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stevieschrodinger · 3 months

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I don't know, ficlet AU sort of thing.

Alpha Steve has a YouTube channel that, kind of, started by accident. Steve is not the most confident reader, like, at all. The words get kind of muddled and he got into a habit of just sort of trying to rush it, figuring he was going to mess it up anyway, so get it over with, right? And then he just sort of stops reading, even though he enjoyed it, because he couldn't get his brain to slow down and the muddling got worse and...yeah.

So one day, his platonic soul mate bestie suggests he read out loud. To someone. If he reads every word out one at a time, knowing it has to be clear enough for the other person to follow, that'll slow him down.

So, he tries it, but only for Robin. And it sort of works, kind of, and then she hits on him using something so he can only see the line he's reading, like a bit of card with a letterbox cut in it, and...Steve is on fire.

The words don't get muddled up so much, and his reading is slow and even, and he needs to read to someone, and Robin can't always be there. It becomes his own pet project, he reads out little bits of books he likes, parts of articles he has enjoyed, poems, whatever, and starts his own little you tube that has like, five followers, and they're all people he knows.

And then suddenly, almost overnight, Steve finds himself with four thousand followers. A very large portion of them are very clearly Omega, from the comments, and Steve suddenly finds himself with a lot of fans who are using his videos for white noise. He's literally reading thousands of Omegas off to sleep.

Which is...nice. Steve likes it. The hits and followers on his videos seem to settle down after a couple of weeks, and then, after having so many comments about how settling Steve's voice is, how the Alpha is relaxing and safe. Steve thinks fuck it.

As a test, he makes a ten minute video directly for that audience. He builds a nest, films it POV. He films the view of someone walking through the bedroom door, of what they would see as they climb into the nest, then resting the camera on his own chest.

Then he starts talking. Tells the omega how perfect they are, how much he cares for them, wants to protect, keep safe. How soft they are as he pets them, how warm and cosy they are in their nest. How snuggles with the omega are Steve's favourite thing.

He deliberately keeps everything as vague and gender neutral as he can. The video fucking explodes. Goes viral. Millions of hits, thousands and thousands of followers. Robin and the kids think it's hilarious, and encourage him to keep going, claiming he's doing a public service.

Hundreds of copycats spring up, but no one pulls it off quite like Steve.

He knows there are Omega out there getting off to his videos, despite there being absolutely nothing sexual about them, but Steve figures, whatever makes people happy.

He gets so many positive comments, omega telling him how much comfort he brings them. He has some regular commenters that he gets to know, too, which is nice. Sometimes he even takes requests, small things, the colour of his shirt, the time of day he shoots his videos, certain words and phrases.

One supportive commenter always stands out though : EdDio86. Steve's pretty sure he's male omega, and he's always so grateful when Steve posts a new video. The guy clearly has a lot of trouble sleeping, and apparently Steve really helps. They have a little back and forth in the comments, learning little bits about one another. Steve likes this omega.

Steve also gets the impression the omega is sorely lacking any comfort in his life. Considering the length of his comments, the guy never asks for anything.

Until he does.

At the end of a comment, always ever so politely thanking Steve, EdDio86 admits he's 'in a bit of a pickle' and could Steve, please, do a video where 'the omega' is with pup? Could Steve tell the omega that the pup is fine, and healthy, and that the omega is doing good and the pup is okay and everything will be okay...but cool if not. Bit of a weird request, I know, sorry to be a bother.

And Steve suddenly doesn't give a shit about the consequences of just,,,dropping his personal email out into the world like that, because he wants to tell this guy these things personally.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #alpha steve harrington #omega eddie munson #omega eddie because hes so pretty #you tuber steve Harrington #au

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prettyboykatsuki · 8 months

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warm-ups | gojo + nsfw + inspection

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader (they are wearing a skirt / panties) but no gendered language, established relationship / power imbalance (they're dating but gojo is their superior) , teasing, humiliation, pussy inspection, praise, petnames (sweet thing, baby), fingering + penetration, creampies 18+

✮ wc ; 1.9k

✮ a/n ; i swear on my entire fucking life i did not rig this one at all KJSDF. the wheels just decided i promise this on my life.

idk if the writing reflects what i experienced trying to write this but . good fucking lord. good lord.

"Let me see,"

Embarrassing. Humiliation is making your face burn hot as Gojo stares at you. He's smiling, of course he is - a lazy grin, head tilted slightly to one side. His teeth peek out, sharp incisors and even sharper canines like a light in the dim light of an empty classroom.

"Satoru," You reason, hands fidgeting on the hem of your skirt with a sigh "We're in the—"

"I want to see," He's not asking, so much as telling. Your heart races. You squirm. Earlier, when he called and asked for you to wear something cute - you thought it'd be some of his typical flirting. You decided to appease him. Not particularly hoping he would make any advances on you. It wasn't something you thought to justify to yourself.

It struck you as odd when he asked about it. The husk of his voice as he leaned in behind you and told you good before waltzing off back to his lesson. The whole day he'd done nothing else out of ordinary. Made his usual jokes and stupid, unserious flirtatious advances.

And then you were alone. The building is empty, and you're supposed to be planning practical lessons for the first years. Gojo cornered you here and sat with you in silence for a little while, eyes following your curves and edges before stopping to look at you.

He wanted to see what you wore. But it wasn't like usual. Something was different, obviously - he'd been thinking about something else and like usual opted not to tell you about it. You're sure he won't even if you ask.

It's a trustfall with him - always testing you to see if you'll give him blind faith. You think he likes seeing you flounder more than he's concerned about your loyalty.

You can't get a read on him.

"You're really—"

"Let me see," He says again, not as playful. You swallow thick. It's your fault for indulging him so much "I want to know what you picked."

You go to take it off and Gojo shakes his head.

"Flip your skirt up,"

"You can't be serious."

He looks at you. Reprimanding. He's very serious. You swallow around something in your throat again, turning your head. Focusing your attention on anything else. The open window that gives view to the darkness outside. If anyone came right now they'd see this. You decide to close your eyes after all.

Wordlessly, you grab the end of your skirt and flip it up. Holding the material just over your thighs - to give visibility to the sheer, delicate material underneath. A brief silence is followed with echoey footsteps. Intentional. He's letting his weight hit the ground each time he does it.

You know he stops when you feel him looming over you. Before you can get a worse in edge-wise, he drops down. Squats until his face is at level with your pussy.

But he doesn't touch you. You can feel his breath distantly, and you're too afraid to look. But he's careful not to touch you. When you do feel his hand, it's brushing against your ankle. Fingers playing with the frill of your socks.

"Spread your legs a little."

"But—"

The air changes. You clip your mouth shut and listen, sneakers squeaking along the tile as you spread yourself. Standing at shoulder width, making yourself more clear to view.

"Good," He says, like it needs no explanation "I like when you listen to me."

You don't reply. You just sit, and wait - heart hammering so hard against your chest like you've run a mile.

You count the seconds but the numbers feel muddled after you count up to three hundred. A little over five minutes before he moves again. He touches the palm of his hand against your knee, planing them up the tops of your thigh. A barely there movement. Goosebumps cover every single inch of you. He hums, arbitrarily running his fingers along your inner thigh but never quite committing.

You're almost too afraid to move. Not that he'd do anything bad. But you have no idea what he's doing in the first place. It's starting to make you sweat.

"These are pretty," He says, conversationally running his finger along the top seam where the bows are. Still not touching "They new?"

"U-uhm," Your fingers tighten around your skirt "Yes?"

"Mm," He tugs the waistband, letting it snap against your skin lightly "Were you thinking of me?"

"I thought you'd like them."

"I do. I like when you think of me."

You shudder.

"Were you thinking anything of it when you put them on this morning?"

"No," You answer truthfully.

"Really?" He answers back, genuine "Even in the afternoon,"

"I just wasn't thinking,"

"What a shame," He replies, soft and gentle. He runs fingers against the place where you thighs meet your legs. Still no direct touching. You feel yourself starting to get wet around where he isn't. "I was thinking of you all day."

"Oh," You mumble.

"Wanna know what I was thinking about?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"I was thinking about," A single finger, his middle finger, runs along the seam of your panties. A ghost of a touch that makes your knees weak "Giving you a nice, thorough inspection."

You can't think.

"I was thinking," He answers again, but this time he pushes and you gasp at the sudden contact "About what it might be like to watch you make a mess like this," Another press, a little harder, still not where you need "Get these nice and dirty,"

"Satoru," Your voice is high-pitched. A whine. A sound you didn't even know you could make.

"I was thinking," He repeats, removing his hand completely "How wet I could get you by telling you all the dirty, awful, nasty things I wanna do with you,"

"What a-are you?"

"It's not proper at all for a trusted grown-up hm? To be pulling up your skirt and showing off your sweet little cunt to your superior? There's windows. They'll see you,"

You can only repeat his name. "Satoru."

"Do you want them to see you?" He asks, hand gentle on your thigh. He trails up "Do you want them to see you bent over the desk while I fuck you? Or maybe you want to spread your legs more,"

You choke on your spit, trying to keep the noises in.

"Make you sit with your legs wide and fuck you with my fingers till you squirt all over the desk. Let everyone see how filthy you let me make you,"

That makes you open your eyes. Once squeezed shut, now wet with need. You turn slightly, looking down at him. He looks pleased by this, by your staring. He watches your face as he gathers the material covering your pussy, pulling it between your lips with enough friction that your knees nearly give out.

"It's good that these were so light," He offers "Didn't think you could get this wet over something like this."

Your lower lip is trembling.

He still doesn't take pity on you.

"You did well," He kisses your knee. It's the most you've gotten from him today "What should I give you hm?"

Your words feel slurred and your head feels completely heavy. "Make me cum. Please, I wanna—"

"Shhh," He coos, patting your leg "Sit up on the desk ,"

You listen, sitting up and far back enough to sit comfortable. Gojo positions you with your feet flat on the desk underneath you. He pulls your skirt up this time, guiding your arms around his neck as he pushes his hand into the waistband of your panties.

The sudden contact is deliciously overstimulating. You gasp and Gojo hums, pleased.

"So sweet," He praises, after you've finally lost all of your resolve - brain clouded with nothing but unadulterated desire. It's hard not to give into Gojo. He always makes it good for you in the end "And so wet. You'll leave a stain."

You sniffle "Satoru," You repeat. He laughs good-naturedly. It makes you huff.

"Right, right. Sorry,"

He doesn't make you wait. The feeling of Gojo's hand makes you gasp with your face buried in his neck. His fingers are thick, smooth skin cool to the touch like a balm on your ever growing heat. He starts with his middle finger, fucking into you slowly and even though it isn't enough to make you cum - it's enough to stimulate you. Already so worked up, so needy it's so good.

But he's not doing it to make you feel good. He's preparing you, wanting to give you something better.

"Gonna give you my cock," He mumbles against the crown of your head, free hand tucking your head to his chest "You're gonna cum all over it for me, okay?"

A pathetic uh-huh leaves your lips, dazed. He doesn't give you anything more after that. One finger without resistance prompts another, and he stops at three. You can feel yourself stretched. You've taken it before, more than once.

But this time feels different. Your stomach is tied in knots. Gojo pulls away from you slightly, enough to undo his pants and let his cock spring free. White hairs neat at the base, tip flushed red. He's so hard, he's throbbing against your thigh where you can feel him.

"Take me in, baby," He hums, pushing the round tip against your cunt before it catches. He lets himself in slowly "That's it,"

The intial stretch leaves your lungs feeling punched out. Already undone, nerves frayed and mind fuzzy - the soft stretch of your pussy accommodating his length leaves you shaking. Skin on skin, raw and desperate, he swears under his breath and throws his head back. His adams apple bobs slightly, smiling as he swallows.

"So good,"

He fucks himself deeper Lets you adjust to each inch, and waits to bottom out until it's comfortable. The brief moment of tension only drives your lust further out of control. You can feel every slight throb and twitch. It gives you a second to appreciate every vein and the slight curve. The deep angle he's hitting you.

Just when you think you can't lose it anymore, he maneuvers his hand between your bodies and uses his thumb on your clit. Every neuron fires at once as he rubs the abused bundle of nerves, achy and weeping between your legs.

Your fingers tighten in his shoulders and Satoru laughs. He starts to move like that, careful and practiced. He angles each thrust of his hips to time it with his fingers. All precision, all reward. He thumbs your needy clit and fucks his cock right against the sweetest, softest part inside of you. He knows it so well by now, it always remembers him.

"Cum on me, sweet thing. Just a little more."

You wrap your legs around Gojo's waist as all the tension in your body started to overflow. All your tight muscles, the hot feeling in your belly that flows and disperses through your whole body. Every sensation works in tandem in making you fall apart and all of it happens at Gojo's mercy.

"Oh, Satoru, oh,"

You cum so hard you see white in your vision. You can feel yourself pulse as Gojo fucks himself as deep into you can go. All the way in your stomach, up to your throat - it knocks all the wind out of you as your pussy pulses and holds and clings to Gojo's cock like it never ever wants it to leave.

Gojo follows you in the aftermath of your own orgasm.

A few more shallow thrust of hips before he pours his cum into you, thick white ropes making your belly feel even hotter.

You stay like that a minute, full and exhausted until Gojo pulls away to kiss you.

"Let's clean up," He offers, an apology without saying sorry "We'll finish up at home, hm? Okay?"

You nod.

"Kay."

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #writing tag #warm ups #do not talk to me. i wrote this with my dick in my hand. jesus christ

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stevenose · 10 months

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Please tell us everything about going dumb on Steve’s cock like… like I feel that dick is so big it actually makes you go empty in the head and he knows it!!! and he loves teasing your for it, asking about your weekend plans while you’re trying to uncross your eyes and muffle a confused huh??

contains; gender unspecified reader; steve fucking r from the bottom; cock drunk reader; praise and some condescension from steve! 18+ only!

“What’re we doin’ this weekend?”

It’s all muddled even if Steve is right under you. His hips slowly thrust in and out of you at a depth that makes him feel like he’s in your lungs. The only thing you can think of, other than how huge he is, is how to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Nearly lined up with the movements of his hips.

He laughs softly and asks again. “We’re seeing a movie, right?”

You can hear him a little more, but you don’t care about whatever he’s saying. He brings you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your back. He fucks into a little faster and harder, biting his lip. “Mmm, honey, got you all fucked out, huh?”

You feel the vibration of his chest as he speaks against yours. You still can’t talk. It feels like the tip of him is pressed against the back of your throat. He touches you elsewhere, trying to prolong your pleasure, and you finally whine right as he hits your sweet spot.

“There ya are,” he coos.

“Huh?” you moan, realizing vaguely that you’re drooling onto his shoulder.

“Nothin’,” he chuckles, “just keep being pretty for me, okay?”

“‘Mmmmmkay.”

He loves when you’re like this. Can’t even speak from how well he fills you up. Can’t focus. Just to see what happens, he thrusts up hard and quick.

You wail something - maybe his name mixed with a swear. Your thighs tighten around him and your nails dig into his shoulders. You gasp and moan, pushing him to do it again. Same reaction. Steve can hardly stand it.

“What would you do if I really fucked you? Huh?” he whispers in your ear. You can hear him now. “Bet your head would explode. Could you take it?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, pitchy.

“I don’t think so. Look at you now,” he sighs, continuing those soft, long strokes. He pulls his arms away and moves you backwards so he can see your face. Eyes half crossed, mouth agape, drooling. “Holy shit,” he rasps. “My cock got you that messed up?”

#stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

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

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that�� you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 1

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yeyinde · 1 year

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“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

you put this idea in my head (after i put it in your head) so now you have to deal with this!

➝warnings: cunnilingus, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy

➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!! not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy.

➝word count: 2,4k

"Ah, cap—!"

Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing clit, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your cunt, stretched around three thick fingers.

He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name.

Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked pussy makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team.

(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)

The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender.

His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.

(Over and over and over again—)

"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum.

"Steady now, Sergeant."

Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your pussy for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table. All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.

Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—

You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic.

(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"

He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichy jaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty cunt? Gonna shut me up with your pussy?"

You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.

It was a victory, then.)

But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't.

He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):

"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now."

You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your cunt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat.

All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more.

There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your cunt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing clit and back again, it's torture. Madness.

He circles your clit with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your pussy.

A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?"

It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched pussy leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks.

The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw cunt, makes you lose it completely.

"C'mon, love," he groans into your cunt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.

It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse.

"Price—ah, fuck—"

"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it."

Your hips arch, canting your greedy cunt into his eager, teasing mouth.

"Please, please—"

"Not good enough, love."

It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your clit, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he fucks your pussy.

"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "Fuck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"

"Better."

"Fuck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"

"Then cum for me, love."

It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember.

You cum with his tongue laving over your clit, three thick fingers fucking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids.

Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil.

You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes.

"God, that was—"

He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His cock falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button.

There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, cock rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.

"John—"

One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing cock in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your cunt until it catches on your weeping hole.

"Oh, god—"

He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you.

"M'not gonna fuck you, love—;" his cock slides to your clit, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit—

"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?"

You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth.

But he won't. Not yet.

His cock is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he fucks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing cunt right there. Right there—

You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his cock catch on your rim. So, so close, so—

He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little cunt, isn't it?"

You whine. "Please, need your cock—"

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks.

He's a mess. An absolute mess of your pussy, and—

His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him.

The head of his cock presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root.

"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure.

You cant your hips into him until the grind of his cock inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more.

"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you.

His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze.

The grind of his cock inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he fucks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release.

You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:

"Cum inside me, baby—"

You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he cums, fills you up.

He grunts with each jerk of his cock as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw.

You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he cums, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb.

Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin.

"That was—"

He's cut off.

His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar.

Times up.

You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss.

It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud.

He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers.

Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man.

If you didn't feel the ache in your cunt from where he split you open with his thick cock, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss.

Nothing, except—

His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps.

But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—

You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh.

His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch.

"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check."

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair.

Price turns with a sharp nod.

(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your cunt, should alarm you.

But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.

Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:

"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."

#HM #dunno how i feel about this one #captain john price #john price #cod mw2 smut #cod captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain price x you #captain price #i'm going through a crisis with my writing right now

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0w0tsuki · 9 months

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The concept of "Being viewed as transmisogynistic is worse than actual acts transmisoginy" has reached it's logical extreme and the term Terf has become so muddled that now it's becoming a common tactic to accuse trans women of being TERFs to have the veneer of trans allyship while harassing trans women. It's being used from "drinking radfem koolaid" said by trans androphobia truthers to "you look like a garden variety TERF" by a PickMe Transfem looking to throw her sisters under the bus to trans women being called gender essentialists for making egg jokes.

And it not just Terf accusations. It's also accusing trans of being Crypto Channers or kiwifarms users. Basically any predator of trans women are becoming the new smokescreen to harass trans women under and it's fucking insulting and disgusting. TERFs are a hate group that's specifically seeking our genocide. Kiwifarms is a site dedicated to doxing us and painting us as sexual predators.

Not only is it paradoxical and impossible for a trans woman to be a TERF but the attempt to paint them as one is an act of violence. It is attempt to to not only ostracize us from the wider queer community but from from our sisters. The very small community that we had to carve for ourselves to feel the smallest amount of safety. It's lying and giving otherwise trans positive people the greenlight to harass us and tell themselves that they are doing it to protect the rest of us from us.

If you find yourself falling for this you seriously need to reevaluate your allyship to trans women.

#transmisoginy #kiwifarms #terf painting #online harassment #egg discourse

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sweetiecutie · 1 year

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Pairing: yandere!Tom Riddle x gn!Reader

Synopsis: no one can take you away from Tom, not even Death itself

Warnings: yandere themes, obsessive behavior, non-sexual nudity, dark forces, mention of death and bodies, reader’s gender not specified

You felt weird. Your ears were filled with buzzing white noise, mind racing but also completely muddled up. You inhaled sharply, searing pain surged through all of your body at the feeling of your lungs expanding. It felt like your insides were set ablaze all at once. Rattling cough tore through your throat, filling your mouth with the some thick slime-like substance that you quickly spat out, gulping desperately on cold air in fast shallow breaths.

From what your overwhelmed senses could tell - you were laying down on some kind of flooring - which felt more like bare stone. You struggled to get yourself into sitting position, hard cobbles dug into your flesh painfully, causing you to shiver violently from both cold and discomfort.

You cracked your eyes open, blinking rapidly a few times to get the same sticky slimey stuff out of your eyes. It was very dark around- or was it your unstable state? Heavy steps could be heard, coming in your direction; your body tensed impossibly more, head snapping in direction of nearing man(?), hands roaming the ground underneath you, trying to find something - anything - to defend yourself with.

- Shhhhh, dearest, it’s just me. You’re safe, - a familiar voice spoke soothingly, your body relaxing at the dear sound of it.

- Tom? - you whispered, eyes flickering in all directions haphazardly, trying to distinguish male’s slim figure in thick darkness.

Tom fell to his knees next to you, muttering quiet ‘Lumos’, dim ray of light coming from the tip of his wand blinded you temporarily. You heard some soft shuffling before a thick woolen cloak was wrapped tightly around your shuddering frame.

You managed to crack your eyes open, finally being abele to look around. You peeked down at yourself - your body looked raw - as if you spent hours emerged in hot water - skin was a bringt pink color, extremely sensitive to the smallest of touches - just like an infant in first minutes of its life. You were completely bare, some weird slippery substance was covering every part of you, cooling your body down unpleasantly.

Your eyes wandered up to Tom. His face was gaunt - cheeks looked as hollow as ever; dark eyes you loved so much were unusually sunken, dark purplish circles you knew he got from sleepless nights were laying underneath them; his beautiful lips were chopped and pale, lacking their usual plushness; lush shiny waves of brown hair laying so elegantly on his forehead now looked bleak and brittle. Tom looked ill - as if he was struggling from protracted ailment. But even despite his miserable -you could’ve never thought of using this adjective for describing Tom Riddle- appearance, his eyes were sparkling maniacally, like diamonds in finest of the jewelry.

- Tom, what happened? I don’t understand… - you inquired quietly. Your throat felt way too tight, making your voice sound shaky and weak, and you struggled to get words out. You felt Tom wrapping his arms tightly around you, bringing you to his chest in a tight embrace.

- Everything’s all right now, my love. It’s okay, you are safe with me, - Tom muttered more to himself, rocking you from side to side gently.

You took a look at your surroundings - it looked like you were inside of a huge dark cave of some sorts, rough wet stones were forming walls and ceiling of the cavity, you could hear water dripping down the stalactites all around, hitting the rocks underneath with loud echoing sounds. What caught your attention were deep involute lines carved deeply into stone ground, forming an intricate designs all around you, slightest red glow was still visible emanating from them.

There were dead bodies laying all around. About a dozen of men and women, some of them you recognized as Tom’s devoted followers, were splayed around what seemed to be a transfiguration circle. There were no injuries nor blood on them visible. In fact, they looked fully normal if it wasn’t for their dull eyes and looks of absolute horror etched on their lifeless faces.

And then suddenly pictures flashed before your eyes - Tom’s face, still full of health and youthful beauty, covered in grime and blood, was gazing down at you, his eyes sparkling with shiny tears. What was that? Why was he crying? And then, like in some kind of drunken haze, you looked down at yourself - a huge crimson blotch was growing bigger and bigger on your robes, saturating soft cotton fabric in warm sticky blood. You looked back up at Tom - he was full on crying now, babbling “don’t leave me” and “please, don’t die” over and over again, trembling hands pressing down onto your chest, trying to stop the blood flow.

What was he talking about? Why would you die? You tried to say it, to console your silly boy, reassure that there’s no way you would leave him - but no sound came out of your throat, no matter how hard you tried. Your mouth filled with sickening metallic taste of your own blood, black clouding your vision rapidly.

And now you remembered. Those were your memories - your last ones - before you died.

But how was this all possible? Here you were, blood and flesh, warm and breathing and surely alive, in welcoming arms of your lover.

- Tom? What have you done?.. - horror mixed with shock slowly crept up your back, all the way to your chest and throat, making it even harder to breath than before.

- Nothing will ever hurt you again. I won’t let that happen, I promise, - Tom uttered next to your ear, his body shaking with soundless sobs as he held you even closer to himself,

- I will keep you safe, away from all dangers. You will know no worries nor fears. It will be just the two of us, in our perfect world we’ve always dreamed of. Forever.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback inspires writers on creating more content!💗

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thethirdromana · 9 months

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I know we've all moved on from Mina's Brief Foray into Misogyny in favour of Jonathan Is Back, Hooray! but

I do think it's interesting to read real contemporary women's views on the early women's rights movement, and honestly Bram Stoker's depiction of how Mina sees things isn't all that far off (i.e. he's not just writing her that way because he's a clueless man).

A while ago, I read the memoirs of Maud Allan, an Edwardian dancer who lived a truly fascinating and often tragic life; it's worth reading her whole Wikipedia page. Her memoirs, published 1908, are not particularly worth reading (they were primarily publicity material), but there is one section where she talks about her views on women's suffrage.

Maud Allan was a highly educated, often controversial figure, who danced topless but for some intricate jewellery. She made her own living, and was most likely a lesbian - so all in all, much like Mina, not someone you would think of as likely to be ambivalent on gender equality. Nonetheless, she argued:

Women should "influence rather than dictate"

Women should be educated; she did not believe there was any difference between male and female intelligence, only in the opportunities they received

The rightful destiny of every woman was to be a wife and mother [even though she was neither]

Women were swayed by emotion more than men, so shouldn't become lawyers

Women would be swayed by the looks and personality of a political candidate, not by his views

As a result, in most areas men and women should be equal - but not in terms of the franchise, or at least not yet.

(The whole chapter is here).

I find this fascinating because from a modern-day perspective, it's so obviously inconsistent and muddled, in particular the sense of gender equality as a kind of grab-bag where women should be equal in some areas but not others. But these were the honest views of an educated, independent woman, and I could imagine a real-world Mina having a similar set of views.

#dracula daily #historical context

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dreamwritesimagines · 8 months

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Garden of Secrets [34] - Heartsease

A.N: I'm back from my vacation! Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support and patience my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: Love can cause protectiveness.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma, violence.

Word Count: 3600

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, you could do nothing but just stand there and stare at him. Your ears were muffled from the blood rushing through them and you gritted your teeth, narrowing your eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Rupert!” you heard your uncle and turned your head to see him approaching you all. Your father raised his brows.

“Can I not talk to my daughter?”

“No you can’t,” your aunt said and he held up his hands.

“Why did you not send us an invite for your wedding breakfast?”

“Rupert, I thought I told you to leave,” your uncle said and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I wanted to greet my daughter, that is all.”

It felt as if you were swallowing coals and you pursed your lips together before turning to your uncle.

“What is he doing here?” you asked and your uncle shook his head slightly.

“He dropped a surprise visit,” he answered. “An hour ago, and now he’s leaving.”

“Not yet dear brother,” your father said and your uncle raised his brows.

“Would you like me to get you dragged out of here?”

Your father looked like he was considering pushing his buttons before he heaved a deep sigh and turned his glances to you.

“Your mother is here as well,” he said. “Resting at the inn, the journey tired her a lot.”

“It’s a long way here from hell,” you pointed out. “I’d say so.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not sure about today, but I think she’ll have gathered enough strength to see you tomorrow if you want—”

“Why on earth would I want to see her?” you cut him off. “Or you for that matter?”

“We’re family.”

“No we’re not,” you spat. “Has all that drinking finally muddled your mind beyond saving? You’re not my family, neither is she.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Believe that if you wish,” he said. “Your mother and I still missed you. You and Teddy.”

Your head shot up, your jaw clenching in anger and you scoffed, then walked past him.

“Y/N—”

“I’ll see you tonight,” you muttered to your uncle and made your way out of the garden, your thoughts like a storm in your head. You approached the carriage and the coachman opened the door for you.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“To Josie’s house,” you said through your teeth and got in the carriage. “Thank you.”

You had spent almost three hours in Josie’s house after telling her that your parents were here. You had both decided that it would be better if they didn’t see Teddy, so Bess was going to stay with Teddy in their house instead of coming to the ball. Though you had insisted she did not have to, Josie refused to let you handle your parents alone, so she and Andrew would in fact be coming to the ball tonight.

When you finally arrived home, you were exhausted beyond words. You dragged your weary self up the stairs, taking off your gloves and entered your room to fling yourself on the bed, letting out a groan.

It was fine.

It was going to be fine.

You just needed to go through tonight’s ball, and then you were going to come up with a plan to avoid them as much as possible until they decided to go back to the countryside.

“Y/N?”

You turned your head upon hearing Benedict’s voice, then sat up in the bed.

“Over here!” you called out, rubbing at your eyes and Benedict knocked on the door.

“May I?”

“Sure!” you said and he opened the door to peek his head in.

“Were you sleeping?”

“Not at all,” you said as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. “I just got home actually.”

“So did I—you will not believe what happened.”

“Neither will you I’m guessing,” you muttered and he started pacing in the room.

“So you know how I was meeting Colin and Anthony because Anthony had this huge news for us?” he said. “Guess what the news were. He asked—”

“Lottie to marry him.”

“And he didn’t even ask for my permission and she’s been my best friend since—wait,” he stopped his rant mid-way. “How did you…?”

“Lottie told me earlier and trust me, I’d love it if that was the only news I got today,” you said, slipping a little to get to the edge of the bed. “I need to talk to you.”

Benedict’s brows pulled into a frown and he stepped closer to you. “What’s wrong?”

“Um…” you trailed off and cleared your throat as he crouched down so that he could get on your level while you sat still on the edge of the bed. He reached out to hold your hand, making you smile before you swallowed thickly, willing the words out of your mouth.

“I need your help,” you managed to say and he nodded.

“Anything,” he said without any hesitation. “Name it, it’s yours.”

“First of all, promise me you will not do anything stupid.”

He tilted his head. “I’ll try?”

“Try your hardest.”

“Alright,” he said with a small smile. “What is it?”

“My parents are here.”

That was enough to make the smile on his face fade away as that furious fire started burning in his eyes.

“What?”

“I went to my uncle’s house and my father was there,” you said. “Talk about bad surprises…”

His jaw clenched. “Where is he now?”

“You promised me not to do anything stupid less than a minute ago,” you reminded him. “My father said my mother was too tired from the journey but he will be at tonight’s ball I’m guessing and I wanted you to know beforehand because he knows I’m married. He will probably try to talk to you—”

“Good.”

“Benedict, you don’t know him,” you insisted. “He’s not exactly someone who you’d like to have a conversation with.”

“I’m not planning on having a conversation with him,” he said, his voice low with carefully contained anger and you tilted your head.

“Ben.”

“Let him try to talk to me,” he told you and you shook your head.

“Whatever it is you’re planning…”

“I’m not planning anything,” he said. “I’m merely stating the truth. If he so much as tries to come near you, there will be consequences. It’s about time he heard that, no?”

You bit down on your lip. “I can handle him though.”

“Oh I know,” he said and offered you a small smile. “You just don’t have to do it alone anymore, that’s all.”

Before you could even control your expression, you found yourself mirroring his smile and you nodded slowly.

“Alright then,” you murmured. “Let’s see how tonight goes.”

To say that you were tense at the ball would have been the understatement of the century and by the murderous look on his face, Benedict shared the sentiment. He had refused to let go of your hand since the beginning of the ball even when Gordon, Henry and Lucy came to talk to you or when the rest of the Bridgertons showed up, happily chattering about the news of Anthony and Lottie’s engagement. Thankfully your parents were nowhere to be seen and your aunt and uncle looked very happy, so as the time passed you found yourself relaxing a little while you sipped your lemonade while Benedict looked like a guard dog, his eyes searching through the crowd while he half-heartedly listened to what you were saying.

“And then Lucy for some reason decided to—Ben.”

“Hm?” he muttered without dragging his gaze off of the crowd but when you raised your brows in silence, he turned to you. “Yes?”

“If he shows up and tries to taunt you or something, don’t take the bait.”

He looked almost too innocent. “What bait?”

“I’m just saying if you killed him, you’d go to prison and then get hanged,” you pointed out. “And I’m too young to be a widow.”

He grinned at you. “You didn’t have an issue with that idea before.”

“I do now,” you insisted, elbowing him. “We haven’t even visited Rome yet for the honeymoon nonsense, and you want to die already?”

“That’s not what I said at all—”

“And if you die, everyone will try to talk to me and you know how much I hate that,” you made a face, making him laugh.

“Mm, such an inconvenience.”

“Exactly,” you said and raised a hand to wave at Josie and Andrew who made their way to you.

“Any sign of him?” Josie asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I don’t see the ground opening up to spit out any demons, so no.”

Andrew heaved a sigh. “Maybe he just won’t show up,” he said. “Maybe he fears your uncle will get him dragged out of the place.”

“That’s not like him, and he knows uncle wouldn’t do that.”

“Have you met him before?” Benedict asked Andrew, making him scoff.

“Mm hm,” he said. “He’s terrible, you’ll hate him.”

“I already do.”

“Where’s Felix by the way?” you asked and Andrew shrugged.

“He was drinking with Lucy and arguing with her about who the biggest artist of the Renaissance was.”

“That argument has been going on for over three days now,” Benedict muttered and Josie stole a look at Andrew.

“You really don’t have to spend the whole night away from him just to be with me.”

Andrew shot her a light-hearted glare.

“You’re my best friend Jo,” he said. “Not to mention mine to safekeep when Bess isn’t here. Of course I’ll be here for you, don’t be ridiculous.”

Josie repressed a smile and squeezed at his arm, then cleared her throat.

“I need a stronger drink than just a lemonade,” she mumbled and Andrew held her hand.

“Come on,” he said. “I think I know who to find for that task.”

He pulled her away from you into the crowd and you huffed out, making Benedict turn to look down at you, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb as if trying to assure you.

“A dance, my lady?” he asked, making you smile.

“I’d love that but I just need some fresh air first,” you said. “Would it be rude to auntie if we stepped outside for a moment?”

“Not at all,” he said, nodding towards the entrance. “Come on.”

You let him lead you out of the ballroom and passed the foyer with him, then stepped outside, the fresh air making you inhale and tilt your head back before you followed him towards the garden.

“They’re very good friends huh?”

“Josie and Andrew?” you asked and nodded. “They’d die for each other, even though Josie is less obvious about it. If the roles were reversed and Andrew’s father were here, Josie would be walking around that ballroom with a pistol or something.”

Benedict hummed, looking around the garden before turning to shoot you a lopsided grin.

“What?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s that one?” he asked and you let out a small giggle.

“Oh are we doing that again then?”

“We absolutely are,” he said. “So what is it?”

You heaved a sigh, then turned to follow his line of sight.

“That’s heartsease” you said. “I planted it around a month before we got married.”

“What does it do?”

You smirked at him. “Well it can be used as medicine or tea,” you said. “But in medieval times, people used to use it to make so called love potions.”

He raised his brows and let out a chuckle. “Is that right?”

“I mean clearly it’s nonsense but…” you said. “It’s quite popular now as well, especially among courting couples, considering its meaning and everything.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means—um,” you stole a look at him, then turned your gaze to the flowers. “It means you’re in my thoughts.”

A small smile curled his lips but before he could say anything, another voice reached you.

“Oh if it isn’t the happy couple…”

You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise when your eyes fell on your father, your jaw clenching as that familiar pain in your wrist came back. Benedict seemed to have understood who he was immediately, because he stepped in front of you as if to shield you from your father even if he was just standing there.

The shift was so sudden that for a moment you couldn’t even focus on anything else. You were more used to Benedict being quite carefree and you hadn’t exactly seen him angry up until now, he had always made sure to keep that part of him under control around you, but now?

This was different.

There was no sign of warmth in his unwavering gaze as he glared at your father, towering over him. His back was completely straight, and he didn’t even have to say a word for your father to understand he wasn’t wanted here.

But of course, your father didn’t see that.

“You must be my son-in-law, Benedict Bridgerton,” he said and offered his hand. “Rupert Thorne.”

Benedict didn’t shake his hand, instead he just raised his brows, that calm anger radiating off of him in waves. Your father looked rather surprised, but then retrieved his hand.

“I see,” he said. “My daughter had a lot to say about me I’m sure—”

“What are you doing here?” Benedict cut him off as if he had zero patience for him and your father hummed.

“It’s a ball thrown by my brother’s wife.”

“They didn’t invite you.”

“They don’t have to, we’re family.”

“We’re not,” you spat, narrowing your eyes. “No one in there wants to see you, so you can go away now.”

“Your mother sent her love,” he said. “She wants to see you tomorrow.”

“Tell her she can go to hell.”

Your father tut tutted. “Always so emotional,” he told you, making you pull back slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m guessing this hostility of yours is because of the lies she fed you?” your father asked Benedict, making your jaw drop. “It’s exaggeration, I hope you know that. She’s always been too sensitive—”

“You will not talk to or about my wife like that,” Benedict cut him off sternly and you felt a warmth spreading through your chest while your father looked slightly taken aback before pulling himself together. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Henry and Lucy stepping outside and you shifted your weight.

“Ben,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm. “Just…let’s go inside. I don’t want to do this where people can see, and he’s not worth it.”

Benedict gritted his teeth, then looked down at you while your father scoffed.

“I’m not worth it?” he repeated. “Careful there Y/N. Just because whoring yourself out got you a fortunate marriage doesn’t mean you can forget where you come from.”

Benedict’s head whipped around and a silence fell upon you for a moment before Benedict clicked his tongue.

“Fuck this,” he growled and lunged at him, making you gasp as he grabbed him by the neck to punch him in the face, the sound of a bone cracking reaching you.

“Benedict no!” you rushed to them as your father tried to get out of his grip but it was of no use, even you could see that through your panic. Benedict shoved him back and he tripped before losing his balance, falling on his back. Someone grabbed your arm before you could get in the way and you saw Lucy pulling you back to stop you from getting hurt accidentally while Henry rushed to get between them.

“What on earth are you doing?!”

“Get out of the way, Henry,” Benedict said and took a step towards your father again but Henry pushed him back.

“Benedict—”

“Stop!” you said, your heart beating in your ears as your father found his footing, then stood up, wiping at the blood pouring out of his nose that looked broken. If it were any other time, you would have felt like at least some justice had taken place but now, all you cared about was Benedict not getting harmed in this in any way. You pulled your arm out of Lucy’s grip and turned to your father who was glaring at Benedict, no doubt trying to decide whether he could take him down or not but that was impossible, anyone could see that.

“Just leave,” you said through your teeth. “Or do you want to ruin your chances of getting any money from uncle?”

Your father spat out the blood on the grass and wiped at his nose again.

“This is not over yet,” he pointed at Benedict who scoffed.

“Oh trust me, it’s not,” he said, glaring daggers at him and Lucy let out a breath while your father walked away.

“Are you alright?” you rushed to Benedict while Henry gawked at him.

“What was that?”

“Or who was that?” Lucy asked and you grabbed Benedict’s bloodied hand to check for any injuries.

“Benedict…”

“I’m fine, it’s not broken,” Benedict assured you and Henry’s shook his head.

“Have you forgotten that you’re an artist?” he asked. “If you broke your hand—”

“Who was that, Y/N?” Lucy asked and you heaved a sigh.

“My father,” you told her. “It’s um, it’s a long story but… thank you, both of you.”

“Of course,” Lucy said and Henry’s eyes darted between you and Benedict before motioning at his hand.

“A doctor should see that.”

“It’s not broken,” Benedict repeated and you licked your lips, then looked back at the house.

“Come with me,�� you said, grabbing at his wrist before pulling him towards the house. You passed by the guests in the hallway, then led him upstairs to the second drawing room before you both got inside and you closed the door behind you.

“It really feels fine.”

“Sit down,” you said, walking to the cabinet to pull it open, then took out the familiar box and opened it to get some bandage and a piece of clean cloth. You uncapped the bottle to pour some carbolic acid on the cloth, and walked to him.

“Sit down I said.”

“You would make a terrifying doctor,” he joked as he sat down, and you sat down across from him to take his hand carefully into yours.

“Can you move it?”

Benedict nodded and moved his fingers, making a face.

“Not broken, thank God,” you said and lightly pressed the cloth on his bruised knuckles. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, trying to pass it off as a cough but you were very familiar with how much it stung when someone pressed carbolic acid-soaked cloth on a wound. You lifted the cloth a bit and blew on his knuckles gently, trying to lessen the sting, making a smile curl his lips.

“How did you know…?”

“That it was here?” you finished his question. “Well I used to live here in case you forgot. And Teddy can be rather clumsy, so we have these boxes in every room just in case.”

“Really?”

“My aunt is a bit too careful when it comes to our health,” you muttered, pressing the cloth on his knuckles again, then heaved a sigh. “Benedict…”

“I think I know what you’re going to say but—”

“You really shouldn’t have,” you said, lifting your gaze to look up at him. “Henry is right, you’re an artist.”

“To repeat, it’s not broken.”

“It could have,” you insisted. “What if that happened?”

“Broken bones heal.”

“Not completely.”

He pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “You heard what he called you.”

“He called me much worse before,” you muttered, putting the cloth to the side. “It means nothing to me, really.”

“Maybe not, but he’s still not going to call you that,” Benedict insisted as you started wrapping the bandage around his hand. “I’m not going to just stand there and let him insult you.”

You bit back a smile and stole a look at him. “Ben…”

“Y/N, you’re the love of my life,” he said in a determined tone, the simple statement making your heart skip a beat. “That sort of disrespect will never take place again. Not from him, or anyone else.”

You could swear your heart was melting inside your chest and you stared at his handsome face before willing yourself to turn back to bandaging his hand.

“What he said; it not being over yet…” you trailed off, deep in thought. “Perhaps you were right earlier. About him hearing of the consequences.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, tying up the bandage around his hand, then pulling back to look at him better. “The next time he tries to talk to me, I’ll make sure he understands that if he so much as looks at you wrong, I won’t hesitate to cut him.”

A smile curled his lips and he turned his hand to entwine his fingers with yours despite the pain you knew for sure he was feeling.

“Don’t,” he said, running his thumb over your wedding band. “I told you. I can take the torment but not your absence.”

You bit inside your cheek and smiled at him back, the urge to lean in slightly to kiss him almost overpowering you before you swallowed thickly and took a trembling breath, clearing your throat to make yourself snap out of the haze.

“We should um—we should get back,” you said. “Josie will be worried if she can’t find us anywhere on a night like this and I think my uncle should hear that my father was here, just in case.”

He nodded and stood up, still holding your hand and you looked up at him.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not at all,” he said with a soft smile, then kissed the top of your head. “Come on then, let’s go back to the ballroom. I believe you promised me a dance, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

Chapter 35

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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azullumi · 1 year

Text

summary — you present the grand question to him and you await for his answer; will it be good or bad?

characters — wanderer, kaveh, alhaitham (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — some fluff, some crack, established relationship, not proofread ; scenario

words — 1025

note — i wrote this at 3 am

wanderer

"would you still love me even if i was a worm?"

instead of a sarcastic remark given by him, you were instead greeted with silence as you lay your head on top of his chest. it lingered and lasted for not longer than just a few moments before being broken by the confused tone of his voice saying, "did you hit your head earlier while i was away?"

"perhaps but i want to hear your answer to the question."

silence once again but you waited, perhaps he's only collecting his thoughts and coming up of a response that you'll like, coming up of an answer that he'll say which will make you smile and he'll receive a lovely kiss from you—

"i'll pour salt on you and watch as you wiggle and die."

honestly, what were you even expecting? this is him you're talking about, sappy and affectionate words don't come out of his mouth so easily. he's much more fluent in the language of sarcasm and being mean, however, hearing his answer didn't hurt you or anything but instead, it made a chuckle emit out of your throat—the answer was so just like him. although knowing him, perhaps he's still contemplating on what to say or maybe that answer isn't what he really meant to say, he just couldn't find the right words to convey to you; this is a question whether he would still love you if you were a worm or not.

"but what if i turn into a human once i experience true love?"

you rose a question once again and you swear you could imagine how his eye rolled upon hearing what you asked.

"this ain't princess and the worm or any fairytales that you have read, (name)."

a hum slips past your lips as you went into a deep thought before an idea popped up inside your head in which you immediately voiced out: "would you love me if i was a frog then?"

kaveh

"i bet you wouldn't even love me if i had turned into an animal."

"what are you even on about?" poor kaveh was only basking in your presence as you shared another lovely moment together in each other's arms when he was confronted by that question. he couldn't even tell if you were joking or not based on the serious tone of your voice so he grew nervous.

"you wouldn't love me if i was a worm, would you?"

you could immediately imagine the look of confusion and worry on his face, swirling in the depth of his eyes and muddling his sense of judgment—he just simply didn't know what to say, what to answer, or what to respond upon hearing your question. it was so unexpected, so strange, and just so out of the blue and he wonders where did you even pull that out from while you're having a romantic with him in his embrace. what even goes inside your head?

"are you perhaps drunk or anything, (name)?"

"just answer the question, would you?" you looked up to him, as if you were trying to burn him with your gaze with how you don a serious look on your face.

you pressed on, pressure consuming the air around you and weighing heavily on his shoulders and it feels as if he was being questioned and interrogated about a grave crime he didn't even commit when in fact a ridiculous question was only being thrown at him; he swallowed hard and looked down to meet your eyes before answering.

"i will."

"i will what?"

you know what he was talking about, it's just that feigning innocence and making him have that look on his face muses you and you tried to hold back the grin that threatens to break out of your pursed lips.

"i will love you even if you were a worm. i will even build you a palace and give you flowers everyday. i will do everything that you want. there, that's my answer."

alhaitham

"would you love me if i was a worm?"

you had asked him while he was sitting beside you and reading the book on his hand, this time, the cover was different from what he was reading yesterday. you recall it to be green but now it's brown indicating that he had already finished the one prior—though why are you thinking about that right now? you should be focusing on his answer to your question instead.

"nobody in their right mind would fall in love with a worm."

he responds, straightforward and honest as if he didn't even give it time to think about it—just like what you have thought he will do so it didn't surprise you really. he's a man who leads his life with a pure sense of rationality, basing major factors of his life from books and logic; you rolled your eyes before you retorted, "but what if i was one?"

"logically and rationally, you wouldn't turn into one unless there's some sort of potion or craft that could but based from the books that is im—"

"stop being a nerd and just answer the question: would you still love me if i was a worm?"

you had interrupted him, knowing what will fully come next to his statement. you have been with this man for god knows how long already and you might have already memorized the pattern of his words and analyzed each one of it, it's a strange ability to have but still amazing.

there was a moment of silence between you two, persisting for a few seconds before disappearing. for alhaitham to entertain such question was definitely something and you were quite eager to hear what he would say:

"...it depends on what kind of worm you are."

"so you won't?"

"i didn't say that—"

"save your words, i'm not going to listen to you."

needless to say, alhaitham had to spend the whole night trying to woo you and have you right back in his arms.

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bellaofthevalley · 9 months

Text

Stellaron Hunters: Singing Dove

Content warning: yandere themes, polyamorous relationship, reader is gender-neutral.

It starts with a chase.

It always starts with a chase.

You run through the cold, deep snow. Dried leaves and twigs hiding under the snowy blanket crunch beneath your boots, and the little cracking noises they cause makes you want to cry painful, heaving sobs that shake through your frame.

The moon hangs high in the sky, your singular source of light. You are so deep within this frozen wasteland, not even Belebog's lights show on the horizon.

A perfect place for them to hunt you. But hunt truly is too kind of a word; a prey has at least a singular, sliver chance of survival. You are merely a toy between their clutches, ever so often placed in a new playground for their amusement, but at the end-

You will be back with them. It is, after all, part of the script. Always, always, always-

You stumble and fall on your hands and knees with a painful gasp, foot catching within viney branches that dig into your boots and pants. You'd been running so much, for so long, you hadn't even realised just how out of breath your poor lungs were.

In, and out. In, and out. In, and out.

You take in one, last big breath before finally looking back to get your foot out of the vines and hopefully, with the mercy of Qlipoth the Preservation and any Aeon that will listen, escape from this hellhole-

Only to meet two red piercing eyes staring at you from such darkness, not even the moon could disperse it. Peering, watching, waiting.

"No!" The frightened scream tears itself out of your throat, and your lack of breath and aching foot are forgotten entirely. In the distance, among the flying crows and skittering spiders, you heard the tinkling laugh of a woman.

Everything is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. Everything is dangerous-

He tells you everything is dangerous as he sharpens a sword, cracks going through its cold blade like broken glass. His voice is low, but his eyes are staring straight at you. Gazing, scrutinizing, waiting.

How many days, weeks, and months have you spent with them now? With him? You know his past by now, something he'd confided in you in the lonely, dead hours of the night, where you craved interaction even from someone like him. When he would crave interaction from you, would seek you out and hoard your time with the excuse that Kafka demanded he needed you to heal him and soothe his mara-struck mind with your singing, nimble fingers unwillingly going through his hair.

Everything is dangerous, Bǎo bèi. You will stay here with us.

She tells you everything is dangerous without telling you. You are on her lap, so shamefully naked and exposed yet she lounges against the tub as if the world is her oyster to pick, hands on your waist and nails slightly dragging against your skin until there are raised goosebumps trailing up your body.

It might as well be her world to rule.

You will not leave, my darling. She says with the softest laugh, burying her pretty face in your tender throat and kissing your skin. Her perfume still clings to her skin, leaving your mind hazy and muddled- all thoughts of your burning homeland they took you from washing away until all you can think of is her, her, her. She's a devil and a devil hunter; she is a spider that has spun into a web you can see neither the start nor end of, demands your songs as if you, your songs and voice all belong to her.

Everything is dangerous, my lovely. You will not leave, not now nor ever.

You run and run, boots so torn every twig and rock digs into your delicate skin. You are crying, too, stumbling against trees and branches. The noise that comes out of your throat is half-sob, half-prayer. Mercy, oh Aeon, grant me mercy.

You speed past the forest. It does not matter where you are, only that you leave. There are so many snapping noises, but all of it is from your running so you- you are sure you are safe-

No more trees, and the lights from Belebog now shine like the very stars of hope. So close now, and freedom tastes so unbelievably sweet on your tongue. You reach a hand out-

And fall down again, staring up at the star-less sky with wide eyes and a frantic heart.

No twig or branch made you fall.

Spider webs did.

The moon is so beautiful.

"The moon is so beautiful, isn't it, my darling?"

Kafka looks down on you, kneeling down by your side. Her pretty eyes gleam in the encroaching darkness, mouth stretched into a small smile that is anything but kind.

Yet her touch is so very gentle when she cups your face, wipes away the lone tear trickling down your cheek. She is even gentler when she leans down to kiss the corner of your lips, this time tasting your second tear.

It makes her sigh, so awfully fond. The spider web clings to your body, crawling up your limbs. You are unaware of Blade slowly coming out of the woods, your focus entirely on Kafka.

"You tried your very best," she croons, voice low and soft. Her smile widens, thumb swiping across your chapped lips, smoothing out the furrowed lines between your brows. "But it wasn't enough, was it? It will never be enough, either. But, oh, how beautiful you looked as you ran and ran, so fully convinced you even had a small chance of success… like a frightened rabbit. Isn't that right, Bladie?"

Blade's silence is unsurprising, and you are glad for it as you finally descend into sobs, turning your head away from her even as her hand chases your face. All of it… was just an illusion? All of it?

"Carry them, Bladie." Kafka orders, chuckling. She plays with your hair for a few seconds, humming before she kisses you, kisses under your lashes, one last time and gets up. "Carry them home, where they belong."

It ends with you back in their arms.

It always ends with you back in their arms.

Masterlist.

#bella.posts #honkai star rail #blade honkai #kafka honkai #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai #blade x reader #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #kafka x reader #yandere kafka x reader #yandere kafka

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