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#it's one thing to scratch my akin

yanderenightmare · 2 months

Text

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey, collaring, drugging

fem reader

Thinking about a human collector who decides he wants a new pet to add to his collection...

The air of the animal shelter is polluted by whimpers, howls, and growling as he parades past all sorts of rareties locked up in their cages – all for him to pick and choose from.

The warden is telling him about the new swan hybrid they wrangled a week ago, wings like an angel with the grace of royalty, a true prize jewel of any collection.

He thinks it sounds promising before strolling past you.

Placed in one of the smaller cages on the floor, seemingly tucked away so as not to catch anyone’s attention.

You’re a sorry sight to behold – all starved and shaking – the collar around your throat too heavy for you to lift your head, having to look up at him through your lashes as he crouches down in front of you.

Your eyes are wide like two moons as he sticks a finger in through the bars.

It’s thick like a carrot, and for a moment, you seem like you’re about to scurry away into the very back of your cage – but instead, you inch closer, sniffing at the digit before suddenly snapping at him.

He backs away with a hiss, drawing the warden's attention – who rushes back and knocks his cain against the cage with a growl in his throat, “Stupid critter.”

You’ve narrowed your eyes, nose wrinkled in anger – something akin to a snarl forming your lips. It’s a funny expression to see on such a normally docile breed.

“I’m really sorry, sir. Bunnies aren't usually aggressive, but we’ve had issues disciplining this one for weeks.” The warden rushes out the apologetic excuse, expecting to be sued.

But the collector only chuckles – a deep sound that makes your soft fur stiffen. “That’s fine.”

He pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket, all movements calm and collected as he wipes the spill of blood trickling from the small bite mark you’d left on his finger.

“It’s only a nibble, after all.”

You spit the bitter taste left in your tongue out on his shoes with another sneer.

If it angers him, it still doesn’t show through the lofty smile he wears. His leer is just as poised and heavy as he looks down at you.

“Does she talk?”

The warden had turned to lead him towards the more desirable and tamed section but halted at the question.

He had a puzzled look on his face before he answered, almost in a question himself, “We don’t know.”

The collector scoffed out another small laugh, then pulled out his phone. “How much?”

The warden seemed appalled then. “Sir, we have exotic pets more up to your standard in the back. Are you sure-”

“I want this one.”

The warden looked snuffed at his firm tone. But straightened himself out after a moment. All business as usual. “We can’t guarantee she’ll behave. It could be dangerous-”

But he’s cut off yet again, this time with another rumbling chuckle.

“That won’t be an issue.”

And those dark eyes with that deeply dominating look within them were the last thing you remember seeing before becoming a sleepy heap on the floor of your cage – drooling with a blank stare as you’re carried to the trunk and driven off with.

The tranquilizer makes you fall asleep, waking to heat swallowing you as you’re lowered into a bathtub.

“Let’s get you groomed first.” The same man murmurs in a coo. Petting your head with a heavy hand when seeing your weary eyes try blinking off the sleep – but still left too drowsy to thrash.

Instead, you can just moan as he washes you with a tender smile on his face – his big hands coarse against your creamy skin, rubbing your plush limbs with soap and oil.

“My pets have been an awful handful lately…”

He’s talking about something, but you only catch bits and pieces of the words being said. Something about ruts and scratched furniture – someone’s been pissing in the sofa, and all the pillows are ruined.

He messages the lops of your ears, then rinses them gently.

“But it’s my fault. I’ve been neglectful.”

He cups your tits next, lathering them with the warm milky water, circling your nipples with the gritty pads of his thumbs until they perk.

Then he delves under the water to find your puffy cunt, letting the hot water rush the sensitivity, making it swell with heat as he splits the lips and pets your clit.

You buck your hips, and he awes with a light chuckle, crooning down at you. “It's okay, little bunny.”

His carrot-sized finger teases your hole before sinking inside you, filling you in slow and tentative pumps. Sitting next to the tub, just as composed as before, while your cunt squeezes his knuckles.

He hums, watching your body fight the tranquilizer as you seize up and ripple with release.

He retracts his hand, patting them both on the fluffy towel placed next to him. A content smile on his face. “You’re gonna do perfect.”

After he’s finished drying you, he fixes a collar around your throat and carries you out to the others.

“Gather ‘round, pets.” He announces, placing you down on the soft carpeted floors beneath.

Your limbs are still heavy, too weak to stand just yet. But that all changes with the adrenaline kick.

“Come say hi to your new rut-puppet.”

The stench in the air coats your skin with sweat.

“She’s a fragile thing, though, so make sure to play nice.”

Your big eyes skitter around.

On your left, there’s a wolf, fox, and hyena who all lick their teeth at the sight of you.

Next to them lies a bear that wakens from his slumber. He licks his snout with a huff.

Drool drips from the hang in their lips as they start panting.

And they aren't the only ones.

On your right, there’s a panther and leopard whose eyes all blackout into nothing but a deep pool of darkness.

Their tails slowly meander behind them as they arise from their beds to stalk you.

You whimper, backing up until your back hits the legs of your new owner.

You lift your head to look up at him, only to see him smiling down at you.

“Don’t be shy now. The smell of fear only makes them wilder.”

part 2

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut

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nariism · 7 months

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Could you write Neuvillette blushes so bad when reader called him an otter.

a/n: hi anon! this is cute... yeah guys this is the obligatory neuvillette otter fic on my blog now, enjoy it ●ᴥ●

He shouldn't be feeling jealous. He knows how ridiculous it is to be envious of such a tiny critter, especially one that's been seeking equal amounts of attention from both you and him.

But he can't help it.

"Look!" You hold the otter up into the air, dangling it around in front of his face. The otter trills, curling up into a ball and giving Neuvillette what he can only imagine is the equivalent of puppy-dog eyes.

"Are you sure it is safe to pick it up like that?" Neuvillette murmurs, watching as you peer around the creature with a wide smile.

You're completely ignoring his concerns about scooping up a wild animal, unable to contain your excitement from finally having a chance to grab one of them. "It looks just like you. How cute!"

And he also knows that such a passing comment meant to tease him shouldn't make heat crawl up his neck, but it does anyways.

"How in the world does it look like me?"

Your fingers scratch at the top of the otter's head and it's horrible that all he can imagine is your hands doing the same to him.

You turn the critter around in the air like you're showing off your child, to which the man can only stare in confusion. "White fur, cute face. Even has blue streaks, like your horns!"

"I don't see it." (Correction, he refuses to see it.)

The otter makes another noise and licks his nose, clearly content with being the center of attention. He only scowls, cheeks flushing when he realizes how much you adore the damned thing.

"So adorable," you grin, cradling it in your arms. "Just- just...! So cute!"

He's pretty sure you're malfunctioning with the overload of cuteness. He fares no better, brain melting with every hard-struck realization that you might be calling him cute by extension since you're so insistent about the similarities.

"It..." he clears his throat, losing composure with the second-hand praises. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" You laugh, finally turning your eyes back to him. He almost melts into a puddle right then and there. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he immediately refutes, rosy all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Jealous," you insist with a smile, setting the otter back down into the water. It leaves a shell as a parting gift and disappears into the sea.

"I am not jealous." Neuvillette bends down to pick up the shell, unceremoniously shoving it into your hands. You know you've got him then, with his sudden lack of manners.

The Iudex can't be jealous. Especially not over something so silly. But his face is a mortifying shade of pink, both at your passive comments about his similarities to such an adorable creature and your accusations of envy.

Your free hand suddenly lurches forward and grabs him by the face, effectively holding him in place while he falls apart. There's a pretty softness in your expression as you look at him.

"Cute," you tease, and he's melting all over again.

(Neuvillette flops down on the couch that night, face down in your lap. You raise a brow, setting your book down to peer at him curiously.

He's unmoving for a pause, completely still to the point where you wonder if he just instantly fell asleep. But then he shuffles, turning onto his back to look up at you.

Ah, there it is. Something akin to puppy-dog eyes underneath his stone cold expression.

Your fingers scratch gently at his scalp as you continue to read, combing through his long hair. "Knew it," you muse with a smug expression.

He grumbles with red cheeks.)

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 4 months

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five minutes | l.m.h

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... established relationship, disgustingly fluffy, excessive references to soondoongdori, minho is a cat personified, soft mimo!

operation put your boyfriend to sleep in five minutes is a go.

wc... 1.4k words a/n... ah, yet another domestic fluff fic featuring softy minho. a star specialty! sorry guys this is kinda my fav thing to write ever r u sick of me 😁 anywayz this was inspired by this soft thought and this tiktok like i saw it and immediately thought : lee minho.

ALSO ALSO! HUGE THANK YOU FOR 1K FOLLOWERS! i never would've thought i'd reach this milestone and words couldnt express how incredibly grateful i am for each and every one of you who read and enjoy my works <3 i love you guys thank you so much!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Minho turned the doorknob and pushed the front door open, greeting Soonie who stood by the entrance with a tilted head. Shutting the door, he hung his bag on the coat rack and bent down to pet his beloved cat’s chin.

“Hi, baby,” the cat nuzzled his head into Minho’s palm and circled around his arm, “where are your brothers, hm?”

Meow… Soonie walked off to the living room as if to answer Minho’s question. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he followed his cat toward the faint nose of your favorite series playing on the TV.

When he entered the room, Minho saw your figure strewn lazily across the couch. Dori was cuddled up against your chest and Soonie hopped up to join Doongie by your feet. His heart warmed at the sight of his loves all huddled together.

“Honey, I’m home,” Minho grabbed your attention with his gentle, sing-song tone, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

You switched your attention from the screen in front of you to the man standing in the doorway, returning his smile and giving a small wave. “Hi, my love. How was your day?”

Minho padded over to you, scooped Dori up against his chest, and settled himself where the cat had previously taken solace in your arms.

“It was alright,” he said, scooching backward to press his back firm against your front. “Tiring, as usual, but it's fine.”

Though he couldn't see it, you nodded in acknowledgment and pressed a soft kiss to his head. You brought one hand up behind his ear to scratch at his scalp, something you had found he enjoyed.

“Do you want to go to bed already? It is pretty late.” From its place above the TV, the clock read 10:37 PM. “Maybe we should move our little cuddle session to the bedroom.”

Minho sighed and shook his head. “But, I'm already so comfy here. Plus, you wouldn't dare disturb the cats, would you?”

“Please, remember the last time we slept on the couch the whole night? I don’t think we want that happening again.”

“Y/n,” Minho called your name, dragging out the last syllable. “My back hurts so much! Remind me why we stayed on the couch again.”

“I told you we should have moved to the bed! But you wouldn’t listen to me,” you snickered at your boyfriend from the kitchen while you continued to whisk a couple of eggs for your breakfast.

You set the bowl down on the counter and walked over to Minho who was still lying on the couch. When you came into his sight, he made a show of stretching his arms and legs, akin to a cat, accompanied by a few exaggerated groans.

“I don’t think I can get up at all today. I should just call in sick,” Minho draped an arm over his face, letting the other fall limp over the edge of the cushion.

“Don’t you have an important meeting today? I doubt your boss would appreciate you missing that on account of an 'ouchy' back.”

“Well, maybe if you gave me more cuddles, I’d feel a bit better.” Minho peeked at you from under his arm, proposing this cute, yet slightly impractical, solution. “Unless you want me to miss work and stay at home with you today.”

“Alright, you big baby.” Rolling your eyes, you moved to straddle Minho’s lap, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Now chest to chest, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting the other one snake up his neck to play with the hairs at his nape.

The time you spent wrapped in each other’s warmth turned from seconds to minutes, the comfortable silence lulling you back to sleep. Minutes turned to hours, leaving Minho’s meeting unattended and the scrambled eggs forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Ugh, at least give me five more minutes,” Minho offered as he continued to stroke Dori’s back, drawing a vibrating purr from the cat. “I don’t wanna get up yet.”

“Oh, come on, you have to brush your teeth anyways. Now get your lazy bum off the couch so we can cuddle on the bed.” You grabbed the throw pillow from behind your back and swung it at Minho’s side, accidentally startling Dori in the process. The cat jumped out of the man’s arms, causing him to throw a frown over his shoulder.

“Now look what you did! You’re scaring our babies.” Finally, Minho stood up, offering you his hand to pull you up as well. You met his hand with your own and anchored yourself up, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Oops.” You shrugged and skipped off to the bedroom, leaving your boyfriend with your three cats in the living room.

“Unbelievable.” Minho took a few steps towards the bathroom, paused, and turned back to look at his cats. “Well, are you coming with me or not?”

While your boyfriend finished his night routine, you lay on your shared bed and grinned to yourself. Operation Put Your Boyfriend to Sleep in Five Minutes was a go. You knew Minho was tired, and you wanted to send him off into a good night’s sleep in the most loving way you could.

The hallway light switched off as Minho opened the door to your bedroom, sporting a playful frown. It was time for Step One: Put him in a blanket.

“Come here, baby,” you peeled the duvet back and patted the space on the bed right next to you, beckoning your pouty boyfriend over to you. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”

Trudging over to his side of the bed, Minho slid onto the mattress and pulled the heavy duvet over his body. Freshly washed, the warm, lavender-scented blanket immediately soothed his senses.

“You could’ve at least stayed with me while I brushed my teeth,” Minho continued to pout as he turned on his side to face you, “and, I don’t know, given me a back hug or something.”

Though his tone was playful, you recognized the look in Minho’s gaze. He yearned for your comfort, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. Reaching over, you cupped his face, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. You peppered a few pecks on the corners of his mouth, kissing his pout away. Perfect timing for Step Two: Give reassuring pets.

“I’m here now, it’s okay.” His hair was soft in between your fingers as you threaded them through the fluffy locks. They smelled faintly of his coconut shampoo.

Tired, Minho let out a yawn, nose scrunched and eyelids shut. He leaned into your touch, humming contently.

Faintly, the door creaked open and you could hear light thuds on the carpeted floor, followed by a slightly louder thud on the bed as Doongie entered the bedroom and jumped up to join you. He stepped all over Minho’s body—drawing out a quiet yelp from the man beside you. You giggled as Doongie finally plopped down on Minho’s pillow, snuggling against the top of his head. This brought you to Step Three: Tuck him in.

With your boyfriend lying under the covers, you hooked one leg over him, moving your hand on his head to tuck it into your neck, cradling his body with no intent to stop any time soon.

For a second, the universe felt still. It was as though the ever-rotating hands on the clock had stopped moving, pausing to witness this intimate moment between you and Minho; as if even the angels in the skies above didn’t want this sweet gesture to end.

That was until Minho decided to take matters into his own hands and execute Step Four: Put one arm out for temperature regulation.

“It's too warm!” Minho whined into your neck, breaking the silence, and removed one arm from under the blanket, exposing it to the cold air. “Ah, that's better.”

He turned on his side and wrapped his now free arm around the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, if that were even physically possible.

Seeing your bodies pressed flush against each other, Soonie—who was previously lounging at the foot of the bed—crawled up the sheets and nuzzled into the barely-there gap between you and Minho, with Dori following suit.

Within five minutes of lying down, the night ended with your small family cuddled together on the warm, cozy bed, basking in each other’s comfort.

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taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

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jamil-s-wifey · 9 months

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If you're taking any scenario request. Maybe could I request funny/silly one where Leona and his S/O are married and live in the Royal Palace. Leona's S/O has gotten lost somehow in their own home and when found their response is "This place is too damn big I'm sorry!"

You have NO idea how much I love these types of fics! Wholesome crackheadedness at its finest✨ We love a spouse with 0 orientation skills. (I'd know, I get lost in supermarkets) This was ONE OF THE FUNNIEST THINGS I've EVER written. I hope you enjoy!

"What the actual fuck."

A turn here. A turn there.

Oh, would you look at that - the exact same vase you passed 5 minutes ago. But was that really the same vase? Or was it its evil twin, trying to further confuse you, only for you to get lost even more and die of starvation, eventually BECOMING ONE WITH THE PALACE...

God, whoever built this palace should have their head on a stake. Haha, that sounded a lot like the Red Queen of Hearts. Perhaps Riddle was rubbing off on you. You two did text occasionally since graduating from NRC.

Speaking of graduation, you married Leona. (yay!) And it's not like you weren't happy. Life was relatively peaceful. You two moved back to the palace. Arrangements had begun for you two to take over a certain part of Sunset Savannah, as something akin to a *Peerage. (They had their own name for it, you are currently far too annoyed to remember.) A lot of (semi-forced) communication set the road to reconciliation between the two brothers. (Admittedly a very long road. A road that puts Gulliver's travels to shame.) The Royal Family™️ accepted you with open hearts. (albeit a tad wary at first)

Really there was only one major problem.

The ROYAL PALACE IS LIKE A GODDAMN LABYRINTH. And that's rich, given your history of painting the white roses with Ace and Deuce in Heartsabyul's maze. So here you are, lost.

Scratch that.

Lost: again.

And all you wanted to do was find Cheka's room. You had a gift for the little cub.

"An architectural masterpiece, my ass. This is an architectural disaster. A disaster with a capital D. D for Vitamin D - what I won't be getting, because I'm trapped within these walls, where the SUN CAN'T REACH ME-"

Okay. Calm down. It's not that bad, sure there isn't a soul in sight, but you're bound to stumble upon somebody at some point, right? There had to be servants, or guards, or somebody! UNLESS! This is all an elaborate plan to get rid of you.

Aha! That must be it. The Royal Family wants you dead and they intend to make it seem like an accident! But Leona wouldn't allow that, right? He loves you! Dearly! You're his spouse, his one and only! Ah, cruel fate.

Is it just you...or are these walls moving in on each other. So this IS an assassination attempt! And you presented yourself on a silver platter. Good job, s/o. Splendid work. A royal for a few months and you're already about to be assassinated. Your name shall remain the book of "Dumbest ways to die." Goodbye cruel world-

"S/o."

Leona's voice rang through the empty hallway, "What are you doing out here."

Ah! And so tragedy was avoided once more!

"Leona, my LOVE! Thank God."

"Did you just- get lost in the palace... again?", his eyes read annoyance but his tone was teasing.

"It's not MY fault this place is so damn big, what do you need all this space for anyways? Indoor badminton? Hide and Seek or Die?"

"Definitely that last one. That's how we get rid of our enemies."

"AHA! I knew it! So this IS an assassination attempt!"

He simply rolled his eyes, pulling you towards him to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss you on the forehead.

"This isn't an assassination attempt. You did this yourself. It's called idiocy."

"You should build a better palace."

"What I should do is put a collar on you. With a tracking device on it. Like a pet."

"Oh, Leona~ Who knew you were into that~"

"Next time I'm leaving you here to rot."

"Then I'll haunt you to Hell and back."

He smirked, pinching your cheek as you were both making your way far from the cursed looping corridor.

"At least you won't be able to get lost."

"I told you, it's not my fault."

"Nah, of course not. The Palace is just cursed."

"EVIDENTLY."

You both knew this isn't the last time you'll be getting lost. And Leona was seriously considering the tracking device.

Perhaps he'd already ordered it too.

You were about to find out.

*Peerage - collective noun for titles like Duke, Duchess, Count, Earl etc. Comes from "Peers of the Realm" where one could hold one or more of these titles. It differs from monarchy to monarchy. THAT'S YOUR WORD FOR THE DAY FOLKS!

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qierxing · 10 months

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A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?”

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.”

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox.

From: Azul Ashengrotto

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult.

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses.

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat.

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing.

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back.

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No."

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland.

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but...

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon.

Your fingertips curve inward and dig.

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities.

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain.

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute.

"Ah!"

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed.

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place.

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose.

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them.

He can't hurt me here.

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter.

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter.

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then."

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?"

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols."

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call."

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message?

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance.

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks.

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight.

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox.

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!"

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately.

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling.

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag.

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone.

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?"

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit.

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?”

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.”

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours.

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore.

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?”

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion.

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange.

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face.

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on.

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear.

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious.

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers.

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads.

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield.

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back.

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear?

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds.

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses."

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question.

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react?

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse.

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house.

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see?

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore.

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now?

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him.

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all.

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling.

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair.

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair.

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #my works #if this gets good reception i'll have a easier time of writing part 2

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vanderilnde · 3 months

Text

simon riley/f!reader

warnings: simon is an amputee, implied alcoholism, implied painkiller addiction

Johnny forces Simon to a veterans support group. The latter is less than pleased with the idea—that is, of course, until a little birdy catches Simon’s eye.

—

Simon smells you before he sees you.

However, it's been five months since his honourable discharge, and he's a dead man walking, so he supposes the same could be said for him.

It's the roasting stench of pungent malt. Permeating through the froth of his balaclava and burning his nostrils. He canters his head to the side, sweeping the basement with his hackles raised.

"What's your name?" Comes from the front of the room, scotching Simon's thoughts, to which he mumbles, "Simon."

A peal of "Hi Simon," ripples through the basement, and he cringes.

He was rotting in his flat when Johnny visited. Against everything, it was a sweet respite—seeing his face after so long. He filled him in on what he'd missed, though technically, that isn't allowed anymore. Simon isn't SAS. The only thing connecting him to the military now is his pension, sapped into streaming sites and grocery deliver apps.

He supposes Johnny saw his overripe, threadbare balaclava. Saw a spread of painkillers rooted on every surface. Saw the progress of Simon’s leg, how it ripened from a necrosed nub into an alloy, fused with the silicone of his prosthetic that is two shades too dark for his skin. Then, Johnny forced him here.

"I can't come—veteran's only, but my cousin used ta go to one of 'ese," Johnny said, "it'll do you good."

It's a room with various breeds of military personnel. All at various ranks. Extensions of themselves in crutches and wheelchairs; regressions of them in eyepatches and arm-casts.

The man says, "Well, you’re late. We’re almost finished here."

Simon blindly nods. He can smell you again. Pervasive ethanol and barbed impurities, swirling around his head. He finds a chair too small for him and sits down, heeding how it wanes under his weight.

The man starts talking again. But for Simon, the voice turns to filaments. Droned out and greyscale against his impaired senses. Fermented sorghum burns his eyes as Simon sweeps his head to the side, catching a glint of light winking back at him.

He finally sees you.

Simon finds himself back in the jungle, in the middle of an operation. Sweaty and damp and dewy between clement leaves as he eyes down an X-ray.

Your eyes hold the same sentiment of intimidation. They’re red-rimmed with veiny scythes but bore a glimmer bespoken for the stars. Your hard stare inspires a flare in Simon’s heart. Something so off-putting that it drills itself into his bones and burns the sealant in his prosthetic.

You part your lips. They have a forgone softness to them, now cut and peeled in different corners, akin to the ruins of Babylon. Vodka sticks to the roof of your mouth as you dart out your tongue, wetting your lips.

"See that guy over there?"

Marginally, Simon flinches. Your voice is softer than anticipated. Softer than your rotgut scent and your strands of silage hair.

He follows the streamline of your gaze. To an underdeveloped man sitting with his back hunched, eyes puffy, across the room.

"He's here 'cause he got home and caught his girlfriend fucking another bloke," a wheeze collapses your sentence, "isn't that hilarious?"

Simon stares at him. Then he hangs his head, staring at his leg. He sees his prosthetic jut out and distort the denim of his jeans, and, in spite of himself, Simon chuckles. It is hilarious.

"He calls it traumatic," you slouch in your seat, "try seeing your mate get blown to pieces."

Simon is quiet. But that doesn't off-put you, because you're leaning in closer and examining his mask.

"What branch were you?"

He keeps his eyes locked on the opposite wall. "Parachute reg."

"Battalion?"

"... Third."

You narrow your eyes. "So, Special Air Service."

He expels a loose laugh. Scratches the scruff of his neck. "Sure."

"Could've just said that," you frown, “I was SRR, so we might’ve crossed paths.”

Simon hitches his eyes up, chancing another glance at you.

You don't look SRR. But again, Simon doesn't look SAS.

He grunts, “How the mighty’ve fallen, eh?”

A lukewarm chuckle escapes you. “Yeah.”

The sound of your laugh inspires warmth in Simon’s belly. He doesn’t know what to say, but he knows he wants to say something. He feels a chord to keep the conversation going; to not disappoint you.

Simon feels like Icarus flying too close to the sun.

“Why’d you leave?” He says, leaning a little closer.

“You’re never supposed to ask that,” you murmur, “but I like you, so I’ll bite. OTH. Got nicked in Bulford for radical interrogation tactics. Whatever that shit means.”

Simon grunts. His cadence offers a hint of condolence, but you just laugh. “I’m glad to be out of there. And you? Why are you here?”

“C4 explosion,” he grumbles, “honourable discharge.”

You hum. “Goody two shoes.”

A waspish blush dominates the furrows of Simon’s crows feet. He brokenly mumbles under his breath, embarrassed, preening under your gaze.

His rebuttal idles at the threshold of his mouth. It collapses on his tongue when you stand up, fishing cigarette from your breast pocket.

“I’m going,” you say, “will I see you next week?”

Simon’s neck twitches and rockets into a nod. Immediately, he is looking forward to next week. He believes a byproduct of second-hand drinking has vitiated him, as when you walk away, hips swaying, Simon feels drunk.

As Simon sits stupefied, left without a heart as you’d taken his on your way out, he curses to himself.

Simon didn’t get your name.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost x you #simon writing #writing #veteran!simon

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bunniesanddeer · 2 months

Note

HI <333

I was wondering if you could write an Alastor X insomnia!reader where like she wakes up in the night and overall just can’t get good sleep? And maybe she wanders around the hotel until she finds Alastor bc he doesn’t sleep often, and he offers to like go to bed with her and they cuddle? If you don’t want to that’s fine :)

Hi! I hope this is what you wanted? I like the way it turned out, even if it is really short.

Insomnia

Pairing: Alastor X Insomniac!Reader

Tags: Fluff, slight angst, insomnia, soft Alastor

Word Count: 966

Sleep has always dazed you. Some nights, it would wrap you up in its arms, embracing you like an old lover, and other nights, it shunned you entirely. Tonight, sleep left you cold and lonely in your bed, your thoughts your only company.

Your room was silent. It was that silence that made you vividly aware of the rushing of your blood in your ears. It made your skin itch. Eventually you got too restless, and sat up in bed. Your nightgown rode up on your thighs, and it drew your attention to your legs. Your claws lightly scratched the skin there, trying to think of a solution to your problem.

You heave a sigh, and decide that grabbing some water might help. (You hated the taste of water, in Hell. It all tasted like slightly dirty tap water. It was awful. But then again, you were in Hell).

The halls are quiet, the soft patter of your footsteps the only sound. You quietly make your way down to the first floor, and you intend on heading to the kitchen, when a light in the sitting room catches your attention.

Alastor is sitting in one of the lounge chairs, reading a book. The lamp closest to him was turned on, casting his face in a warm light. He looked softer, this way. You stood there, watching him for several moments.

Alastor had been an enigma to you since you arrived in Hell. You had gone to the Hotel quite soon after your descent, so you didn’t know much about Overlords and how they worked. You knew that Alastor was one, but he had always been gentle enough with you, so the idea didn't scare you at all. He made you feel things that unsettled you. Your skin itched in his presence, and your heart fluttered. Every inch of you filled with a bizarre joy when he smiled at you. And no, not his normal smile. There were times, when he wasn’t really focusing, that his smile softened at the edges, and his pupils grew wide and locked on you.

There was so much you didn’t understand about Hell, or yourself, but this crush you had on him felt like it was growing out of hand.

Alastor’s thoughts jarred you from your thoughts.

“What are you doing awake, dearest?” His voice was gentle, and his static was a mere murmur. His red eyes were watching you.

You sighed. “I can’t sleep. Feels like I haven’t in a while,” you say, while striding over to him. His eyes flicker over your form, his eyes snapping to meet yours when he notices your attire.

“Ah. I have been in much the same position before. I have come to find that not sleeping at all is the solution!” He laughs a little, but it trails off after a moment. “You do look dreadfully tired, my dear.”

“Ha. Thanks, Al. Just what a gal wants to hear,” you say, gently teasing. You can’t help but feel that exhaustion seep into your bones at his words, though. You are tired, and that feeling has come to you far too often.

His expression softens further, and he looks nearly sympathetic. It makes you feel something akin to discomfort, so you flick your gaze away. The wall looks incredibly interesting.

You hear the soft thud of his book closing, and then the shifting of fabric as he moves. “Come along, dear. Let us get into bed. Perhaps a bedmate will bring you enough ease to sleep.”

Your head whips around and up, so that you can look at him. He has to be joking. “You can’t be serious.”

One of his hands cups your cheek. “Come. You need sleep, and I might as well indulge. It has been some time.”

You wonder at his ease and the situation, and it makes you follow him, wordlessly. One of his hands clasps at yours, his claws carefully gripping, avoiding harm with dexterity. He leads you back to your room, and you are sure he has played some mean trick on you. He, instead, leads you inside, and gestures for you to lie down.

Alastor glances around the room briefly, before snapping his fingers. He’s in pajamas now.

“Ah, that makes me jealous. I wish I could do that,” you whisper. You don’t know why you do, but it feels like it would be weird to speak any louder.

His laugh is soft, and it makes your chest warm. Without any preamble, he lies in bed beside you, and pulls you in against him. You are both lucky the beds in the hotel are so large, because he’s much bigger than you. (Part of you wouldn’t mind, though. It would just require him to curl around you… you need to stop thinking).

Alastor lets one hand settle on your back, and gently rub there. Your head settles against his chest, and you can hear the heavy drumming of his heart. You feel like you’re dreaming. How can any of this possibly be real? Your relationship with him was in such a peculiar place, and you didn’t have any footing. You were so worried he was going to trip you up and let you fall, any minute.

Your heart starts pounding. As always, your overactive mind makes things hard for you.

Alastor’s hand squeezes you down. “Stop thinking, sweetheart. We can talk about this tomorrow. Just sleep.”

So, focusing on the heat he gives off, and the weight of the blanket he pulls around you, you force yourself to relax. Your mind slows, and everything settles.

You fall asleep in the arms of Alastor, who lets his eyes close for more than a moment, for the first time in a long while. And the two of you sleep.

I hope you liked! Remember, my asks are open, it just might take me a little while to get to them. I have two more requests I am working on right now. One of them is similar to my "Touch" works, and another is based on the hallway scene in "Dad Beat Dad".

Have a good weekend, everyone!

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #bun's short fics #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you #fluff #hazbin hotel fanfiction #insomnia

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privitivium · 2 months

Note

*climbs onto stage and grabs microphone before getting close* dombot dio with a werewolf subtop reader. also facesitting. and riding. and whatever else u wanna add. that is all. have a gud day:) *drops microphone and leaves stage*

finally amiright?! trying not to think about how its jonathans body. this is during p3 but no one else is mentioned besides vanilla ice

afab dombot dio w werewolf subtop reader!

cw;; petplay, facesitting, riding.. f,,felching....... hooray!

I see this with him fucking with you constantly but you take it like a champ. you, a clear masochist of sorts, who's on par with dios’ build - only inches taller than him! he constantly talks down to you,,, you being some sort of henchman for him, akin to vanilla ice - being affected by a stand user of some sorts long before you meet dio that turns you into some kinda werewolf. ears and tail sprouting from your muscular body and having no control over your rather animalistic urges of wanting to sniff, chew, hunt, and breed. dio… he takes the reins over you rather easily. you submit yourself to him - someone who's a mythological being as you were, a vampire... fantasizing about his teeth sinking into your neck - while at times, jerking off to the opposite; your teeth in his neck… you'd doubt he'd ever let you mark him. [ he would wear it proudly! ]

dio, oftentimes discarding women and men alike and leaving you alone to roam the building with other stand users who didn't seem to like you. jaw clenched in anger as you pace.. your tail frazzled as you roam the halls before he merely mutters your name under his breath while on the other side of the mansion - and there you were, right in front of him. all it takes is dio to say your name - a simple whisper, and there you were so happily on your knees with a tail wagging and ears perked - nearly panting! corpses that were now zombies shuffling past you out the doorㅡ

“hnn.. there's my good boy.” ㅡ yes that's right. you were his good boy - nor was anyone else his good boy. you never heard him refer to anyone else as good, nor his own! trembling, so excited you can't help the blood that shoots straight to your cock at his words. unashamed to present yourself with a tent pitched in your clothing. he laughs at you… beckoning you closer. dio, so shamelessly naked, yet it's his words that make you pop a boner!? “so terribly eager… how can i not take advantage of that, hm? though, i never liked dogs…” but he likes you !!! some idiotic beast of a man who… coincidentally… is a sort of dog… dio cooing at you, calling you a horrible thing and insulting your existence, yet he's so proud to ride your cock and hum in satisfaction of how well you fill his cunt, reminding you that you're nothing but the dirt on the sole of his shoe - how you should be so grateful that he's letting you lay on his bed and letting you feel his innards like this - the usual.

dio thoughtfully scratched at your ears while methodically moving along your veiny girth, jaw clenched as he feels himself being stretched beyond just to accommodate your dick - it's been a short while of him fucking himself on you… making sure to mention that. something about your horrid mongrel cock filling him up so deliciously good. the way you unconsciously leer up at him, watching him in wonder with glazed eyes as he bounces himself on your upright prick and feeling the divot of the head along his walls…

watching as you bite your glossy lips - your adorable little fangs that could not be compared to his own - your huge hands clutching at his expensive bed sheets strewn about instead of his thighs - so good, “so good… precious.” knowing not to grasp onto the fat of his thighs and force him down at your own pace - such a good boy to listen… yet, your thoughts weren't as precious. staring up into his crimson eyes wordlessly as whimpers and little gasps fall from your lips; watching as his pretty blond tufts of hair bounce with his movements - desperately wanting to push him over and snap your jaw at the crook of his shoulder and fuck into him at a needy, hurried pace… a-ah…

“disgusting fucking mutt… have you no restraint? despicable,” he grunts in dissatisfaction, face scrunched in mild disgust and anger as your hips jerked into him, painting his walls white with your seed... your bulky body trembling underneath him and whimpering tearful apologies for how quickly you came inside him -

“s-sorry… i'm so sorry, you- you feel so good‐ sorry, so sorry Lord Dio!!” you can’t help yourself - he's so lovely and he's calling you his good boy and he f-feels so good-!! you've tried training yourself to last … longer… but it's futile… all he can tell you is just;; “... be a good boy and clean it up.” a dash humorously. you were so stupid and adorable, that he couldn't not exploit your affection for him. obviously, you wouldn't be opposed to eating your cum out of his cunt, right? of course not. you would never oppose him. wanting the others to write in jealousy like the bastard you were - that damned man you were rivals with - competing for dio's affection when it's so obvious lord dio has chose you as his little mutt to shower in insults and affection..

maneuvering himself to hover over your face, your cum dripping from his folds and fuck he looks so beautiful. marveling... you couldn't get enough of the mere scent of his cunt and now… fluttering above you - dio paying no heed to your twitching ears and a little uncaring of your sudden lowly whimpers and - promptly sits… your face buried in his cunt drenched in your cum, choking before steeling yourself over and eagerly lapping your disgusting salty fluids from his pussy - nearly begging as your tail whips at a lightning speed pace - arms wrapping around his thighs, no restraint as he so insulted you for… thanking him. as his good pet should! “thank you… t-thank you,,, lord dio.. mmfgh.” in-between licks, before focusing on the hole pouring his fluids - intermingled with yours… cock straining, nearly cumming again from the taste and scent alone.,,

#x male reader #male reader #top male reader #x top male reader #x sub male reader!#sub male reader #dio brando x male reader #dio brando x m reader!#jjba x m reader #jjba x male reader #hoorayy!!^!^!!!#jojo =͟͟͞͞★

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peachesofteal · 10 months

Note

ok i have a question- for the dead disco fics, if there was a situation where ghost had to choose between reader and soap, who would he choose? idk why im thinking abt this LOL

Hey babe, what is wrong with you? (I love this so much it scratches my angst brain just right) Why do you want to feel this pain? (I too, want to feel this pain...let’s indulge)

Ghost x Soap x female reader Dead Disco - verse AU - not canon to the actual story. Warnings-tags: Angst. Inferred character death. Darling's usual (eating issues, depression, anxiety, despair, self destructive behaviors)

The bed is too big, as it always has been. As it always was before, and during. And as it always will be for now on, too. Your legs spread across it, kicking and swishing across pristine sheets like you're swimming in them, like you're drowning. Drowning, is more apt. Drowning is more akin to these feelings that swimming, certainly. Drowning is how you feel right now, smothered in your loss, lungs full of water, burning from the salt of your own tears. You're at the bottom of the ocean, lost beneath where the sunlight doesn't reach, far beyond the swell of the waves. Drowning is what it feels like, when your heart clenches in your chest and your stomach heaves it's bile free. Drowning is how you would describe this black, bottomless hole that's developed soul, the one that pulls you deeper and deeper with every breath. Drowning. You've drowned. And no one was there to pull you to shore. To safety. No one was there to save you.

"I'm home!" Your bag falls to the floor with a thud as you toss your keys on the island, loosening your jacket and heading towards the dining area of the flat. "Holy shit, wait until I tell you about my day. My boss was on one today, she was being a crazy a-" the words die on your tongue when you finally look up and see the expression on Johnny's face. At first glance, one might call it grim, but for those who know him, who know to look closer, you see the red ting to his eye lids, the rub of drier skin around his nose. He's been crying. "What's going on?" you ask, looking from him to where Simon sits, stone faced. Immobile. Neither of them answer you at first. "Hello?" The knot that's been loosely tied in your stomach tightens. Simon nods at the free chair next to him. "Sit, darling."

There are two boxes, in your bathroom. They sit, full of things, clothing, items, trinkets, pieces of memories, pieces of love. They idle next to your bathtub, waiting, watching you, every time you drag yourself towards the toilet to vomit, or whenever you muster up the strength to look at your toothbrush. The boxes have sharpie scrawled across them, big loopy letters that almost look like mouths, almost look like they could grow teeth and talk to you, or eat you alive with what's inside of them. You supposed, they could. If you were to open them, and actually look at the things inside, they would consume you. Chew you up. Spit you out.

"I- I don't understand." You take a half step towards Johnny, who visibly flinches, face torn fractured with despair, while Simon's lips press into a hard line before he speaks. "We will make sure you're taken care of, we-" His voice is cold. So, so cold it scratches at your heart, pin pricks of icicles working their way beneath your ribs. "Stop." you shake your head, willing yourself to focus. What is he saying? What does he mean? "Simon, what... wh-what does that mean?" "Darling we're so, so sorry." Johnny's voice, is the opposite of cold. It's molten. Hot, and burning red with orange, thick with something you think is sadness. "You are sorry." You repeat it, numbly. You're not crying, which is a surprise to yourself and probably the two of them too. Your brain is really working now, hard. It's compartmentalizing and organizing and shoving little things away, burying others beneath mountains of sand and locking memories into boxes that you'll never be able to open. "You can't. You can't just leave me... you... you promised." Simon stands completely still, while Johnny shifts his weight nervously, fingers tangling with one another as he watches you like a hawk. Like a solider. "This will be better... for everyone." He tries to soothe you, tries to calm you, even from where he lurks, five feet away. Simon offers you nothing. "I don't understand, everything was fine. I thought... we were okay." Simon finally moves, shaking his head with a no while you watch, mouth ajar.

The boxes have been ripped into tatters now. They lay in shreds across the things in the bathtub, covering two t shirts of Johnny's, a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie of Simon's. Your silk bathrobe, and giant fleece blanket from the couch. There's also a book, a collection of photographs, a few pieces of jewelry. Worn index cards with recipes on them, Johnny's mum's, and a comic book, that Simon used to keep in his drawer of the bedside table. The final touch is the secret pack of cigarettes, the ones Simon used to keep in the closet, sans the one in your mouth. You inhale it slowly, breathing in the tobacco and the nicotine and the fumes of the lighter fluid, the entire contained dumped onto of the collection of things in the tub, waiting for your final flick. When it comes, you stay perched on the edge on the bath, barely interested, unmoving, as the fire rages. As it consumes.

"You fucking promised!" You scream. You scream it over and over until your throat is hoarse and Johnny looks panicked. Simon grips him roughly, sliding him half behind his body, as if to protect him from you. As if he thinks you'd hurt him. They both watch you with stricken faces, hunters tracking a wounded animal, and your breaths come in short bursts as tears track down your face. "You said you love me." It's barely a whisper, mournful and slow, and they both hear it. "We do." Johnny croaks. "We did." Simon counters, and you flinch. "But this is what's best, for all of us. It was always going to be him, darling. You've known this." It was always going to be him. It was always... going to be Johnny and Simon, over you. It was always going to be them, and not you. The truth stings, burns, bites. It twists it's wicked claws around your heart and tugs and tears until there's nothing left. You've known this. You idiot. How could you possibly believe, in the end, you'd still be in this equation? You'd still be a part of this? How could you possibly believe, that after everything, they'd still love you? Still want you? Simon's mouth moves, but you hear no sound. You hear nothing, as you turn on your heel and barricade yourself in the bedroom. You hear nothing, as they knock, and knock, you hear nothing, until the wood stops vibrating, and the front door open and closes with a final thud. It was always going to be them. You've known this.

"Bloody hell." Gaz whistles, eyes locked on the screen. Johnny wipes a towel across the back of his neck, mopping up the sheen of sweat that lingers there while Simon saunters through the rec room doors. "Christ. Didn't ya two live near there?" "Live where?" Johnny frowns, looking up. There's a heli eye view of a burning building on the news, it's entire structure engulfed in flames, firemen barely making a dent. The camera switches to a ground reporter, a pretty woman with a serious face, who's explaining that arson investigators believe the fire started on the ninth floor, where there's still a single person trapped, unable to be rescued so far by exhaustive efforts. Something glitches in Johnny's brain, something short circuiting while he blinks, and breathes, and blinks, trying to wrap his mind around what he's seeing. The ninth floor. Someone trapped. Didn't ya two live near there? The ninth- It's almost unrecognizable, but he knows. Of course he knows. The ninth floor, the ninth floor- His heart stops in his chest, and he turns frantically to Simon, who stands like a statue in the doorway, eyes wide and frozen. "No. Nonononono-" Johnny whispers. He stumbles, away from Simon, away from Gaz, eyes not leaving the television while he drops to his knees. "She- Simon." Simon doesn't answer, just stands, broken. Empty. Like a ghost. He has no words. He has nothing. And neither does Johnny.

#ghost x soap x reader #dead disco #peaches asks #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #johnny mactavish #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x ghost x reader

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roydeezed · 1 year

Text

Diana Wynne Jones normalizes magic in a way very few other authors do. Magic in her worlds are more akin to skilled trades like blacksmithing or having a degree in medicine. She normalizes magic through a sense of domesticity and communality. In Howl's Moving Castle, Howl's treated like an apothecary by the locals and in Charmed Life there's magicians on every corner that are both services and trades you can learn from as well. Also in Charmed Life, there's a whole undergroudn industry and reguated laws around magic items. She injects a sense of realism into magic, but it's still done with a romantic ideal in mind such as an idyllic village life being disturbed by shady dealings going on in the background. In fact one of Sophie's sisters actually became a magican by trade in Howl's Moving Castle as well. And she furthers this idea of magic as a trade by having Howl actually be a PhD student.

I hadn't read her books in years but they'd always been my favourites. I'm starting to make my way through them again as an adult now, and it's so fun noticing things I didn't have the knowledge or experience to notice when I was younger. And it contextualizes why I loved her writing so much growing up since the way she puts things just scratches such a specific itch in my brain for me.

#hmc #howls moving castle #diana wynne jones #chrestomanci #charmed life

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moris-auri · 4 months

Text

wild folk

osferth x fem!

A/n; yes i know this is super short :) and no summary because i can

warnings; NSFW 18+

wc; 908

taglist; @black-dread @orcaunionleader @artyoms @barbieaemond @sylasthegrim @bottlesandbarricades @helaelaemond @arcielee @sapphire-writes @lexwolfhale

"Osferth..."

She croons his name softly, delicately, her tongue curling around the syllables as she waits patiently for him to stir. Tracing one finger up and down the length of his arm, she feels the bumps that form under her fingers in response to her feather-light touch. She does not have to wait long before he shifts beside her, uttering a quiet huff as his bright blue eyes open at the sound of her voice, and he blinks once, then twice, before turning his head to the side to be face to face with her.

"There you are," she murmurs, her voice laden with affection. "My Osferth."

If there is one thing she wants to remember till the day she dies, it is this. Sleep mussed and half awake, he's so very pretty in this light, cocooned beneath the furs draped over them and flat on his back like he is, his bare skin and hair almost golden in the glow of the early morning sun that streams into the chamber from the window overhead.

It is something akin to a dream, golden and bright and glowing, to be alone with him like this, surrounded by nothing but the dust motes floating around them, made visible by the sunlight warming the room and the sounds of Rumcofa slowly coming to life beyond the walls of the structure they've called home for the past year little more than a distant hum.

"Good morning."

"Is it, though?"

He chuckles, the sound rolling down her spine as his hand settles on her hip, molding to the shape of it in a way it's done a thousand times before, and she sighs, pressing closer to trail a string of kisses across his face. The shadows shift, a sure sign of the sun rising higher in the sky, and the practical part of her flares at the thought of wasting the day away, but it fades as she pulls back to meet his gaze, eyes moving over him. He looks more relaxed than she's seen him in weeks, almost no trace of the seasoned fighter in the half-softened line of his shoulders or in the slow rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes.

She lifts one hand, fingers tracing the angles of his face before weaving into his hair, her fingers combing through the half tangled strands gently. His eyes fall shut again at her touch, the sensation of her nails scratching over his scalp dragging a low noise of pleasure somewhere between a low groan and a whine from between his lips.

The bed creaks as she shifts, her body flush against his as she nudges her nose against his before withdrawing her hand from his hair to ghost her fingertips down the length of his body, from shoulder to hip to knee, delighting in the hoarse, rasping sounds her touch pull deliciously from his pretty mouth as a ruddy shade of pink blooms just beneath his skin.

"Wild pretty thing that you are," he groans, head pressing against the pillow. His voice is little more than a breathy rasp low in his throat, his fingers biting into the meat of her thighs. She twisted, moving to situate herself atop him, sliding her palms up his arms until she stopped at his wrists, tugging them over his head.

"Wild, you say?" she teases, rolling her hips against him, grinning when he whines again, the tips of his ears going pink as he glares up at her half-heartedly.

"Y...yes," he whimpers, and she'll be damned if it is the one sound she'll never tire of hearing. He sat up suddenly, tugging his hands free to curl an arm around her waist, the other tangling in the hair at the base of her neck, her back arching as a moan clawed its way up her throat at the feel of him, hot and hard, pressing against her. Her mind went blank, empty save for the thought that no matter how many times they've lain together, innumerable to count now, the feel of him, his hands and his mouth and his darkened gaze focused on her never failed to all but rob the breath from her lungs, leaving her dizzy and breathless and everything in between.

The heat of his hands as he slid them up her sides to brush his knuckles against the side of her breast drew her back, her eyes opening and dropping down to his face, taking in the lazy, sated grin on his lips. "There you are," he uttered, a repeat of the words she had spoken earlier. She hummed a noise as his hand found purchase on her hip, his thumb stroking the skin.

She bit her lip, feeling the heavy, heated weight of his gaze on her as the deepening sounds of his breathing filled the space between them. She slid off him, one hand slipping under the linens, her fingers wrapping around his cock. The movement made him choke out a moan, knuckles going white around the sheet fisted in his grasp. "God-"

She pulled her hand away, lifting her fingers to her mouth, the other laying flat against his chest. "Is it not wrong to take the Lord's name in vain?"

"N…no-" his eyes squeeze shut, hips bucking upwards, any and all coherent thoughts vanishing in the blink of an eye, and she grins down at him triumphantly, all too pleased.

#my fics #osferth fic #osferth smut #osferth x reader #osferth #osferth imagine

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claymorexpunisher · 5 months

Text

Brats Have More Fun (CH. 3/?) (18+ Fic)

Disclaimer: This is NSFW. If that's not your thing, keep scrolling. I try to tag my work appropriately, so if you choose to click on my work regardless, use your own discretion. Thank you for the love always and enjoy this cheesy porno! 🥂

Pairing(s): Randy Orton/Fem. Reader

Summary: Bratty Reader pokes fun at Randy for referring to himself as "Daddy" on tv. Randy quickly reminds her why he felt confident in doing so.

Tag(s): 18+, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, primal kink, biting, wrestling, scratching, spanking, sadism/masochism, Daddy kink, Dom/sub dynamic, bratting.

Word Count: 882

Prev. Chapter

“Why would you call yourself Daddy in front of the entire world like that?” I asked Randy, my tone teasing despite the fact that I was eyeing him with poorly concealed desire as I straddled his lap and we began to wrestle on the padded mat.

We had decided to work out at home rather than go to the gym, but eventually we got distracted by, well, each other.

“Are you kinkshaming me?” Randy asked, barely winded as we wriggled around on the ground, something akin to amusement colored his tone as he immediately took control and flipped us over.

I didn’t go down easy, using all of my strength to switch our positions again, but to no avail.

Still, I persisted, letting out frustrated huffs as I willed my core to help me push him off.

“I would never, Randy.” I replied, pointedly not calling him Daddy despite knowing that that was how I should address him when we were in private.

As I saw something shift in his expression, I let out a winded and devilish giggle.

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong, Randy?” I asked, my chest heaving as I smirked up at him, our movements now slowing to a halt.

This is usually the moment where I’d be running.

Running from whatever punishment would be in store for me for such a smartassed move,and with Randy’s heavy frame straddling my hips, there was seemingly nowhere to go.

I knew he wanted me to run as I felt his body loosen a bit, giving me the opportunity to actually use my strength and push him off as I finally made a run for it.

“Too slow, Randy!” I taunted, making the mistake of pausing before I made a run for it again.

I let out a squeak as Randy’s strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me back into our weight room.

Just as quickly as I had run from him, I was plopped back onto the mat flat on my back.

Wrestling around definitely got our adrenaline pumping and the more we wriggled around, trying to assert our positions, the more aroused we became.

I couldn’t help but roll my hips against Randy’s, moaning softly as my thin leggings allowed me to feel a zing against my clit as it grazed his hardening cock.

My movements were quickly halted and my body and brain turned into mush as Randy’s hand suddenly wrapped around my throat and I heard him growl from deep within his chest before he sank his teeth onto the part of my body where my neck meets my shoulder.

Despite me wanting to put up more of a fight, the sharp sensation of Randy’s teeth sinking into such a vulnerable and sensitive part of my body caused me to immediately go pliant underneath him.

Breathing heavily, our lips met in a sloppy and hungry kiss, Randy’s hand never easing its firm grip on my throat.

“Are you fuckin’ done, you little brat?” Randy murmured, watching my eyelids flutter shut for a moment before my bright, glassy eyes met his. “Hm? Are you ready to stop acting up? Are you gonna address Daddy like you should?”

“Huh?” He taunted as he used his free hand to yank my sports bra up to tweak one of my nipples hard, making my back arch off the mat, my hands obediently resting at my sides even as Randy’s lips closed around one of my sensitive nipples, sharply biting the tender bud before he took it into his mouth again and released it with a soft pop.

“Y-yes, Daddy…” I relented, and I smiled upon hearing him release a pleased chuckle.

The smile gave way to a soft hiss as Randy dragged his blunt nails down my torso, adding to the already intense sensations coursing through my body.

“Are you sure?” Randy purred and I damn near mewled as I felt him release his cock from his sweatpants and he ran the leaking tip along my swollen pussy lips over my leggings.

“Yes, Daddy.” I replied, injecting all of my arousal into my response.

Going off of the primal need surging within us, Randy flipped me over onto my stomach and I instantly lifted my hips so he could remove my leggings.

My hips stayed where they were, elevated and presenting myself to Randy and I let out soft whimpers as he ran his big hands over my thighs and up my body and back again.

My legs shook as I resisted against grinding back into his cock and I could feel my essence making his sudden entrance a smooth one that had us both moaning loudly.

“You can fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock if you promise to be good..” Randy said and I didn’t have to be told twice.

“I promise! Please, I can’t-” I whined.

“Okay, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Show Daddy how much you want it.” He coaxed.

I gasped as Randy’s palms struck down on my ass cheeks as I fucked back eagerly.

The noises that were coming out of our mouths were unrecognizable and I came with a harsh groan as Randy’s teeth once again sunk into my flesh, this time between my shoulder blade.

Daddy was definitely home…

Next Chapter

#randy orton #randy orton x reader #randy orton x female reader #wwe smut #wrestling smut #wwe fanfic #forgive me if this is subpar #its literally been about a year since ive written for randy lmao #randy orton fanfiction #randy orton fan fiction #wwe one shot #randy orton oneshot

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aka-indulgence · 3 months

Text

Knocking (on your window)

It’s Ravioli time :]

When one night you find the aptly named “Smiling Man” out your window, you call a friend for some help.

CW: home invasion from a wobbly guy

—————

“Are you sure that’s the smiling man?”

You look out the window. A long, lanky ‘man’ stands outside, just under a streetlamp, spotlighted by it. He’s waving at you in a way that makes it look like his arms have no bones, or any other solid structure inside it.

“Yeah… pretty sure,” you grimace.

Its smile was so… unsettling. Just teeth. No lips.

“You sure it’s not just someone in a costume or something? There are some weird people in this town, or those college kids messing about,”

“Sarah!!” You cry desperately, “What guy stands over seven feet tall and looks like he’s only slightly more solid than those used-car salesman balloon thingy?? He doesn’t have skin! His face is just… shadows! And some eyes and teeth!”

“Some reports say he’s over seven feet five inches,”

You make a sound akin to a steaming kettle.

“That! Really doesn’t help!”

“Sorry,” you can hear Sarah’s apologetic grin through the phone. “You’re right, that’s probably pretty hard to fake. So he’s stretching his arms?”

You squint.

“Yeah… he’s stretching his right arm right now,”

“Uh oh. What’s he doing? Is he trying to grab you?”

“Um…” you look back at the cryptid. He hasn’t stopped waving or smiling at you. He might as well be some highly advanced floppy car salesman balloon with how consistently he’s doing it, except his mouth keeps moving. His teeth waving like they weren’t set in gum. You feel goosebumps travel up your back.

“Not… exactly? He’s just. Standing there. Looking at me. And… waving.”

“... Is it a threatening wave?”

“I don’t know?? He’s smiling. Is that a bad or a good sign?”

“Hm. Could go either way, honestly. You’re not looking him in the eyes are you?”

“What?!” You jump, your skin turning cold. You were looking for comfort when you called Sarah, some way to deal with a cryptid looking at you through your bedroom window, but this was having the opposite effect. You look down at the carpet, just to be safe.

“Is- is that a bad thing? I’ve been looking at him this whole time!”

“Uh… probably not great…” Sarah sighs, (while you scream internally), “Generally you don’t want him to notice you. I mean, most cryptids I read up on says that, just a general ‘don’t bother the weird creature just in case they’re dangerous’ sort of thing. From what I read he’s dangerous based on his mood? It looks like he mostly just hangs around an area and looks creepy. Sometimes asks for candy.”

There’s a confused noise on the other end, then a pause. A tap.

“Here it says ignoring him when he wants attention might make him more pushy so maybe it’s ok…?”

“What? So do I look at him or not?”

“Hang on! It’s a bit contradictory,”

You make a noise of discomfort, balling the ends of your pajama shirt in your hand.

“Ok if that’s… whatever, is there anything on your creepy spooky books that tell you about how to drive him away?”

“I’m looking this up online. Also… one sec I can’t find anything that says how to get rid of him… I think they mostly just tell you t-”

You blow out your phone’s mic and Sarah’s speaker when you scream, because- the smiling man was at your window now, his hand rap-tap-tapping on your window, long spindly fingers scratching down the glass and making your hairs stand. Ochre eyes peer at you over the sill. Did he get taller…? His pupils were wide… and blank.

“What, what?!”

“HE’S HERE!”

“What do you mean-”

“HE’S AT MY WINDOW. YEP. He’s definitely noticing me, a lot right now, hahaha- whatdoIdo.” You laugh manically, death gripping your phone.

“Uh-” You’re pretty sure Sarah could hear the sound of scratching on her end, “well did you lock everything?”

“Yeah-” You say confidently until you see that your window is in fact not locked. At the same time the smiling man sees where you’re looking and- you slam the window shut with your body before he tries anything, locking the window.

… The smiling man looks like he isn’t smiling. His eyes looked… furrowed? Though there are no evidence of eyebrows. He scratches more on the window.

“Iiin…. iiiiiin….” It moans.

Hahaha, nope! You smile panickedly.

“I… I think I locked everything,” you say, though now… you’re not so sure.

And even more concerningly, the smiling man was walking away from the window.

“Did you?”

Your back was starting to soak from the sweat.

“I… don’t know,”

“(Y/n)!!” Sarah shouts.

“Hold on I’m- I’m gonna check don’t hang up!”

Ignoring her sounds of confusion, you open your bedroom door, (just barely covering your scream when you see a spider run by into your room. Normally that was enough to send you into a panicking spiral, but you had bigger fish to fry.) You practically fell down the stairs to check on your doors and windows, turning every light on.

The perks of having a house: Having a house, in this economy!

Cons of having a house: Not great if there’s a inhuman monster waiting outside while living alone.

You don’t open your windows too much downstairs, but you thought the same about your bedroom window. You slip your hands under curtains to double check that they were locked…

A pair of gangly legs walk by as shadows on the curtain. You hear the smiling man, muttering… something. It sounded like he was saying words, but you couldn’t make them out. Sometimes he sounded like there were two voices talking over each other, as if he had a second mouth (god, you hoped not). His voice sounded both like an abyss deep rumble and distorted high pitched sighs.

You wished you were back in your hometown, when cryptids were just funny, probably-not-real things you’d hear about online. Far away from you.

Can he hear you in here?

Having the utmost caution, you tiptoed over to the door and quietly click its light on.

It was closed.

Phew. Ok that’s good.

No entry points for him.

Clicking it off, you skipped your way back to the stairs, doing your best to reassure yourself that he probably can’t get in now, turning on your phone’s flashlight before turning the rest of the lights off. You felt like a kid again, running up the stairs as soon as the lights turn off, and- oh god he’s scratching the door.

You race to your room and lock the door, letting out a long sigh as you lean against it.

“Sarah, you still there?”

“No way am I leaving you while you’re having a horror experience.”

“Thanks.”

You wander over to the window and close the curtains. Don’t want the smiling man to be peeking at you. You turn the lights on and sit on the bed, smoothing your forehead and controlling your breathing. Now that you calmed down a bit, you were feeling a lot colder.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,”

“Hah, I don’t blame you. Who would?”

“You alright with me calling you for a bit longer?”

“Yeah,” Sarah responds, though you could hear her yawning on the other end. “I’m getting a bit tired but I can call for probably another half hour.”

You never thought Sarah’s cryptid research was going to be anything more than ‘wow these folktales are really neat’ conversations, but you’re glad she knows. You don’t know how you’d hold up if you were completely alone.

“You think I should call the police or something?”

“About a cryptid? They’d probably laugh at you. Something about only calling them for emergencies. I tried when I was twelve-”

Your smile while you listened to Sarah disappears when you hear a click. Very quiet- you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t so alert right now. Slowly, you turn your head around and…

Your window is open.

Your freeze. How…?

“No one fucking believed me when I told them I saw the Geyser bat. Yeah like I didn’t hear him stomping on my-”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” You screech, your phone dropping to the carpet with a thunk. Inside your room was the smiling man, his head bent to the side- the ceiling was too short for him.

“Hee….” the creature smiles, his teeth going up as high as beside his eyes. “Hhh…. hi…”

“(Y/n)? What’s happening?!”

“HE’S IN MY ROOM!” You yell, looking at the device on the floor while you fumble with your door’s lock.

Fuck- my phone! You reach for it, but the creature grabs it with his dark hand, examining it… then hangs up.

He throws it behind him.

Fuck your hand’s so sweaty it keeps slipping on the-!

“No… escape.”

You scream. He’s grabbed your wrist and your other hand, and pulls you to him- like his arms were made of rubber band, snapping you towards him.

“Nononono NO!!”

You’re spun around, and when your head stopped spinning, you realize you’re tangled in his rope-like arms. He leans in close to you, his void-black face staring at you, too close.

“Hiii…. girl…friend.”

#aka writing #ravioli oc #he just wants to get to know you a little better #👉👈

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cookierunauprompts · 3 months

Note

What about something with the reader being a siren who ends up luring one of the Beasts in?

Requested Prompts #31 - 💓

It was yet another shitty day in this god forsaken tank, you missed your home in the ocean, hell, you missed your singing voice! If only that jerkwad noble hadn't captured you as some kind of 'fishing prize'. Doing literally anything would be better than being in this stupid tank! Your ear fins perk up in alert as you hear the echo of footsteps from outside your tank, two pairs to be specific. What was going on? Was that jerk trying to show you off again? You idly scratch at the magical collar on your neck, the one that restrained your beautiful song that would set you free from this hell. Of course, your mind then went to a territory that was a bit... darker. What if he was attempting to sell you? A horrifying thought, but not one that wasn't above him. Would you end up on some other rich jackasses plate? Or... would you get a fate considered worse than death? You're thoughts paused as you heard the jingling of bells. No noble would be foolish enough to wear bells, so then... Had the jerkwad gotten some new toy? You're thoughts were confirmed as you saw the jerkwad noble walk past with a blue-tinted jester in tow. The new cookie looked at bit tall, but not taller than the noble, and had fluffy white hair that had blue as an underlight. The Jester was decked out in blacks and blues and had little bells on his hat that resembled small berries. " And this," The noble begins, a smug smile on his face. " is my prized possession." You glared at the noble, yet also kept an eye on the jester who looked at you with something akin to bewilderment. " Is that a gem mermaid?" You heard the jester ask, calling your attention to him almost instantly. " Hah! I wish, this is actually just a siren." The nobleman grumbled, " Either way, Jester, you already know where your room is. And I've already told you the consequences for stealing and running away, so don't get any ideas." The noble then haughtily walked off, leaving you with the fresh meat inside this twisted mansion. You looked towards the Jester, who let out a groan. " Aaah... Man, I'm not really a fan of being owned." He complained, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back. " And I can guess you aren't really a fan of it either, huh?" Your brow perked up with curiosity, " No, not really." You decided to say, catching the jester off guard. " You can still talk?" He asked, surprised as he turned his head towards you. " Man, I thought that jerk would have had you completely silenced." " I... Think he's just a sadist, giving me my voice yet taking away the part of it I can use to escape..." You sigh, lazily swimming closer to the glass. " Let me guess, you lost a bet with mister jerk-face over there and now he has you as entertainment until he decides to kill you off." " Hm, I guess you could say that." The jester chirped, " But then again, I lost on purpose." " Why would you even do that?" You said after pausing to think for a moment. " You were forced to sign a contract, right? Like all the other jesters he had?" " Yep! The thing is, I didn't use my real name!" The jester hummed, stretching his back. Now that was odd, you knew that jerky mc-jerkface's contracts don't get sealed if the name is fake. So then... How? Unless this cookie was lying to you... " Impossible, he would have known and forced you to write your name." You stated, and apparently your statement was hilarious to the jester because he soon burst out laughing. " Well, the name did belong to me at some point, and it still worked so I guess it doesn't matter!" He chirped, bending over backwards to look you in the eyes. God, just how flexible was this guy? It was like he was made of jelly. " Anyways, what's your name? It must be lonely here, being trapped all by yourself." You don't even know how this cookie got you to open a conversation with him so easily, and yet, you were eager to find out more about this mysterious jester. Maybe he could aid in your escape somehow? hopefully? " ... It's Reader Cookie."

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run au #shadow milk cookie #cr kingdom #cookie run au prompts #beast yeast #shadow milk cookie x reader #i may have diverged from the og prompt a bit #but oh well

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justmediocrewriting · 4 months

Note

Oh hello!! I read your koby writing and loved it!! You have a talent for writing 🩷 I was wondering if you could do a zoro x mermaid!reader who tries to lure them with a siren song but it only works on men so nami and robin fight back but not before reader can get her hands on zoro and steal him away! Maybe some steamy scenes back at her home/cave or something 😏😏

Lost In The Siren’s Song {r.z}

Summary: every creature has to eat. It’s the law of nature — and some creatures don’t have the most humane diets. You were more than aware of this, and even though you weren’t proud of what you had to do, you also knew it was a necessity, albeit one that was hard for you to stand — but it was made a bit more endurable when your prey was this alluring.

Genre: fantasy, smut, please do not read if you are not 18+!

Pairing: Zoro x fem!siren!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Requested: ✅

Warnings: sexual content (fairly explicit), non-con elements, language, themes of violence and/or gore, please let me know if you noticed any that I missed

A/n: before diving into this, I first want to say thank you so much for this request nonnie! It was such a pleasure (wink wink) to write, and I’ve never actually written anything in a prospect of a creature that isn’t human, and the fantasy element was definitely a joy to indulge in! Also, in folklore, sirens are creatures that lure men, so in my mind (and for the ease of this fic), I decided that sirens as a species feed on the desire of human men (much like a succubus), and therefore do not need to kill men after feeding (most do, however). I did have the OPLA!Zoro in mind when writing this, but I tried to write the story in a way in which you can imagine it as his anime counterpart instead. I really had fun tweaking this around and creating the world for it, so again, thank you so much! I hope everyone can enjoy this ❤️❤️

{=================================}

You’d never before had a victim that was so receptive.

The swordsman was panting, soaked trousers clinging to the shape of his tenting dick, his tan skin flushed so prettily and pupils blown wide as he stared at you with something akin to reverence; it was truly a sight, and the lust pouring from his pores and seeping into yours was the warmest and most satiating you’d ever had.

The man’s expression wasn’t exactly one that you hadn’t seen before — nearly every man you’d lured to your cave wore the same one when under the entrancement of your voice, but somehow, the expression was just breathtaking on this man’s face, and it had your skin flaming in ways you’d never experienced before. Perhaps it was due to him being quite possibly the most attractive mortal you’d ever captured — his cropped green hair accentuated his tan skin, and his shoulders and chest were broad, leading down to slim but well muscled abdomen. The rather large cock standing straight at attention in his trousers was just a bonus.

You swallowed thickly as arousal stirred in your gut, the sensation throwing you slightly off-kilter; you’d fed many times, but that’s all it had ever been to you: feeding. A simple necessity for your survival, and one that you found rather unpleasant. Luring men from ships and dragging them all the way to your den (and the subsequent act of touching them to draw out the most lust you could) wasn’t the easiest thing, and this catch was much harder to retrieve, given that the swordsman’s crew had two women on board, which was not something you encountered often — being as they were resistant to your voice, it was difficult to snatch the man, but somehow you had managed and returned to your cave with minor wounds, just a few scratches and bruises to lick later.

“I won’t kill you,” you assured the man. Even though you knew he wouldn’t be able to truly decipher your words in his current state, nor would he feel anything other than burning need, you always made sure to promise your victims that their lives were not forfeit by you; unlike most of your kind, you knew that killing off the prey was not a necessity, so you didn’t indulge in it. The man simply blinked at you, eyes hazy and unfocused and swirling with arousal, never moving from your figure. Even as hazy and unfocused as they were, they practically seemed to pierce through you, and the onyx hue was entrancing in a way that you’d never seen a mortal possess.

Your hand twitched with the sudden urge to feel him, to roam over his body and pull the clothes off of his skin, and so you did — your scales were long gone by now, replaced instead by smooth, soft legs, which you used to shuffle yourself closer to the man. It was a little known fact about sirens, that you were not, in fact, stuck in one form; it changed, and after enough exposure to dry air you could easily pass as a human.

The swordsman sucked in a sharp breath when your fingers danced along his collar bone, and his hips thrust wildly into the air, a groan slipping past his lips as his hardened member grazed against the confines of his wet trousers. You felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Being under the effects of your song was akin to being under the effects of powerful aphrodisiacs, and you had no doubt that the poor man was in a lot of pain from it — especially since he wouldn’t be able to touch you, not unless you gave him explicit command to.

“Do you want me to touch you?” You whispered into the swordsman’s ear, fingers still trailing along the jut of his collarbone and just barely dipping into the collar of his shirt, and from your close proximity to him, you felt more than saw his eager nodding. His breathy little pants and desperate hip undulations were really beginning to affect you, your cunt feeling extremely wet and hot, and you were taken aback by the sheer amount of desperate want you felt coursing through your veins.

You’d never before wanted your prey so carnally.

“I’ll make it better, as long as you keep wanting me.” You purred into the man’s ear, finding that you were the labored rise and fall of his breaths beneath your fingertips as you used one of your sharp nails to slice through the fabric of his shirt, careful not to damage the taut skin beneath. As your hand slithered further down his torso, the lust being pumped into the air gradually increased, and the man let out small, breathy whimpers and pleas under his breath that had your hips tingling.

“Shh,” you cooed, half because you wanted to comfort him and half because hearing his voice was doing things, and it felt too dangerous for you — there was a sinking wonderment in your gut of who was more entranced by who.

When your hand finally enclosed around the damp bulge of the man’s dick, many things happened simultaneously — the man’s hips arched up in a desperate thrust, a loud, guttural groan slipping past his lips, and you gasped when your entire body flooded with warmth as lust filled you nearly to bursting, lighting your nerves in a way that made you feel as if you were feeling what the man was.

“Please, please, need you — so beautiful, need you so bad.” The man’s voice was hoarse and broken, and it was the first real sentence he’d said, and his voice sounded so beautiful, so tantalizing, and the way his lips curved around each word filled you with a desire that you’d never had before — and you were but a helpless victim to it.

Electricity skirted across every inch of your skin when you pressed your lips against the man’s in a hungry kiss, swallowing every groan and pant and moan down like a beast starved. Goaded and fueled by the lust swirling under your skin — lust that you recognized as the man’s, and even more frighteningly, your own — you swung a leg over him and clambered atop his lap, settling your overheated core directly on the bulge of his dick. You couldn’t help the moan that the sensation pulled from your chest, and the man drank it down like the sweetest nectar, and his tongue plunged into your mouth, seeking your own.

The sensation of his wet tongue wrestling with yours completely wiped away any coherent thoughts your brain would have managed as the lust brimming within your body hit a spilling point, and you began to gyrate your hips at a rapid pace. The drag of your clit against the fabric of his trousers was rough but rich with friction, and the heat of his clothed cock seemed to radiate into your lower half completely. With how fogged your mind and body was, it didn’t even occur to you to wonder how the man had somehow broken from his frozen state without your command when his hands bruised your hips in a vice grip — all you could think was that it felt good, and your entire lower half exploded with harsh tingles when he took control over your movement, dragging you down harshly against his cock in time with his own desperate thrusts.

“So good, so fucking good — gonna explode, gonna fucking blow—” the man’s voice was harsh and ragged against your lips, his words somewhat hard to understand due to his reluctance to disengage his lips from the dance they were performing with yours, but they went straight to your core anyway, flushing your entire body with excitement and eagerness.

“Cum, cum, I want you to cum.” You moaned into his mouth, tongue licking into the crevice, and the man reciprocated your eagerness by removing his hands from your hips and instead wrapping them around your shoulders for a better grip — before you could fully prepare yourself, the man was bucking his hips with abandon, the friction against your clit fast and unrelenting, and you threw your head back with a moan. The swordsman took advantage of the access to your throat, and he began licking and biting the tender flesh, the ministrations adding more fuel to the fire within your belly.

There was a foreign tightening within your gut, something akin to a coil being wound, and it was something you’d never felt before — it was frightening but exhilarating, and though unfamiliar, you just knew that the snapping would lead to something amazing. So you allowed your body to relax and fall limp in the man’s hold, eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself fall into the sensations abusing your body.

“Fuck, so good, you feel so fucking good — so warm and soft, fuck—” with every hot word panted into the flesh of your neck that coil wound tighter, and with a few more harsh thrusts your vision exploded with white stars as your entire body clenched up, your clit bursting with pleasure and throbbing as an orgasm — your first ever — was pulled from your body. The swordsman was quick to follow, a liquid that was even hotter than his cock coating the front of trousers and seeping through to melt into your skin, and the groan he released into your jugular was so filthy that it was nearly enough to rip another orgasm from you.

Your legs were a trembling cage around his thigh, and as you sit recovering from what was probably the most amazingly intense experience of your life, you debated going against your long standing moral code and keeping the man in your lair forever.

#opla #opla zoro x reader #zoro x reader #opla zoro #one piece

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