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neo-nomatrix · 11 months

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10 Things I hate about you

Hobie brown x reader

word count: 1120

(My) Nuisance masterlist

Synopsis: You have hated your neighbor for one year, 3 months, and 8 days. You hate his hair, his boots, his obnoxious music, and most of all you hate the way you love him

a/n; This is the last part of the main (My) Nuisance story! Other installments will be on parters about reader and Hobie before and after the main plot. Thank you to everyone who loves this story it means the world to me!

Being neighbors with Hobie has been one of the most frustrating, exhausting, and confusing experiences of your life. He has truly put you through hell and back.

1. I hate the way you talk to me and the way you do your hair.

If someone had told you one year ago you would be completely head of heels for Hobie you most likely would have laughed in their face. If someone had told you he was the man under Spider-punk's mask you would have jumped off a bridge right then and there. Yet here you are, searching your brain for answers about Hobie and his feelings wondering what you got yourself into.

2. I hate the way you lie to me and your stupid boot buckles.

The unbearable truth was, Hobie got to you. Most importantly he hurt you in the process. You weren’t supposed to get close to him, you weren’t supposed to fall in love with him but you did. He had completely forgotten about the night before and it hurt you more than anything. You genuinely thought he liked you, as luck would have it he confessed to you that he was a compulsive liar when he drank too much. Leading you into realizing he didn’t mean it, why would he? He seemed like the type who would flirt with you just as a fun game, you didn’t know what you were expecting.

3. I hate you so much it makes me mad, it makes my head spin, my stomach ties into knots, makes me weak in the legs.

Was that what this was? A sick joke? A game to him? Just thinking about that made you want to scream at him. Yell at him, tell him how angry you were with the fact that he played with your feelings. You wanted to scream at him and give him a piece of your mind. Yet you couldn’t. You have always been able to yell at Hobie, always. Even over dumb things like the way he talked. But now, it’s different. You wanted to get up and yell at him but you stayed sitting on the ground. Legs to your chest and you just sat there. Unable to move, frozen in that position.

4. I hate it when you’re out all night drinking and the way it makes me worry, worry so much that I stay up all night waiting to hear your stupid boots.

You hear a knock at the door and know it’s him. Of course it’s him, in your time living here he was the only person to ever knock on your door.

“Love? I- I want to talk to you. Can you let me in?” He asked, his voice quiet.

5. I hate your stupid smile and the way you purposefully play your guitar too loud just so i’ll come over.

He takes your silence as an answer, he’s about to say something and then pauses.

“When you were in my room you found a box. It had your stuff in it and a letter. I wrote the letter for you. You deserve to read it. I have your necklace and ring too, sorry bout that,” he gave you an awkward laugh.

“No, I shouldn't have even known about it,” you’re surprised you could even speak to him, “I don’t want to read it either,” you say quickly.

“You have a right to know what it says, okay? At least let me tell you.”

6. I hate that you were so easy to fall in love with.

A few seconds after he finished talking he turned the doorknob and walked into your flat.

“I don’t know what I said to you last night but I'm sorry. Whatever-“ you cut him off before he can finish.

“Don’t. I know you didn’t mean it so don’t. It doesn’t matter now I'm over it,” you brush him off.

“So uhm, what did i say exactly?” He questions

“I said it doesn’t matter, piss off!” you snap.

You both look away from each other, unable to speak.

7. I hate the way you hurt me and the way you made me get close to you. It would be so much easier to despise you if you weren’t so handsome.

“The letter talks about how much I love you, alright? Ever since the day we met and you gave me that stupid note I have been in love with you. You really don’t see the way I look at you? Or- or how I'm extra loud when I know you're trying to sleep? I would do anything just to look at you, that is how in love I am with you. I don’t know if you’re really just clueless or you’re trying to ignore the signs but I am pulling every string to try and make you fall in love with me. Is that what you want to hear?” He’s out of breath by the time he finishes. Tears are brewing in the corner of his eye.

8. I hate it when you say exactly what I want you to say.

“Yeah, actually it kind of is. You told me that it hurt when I didn't show up for our date. I thought you did like me, but then you said you lied when you were drunk. And I don't know why but I believed you,” You confess.

9. I hate it when we don’t talk and the way you make me feel. I hate that I didn't understand those stomach knots were me falling in love.

“No no no, I thought I said something that would upset you. Of course I meant that, Love,” he said, holding your face in his hands. The cold metal of his rings touching you.

“You mean that?” you ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything else,” he smiles. God that stupid smile.

“You also, kind of told me something else. You said you were uhm, Spiderman?” you nervously asked.

He visibly tensed up.

“Oh that, well I guess there’s no point in lying huh?”

“So you are?”

“Yeah, for the last three years. But I don’t believe in labels, they’re stupid,” he shrugs

“That’s pretty embarrassing for me then, hm?” you look around your spiderman themed room.

“Nah, I think it’s pretty cute,” he says, making you blush.

“Why don’t we start over? We can go out on a proper date, forget any of this happened. I promise, no standing each other up and we’ll be so happy,” He says, grinning ear to ear.

“Alright then, where should we go?”

10. You especially hate the way you don’t hate him at all. You don’t like him either. You love him. You’re in love with Hobie Brown, your nuisance.

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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

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Housewife

Part - 1

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

"Do you have anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" You hated this. First days were known to be horrible for a reason. Why on earth would you want to tell a room full of strangers some random fact about you? They don't care if you have a pet nor do they want to know why you're here. The room was dead silent waiting for you to hurry up and sit down. "Umm-"

"What's your cup size?" A boy asked making the other kids in the class snicker. The dark-haired boy next to him smiled shaking his head in disapproval. "Steven I'm not doing this with you today, out." Steven groaned already grabbing his books. "But miss-" With a stern point of the finger she spoke again. "Out!" The class once again fell silent and you couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable. You've done nothing wrong yet within 5 minutes you feel everyone staring at you with disdain.

Once the door closed behind Steven the teacher spoke again. "I'm terribly sorry Y/n. Just take Steven's spot for today and we'll figure the rest out tomorrow." A simple nod was all you could muster. All you had was a pencil in your hand and a bright yellow notebook sitting on top of your new desk. You closed your eyes trying to fast-forward time. This was the last class of the day and it could honestly not be worse. "Don't worry about him he's a dick." The note on your desk read. The boy to your left looked at you then the paper wanting you to send the note back.

With a quick scribble, you handed him the paper. A huffed laugh left his lips as he read "You are what you eat." The note was then crumpled and shoved into his pocket. That seemed to be the end of your conversation with the stranger but you pushed further. Leaning to the side you whisper, "What's your name?" Instead of saying anything he opened up his notebook. The black and white cover was scuffed showing obvious signs of use. He lifted the book showing you the inside. With a single word written in big letters. 'Billy.'

The class went on, no more pleasantries being exchanged. The bell rang signaling the tiring day was over. You were going to say something else to Billy but he was up and gone by the time you looked up. "So much for that." You mumbled as you got up. The movies always showed the new girl getting all the attention. Everyone tries to quickly mold her into their cult-like clique. Maybe it was the dress you were wearing or the way you wore your hair that made you look like a prude. Growing up with your grandparents sets you up for a life of social isolation.

The parking lot was crowded but not crowded enough to not see your bright red car. Just as visible was the short-haired boy sitting on the hood. "Get off my car." You scolded flatly. "Holy shit this is yours!? How'd you get it?" He asked bouncing with joy. "It's my dad's so I don't want you sitting on it. Thanks." You tossed your bags in the car as he continued talking. Just a second ago you were praying Billy would keep up some conversation. Now you're wanting nothing more than to get home. "Man look it's Christine!" He shouted as the girl next to him covered her ears. "Is he always this loud?" She laughed at the question shaking her head up and down. "Unfortunately. I'm Tatum, so you're the new girl everyone's talking about?"

A puzzled look fell over your features. "Who's talking about me?" Before she could answer Billy walks up to the car. "This is nice." His blabbering friend seems disappointed with that answer. "Nice? It's fucking awesome! Can we ride in it?" He turns to beg you. Billy looked over at you raising his eyebrows in silent confusion. "I don't even know you." What part of 'dads' car did he not understand? "I'm Stu, this is Billy."

"We've met." Billy says gesturing towards you. "it's nice to meet you Stu but I don't give rides to strangers." He walks over throwing his arm over your shoulder. Way too much physical contact from someone you don't know. "Well you know my friend Billy and now you know me. I'd say we're all friends here." Tatum rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "If you two are going to harass this poor woman I'm leaving. I've got to catch up with Sydney. See ya, babe." She blew a kiss at Stu which he caught.

"Pleaseeeee." He begged. Just as Billy was about to intervene you agreed. "Fine but no food, drink, cigarettes, or really anything that could mess up this car. Got it?" You laid out the rules as you climbed into the driver's seat. Stu bit his lip nodding his head. "Yes ma'am. Come on man." Stu said as he jumped in the car. Billy stood awkwardly looking down at his feet. His eyes nervously looked around almost like he was late for something. "Go without me I've got some errands to run." Stu stuck his head out of the window. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Come on man Christine is like your favorite movie." At this, Billy laughed.

"No, I think you're confusing things. A murderous car is definitely more your speed." At this point, you regretted saying yes to Stu. "Please come with us I don't trust him." Stu covered his heart in fake hurt. "If you should be worried about anybody you should worry about Billy." You seriously doubted that. Sure he was quiet and a little unnerving but he might just be shy. "Fuck it." His hands smack his thighs in defeat. Stu loudly rejoices at his friend's surrender. "Get in the back."

You figured Stu would put up a fight considering he was there first. Yet he opened the door with sad eyes and quietly got into the back. It was strange. You weren't sure how long these two had been friends but it was an odd dynamic. "Why do you get to sit next to her?" Stu whined from the back seat. "Because she doesn't trust you." A laugh forced its way from your throat. "Who said I trusted you? According to him, I should be careful around you." You pointed to the man in the back who gladly smiled. Billy propped his arm on the window shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry but dressed like that you need to be careful with everyone."

"Gotta agree with him on that. You look like Betty Crocker." Stu leaned his head on the seat between you and Billy. "Don't get me wrong it's kinda sexy but still very grandma." With a roll of your eyes, you started the car, hearing the engine purr to life. The boy next to you cracked such a small smile you'd have to catch it on camera for proof that it happened. "This is amazing! I fucking love you, Betty Crocker." Stu kissed you on the cheek making your nose crinkle. At that, Billy actually laughed. Nothing too dramatic though. "Ew can you not touch me at all? Jesus Christ." With one hand on the wheel, you took the other to wipe your cheek.

"Now you see what I put up with," Billy adds. "Oh, so you kiss him too huh?" You drove out of the parking lot heading to the main road. "Only on weekends." Stu shrugged. You giggled but Billy didn't seem to find anything funny. "So what brings you to this hell hole?" He asks still keeping his eyes out the window. "Me and my moved into my grandparent's house after they passed. He found a good job here too so ta-da here I am" Stu leaned forward to press buttons on the dash which you promptly swatted his hand away. "What is your deal with this car?"

Stu seemed shocked you had to even ask. "It's Christine baby! The man-eating car." You blinked a few times a little confused. "You know the John Carpenter film? Came out in 1983. Same guy that directed Halloween with Michael Myers." Billy seemed interested in this conversation more so than others. His whole body seem to turn towards you actively listening to anything you had to say. "Of course, I know Halloween I've just not seen Christine." It was Billy's turn to pick at you. "You're telling me you've never seen Christine but you've got the car?"

He must be brain-dead to think you got a car based on a movie. "This is a 58' Plymouth. It is way older than the Christine movie. I've got the original if you ask me." Stu looked like he was adding numbers to fact-check your math. Billy on the other hand had the same stoic expression on his face. His eyes dragged up and down you seemingly trying to figure out something. "Say where do you two live?" Stu gave out directions to his house without hesitation. "You can just drop me off at his place." You nod in Billy's direction as you focus on the road.

"Why do you dress like this?" Billy picks at the fabric of your dress. It seems no one in this town knows what personal boundaries are. But you guess it beats the awkwardness of a new friendship. With these two it's like you jumped ahead. "I like it." Plain and simple. Billy wasn't buying it either was Stu. "It's more than just that. You know people look at you differently do you get off on that sort of thing?" The question was rude. If you had a backbone of any sort you throw him out of the moving car. Being a people pleaser however made you give him an honest answer. "Maybe. Do I notice when people look at me hatefully? Duh. But at the end of the day, I'm happy they looked at me at all. I mean you both look like every other teenage boy out there. You don't want to stand out?"

Stu liked your answer it was honestly one he could relate to. "No, we like to blend in." That was all Billy said. It was a change from the chattiness before. "Well, what about you Stu?" Billy turned to look back at the boy. Meanwhile he was happy at being included. When it was just him with some girls he could say whatever he felt like. When Billy was around things were different. Just with his eyes he could tell Stu what and what not to say. He didn't mind of course he loved Billy more than he would ever know really. Plus he knew his personality could be a lot for new people. It was nice to have someone to let him know when enough was enough.

"Like he said we like to blend in. We're not big attention whores." He laughed. You don't think the comment was aimed at you but you couldn't help but feel a little hurt by it. "What's your name?" Stu asked while he lay down in the back seat. "Y/n." Billy once again needed more of an answer. "Y/n what?" He was looking for a last name. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Stu's eyes shot back and forth between you two. "I would. That's why I asked."

"Well, you ask too many questions. Unless you're looking to change my last name I don't know why you'd need to know." Billy wasn't mad. Aggravated sure but not mad. You were smart. Not smart enough to tell two psychos to fuck off but smart enough to not hand out personal information easily. He'd have to work for it which he loved to do. "Is your place down this road Stu?" The boy perked up. A little sad that the ride was over. "Yeah just go on down."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Billy asked seeing his window of opportunity was closing. "Nothing much why?" More boring and cryptic answers. "We should come over to your place this weekend seeing as nothing's going on." Billy looked at his friend for backup. "Absolutely! I could bring a copy of Christine and we could get mad wasted!" Billy closed his eyes regretting asking him for anything. "I don't drink. Never had a reason to."

"Well, Ms. Crocker I'm giving you one." Unfortunately for these two you had self-preservation skills. Getting drunk with two men you don't know at your house is not smart. They act like you haven't seen any scary movies. "I'm not getting drunk with you two. I'll think about hanging out this weekend but no drinking. My dad would kill me if he knew I had two dudes in the house let alone drunk dudes." Billy could work with that. Stu was practically jumping at the idea to hang with you. For once he didn't have ulterior motives. He couldn't say the same for his friend who had that gleam in his eye he's seen before.

You pulled into the driveway saying goodbye to your new friends. "See you at school tomorrow?" Billy asked knowing the seat you occupied today would be permanently vacant so you could stay next to him. "Unfortunately. Bye, losers." You waved at the guys ready to get the hell home. The boys watched as you pulled away, the bright red car was easy to follow down the road. "What do you think about her?" Billy asked his friend. "She's alright man. Needs better taste in movies but I can fix that." Billy agreed but something just wasn't sitting right with him. In one day you managed to weasel your way into their lives. He wasn't sure if he wanted to watch movies with you or make you the star of one.

Part 2

A/N: I've been writing for about 5 years now but I'm new to the Scream fandom. I just recently watched the first movie and I can't seem to get these two out of my head so feedback is greatly appreciated! See ya lovelies 💞

#scream #scream 1996 #ghostface #poly!ghostface #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #scream fanfic #scream fanfiction #scream x reader #ghostface x reader #housewife #x reader #slashers #slasher x reader #horror

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lovifie · 1 month

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 12: Finale

Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

“You are not listening!” You shout, frustrated with the man.

In the couple of weeks that you have known and lived with them, you never expected that you would end up arguing with them. Even less with Price.

“No, Birdie. You are the one that needs to listen!” The man argued back.

“You got me fired, John! What else do you want me to hear?” You ask, running your hands through your hair.

It finally set in, the reality that the idyllic life of living with the four of them without a worry was just an illusion. You were here because you were hiding, and they were here because they were hiding you.

“I didn't get you fired, Birdie. Your boss did.” Price says, crossing his arms.

“Don't get sassy with me! He told you that they needed to know if I could get back to work any soon or they would be forced to fire me and you told them to do so!” You shout again, feeling like Price is lying to your face. “Why would you do that?!”

“Because you hate that job!” He shouts back. “And you don't need to work!”

“Yes, I do, Price! Yes, I do!” You say, a dry laugh leaving your throat. “Like everyone! I can't just live sponging off of you guys!”

“That's not what's happening and you know it, birdie!” He exclaims. “Don't manipulate the situation into making it look like a bloody transaction!”

“I'm manipulating the situation?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yes! You are making it look like we are paying you to stay with us, birdie!” He explains, moving his hands to his hips.

“Oh, for god's sake, Price!” You exclaim, rubbing your face. “Why don't you exaggerate it a bit more?! I don't even know why I'm arguing with you about my job!”

“Neither do I?! Because I think it is pretty much settled!” He says, walking away towards the kitchen.

“IT IS NOT SETTLE!” You scream, shocked by his response. “The reason why I don't know why we are arguing is because I don't know who gave you the right to choose over me!”

That makes him turn around, looking at you like you grow a second head. “Well, excuse me. For believing I have a say in your life, I just assumed I could since we bloody love each other and all that!”

“Don't pull that shit on me, Price! This has nothing to do with love!” You say, crossing your arms. “I don't have a say on your work! So why should you have it on me!”

“It's not the bloody same!” He says, rubbing his face.

“It's not for you because it doesn't benefit you!” You scream, looking back when you hear the door open as Gaz, Soap and Ghost enter the house. The three of them having left the house not too long ago to buy breakfast.

“What's going on? We could hear the shouts from outside.” Gaz asks, entering first and looking between Price and you, seeing the wide cliff between the two of you.

“Nothing!” Price barks, crossing his arms again.

You ignore the looks on everyone's face, instead walking to the door.

“Where are you going now?!” Price asks, moving to be able to see you.

“Out! So I can fucking breathe without feeling I'm choking!” You say, opening the door after the boys closed it.

“Don't go far!” Price says, still caring under all his bad mood

“I KNOW I CAN'T GO FAR!” You say, slamming the door on your way out.

You hate screaming, hate shouting, hate raising your voice and even more if it is at Price or any of the men inside. It's not their fault and screaming at each other is not the way to fix it. But you can't help it, tired of being pushed around at everyone's mercy without asking what's your choice.

Sitting down on the step right outside the house, not wanting or needing to go any further, you hide your face behind your hands, letting your palms get wet with your tears.

“Hey, you alright?” A man's voice says, making you look up, to come face to face with an unfamiliar face.

You don't have time to answer, because something hits the back of your head and everything blends to black.

Price updates the boys once you are out, he tells them your ex-boss called, told him you needed to get back to work the next day or he would fire you, he tells them how he told him to go ahead since you couldn't go back to work jet, he tells them about how he wasn't able to tell you about the empty position at base that you could filled to work with them because you started screaming, he tells them about how he lost his cool and just screamed back instead of explaining.

He tells them everything, feeling like the worst person in the world for making you leave the house with tears on your face. It's Gaz the first one to stand up. “I'll check on her.” He mumbles, as he walks outside to an empty staircase. He walks down, checking both sides of the street only to find it just as empty.

An anxious feeling starts to brew on his stomach, entering back to the house with a worried expression on his face. “She's gone.” He says almost casually, as if not voicing one of the biggest fears the men around him have had for the last month.

“What do you mean she's gone?” Soap asks. “She must be around the block, she'll be back in a bit, mate.”

No one believes him, not even himself. You wouldn't have walked out of his sight like that, not without dragging them with you, not without a phone, not without telling them.

There is a beat of silence, each debating whether it is plausible that you simply left, all of them feeling that the most possible chance is that something happened to you.

“I'll check the car camera, it is parked right in front of the door.” Ghost says, taking his phone out to check it.

They all check the screen, seeing the door open and close. They see you sit down, body shaking as you cry, Price feeling his heart shrunk at the sight knowing it was his doing.

They then see the two men walking in front of you, how one of them takes advantage that you have your face covered to stand behind you, how the other calls your attention to look at your face, and how once he knows it's you he nods to the other man, who knocks you out hitting you with a bat at the back of your head.

The wave of all the different emotions hitting them at once keeps them in place for a second, paralyzed on their chair. Soap jumps first, talking about checking the cameras on the street, checking the cars, their licence place, anything.

But it doesn't reach Price's ears, the only thing he can hear is the voices in his head telling him that he has failed twice now. The first one he wasn't able to keep you close enough when you left in the middle of the night, and now he was the one that pushed you away.

You were just on the other side of the door a moment ago and now… now he didn't know where you were. All because he didn't explain himself and let his emotions take control of him.

“Price!” It's Ghost's voice that wakes him up, standing beside the sergeants. “Move.”

That's all he says, and that's all Price needs.

They'll get you back, whatever it takes.

Two weeks.

That is what it takes them to finally find a trail.

That is what it takes Price to breathe again.

That's what it takes Simon to let be seen outside the office.

That's what it takes Soap to let himself be embraced by any of the others.

That's what it takes Gaz to stop baring his teeth to everyone.

They have a trail.

And god knows that's all they need.

What you need, is a doctor. A shower. A glass of water. A nap. Anything that is not forced or thrown at you.

Two weeks of torture.

Two weeks of just getting hurt, insulted, humiliated, all of it just for the purpose of causing you pain.

The henchmen of the man you used to say good morning to were the ones that have stolen you away.

The ones that have thrown you into an empty dark room.

The ones that have “interrogated” you about who you worked for.

The ones that have “interrogated” you about how much they paid you.

You didn't say a word, which usually resulted in a punch to the face or a kick to the ribs.

You want to believe that they will find you.

That they will take you back home.

That Price will forgive you for shouting at him.

Hell, if you die and the last thing you did was shout at him.

You'll live.

They'll find you.

Two weeks.

Of fighting with yourself.

The side that says you'll live.

And the side that tells you to give up already.

The second one usually wins.

Like today, when the man that enters the room every day walks up to you, limping and with a knife in his hand.

He yanks your hair, pulling you up on your feet and pressing the knife on your throat. “Make a sound and it'll be the last thing you do.”

He moves you into a chokehold, pushing you in front of him as he walks down the hall. There is shouting and the sound of guns inside the building.

The moment he sees the car where they push you in, the one they saw on the cameras; Price almost needs to pull Simon back from running inside the building.

This is it.

This is the headquarters they couldn't find for so long.

The headquarters where all the important information and the guns they have looked for so long are at.

The headquarters where everything that matters is.

The headquarters where they kept you at.

Price sends Ghost to the building on the other side of the road, not trusting the man in face to face with what they can find inside.

And he obliges, hating the rank differences.

They move in, clearing room after room.

No sign of you.

The move to the second floor.

You are not there.

More and more people that hit the ground when they found them.

You are still missing.

Until you see it.

The unmistakable blue cap on Gaz's head.

And you shout.

You shout louder than you shout at Price.

You shout louder than when Soap scared you hiding behind the door.

You shout louder than when you called for Ghost when you thought he fell on the shower but it was just the shampoo bottle.

You have never shouted at Gaz.

Until now.

And the moment you do you feel the blade dig into your skin, moving your hand between the knife and your neck.

The three of them turn to you, immediately updating Ghost and telling him to move.

The window behind you is almost like a target for a perfect shot.

But Ghost can't shoot.

Not when he can see your head.

Not when there is a possibility that he may hit you.

But he can when you move.

When you grab the blade, breaking the skin of your fingers, and you pull back just enough to squish yourself down.

You are still against his chest, the man still holding you. But Ghost can now see your head, lower than before. And the arms around you quickly go limp, falling forward taking you with him.

A ringing in your ear keeps you from Price's voice calling your name. Everything is dizzy for a moment, there is a warm sensation on your elbow and when you look back a red pool of blood is bleeding onto your clothes.

You liked that t-shirt.

You'll need to try with peroxide, see if you can take the stain out.

Your brain ignores the corpse lying next to you, but for some reason you can't stop looking at the blood on your elbow.

It isn't until Price cups your face, your grimey, bloody and sunken face. And you look up to him, his blue eyes.

And you let yourself cry.

After two weeks.

You cry.

So hard you can't see nor hear anything.

You cling onto Price, hiding your face on his neck, digging your nails on his back needing to feel him under your skin.

Apologies fly from one to the other.

For shouting, for pushing away, for failing to protect, for not shouting, for being taken away.

You feel two more pairs of arms around you, feeling the fourth person only when you start to leave the building.

Not much longer an ambulance arrives, finally taking you to safety.

The four men in the car right behind.

Recovery is just as slow.

No permanent physical damage.

But not all the wounds are on the skin.

Those heal quite fast.

And soon you are back on your feet.

On your scared, wobbly feet.

The boys are back around, always one of them close.

“I'm never leaving you out of my sight again.” Price says, cupping your face as he kisses your forehead. “I don't care if I sound like a madman.”

They make it easy to get back.

Price finally tells you about the job at base, which you gladly apply for.

Surprisingly you got it, and started working soon.

It was easy.

You got a better flat, easy to pay when four more people chime in for the bills.

You got a better job, with better pay and a better boss.

You got, not only one, but four lovers.

And you have all the time of your life to heal everything that's left.

You still wonder how you managed to get into your garage that night.

But now you're glad you did.

And with this, ladies and gentlemen.

Lift Me Off My Feet comes to an end ❤️.

Thanks for joining along, for all the support that you have given me the last couple of months, for the patience between chapters, special thanks to @darkangel4121 for listening to me complain so much and to everyone who has joined and will join the blog.

I love you, my lovelies 💗

TagList: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @cassiecasluciluce @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tired-writer04 @evolutionarry @prettykinkysoul @pagesfalling @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3 @tooloudarts @sodavrr @anirok2 @lilliumrorum @ladyxtiger @multy-fandom-lover @thriving-n-jiving @lotionlamp @spicyspicyliving @xxeiraxx @vampirekilmerfic @keiraslayz @risingofjupiter @witchthewriter @soupinasock @phantomly27 @arbesa-mind @multifandomheathenannie @spadekip @cmbghost @herefor-tojis-tits @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe

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nyaagolor · 5 months

Note

How do you rank the prosecutors on order of homophobia

forgot about this in my drafts for literally months oops. Anyway. Finished now!!!!

So I made this post a while ago that has some of the prosecutors and antagonists, but if you want a ranking of EVERY prosecutor (not including DGS bc i haven't finished yet) huzzah!!

Simon Blackquill: Not actually homophobic but he gets points docked for siccing Taka (known homophobe) at Klavier (known bisexual) for stealing his pretzels from the office pantry that one time. 3/10

Blaise Debeste: I think he's gay but he made me look at that ugly ass beard for far too long and I consider that disrespectful. out of principle? 8/10

Sebastian Debeste: Just look at him. 0/10

Miles Edgeworth: Bratworth was simultaneously gay, homophobic, and a misogynist, and eventually develops into a man who is only like 1.5 of those things. he's getting better. 5/10

Byrne Faraday: I don't really think he cares much about gay people he's busy being a single father and stealing shit. For the apathy? 2/10

Klavier Gavin: He's extremely gay and does a lot of work for the gay community but making Ema Skye deal with him is explicitly lesbophobic so 4/10

Godot: He has a lovely wife but whatever he was doing with Ron DeLite was probably not osha-compliant. I don't know what that means for his sexuality or stance on gay people and neither does he. ?/10

Ga'ran: I think she has a lot of other problems she should deal with first but considered she's bigoted to defense attorneys I don't think her being homophobic would be that out of pocket. Not sure I want to find out. 7/10

Neil Marshall: Have you ever been a gay bar? This guy would do NUMBERS. Also, real cowboys support gay rights. 0/10

Gaspen Payne: Being homophobic is actually why he got fired by the prosecutor's office and Winston is really fucking embarrassed about it. 10/10

Winston Payne: You'd think he'd be homophobic but you can't work for the Japanifornia Prosecutor's Office and hate gay people or you would actually go insane. He's like that one suburban guy who uses terms from the 60s but has the spirit. However, his ally lapel pin is really ugly so 3/10

Jaques Portman: He was calling Edgeworth slurs even before realizing he was gay. 9/10

Lana Skye: Dated Mia in college but refused to explain that to Ema because she has a lot of internalized homophobia and other weird issues of self. Repressed yuri personified. 1/10

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: He supports gay people but gets all his talking points from the internet so even though he's supportive he's also incredibly fucking annoying about it and no one wants to invite him to brunch because of it. Stop using twitter for fact-checking you jackass. 2/10

Franziska Von Karma: Despite the fact that her lesbianism is so strong it borders on misandry, I think she has a lot of internalized homophobia so she spends the first 25 years of her life being a judgmental little shit. She'll get better dw about it. I believe she can bring that number down with time. 6/10

Manfred Von Karma: I think when he finds out Edgeworth is gay he starts going to gay bars and picking up dudes just to show Edgeworth he has way more rizz than him. Considering how people in my notes have told me on numerous occasions how much they want him carnally, I think he could actually pull it off. In that respect I think he's done a lot for the gay community. It ends up cancelling out somewhat because I think he'd be kind of an ass about it. 4/10

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

Text

After developing the ability to trap ghosts in pocket dimensions where they can feed thier obsessions without bothering him, Danny and co begin to grow bored and explore the Infinite Realms.

Danny had always known he was a clone, with his earliest memory having been being kidnapped from the lab he was made in -via people he still didn't know to this day-and shoved through a mysterious blue portal before being found by the Fentons. Danny accepted he didn't know who his biological parent or parents were and probably never will.

Thats why he was even more shocked than his friends when they went to a place called Gotham and met someone who looked like an older (or in damians case: younger) version of Danny.

Now Danny had a few options for a response. Sure he and his friends could just run but where's the fun in that? He could:

1. Give them a tearful look and say "Dad? Is that really you?"

This can also be said as mom in case of Cass or Selina

This is funniest if its said to either Tim or Damian because Danny is like 15 in this and Tim isn't that much older than Dannys appearent age and Damian looks younger than him

2. Stare at them and say, "Oh, you're the person I was cloned from?" And act like everything's normal. Maybe ask if they need an organ and if thats why they tracked him down.

3. Ignore it and act like its a coincidence they look exactly the same.

4. Act scared of them. Maybe beg them to not kill him for added dramatic affect

5. Ask if they like dogs and shove Cujo into thier arms before they can answer.

They suddenly get rapid fire sniffs and then a torrent of puppy kisses.

6. Panic and trap them in a pocket dimension like the ghosts and have to figure out how to get them out before they get in trouble. Maybe its too late and they have to get them out while dodging bats

7. Try to convince them they're hallucinating

8. Just let them sneakily take a sample of his DNA just to see what happens. Dont even acknowledge the clone thing. Even if presented with the dna tests, Deny, Deny, Deny.

9. Convince them they and the others knew about him for years and that they're memories may have been altered. Escape when their guard is down/they're not looking.

10. Pineapple. Not really sure how that will help but now there's pineapples everywhere. Danny might be hungry if he's teleporting fruit into his vicinity from just a thought, but that may also be because he's suddenly developing teleportation powers.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #clone au #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #tim drake #red robin #robin #damian wayne #cassandra wayne #cassandra cain #dick grayson #jason todd #stephanie brown #duke thomas

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vampigeon · 5 months

Text

You may have seen a video on the internet recently. As have I!

A comic strip, Vampigeon by Josh Jennings.

Panel 1: Caption: It’s not all bad, James Somerton fans. Now that you know his formula, you can make an infinite number of his videos using only the power of your imagination

Panel 2: [A title card, with Stock Footage of cows with color filters and the text "Moo, Britannia by James Somerton."]

Panel 3: [YouTube Other People's Words Reader James Somerton presents a video.] James (Encyclopedia Text): Bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE), commonly known as mad cow disease, is an incurable and invariably fatal neurodegenerative disease of cattle. Symptoms include abnormal behavior, trouble walking, and weight loss.

Panel 4: James (Standard Dialogue): Historians theorize that the first Mad Cow was, big surprise, straight and female. These symptoms, the abnormal behavior in particular, mimic what people with vaginas are like all the time.

Panel 5: James (Standard Dialogue): I don't acknowledge nonbinary masc people or trans men, and, as such, their silence on the issue of Mad Cow…is deafening.

Panel 6: James (Standard Dialogue): Once, I was walking down the street at night, when a pack of roving vaginas attacked me.

Panel 7: James (Standard Dialogue): They brandished Mad Cow Burgers, screaming about I needed to kiss a boy in front of them.

Panel 8: James (Standard Dialogue): I managed to get into my home, but I could still hear the scraping of their claws against the glass. Hear their sickening howls, bragging about how women don't have problems.

Panel 9: [beat]

Panel 10: James (Encyclopedia Text): Currently the only reliable test for Mad Cow is examination of tissues during a necropsy citation needed.

#webcomic #webcomics #vampigeon #james somerton #hbomberguy #todd in the shadows

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k-martins · 4 months

Text

Updating mine

MY TOP TEN FAVORITE JJK SHIPPS!!!!

10. SHOKOHIME

They stole Jogo and Hanami's place because I got it into my head that Jogo is like the grumpy grandfather and Hanai is the vegan aunt of the curse family! I like them. I think it's a ship with a lot of potential. I need to consume more content, but I love the fanarts!!!

9. HIGUNANA

This crack grew in me and now I'm suffering for them after the last chapter. In a kind universe, Higuruma and Nanami adopted Yuji and they live happily and happily!!! I think the two go together a lot and the fanfics are adorable! These Old Yaoi will be the death of me!!!!

8. CHOSOYUKI

They've come down a little, but man I still love them!!! Even more so now because my thirst for Choso awakened and I started reading fanfics of him being a good big brother and I fell to my knees! I still want to write more and explore his relationship with Yuji. And God, YUKI IS AMAZING!!!! THEY DESERVED TO STAY TOGETHER, AKUTAMI YOU DAMN IT!!!!

7. HIGUKUSA

A friend on twt is feeding me higukusa art and, god, this crack (not so crack, because that "I'll protect you even if I have to die for it" from kusakabe hit me hard) has taken root in my heart! I'm also obsessed with Higuruma, so I combined the useful with the pleasant!

6. INUOKKO

THEY ARE CUTE OKAY!!!! I AM OBSESSED WITH CREATING HCS FOR THEM!!! I don't consume much of their stuff, but all the fanart I've seen is cute and their participation in the itafushi fics I read is always welcome!!! It's kind of strange to read something where they're not together…

5. NOBAMAKI

MY OPINION HAS NOT CHANGED, OKAY??? NOBAMAKI IS WONDERFUL AND I WOULD KILL TO HAVE MORE OF THEM!!! But since I saw Nobara's flashback I've been wondering if Fumi wouldn't be a good ship too? Does anyone have a fanfic/fanart of him, by the way??? ANYWAY, NOBAMAKI IS STILL MY FAVORITE!!!

4. KIRAKARI

I'M IN LOVE WITH KIRARA!!!! SHE AND HAKARI ARE THE ONLY HEALTHY THINGS IN THIS MISERABLE MANGA!!!! I love imagining what their relationship is like, writing hcs slice to life minis and drawing Kirara! But I'm getting worried because I saw someone saying that Kirara could appear in the Hakari x Urame fight to help her boyfriend and I know what's going to happen and I don't want it to happen! GEGE GET THESE DIRTY CLAWS AWAY FROM MY BABIES!!!!

3. SATOSUGU

YOU RUINED BLACK AND WHITE FOR ME, YOU DEPRESSED BITCHES!!! My friend is obsessed with them and boy can I understand! These two are tragic, with a beautiful dynamic and a happy ending(?). Plus they fucked up my Christmas Eve. I hope these two bitches are causing terror in heaven!

2. ITAFUSHI!!!!

If you've known me for more than a second, you'll know that I have an average of five outbreaks a day because of these two. This whole thing about always trying to save others even if it condemns them destroys me, okay??? Fanfics and fanarts also feed me! And I'm going to convince all my friends to ship this too so I can yell at 2am at them about little details of their dynamic! AND THEY MATCH SO MUCH!!! Of course, no more than our first place!!!!

EVERYONE X THERAPY!!!

Please let the deaths stop and this become canon

Honorable mention for _ Tojikuna (more because a twt artist is obsessed with them and that rubbed off on me) _ Hainana _ Toji x Mamagumi _ Okkofushi (Yuta was Megumi's first crush and you can't get that out of my head) _ Uraume x Sukuna (one-sided) _ Yuta x Maki

#First place is what needs to happen the most!#like #I really want this to happen #two weeks without an episode and I'm freaking out already #itafushi #fushiita #satosugu #nobamaki #inuokko #shokohime #higukusa #higunana #chosoyuki #kirakari

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 6 months

Text

DP x DC prompt. ~“Unstable connection”~ Dead on main.

Part 9.3. "A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you." — Elbert Hubbard

~~~~~

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Part 8. Part 9. New: Part 9.1. Part 9.2. Part 9.3.

Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Meme break №1. Part 13.

Roy: Look, I’m deeply flattered that you decided to talk about your feelings with me because you bats are allergic to them, but you’re seriously telling me that you’re texting a guy from out of Gotham? What for?

Jason: Do I need a reason?

Roy: Usually not, but I know you’re paranoid.

A cookie flies straight into Roy’s head.

Jason: Shut up. I know how to relax. He’s just a guy. No harm from boyf- a friend.

Roy: What you see in him? No, I rather have to ask how he tolerates you. I deserve a reward for being your best friend.

Jason: Hey, actually, I like Bizarro a lot more, just so you know, jerk. And we actually have more in common than it seems. He gets along with dead people who hang out in his town a lot. And.. I don’t know, okay? It’s just easy to talk to him, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would yell if he found out about me something weird for any other stranger. He feels like home. Safe one. I can rest when I talk to him, you know?

Roy: So you trust him? With everything?

Jason: I’m not an idiot and I’m not going to reveal everything until we talk offline. I don’t even know if I want to. Of course he’s not afraid of the undead from his town and he didn’t convict Hood for his actions when I asked him for his opinion, but talking about a specific person and some vigilante from the shadows is different. I don’t want him to be afraid of me or be disappointed in me. But somehow part of me believes that he will take this side of me. I sent him a picture with knives on my thighs, and he didn’t care. And one time, I messed up the chats and I sent him a threat that was meant to check on my new guys. He yelled at me. Because I could be reported to the police.

Roy: Well, if you like him, just try not to screw it up.

Jason: I’m trying. And by the way if Dick finds out about our conversation, I’ll throw you in the river.

Roy: Dude, you’ve known me for years! I bet you don’t threaten your lover like that! Have some trust.

Jason: Okay. So, I don’t know what to do, Roy. Fenton is perfect. But he’s a civilian. Phantom looks dead handsome but I know almost nothing about him. And what I know I learned from Danny. And now the fic that I’m writing is full of adult-rated scenes. Of course, I don’t add them to my work on ao3, but it’s still so weird.

Roy: Have you tried sending this to Fenton? With any luck, he’ll take it as flirting.

Jason: What? Hell no! He thinks I’m a mercenary for Red Hood. He’s gonna think I have wet fantasies about my boss and I’m gonna lose all self-respect, and he’s gonna block me and...

Roy: Okay, okay, slow down a little. We both know you’re weird, but you’re not that weird. And he’s not even your boyfriend. So his opinion doesn’t really matter.

Jason *whispers*: He's my husband. And it does.

Roy: Dude, I mean, I support your vibe but isn’t this guy supposed to know that he’s gonna have the title of the husband of a crime lord first.

Jason: Fair.

~~~~~~~

~Next morning~

Dick: So, I heard my Little Wing has a boyfriend. What’s his name? When are you bringing him to the family dinner?

Jason:…I’m gonna kill Harper. ~~~~~~~

Bizarro *on his way to tell all to Artemis and impress his good friend’s boyfriend*. First, he can leave a Red Hood doll by the window of a couple of his friend. It’ll help him understand that Bizarro isn’t dangerous and then the boy will want to be his friend too. Good plan, Pup Pup!

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dead on main ship

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shanastoryteller · 2 months

Note

Happy love day Shana! I would *love* some more of the WWX and Jiang Yanli runaway story! I love it so much!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Jiang Cheng would very much like to throw all the Lan and Jin disciples out from Lotus Pier because they’re all irritating as hell and even worse when they’re together, but there’s the issue of keeping them from spreading rumors and that Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan are going to refuse to leave.

Jin Zixuan is fair enough. That’s his wife and child. But Jiang Cheng give anything to be able to kick Lan Wangji into the nearest lotus pond rather than put a roof over his head.

He wants to lie down and not think for a little bit and he wants to hide his face in his older sister’s skirts like when he was a child and he wants to hold onto Wei Wuxian so he can’t leave him again but none of that is reasonable or justifiable or fair.

So instead he watches as they discuss what to do next, how to handle this without kicking off another war.

It’s good to be concerned, and careful, but he doesn’t think there’ll be another war from this, even if they just them back into society with minimal explanation. At least, there won’t be as long as they don’t start killing sect leaders.

Things are different now than they were thirteen years ago.

He has a much firmer grip on his clan and the place of the Jiang in cultivation society isn’t desecrated and limping along. The same can be said of Lan Xichen and the Lan.

Nie Mingjue was an ass last time, somewhat understandably, but both Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen are better equipped to talk him down and pacify him this time. Besides, Jiang Cheng is a lot more willing and able to kick his ass about it if he has to.

While he would very much like to avoid doing anything with Lan Wangji, he knows he would help, that now that Wei Wuxian is back it’s going to be hell getting that asshole out of their hair. They might as well put him to work.

He real problem, the thing that just shoehorning them back in place stupid rather than inadvisable, is the Jin and the minor clans that have clustered around them.

Jin Zixuan and his ilk aren’t a problem, of course. But Jin Guangshan and the older members of their clan that are still loyal to him, which is a rather large amount, don’t like anything that upsets the balance of power away from them and they do their best to crush it. And often succeed.

He wishes he’d known, he wishes the letter A-jie and Wei Wuxian insist they’ve sent had gotten to him and that he hadn’t spent the past thirteen years drowning and curdling in his grief, he wishes they hadn’t had to survive on their own, hiding and lying and running, and that he could have helped them.

But despite all that, he understands why A-jie felt the need to take her son and run from Koi Tower.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #flamingwell #untamed

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larluce · 2 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie a little fluff to celebrate I reached 200 followers ��🤧. Thank you so much! I love you all! ♥️♥️

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 (You're here) , PART 11

A little more of "The Mark of Nimueh"

Arthur: (Knocks the door to Gaius's Tower) Merlin!

Merlin: (opens the door) I'm on my way. Sorry I'm late.

Arthur: (Smiles at the feeling of deja vu) Don't worry. I'm getting used to it. (stops smiling when he notices the flowers on Merlin's neckerchief)

Merlin: Oh, uh. (pulls out the flowers) Gwen gave it to me.

Arthur: (jealous) You two are pretty close aren't you?

Merlin: (confused at Arthur's sudden question) Uhm.. Yeah, I guess? I mean, we just known each other for a couple of weeks so-

Arthur: Do you like flowers?

Merlin: Uhm... I do actually (smiles a little). They're a nice gesture but...

Arthur: But?

Merlin: It's sad they have to cut them. Just to die in days time. (thinking) Why did you say that?! He's going to think you're a sappy petticoat now! 😖

Arthur: (points the flowers) And you like forget me nots?

Merlin: I love them! 😊(puts the flowers back in his neckerchief). Not that I think the other flowers aren't beautiful. But there aren't many that are purple and-

Arthur: And you like purple.

Merlin: Yeah... (blushes, thinking) Why are we talking about what flowers I like? He never asked me that before.

Gaius: (interrumping) Sire? Do you have a message for me or...?

Arthur: (blushes) Oh, right. My father wants to see you inmediatly.

Time skip. Merlin and Arthur fighting with the Afanc.

Afanc: (Throws Arthur aside)

Merlin: Arthur! (runs infront of him and raises his torch to the beast, ready to use his wind spell)

Afanc: (blows the flame)

Merlin: Oh, fuck. (falls on his back when the beast aproaches him)

Arthur: Merlin! (covers him with his body)

Merlin: Your torch! Arthur, your torch! (points the fallen torch that fortunatly still has a little flame)

Arthur: (grabs it and raises it at the beast while still on top of Merlin)

Merlin: (thinking the spell so Arthur can't hear him) Lyfte ic þe in balwen ac forhienan se wideor!

Afanc: (is set on fire and dies)

Arthur: (turns to Merlin and gets to see just a bit of the gold in his eyes before it dissapears, thinking as he catches his breath) So this was also you.

Merlin: (Catching his breath but also nervous, cause Arthur is still on top of him and keeps looking at him directly in the eye) Ar...Arthur?

Arthur: (caress Merlin's face, concerned) Are you okay?

Merlin: (Nods, red to his ears) Ahm... could you...?😳

Arthur: Oh, right. Sorry. (stands up and helps Merlin to stand up)

Merlin: (covers his embarrasment with anger) You! You can't keep putting yourself at risk like that! 😡

Arthur: (shouts back) I could tell you the same thing! You came here to fight the beast alone, didn't you? Why didn't you come to me? (thinking) As you did last time.

Merlin: I had it under control! I just needed fire to defeat it (thinking) And wind and magic. But you can't know that! (says) I didn't want to put you in innecessary danger!

Arthur: (in shock for a second but then smirks) You care about me?

Merlin: (red again) N-No. But I can't keep my job if my master is dead!

Arthur: So you love being my servant.😏

Merlin: I... 😳(thinking) WHAT IS HAPPENNING?! 😨😱(says) It pays well 😠. (starts leaving as dignified as he can)

Arthur: The exit is the other way.

Merlin: I knew that! 😡 (goes the other way)

Arthur: (laughs a little and follows him, thinking) Do you love me already? When exactly did you fall in love with me?

Time skip. Merlin enters his room and finds a purple lily in a pot next to his bed. Surprised and confused, Merlin reads the note next to it. The note says "There are many purple flowers you just have to look for them carefully. Here is one in a pot so it doesn't die, but knowing it's under your care I bet it'll last a few days anyways. Don't go into danger alone again. Atte Arthur".

Merlin: (puts the lily back in the table and sits on his bed calmly... and then sinks his face in a pillow to scream)

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition · 2 years

Text

sixty-nine more questions for your ttrpg characters!

(i originally made one of these on a defunct sideblog; i thought it was about time i made a new one! send an oc’s name and a number, go wild!)

1. what drives them? what’s their ultimate goal?

2. what was your original concept for this character? how did playing them change that concept?

3. can they accept failure?

4. what one person, place, or thing do they love more than anything else?

5. is there something they want to be known for?

6. how have they changed in the last year? how about the last five years?

7. there’s a magic item (or technological innovation, or special resource) made just for them—what is it?

8. what songs remind you of them? if there are specific lyrics or movements, list ‘em!

9. when in their life were they most scared?

10. what inspired this character’s creation?

11. if they have a pet or animal companion, how do they spend time with them? if they don’t have one, what sort of animal would they be interested in raising, if any?

12. how have they altered their body? piercings, tattoos, biohacks, or other modifications—anything. why (or why not) did they (or someone else) make those changes?

13. what are some motifs you associate with them? did you intentionally bring in those motifs, or did it happen over time?

14. what keeps them up at night?

15. is there something that never fails to make them laugh?

16. do they value their appearance?

17. they’re crying—what did it take to make them cry?

18. what dish brings back the best memories for them?

19. what sparks genuine, unadulterated rage in them?

20. what attracts them to someone—platonically and/or romantically, anything counts.

21. do they have an idea about how they’ll die? do you?

22. how would they decorate their living space, if they had a chance?

23. in what moment did they consider themselves to be “grown up”?

24. are they close to any family members?

25. who is their best friend?

26. what type of person pisses them off?

27. how do they usually dress? why do they dress the way they do?

28. do they collect anything?

29. what feelings do they internalize?

30. how do they handle confrontation?

31. do they respond well to praise? how about criticism?

32. which of your decisions led to their voice being the way it is?

33. what artistic medium are they most drawn to?

34. what languages do they speak? how did they learn them?

35. when did they feel loneliest?

36. how do they fidget?

37. if they’ve had one, what was their first kiss like?

38. do they see themselves as an important part of their party?

39. are they insecure about their appearance? how about their personality? what aspects specifically worry them?

40. if you had to remake this character right now, how would you change them?’

41. how do you keep notes for this character, if at all?

42. can they dance?

43. how much do they know about the world they live in?

44. what lies do they tell others?

45. what lies do they tell themselves?

46. have they taught themselves any skills just for fun?

47. what could they talk about for hours on end?

48. do they relate to anyone in their group? conversely, which person do they relate to the least?

49. how often do they cut their hair, if at all?

50. do they have a go-to beverage, alcoholic or nonalcoholic?

51. what element of their backstory are you proudest of?

52. how would they dress themselves up for a formal event?

53. do they keep their plans close to their chest?

54. how important is money in their life? do they save up for ages, or spend quickly?

55. they’re seeing their greatest wish come true—what’s happening?

56. who would they trust with their life, unequivocally?

57. do they see value in the laws of where they live?

58. how often do they swear? do they mind when others swear?

59. what’s an element of their philosophy that you disagree with?

60. what do they have faith in? what keeps them believing?

61. is there an in-game moment of theirs you think about and just laugh?

62. do they believe in good and evil?

63. what’s a meme or tiktok or vine (or whatever) that you associate with them?

64. how would a party member describe them?

65. what would their go-to karaoke song be?

66. which fruit do they like most?

67. do they consider themselves to be special?

68. where’s their home?

69. what’s one secret they don’t want getting out?

3K notes · View notes

em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 11 months

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 3: Delight

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Welcome to the third chapter of my rework - this one is completely new! Never-seen-before content! Smut galore! YAYYYYY! I do hope you’ll enjoy. Daemon-centric thought POVs are always fun as hell to write, and it’s super interesting going back to this stage of the story. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs, my slap daddy Ange, for reading through this chapter for me and making sure I’m not uploading total shite!

TRIGGERS: objectification of women, derogatory discussion of poverty, derogatory views of sex work. (Daemon is a yuck man!)

“Three cheers for the Prince!”

“Hear, hear!”

“Cheers!”

“And let his return bring coppers and silvers aplenty to the streets of Flea Bottom!”

“Aye!”

Daemon smirks obligingly at the congregated carousers as they lift their tankards in honour of him, ale-soused faces grinning haplessly throughout the dilapidated tavern. The Maiden’s Teats had once been a favourite of his in his youth, ramshackle and poorly lit and smelling always of piss as it did. And still does, he thinks distastefully. Looking around, he finds it peculiar that he’d had such an affinity for the place. There’s no accounting for the tastes of a young man. But no longer could he abide remaining in such close quarters with the source of his turmoil. What—or who—that is, he cannot say.

“Let us begin right now!” he yells over the din, standing on the wooden frame affixing the stool’s legs together. It bows ominously under his weight, but he supposes the fall would be a trifling matter if it should break. “Ale for every man here! A gift from your Prince to mark the occasion.”

Loud shouts and praises ring through the space as he passes a pouch of coin across to the alewife. He notes from the corner of his eye that she tugs her tunic down to expose her tits just a little more—any further and they’ll pop free of the neckline entirely—though he has no interest in fucking the innkeeper’s wife. Too much trouble.

A hand claps against his back, jolting him into the present. “My Prince! Welcome back!”

Daemon laughs. “Arric Dargood! Still infesting this city with your filth, are you?”

“You know me!” Dargood says, dragging him to a quieter corner as he speaks. “When there’s cheap ale and cheaper whores, you can’t get rid of me!”

Ah, good old Dargood. The third son of an already insignificant House, the man hadn’t much by way of prospects. In some ways, Daemon could commiserate—they had both turned to the sword to distinguish themselves from the rabble, becoming formidable in combat irrespective of their noble names. What luck it was to have been appointed to the City Watch at the same time! As one of the captains under his control, Dargood had rather quickly become one of his most esteemed companions. A rare sight it was to see Daemon Targaryen roaming the slums of King’s Landing without Dargood in his circle of cronies. And yet, while he might profess himself to have matured somewhat over the years, it seems the same cannot be said of Dargood.

Settling down upon the seat to which he is ushered, he partakes in the gaiety of his fellow libertines, an assemblage of persons known and unknown. Some faces are familiar, like the gold cloaks still in uniform that he recalls from his own days as their Commander; and some are fresh, from youths newly raised to notoriety to older men with a certain savagery to their disposition no doubt its own invitation to the table. Conversation flows as easily as the drink does, the men gathered sharing tales of just how little has changed in his absence.

“We even use the same route on patrols!” Steffon Hollard giggles madly. It is clear the ale has overtaken his faculties more than most present. “Ten bloody years, an’ nuffin’s changed thereabouts!”

“Why tamper with excellence?” Daemon smiles smugly as the words set off a new round of boisterous approval.

In truth, he is disheartened. For so little to be different, he’d expect to feel as though he’d never left. And yet, nothing is the same. How can that be? he wonders. He thinks of you. You least of all have remained untampered by time—he’d be hard-pressed to connect his recollections of his tiny little doll-girl with the temptress you’ve become.

“Uncle Daemon,” you say, hands twisting and eyes welling as you realise what he’s doing, that he’s about to leave—

“Uncle Daemon?” you ask, lips parted and just begging to be pried further apart by a thumb or something more, something larger—

He swallows, the motion almost painful. When he tries to focus back on the discussion at hand, he finds that talk has turned to his exploits across the Narrow Sea.

“I heard he flew to the ruins of Old Valyria!” one insists.

“Don’t be stupid!” another derides. “I heard he fucked the Prince of Pentos’s daughter!”

Lessella is a fucking shrew of a woman, Daemon thinks to himself drolly. Gods save the man she takes to her bed. He does not voice this, though—instead, he merely smiles enigmatically, allowing all to make their own assumptions.

“Either way,” Dargood says with a leer, “our Prince was surely knee-deep in Eastern cunt. Oh, what a fortune! Tell me”—at this, he turns to Daemon—“why the fuck would you come back to this shithole if you had all that at your disposal?”

Daemon grunts. “Perhaps I missed the comforts of home.” He takes a healthy swig of his ale. He grimaces; he’d forgotten how disgusting it was.

Hollard sniggers. “It’s obvious, innit? ’E’s hopin’ for another run at the Realm’s Delight!”

He tries to hide his scowl as his company share sly looks, sniggering amongst themselves at the mention of his woeful attempt to swipe Rhaenyra from his brother’s hands. Fucking idiot, he rails at himself, for not bothering to craft a version of events that would make me seem less pitiful. The gossipmongers must have had their choice in tall tales to tell of that evening—never mind the scope ten summers might bring them.

“Cheers”—Oswald Kettleblack, another lowly son from a lowly House, raises his tankard—“to the Realm’s Delight!”

The men thump the table, hooting and cackling.

“Cheers!”

“Aye, cheers!”

Dargood guffaws. “And what a delight she is,” he says, once again slapping Daemon between the shoulder blades, “to just about every man with a highborn cock. Ol’ Rodrik here says she even let him have a go!”

The man to whom his long-time ally gestures to waggles his brows with lecherous intent. It triggers a fresh wave of mocking hilarity around the group, the sound unpleasant in the ear.

“Careful now.” Daemon’s teeth show in a grin that is far less friendly than it is threatening. “That is my niece and your future Queen you’re slandering. I’m duty-bound to defend her honour, even from you lot.”

This sobers the congregation; the mirth dies down to an awkward chuckle, each of them shifting uncomfortably at the censure. Fucking children, all of them.

He may have had his fair share of paroxysms over his brother’s decision to name Rhaenyra as heir over him, but it was never lack of love that drove such a response. To hear this small collection of folk disparage his niece so casually is unsettling; nay, insulting. If such a crowd is arrogant enough to voice these slurs in front of him—the woman’s own uncle—what the fuck might they be saying about her behind closed doors? It is concerning, and for more reasons than mere personal distaste.

“Is that your plan, then?” Dargood asks, curiosity plain to see in his countenance. “To ‘defend her honour’?”

The end of the query is spoken suggestively, leaving no confusion as to the intent behind it.

Needs must. “Ah, lads,” Daemon says, “not at all. How to put it? That ship has… sailed, if you will. It’s as you said; it seems she’s been a delight to many in my absence.”

It is a thoroughly tasteless remark to make, and one that leaves bitterness flooding over his tongue. Truthfully, even when he’d still thought there was a chance of reclaiming Rhaenyra, he’d not cared overmuch for the hearsay that had filtered across the sea—he’d fucked who he liked as a lad, and as far as he was concerned, she was free to do the same. All that had mattered was that, in the end, she remembered she belonged to him. Now, there is nothing tying him to the matter at all beyond the faint pangs of resentment and an indifferent sort of intrigue as to whether or not he might have a second (third) opportunity to bed her.

But still—better to conform than oppose when in amongst the scum of the city.

Hollard frowns. “Then why? Why come back at all?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Viserys got bored without me, I suppose. And I got bored of seeding all those foreign cunts. Such a shame for it to go to waste.”

He doesn’t quite realise the significance of his remark until he hears the response.

Dargood raises a sceptical brow. “A wife, then? Why not just take your pick over East?”

Fuck. But also—‘tis true. He’d had the option; Viserys would enquire as to his efforts in securing a new bride every few moons, each raven bringing with it the same indelicate attempt at subtlety. His reply would be the same. No, brother. I’ve not found anyone sufficient to breed more Targaryens into.

What is the point in asking over and over again? he’d wonder. There’s little to be found in Essos beyond the lineage of slaves or savages.

“And sully my line with spicemonger’s ilk? Hardly,” Daemon rebuffs with a derisive snort. “No—I’ll be wanting someone worthy of my name.”

“Sounds like you’ve already an idea of whom.” It is an invitation to continue, and an obvious one at that. Still, Daemon indulges Kettleblack’s provocation.

“Perhaps,” he says, punctuating the declaration with a long draught of ale. “I’m waiting to see if it’s worth pursuing.”

He is not being serious, but they don’t need to know that. After all, who is the Rogue Prince if a scheme’s not afoot? A delinquent to hunt down, a highborn lady to seduce, a whore (or several) to fuck… His pleasures are simple—predictable, even. Time has not changed him so greatly that his old pastimes lack a charm of their own.

“Well?” Dargood motions impatiently, nostrils flaring with lascivious glee. He always did enjoy the more lurid of Daemon’s many exploits. “Don’t leave it at that! Go on!”

Daemon shrugs evasively. “What can I say? Good breeding, well-mannered… a pretty thing, too. Excellent assets. Certainly wouldn’t be any trouble to bed her.”

As the men surrounding him crow and jeer, awash with lusty praise for their Prince’s conquest-to-be, Daemon cannot help but be reminded of you. At some point during his oration, the words had ceased being a collection of personal partialities and instead become an inventory of your own characteristics—polite in the innocent, trusting way a maiden is like to view him, a delicate beauty reminiscent of the finest illustrated manuscripts, an impeccable figure below all that ridiculous finery. The Targaryen name, too. The fact that you are his little niece might just be a credit to your appeal rather than a hindrance.

Pure Valyrian ancestry, of marriageable age, likely fertile and able to give me robust sons and daughters… And her memories of her Uncle Daemon, her kepa, would have her bending quite easily to my will.

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Dargood asks. “You’re a fucking Prince! No one’s saying ‘no’ to you!”

Except his conscience, perhaps. He still has one. True, there are lords even older than he is marrying noblewomen (girls, really) your age—but eighteen summers is indeed a great disparity. When you are his age, he’d be in his dotage, surely! It would be a hard fate to subject you to, never mind the battle he’d face at Viserys’s hands. His prospects had been rather spoiled by his decision to take Rhaenyra to a fucking brothel. Idiot. He should have known the threat of her ruination would incite the man to find her a husband that was not him. Never would the King have given him the satisfaction of winning.

Daemon puts these musings aside. Better to heed my instincts. No good can come of stirring Viserys’s wrath a second (third? fourth? thousandth?) time. Besides, it is no more than titillation. He doesn’t truly wish to take you, let alone make you his wife.

“I don’t answer to you, Dargood.” Slapping the table, Daemon rises, suddenly restless. “I’ve had enough of tedious conversation. You heard me! I’ve spent too long in distant shores—”

More hooting. “Bet they were wet, eh!”

“—and what better way relearn Westerosi customs than to fuck some Westerosi cunt? I’ll need the practise if I’m to have myself a bride from these parts!”

It is between rowdy titters from his companions that Daemon departs the tavern, spilling out through the open doors and into the muck of Pisswater Bend, an aptly named street in among the foulest locales in King’s Landing. Staggering under the weight of Hollard—a pathetic drunkard if ever he saw one—he ambles along narrow roads that stink of shit, rank and roiling, his mind set on partaking in the finest of Sirille’s current offerings.

That is, he reflects, whichever doesn’t also possess the look of disease.

It is very nearly an unreasonable feat to procure a whore from any brothel in Flea Bottom that lacks the ability to shrivel a man’s cock from whatever putrid humours have long festered in her cunt. But the whores of Flea Bottom possess a very particular advantage. They cater to a larger range of tastes than most, discretion being vital to their work in a way the higher-scale establishments do not offer, and one of the reasons Daemon had come to frequent the slums of the city in the first place.

Right now, he’d prefer tongues did not speak of the urges he must satiate to cool his cravings to a more manageable simmer.

To think—barely a sennight ago, he had believed himself uninterested in pursuing his basest impulses! How quickly things change. He is not so dull-witted as to lack awareness of what has incited the shift. Even as his mind wrests with the contrition of thinking of you so licentiously, his body—his cock, specifically—welcomes the flash of your skin that sweeps upon the insides of his eyelids like a phantasm, the shape of your body and the contours of your pretty, pretty face, the sound of your voice caught between girlish charm and womanly rhythm, the hallmarks of the only bloodline he’d ever sought to pursue in a bride.

No. But you are his niece. Moreover, you are his little niece. It is different with you, not like it had been with Rhaenyra. He won’t. He can’t.

Incense is strong upon the air in the brothel, stinging his nostrils and making his eyes water. Truthfully, it is a site not quite built for the purpose it conducts, being more of a ramshackle dwelling than a business front, but it serves well enough. Besides, the curtains do an ample job of concealing those customers who wish for relative anonymity, even if the sounds cannot be escaped.

In the middle of the room sit those who wish only for the sight of whores free of their meagre attire, tits and cunts and arses all on display, or for the thrill of watching love-play between prospective clients and the girls in their laps, or perhaps for the hedonistic delight of fucking out in the open, privacy be damned. Daemon notes the sunken pallor of customers and whores alike, the lines of poverty and starvation etched in plain faces. They’d looked better back when he was a regular. Likely all the coin I spent, he muses.

“Milord!”

A voice sounds from behind him, rasping with the grit of Flea Bottom’s lowliest brogue. He turns to spot the madam herself, her jowl wobbling as she limps toward him, grinning. One by one, his companions sidle past her, approaching their intended conquests with an easy familiarity that belies a long-standing routine.

“I ‘eard you were back! Welcome! ‘Tis an honour to have the Prince in my place before the rest get ya!”

He smiles. She’d procured all manner of needy little maidens from the bowels of the city in past romps through the establishment, skinny shy things quivering and fearful, wide-eyed and reluctant. Not to his most exact tastes, no, but their timidity and frailty had been oh-so-precious—and even more fun had it been to break them of their reticence as thoroughly as he’d break them of their maidenhoods. Peasant cunt is truly a delicacy.

“Sirille.” He dips his head, inciting a round of abashed giggling. It carries not the girlish enchantment she must think it does, but she’d served him longer and more loyally than some of his own men in the City Watch. He takes no issue in humouring her. “A pleasure.”

“Oh, you! I don’ suppose you’re ‘ere to see—”

It is convenient enough for him then that one of the plainer girls approaches her employer with haste, an artless squawk of complaint filtering thready to his ears and yet, mercifully, stealing Sirille’s attention from him. He is able to move away from the entry and further into the brothel. Daemon settles on the chaise beneath the window, slouching lazily across the threadbare surface and surveying what little there is to see.

Hollard and Kettleblack have their girls stripped to the waist now, tits freed and lurching with the short, frantic motion of hips colliding. Dramatic yelps fill the room with each crude slap, the whores panting and wiggling atop their patrons with efficiency, their rhythmic release creating an almost-song in tandem with the men’s grunting and groaning. Dargood has his own on the ground in front of him, gagging enthusiastically on his prick with little swallowing moans punctuating each drag of her head forward and back. Her skirt is pulled up to bare her arsecheeks and the bruise-red flex of her cunt, wet and glistening with more than just the oil that prepares her. The other men are in similar states of disarray, open-mouthed and starry-eyed and lust-drunk in their various positions around the room.

Several of the waiting whores eye him, fluttering their lashes and flashing their tits and cunts at him. He casts a critical look over them. Too thin, too shapely, too pale, too dark, too pockmarked, too young, too old, too—too—

None of them are interesting. At least, not interesting enough to bother sticking his cock in. Shame. The itch that had driven him to fuck any whore worthy of the name in his youth has died down to a faint pulse, still frustratingly there but difficult to satiate, choosier, more selective. No longer can he spend himself in just any cunt. Rhaenyra had ruined desire for him—well, he’d thought it was Rhaenyra who had done so. He’s not so sure now. Nevertheless, there is a very particular breed of whore that fulfils his needs, one he presumes will require visiting a higher-end establishment to—

Wait. There.

A smallish, white-haired waif of a girl saunters in, adorned most curiously in a thin gown of lavender—not a cut nor colour usually available to the lower echelons, he thinks—done up to the neck, not a sliver of flesh to be seen beyond the pale of her hands and the arch of her throat and the softness of her face. He’d nearly mistaken her for a higher class of commoner, one who’d regrettably stumbled into the wrong place in the wrong district, but the ease with which she holds herself disproves the notion. She is among the less attractive in the brothel, but her features—Valyrian silver locks, Valyrian purple eyes, no doubt the baseborn daughter of a Targaryen bastard some generations back—are unmistakeable.

Are unmistakeably, exactly what he is after.

He lets his eyes linger on her, waiting; she’ll come to him, of that he is certain. None in this line of work are unfamiliar with the predilections of a man of his stature—and from the cautious, near-bashful manner in which she picks her way across the room, careful to avert her gaze from the filthier displays present, she knows precisely what he enjoys. To find a rarity like her in such a downtrodden environment is unusual. She must be quite the unlucky one, he presumes. No doubt a victim of downtrodden parents desperate to make a quick coin or several. It's not uncommon for the poorest of the city to sell their daughters to the brothels in the hope of lasting through the winter season.

Then, the whispers from the other patrons reach his ears—not abnormal, no, but it is the name they speak as the whore passes that sends a jolt through him.

“The People’s Delight,” they call her, their voices dripping with mockery even as their eyes gleam with longing, absorbing the way the fire in the hearth plays upon her silver-spun tresses so like his own. “Look at ‘er—the People’s Delight!”

The realisation strikes him like a bolt of lightning. Curse his abominable fortune! For how can ‘the People’s Delight’ be anything but a crude play on his nieces’ epithets, yet another reminder plaguing him with the thoughts he cannot escape? Rhaenyra, ‘the Realm’s Delight’, bold and brash and beautiful from infancy, his dragonrider girl since the age of seven; and you, ‘the People’s Princess’, always with a polite word and a shy smile to give the commoners from your seat in Aemma’s lap on alms days in girlhood. This cobbled-together moniker is very clearly an allusion to these titles.

“My Prince.”

The girl stands before him, bobbing in a clumsy curtsey, peering down at him through pale lashes. Her hands clasp together in a show of modesty, her spine held straight and proud in a manner so rarely to be seen on this side of Flea Bottom. Pride is indeed in short supply in so destitute a locality.

Daemon is torn. He could—he should—castigate her thoroughly for daring to disrespect the blood of the dragon. He ought to make an example of her in front of all present, to drag her into the streets and through the city by her hair so that everyone may see what happens when you ridicule the Princesses of the Realm, when you besmirch their honour by adopting their royal styles and honours for cheap whore’s tricks…

But he wants very badly to discover how deep the similarities run.

“A bold choice—‘the People’s Delight’.” Daemon does his best to maintain relative impassivity. “One might say treasonous, even.”

Rather than quail, the little slut laughs. “If you were going to ‘ave me thrown in the Black Cells”—she moves to sit beside him, not too close and not too far, calculated and infuriating—“you would’ve already.”

“Brave thing, aren’t you?”

Up close, her gown is rather less demure than he’d assumed—the fabric is diaphanous, gauzy, revealing blush-tipped tits that have yet to slacken from age or famine. Perfect.

She grins teasingly when she spies him watching, obligingly arching her back to raise her chest to his view.

“Clever, too,” she adds, slowly bringing a knee up and out so that he may catch a glimpse of what lay between her thighs. The hair matches her head. Good. “At least, cleverer than you’d think, bein’ from these parts and all.”

“Hm.” He’s not really listening, truth be told—if he wanted conversation, there are at least a hundred people he’d choose to engage with before he ever bothered with a whore.

Emboldened by boredom, he reaches out, allows his hand to fall to the hollow spaces between her ribs just beneath her upraised arm, to cup the meagre weight of one of those tits with a thumb and drag up, up, up to feel the nipple stiffen under his touch. She sighs, pushing into him barely, a tacit encouragement that doesn’t overstate her eagerness but invites more. A consummate professional.

“B’sides,” she says, breathier now, lower in tone, “the rich people’ve got plenty of Realm’s Delights and People’s Princesses over in them pretty whorehouses on Silk Street. What about Flea Bottom, eh? Lotsa poor folk want to fuck a royal just as bad. Can make a lot’ve coin that way, too.”

“I imagine you can,” he replies dryly.

‘Tis no surprise that men want to pretend their cocks are buried in Rhaenyra for but a moment—he’s long been one of them, after all—though the idea that you are in the minds of such scum when release pools fast and heavy in their stones sends frissons of vexation throbbing through his bloodstream. That anger, so quick to mingle with desire, fuels his cock to full mast.

“Well, pet”—he delivers the address with a sharp twist to the teat he’d been fondling—“care to earn a few coin more?”

“Thought you’d never ask, Your ‘Ighness.”

With a saucy wink, she pushes herself off the chaise, holding a hand out to him. He accepts the implicit offer, allowing her to lead him through the open area and onward.

At first, he presumes they are headed toward one of the cordoned-off spaces—but then, she continues, pulling him gently but unerringly to the narrow staircase. A boon indeed, to be a Prince. It seems he’ll be receiving the royal treatment, after all.

The chambers in question are not at all pleasant—with creaking floorboards, the pervasive scent of mildew and a faint squeaking that indicates a rather significant rodent problem, it is a far cry from the luxurious standards he is accustomed to in higher-end establishments. But the bedframe seems solid; the mattress unsoiled; the pillows serviceable enough. He does not intend to linger.

He seats himself in the chair by the hearth, angled toward the bed, and readies himself for a show.

The whore stops before him. “You’ve a liking for the elder one, don’t you, my Prince? I don’t act for the littlest yet, but the middle one’s getting quite popu—”

Daemon interrupts, trying not to shift uncomfortably at the mention of Rhaenyra—of you. “That’s fine.”

With a wave of the hand, he commands her to do away with her attire. She makes speedy work of the buttons affixing the front closed, beginning to shrug off the sheer fabric so that her thin shoulders reveal themselves more and more. The smug half-smile and the cock of her hip lends the performance a breadth of flirtation, furthered by her impish little shimmy as the cloth catches on the twin swells upon her chest.

He stops her with a sigh.

“No,” he corrects, gut heating at the crestfallen look that overtakes her visage. “Again, but more…” He casts about for the right descriptor.

“Nervous?” she offers, immediately adopting a pose of diffidence, arms curling inward to tuck her gown back over her exposed skin.

“Hm.” He nods once.

Nervous. A shy, soft little mouse-girl, ready to be snatched up by a predator…

The whore hunches slightly, eyes shifting flightily about the room, never once settling on him as she slowly, slowly tugs down the dress, hands folding over her tits to conceal them from view. Shades of lavender puddle around her hips, sliding effortlessly over protruding bone and onto the ground with a whisper, exposing a neat thatch of silver curls below her belly. Her knees clench tight, twisting urgently to prevent his gaze from reaching the prize that lays between them.

“There we are. Very pretty.”

A muted, bashful curve of the lips. “You—you think so?”

“Turn around.” She spins on her heel, hair spilling molten down her back to kiss the roundness where her torso meets her legs. Lovely. For a chit as lean as she is, she most certainly has a nice arse. “On your hands and knees.” The girl pads over to the bed, making brief play at tentativeness before crawling into his desired posture. “Bend—ah, that’s it,” he says, ogling greedily as she bows her spine to raise her cunt up higher, fluttering in greeting as the cooler air hits. “Look at you.”

She moans softly when his hands fall to her arsecheeks, thumbs sliding down to spread and lift where she is most protected. The petals shielding her hungry little core peel apart slowly, hastened by his thumbs digging into the meat of her. Mm. Valyrian cunt, that is. Regardless of bastardy, Daemon knows what the blood of old looks like, feels like.

He is dizzy with it—the sight of it, the smell of it, heady and ripe for the taking. “Call me ‘Uncle’, won’t you, pet?”

“Mm.” She whines, hitching back before she remembers the game afoot, aborts her impatient little overture. But that cunt—flexing, wet, spitshine little doll cunt, peasant whore or no—doesn’t lie. “Yes, Uncle!”

Grunting, he fumbles one-handed with his laces, near to bursting already. Yes, Uncle, high-pitched, breathy-sweet, precious and fearful and wanting and—and he must remember what he is here for. What she is here for. She cries out when he delivers a speedy strike to her rump that flushes the flesh a pleasing pink, the colour of dewy cheeks and new-bloomed blossoms and childlike innocence.

“Did that hurt?” he taunts, landing another blow to the same spot and delighting in the garbled whimper it forces from the girl.

“No”—she squeals at the next slap, corrective this time—“I mean, yes, Uncle. It hurts.”

Though she cannot see his face, he bares his teeth, a smile that is more menacing than enticing. “This cunt tells me a different story. You’ve soaked the sheets—look at this mess.”

She’s barely wet her thighs, but the exaggeration heats his blood almost to boiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be.” He is forced to unbutton his surcoat and discard it on the floor to dispel the mist of perspiration clinging to his skin and undershirt, suddenly ravenous. He’s toyed with her long enough. “I could just slide right in, couldn’t I?”

He tests the statement with little ceremony, prodding one then two fingers straight to the knuckle. Save for the quiet yelp she emits, the entry is smooth, unresisting, nearly proving to undo the illusion he has stirred up. Soft, warm, drenched cunt—too easy, but it’s better than nothing at all. He curls the digits, hooking firmly down toward her navel and drawing forth a louder noise, startled, less controlled. It spurs her to speak.

“Yes, a slut”—she nods her head vociferously before catching herself at the warning dig of nails into her sensitised flesh, abruptly changing course—“I mean, no! I’m not a slut!”

So many errors from this one. For a commoner, it’d do.

“No.” He lets the blunder be. Removing himself from her passage, he allows his hand to fall carelessly upon her rear again, the moisture clinging to his skin harshening the arc into a blow. “You’re a good little maiden, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” she pants, raising her hips higher.

Her arse is a shade of bright now, the subtle glow of pomegranates, of red little tongues, of dusky hot innards spilled forth by the blade under the searing sun. His handprints mark all over the flesh, a symbol of proprietorship that will last longer than this night.

“Dripping more than a used whore.” He scoffs, spurred by the sight of her, shuffling up on his knees to seat himself behind her. The slight lands perfectly; she flinches at his words, and it is oh-so-easy to pretend it is the hasty advancement of his cock notching at her entry that incites such reaction. “If there’s one thing Uncle’s very good at, it’s turning maidens into whores. Would you like to find out how?”

He is already rocking his way inside in increments, taking just one moment to savour the feel of her grasping cunt-lips mouthing along the heft of him, greedy, eager to start work and perform the duty they’ve been tasked to. Hissing, he clutches roughly at her hips, pulling her backward.

She pants, breath stuttering. “Oh, I—”

“Sh, just take it, take it.”

He presses down between her shoulders, leaning his weight into it and pinning her to the bed as he comes flush with her form, lodged deep within pulsing walls. The groan he lets out is involuntary, an exhalation of utmost relief at finding himself once more in the depths of familiar territory.

“Easier than I thought,” he croons, holding her firm despite her attempts to wiggle up, out, away from his hold. “Perhaps you’ve been dishonest. Only sluts have such loose cunts.”

A shaky gasp. “I’m a maiden, I promise!”

And the sound of it is enough to make him forget where he is, when, who he is with and why.

Yes, a maiden, a perfect little maiden whore just for me, made for me—

He chokes on the rising wave of pleasure, lowering himself onto your back and covering you in him, shielding you with his body, protecting you with himself as he takes and takes and takes what he wants from your body, willing and wanton and his. Your hair ripples like moonlight over water with his every thrust, harsh and frantic, desperate to reach his end.

“And now you’re mine.” Daemon’s muscles strain and he can barely hear himself above the pitch of his heart galloping faster and faster. He tucks his chin to your shoulder, ear against lips that cannot stop mewling shrill and besieged, using your juddering frame as traction to force himself deeper, further, more. “Say it!”

“I’m yours, Uncle!” you bleat, lost kitten dewy-eyed and damp-cheeked, fingers grappling with the covers above your head. “I’m—Uncle—”

For some strange, unknown reason, it rings hollow, the fantasy blurring at the edges and allowing the cold touch of reality to slowly trickle in. Not quite right.

“No.” He redirects her in coarse tones, unwilling to forsake the illusion. “Call me ‘kepus’, call me—”

“Kepus,” you—she—you cry, cunt suctioning tight around him. It’s hot within you, unbearably slick, your walls knotting vigorously to the contours of his shaft with each hard snap forward and rough glide back. The scent of it, raw and heady and humid, fills his nose and lungs and clouds his mind. “You’re going too deep—ah!”

“That’s just your tiny baby cunt making room,” he thinks he coos, but really, he’s snarling through clenched teeth down at you, precious girl, sweetest niece, cock cleaving straight through the hollow spaces inside you and gut tightening with a rising, rising—“pretty little cunt just for Kepa’s cock, all for me—”

His release is swift, sudden, arriving too soon and ending too abruptly, prying your name from his lips when the ecstasy reaches its fleeting summit. Still, he lets his mass collapse upon you, hips pistoning to the beat of his climax as he groans his relief. And then, it’s over. The ember fizzles, and he is left with sticky, cooling skin and the feeling of a sweating form below him. Without thought, he sighs into the crook of your neck, nostrils searching for the rose oil that lingers on your skin even now—

Only to find naught but the trace of cheap lye soap. Only to remember that the girl quivering beneath him is not you, but some nameless whore. Only to realise that he’d been fantasising of you this entire time, of fucking you fast and forceful until you knew nothing but the sensation of him on you, in you, your kepa taking you and claiming you and keeping you.

—‘polite in the innocent, trusting way a maiden is like to view him, a delicate beauty reminiscent of the finest illustrated manuscripts, an impeccable figure below all that ridiculous finery’—

Fuck. Fuck. He had called out your name.

—‘you are his little niece. It is different with you, he won’t, he can’t’—

More than that. He had all but declared you for himself. In a fucking brothel. He’d never dare allow his true inclinations to be known in the past. Not even with Mysaria, with Rhaenyra had he shown such base need. Such weakness. But you…

—‘no more than titillation. He doesn’t truly wish to take you, let alone make you his wife’—

How lack-witted he is. Barely an hour ago, he had disavowed attributing any sort of significance to his lusts, denoting them as little more than the reflexive whims of a man accustomed to sampling anything or anyone he wishes. Already he has proven himself incorrect!

No. This is far, far more than mere titillation. The precise degree to which his desires afflict him—well, this he doesn’t know. He can only hope the girl will uphold the custom of her line of work and keep quiet, hope that rumours will not abound of the Rogue Prince’s latest fascination.

Hope that word will not make way to you. Such tales reaching your ears is the very last thing he wants.

Questions he cannot answer churn through his mind as he extracts himself from the whore, deposits coin on the mattress, ignores her overtures and stumbles out of the room, wondering what the fuck has just happened.

Read the story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120367177

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you

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gale-gentlepenguin · 5 months

Text

Gale Rates: All the break ups of Ramona and her Evil exes

Criteria:

1. It will have 3 ratings. How bad the break up is, How much fault is on the Ex, and How much fault is on Ramona.

2. It will be rated 0 out of 10. 0 being that it was not their fault, 10 being it was completely their fault.

3. This is going as objective as possible. I will be using the Original source (the comics) and any supplemental source that gives insight on the break up.

__________________________________________

1. Matthew Patel

Ratings: Break up: 3/10

The relationship always felt like a means to an end. Plus it was middle school and it barely counts

Matthew’s Fault: 3/10

From my understanding he was too immature and his Capriciousness (moody) , but it was Ramona that indeed ended the relationship and he didn’t take it well

Ramona’s Fault: 7/10

Ramona said up front the only reason she dated him was to get the jocks off her back and because he wasn’t a Jock and wasn’t white (her own words). Which really makes it a means to an end. She doesn’t make it sound like he didn’t know this. But Ramona could have handled it better.

___________________________________________

Lucas Lee

Break up: 10/10

Considering Lucas felt this was a big deal and he was cheated on, it’s clear that this was a hurtful break up. As For Ramona she hardly seemed to think much of the relationship. But still it is completely on their actions it ended

Lucas Fault: 1/10

Ramona did mention that there was a lot of Drama in their relationship. To the point that she wasn’t sure what class she met him (drama, or math). But even so Ramona ended up leaving him for her next Evil Ex which she cheated on him with. Now I can’t fault Lucas too much, because he doesn’t even hold much ill will towards her, he hates Todd more. At worse he was described as whiny.

Ramona’s Fault: 9/10

She cheated on him. Like that pretty much sums it up. She might have not really considered it much of a relationship, And I’m being understanding and trying to be as objective as possible. Ramona has completely created this Evil Ex,

________________________________________

Todd Ingram

Break up: 2/10

They ended up breaking up cause they were going to different colleges and it was mutual. They were the bad kids together but there was no real malice in the split

Ramona: 4/10

As mentioned above, it was a mutual break up cause they were going to different colleges. Ramona even pointed out that Todd was a bad guy known for fooling around. And she was mortified by the moon thing. So even though the break up was mutual, I feel like she still would break it off sooner or later.

Todd: 6/10

As mentioned above, it was a mutual break up cause they were going to different colleges. But Todd also had a girl back home he was waiting for him. And he was a prick.

___________________________________________

Roxie Richter

Break up: 8/10

Ramona's university roommate and the only ex-girlfriend. She alleges that their relationship was just a phase. But as expanded upon in Scott Pilgrim takes off, Roxie fell hard for her and the way they broke up was Ramona leaving without saying a word. So it was heartbreaking and sad.

Ramona’s Fault: 8/10

While not as bad as what she did to Lucas, I find what she did to Roxie on a similar level. Ramona never really gives a reason aside from it was a phase. Which Roxie is hurt by. I can’t entirely fault Ramona because if you realize you aren’t into another sex (or just not attracted To Roxie) you shouldn’t stay out of obligation. But that being said, she should have talked with Roxie about it.

Roxie’s Fault: 2/10

Roxie really isn’t at fault here, I guess the only thing one could argue is she could have pushed Ramona to get some answers and maybe be a bit more forthcoming with her feelings. But that is really all I can say. Though in the comic Roxie and Ramona have a more friendly relationship.

____________________________________________

Kyle & Ken Katayanagi

(Mostly they are in the background I’m sorry)

Break up: 10/10

Ramona blatantly cheated on them with eachother. Like yea according to her they were womanizers and sleazy, but it never made it sound like they were cheaters or anything worse. And the relationship ended when they found out about the cheating

Ramona’s Fault: 10/10

She intentionally did this. This is her fault which she admits. And quite frankly I feel bad for the twins, screwed over by screen time and Ramona. I will point out how intentionally f***ed this is

Kyle & Ken Katayanagi: 0/10

Maybe they were complete douchebags, but they got intentionally played by Ramona. It’s often skipped over but it’s probably the most justified why these guys are Evil Exes. At least they have eachother.

___________________________________________

Gideon Graves

Break up: 10/10

Gideon was an abusive asshole that experimented on Ramona and got angry when she left because she ended the relationship and his ego couldn’t understand why

Gideon’s Fault: 10/10

Gideon is an abusive asshole that thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity and can’t understand why people would ever want to leave him. He EXPERIMENTED on Ramona. Not experimented with like in a kinky way, but in a science lab rat kind of way. This doesn’t even include what he WAS planning to do with her later. Point is, this one’s on him.

Ramona’s Fault: 0/10

See above, she is 100% valid for leaving that abusive relationship.

#scott pilgram vs the world #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim #evil exes #ramona flowers #Ramona’s evil exes #matthew patel #todd ingram #gideon graves #roxie richter #Lucas Lee

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yellowbunnydreams · 5 months

Text

Mechanised Devotion (Part 12) FINALE ~Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader~

~Thank you so much for all your support on this project of mine guys! I really am blown away by how many of you have been enjoying the story and I can only hope that my first attempt of 'X Reader' has been written well! Also this one gets spicy Sorry this one is so chunky!~

Word count so far (all parts:) 25,162

Tag List!: @ruh--roh-raggy @likoplays @perfectlycraftychaos @kawikami @dilfity

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, afab reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 40's), mention of crimes and violence, blood, mentions of child death (it's FNAF, what did you expect?), past trauma; abusive relationships. Stalking. Religious imagery? Dub-con if you squint, knife play? Biting. Torture? BDSM? Oral (female recieving), multiple orgasms, creampie

William Afton stared at the mugshot that had been placed on the table in front of him. His younger, less bearded self who didn't need the glasses as much and had less lines to betray his stress. A cock-sure grin on his face even back then, it was undeniably him.

"Where did you get this?" He asked, swallowing dryly as he managed to tear his silver eyes away from the flash from the past. Seeking out yours as he held out his arms, palms up as he took a slow and deliberate step towards you, feeling his own stomach turning as you took an equal step back from him. It hurt something inside of him as he watched you purposefully avoiding his eyes, keeping your distance. "Sweetie-"

"Don't call me that." You snapped, choking on your words as you hugged your arms around yourself. Feeling yourself shake as you realised you had been clinging onto some scrap of hope that he would deny it, or joke about how it was some stupid prank he'd pulled when he was younger to try and appear tough to his friends. But there was nothing of the sort falling from his lips.

He sighed your name, taking another step towards you and side-eyeing Vanessa whilst he moved. Scowling his disapproval at her as he knew she must have been something to do with it all. He felt cornered, trapped by his own actions. Afton did not like to be prey.

"I asked, where did you get this? That's all I want to know." Trying to keep his voice as the warm one you knew, but you could hear some of the bass and gravel breaking through as the mask slipped further from the image you knew.

"I'm not going to tell you that Ste-..William." You fumbled over his name again, but spat his name with venom he never would have expected. Like it soured your tongue just to say it. He'd dreamed of hearing you say his name, his real name, but after that kiss that you had initiated, he only thought it would be spoken with tenderness or cried for when he introduced you to his pleasures and pains.

It really riled him up that none of this had gone to plan.

"Please, please just tell me. I just want to know where you got it from, and I can clear all of this up. It's a misunderstanding! A silly little thing gotten out of hand, but we can't have stupid things like going around and ruining my, our, reputation can we?" He cooed, taking another step towards you and feeling that stabbing pain in his chest as you continued to move one back.

"Our reputation?" OUR REPUTATION?!" You found yourself shaking in fear and rage as he tried to pin it on the both of you, weasel his way between the cracks of your question and turn it back onto you. You realised now that it had always been that way with him, how much had you even known about the man before you before you kissed him? You knew what he said his favourite pie was, you thought you knew he was kind and considerate. You thought you knew he was real. "Fuck you, my reputation was with a man who never existed." Feeling your eyes prickling with hot tears, turning your back on him after a few steps, noticing Vanessa giving a sympathetic smile as she gestured towards the door with her head.

Following behind the blonde, you heard the heavier footsteps behind you, calling your name softly, then firmly. Growling it when the sweetness didn't work on you anymore. Hearing him say your name was almost too much, almost made you want to stop and tell him you were sorry. But you kept putting one foot in front of another. Vanessa already outside the front door and waiting for you, her hand extended slightly as if to guide you back out into the forgiving night air.

Behind you, William collapsed to his knees, hitting the wooden flooring with a heavy 'thud'. Feeling his eyes become hot and stinging in a way he didn't enjoy. He hadn't cried many times in his life, and he wasn't sure why he wanted to now, not entirely. Having you ignoring him was frustrating, but it also hurt. There was something undeniably attractive and charming about you, even when you weren't afraid or in pain. He had found himself drawn into your own web when you kissed him and to have that sensation suddenly ripped from him was almost too much.

But he was an Afton, he was William Afton, and that meant he endured.

He put his hands on the floor, head bowed and his breathing turned ragged and shuddering, eyes closed for a moment before he looked up again, watching as your foot was about to cross the threshold out of his home. Out of his reach.

"Doll please, please I-" He choked on his own words as his deep voice began to crack with emotion. "I wanted to tell you. Please," he called your name again, watching as you paused and turned your head, watching over your shoulder. His hands raising up and pointing to his own chest, feeling the rattling breaths in his chest as he tried to blink back tears. "don't make me beg. I never meant for it to go this far, but you.. oh you my doll were too precious for me to lose." He let his guts spill in his words, voice continuing to crack as he fought to hide his shaking hands as he reached out to you again.

"Don't you see? I knew you would see the monster everybody thinks I am, that I- that you deserved better than me. Some freak who felt for the first time in years when you kissed me." He couldn't see you clearly anymore as his cheeks and beard suddenly ran warm with tears.

It was almost pathetic, watching him on the floor with his arms upstretched towards you like a man in prayer. Begging for some deity to save him from himself. Something broke in your heart as you watched tears spill down his face and listened to his voice cracking, babbling between begging you to understand and painting himself in pity. You could see the way his calloused hands trembled, and in that moment, he looked frail, broken and lost.

"He's lying, come on. If you stay you'll die." Vanessa whispered harshly, tugging at your arm as you watched the giant of a man behind you curl into himself on his knees, hands covering his face and taking deep rasping breaths as he tried to contain himself. Rocking back and forth slightly in place.

"Please, please just tell me why you want to leave?" He begged you, and you felt Vanessa's grip tighten on your arm.

"Come on! You can't seriously believe anything he's saying."

"Why have you left me here like this? Why now?"

"Please, he's having a tantrum, he'll wipe away those tears as soon as you turn your back."

"Didn't you love me, even just a little bit?"

His final plea broke you and you began to cry openly. Tears streaming down your face as you looked back at Vanessa, freedom from the monster on the floor just footsteps away.

"Forgive me." You whispered as you wrenched your hand from her grip, causing her to gasp out as you stepped back and locked the door. Hearing her pounding it from the outside before you turned to look at the mess you had made. Drowning out her voice as you cautiously took steps towards William.

He heard you steps approaching, his glasses fogged up and streaked by his tears, sniffling as his hands moved from his face, holding them open to you once again almost in prayer. To be saved from himself, from the loneliness that such a life of sin had led him into. Carefully, as if he might bite, you took his glasses and placed them to one side. Looking clearly at his face and placing your hands on top of his open ones. Feeling the callouses beneath your smooth, soft hands. You were the saint to his sins, uncorrupted, soft and hurting.

But who in all the centuries of religion had anybody prayed for the devil?

He pulled you in as your hands touched his, unable to resist his strength as your body slammed into his. His strong arms wrapping around your smaller body in a tight embrace as you felt his hot, sticky breath against your head and neck, one hand cradling against the back of your head so that your forehead rested against one broad shoulder. Your hands pressed against his chest, trapped between your bodies as he squeezed you tightly, shaking softly and taking deep, rattling breaths as he tried to compose himself.

"Didn't I tell you once, I wanted you to answer my questions when I asked them?" He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing the gentle curve and letting his breath move across you skin to create Goosebumps. Although you took a moment to recognise the words, you had heard them in a more demanding tone before.

He's been there since the very beginning. And suddenly the fact he had found you wondering the roads didn't seem like luck, but cold calculated planning. You began to struggle against him, trying to separate yourself from the embrace but he only held on tighter, his thick fingers moving through your hair as he made soothing noises.

"Do you really think after everything you've made me feel, after everything I have done for you...Everything I will continue to do for you, doll, that I would let you go?" He asked, feeling the grief of loss turn into a cold, hungry anger in his chest as he had you pressed against him.

"Please I-"

"Please what, my darling?" He cooed, still gravelly and voice more even, cracking less as he turned his head and bit your earlobe gently, making you gasp and jump, eliciting a satisfied hum from the giant man.

"Please William, please just let me go. I-I promise nobody will know about-" Another bite cut off your words as he progressed from your earlobe to along your jaw, causing another gasp to fall from your lips as you tried to push him away, yelping as he bit harder as a punishment for not remaining still in his arms.

"You see, I really want to believe that doll, I really do. But I have too many things I want...no, I NEED, to do to you. I told you that you were too precious to me, and I meant it." He pulled back from his attention on your jaw and smiled ruefully at you, fingers tightening in your hair and forcing your head back for him. Groaning and feeling his cock twitch in his slacks as he studied the bruises already showing on your skin from his teeth. "But you hurt me, you hurt my heart, you hurt my trust, and you hurt me physically."

Controlling you by the back of your head, he used his teeth to unwind the bandages around his right arm, revealing mostly healed, sunken pinkish-white scars in a strange pattern of dots and rings like those you had seen on his back whilst he was shirtless. Confirming what you knew about him being the one in the Spring Bonnie costume, the one who had hurt you. Saved you. Made you melt. Made you freeze.

"So how about this? I get to mark you up and show the world who you belong to really. Steve Raglan would never do such a thing to a pretty cry-baby like yourself, but I, William Afton, am a great believer in symmetry." his voice was husky as he unfolded himself from beneath you, making you cry out as you were dragged up by the back of your head, feeling his heavy footsteps carry you easily across the floor despite your kicking and fighting protests.

He led you up the stairs, still holding onto you before taking you to the end of the hallways which you recognised as his bedroom. You struggled against his vice-like grip, but he was far bigger and stronger than you as he opened the door and flung you on the bed like you were nothing to him. Not quite recognising the yellow tube that bounced as you hit the mattress, but as he quickly straddled your thighs as you tried to sit up, you saw the dark hunger back in his eyes. Grabbing something from behind the headboard as he loomed over you.

Pulling out a length of rope, he worked quickly, pulling on your left arm and sliding the thick heavy tube over your arm. Cold metal filled the inside and you swore that you felt what you would have called knives lining it, his large hands expertly tying your smaller wrists above your head and leaving you no option for escape from him.

Leaning in, he brushed his nose against yours, speaking slowly and softly, but in that hungry tone that made your core heat up even as the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

"That doll, is part of a springlock costume. You've seen me wear it before, well, inside of that beautiful piece of kit is lots of metal holding back the animatronic parts. You should remember what happens when you set it off." He chuckled, gesturing to his forearm as you got the cold realisation that he had placed the same thing on your arm. "So what I'm going to do, is I'm going to give you matching scars with me darling. Consider it a belated punishment for hurting me." He smirked, his breathing hitched and excited as he looked at you, vulnerable and helpless beneath his larger body.

You sobbed as you tried to pull against your bindings, but William looked down at you and felt himself aching, you looked so pretty beneath him. Manoeuvring off of your thighs, he seemed to drink you in with dark eyes, almost all of the sweetness you had know gone from them. His large hands gripped your thighs, lifting them easily and sliding them along your body, across your hips and pausing as his thumbs slid up your hoodie, feeling your warm skin beneath them and he took a moment to look back up at you before his fingers moved deftly, unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them down in a swift motion. Another tug and they were thrown into the corner of his room, and you felt the shame burning in your chest as the cold air hit your body that you were turned on by him. Your hands clenching into fists as you tried to squeeze your thighs together and hide yourself from him.

William was stronger and faster however, levering them back apart at the knees and taking a shuddering breath as he looked at the black lacey thing you had on beneath. Growling lowly in his chest, his rough hands moved up the inside of your thighs, setting the skin afire despite your sobs and the fear burning through your mind. Feeling small parts of it replaced with arousal as you looked down at the man, watching him lean in closer to your body.

"W-William please, what are you doing?" You sobbed, watching as his eyes snapped away from your core to your face, giving that warm, lopsided smile that made your heart flutter as he crawled up your body, hands either side of your chest and his hips sliding into place between yours, letting his weight fall against your smaller body as he leaned in and licked your cheek following the path of one of your tears. One hands reaching up and wiping the rest from your cheek with his thumb as he seem to contemplate what to say.

"I'm proving to you I'm not as much of a monster as you think I am, sweetie. See, if I was a monster, I would have brought the whole suit and let you experience everything all at once! But instead, I'm only letting you have a tiny bit," tapping the suit piece on your arm and making you wince as you imagined it going off then and there "and I'm going to give you pleasure even. Won't that be nice? Pleasure and pain all mixed together so perfectly?"

His hand snapped to your throat, holding it up and humming, squeezing just under your jaw and making your head spin as he avoided crushing your windpipe and instead just restricted the blood-flow to your brain. Making your head spin and throb as you were forced to stare into his silvery eyes, trying to figure out what he was waiting for when you recalled something from earlier. Swallowing desperately as you tried to speak.

"I-I'm scared William, this i-isn't how I wanted it to be." His eyes softened for a moment as he released his grip on your neck, allowing blood to rush back to your head and see stars once again as he lovingly stroked your neck, trailing down your chest and gripping one breast through your hoodie, rough and harsh, making you cry out as he hummed again.

"Good girl, you remembered I hate having questions not answered. I know you're scared sweet girl, but I don't want that feeling to go away. This isn't how I wanted to take you either, I mean, I had so many plans. There was going to be a whole time-line, stripping away pieces of myself until you fell in love with the real me. But you had to ruin my fun and make me act, didn't you? You pretty little thing."

William pressed himself against your core and watched as you bit your lip, fighting back making noise as you wanted to moan for him. Your shaking body beneath him was exquisite, and he began to kiss down your body, taking time to feel through your hoodie how the valley of your breasts fell along your sternum, the dip and curve of your stomach as you tried not to hyperventilate. The flare of your hips under his hands as his fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down swiftly. A mix of eager and patient that seemed just right to him given the circumstances you were both under.

Even under the low light, William could see the slick coating your lips and shuddered as he knew you had been being turned on by his sick actions. Grabbing your hips with a growl, he lifted you up, barely supporting your lower back with one massive hand as he swung his body round. Pulling at your restraints as he positioned himself correctly, just how he wanted it to be. Laying on his back with his mouth beneath your dripping pussy, breath hot against your skin and his beard tickling the inside of your thighs. He grinned as he noticed how your back had to remain arched, pulling up his knees so you could lay your back against them should you fall back.

You jumped when his tongue slowly, teasingly lapped against your skin. Biting back a moan as he paid attention to the sensitive folds and unable to hold back a gasp as he pressed his lips to your swollen clit, kissing and sucking the sensitive little bundle of nerves and making your body shake more above him. His hands on your hips and holding you in place as he watched your expressions intently, arms still somewhat extended above your head by the rope. The older man focused on your pleasure, letting his tongue flick across and roll around the bud just to hear your gasps and repressed whines of desire.

Your eyes stung from crying, your shoulders and arms hurt from the position he had pulled you into. But the pleasure running through your core and sending shivers up your spine as you tried not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you made you melt.

Denying yourself to him was an almost fruitless exercise.

He growled into your body as he slipped his tongue from your clit to your hole, pressing it in and moaning as he fully tasted you for the first time. The grip on your hips tightening to an almost bruising force as you failed to stop a moan falling from your lips. The hungry fire in his eyes sparking at the sound and making him almost feverish to hear more, redoubling his efforts as he subtly pulled your hips back and forth, grinding you across his face as he lapped at your walls, wanting to hear you. To feel you give yourself over to him.

You tried to hold yourself together as William Afton worked to unravel you on his tongue, somehow knowing that as soon as you came undone, you would never be able to leave him again.

"William." His name fell from you like a whispered plea, a bitter prayer to an unfair god and you felt the vibration running through your body as he growled beneath you hearing his name in such a way. Removing his tongue from you and causing you to whine needily as the pleasure stopped, your legs forced apart further as he moved and slipped you over his shoulders, laying you back against his legs.

"Say my name again, doll." He demanded, sitting up and licking at his lips, letting the taste of you linger on him unlike your first kiss with him, his hands stroking your thighs as you laid against his legs, feeling your back being forced to arch by his slightly bent knees.

"William." It slipped out without thought, the walls of your resistance crumbling as your fear was replaced with arousal. You knew it was wrong, you should be attempting to escape, fight, anything but-

The thought was cut off as he slid his middle finger inside of you, making you moan as the thick digit stretched you with a rough intrusion. Hearing his shuddering breaths as he admired you under his control, under his spell once again even as you tried to deny it. A grin spreading across his face as he forced a second finger to join the first, relishing in the cry that came from you. Eyes watering as the stretch was painful and oh-so-good at the same time, your walls clamping around his fingers as he seemed to stroke at a part of you that made your body convulse and his fingers become crushed by your insides. William bit his lip as he too held back, trying not to snap and lose control as he watched your expressions, how your brow furrowed and your eyes fluttered for him, your lips parting and quivering as you gave him his own symphony of noises which only served to encourage him more.

You could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, and your eyes fluttered back into your skull, clenching tighter around his fingers and more frequently, the lewd sound of your wetness finally reaching your ears as your brain finally gave in, desperate for release even if it was at the hands of monster.

"William I-... Oh god please I want to..."Your words cracking and broken, making William smile as he pushed his bottom lip out in a fake pout, looking down at you and the mess you were in his lap. So pretty. So vulnerable. All for him.

"Can't you use your words sweetie? Tell me what you want." He cooed, making you whimper as you tried to pull enough breath into your lungs so you could answer him.

"I need to cum, please William, please make me cum?" It had meant to be statement, but the whining, breaking tone in your voice made it sound like a request. One that the man was all too happy to oblige.

Rapidly changing his position, he laid besides you on his side, making you shake and gasp as suddenly the heel of his large hand had a chance to meet with and grind against your clit and you cried out. Feeling his warm breath against your ear and making you turn your head, the other arm snaking around your back and squeezing onto your shoulder, pulling you closer as he whispered against your lips.

"Give yourself to me."

And you came undone.

Your back arched as you cried out, hands clenching and unclenching as you squirmed, your wetness coating his fingers and hand. As the dopamine and euphoria washed through your body, you suddenly screamed as pain shot through your left arm, making you spasm harder and your eyes snap open, your hand clenching against it as you looked up, watching the white pillows become red as blood seeped from within the springlock suit. William's fingers pressing a thin rod into a small hole on the sturdy outside structure. You realised as your body convulsed from the searing pain and the orgasm that William prolonged by continuing to finger and palm your clit, that he had waited for your euphoria to inflict the pain on you.

He removed his fingers from you and brought them up to his face, cleaning them off and moaning as he tasted you again, looking down at your pained, confused expression as your body registered more pain than pleasure. Cuddling his face into your neck, he kissed along your ear as he whispered sweetly to you.

"That wasn't so bad was it? And you did so well for me. You make me feel so fucking hard when you call my name like that sweetie."

Moving again, he forced your legs apart again with with knees, reaching back and forcing off your shoes before focusing on you again. His large fingers worked deftly to tie your wrists, admiring the roped pattern they still held in pale bruises afterwards, then working on removing the springlock from your arm. Careful and considerate as he managed to move the pin and get them to reset, freeing your now bleeding arm. With your arms free, he made quick work of pulling your hoodie off and unclasping your bra, throwing both articles of clothing off into a corner to join the rest. His hungry gaze wandering your naked body as you cradled your injured arm against your chest and quietly sobbed.

And now, you were just like him. An angel and the devil bearing the same marks, more bonding than any ring or vow.

He took his time removing his shirt and undershirt, revealing his broad, muscular and scarred chest to you again. Your eyes naturally following the trail of hair down his chest and to his waistband before you even realised what you were doing. The smile on his face was almost cocky as he noticed it too, and his hands quickly worked on undoing his slacks, watching with relish as your eyes went wide at seeing his bulge for the first time.

Standing for a moment, he stripped off fully, his erection pulsing even without touching it, although as he looked at your bleeding, bruised body laid out before him, he couldn't help as he gave himself a few languid strokes. Groaning as his eyes fluttered before he finally crawled back onto the bed.

His knees forced your legs apart again, and he laid his weight against you oh-so carefully, like he was afraid he would crush you despite the fact he had just hurt you. Letting you feel his size lined up against your stomach and where it would reach inside you as he pulled your arms from your chest. Making you shiver and squirm as he licked up your bloody arm and he eyes darkened, moaning as he tasted you in a different way.

"Is there a part of you that doesn't taste good?" He asked, whispering your name as his nose rubbed against yours sweetly before he brushed his lips against yours.

"I-...William it hurts."

"I know sweetie, and you're going to hurt for a bit longer, but I know you're not going to make me hurt you like this again." He reassured, before you felt his lips capture yours again. Biting at your lip and making you gasp as he took to opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your arms automatically wrapping around his back and scratching your nails across his skin, making him moan and move his hips against you. His cock sliding between your folds and collecting your arousal, making you shiver each time he moved over your over sensitive clit, moaning into the kiss that tasted like iron and your arousal.

The weight of his body was reassuring, and the way he moved so sweetly against you almost made you forget about how your arm stung and felt too warm and wet. That hand moving into his hair and lacing into his greying hair, holding on as one of his hands similarly cradled your head, the other roaming your body as if committing it to memory. Squeezing and groping with a bruising intensity across your breast and hips. His tongue met with yours and letting them battle for dominance even though you knew that there was no way you could win. His kisses became sloppy, desperate as he growled and moaned, his hips rubbing against you faster as you felt the hot drool of precum smear across your stomach before he reached down from your hip.

Your breath was stolen as he slammed himself into you, a silent scream as he bottomed out in one motion and moaned your name. His fingers tightening in your hair as your nails scratched down his back. You could feel his cock pulsing inside your tightness for the brief moment he paused to savour you before he began fucking you with a burning intensity.

The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as both of you prickled with sweat under the intensity. William released your hair to sit up, kneeling on the bed and gripping your hips, pulling them up his lap as he slammed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as he stretched and filled you in a way you had never felt before.

Even though he seemed to fill you everywhere, each stroke of his cock against your walls seemed to stoke another fire in your stomach, watching where you met for a few moment as his cock disappeared inside you. Hitting the spot that made breathing and thinking hard repeatedly as he moved feverishly, an intense look on his face as his brow furrowed, lip curled up into a snarl as he growled and grunted. Focused on how good you felt wrapped around him.

Noticing your lack of attention on him, he snarled and moved forwards, one arm caging you in whilst the other held your throat again, squeezing tight as he forced you to look into his dark eyes. Wide and wild as he felt himself coming closer and closer to his own orgasm, wanting to claim you utterly as his.

You were his. Utterly and entirely, and he would kill you before he let you go.

"William I'm... I'm going to cum again." You whined out, making the large man snarl. No words escaping him as he held your throat tighter and redoubled his efforts, slamming his hips into yours with furious intensity as he watched your face, glancing to where his cock slammed into your pussy and moaning, feeling his body shudder as he released your throat and leaned in, biting your shoulder harshly and making you yelp between the moans and whimpers that drove him into becoming feral.

"Fucking cum for me,... be mine. Never leave me again." He growled into your ear before biting at your skin again, being sure to leave painful hickeys across your skin as he slammed into you. Hearing you crying out his name as your body spasmed and arched under his, William's name falling from you like a pleading chant as you were wracked by your second orgasm. Coating him in your slick as he continued to thrust into you, becoming sloppy as he reached his own peak.

He moaned your name into your shoulder, holding you close with his arms wrapped around you, pressing you into his body as you felt his thrusts slow and become jerky. Feeling him filling you with thick, hot ropes of cum and making you shudder more as even as the ropes finished, he languidly rolled his hips into yours a few more times.

Laying together, both of you breathless as your bliss washed over you. He began to kiss your neck softly, paying attention to where he had bitten and bruised, trailing it over your arm and onto each deep cut that the springlocks had inflicted, making you wince before he brought his now red lips to yours. Kissing you softly, as gently and slowly as you had imagined your first kiss would have gone before your world fell apart and was rebuilt again by the same man.

Carefully, he pulled himself out of you, watching your body shiver as he reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a roll and bandages and gauze. Sitting on the bed and pulling you carefully into his lap so your back laid against his, kissing your head and shoulder before taking your arm and wrapping it carefully. So gently your heart fluttered that he was taking care of you, making sure he was soft after being so rough with you before.

"Never leave me, please sweetie? I wouldn't want to have to teach you another lesson if you tried to leave me again, I don't want to hurt you like this again. I want you to enjoy me, stay with me." William whispered as you turned your head to look at him, letting your lips meet in another soft and slow kiss before you rested your forehead against his.

"I promise William. I won't leave you again." and you meant every word of your mechanised devotion. Automatic, intense and everlasting, as you remained in the arms of William Afton and whispered sweet nothings to each other between kisses and bandages.

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