. I had gathered that part of it. “So it’s a matter of trial and error until I hit the correct combination?” Math has never been my strength. I knew there was a formula for figuring out how many possible combinations there would be, but I didn’t know what that formula was, and to be honest, I wouldn’t be able to do that sort of calculation in my head anyway. I had a feeling the answer would be in the realm of ‘reallybigion.’

“Hm. You could try that.” Mitsuhide waved to a cushion on the other side of the room. “Over there.”

Yeah, I don’t want to sit next to you all night either.

I took the lock to the indicated spot and proceeded to try and solve the combination.

About twenty minutes later (just a guess, no clocks in the Sengoku), when I realized that the job was made more difficult because the barrels were slippery, Mitsuhide’s voice interrupted my concentration. “Did I fail to mention that you likely will not have enough time to go through all the potential combinations before you are interrupted, or your prison cell floods, or you are executed at dawn?”

“Why yes, I believe you did fail to mention that.” Dammit, I had lost my place.

“Or even,” Mitsuhide oozed over to my side, “in addition to being chained to a wall, it’s completely dark in the cell… or you’re wearing a blindfold.”

That was all the warning I got before the world turned pink. Figures he’d put a pink blindfold on me. “Hey! Ask permission before you do something like that.”

I reached up to remove the blindfold but was immediately distracted by Mitushide, who seated himself directly behind me. He reached around my waist and put his hands on top of mine. His breath tickled my neck, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pounded against my back. It was like being enveloped in the essence of him, surrounded by cinnamon and sandalwood, and Mitsuhide.

He adjusted my grip on the lock. “Can you feel the tension on the bolt?”

I could, in fact, feel tension everywhere.

His heartrate had picked up slightly.

Or maybe that was mine. We were so close together it was impossible to tell any longer.

Resolutely I ignored that (pretty sure he was trying to distract me on purpose) and concentrated on the barrels of the lock.

“Keep the pressure on the bolt.” He placed my index finger on the underside of the bolt. “Now, can you feel as I turn the barrel the moment when it becomes slightly looser?”

I held my breath – why, I don’t know, it wasn’t necessary – ignored the pounding in my ears, and concentrated on the barrel he was turning. He was right – there was a moment when the were less pressure on the bolt.  “There!”

“Very good. Now, the next one. Keep the tension level even but slide your finger to the next barrel. Feel the pressure while I slowly twist it.” His voice rasped in my ear. Had he lowered his tone to a sensual purr just to further distract me?

Well, it won’t work, sir. I concentrated on the tension in the lock and not the curious breathlessness that was building inside me. Not on that buzzing that was traveling along every nerve ending. Not on the way certain muscles had tightened. “There!”

“Good. You might have a talent for more than chaos.” He moved on to the third one, and again, I identified the spot relatively easily. “For this one, you rotate the barrel. Slow, even speed.”

Those cool calloused fingers guided mine across the rough bronze surface of the lock, placing my thumb and pointer finger on the fourth barrel. “Don’t forget to keep pressure on the bolt. You don’t want to undo all the work by releasing prematurely.”

Carefully, I twisted the barrel, trying by feel to reach the place that would loosen the bolt another degree. In one sense it was not unlike when Aki had taught me how to listen to the wind when I was practicing archery. And yet in another, it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. All my focus was inward, as only the tiniest shift would alert—

There! Without checking with Mitsuhide, I moved on to the final barrel. He made a faint hum of approval, so I knew I had been correct.

That approving hm reverberated through me, fizzing, celebratory.

But not yet. I had one more piece to decode.

My hands almost were too small for the lock, because in order to establish the final placement of the last barrel, I had to keep the pressure on the bolt and make sure none of the previous tumblers slipped out of place. I wanted to speed through, to hurry, but that would be the worst possible strategy. I bit the inside of my cheek for control, did my best to keep from trembling.  If I messed it up now and had to start over, I would scream in frustration.

“Slowly, stay steady. You’re almost there.” Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed Mitsuhide was nearly as breathless as I was.

As soon as the final barrel was in the correct position, the bolt disengaged with a –

Snap

It shot out of the lock…

… and it clattered to the floor.

Finally, I let go of all the air that had damned up in my lungs.

Mitsuhide backed away from me in that instant. By the time I had ripped the blindfold off, he’d beamed himself back to his desk, put the lock back together and rescrambled the barrels. “Practice. With your eyes closed, because I don’t have another lock.” He handed me the lock.

I jumped to my feet. “Um, yeah. Great idea. I think I’ll go do that in my room.”

“Mm, yes, the quiet of your room would be advisable.” The smile he gave me had dialed the wicked up to eleven. “You do appear to be rather overstimulated.”

I didn’t exactly run out of there. But it felt like I did, especially as I thought I heard Mitsuhide’s laughter follow me out the door.

@bestbryn

@selenacosmic

@mllorei

@tele86

@lyds323

@akitsuneswife

#10things #ten things i hate about mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen mitsuhide #no locks were harmed during the creation of this chapter #but they were a little... embarrassed #U.S.T.

[getlostsquidward]

try the fruits your mom said are forbidden

[Taste Of A Poison Paradise Ch. 2] - Series Overview

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

A/N: i think we can all agree that her... hands... we froth in the mouth. also chapter title from unthinkable - cloudy june <3 it's my fav song atm and kinda the inspiration of this whole thing

Warnings: 18+, darkfic, choking, oral and fingering (r receiving), dumbification(ig?) if you squint, infidelity, virginity and first times, a splash of praise and degradation, corruption, minors dni!!! 

ch. 1 | ch. 3

Can’t fight the feeling that’s been creeping up, but I don’t give a fuck.

-

Agatha could see the lack of thought behind your lust-filled eyes. That’s right, angel. Don’t think of anything else but me.

“W-what exactly…”

Oh, parts of you still resisting? The older woman clicks her tongue. “It’s exactly what you’re thinking of. Isn’t this what you were worried about, hon? Your lack of experience in the bedroom?”

Her plump lips had once again captured your attention, wetting your own at the same time. “Yes.”

You found yourself closing the distance, the taste and feel of her lips on the forefront of your horny mind. Not that you were thinking with your brain, anyway. But Agatha was quick to place a finger against your mouth, stopping you.

“I need you to say it. What do you want, Y/N?” she dragged the finger on your lips oh so slowly, dragging your bottom lip. “Use your words, baby.”

“I want to kiss you.”

Agatha hummed. “And?”

“And… I want you to fuck me, show me how he’s going to do it.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Agatha gripped your chin and slammed her mouth against yours, literally knocking your breath out of you. It’s all teeth and tongue as if Agatha’s in a hurry. And if she had a semblance of self-control earlier, it completely dispelled away as the hand on your chin flew down your neck, applying more pressure on your throat than she did earlier.

That had made you open your mouth, Agatha completely swallowing your moans. Your unoccupied hands had found their way to unbuttoning your sleepshirt, getting rid of the thin material blocking Agatha’s access to your torso.

The wet and sloppy kiss subsided to a slower, much more sensual one. The brunette had retracted her hand on your throat to grab the base of your skull, biting your lower lip in the process. She let your swollen lips go, only to leer at your breasts and your perky nipples.

Agatha guides you to switch positions with hers, so you would be the one against the headboard. She then instructs you to lie down, her body towering over you.

She peppers kisses throughout your neck, collarbone, and chest–cautious as to not mark you up as much as she wanted to paint bruises on your skin.

The older woman takes your left nipple in her mouth, her tongue swirling on your buds. The right one of course wasn’t neglecting the other one as she cups your mound, pinching and pulling your erect nipple; and vice versa. She doesn’t take too much time here, preferring to taste you as soon as she can–but a little teasing wouldn’t hurt you.

She drags her tongue across your stomach, stopping to lean backward to stare at your glistening heat. Agatha feels dizzy on how she could feel how hot and wet you are. She spreads your legs apart as she makes herself comfortable before devouring the finest 5-star meal she had desired for so long.

So she dives right into it, licking a stripe of your cunt, your back arching in return.

“Oh!”

If you knew how good this feels, you would have done this way back. Or if you did know, you wondered if anyone would be able to top Agatha’s skills in bed? A faraway thought in your hazy brain thinks that even if she was your first, you decided no one ever could.

Agatha went back to business, giving your core kitten licks just how she eats her favorite food. Gradually, bit by bit. She swirls her tongue and sucks on your clit, still sensitive from your earlier release. Your hand flew to grab a fistful of her hair, making Agatha moan against your cunt. She paid no mind–she’ll allow you this time. It’s her pleasure as much as it’s yours.

“What pretty noises you’re making for me… am I making you feel good?”

Your broken moans and unintelligible noises were music to the older woman’s ears. If you were this too out-of-body from just her tongue, what more when she fucked you senseless with her strap?

“You’re so beautiful, all spread out like this, just for me. My son is one lucky bastard, isn’t he?”

Agatha smirks at your reaction, or lack of, as you remained blissed out in your position even when he mentioned her son, your boyfriend–fiancée–who you’ll literally marry in a couple of hours. She rewards you with a nice suck of your clit, earning a high-pitched moan from you.

“What? Does that feel good, baby?”

“Oh god, that feels nice.”

“It’s just me, princess,” she hovered over you, her tongue darting around her lips to collect your juices. You sighed, more like moaned, upon seeing the lower half of her face drenched with your arousal. Giving in to your need, you pulled Agatha down to give her a sloppy kiss, drunk on tasting yourself on her lips.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”

Agatha’s finger found its way to your entrance, rubbing and prodding, collecting the slick before she pushes it firmly. It rests deep in your cunt, unmoving, her eyes never leaving your face.

Why was it that your own finger didn’t feel this… divine?

The brunette smirked when you started rolling your hips, desperate for release, desperate for her. “Does my sweet girl need me?” she coos.

You didn’t answer, only pressed wet kisses on her neck. She pulled out briefly, earning a whine and a confused look from you. Without warning, three fingers entered you, thrusting relentlessly your legs started shaking.

The sound of your moans, your wet and dripping cunt, and Agatha’s praising rung across the room. Thank goodness the walls are thick.

Agatha’s fingers curled inside you, pressing against a spot that made you see stars. She paused her ministrations.

“Can you… Can you do that again?” you asked breathlessly. “Please?”

The sweet sound of your begging had Agatha’s cunt contracting around the toy inside her.

“You mean like this?” your walls clenched as Agatha curled her digits on that sweet spot once again, mouth falling open. The older woman couldn’t resist it as her other hand wrapped around your jaw to hold it open, and Agatha, your boyfriend’s mother – spits in your fucking mouth.

It takes you a few moments to comprehend what she just did – so her spit’s just lounging in your mouth, and when you do realize, you stared at her lustful eyes through your lashes and swallowed it.

Have you ever done that before? No.

Have you ever imagined doing that before? No.

Did you like it? Did it turn you on even more?

Agatha’s fingers were a delight, a delicious mix of gentle and rough that’s making you crazy. It’s much, much better than yours. She was able to reach spots you haven’t been able to, including that particular one where your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

Yes. A hundred times yes.

Your hips undulate wildly against her hand, Agatha hitting your g-spot and clit with every motion. You could already feel the coil threatening to break, and you don’t trust yourself if you could still speak coherently.

“Agatha…”

“Come for me, my sweet little slut.”

The older woman relished in the string of profanities and moans and whines leaving your mouth as you reached your peak. You were more blissed out than earlier, your face contorted in ecstasy that Agatha wants to see every day–will see every day.

Before you knew it, she buried her head between your thighs again, greedy mouth attacking your pussy as you cum. She lapped at your folds and crevices, licking at all the juices you graciously offer. You haven’t even recovered from the first orgasm but you can feel another wave coming as her tongue pushed in and swirled around your bud.

Agatha eyes you – your head thrown back, eyes shut and mouth agape as you cum for the third time, grinding your cunt on her face as you rode your orgasm.

You winced as she pulled out, body lying limply on the bed while Agatha maneuvers beside you, placing your head on her chest.

Her hands lazily play with your hair as you catch your breath. As the haze of lust still clouds your mind, she asked you. “Was that you had in mind, darling?”

“Mmm…yes? Except for the…penis and uh–”

“Give me your hand.”

Though baffled, you complied.

Agatha's lips curled when she felt you shiver as you feel up her strap under the dress. Her hand guided yours, stroking the length of the toy.

“What’s their difference?” you gulped as you continued to caress the dildo on your own, Agatha’s hand not in yours anymore.

“If you’re curious, you have to try the real thing first.”

“Then what?”

“I’m just in the room downstairs if you want to try the fake thing.”

Wait a minute.

You pulled away, leaning on your elbows to look at Agatha properly. “You’re going to live with us?”

“Uh-huh, while our house in Westview goes under renovations.”

Oh.

“We’re going to have so much fun, dear,” she murmurs, venom laced in each word. “But first I want you to tell me all about it...I want to fulfill that fantasy you’ve always wanted. Consider this as my wedding gift.”

At this exact moment, you don’t know what you want except for Agatha’s hands all over you, bringing you to the edge of glory. Your gaze flickered around the room, thinking when they landed on the glass panels. You can see yourself propped against the glass, Agatha fucking you from behind for all of the world to see. Lost in thought, biting your lip from the process, you fail to notice the brunette looking at you with a devious grin, already knowing what you just had in mind.

“Do you want me to fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it? Hmm?”

You snapped out of your forbidden daydream, hiding your warm face from Agatha’s view.

“Don’t be shy after all of that, toots,” she chuckles. “And don’t worry your pretty head, we’re not doing that right now. You have a wedding to get ready for.”

With that, Agatha places one last kiss on your mouth before straightening her dress down and retouching her makeup. Despite your insistence, she volunteered to see herself out of the hotel room, but not without whispering to your ear: “See you later, baby. Mommy is very excited to see how pretty you are in your wedding dress.”

–

tags: @ilovehotactresses @midnight-lestrange @inluvwithfictionalwomen @p-nymph @imthenatynat @thenazwife @apricxtt @pianogirl2121

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #milf!agatha #mother in law!agatha #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #taste of a poison paradise series

[fetish-fiction]

Feeder Delivery

This content is a little different from my main series and also contains a bit of messy eating, force feeding and declining fitness stuff. I had a go at writing with genderless pronouns and sex ambiguous characters too…

‘Haha, have fun with that one,’ they hear one of the other uber drivers say to them when they see your contact details on the docket. Confused, they lift the heavy bag off the counter, the other drivers still teasing them while they load your order onto their scooter.  ‘Just drop it and run,’ they hear amid a chorus of laughter as they drive off towards your apartment.

Arriving at your apartment, they knock on the door and wait what seems like an unusually long time. When you open the door, they finally understand what the other drivers meant. You stand in front of them, taking up the whole door frame, a shocked look appearing as they take in the enormous size of you. A look of revulsion crosses their face, eying you up and down, barely able to believe what they are seeing. You are wearing a recently purchased pair of shorts, now already stretched tightly over your huge thighs, fat rolls from your hips and ass spilling out over the top of them. The singlet you wear on your top is no help, it has ridden up your belly, exposing a massive amount of soft spongy flesh to them, riddled with red angry stretch marks. Your big breasts rest heavily on your stomach and can almost be seen through the thinly stretched material.

The driver shakes their head in awe and disgust, but you don’t even see, your eyes solely fixated on the heavy bag of food in their hand, food they had been sure when they collected it was to supply a whole party. Instead of loud music greeting them when they opened the door though, all they heard was your heavy wheezing, your huge body struggling for breath after simply walking a measly 20 steps from your couch. You can’t even say thank you as you greedily snatch the bag from their hands, your appetite ravenous, having gone over 4 hours since your last meal delivery.

You forget to even close the door behind you, lost in the single-minded thought of filling your immense stomach. They close the door for you, watching you return to your well-worn groove in the couch, your indentation taking up two whole cushions. Their last sight is of your huge arse waddling slowly down the hallway, the image of your whole body wobbling with every step burning itself into their brain. The thought of you devouring all that food doesn’t leave their mind, and a short time later they are driving back towards your apartment loaded with three other customer’s orders. Their duty and job security are all but forgotten with the desire to see you eat like a gluttonous pig.   

They go to knock on your door but this time it just swings open, so they timidly walk in, heart pounding in anticipation, three bags full of food in each hand. They can’t see you, but pausing, hear the unmistakable sound of your frantic chewing and relieving belches. When they turn the corner into the living room they are shocked once more as you are completely surrounded by food, food that they hadn’t brought in their previous delivery. Every available spot on the sofa within arm’s reach of you is taken up by various types of greasy or sugary food. They assume that orders from at least four different restaurants had arrived since they had been here last. Empty cartons and containers lay strewn on the floor all around you. The soft mountain of fat that is your belly cascades down in rolls to hit the sofa, hiding your fupa completely from view. An electric cable trails over your thigh and disappears between your gut and the couch, and a muffled buzzing sound can be heard emanating from somewhere underneath you.

You look at them and smirk, knowing that your debauchery has enthralled and excited another voyeur. 'More,' you manage to sound out around a mouth full of food, crumbs spraying everywhere. They look around at the lounge, trying to find a space for all the food they have brought, but it seems a tiny amount compared to what is already spread around you. Between chewing, swallowing and gasping for breath, moans escape your mouth semi regularly as the vibrator does its work. The driver finds a spot where you can reach the food they brought for you, puts it down and steps back, a hand unwittingly moving towards their crotch, clearly becoming turned on by your hedonistic display. You are encouraged, their arousal stoking your motivation to eat quicker and messier.

After a while, they can no longer just watch and they tentatively reach out and slowly stroke at your belly that bulges in front of you. You close your eyes, buck your hips in pleasure and whisper "Yes,' giving consent for this stranger to massage your swollen, bulging body. Eventually they see you slowing down, as you seem to find the limit of your pit of a stomach. There is barely any food left around you, the couch a rubbish filled pigsty of oily wrappers, crumbs, sauce stains and empty boxes. You breathe heavily while your body works overtime to contain and digest the insane amounts of food you have put into it. Your chin, tits and belly are greasy and sticky, covered in sauce and crumbs. They run a finger across your sagging tits, wiping up some of that mess and inserting it tenderly back into your mouth that opens reflexively at the smell of food. You want to lie down but you are so stuffed that you can’t move, your body in a food coma. You lean back as far as you can into the lounge, giving you belly some more room. It barely lifts off of the cushion, a tiny gap appearing where the cord snakes its way under you.

Suddenly a cookie appears at your mouth, pushing past your lips and into your mouth. You let out a half gasp, half moan in surprise and delight as the fattening treat is forced into you. You barely have enough time to chew and swallow as another one appears at your lips. You couldn’t stop them feeding you even if you wanted to, your strength drained by your marathon eating session. This time a half-finished donut is roughly pushed between your slack jaw, filling your mouth. They tenderly rub at your painfully swollen stomach, helping you work even more food in. While you continue to chew, they stop caressing your belly and give it a playful slap before grabbing what used to be your love handles, now turned into enormous fat rolls. They give them a rough, teasing, shake. It sends your whole upper body wobbling, great ripples of fat spreading out from your belly up your side rolls to your chins and arms, crumbs flying off your naked body with each jiggle. As they continue to play with your fat, the enormity of your body comes into sharp focus, you are truly massive. Obese by any standard, to the point where only the fat obsessed would find you attractive, and that is exactly how you want it. The more you think about it, the hornier you get.

They use the gap under your belly to grab your massive gut and lift it as high as they can off of your chunky thighs and at the same time remove the vibrator, discarding it. They drop your heft back down with a thud as if to show off just how damn big you have made yourself. ‘Ugh,’ you groan in both pain and pleasure. They again work their hand under your drooping belly, but this time push it further back, their whole arm disappearing between the cushion and your fat, working their hand between your bulging thighs and under your bulbous fupa to find the arousal between your legs. You try to part your legs to give them access to more intimate areas, but the weight of your belly presses your legs into the couch and prevents even the slightest movement. They manage to extend a single finger through your fatty outer folds to flick teasingly near your sensitive nub.

They continue to find scraps of food to shove into you as you grind against them, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. ‘So full,’ you manage to rasp as another morsel of fried chicken enters your stomach, ‘no more,’ but you only half mean it. The excitement from being forced to finish the shameful amount of food you have ordered and the difficulty of getting off because of all your weight getting in the way is all you can really think about, and it is making you desperate to cum.

‘No. Finish it,’ they demand, holding open your jaw while their palm smooshes a half melted scoop of ice cream inside, cream running down your chin and dripping onto your already messy tits. This is too much, you close your eyes, a massive orgasm ripping through you. You lurch forward, spasming, trapping their arm under your belly and continuing to grind on their finger. Your mind is in bliss from the waves of pleasure spreading through you, matched by mirrored waves of fat that roll up and down your whole body as you convulse in ecstasy. When the orgasm eventually subsides, you wheeze to catch your breath, the exertion of the orgasm and the bent forwards position making it incredibly hard for you to breathe. Eventually you recover, leaning back against your groove in the couch. A huge smile spreads over their face, ‘Don’t go anywhere’, they tease as you try to catch your breath, ‘I’ll just go get a few people to bring us some more food…’

#feeder feedee #feederism writing

[x-authorship-x]

Hey torship.. do u think ppl binge reading on long ongoing fanfictions are bad? I was just finished bingeing a work and another reader commented before me like " oh wow icb i've just finished this (200k+series) in 2 days, what am i gonna binge read now?" And i was like, whoa so honest bro, would that hurt the feeling of the author or not? If it was said like that..

Hey✨

Hmmm, I've not really thought much on it, not enough to have a solid answer off the cuff. I'll try and muddle through it but, short answer? Don't we all 'binge' read?

Long answer is a bit more scrambled but stick with me.

I mean, you gotta join an ongoing fic at some point. If you mean specifically the type of binging where readers wait until updates pile up so they can read big chunks of the story in one go (I have readers who do this, you poor things will be on tenterhooks for decades at this point lol) or, maybe, they wait until the story is completed to start... That's a little different but it's not bad or wrong. I think it's more that, when you read that way, you're distancing yourself from the author's ongoing creativity.

Now, quick disclaimer, a fic is a fic and you can read it however you like, I binge stuff all the time. But fanfic is different from published OG work because the reader DOES have that opportunity to, kinda, participate in the creative process, to be there every step - or update - of the way.

I don't think there's a right or wrong answer to this question, it's about how you approach your reading as much as how you view your writing. To me, as an author with a majority of ongoing works AND breaks in my updating, comments like that are a bit... Sweet and sour. This person binged my fic, maybe even the whole series or all of my works, and now they're left adrift with all these cliffhangers and emotions and the track is hanging, suspended and unfinished, and it's hard to scale off the ride by yourself. I always feel feral when I come up for air after a binge like that, like one of those pics of deer in dark grasses and the eyes are all lit up by the torch. You devoured my work like an animal, all fingers and teeth? I'm delighted!

But the listlessness of an unfinished work binge can also, intentionally or not, sting. Like, yeah, I know that was a lot to leave you hanging with, ain't it rough? (But please don't beg me for more because then the pressure makes it worse) and oh you read all 50K in one day, so you must've been so gripped? (You only commented on the last chapter, you ate that five course meal with a ladle and you mashed all the dishes together and did you even notice the care and garnish?)

My slowly revealed banquet becomes a buffet, whether you're picking at it or gorging. It's a different experience altogether. That's not your fault and it's not mine. It just is.

Most people don't pace themselves when they start a new show, you watch everything you can get your grubby paws on before jumping over to AO3, so why does binge reading become a thing in fandom? Because, for most people, it's the slower process that really makes the experience so positive. I've never published a work that was rubber-stamped finished before the readers ever saw it, so I'll be honest that I'm talking out of my ass as per usual, but I don't think I'd want to just.... Post all the chapters together. I want the reactions, I want the anticipation, I want the readers to travel with me.

To come back to your actual example tho, Neptune, "what am I gonna binge read now?" Is a comment that I would largely overlook by itself. I mean, if that's it, nothing about enjoying the work or thanking the author or anything to soften it, then it's a bit of a micro. Up there with letting the door swing behind you instead of holding it for the person after. (No harm really meant, just in your own world)

If it's part of a comment that expresses that the reader might've shoved down those five courses without savouring the flavours but they just REALLY loved that food, then it's more than fine, it's a big compliment! You were so busy eating that you barely paused for breath! And binging isn't a prerequisite to not commenting or savouring! It's like a mukbang, they love the flavours but fucking hell can they pack down that food in one sitting.

If it's rude, entitled, then I wouldn't give it the time of day. Putting something out there does not mean you're entitled to getting something back, even a smile or thanks. That doesn't, however, mean that it's not poor manners. And, if someone comes into my house and wolfs down my five course banquet before huffing with impatience or immediately leaving for their next meal, that's only a reflection of them and not me. I put the meal out, I can't tell people how to eat it.

This metaphor is running away from me lmao

TLDR: everyone binges, it's not a bad thing. But your manners matter and we should all be mindful that you're enjoying something for free; if the author wanted that conversation between chapters, if the author thinks binging is a compliment, if the author doesn't care at ALL. It's not a crime to be "late" to an ongoing fic, it's not a crime to read how you want.

Personally? I binge a lot, I try to comment as much as I can, and I try to remember that fandom is about community. I hadn't thought too much on the topic before this, tbh, and I don't even know if this makes any sense but I tried to sound it out for you guys anyway.

#reminder that I will delete hate #torship #torship talks #ask #neptune-and-pluto #fanfic #fandom

[ssj2hindudude]

Anime the Potatoes would watch. Let's go:

🌩Aru:

Now before you get on my case about how basic this is, I'd just like to point out that Chokshi herself said she based the series on Sailor Moon and if a show so similar to her life story doesn't catch her attention, I don't know what will. Plus Aru would definitely find the chaotic mess that is Usagi relatable...

☠Mini:

Death everywhere, creepy undertone, and a complex theme to match? Right up Mini's alley. I can totally see Mini watching this, getting invested in the philosophy, and making the other Potatoes hide every pen in sight every time she says "I will be the god of the new world"...

🥗Brynne:

Ok, this isn't a hill to die on, it's a black hole from which no ignorants can escape. Anyone is an idiot if they don't think Brynne would devour a show centered around food preparation and restaurant management faster than any of her meals. She would then look for people to have cooking matches with and I give it about 1 hour before she comes up with a recipe that would land her in the First Seat. Plus, I can see her bi self being into the fanservice...

👗Nikita:

Nikita would probably ignore the whole romantic subplot and skip straight to critiquing every outfit. On days she's in an idea slump, I can see her watching this and proceed to create upgraded magical versions. Maybe even doll versions for her and Sheela...

💤Sheela:

Sheela seems like she would be into something as dreamy as this. True, she would start an episode and half an hour later Nikita would walk in and find her a crying mess on the floor. But it would just be too beautiful and wholesome for her to not get invested...

📗Kara:

An anime going over the best teaching methods AND exposing various toxic relationships? Sign Kara up! She would fall apart with laughter, especially with Koro Sensei on screen. She might get some trauma flashbacks when she sees Nagisa's relationship with his mother though...Also, no one tell her how it ends or she won't be able to watch it through...

💖Aiden:

I know it's old, but hey Aiden loves the classics! This is the kind of show Aiden watches when no one is looking. It's funny, heartwarming, and pretty well put together. Unfortunately, Rudy catches him at one point and spills it to the others. They then proceed to tease him relentlessly by comparing Kei and Hikari to him and Aru...Aru still doesn't know why they keep calling her Ms. Second Place...

🎤Rudy:

If Rudy's gonna watch an anime, it's gotta be the one about building a band. At first he just watches it to study human high schools, but the plot just sucked him right in. He's been trying to get Aiden to watch to convince him to bring back Rudy Rocks, but Aiden is always busy (no he isn't)...

Ok, that's my list. If you think of any better matches, feel free to reblog with them!

#aru shah headcanon #anime #the pandava quintet #the potatoes #aru shah headcanons #aru shah #sailor moon #death note #food wars #my dress-up darling #clannad #assassination classroom #special a #k-on

[abybweisse]

I’m sorry if you’ve already talked about this, you have a lot of plot analysis posts 😅

i’m rereading black butler

This is from mangadex but in my paper version (french) the italian’s dude name is Claus (without the h), also I enjoy knowing that Ciel not growing is actually an important factor in the series

What i wanted to know your opinion about was the interpretation of this, well, not interpretation since I already read some of your mother3 predictions but like… idk? Enjoy this hidden baiting about the upcoming from the very first chapter, here they were talking about the mouse3 game that Claus brought for Ciel and now, ciel says in my version that he will reward Claus for the game if the game is worth a reward (this reminds me of that chapter when ciel and sebastian settled the conditions for the contract and ciel said something like “it’s normal to pay for things”), what Claus says is not that “kids can handle” he says that for Ciel “games don’t last long” and then he says that Ciel has grown the biggest toy company which is impressive for his age (toys - games, you see the correlation) but this will probably end up badly

In french he uses the verb for eating (even though there’s another verb like gouter which is more about tasting)

Also this, the theme with eating has been pretty obvious, even in the anime where Senastian was cooking fancy meals every day (the ost started to play inside my head)

Ciel loves sweets and Sebastian never shies (shy?) away from expressing his desire to eat Ciel’s soul, and now my question

What’s your opinion (personal and mother3 if they differ) about Ciel’s past actions (I’m really sorry if you answered this already 🙏)

Is Ciel’s soul this alluring for Sebastian because he is rotten for choosing to be selfish? Or he’s rather brave and we’ll know in the future the whole meaning behind the boy’s actions and thoughts?

Wow 😮 they really let you send long asks now. 😅

Why our earl's soul?

I think that's the main question here, but correct me if I missed something.

My opinion about this differs from Mother3 theory, but not entirely. First, I'll get Mother3 out of the way: (shy, nervous) Lucas and (dead, reanimated older mirror twin with all the confidence in the world) Claus compete over pulling up needles, and it's King Porky who has pitted the two against each other. But the Magypsies tell Lucas this is all fulfilling a prophecy, and that whichever one wins will determine the fate of the world. If Claus wins, they say the world could cease to exist, due to Claus being heartless: he has no heart to give to the Dark Dragon when it wakes up. Now in Black Butler, we definitely have a demon contract, and that's how real Ciel (dead, reanimated, all the confidence) lost his soul (like being heartless). The existence of a prophecy is up in the air, but if there is one, it would be known by someone -- like the superiors who control the reaper organization -- and instead of calling it prophecy, they might simply say they can see it in the future, since the reaper organization seems to have some sort of future knowledge. Eventually, I'm half-expecting a reaper to talk about something along these lines: prophecy or fate or whatever. Specifically about the Phantomhives, maybe even specifically about our earl and his older twin. The reapers are the best parallel to the Magypsies, after all! Sebastian already devoured real Ciel's soul, but now he needs our earl's soul, otherwise the demon's reaction (to being denied his long-awaited meal) could be devastating.

Beyond all my Mother3 musings, I think Sebastian seeks out souls that will give him "flavors" he's never experienced before. So, that translates as experiences and emotions. Their souls are their "hearts", the emotions they have experienced due to their memories of the things they've learned and been through. Or more like the core personality one has built-up as a direct result of all of those experiences. (Bizarre Doll Ciel has emotions, despite having no soul, but there's something forced and superficial about those emotions now.) Our earl's soul should end up being a complex combination of "flavors" that Sebastian has never really had before. Definitely not this particular combo and likely never this intensity.

Our earl says he's selfish and made the contract for selfish reasons, but we know he made that contract out of love for his brother (and parents, but mostly his brother). He cannot bring them back, but his feelings and desire for revenge are not purely selfish. Sebastian calls our earl kind, but when the kid says that's not true, Sebastian says it is... but then says he could instead call his young master a coward -- that's regarding the grave for Mary Jane Kelly and then about how our earl hesitated earlier and didn't shoot his own aunt. And Undertaker takes note that our earl is quite different from his predecessors; I believe that's when our earl protects Harcourt from the bizarre dolls of Arden's friends. So, he's showing kindness again. Likewise, after Soma hits him and Sebastian knocks Soma out, our earl says how they should have heeded his warning and left before something like this could happen. There's also a fair amount of greed, particularly in how our earl runs his business, buying out other companies and expanding his Funtom Co.'s operations, as well as competing in a curry contest to help expand into the food industry (beyond confectionery). But looking at how he gave Mey-Rin glasses as a gift (Jane says that's a rare thing for an employer to do because it's so expensive) and how he hosts events for orphans, etc. there's also generosity and hospitality. Our earl's soul should contain a combination of emotions that Sebastian is all too familiar with (like greed, anger, cowardice, and selfishness) but also emotions the demon says he's not too familiar with, like love and a sense of loss. His diet has also probably generally lacked in the "flavors" of kindness and generosity.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #earl phantomhive #our earl #our ciel #demon contract #soul devouring #heart and soul #soulless #heartless #mother3 #lucas #claus #real ciel #ciel phantomhive #bizarre doll ciel #prophecy #magypsies #reapers #grim reapers #emotions #personality #levi-bolton #levi bolton #asks #i answer #answered asks #jun 8 2022

[magaprima]

What I will never get  is when people say ‘Why did Lilith eat Adam?’ or say eating Adam is proof she didn’t love him etc, as if it hadn’t been established several times in the series that if a body is devoured or completely eviscerated, it can’t be resurrected. It was officially stated by Blackwood when he tells Zelda to get rid of the mouse familiar and to eviscerate it so there’s no chance of it being reanimated. Which is why Zelda puts Leviathan in the, blergh, grinder. Because you can only reanimate/resurrect something that has a whole, complete body, or at least the body parts sewn together. 

Lilith has to go through the agony of devouring her own son so that there was no body to reanimate, to ensure that Lucifer wouldn’t just kill her and then resurrect Adam immediately after. She was trying to spare her son from a life of cruelty and suffering she felt she couldn’t protect him from, and she needed to do that beyond even her own grave, that even if she were dead, Lucifer still couldn’t get a hold of Adam. 

She went through extreme agony and grief to spare him a lifetime of horrors. She decided her own suffering was worth sparing him his. And that will always hurt me, and also always serve as a reminder of just how deep Lilith’s feelings go (just as the fact she named her son after Adam shows how deep her feelings go. Just as her thousands of years devotion to Lucifer shows how deep her feelings go. When Lilith loves, she loves hard) and that she is far from the cold, unfeeling demoness she wants people to think.  

But yeah, even freaking Lazarus, the ultimate resurrecter, couldn’t bring back Adam without a body. And even Marie/Samedi could only give her back her son’s soul into a different vessel; she couldn’t bring him back to life, because there was no body to live in. Hence why she placed him the fetish doll (and hence why I predict that for Part 5 they would have had Lilith working on putting him in another vessel. Such as a body she crafted from earth just as her own was). So it is clearly the reason Lilith did what she did. 

Setting it up like a meal was simply to remind Lucifer of what he did to her, to remind him of why precisely she cannot bear the thought of her son being raised by him and his cruelty and violence, and to also-- she hoped-- spur him in to such anger that he’d kill her and she could be done with all of it, and just be with her son. Unfortunately, she angered him so well he went right past murder and into cursing. 

#random thoughts #headcanons