#Causing disquiet

[disquetlibrary]

Attention Must be paid Disquiet library Episode 3

Commissions are available on Artistree here: https://artistree.io/request/bricksmith

Author of the episode and artist of the logo art is FallenLeafSpirit (she/hers): https://www.tumblr.com/fallenleafspirit

Narrator of the episode is The Bricksmith (she/hers): https://www.tumblr.com/the-bricksmith

Episode Transcript below read more

Good evening Friends, enemies, and unacquainted strangers. I welcome you to the disquiet library. I am the curator, and these listless halls house many stories and artworks. This evening I have a reading from the library collections, unfortunately there is no associated artwork with tonight's piece due to the nature of the material described. But before we get to that, I had a few announcements.

Patrons may have noticed a few mysterious figures in the library of late. I wanted to say that you do not need to be concerned, these are merely the assistants who have responded to the job request I offered last month. The large metal claws and gas masks are merely the protective equipment I had on hand. I expect that I will have one selected soon.

In the meantime I did some work with organizing the children's fiction section of the library. Of course i soon lost amongst the stacks, but for our younger patrons stories should be more accessible to find. Oh and i have created supplies of paper, crayons, and compasses, at the front desk. I request that anyone who would like to help the library with mapping efforts use these to document their travels. Your maps can be returned to the front desk when you leave.

Well with those matters addressed I would like to present to all of you the Story from the collections this week. For those of you who are experiencing this through the audio recordings, you should find a link to view the transcript of this month's story in the description box or written on the description card wherever you found our audio recordings. Today's piece has… notes of unreality, AI art, cosmic horror, existential horror, abilism, and emotional abuse. So this is a warning if you find those flavors disagreeable. But now let's begin

This work is intended to draw off of the concepts of how AI art is terrifying and to draw off of the concepts of the uncanny valley. The author does not intend to represent natural human conditions such as a conjoined birth, or portray and villainize nurodivergence as the concepts of changelings have been wont to do. If you are particularly affected by unreality please skip this episode. With that let us begin.

The angry buzz of the neon lights against they gray backdrop of the city pressed in on one's surroundings. even here off the beaten path away from most of the bustle and noise of the squares and market front there were two many people for one's liking. Amidst the drizzling rain reflecting of of the dull flat walls of glass and metal stretching up into the sky a figure walked. they had their windbreaker bundled round them one hand holding the once bright red hood up to prevent it from falling back. They checked their phone if the message was to be believed it would be around here somewhere. They passed a few sodden boxes and some piles of plastic bottles and sheets of coupons and advertisements which had been blown into the gutters and now tried desperately to clog the drains.

Ah there it was. a small stair case dropping down into the pavement, lending access to a nondescript glass door merely giving access to the basement of this building. There was no sign dictating its duty. There was not even the seemingly all present signs dictating the name of the place. No it was merely a door there were some numbers printed on the glass beside the door. simply the short three numbers decrying the address. It looked perfectly mundane. And the glass was tinted in that dim office building sort of way where glass was included because of course it was. but it was designed in such a way as to render its purpose unusable and merely a dark gloom regardless of the state inside.

The figure noted the locale but continued to follow their glowing phone in their hand til they reached a bit beyond the end of the street where they rejoined the throngs of crowds and stood in front of yet another store its front aglow with glowing signs and advertisements. The figure shut down their phone making sure it could not wake. It was probably a foolish endeavor as the companies had other ways and if they could find you they could. but at least it gave them some mental comfort however small the gesture would be, and besides their data would be lost in the sea of data at some random server room.

They tried not to look at the advertisements all desperately clawing for a foothold in the psyche. some small ounce of attention for attention must be paid. you must be looking somewhere at all times and that somewhere you are looking could be valuable. It was funny though for if one stopped and actually looked and paid true attention. They would notice the strange things that did not belong. the hands that were not hands the eyes that held strange edges, and how the 'people' were too perfect to be human. But to look and pay attention would mean that you run the risk of those insidious tendrils occupying your mind. Guiding your hands the next time you are at the store to draw out from you the precious few extra bills needed for food or medicine into buying Gum? Chocolate? Anything at all it didn't matter what it was all it mattered is that attention was paid and that you lost. And both of these are intentional.

When the figure returned and pushed their way inside the strange gloomy door. They found Nothing but an empty gloomy office hallway seemingly entirely nondescript. Yet when they Took any one of the doors they might notice the distinct difference in the air. It was subtle as the earthen tones were still dulled by the stale office air but the scent was unmistakable to those who knew. Books. Finally something that felt truly real. The space was not as grand as the libraries of old and indeed many of the bookshelves had been created out of ramshackle hybrids of old desks and metal filing cabinets. In a desperate attempt to use limited finances and sheer willpower to wrestle some usability back from the unnatural plastics and forms of the modern day.

They passed the small table requesting donations. They checked their pockets but just as always they found no coin they could offer. Everyone gave what they could which even then added up to scant little often not even enough to keep the lights on. The figure gave a guilty wince as they trundled off to a corner to once again take advantage of the safety and reprieve of this space while knowing they could do nothing to aid its continued existence. After shaking and stamping their clothes off on a grungy threadbare and at this point sodden rug, the figure removed their red windbreaker and settled into a lumpy beanbag near a shelf haphazardly yet deliberately labeled Fantasy.

The character preferred to keep on their stained down coat with patches of duct tape still occasionally letting out white strands of feathers. After gathering their bearings and letting their body truly calm down the figure took an idle glance across the shelves. The books themselves were a strange mixture and amalgamation just as the shelves and the whole establishment. some were old thick tomes printed and truly bound, many the torn and stained copies of paperback books that could have been a week or a hundred years old. These mixed in with delicate comics barely held together by their staples, as well as the odd hefty textbook under which the shelf would sag. Even a few children's books but the pleasant textures and colors attached to the thick pages had long since fallen away. The character reached along the spines and found a small book bound in a green cloth. It looked to Be hand made with the lettering embroidered onto the cloth and the whole manner sewn together with a heavy yellow embroidery thread. The book's pages may have been made of cut printer paper and the cover of an old amazon box but it was an earnest attempt by someone who cared. And its flaws lent to its authenticity with a realness and intentionality that was hard to come by. now days. Sure its title was misleading. "Folk Tales Through the Ages." Where clearly the author had included stories they had been told, barely remembered, or even ones they wrote themselves (distinguishable by the distinct earnestness and harsh notes of someone who wanted to make beauty but had only ever experienced a harsh life of hard labor.), But mixed in and among the stories were genuine old recountings of fairy tales some simple and friendly and others horrifying and all together a bit too much gore. But the stories were interesting to read. And the stories of elves and dwarvess or of curious trickster far creatures trying to capture the souls of wayward travelers who stopped atop their mushroom rings. was a welcome reprieve.

When the character turned one of the pages only for a pile of objects to fall into their lap they were not surprised. Humans wanted connection and a place like this in and amongst these stories in a space away from the world? it was where people hid their secrets or left notes for each other hoping some other wary traveler may enjoy them. And of course there were several lewd photos or magazine clippings and a business card labeled 'call me: <3' next to the number. But as the character put the items back tucking them away for the next traveler as was the unspoken custom. They saw a note Penned in the same rough deliberate printing as had been inscribed inside the book, a note. This one seemed much more recent than the book itself and it was written on a post it note which still had a bit of tackiness to the beaded black glue.

"These are not just stories. Listen to what they say. For you must pay attention. Details what are the details. Look them in the eyes. Count their teeth. Look at their hands and count their fingers. Check if they have a shadow and if the shadow is of human form. Are they too perfect? They are not just stories. Stay safe. Attention must be paid."

The character was put off kilter. they tried to explain it to themselves as merely some flavor. Someone trying to add some interest to the world beyond mere stories. But the strange note sat captured in their mind. Even as they returned the letter to its place and the book to the shelf. Even as they sat in the beanbag trying to muster themselves for the walk home. The note simply was. it existed it was tangible and its earnest emphatic hand simply was. For attention had been paid and could not be refunded.

They had managed to put the note out of their mind or at least to the far corners, as they left the underground office and the hallway, and set their sights on home. a simple meal, and rest. And an hour later the rain had washed away and blurred the memory. Perhaps they had just fallen asleep. The character veered off the bright main throughfares and onto a different set of winding side streets that denoted them nearing their journey's end. They bumped into an odd young woman. She was sitting atop a dumpster Her yellow raincoat, an older style of thick and heavy rubber, that wouldn't have been out of place in one of the old oil paintings of a lighthouse keeper braving the waves. She was excitedly staring at the sky letting the rain fall down pooling on and running through her hair. When she heard the character walking up the street she stopped and stared at them as they walked by. Not seemingly bothered by the rain pooling off of her face or the unwritten rules. that one should not take notice of others when out and about. The character subconsciously picked up their pace but the Young lady was faster. She leapt off her bin and rushed to the character. Grabbing them by the hand and stopping them in the street. The character made to shake her off and continue on their way but something

stopped them. "Just Stop you have to see this." The character turned to look at the young woman. Who turned her head and wouldn't meet the character's eyes. But instead she pointed up at the sky. The character stopped and followed her finger. They could only see the rain and the shiny reflections of the glass buildings reflecting each other and the lights of advertisements. "What am I supposed to be seeing?" "Just look. The rain isn't it beautiful? Its so calm and cool. And the way the clouds swirl and roll. Did you know that clouds are actually liquid water just condensed and suspended in the air?" The character looked again trying to make out the rolling clouds beyond the tops of the buildings, and trying to see what she was trying to show them. But then the note from the book came back to them like a haunting vision. Could this be what the note meant? She certainly wanted their attention, and she wouldn't meet their eyes she seemed to know when they were looking at her. and would shift to obscure her face. Could she be one of them? The character subtly counted her fingers in their hand while she excitedly gestured to the rain and talked about how raindrops form.

four fingers. And a thumb. One of her fingers was missing everything beyond the second digit could that be the danger? What of her teeth?

They stole a glance, she seemed to be missing a few. Maybe that is what the letter meant. They didn't know how many teeth a person was supposed to have.

With each further detail their brain started to run away with them. constructing villainous intent to her explanations of how raindrops are shaped by water tension. This must be what the letter was talking about and therefore they must be in danger.

"Look. I really don't care. I have to go home. Goodbye." The character shook her off and set off at a brisk walk down the street and turned a corner. stopping out of sight to catch their breath and calm their racing thoughts. They took a cautious glance round the corner again before they left.

The woman was standing in the middle of the street where they had left her. She seemed emotionally deflated. She held out her hand and watched the rain pool in it and overflow before she collapsed into a slump in a puddle. Her cries started as some heavy breathing and grew into shaky sobs.

She was no faerie. she was merely a person. Albeit an odd one with intense interests who wanted someone to share them with someone to care.

"Leave fuck off. you. Haven't you done enough do you need to watch my pain too?" She called out between sobs. The character made haste away then and guiltily set off for home.

They had restless dreams that night. They heard mysterious voices asking for their soul and they heard the woman's shaking words rattle round their head in a ceaseless guilty spiral. Sometimes they would be Walking amidst twisting forests running into faery rings. and other times they would be back in the beanbag turning over the letter through and through their fingers.

"Hello can I get your attention to show you the wonders of clearanol." The voice had a melodious feminine pitch almost too feminine. And something was off putting about its cadence too. Just another god damn advertiser trying to sell me something the character thought as they made as usual to pull away and continue to work. But the sinking dread creeping and clutching at their mind. some ancient circuit of their consciousness telling them to pay attention for they were in danger. That was not human.

They were not immune, they paid attention. The thing seemed human if one let it slip past their vision. giving it the fragments of scraps of attention that one gave all advertisements. But it was wrong in many ways that were hard to place. When looking directly at it it seemed to resist being questioned and detailed. what size was it? All together too large for the space it took up. But its skin was so smooth and white. and its hair was luscious and detailed flowing elegantly. If one tried to look around it it seemed as though it was just off from world around it. it wasn't standing or part of the world as much as it was pretending to do so trying to give the appearance of existing without knowing truly what it meant to rest on the ground. And if one looked at her jewelry it was immensely detailed. but it was just visual noise. one's eyes tended to slide off of it saying i know what that is that's just a face or that's clearly a hairband. But was it really? What did those overly embossed details actually represent. Why were its flyaway strands truly disconnected giving the texture of hair. but simply being part of empty space. The character remembered the note. and pushed themselves to pay attention to the details to count what this thing was and nail its form down to something. anything really.

"Did you know that clearanol is recommended by 68% of dermatologists…" Its words ensnared the character with the sickly artificial attempts at genuineness that one my find at the smell of rat poison. it was sweet sue bur could you really say it is sweet?

How many fingers. One two three four? no that's not a finger what was that? Five? six? all long gangly things with too sharp of angles intersecting at wrong places. they gave the impression of fingers but weren't actually.

How man teeth? at fist things seemed normal but when one forced their brain to take hold of something there were too many. too close together. all perfectly ordinary all freshly whitened and shiny, that's a mouth no people aren't supposed to have six teeth there in that part.

It was a thing that resisted categorization resisted being understood one's mind slid off and around it seemingly getting bored without being able to leave and resisting any attempts to see how wrong it was. Strange given its purpose to garner attention.

"Here try some, I'll put it on you just remember to talk to you doctor about clearanol." Its touch felt like soft hands rubbing cold cream into the back of the character's hands. or did it. no what did it feel like that sanitized image too perfect and engrained in the character's mind from glimpses and attention paid in advertisements for sheets and other things was all that could come to mind. something so fake and unreal yet that being the only way the brain could process what this truly was.

"You fucker Leave!" The coarse wet touch of a glove to their other hand all together to cod and real too overstimulating all at once combined with the real voice that felt too low and masculine now in comparison to the perfect ineffability of the thing.

It was the young woman from the previous day grabbing the character and pulling them away from it's insidious grasp. She drew them back into the crowd pulling them along back into the crowds and surges of people trying to board the subway for work. Back to the overwhelming noise. "Notice those things recognize it but do not pay attention for attention must be paid. You will not win you can only persist and survive as much as possible." The young woman said urgently. She refused to look at the character, but this was comforting as she did not want the character's attention unlike that thing which refused to let them look away.

"I'm sorry about yesterday." The character mumbled letting the familiar rumble of the subway bring them back to reality and remember the events of the last day.

"You are an ass and a bastard. Your feelings are your problem to deal with. You don't get to just get taken by those things. But next time, you save yourself." The young lady got up with the shuddering of the subway and left with the doors closing behind her.

As the character carried on their way to work trying to mull over the events that had happened, they subconsciously rubbed the smooth supple hairless patch on the back of their hand and found themselves wondering if they could get their boss to stock clearanol it really was rather nice stuff.

Well that concludes today's collections showcase, I hope you can find enjoyment in perusing the other works here at the disquiet library. Please remember if you want to commission new works to be added to the library or to your own personal collections we can be commissioned via the artistree link that can be found with the treats near the donations or in the description box or card with your audio recording. Thank you, shadowy wanderers of the night, and have a wonderful evening.

#sorry if this one is a bit more horrifying than others #No art for this one cause i dont want to make something based on ai art and by so doing make it harder to tell what is ai art and what isnt #Disquiet Library #Disquiet Library Podcast #ai art is not art #you are not immune to advertising

[tojjist]

𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 ↳ r. sukuna

in which: the king of curses left you the moment you announce your pregnancy to him. but after nearly losing you... he might be having a change of heart contains: very slight objectification of reader, reader is a half-curse, mentions of injury and near-death experience, reader is pregnant, slight mention of pregnancy sex, sukuna is really ooc tbh A/N: yall really wanted soft sukuna lmao. i js wanted to write something more in my own style instead of the tumblr style. It's all over the place really, also obv trueform! sukuna. w.c : 1.6k

“Sukuna-sama?” Your voice comes out a breathy whisper, barely audible.

“Do– ugh,” The pink-haired curse sighs. “Don’t call me that. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

You haven’t known Sukuna to be tender. Actually, scratch that. You used to genuinely believe he mistook the adjective for an affront. He probably still does, despite the sheer softness of his actions. His mind is a marvel far beyond your, or anyone else's, comprehension. And if Sukuna hasn’t always been complicated, his sudden switch of behavior recently has rendered  unriddling the complex being that he is even harder.

“What do I call you then?” There’s confusion in your tone; confusion fused with unadulterated innocence. His eyebrows crease further. He loved how naive and ingénue you are. Such a simple, sheepish thing. Easy to lead one, easy to use, easy to hurt. But as of late, he’d come to hate it.

He hates that he hates it. He shouldn’t care.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snaps back. It’s enough to bring you silence, the somber tone he uses coming with a sense of finality. 

Rough callouses are surprisingly gentle against your flesh—callouses that slap, bruise, grope, but never caress. Despite that, he pulls your underwear up your thighs with utter care. If you didn’t know any better, you might even dare call his actions delicate.

“Does it hurt?” He reminisces. Curious digits stroke your lower abdomen and across the swell of your belly, where an ugly scar sits. It decorates your skin with a long, uneven line of dried blood cells.

“It’s not too bad,” You assure, daring to test your luck by bringing your own hand to his hair. It causes the king of curses to pause. His ember eyes continue to stare at your scar, unable to swat your hand away for some reason. The wooden floor beneath him feels too cold. Or he feels too hot. He’s unsure.

In the dimness of the room, there is no light but the flickering glow emitted from the fire, ensconced within a cage of brick—a fireplace, by name. Yet, the warmth that enfolds you does not excrete solely from the flames. It originates from within, a pulsating heat that comes with the beat of your heart as a large palm finds your shoulder, urging you forward with an urgency that seems to echo through the very fibers of your being.

“What about this one?”His intense glare persists, averting your demure gaze. Never before have you witnessed him in such a state, making you wonder whether this demeanor is a consequence of recent events.

“It’s fine, I promise,” Your whispered words cause his gaze to harden even further, his thumb tracing over another, deeper cut nestled in the valley between your breasts. This one could have been fatal. The realization sends a shiver down his spine, unsettling him to his core. Sukuna, the ancient and ruthless curse, has borne witness to countless horrors in his long existence, inflicted unspeakable cruelty upon countless souls, but none have shaken him to his core quite like seeing you teetering on the brink of death. The memory stirs within him an unfamiliar sense of disquiet, a realization that his desires may have consequences far more profound than he ever anticipated.

The brawny curse grunts in response, opting to continue examining the scar. He’s careful to not stretch it as your human flesh would hurt. 

Sukuna’s agenda never included leaving a child within you. It never even crossed his mind. Such muses were not to be entertained, especially not with you.

You. Yeah, you who doesn't try to kill humans simply for the pleasure it brings. You who takes life so lightly, as if you have several souls to spare. You who accepts every word Sukuna says as an indisputable fact, every order executed before he has a chance to reconsider.

You, who has shared your bed with the strongest curse more times than he cares to count, always intrigued him—an enigmatic subject for his manipulations. You, who confided in him the startling revelation that your half-cursed body now nurtures a growing fetus.

At first, Sukuna swore he'd never visit you again, adamant in his belief that he wanted no involvement in your pregnancy, leaving you to navigate the situation alone. Despite his capability to end your life without hesitation, he chose to spare you. Sukuna granted you a reprieve under the condition that he never crosses paths with you or whatever child you carry. He told himself time and time again that you would be a rather boring kill, not worth the effort. But it wasn't about the difficulty of ending your life—it was an excuse. He'd never admit that he doesn't want your blood staining his hands

Sukuna swears he’s not soft, that he doesn’t care for you at all.But the notion of being the one who brings you to your end does not enthrall him in the least.

He doesn’t care for the inferior likes of you, he reminds himself. That’s absurd. It’s laughable. It’s offensive, even. He doesn’t ‘care’, It’s simply curiosity that keeps him around. Curious of what kind of child the one you carry would come out to be. To see if they’d be worthy of being called his kin or not.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is dulcet, a melody that cuts his train of thought smoothly. Unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s a pleading tone, a need so urgent it's almost painful. He finds pleasure in that. Your perpetual longing for him, your unwavering loyalty even after his defeat by sorcerers the first time around—you kept him close like a devoted guardian to a fallen hero, even when you knew is anything but a hero. It's a power unlike any other—staying but not out of fear, it's a choice. A strong belief.

Balancing on his knees between her parted legs, he reaches out, his fingers finding purchase on the edge of the bed. His grip tightens instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the sheet as he steadies himself. With a controlled effort, he pushes upward, leveraging the bed for support as he rises to his feet

“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?” He muses, his towering frame looking down at you. The flickering flames of the fire, their orange hues swirling and weaving a macabre tapestry around his countenance, lend him an aura of terror that would instill fear in any who behold him. Yet, unlike others, you find his presence strangely comforting. Despite the aura of terror he exudes, you've grown accustomed to it, finding solace in his formidable presence now more than ever before.

Your only reaction is to chew on the inside of your cheek, careful to not bite the fiber too hard. There’s an ambivalent air to him, remaining motionless as he towers over you. It seems as if he’s looking for something. Anything. He wants a reason to stay, but he can’t seem to find one satisfying enough.

He owes you nothing. But when you look at him like that… He’s never been one to falter at your pleading face, but perhaps he’s changing little by little. He staunchly refuses to acknowledge this change still, for him to do so would be an admission of vulnerability, a humiliation he cannot bear, even to himself. How he yearns for the willpower to end you, to push you away so you never obstruct his way like this again.

The worst part of it all is his acute awareness of why he feels so strongly now. He knows that it’s all him, and not at all you. He can pinpoint the exact moment he regret leaving your side. The memory is seared into his very core. 

He wishes he could forget, to erase the haunting image of you, wounded and bleeding, from his mind. 

It was when he came back a few days after his departure, for reasons he can’t recall, only to be greeted by the sight of a malevolent curse looming over you, hungry and poised to make you its next meal. He shouldn’t have intervened. It's the natural order—a relentless cycle where only the strongest survive, preying upon the weaker. He knows he's no exception. Nor are you.

But seeing you sprawled out on the floor, barely intact, with his child inside of you. 

He gulps at the memory, feeling an overwhelming urge to touch you once more, to make sure you’re not some figment of his imagination. To keep you from harm. You’re so stupid, so goddamn naive. He doesn’t know what to make of you. Other than a fucking headache.

“What is it? What do you want, brat?” He hopes to catch some semblance of his normal attitude. “Get it over with.”

“Please stay,” You plead, fingers gently gripping the open kimono he had thrown on once finished with you. “Please, Sukuna-sama.”

He sighs. You’re so obstinate.

Perhaps it's his lack of understanding that breeds hesitation within him, or perhaps it's his inherently fierce nature. A thing like you deserves to be treated with the utmost delicacy, cherished and nurtured. Sukuna, with his staunch commitment solely to his ideals, can never be the one assuming such a role for you.

“You’re doing things to me, you know?” Sukuna gets down, kneeling between your parted legs again, placing a warm palm in either side of your hips and seizing you within.

Maybe… staying with you tonight wasn’t such a ludicrous notion. He’s the king of curses; he  has all the time in the world to fret the trivial details.

#arabella writes #jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukun x reader smut #ryomen sukuna smut #dividers by benkeibear

[doumadono]

The stalker - Muzan & Reader

Warnings: modern AU, non-con smut (partially), somnophilia, rough smut, reverse 69, choking, stalker!Muzan, p in v smut, stalking, dark themes Synopsis: living your ordinary life, little do you know that your every move is being silently and carefully watched by a man who has taken an interest in you. He is ready to do anything to claim you as his property Requested by: anonymous Wordcount: ~ 4.2k

MASTERLIST

It began with subtle occurrences, almost insignificant at first. Instances that didn't raise much concern or feel particularly peculiar. Doors that were once closed would be found ajar in the morning, leaving a lingering sense of doubt. You would wake up, finding yourself in a different position than the one you remember falling asleep in. Your dresser drawer, specifically the one where you kept your undergarments, would often be in disarray. And lately, upon awakening, you noticed your face dampened by traces of drool. Naturally, you attributed these incidents to exhaustion from juggling your college studies and late-night job, dismissing them as mundane.

However, as time progressed, unsettling events began to unfold. It was during one of those moments when you were seated on your bed in your underwear that unknown numbers flashed across your phone screen, accompanied by text messages that pierced through your sense of security. "You look so stunning."

Initially, you dismissed those messages, assuming they were mere notifications from your Instagram account sent to your phone. It seemed like an innocuous occurrence, easily brushed aside. At first, they arrived sporadically, appearing only once a month. Yet, as time passed, their frequency multiplied, transitioning to twice a month and now occurring nearly every other night. The content of these messages took a disturbing turn, growing increasingly specific and disquieting, causing a deep sense of unease to settle within you.

"Drive home safe." As you prepared to leave work, the unsettling message arrived once again, this time just as you were about to embark on your drive home. A wave of apprehension washed over you, causing you to remain seated in the empty parking lot, cautiously scanning your surroundings for any signs of a presence. To your relief, there were no other cars in sight, and your coworkers had long departed for their respective homes. Despite the fear creeping within you, you chose to delete the message, attributing it to a potential prank from one of your mischievous coworkers.

Driving home, you pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building. Stepping out of your car, an eerie sensation enveloped you, a nagging feeling that someone's eyes were fixated on your every move. Instinctively, you halted and swiftly turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the observer. Yet, the scene that greeted you was one of silence and emptiness, devoid of any visible presence. Shaking off the unease, you attributed the disconcerting feeling to the stress accumulated from your demanding schedule of school and work. In an attempt to lighten the tension, you giggled softly, convincing yourself that it was all in your imagination, before resuming your stride towards the elevator.

Entering your apartment, a sense of relief washed over you as you finally arrived at the sanctuary of your own space. However, as you began to settle in, the disarray of your belongings caught your attention. The drawer where you kept your panties remained open, a chaotic mess within. Recollecting the hurriedness of your morning routine, you swiftly closed the drawer, intending to address the mess later. Shrugging off the unsettling occurrence, you proceeded to undress, casually discarding your clothes onto the floor, and made your way to the bathroom.

With the water running, you allowed your bath to fill, seeking solace in its soothing embrace. As you eased into the warmth, the events of the day lingered in your mind, a subtle reminder of the uncanny incidents that had unfolded. However, immersed in the tranquility of the moment, you hoped that the relaxing waters would wash away the lingering unease, allowing you to find respite from the disquieting experiences that had punctuated your day.

You sat there in the silence, your apartment's ambient sounds merging with the gentle subsiding of the water in your bath. The soothing warmth caressed your tired body, lulling you into a state of drowsiness. Yielding to the tranquility, you closed your eyes, surrendering to relaxation. However, amidst the peacefulness, a distinct sound reached your ears — footsteps, unmistakably within the confines of your own apartment.

Startled, you swiftly sat up, instinctively crossing your arms to cover your breasts, and voiced your presence aloud, "Hello?!" The silence that followed offered no response, but the mysterious footsteps ceased their approach. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself in a hushed tone, "Stupid. It's probably your neighbor's kids running down the hall again." Dismissing the unease that had momentarily enveloped you, you carried on with your bath, eventually finishing and stepping out of the water. As the last remnants drained away, you turned around, enveloping yourself and your damp hair in towels.

Leaving the bathroom, you made your way to the bedroom and settled onto your bed. Glancing at your phone, you noticed a new message and tapped to read it. "Your laugh is so cute." The words on the screen caught your attention, evoking a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty, as a flicker of discomfort ran through you. You stared at the message wide-eyed, your mind racing with uncertainty about its meaning. Did it imply that someone had overheard your laughter at work? Were they possibly a classmate? Or perhaps they had been lurking in the parking garage earlier. The weight of the unknown hung heavy upon you, prompting you to abruptly jump out of bed and hastily make your way to the front door.

With a sense of trepidation, you peered through the peephole, scanning the dimly lit hallway as best as you could. No signs of anyone in sight — no figures walking past, no individuals lingering outside. You double-checked the locks on your door, giving it a forceful tug to ensure its secure fastening. Satisfied that the entrance was indeed locked, you made your way back into your room, feeling a slight relief wash over you.

Preparing for bed, you attended to your nightly routine, diligently drying your hair, brushing it out, cleansing your face, and meticulously brushing your teeth. Slipping into your favorite sleepwear — a loosely buttoned plaid shirt sans a bra, accompanied by a pair of comfortable white panties — you settled down in bed. Glancing at your phone one last time before your heavy eyelids succumbed to sleep, you reasoned that the bath you had taken earlier had taken its toll on your fatigue, compounded by the arduous efforts you had put into your work.

Unbeknownst to you, the sounds of your bedroom door opening and the soft, calculated footsteps approaching your bedside went unnoticed, concealed beneath the veil of your slumber. Standing above you was a figure, their countenance obscured by a black ski mask, their hands adorned with black latex gloves. Clad in a black short-sleeved shirt, dark blue denim jeans, and black boots, they silently observed your peaceful rest, their breathing growing increasingly labored. Then, with measured steps, they retreated, briefly illuminating the bathroom light to obtain a clearer view of your form as you slept.

The light from the bathroom was just enough for him to see, but not bright enough to wake you up. Muzan walked back over beside your bed and reached down for your blanket. Gently pulling it up and off of you, so Muzan could see you. He stood there and looked you up and down; he grabbed the growing bulge in his pants and gave it a squeeze. Muzan stared at your nearly naked body and noticed your unbuttoned shirt, he slowly reached down and gently pulled your shirt up till it fell to the side.

He saw that you had decided not to wear a bra tonight and decided to be a little bold. Reaching down, Muzan cupped your breast in his large hand. The black-haire man gently squeezed, which caused you to stir, freezing him in place. As you started to settle, Muzan squeezed and rubbed your breast more and more. Noticing your nipple starting to get hard, Muzan pinched it between his fingers and gently started to pull. This got more of a reaction out of you as you let out a tiny moan before stirring once again.

He pulled his hand away and stepped back, undoing his belt, unzipping his pants, and reaching into them as he pulled out his cock. Gripping his cock in his hand, Muzan started to stroke himself, grunting quietly as he watched over you. As precum oozed out the tip of his cock, it covered his hand and smeared his cock as Muzan rubbed it up and down. Muzan stepped forward and put one knee on the bed, positioning himself over you. Muzan stroked himself over your chest, grunting and groaning silently as he reached his climax. Unable to stop himself, he started shooting thick, hot ropes of cum onto your chest.

This didn't wake you up, and this made him smile and made him more bold. Muzan reached his hand between your legs and gently pressed his fingertips against you. He brushed his fingertips against the cloth of your panties as he pushed down. Muzan rubbed you up and down through your panties, watching your face as your body began to react on its own. You started breathing harder, your face began to express pleasure as your eyes shut tighter and your mouth started to open. You let out soft moans between breaths as your body reacted to his touch.

He could feel you starting to heat up from his touch on his fingertips. Muzan started to press down firmer, finding your clit when you let out a louder moan as his fingers brushed up against it. Muzan started to rub your clit in circles as he watched you react more and more. You started panting harder and harder as Muzan rubbed your clit and pussy more and more until you couldn't handle it anymore and came. You let out a loud moan as your body shook from your orgasm.

He smiled, watching you tremble and shake, but that smile slowly faded. You started to wake up, your eyes opened and shut as you tried to adjust to the dimly lit room. All you saw was a large shadow standing above your bed. Your eyes opened wide, and your mouth opened as you started to scream. Before you could let out a louder scream, Muzan jumped on top of you and covered your mouth with his hand. He pulled his free hand to his face and motioned for you to shush.

You started to cry from that situation, a large man pinning you down on your bed and keeping you from calling for help. You tried to move, but you didn't know what was wrong. Was it his weight keeping you from moving, or were you paralyzed from fear? All you could do was stare up at him, your eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. In a dim light, you could see he was a very handsome man, and that he seemed not too old but that terrified you even more because you had no idea who he could be. Your eyes started to burn from the tears welling up, and your body shook out of fear.

"Shhh. Don't scream. If you scream, I'll have to hurt you, and I don't want to do that," Muzan said to you, his voice deep and his tone stern. The grip Muzan had over your mouth was tight, and he pushed down on you. His body weight kept you pinned underneath him. You felt something else pressed against your stomach. It was hard, a little wet, and you could feel it twitching against your bare skin. As you lifted your head just enough to look down, you could see it was his cock pressing against your stomach. You laid your head back down and stared at him, your eyes even wider after seeing his cock.

"If you behave, I won't hurt you, but if you try to fight back or scream. I'm going to hurt you and I'm going to hurt you badly. Do you understand me?" He asked you, leaning down a little, his tone still stern, and his voice deep. You stared back up at him and slowly nodded. Muzan pulled his hand off your mouth as he leaned away from your face, his body still sitting on top of you, and his cock now rested on your stomach. 

You wiped the tears away from your face. You noticed your shirt was opened, so you covered yourself back up as you looked up at him. "W-what do you want?" you asked him, trying to put up a tough act, but it failed as your voice trembled.

"You. All I've ever wanted is you. And now I have you and no one can stop me." Muzan said that to you, his tone changing as he stared at you. Muzan adjusted his legs, grabbed each of your legs, and spread them, so he could be between them. Muzan was strong and easily moved you around like a doll. You were powerless to stop him as he positioned himself between your legs. He grabbed his cock and started to stroke himself, precum oozed from the tip and dripped onto your stomach. As you looked down at his dick, you could see that he was packing a monster. It was as thick as a soda can and almost as long as your forearm.

Before you could even beg him to stop, Muzan pulled your panties to the side and pressed the tip of his cock against your pussy. You gripped your sheets tight in your hands as you gritted your teeth together from the pain. You could feel the tip of his cock beginning to push inside you, spreading your pussy like it had never been spread before. You let out pained gasps for air as you stared up at the ceiling, eyes opened wide. You could hear him groaning as Muzan pushed in slowly, and from under his breath, you could hear him say. "Fuck... you're so tight."

Every inch felt like hell, his cock was so thick it filled you up almost instantly. As Muzan inched in deeper, you tried to catch your breath, but the pain made it hard as you gasped for air. Finally, his cock was inside you completely, and you could finally breathe as you lifted your head and looked down. You could see your stomach bulging from his cock. You dropped your head back as your mind started to go blank from the pain slowly turning into intense pleasure.

The pleasure was cut short as Muzan started to slide his cock out, slowly. You let out a pained scream, but all that came out was an inaudible squeal. Muzan looked down at you with a smile, your mouth open was an irresistible invitation. Muzan leaned down and gave you a kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, sloppily swirling his tongue around inside your mouth, his saliva mixing with yours. You didn't fight back as you closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into the kiss even more.

His cock continued to slide out of your pussy inch by inch, it felt as if he was pulling your insides out as he continued to pull out. Eventually reaching the tip of his cock, he stopped, as he continued to kiss you. Muzan pulled away from the kiss and looked down at you, a string of spit connecting your lips. "Here we go, baby, it's going to get real rough. So hold on tight," Muzan said to you with a loving smile. This was his warning, but it didn't prepare you for what was going to happen next.

You felt his cock thrust inside you in one quick motion. Your stomach felt full again and you couldn't breathe. You stared up at him in pained ecstasy. Muzan slid out again and quickly thrust back inside you. He pounded your pussy with body-shaking thrusts, making it hard to think or speak. All that came out were loud moans and garbled words that made no sense.

It didn't take you long to cum, but black-haired continued to fuck you through your orgasm. The waves of pleasure mixed with searing pain made your brain melt. You could hear his balls slapping against your wet cunt, the sound of your pussy being stirred up by his monster cock, and his moans. You looked up at him and saw his face, Muzan was happy.

You felt his hands grab you by the throat, they were large and easily fit around your throat. Then Muzan started to squeeze hard, choking you. You grabbed his wrists and weakly tried to pull them off, but it was no use. He was much stronger than you and his grip was tight. You tried to tell him to stop, but nothing came out, and soon you started to gasp for air. Gripping his wrists with your nails now, you tried to dig in to get him to stop. Your vision went blurry as you started to lose consciousness, your eyes welled up in tears, hoping this would end. Your body betrayed you again as you started to cum violently on his cock, squirting and making a mess on your bed.

Your stomach filled with heat as his cock swelled inside you, and his thrusts became more erratic and rough. As you started to black out, you could feel the hot sensation of his cock cumming inside you. Muzan thrust deep inside as he started to cum, filling your cunt with his thick, hot seed. Muzan let out a loud groan, maintaining his tight grip around your throat as your body went limp and you blacked out. He finished cumming inside you, sliding his cock out of your ruined pussy. His hands released your throat as he got off of you. Muzan smiled as he watched your gaping hole ooze out his cum onto the bed. 

He got off the bed and stretched. This had been way better than he thought it was going to be. Muzan didn't want to stop there, and it seemed his cock felt the same way. It bounced as it throbbed and got hard again. Muzan looked over at you and watched your passed-out body. Muzan had already gone this far, so there was no real point in stopping. He grabbed your body and adjusted you on the bed, hanging your head off the edge. Muzan stroked his cock and positioned himself as he pressed his cock against your lips.

It didn't take much for you to open your mouth as his cock slid in easily with no protest from you. Your mouth gaped open and struggled to take him fully. Muzan fit himself in your mouth as much as he could, gently thrusting as he started to fuck your face. Muzan got on top of you and ripped your panties off in one quick motion. Using his large hands, Muzan spread open your legs as he went down on you. He started to eat you out passionately as he fucked your face. Muzan could taste his own cum mixed with yours as his tongue forced its way inside you. You moaned happily as he enjoyed the pussy he had been looking at for months.

You slowly started to regain consciousness, and to your horror, you could feel your mouth filled with this large rod. Your eyes opened and blinked as you lay there in shocked horror. You tried to push him away with your hands against his thighs, but again Muzan easily overpowered you. You could feel your pussy being eaten out, but the pain of your throat being fucked confused you again. You couldn't say a word because you were so focused on trying to breathe. His cock filled your mouth and went down your throat over and over.

Your face became a mess as your tears and drool mixed. His cock, which had scared you before, started to taste good, and your tongue moved on its own as you licked his shaft. Your brain again started to shut down as the pain and pleasure mixed, and you couldn't even collect your thoughts. You could feel his cock grow in your mouth, and you realized what was going to happen next, but you didn't have a choice in this. You were just along for the ride as Muzan forced his cock down your throat and shot his cum down it. The man used you as his cum dump, filling your tummy with his hot, thick seed. Your pussy clamped around his tongue as you started to cum again, your thighs squeezing his head, while the only noise you made was a muffled, messy squeal.

He pulled his cock out of your mouth and stroked himself, shooting out the last strings of cum on your face. You looked like a mess, your face covered in tears, drool, and cum. You just lay there, catching your breath, but Muzan wasn't done. He picked you up in his arms and easily moved you around. You were nothing but a doll to him, and he was going to do whatever he wanted with you. Picking you up, Muzan tossed you back on the bed, on your stomach. You didn't fight back; it was pointless, you realized, as you just let it happen. He grabbed your ankles and pulled your legs off the bed.

He kicked your legs open and positioned himself behind you. You didn't get a moment to rest as you felt his cock gaping your sore pussy again. This position felt so different; you could feel his cock scraping your insides as Muzan stirred you up. He leaned down and reached his hand around your throat, pulling your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he pounded your pussy. Muzan slammed your body into the mattress over and over. You didn't fight back; you just moaned like the good little slut he was training you to be. You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, inviting him to kiss you.

He smiled and leaned down, kissing you. Your tongues wrestled and swirled around in each other's mouths. You moaned into his mouth as you felt your pussy being ruined by his cock. You could feel his throbbing dick pushing in deeper than before. Your hands gripped the sheets tight as you braced yourself against the bed. You heard your pussy being stirred up by his cock as his balls slapped against you, filling the room with their lewd sounds. You loved feeling his tongue in your mouth and his low, bestial growls echoing as Muzan grunted and groaned.

His cock continued its endless pounding as it fucked you senseless once again. You started to moan out loud and yelled, "Fuck! Fuck! More!" He smiled at your brainless request, putting one hand on your hand and pushing you down into your mattress as he stood back up. You felt his hands grip your hips tight, and then it happened. Muzan started fucking you furiously, his cock pounding your pussy over and over. Your bed started to shake and pound into the floor. You clung to the bed with whatever strength you felt like you had left. This merciless assault just made you scream and beg for more.

You were nothing but a toy in his hands as Muzan pulled you into him while fucking you. You couldn't help but cum over and over again, squirting on his cock and making a mess on your floor as you squirted and leaked his cum out onto the floor. It didn't take him long to reach his limit as Muzan started to shout, forcing his cock deep inside you, forcing the air out of you as he filled you with his seed once again. It felt warm in your belly, and you lay there with your mouth wide open, but not a single sound came out.

"May I at least have your name?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and alarm. "And who the fuck are you? How did you get into my house?" The words escaped your lips, fueled by a surge of fear and disbelief.

His red eyes bore into yours, and a smirk played at the corners of their lips. The silence stretched, thick with tension, before they finally spoke, their voice laced with a hint of amusement. "My name is not important. What matters is that I got what I’ve been craving for months. But if you need to know, I go by Muzan," he said cryptically, his words sending shivers down your spine. “I would be back again. Leave your front door open," the man added, and after adjusting his clothes, he left your house through the front door, leaving you filled up and leaking his cum.

You slept the night away and woke up sore and even more tired, reflecting on how the night had gone and finding yourself wet at the thought. 

From then on, you left your front door open, anticipating your "stalker" to pay you another visit. The longing in your soul grew with each passing day, and you wondered if Muzan would ever come back to claim you once again.

#muzan kibutsuji #muzan smut #muzan x you #muzan x reader #kny muzan #muzan x y/n #kny smut #muzan x reader smut #demon slayer #muzan kny #x reader smut #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba smut #lord muzan #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #dark themes #request completed #kibutsuji muzan #kibutsuji kny

[ferrstappen]

unscheduled school visit l Max Verstappen

a/n: hello! i got this quick idea while working on some requests/school work. hope you like it and pls pls feel free to leave feedback <3 it really motivates me <3

pairing: dad!Max Verstappen x female reader.

summary: the twins' teacher calls, the twins got in trouble. Max is in disbelief.

Max was a strict parent. 

Not in the way people may think, and not in the least similar to how his dad was with him, but Max always was concerned on how the twins were doing in school, only in first grade, but still. He was always working on instilling discipline and hard work to Luca and Mila, so in the future they can be whatever the hell they want to be. Max knew money was never going to be an issue, so it was up to them to take all the opportunities that meant.

He always tried to take them to museums when they joined races, often tried to switch languages, even encouraging other drivers and people in the grid who interacted with the kids to speak in their different languages. 

It was always fun to watch Charles speaking to Luca in French or Italian as Luca slowly tried to come up with an answer and was always met with a high five, or Mila asking Checo why Carlos had a different accent. 

The smile never disappeared from your face when you get home from running an errand or attending a meeting that couldn’t be held on Zoom, to Luca and Mila chatting about what they learned on school today or silently doing their homework on the family room while Max watched them, himself also getting some things in the meantime.

The point is the twins were smart, both you and Max putting all your efforts to gently and effectively find what they like, what they don’t. 

You know your kids. Both of you would put your hands on fire because of them. You trusted them because Max and you were raising them good and the twins were great beyond words could explain. 

So when you receive a call from school telling you to come over, you quickly reached Max who was on the sim, driving through Imola with his eyes closed. 

“Babe, school called and we have to go,” As soon as you announced the news Max turned around, seat and steering wheel lightly shaking. 

“What do you mean? What happened?” Max was instantly on his feet.

“I don’t know, Max. Their teacher called,” You told your husband as his eyes opened widely. 

“Their? Is it both of them?” Max was in complete disbelief of what he was hearing.

“It appears so. I’ll cancel a meeting and we go.”

You didn’t leave him alone for thirty seconds, you swear, but when you came back Max was on the phone, asking the teacher to put Mila on the phone. 

He knew his daughter too well. She was outspoken, assertive, didn’t think twice. Luca was more cautious, wise and maybe a little timid. 

“Pap, he was trying to pull Luca’s hair and stealing his crayons, and Luca was letting him because he didn’t want to cause any trouble!” an agitated Mila informed Max, speaking a broken dutch. 

“Are you okay?” Max calmly asked his frantic daughter. He knew she was disquieted, trying to sound more sure of herself than she actually was. 

“Yes,” she said in dutch, but in the back her teacher told her in a sweet voice to speak in a language they could all understand. 

“Okay baby girl, mama and I are on our way, see you in a bit,”

During the drive to La Condamine to reach the International School of Monaco, you discovered a side of your husband you had yet to see. It was fun. 

“She is not apologizing!” Max told you, eyes not leaving the narrow road.

“Max, she pulled the kid’s hair,” You reminded your husband, who softly shook his head in disagreement. 

“Yes, because the idiot kid was bothering Luca and pulled his hair! If anything that kid should be apologizing to Luca, his sister just defended him!” His lisp was more prominent as you reached the parking lot overlooking the several yachts.

Max noticed the other child’s parents already walking inside the school, there weren’t many students in the Early Years building. He pressed the gas harder than necessary, making the engine of the family Aston Martin roar like they were in the paddock. 

Your eyes rolled at his antics, but still it made your insides feel giddy at the thought of your husband being protective and loving. 

Luca’s arms were wrapped around you as soon as you walked inside. Kneeling to reach his height, your heart broke at the sight of his disheveled hair and wet cheeks, his beautiful eyes red. Luca tried to not sniff and stop the tears, trying to be brave when he felt your hands on his cheeks and kissing his forehead, asking if he was okay. 

At the same time, Max sat next to Mila whose eyes didn’t leave the other kid’s sight, whom you learned his name was Oliver. Max knew his daughter wanted to shed a tear, but didn’t let it show, so he just gave her a reassuring look before listening to the teacher who had the three of them in charge.

Curtly shaking hands with Oliver’s parents, Max politely ignoring the poor attempt of one of “the idiot kid’s” dad to start a conversation, obviously starstruck by your husband the World Champion. 

Yes, it was Monaco and everyone knew each other, and it didn’t take a genius to deduce the two Verstappen named kids on the class were the children of the Max Verstappen, but he was often away and it was mostly you who attended parent-related stuff, but now there was the chance to have a conversation directly with him. 

Oh well. 

The four got inside the car, Max adjusting the seats before getting in the driver seat. Mila and Luca loudly sighed, knowing what followed.

“I don’t know how to address this. I’m moved and proud that you look out and defend each other, but M, baby, pulling someone else’s hair is not the way,” you softly told your daughter. “and Luca, honey, I know it’s hard but when someone invades your space and is rude, but you can tell the teacher before it makes you feel bad and leads to this,” 

Max’s eyes followed the twins movements through the rearview mirror as you talked to them, soon reaching your home. You grabbed the backpacks and Max helped the twins get out of the car.

He reached Luca’s door first. When he was out, he left a kiss on his forehead and ruffled his hair, softly reminding his carbon copy that he was a little lion, still with lots to learn, but no one ever could make him feel like this. 

Then he reached Mila’s door. Her eyes now were a bit glossy, but he knew she was just like him, Mila would never show weakness. He reminded her that she can take some weight off, let her guard down with her parents before kissing her hair. 

You watched the scene unfold from afar, not knowing what he told them, but sure they were the right words.

Then giggles reached your ears, eyes immediately rolling. 

He was fist bumping Mila, giving her a nod of approval.

For God’s sake, this wouldn’t be the first time you’re called to school, that’s for sure.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen au #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen blurb #dad!max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #Max Verstappen fanfic

[theinnerunderrain]

Desires [Yan!Wishing Star x Fem!Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, description of abuse and reader being in pain (burning), fear, slight description of body parts, implied murder. can you believe the inspiration for this is the star from that Disney movie wish...

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"It's not fair."

The entity standing in front of you,murmured gently, his hand clenching tightly as his eyes grew stern, echoing the firmness in his tone. In the velvety expanse where night unfolds its cosmic tapestry, a solitary wanderer emerges — the wishing star. A fleeting celestial voyager, trailing stardust whispers across the ink-black canvas, igniting the dreams of earthly dreamers. The celestial glow of the moonlit sky tenderly embraced his form, casting a delicate shimmer upon his blond locks, revealing a subtle stain on his pristine white blouse, obscured yet perceptible in the soft illumination.

"I've heard of your heart's desire," The wishing star advanced toward you with measured grace, coaxing a subtle retreat from your stance as you hesitantly took a step backward.

"I worked so hard to grant your wishes."

He persisted, the palpable frustration resonating through his typically captivating voice. Bathed in the gentle moonlight, it cast an ethereal glow upon his figure. Drawing nearer, the blemishes on his shirt became increasingly conspicuous—a flickering, profound crimson, accompanied by a faint metallic scent that stirred a disquieting nausea within you.

A startled yelp slips from your lips as you inadvertently tumble over an unseen obstacle, causing you to descend onto a patch of grass with your back pressed against the earth's surface. Your hand makes unexpected contact with something wet and warm. The unmistakable scent of metal permeates the air, urging you to swiftly withdraw your hand from the liquid. It's only then that you come to the chilling realization within the darkness—it's a limb, specifically a recently severed hand, its surface glistening with fresh blood.

Your gaze turns back to the wishing star, now standing just a few feet in front of you. His shadow looms over, imparting an ominous presence, and he appears almost like a fading star, deprived of life and passion, slowly dimming in the celestial tapestry. Trembling with fear, you parted your lips to voice a protest, but no sound emerged, leaving the unspoken plea hanging in the tense air.

As the wishing star resumed speaking, its tone softened considerably, a gentle cadence imbuing its voice, which seemed to be nearly carried away by the night's gentle breeze.

"I've done so much for you, for you weak humans. Yet, I've received nothing in return."

Descending onto one knee, he crouched down, his pristine white pants marred by the hues of blood and dirt. Remarkably unfazed, he wore the stains with an air of indifference.

"Tell me, [First Name]. Do you think it's fair?"

You take a moment to contemplate his question, striving to formulate the optimal response that would genuinely satisfy him. However, the awareness lingers that he possesses a keen perception, able to discern any falsehood, as if he has the ability to see through every nuance.

"It's not fair," you stammer, your words echoing through the stillness of the night. The wishing star tilts his head slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

A twisted smile creeps across his lips, and the moonlight casts an eerie gleam in his eyes. "Good answer, my dear [First Name]."

"You're right, it's not fair."

He lingered in a brief pause, his eyes gently closing, as if grappling with thoughts, a silent struggle to restrain any inclination to cause harm.

"So tell me, [First Name]. Do you think I deserve to be compensated for my hard work? Will you be the one to grant my wish?"

His words crashed into you like an oncoming train, resonating through the corridors of your mind as you grapple to unravel their meaning. After a moment of contemplation, you nod hesitantly, yearning for nothing more than the swift conclusion of this situation, eager to retreat to the village with a mind cleansed of the perplexing events of the night.

"Good."

His smile, a deceptive play of pink lips stretched into a wide grin, sent a chill down your spine. Despite its apparent warmth, his eyes held an icy indifference, a contradiction that left an unsettling echo in the air. It was as if his smile danced to a different melody, a tune that aimed to soothe while his gaze remained aloof, weaving a complex tapestry of emotions that begged unraveling. With an unexpected flourish, he delicately pressed a single finger to your forehead. A radiant, golden light emanated from his fingertips, enveloping you in a warmth that seemed to transcend the ordinary. In that moment, an enchanting weight settled upon you, as if the universe itself conspired to make your very essence denser beneath the gentle caress of his touch.

"W...wait..Callisto! What are you—"

As you mustered the courage to protest, his other hand extended, gently caressing your cheek with a touch that felt oddly comforting, as though it were a final offer of solace. The ambient light intensified, casting a surreal brilliance upon the surroundings, rendering the world too bright and eerily silent. Despite the fear coursing through you, there lingered an inexplicable sense of comfort emanating from both the radiant light and the tender graze of his touch. It was a paradoxical dance between apprehension and an oddly soothing presence that left you trapped in a disconcerting embrace of emotions.

In an instant, the beam of light against your forehead erupted, creating a deafening, bell-like resonance that reverberated for meters around. Your body, caught in the chaotic symphony, felt ablaze—no, it was as if fire had ignited everywhere. Desperation urged you to shift away, the searing sensation intensifying, yet his relentless grip forced you down onto the patch of grass. His two hands, like oppressive flames, pressed against you, melding your anguish with the burning world around you.

"No..!"

A piercing scream escapes your lips, the pitch climbing higher as you desperately attempt to roll and extinguish the flames enveloping you. Yet, the ethereal grip of Callisto pins you in place, rendering your frantic movements futile. Frozen in terror, the dance between your desperate cries and the consuming fire unfolds in a macabre symphony orchestrated by the relentless wishing star.

"I'm really sorry, [First Name]. It's going to feel painful at first, but once you wake up again. Everything will be for the better."

Callisto's voice, a haunting melody, softly echoed against the backdrop of your agonizing pleas. As you begged for relief from the erupting fire consuming your very flesh, his gentle tone contrasted with the visceral symphony of pain. With a tenderness that belied the horrors unfolding, his hand reached out, delicately caressing the side of your face, as if soothing the flames that danced upon your skin.

In the twilight of consciousness, as the world dissolved into an inky void and the torment on your body gradually subsided, you felt the celestial presence of the wishing star. One final utterance emerged from the cosmic depths, a whisper that cut through the fading echoes of your suffering, leaving an unsettling imprint on the precipice of darkness.

"As you awaken from your slumber, a transformation awaits you—a rebirth akin to a celestial metamorphosis. You shall emerge not just awakened but as a newfound star, destined to shine eternally in resplendent brilliance, a beacon of enduring beauty that transcends the mere confines of night."

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#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere fanfiction #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere writing #yandere fic #yandere scenarios #yandere blog #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #fanfic #yandere boy #wishing star #yandere imagine #yandere drabble #tw dark themes

[morbific-or-felicific]

-PÂRO Featuring Wriothesley

Meaning: The feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo

Word Count: 1.7k~

Description: After accidentally breaking a few laws while at lunch with your boyfriend, he has to ‘punish’ you for your crimes

Edited by: @pretty-princess-peach @tortellini-bandit

You paced around Wriothesley’s office, trying to stay calm. Today hadn’t gone even remotely as you had intended. You were supposed to be having a completely normal lunch with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, however, you had somehow managed to end up in the fortress of meropide… well, in Wriothesley’s office, anyway.

You really hadn’t meant to do anything wrong, but despite that, you had still broken several laws while on your date. Although, it really wasn’t your fault that your fork had caused one of the carrots in your salad to shoot onto the ground, resulting in you getting a littering charge, and how could they blame you for bumping into the table and causing your boyfriend's drink to spill in your lap, which was apparently contact with alcohol while underage (Seriously? You were 20!).

And were they really allowed to call it “evading arrest” when you refused to go with Wriothesley to the fortress?

Despite your refusal, Wriothesley had taken you (read: carried you over his shoulder) to his office in the fortress, and he left you there while he talked to the chief justice about your punishment. Now you were stuck waiting for your boyfriend to return and tell you if you would have to go to jail or not.

Finally, you heard the metal doors creak open after heavy steps came up the staircase. Your boyfriend walked behind his desk and sat down, rubbing his eyes.

“So?”

“‘So?’”

“Do I have to go to jail…?”

“Oh, that.” He smiled gently. “No, but… you do need some kind of punishment. Neuvilette said that community service might be a good idea, but he didn’t give a definitive punishment.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“You still broke laws, but it is up to me to determine your punishment, since this wasn’t an official trial.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for him to say more.

“So, what will you decide…?”

He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows at you.

“What do you think you deserve?”

You thought for a second. Should you just say something like community service or just a small fine? Or would he think that’s not enough? You contemplated what you should say, but before you got a chance to say anything, Wriothesley spoke.

“I think you deserve to be handcuffed and punished for being a bad girl. What do you think, princess?”

You blushed. Was he really going to punish you like that…? For this? There’s no way this was a legal recourse. You weren’t going to complain if that’s how things worked out, but you were still confused.

“Is that legal?”

He let out a light laugh.

“Do you really care?”

You smiled at him.

“I guess not.”

Wriothesley smiled back at you, but there was something in his eyes that made you nervous. He had punished you before, and you knew that you were right to be concerned, but it still disquieted you.

“Strip.”

You did as he asked. You slipped out of your dress and took off your underwear.

“Come here. Now.”

Wriothesley slid his chair back as you walked over to stand in front of your boyfriend. He looked you up and down, drawing his eyes over your beautiful body. He stood up and grabbed his handcuffs from his belt before sliding them onto your wrists.

“Get on your knees.”

Wriothesley sat back down in his chair with his legs open so you could settle between them. He took off his belt and undid his pants before pulling out his cock.

“Suck.”

You felt the urge to disobey him bubble up inside of you. You smiled up at him and simply stated, “No.”

He returned your smile once again.

“‘No?’”

His voice holds a menacing lilt.

“No.”

He sighed.

“Five, four, three.” You felt a sense of unease in your stomach, and you began to question your resolve. It was hard to be firm in your brattiness when he used that voice. “Two, one, zero.”

He didn’t say another word as he roughly grabbed your hair in one hand and forcibly opened your mouth with the other. He pushed his cock into your mouth and brought you down until you reached the base. You spluttered and gagged as you tried to get used to his cock in your throat, your jaw already hurting from how thick the Duke was.

He pulled you up and down his cock, letting out deep groans as he did so. You wiggled around, trying to slip out of your handcuffs, but you were completely at Wriothesley’s mercy.

After a minute or two of your boyfriend fucking your throat, you had a bright idea. You could use your teeth! Seconds after you slid your teeth against his cock, he was pulling you off and leaning down to look you in the eye, still gripping your hair tightly.

The look in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. You had made a big mistake.

“Do that again and see what happens, princess.”

You felt your resistance dissipate after those words. You were already being punished, and you didn’t want to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, your grace.”

Wriothesley smiled softly at your submission. You relaxed your body and opened your mouth. He pushed his cock back down your throat, keeping a firm grip on your hair, far preferring to set the pace himself rather than have you do it. This was a punishment, after all. You did your best to breathe through your nose and relax your throat as your boyfriend used your mouth like a toy.

Your throat felt so perfect around Wriothesley’s cock. He was finally about to cum, but before he did, he pulled out of your mouth so he could cum on your face, rather than down your throat. Bad girls don’t get his cum.

You instinctively closed your eyes and stuck out your tongue before his cum landed on your face. You licked up what landed near your mouth, but with your hands stuck behind your back, you were forced to leave the rest.

Wriothesley took a moment to breathe before standing up and dragging you up with him. He turned you so that you were facing away from him, and he pushed you down on his desk. He stood back, admiring your bent body before grabbing his belt where he left it on his desk. He folded his belt and stood back slightly before bringing it down hard on your ass.

You fought the urge to stay silent and began to count the strikes, just like his grace had taught you. One, two, three, four, five.

“Six!”

You braced yourself for another hit, but it never came. You felt his hand gently run over the marks he had made, and you couldn’t help but wince at the discomfort. Wriothesley removed his hand from your ass and ran a finger up your slit.

“You’re so wet. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes! Please.”

A choked scream escaped your lips when another hit came from your boyfriend’s belt.

“Please, what?”

“Please, your grace!”

“Better.”

You felt the tip of Wriothesley’s cock at your entrance and almost protested at the lack of prep, but before you could, he was pushing inside of you. Tears were forming in your eyes from how much his cock was stretching you out. Fuck, he’s thick.

He bottomed out inside of you, pausing to let you somewhat adjust to his size. How sweet of him.

When he could no longer restrain himself, he started fucking you hard and deep. You felt like you had ascended to heaven after enduring hell. He filled you up so perfectly, turning your mind blank and holding your hips in a bruising grip as he worked towards his end.

“You’re fucking perfect, taking me so good.”

He couldn’t help but let out a deep moan at the feeling of you tightening around him.

“Feels so good! Thank you, your grace!”

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, and he began fucking you faster, needing you more. You were so perfect for him, taking your punishment without protest, and then taking his cock. Was it really necessary to tell you that you hadn’t actually broken any laws, and that he had used your ignorance of Fontaine’s complicated legal system to orchestrate a night of fun for the two of you? He did have to have a meeting with Neuvilette, so it wasn’t a complete lie, but still.

You were losing yourself slowly to the overwhelming pleasure and could barely form words at this point. You tried to tell Wriothesley that you wanted to be closer to him but all that came out was gibberish. The only thing that he was able to make out was “closer”, and fuck, he wanted to be closer to you too.

He wrapped a hand around the front of your throat and pulled you up until you could feel the fabric and the cold clasps of his vest against your bare back. His lips found your neck, and he kissed up towards your lips until, eventually, you were kissing. His lips moved against yours passionately as he continued to fuck you.

“I’m gonna cum! Please, need to so bad!”

Wriothesley smiled at how good you were being, even asking permission to cum.

“Go ahead, princess.”

You let yourself be consumed by the pleasure and tip over the edge. You saw stars as Wriothesley fucked you through your orgasm. As you came down from your high, Wriothesley continued his harsh rhythm, and you could do nothing but whine from the overstimulation. He always lasted longer than you, and you were almost always overstimulated by the time he was finished.

Finally, you felt his rhythm begin to falter, and finally, you felt him fill you up with his cum. The two of you stayed connected, placing gentle kisses on each other's lips as you wound down from the experience.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

You just wanted to lay down in bed and sleep after such an intense experience. If it weren’t for Wriothesley’s arms around you, you were certain that you would be laying flat on his desk.

“Let’s go home.”

The Duke undid your handcuffs and placed them back on his belt before doing up his own pants and helping you get dressed. Then, he scooped you up and began to carry you home.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @izzalovesdilfs @lordbugs @randomlycockroach @licensedsimp @leena-shi @cesimaaa @welpthisisfine @dainself-when-playable @fic-rebloga @bubblyxdolly @wanderin-stories @iwysbellez @k4ze3e @kenmabfasf @vvyeislazzy @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @hopeless-smvt @bloomingheartz @crazydreamcat @kazumiku @str4wb3rizz @kyon-cherri @ravereina @ashrodisiac

morbific-or-felicific.

#mae’s daily paper☕️*•̊ⴰ✧ #mae.melts🧊*•̊ⴰ✧ #wriothesley.❣︎•*✧ ̊ⴰ #this might not be my best but it’s finally edited so here <3 #afab reader #female reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley smut #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin wriothesley

[funeral]

It seems to me that much of the misery we call and treat as depression today could be understood as melancholia. We may be experiencing a sense of melancholia in response to what we have lost in terms of the conversation surrounding our inner lives. Run by the pharmaceutical industry and insurance companies, most mental health treatment in the U.S. consists of short sessions of often short-term, often cognitive therapy and medication with the precise goal of returning the patient to efficient productivity. We have lost holistic treatment, and instead focus on managing the patient’s symptoms rather than finding their causes. [...] These messages that we are unfit, that our symptoms need to be eradicated rather than listened to, inform our emotional and psychic life — they contribute to our depression.

Cynthia Cruz, Disquieting

#cynthia cruz #depression #melancholia #excerpts #quotes #p

[hadesoftheladies]

actually, I DID have gender dysphoria as a teenage girl without being exposed to anything about it on the internet, on top of "racial dysphoria" and body dysmorphia

there were points I DID want to kill myself because i wasn't, or bleach my skin or change my body, i would have done anything to be a white boy at one point

which is both sad and funny to me because i remember two of my then good friends explain being enby and transgender to me and me being like "that doesn't make any sense" and it's because of trans-discourse we eventually broke up. the closest i ever got to accepting trans-ideology was transmedicalism with weak support for "queer" culture. i did not understand pronouns, but i understood dysphoria. but i did not understand how one could be a man or woman without the sex characteristics.

how did i heal?

one, i left church. that was one of the places i was most scrutinized for my physical body. two, i distanced from my parents, especially my mom. who often made my ocd and body-image worse (not because she was mean, but because she was always fretting about "decency"). three, i focused on bettering my personal space. writing, reading, watching my comfort shows, getting the focus off me. four, i started eating better, and my body became less burdensome. i stopped getting horrible period pain. five, i surrounded myself with self-confident women and stopped trying to resurrect toxic friendships with girls and boys (especially boys). started eliminating each toxic friend and focusing my efforts on healthier relationships. six, i'd started educating myself on my own history, watching and listening to more black and African people. even when i didn't enjoy what they made or resonate with it, i found i appreciated the experience and could allow myself to hate or love whatever i found.

by the time i discovered radical feminism, this was like, the final step for me: consuming women-centric literature and media. this was HUGE. i'd see paintings and photography of women in all shapes, colors and sizes. i'd listen to master musicians, read women philosophers, anthropologists, etc. this started mending a lot of what caused initial disquiet when it came to my dysphoria or dysmorphia.

basically, i took myself out of bad environments (especially those which force you to scrutinize every detail about yourself, like social media, i took long breaks from that), drew boundaries with people i couldn't get rid of, learned about myself (ocd, dyscalculia, anxiety, female biology) so that i developed understanding and could empathize, stopped centering men and white people.

now, while there's still a hint or trace of dysmorphia and dysphoria, it doesn't plague my life. it's like the occasional itch. more of a mild temptation to go down a dark hole than an actual threat. and i've learned how to handle those.

i learned the root of things. not just my history, but the root of how society worked and how it affected me. and i'm still learning, and my life is still improving.

so yeah, girls and women going through this is normal and common. anyone who is used to who they are being shameful is more at risk (like gnc lgb kids), but you can recover. usually better if you get out of the places that are making you sick.

#mine #radblr #dysphoria #dysmorphia

[thedomesticanthropologist]

"You hide it from him,"

Halsins voice. Deep, warm. Mira looked up from where she had been gazing sightlessly into the fire before her.

"I'm sorry, Halsin, I was miles away. What was that?" She asked quietly, tone soft yet curious. The large druid stood a respectful distance away, but now gestured with a single hand to indicate if he could sit. Mira nodded.

"Forgive me for saying so, but I feel we are on fair enough terms with each other to ask. When Astarion is not looking, you cease to hide that sad expression of yours. Why not let him see it?"

In a bold but telegraphed move, Halsin slowly raised a large, calloused hand to her cheek. When she did not reject this, he gently thumbed her cheekbone, eyes searching her face for any sign of disquiet at this new contact between them.

"Hm... you're forgiven," the cleric murmured, leaning into the touch. The moment she did so, Halsin breathed in sharply, his movements stuttering. He swallowed audibly, breaking contact between them in the same slow and measured way that he had initiated it. Mira neither chased the touch nor did she question its end, returning her gaze to the fire in the space of the comfortable pause between them.

"He has enough going on." She answered after a few moments.

"We are none of us without our troubles. To unburden oneself with a loved one is to have such pains lifted, even in small measure. Do you think him unable to carry you, as you carry him?" The low rumble of his voice was so soothing. Mira smirked, blowing out a short breath as she shook her head.

"No. It's not that. I think I like it, keeping him believing that I'm..." she waved a hand.

"You are incredible, Mira. A blind man could see it."

"You flatter me."

"You underestimate yourself."

"Touché."

The fire crackled, small pockets of sap popping as they came to a boil from the heat. It smelled delightful, even if the freshness of the wood caused extra smoke to raise towards the sky. Thankfully, there was no wind to blow it to their faces.

"There, that's the look." He rumbled, "That one right there. The one that says you're hurting. I hope I do not overstep in saying that I ache to see it."

"... you're not overstepping. I don't think I have an answer for you, though. I think I just got used to putting on a brave face, honestly." She shrugged, posture tightening as she wrapped her arms around knees now drawn up towards her chest.

"You need not be brave with me." The druid offered, hand presented in the space between them. Palm up, resting on the ground. An offer.

Still gazing at the fire, Mira reached over to give that warm, large hand a single squeeze. Then she let go, returning to herself.

"... I know."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Authors note: reblogs, comments and replies are appreciated!

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion romance #halsin #halsin the druid #halsin x tav #halsin x tav x astarion #if you squint #mira the cleric #tales of mira #hurt/comfort #fluff fanfic #drabbles #shorts

[starleska]

so those of us who've been writing for and discussing the Toymaker have found it a little tricky at times to discern the Toymaker's characteristics, given how often he changes up his accent, appearance, and temperament!! so, we developed a very silly solution 🙈💖 what's more fun that arbitrary categorisation? these are the different 'facets' of the Toymaker we've noticed - or rather, the characters he plays - and the shorthand names we use for him!! each name corresponds to a particular presentation of the Toymaker, largely tied to changes in voice, appearance and personality. there are moments where these distinct characters bleed into one another! we have:

1920s German Toymaker: the playful, teasing, pseudo-German speaking Toymaker who sells Charles Bannerjee Stooky Bill, and who menacingly juggles at the Doctor and Donna. this is the Toymaker at his personal best: fully invested in his character and thriving in a toy-themed performance. 🧸

French Cabaret Toymaker: the charming, lipsticked, French-accented dancer who accosts the Doctor on the street and sways amid the mayhem of The Giggle. this is a Toymaker who revels in chaos and destruction, and who is equal parts stunning and disquieting 🕺

Marionettist Toymaker: the frightening and severe puppeteer who grows to an impossible size, pulls marionette-Charles' strings and speaks in rhyme. this Toymaker feels the most similar to the original Celestial Toymaker played by Michael Gough! although superficially similar to other Toymakers, his hair is noticeably different and his demeanour is far more sinister 🧵

Showman Toymaker: the volatile ringmaster whose emotions shift on a dime, and who seems equally torn between performance, play, and injustice. this Toymaker is marked in contrast to Marionettist and 1920s German due to the occasional appearance of his American accent, and the apparent sincerity with which he delivers his show for Donna. 🎪

British Card Dealer Toymaker: the cool, calculating cardician whose respect for the game overshadows any desire for drama. much like with Showman, little glimpses of the Toymaker's other characters peek out here, but this Toymaker has a marked seriousness about him that's only knocked by his excitement upon gaining an advantage or winning. 👑

Band Leader Toymaker: the impossible menace with a distinctly feral energy. this Toymaker is a sadist: causing wanton pain, destruction and murder and loving every moment of it. Spice Up Your Life indeed 🌹

WWI Pilot Toymaker: the furious child who refuses to lose. this Toymaker is one who has grown frustrated with those around him who won't play his games, and these frustrations make him unable to maintain his previous playful persona: instead, we see lashings of anger coupled with violence, and the notable sadism of Band Leader 👨‍✈️

(Bonus) Flat Toymaker: the loser, and the lost little boy. i will admit, this was originally because i wanted an even set 😂💖 however, there's an intriguing moment of vulnerability from the Toymaker here, when he begs the Doctor for mercy. for a moment, we get a look into that 'vastness that will never cease' beneath all of the Toymaker's pomp and frills, and we see how truly frightened he is 🎁

#i'm very interested to know how other people mentally categorise these different character performances by the Toymaker #it's fascinating that we can never truly tell what his 'authentic' presentation is - or if he even has one as he's defined by gameplay #someone ought to design a tarot set or something similar based on the different types...👀 #also yes i'm aware i'm knocking on the devil's door by drawing lines between “”versions“” of the same character...i remember the Once-ler 😂 #if the Toymaker can canonically read selfcest fanfic for the Doctor(s) then i can comment on the Toymaker(s) #the toymaker #doctor who #the giggle #charles bannerjee #the doctor #donna noble #stooky bill #dw #neil patrick harris #starleskatalks #long post

[writing-for-marvel]

At Your Service (2)

Bodyguard!Steve Rogers x Diplomats Daughter!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: True to his word, Steve makes up for leaving you high and dry the night before.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, semi public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, panties as a gag, dynamic where Steve is meant to be protecting reader and they catch feelings

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: as the winner of this poll, here is part 2 of my beloved bodyguard!Steve! A big thank you to both @flordeamatista who helped me come up with plot ideas for this second part and to @seitmai who provided the inspiration for me to continue with these two 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

You actually quite enjoy the desire filled gaze Steve hasn’t been able to break away from you all morning, but the introductory speech for your father you’re giving at tonight’s gala is getting the better of your nerves and any conversation with Steve always seems to lift the weight of the world off your chest, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment you get alone together.

Plus, you’ve been looking for an indirect, yet natural way to bring up the relations performed in his hotel room late last night since you were reunited with your bodyguard this morning.

“Like what?” He smiles at you cheekily in the mirror you’re getting ready in front of and your stomach somersaults in response - he knows exactly how he’s staring at you, but he’s baiting you to say it aloud.

“Like you’ve seen me swallow your cum.”

There’s more affection suspended in his baby blues than simply the carnal lust of having watched you perform the explicit act, but you’re not sure you’re ready to admit the implication of that to express the notion out loud.

Steve merely chuckles in his signature hearty way, that’s dangerously contagious and which makes you fight the corners of your mouth from upturning, not wanting to divulge the effect he has on you.

With those long legs of his, Steve takes a couple of slow, meaningful strides and he’s by your side, right where he belongs, eyes still boring into yours, but with him this close you can now see what you can only describe as a soft familiarity in them which you’ve never noticed before.

“But it was such a beautiful sight, how could I possibly think of anything else when I look at you?” He asks, maintaining eye contact through the mirror with a defiant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that makes you want to kiss him.

You want to tell him that attraction is not one sided, that if he hadn't been tasked with your security and wasn't being paid by your father to keep watch over you every minute of the day, you would have made a move on him much sooner. But a nagging disquiet prickles in your stomach and the words die at the back of your throat.

What if sexual attraction is all he feels? What if you’re misinterpreting these soft glances and his he doesn’t reciprocate the desperate yearning carving a hole in your chest you’ve spent the past month trying to convince yourself isn’t the feeling of falling in love with him?

The thought cracks the barricade you’re attempting to build around your heart, crumbling like an old stone castle wall.

To distract yourself from the uneasy pause in conversation, and the intense stare of those ocean blue eyes you have become accustomed to following your every move, but now feel are appraising your reaction, you break eye contact to locate your mothers locket on the vanity in front of you.

You fiddle with the latch under his gaze, unable to steady your hands sufficiently to exert your fine motor skills, which Steve seems to take notice of as he slowly extracts the delicate chain from your hands and fastens the clasp around your neck. His fingers brush the sensitive skin of the nape of your neck causing the small hairs to stand on end and a shiver to run down your spine. You watch in the mirror as he leans down and places a gentle kiss to where your neck curves into your shoulder, a buoyant, burning desire floats in your chest at the velvety feeling of his soft lips.

“Thank you.” You whisper hoarsely, mentally condemning yourself, you swear ‘thank you’ are the only two words you can say to the man who ensures your protection and unknowingly owns your heart.

Thank you for opening the door for me.

Thank you for protecting me with your life.

Thank you for fucking my throat last night.

You both turn to look at each other in the reflection of the mirror and a smile blooms on his face as soon as your eyes meet each others again.

“You’re welcome.” Steve imitates the low volume of your voice. The thought of his full, plump lips pressed on yours, being held by the two arms that have kept you safe for the past few months, as you were for a brief moment last night, distracts you from the sound of someone opening the door to the dressing room without notice.

“Ma’am, they’re ready for you.” One of the event organisers pokes her head in to hurry you along. Within a blink of an eye Steve has returned to his position by the far wall, standing tall, stoic and poised. The heat drawing up your back at his kiss is the only indication he had moments ago been standing so close.

Less than five minutes later you’re walking beside your father into a grand hall, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the centre of a 40 foot ceiling is complemented by stark white walls embellished with gold trim and framed paintings of major historical moments.

An ambassador from a small European country greets you before you have any further chance to look around. As typical, you’re treated like the naive, young daughter who has grown up so much since they’ve seen you last, even though you’re well into your twenties and hold multiple degrees in political science, economics and global studies.

A pawn in your fathers game.

Look pretty. Smile sweetly. And don’t open your mouth to debate politics which contradict policies he’s looking to implement.

You’re as useful as a decoration.

Steve’s job is to live a couple of steps behind you, but it’s too far. You want him close enough that you can feel body heat radiating from him. You want him next to you so you can reach for his hand. Close enough for him to kiss your neck again like he did in the dressing room.

He’s the one person who never fails to make you feel seen, as if you’re just as important, if not more so, than all the other diplomats and embassy officials in the room. But you suppose that’s just him doing his job, and you shouldn’t misconstrue his lust filled gaze and him being paid to keep you safe with valuing you more than for what you did for him in his bedroom last night.

You sense Steve’s broad presence behind you as you make your way onto the stage, hands uncontrollably shaking and chest tightening as you take in the crowded room of people whose attention is now solely focussed on you.

With a cough clearing the lump forming in your throat, and a quick glance to Steve who’s wearing an encouraging smile, you plaster on your best well rehearsed, feigned grin and begin your speech by telling the tale about how when you were five years old, your father would serenade you to sleep every night, no matter how busy he was or what international incident he was dealing with that day.

Your task is to make him appear as the doting father and formidable diplomat, even if it isn’t the truth. By now, you’ve practised this story enough to recite it word for word.

Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.

Steve offers you his calloused hand as you descend the steps off the stage, as you breathe a sigh of relief your involvement in the evening is over. Goosebumps race up your bare arm at his touch, a reaction Steve seems to take notice of, causing a small grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Your stomach flips at being the reason for that smile, even if only in an accidental way.

The buffet table is your usual choice of post at events such as this, especially at the end of the evening when the decadent desserts are served. Your mother did used to say you had a sweet tooth.

You also always sneak a few servings to Steve too, even though he’s not meant to consume any of the food set out for the guests. Having smuggled enough sweets to him during his service, you know his favourites are the rich chocolate brownies and sour lemon meringues.

However, as all eyes in the room turn to your father as he takes over as speaker, rolling off an opening joke you’ve heard too many times to even consider feigning a laugh to, you instead make your way into the adjoining, wide hallway and bracing yourself against a wall.

No matter how many times you stand in front of an audience of that size, it never fails to make you want to throw up the entire contents of your stomach.

“You did a really great job.” Steve comments as he leans against the same wall you’re resting on. His typically stoic, brooding features soften when he gazes at you, the compliment exchanging the nauseated twisting of your stomach with nervous butterflies. “I couldn’t make a speech in front of that many people.”

The distance between you is agonising, he’s close enough that you can see the patterns in his blue irises, but not close enough to touch. Your fingers itch to feel any contact with him as you had the brief pleasure of as you walked off stage, but you refrain from doing so in public for fear of getting caught.

“Thank you.” Is all your brain can come up with to say when your stomach is fluttering at how soft his gaze is, how he seems to genuinely mean the accolade unlike when your father commends you a job well done.

You’ll have to resign yourself to those being the only two words you’ll ever be able to utter in his presence.

Steve’s eyes dart to the bathroom sign across the hallway, and with a smirk on his face, grabs your hand unexpectedly and pulls you towards it. You don’t even have a moment to savour the feel of his large hand engulfing yours, and how your fingers slot perfectly between his for once you’re inside the bathroom his hands move to cup your face and his lips crash onto yours.

Your mind is dizzy as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, rough hands pushing your dress up to find the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up onto the vanity beside the sink, your back pressed against the firm, smooth mirror.

“You’re so cute when you get all shy on me, even though you were gagging on my cock yesterday.” He mumbles as his lips trail down the column of your throat. “Want to finish what we started last night?” You respond with a shy smile and an enthusiastic nod.

Steve pushes the ends of your dress higher to reveal your black, lacy panties and smirks mischievously as he drops to his knees. The sight alone has you dripping.

He presses slow kisses along the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and progressing higher each time - repayment for the similar, teasing action you subjected him to the night prior.

A whine falls from your lips as he places his next kiss on your covered pussy, humming at the feel of the soaking wet patch that’s formed from just a few kisses. Pulling your panties to the side, he repeats the action, a gasp leaving your lips as a new flood of wetness drips from your core at the sensation.

Steve’s strong hands force your legs to stay open as he dives in, tongue licking between your folds, lapping up your arousal, the taste of which only spurs him on. He starts out like a man starving, fueled by a complete fixation on needing to taste more of you, something he’s been dreaming about for months.

He alternates between suckling on your clit and finding a rhythm of swirling around your core. Just when his patterns become predictable, he changes his angle or position, finding new nerve endings to stimulate you didn’t even realise existed. When he rotates back to his plump lips suctioning around your clit, he unexpectedly slips a thick finger inside you, watching your face intently for your reaction.

“Fuck, Stevie!” You cry, head pulling back and thudding against the mirror, but you’re not concerned with the dull ache when what Steve is doing between your legs has pleasure shivering up your spine and winding tightly in the pit of your stomach.

“Princess, you need to keep quiet for me. Don’t want anyone out in the hall hearing.” Steve growls, torturously taking pause for a moment to pull your panties off completely. He circles your lips with his arousal coated finger, before allowing you to suck your sweetness off it. He kisses the remaining fluid from your lips, then, with a smirk, instructs you to open wide and improvises a gag by stuffing your panties in your mouth.

As his lips wrap around your clit again, constellations of stars flash behind your eyes, and the coil in your lower stomach winding ever tighter, ready to snap at any second. You can’t prevent the muffled moan resounding from your lips through the lace material of your panties and your fingers from gripping at Steve’s hair in an effort to ground yourself from floating off on a cloud of bliss.

“So sweet.” He hums, breath warm against your centre, the sound vibrating through your entire body. His tongue darts around your folds, learning which are your most sensitive areas, what motions cause you to keen and ensuring to replicate them.

When his fingers begin to trace your opening, gathering your slick, you know you’re teetering on the edge, pussy clenching around nothing, needing to be filled.

Your earth shattering end comes as soon as he thrusts those two fingers inside you while his lips tug on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs clasp around his head and toes curl as your thighs begin to quiver with pleasure surging up your spine, your moans quenched by the garment in your mouth.

Steve doesn’t abate licking up every drop you provide him, even though you're trembling through your prolonged orgasm, his grip on your thighs still bruisingly strong as you continue to mess his hair with your hold.

He smiles triumphantly at your blissed out form when you’re over the other side of your high, the bottom half of his face gleaming with a mixture of his saliva and your arousal.

“Told you I’d make it up to you for leaving last night.” Steve whispers, resting his forehead against yours as you catch your breath, slipping your panties discreetly into his jacket pocket. His smile turns soft as his large hands soothingly rub your bare thighs, squeezing slightly when he notices you enjoying the gesture.

You mentally note to take in how delicious he smells, like warm honey and mixed spices, and how his hot skin feels against your own, sending sparks shooting through you wherever his hands chose to rest, knowing at his usual distance you don’t get to appreciate either of these qualities.

His eyes look at you expectantly, as if he can’t quite find the strength to break away from you and he’s looking at you for any sign you want to push him away. It reminds you of how he looked at you when he asked you to stay in his bed last night, in that way that takes away all your air because of how much fondness is suspended in his eyes, and the words he proclaimed: you mean a lot more to me than just a quick fuck.

“As much as I want to stay here where it’s just you and me…” You reluctantly pose, and your heart squeezes at the look of disappointment which flashes over Steve’s features. “I think we should head back in there before someone starts asking questions.”

Steve steps out of the bathroom first, to look less suspicious, keeping a watchful eye outside while you readjust your dress, fix your hair and touch up your makeup the best you can after having mascara smudge underneath your eyes.

Walking back into the gala side by side, Steve’s fingers fiddle apprehensively with your own, as if to silently ask permission, before slotting perfectly into your hand. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you with that fondness which makes dormant butterflies come to life in your stomach and your cheeks burn as hot as the sun.

He holds on for as long as socially acceptable, while no one can see you, only letting go just prior to making your reappearance in the grand hall, falling into a step behind you, but ensuring to give your hand an affectionate squeeze first.

To be tagged in any potential additional instalments of this AU, please add yourself to the taglist here

At Your Service [Bodyguard!Steve Rogers] Taglist: @daemonslittlebitch @valhalla-kristin @crispysublimecupcake @wifeofbarnes @priya212 @highlyintelligentblonde @buckyseddie @erynnnn @nefelibatansoul @albinotigerpython @goldenharrysworld @supersanelyromantic @gothkitteh @misshale21 @happeevacationday @readreblogfics @ashenc-blog @redbarn1995 @missvelvetsstuff @broadwaybabe18 @calirindo @crazyunsexycool @alluringsirensworld @cevansswhore @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @almosttoopizza @karla0506 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @nats-whore @barnesboo1967 @musicissmylife @acatwriteshere @buckets-and-trees @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @desert-fern @janineb86 @doasyoudesireandlive @kayden666 @razor-blayde @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @pointless-girl @otomefromtheheart @rebeccapineapple @aya-fay @ozwriterchick @deandreamernp @itvy5601 @marvelxlevram @fandomtrash5092 @corruptedcoffin

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #bodyguard!steve rogers #bodyguard au #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #captain america x reader #captain america fanfic #captain america oneshot #marvel #marvel fanfic #em writes

[disquetlibrary]

Our computer borked itself early this month so we don't have an episode of the podcast this month. We are borrowing a replacement from a friend. So we should be able to make an episode next month.

#frustrated cause we lost a lot of data #including the second chapter of the star wars fan fiction #and rosethorne's next story and mostly complete artwork #we can redo them cause we still want to tell the story #but its frustrating and will take some time. #podcast update #podcast #disquiet library

[doumadono]

I have come to confess for sinful Sunday that I have heirophilia, and I have it bad, and as much as I love religious imagery, I also love the thought of demons who play as false priests or saviors. If there was anything I could ask for, more than anything, could we get some Sekido x fem reader where he degrades and yells at the reader to repent for their sinful lust even though he's obviously the one who's been fucking them while they prayed for mercy?

SINFUL SUNDAY

Warnings: non-con, hierophilia

A sense of unease settles upon you as you enter the church, greeted not by the familiar warmth of a congregation but by an eerie emptiness. The air carries only a faint hint of iron, and an unsettling stillness replaces the usual harmonious chorus of communal hymns. A glimpse near the entrance hints at something amiss – perhaps blood, though uncertainty veils your perception. The ordinary atmosphere, once brimming with the warmth of community and shared songs, now feels cold and distant, shrouded in an unspoken disquiet.

Abruptly, a towering presence advanced from the confessionary. "How may I assist you, my dear child?"

Your uncertainty lingers, but you muster a response, "I came for a confession, but… isn't the mass supposed to be happening now?"

The figure, a man with dark hair, smiles as he draws nearer. "We've adjusted the schedule. Nevertheless, I'm here to help. Follow me, my child."

A furrow forms on your brow as you observe him guiding you to a different section of the church, revealing the rectory where priests reside between masses.

As the door shuts behind you, a chilling shiver races up and down your spine - a premonition that danger lurks right behind your back.

Sekido, the false priest, clad in the vestiges of religious garb, becomes the harbinger of damnation. "You need to repent for your lust, I can smell it lingering on you, little sheep."

Torn garments leave you exposed, and you frantically attempt to shield yourself, using your hands and tightly pressing your thighs together in a desperate bid for modesty. "Please, Father, please let me go..."

Sekido's lips curl into a sly smirk in response to your pleas. "I am not a Father, but for you, my dear child, I can certainly play the role of a daddy."

He picks you up easily and throws you onto a tiny bed standing near the beautiful stained glass window.

Laying on the bed, you feel the sting of his firm hand on the meat of your ass, on and on, each spank punctuated by a low growl of Sekido. His commanding voice reverberates, demanding, "Confess your sins, woman! I insist on hearing your confessions!"

You plead with him, your voice a fragile murmur, "Please, please, release me…"

Sekido, in his relentless resolve, dismisses your entreaties, administering a more forceful spank to your exposed flesh, leaving a red mark in a shape of his hand there. "You're destined for damnation, the gates of heaven shall forever elude your grasp."

Tears stream down your face, a silent plea for mercy, as you desperately attempt to crawl away. The disconcerting sound of a zipper being undone reverberates through the air, accompanied by the subtle rustling of fabric, signaling the descent of his obsidian pants.

Before you realize it, the crimson, swollen tip of his dick teases against the tender entrance of your ass.

A sharp cry escapes your lips, a melody of anguish, as he thrusts into you unyieldingly, affording no respite for your senses to acclimate. The relentless intrusion establishes a vigorous, unrelenting rhythm, each forceful thrust sending tremors of intensity through your form as you cry and scream, suffocating on your own tears.

Sekido seizes a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, causing your back to arch in response to his forceful advance. As he pushes deep into you, his balls resting against your ass, he leans forward, his voice a sultry whisper against your ear, "You relish the intensity, don't you? I can see you do, your breath quickening like a bitch in heat. You like the demon's cock splitting you open, yeah, woman?"

The agony courses through you, pushing you to the brink of unconsciousness, while an unfamiliar heat simmers in the depths of your abdomen.

Sekido releases his climax inside you, a guttural groan escaping his lips, accompanied by a triumphant exclamation, "Yes! Yes! Take it, bitch, take it all!"

The scarlet-eyed demon departs, leaving you sprawled on the bed, your consciousness wavering, tears marking your face.

Sekido adjusts his trousers, offering gentle pats to the now reddened flesh on your ass. "You did well. Your next confession awaits this Sunday, remember to grace the damn chapel with your presence."

taglist: @aliorailrow

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥 #sinful sunday #anime smut #divider by cafekitsune #sekido smut #sekido #hantengu clones #sekido x reader #sekido x y/n #sekido x you #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sekido kny #kny sekido #kny x reader #kny x y/n #demon slayer x reader

[tvlandofficiall]

its so weird to me that people saw deltarune be a portal fantasy and think that he's going to conclude the story in the typical portal fantasy way, when this is toby radiation fox we're talking about, his whole thing is genre subversion

to be fair, i think a lot of undertale's subversive elements have been somewhat lost on players as well — not in a derisive way, but rather because of the fact that undertale itself has grown into an odd niche in the cultural zeitgeist. the game's almost ten years old now — a lot of people who played it during their childhood are going to be in their twenties soon (if they aren't already)! for many players, undertale was one of their first rpgs ever — and so a lot of the subversive elements likely went over their heads, given they hadn't much to compare it to. nowadays, players compare games to undertale instead — the amount of people i've watched hesitate in an rpg game to wonder "is this going to be like undertale?" is not an insubstantial one. undertale has become the archetypical rpg to many, which causes somewhat of its subversive punch to be lost on its audience in the process.

i think this is a part of why deltarune has also had its subversive elements overlooked. deltarune goes to great pains to draw attention to many of the same older rpgs — both in the broad strokes (such as playing with the idea of a battle between light and dark) and in the small and specific references (seam is clearly inspired by the look and affect of zelda's happy mask salesman, for example.) but many may be relying on archetypical examples of portal fantasy to guide their way because they didn't pick up on the subversive elements of fox's writing style at all. in many portal fantasy stories, the conceit is that the protagonist must overcome the fantasy in some way and go home — the protagonist must grow to fit in with our society. the fantasy is often merely a means or an obstacle to that end. but deltarune takes great pains to invest us in these fantastical worlds and the people that live there beyond the archetypical — lancer, spades king, queen, spamton, ralsei, and everyone else are not merely written and framed as such. they struggle under the role of being objects. they have feelings about the way that they must live and react to that in ways that are realistic and not always easy to grapple with. when their worlds fade away, the game takes the time to linger on it and frames the dismissal of fantasy worlds as "lesser" as suitably disquieting. at every turn, deltarune draws attention to the things we would normally take for granted in a portal fantasy story and asks us to take a closer look.

#ooc #deltarune #I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. i want to give people the benefit of the doubt where i can #tldr. my thesis statement. deltarune is NOT the pagemaster (1994) #it's not about escapism. nor is it saying the dark worlds are bad or unimportant!

[soilaluna]

how jjk men propose (out of the blue) gojo & toji x f!reader extreme fluffiness 1.6k w

gojo loathes routine. the only thing he's willing to drown in is crowded parties, one-night stands, and unlimited beverages. but not routine —nuh-uh (never). he can think of a thousand reasons why engaging in the same activities with monotonous regularity is unhealthy, crazy, and out of the question for him.

but then you introduce yourself. and you sweep him off his feet in a matter of weeks. then, in just in a couple of months, you drag him into your silly, meticulous routine and he thinks: there's no way he's going to pull through that relationship. he gives the two of you a couple of more weeks, at the most —if he survives dinner at 7 o'clock, if he can endure cleaning the house religiously on sundays, if he can keep taking the dog out for a walk every damn night before going to sleep.

but slowly, very surely, he has a change of heart. and suddenly he finds himself asking you to go out for a jog as soon as the sun comes out. and it's him who starts cooking at 5:45 pm so the dinner is ready just on time before you leave work. and grocery shopping —he loves those. he loves them with you. he adores the little rituals now his just as yours. and he wants them for much longer —forever if it's possible.

he realizes so while both of you are in the supermarket.

you're asking him something about some vegetables. he's clutching a plant of lettuce in his hand when he spits out, "i want this."

you tilt your head. you obviously have no clue what he's referring to cause you inquire, "you want... what? rocket or chicory? cause i find chicory disgustingly bitter."

and so, satoru chuckles, shakes his head, and adds, "no, not that, dummy. this. doing stuff. with you —for the rest of my life. our life, if you let me."

to his heartfelt confession, you answer with silence. it's just a few seconds of disquiet, but for satoru they go by like centuries. people walk around you, and there's too much noise (someone even asked him at one point to move his cart out of the way) but he's solely focused on your narrowed eyes and oh, no.

he royally fucked up.

he acted on impulse and didn't stop to think once about everything else: your own wishes, the proposal —because who the fuck proposes in a supermarket? (someone who doesn't want to hear a yes, obviously).

so, naturally, he panics. he opens and closes his mouth like a fish. he knows what he wants to say —we can wait, we don't have to marry at all, please don't panic, runaway and leave me— yet he can't word a single thought. he hadn't even properly asked! what reaction was he expecting from you?

but then (so merciful) you speak —not quite literally. you just wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. and oh, no kiss from you has ever felt sweeter. you mouth no words but the message is clear as water and it's so perfect. his hasty decision makes sense, by then. you never asked for anything more than an honest love.

he presses the palms of his hands against your back and hugs you tight against him. seconds go by, minutes —one, three, five. he doesn't count, he doesn't care.

it's not until someone passes by him and coughs that he puts his feet back on the ground. he's about to whine about the devastating interruption but adoration gleams in your toothy smile and wide, bright eyes and there is no way he can waste his attention on anyone else.

"so," you tease, "does this mean we have to plan a fancier dinner?"

(satoru rolls his eyes and then he goes for another kiss).

/

the upper floor is all chatter and laughter while toji's downstairs, in the kitchen, chopping meat for lunch.

he peeps the clock: you've officially been kidnapped by tsumiki and megumi for over an hour. he doesn't know what they're up to but he wouldn't dare stick his head up the stairs —not again, at least. he had already asked once if he could join them and megumi—with his usual, amusing blank stare—practically slammed the door in his face (tsumiki added a scream in the background, go away, dad!). and so, he was relegated to fulfilling the mere role of a chef while wondering just what the hell his kids were doing with his girlfriend.

a few more minutes pass before tsumiki finally speaks to him again.

"dad!"

toji covers the simmering pot before he turns around, "what?"

his daughter pokes her head between the stair railings. "c'mere" once toji gets closer, she adds, hushed, "i just wanna say that this is my idea and my idea only. she didn't want to do it 'cause she thought you'd get mad so please, please, pleaaaaase don't get mad."

toji raises an eyebrow —now he's really intrigued about what they'd been up to. tsumiki always behaved. she knows where the lines are drawn and never bothers to cross them. so whatever they've done, whatever had his daughter worried enough to apologize in advance, must be serious.

"ok?" he falters.

tsumiki whips her head to her right and calls out, "all good!"

megumi instantly appears and positions himself at the top of the stairs. he coughs a couple of times and not a second later, the most out-of-tune version of 'here comes the bride' comes out of his mouth.

slowly, you appear in the line of toji's vision. you respect the typical rhythm of a bride's entrance. one step —pause. another step —pause. one step —pause.

toji's eyes glimmer as he takes you in: your dress is made up of one of the kids' bedsheets, it hugs you loosely over your chest. the silver plastic crown you're wearing —he remembers buying it for tsumiki at a carnival fair not long ago. your holding an improvised bouquet of fresh flowers, so fresh he can see the roots from where he stands (he bets megumi has ripped them out from miss ayumi's garden) (he'd make sure his son apologized later). and the makeup —geez. he'd never seen you wear so much blush and red lipstick. you looked like one of those vintage porcelain dolls but —oh.

if only you knew how exquisite you looked.

you were pouring light everywhere. even if you felt uncomfortable, even if you felt insecure (toji could read you like an open book by now).

"what's the matter, doll?" he inquires.

your eyes bounce between the stairs, the walls, the kids. everywhere else but him.

"tsumiki wanted to play, i told her that it could be —y'know... "

too much? yeah. maybe some time ago.

(he could see why you were freaking out).

the first time you tip-toed around the idea of marriage—a little over a year after you had started dating—was the last time you ever did. it was just a silly comment you had made while you were watching a travel tv show —the couple on-screen was on their honeymoon. you asked him then what his ideal honeymoon location would be.

"for what? 's not like i intend to have one again".

and you never brought up the conversation ever again.

he knew his response had been blunt and unfair. but he'd thought—thanks to his brutish lack of understanding—that it was better to be straightforward and not misleading. the least he wanted was to fuck up what you both had.

(but he did fuck up. greatly).

and only now he had realized it.

there was no one else but you. he already had been gifted a second chance (with you, with love) —and life was often too callous to gift third opportunities. he didn't consider himself a smart man, but he'd be the stupidest human on earth if he wasted another second.

he wanted to marry you (and if he was lucky enough, you'd still want to marry him too, after all).

toji meets you halfway up the stairs. he leaves a couple of steps in between, just enough for him to kneel on one knee.

you look at him with a bent brow, your head is tilted but still, you manage to grin as you ask, "what are you doing?"

"what does it look like?" he questions back, "marry me".

you let out a nervous chuckle, clearly not believing what is happening. "what?"

"what you just heard. marry me, baby. for real." tsumiki immediately lets out a shrill and starts clapping and jumping. "i don't —i don't have a ring right now but i'll get one for ya. and we'll get you a real dress. and the kids will be dressed up all nice and pretty. just the four of us... what do ya think?"

toji waits, in dreadful silence. the second thoughts arrive in a second. maybe he should've prepared everything better. maybe you wanted something special. maybe he had let you down—once again— and suddenly this impulsive decision felt idiotic and absurd. of course, you deserved better. of course, you knew this and he wouldn't blame you if you said—

"yes".

yes.

he thinks he's daydreaming for a second but then—as if you could sense his dubiety—you repeat, louder. "yes!"

yes, yes, yes. you said yes.

your eyes are crystalline, filled to the brim with tears. your smile is as wide and beautiful as ever.

he leaps to his feet and reaches out to you. he clasps his hands around your cheeks and kisses you. tender and passionate. full of endless longing and eternal promises.

the kids are quick to join (megumi hugs you from your side, shedding tears of happiness) (tsumiki jumps to toji's arms, giggling).

(he's never been happier).

"i love you, wife" he utters.

"and i love you, husband."

#v.writes #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro imagine #toji fushiguro x yn #toji fushiguro x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo imagine #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

[pianokantzart]

The Super Mario Bros. Redux (Pt. 5)

What would happen if, in The Super Mario Bros. Movie, after Mario and Luigi are separated, Mario was the one who ended up in the clutches of Luigi’s eventual arch nemesis, while Luigi teamed up with some of his own close allies to go rescue him?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

________

As the crowd continues to cheer for Sarasaland's Princess, she turns and waves at the four kings with a cheerful "Hi dad!" They all return the greeting with an equally enthusiastic "Hi Daisy!" before remembering their regality and regaining their stoicism.

The kings call for the crowd to settle down, and once the audience is fully silenced they announce the rules: It is a traditional one on one fight. The first to be knocked unconscious or knocked out of the arena is the loser. King Totomesu also adds– while looking at Luigi in particular– that either opponent is free to forfeit the fight whenever they wish.

Then the buzzer goes off and the battle begins, but it immediately becomes apparent to the Princess just how inexperienced Luigi is at fighting– perhaps the most inexperienced person she's ever encountered in her life....

She knocks Luigi around a bit, mostly to show off and let him know he's out of his depth, but to her surprise he keeps standing back up despite the bumps, bruises, and threats.

Eventually... to give the audience a proper show and to keep herself from getting bored (and not at all because she feels sympathy for the little mustachioed man of course)... she starts quietly coaching him whenever they're in close combat, giving Luigi pointers about how to use his surroundings to his advantage.

After a little bit of back and forth, Luigi finally gets fully used to The Poltergust, and taking Princess Daisy's advice to heart he starts putting up a decent fight.

In the audience where the kings are seated, Professor E. Gadd has finally made it back to his assigned seat among them. He asks how Luigi is holding up, and the kings admit halfheartedly that he is doing better than expected.

The Professor adjusts his glasses to better survey the scene below. He sees Luigi use the strobulb to disorient the princess, use the blowing function to knock her off her feet, then pull himself a safe distance away with the suction shot before she can retaliate. He can't help but chuckle proudly. "There now, you see? My invention couldn't be in better hands!"

Back in the arena, Princess Daisy... realizing that she now has a proper opponent rather than just a frightened punching bag... kicks things up a notch. Reaching into her dress pocket she pulls out an ice flower and activates it.

With a powerup now engaged Princess Daisy regains the advantage, only this time she has no intention of going easy on Luigi. Laying a path of ice down in front of him she causes the plumber to lose his footing, and after a short struggle Princess Daisy has him completely encased in a block of ice– everything except his head.

Daisy takes her time crafting a spear out of ice and pointing it threateningly at Luigi's nose. "Come on little guy, give it up already. You either call it quits, or I make you call it quits."

Luigi, struggling to escape the ice, fighting until he's red-faced and breathless, shouts back. "I can't! Don't you understand!? Helping The Professor is the only way I can get to Evershade Valley, I can't!" Daisy, unsettled by the desperation in Luigi's voice, lowers the spear and looks at him inquisitively.

Before she can ask what he means by that, they are both startled by the sudden appearance of Polterpup, materializing at Luigi's side, barking and whining, tail between his legs, clearly trying to get his attention. The crowd becomes disquieted, mumbling amongst themselves about the sudden appearance of the phantom pup.

Daisy, though startled at first, tsks and wags her finger disapprovingly at Luigi. "C'mon Luigi, call off the dog. This fight’s supposed to be a one-on-on, remember?" "I didn't call him!" Luigi insists. "I don't know what he's doing but... he looks scared! I think... he's trying to warn us about something?"

Suddenly there's a crack of thunder. Luigi and Daisy turn in unison to see a large purple cloud drawing closer, darkening the bright evening sky until it's indistinguishable from midnight. Lightning short circuits the lights and TV screens of the arena as an enormous ghost materializes over the frightened audience. Polterpup disappears into the nearest wall with a whimper as Boolossus makes their appearance.

Boolossus cackles, taking their time basking in the screams of the fleeing audience while they casually float toward the arena where Princess Daisy and Luigi stand. The four kings of Sarasaland– seeing their people terrorized and their daughter threatened– leap into action.

Unfortunately, for all their power and skill, there is no defeating this sort of ghost without the proper equipment. The most they can do is break their opponent apart into smaller ghosts, who merely swarm back into the form of Boolossus as soon as they are separated.

Seeing this turn of events, Princess Daisy gets right to work shattering the ice encasing Luigi, freeing him just as the last of the kings of Sarasaland is knocked unconscious. Daisy wastes no time climbing into the stands, rushing to defend her dads while Professor E. Gadd checks on the condition of the fallen royals.

The Professor assures Princess Daisy that the four kings are not terribly injured, but merely unconscious. He begins to explain the scientific intricacies of how prolonged, powerful attacks from ghosts can induce a state of deep sleep while Boolossus looms threateningly over them, empty frames in his hands, ready to strike.

Before they can capture E. Gadd or the princess, a blast of suction takes hold of them by the tail and starts dragging them away toward the center of the arena. It's Luigi, wielding The Poltergust with all his might, barely keeping his footing while slowly dragging the ghost toward him.

"S-stop! Leave them alone!" he shouts, his voice shaky and thinned by effort. Boolossus chuckles, though their laughter is tinged with annoyance as they struggle against the relentless pull of The Poltergust. "Fine!" they snarl in their myriad of voices. "Once that contraption is out of the picture, the rest will be all too easy!"

Luigi barely manages to dodge Boolossus' attacks, and despite having being successful in getting the ghost's attention he finds himself unable to properly retaliate. Though he's able to yank the ghost around with The Poltergust he can't hold on for long, and for all the machine's strength it doesn't have enough suction to drag the giant ghost all the way into the vacuum chamber.

The tides turn when Princess Daisy joins in, using her ice flower to forge pointed projectiles that break Boolossus apart. Each time the giant ghost falls into its fifteen separate boos, Luigi sucks some of them up into the vacuum until at last... working together... Princess Daisy and Luigi succeed in capturing Boolossus bit by bit, until every member of the giant ghost is locked away inside The Poltergust.

The sky brightens and clears as the strange phantasmal thunderstorm rolls away in Boolossus' absence. The four kings steadily regain consciousness, and the members of the audience who hadn't fled completely crawl out of their hiding spots to examine the scene.

Professor E. Gadd is first to break the silence, unable to contain his excitement as he calls out to Luigi: "You did it my boy! You did it! You caught one of the deadliest apparitions in the world! I've never seen such ghost hunting in all my years! Fantastic work!"

Luigi, still a little shaky, turns to Princess Daisy to ask if she's okay. Princess Daisy doesn't answer, she merely gives Luigi a proud smile before taking him by the wrist and holding his hand victoriously into the air before the remaining crowd, who immediately erupt into cheers and begin chanting Luigi's name.

Luigi shyly waves at the audience with his free hand. When he looks up to see the four kings of Sarasaland nodding at him in approval, he can't help but let out a giddy laugh and shoot Professor E. Gadd a thumbs up.

#Mario Movie AU #Super Mario Bros redux au #super mario bros redux #Luigi #Princess Daisy