#i want to get him a harness!! i want to let him experience the outside!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr was created by web developers David Karp and Marco Arment.

#i want to get him a harness!! i want to let him experience the outside!!

darby-rowe · 5 months

Text

18+ | nsfw | mdni sub!coriolanus snow ☓ fem!dom!reader cw anal fingering, anilingus, mentions of saliva, pegging, ejaculating dildo, praise, degradation, facial, dacryphilia, dumbification

it took some convincing and a lot of patience, but coryo finally decided to let you peg him! oh, what a joyous occasion!

you took your time teasing and prepping his hole, carefully watching his face to help guide you with what made him feel good. he looked so pretty with his legs spread just for you, hearing his cute little gasps and mewls as your tongue teased the outside of his puckered hole.

“stop teasing,” you heard him whine as you drooled saliva all over his entrance, stimulating his glands in preparation for a nice, hard fucking. you couldn’t help but smirk at the power you felt over coryo — him being completely at your mercy.

“i have to make sure you’re ready, baby,” you cooed. “i don’t want this to hurt. i wanna make you feel good. don’t you wanna feel good, bunny?”

coryo could only manage a nod and a tiny “mhm” as your tongue and fingers continued to explore his insides, making him squirm as his rock-hard cock twitched with each movement you made.

soon, you had the ejaculating dildo filled with the spunk lube, and vibrating at a low frequency as you hooked it onto your strap-on. with tenderness and care, you slowly entered coryo’s ass, watching him mewl and writhe underneath you at the new, exceptional pleasure he was growing accustomed to.

“take this cock, baby,” you purred, watching as the dildo disappeared inside coryo. “good boy. good fuckin’ boy,”

it didn’t take long before you were relentlessly thrusting into coryo’s crying body, watching him desperately find purchase within the bedsheets underneath him, or the pillows that supported his head as his blonde curls sprawled around him. you moaned as the harness of the strap-on rubbed against your throbbing clit, making this experience just as pleasurable for you as it was for him.

“s—…so deep—!” coryo cried, hooking his arms around his knees to spread his legs wider for you. “oh god, oh god, oh fuck, oh my god,”

“already babbling like a dumb little baby, aren’t we?” you teased, laughing to yourself at how easy it was to push him to the edge. “look at you, prissy little rich boy getting fucked in the ass by my cock, yeah? you love it. you love getting put in your place, you naughty boy,”

coryo let out high-pitched, pathetic moans in time with your thrusts, punishing his hole to the point where tears spilled from his pretty blue eyes. your mouth watered at the thought of how salty his tears must taste, and so you leaned down for a sample of his willing submissiveness.

“yeah, that’s right,” you growled. “fuckin’ cry like a pathetic bitch for me. let me watch those tears fall from your pretty blue eyes. such a pretty boy. so pathetic and easy to fuck,”

coryo’s sobs only intensified at the pleasure ignited his nerves completely on fire, feeling the apex of his pleasure draw nearer as you fucked him with reckless abandonment. “i wanna come, p-please, i’m gonna come so hard,” he cried. “my cock is gonna explode,”

“then come, you whore,” you commanded through gritted teeth, and soon after that, you had coryo crying, moaning, and whimpering as his dick exploded with thick, white ropes of cum all over his torso. pretty little slut didn’t need for you to touch him to make him come like that.

you withdrew your strap from coryo’s hole and positioned it over his face, feeling the dildo in your hand begin to shake as the fake spunk spilled all over his pretty, wet face. god, the sight was absolutely incredible. if only you had your camera on you, you would take a photo of coryo with the ropes of fake cum on his face.

you sat there for a moment to catch your breath before leaning down to press a kiss to his quivering lips. “good boy,” you praised. “you did such a good job for me,”

don’t be shy, let’s talk. ♡

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #darbyrowe.doc #asks open #ask me anything

439 notes · View notes

blondeboyfriend · 2 months

Text

𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Erwin Smith x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Soooo this is an oldie from 2021. I only did some light editing so if this fic has an amateur hour feel... that's because it does. [ SYNOPSIS ] A solo training session goes to shit when you get stuck in a tree. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.6k [ CONTENT ] PWP in the purest sense, stuckage, dubcon, y/n gets her ass ate, Erwin kisses you post-ass eating, dumbification (Erwin), knife play, size kink, creampie, I don't even know how this whole situation would work physically so just enjoy the ride.

“Shit!”

Launching yourself into a tree was never on your list of things you were desperate to experience. That list was reserved for things like outdrinking Moblit, slaying 100 titans unassisted, and planting a big wet kiss on your comrade Erwin. Nowhere on this hypothetical list was such a sad spectacle.

At least you were training, it's not like you were outside the walls where this would be a deadly issue. No, this was just woefully embarrassing.

“Damn.”

You tugged at your equipment and came to the crippling realization that you were totally stuck.

“You gotta be kidding me,” you muttered. “This is great. I love this for me.”

Shimmying around didn’t help and using the tree as leverage and kicking yourself backwards just slammed you back into the tree. Blood dripped from your nose as you tried to rub the pain away.

At least you were upright.

“Come on, come the fuck on,” you whined, bouncing up and down.

You were hovering just above the ground, it wouldn’t be that bad of a drop. Sure you’d bruise your ass and walk around funny for a day or two, but it beat swinging around in a tree hoping someone would come by and rescue you.

You continued to bounce but it was no use. Your harness might as well have been one with the tree.

“So… This is it. This is how I die.”

Your legs dangled in the air. You tried one last time to break the branch by bouncing, but nothing came of it.

“Everything okay over there?”

You perked up at the sound of a deep, silky voice in the distance. Erwin crested over the hill, your predicament on full display.

“Hi,” you said, waving pathetically. “I’m, uh, just hanging.”

“I can see that,” he said, making his way over to you. “Dare I ask how this happened?”

“I was training too vigorously obviously.”

He gave you a warm laugh. “I can see that. I’m sure the Commander will be proud.”

You held your hands to your cheeks with mock surprise.

“You think so?!”

Erwin smiled and patted your leg. He was eye level with your crotch. Something in his expression was unsettling. You were never great at reading Erwin, but this was a look you were completely unfamiliar with.

“I’m certain,” he said, letting his hand linger on your thigh.

You jerked your leg out of reach but you ended up swinging back towards him despite this. Erwin grabbed you by the ankle.

“You gonna help me or what? I’m getting hungry.”

You tacked on a nervous laugh and nudged him with your knee.

“I’ll help you, but there will be a price,” he said coyly.

You gulped. You just knew he was going to ask for access to your secret coffee rations.

“I keep it under my bed!” you blurted out.

Erwin raised an eyebrow and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

As you went to speak he interrupted you.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he purred. “You’re not very good at hiding your feelings.”

You wriggled around, but Erwin gripped your hips holding you in place.

“Whatever. Yes, I have a crush on you. Big deal. So does everyone else.”

He chuckled. “I’m not nearly as popular as you think I am, but I appreciate that you hold me in such high regard.”

“Don’t give me that fake humble shit. Just wait and help me. We can talk about my repayment later.”

“I can’t wait.”

You gulped again. While it was true you had a sick crush on Erwin you weren’t exactly comfortable with his actions. You desperately wanted to feel the ground beneath your feet. You weren’t a fucking bird just because you had the wings of freedom on your uniform.

“Erwin, please.”

“I already told you I can’t wait.”

“Erwin. Seriously. Come on.”

“We’re through talking about this.”

Erwin took out a small utility knife and carefully slit a hole in your pants.

“Wait!”

He smirked and said calmly, “Don’t be scared.”

“You have a very sharp blade near my—”

“Hush, I know what I’m doing. Don’t you trust me?”

He spun you around so that your ass was facing him. His hands wandered down the inside of your thighs, lightly pinching the flesh. He pried apart the slit he made in your pants and ripped the hole open. As his knuckles grazed your folds you let out a quiet moan.

Your underwear were ripped apart with ease. You thought about how awkward it was going to be walking back to the barracks. There was no way you could slyly hide the gaping hole in your pants. You shook your head, trying to force the thoughts from your mind. After all, you had always wanted something like this to happen. So many nights you spent fingering yourself pretending it was Erwin’s rough hands delving into you. So many nights you moaned his name, praying no one could hear how debauched you sounded.

“Be gentle.”

“I’ll certainly try, but I can make no promises,” he said, spanking your ass with his weighty hand.

You felt Erwin’s hot breath against your cunt. He gripped your hips and pulled your ass close to his face and buried it in between your cheeks. His tongue prodded your hole.

“Whoa! Hey!”

Erwin hummed in response, you could tell he thought this was all rather hilarious.

“What would you do if someone caught us?”

“Cry. Scream. Beg for help or a piece of bread. I’m so hungry,” you whined.

“And you think I’m not?”

He continued to eat your ass, using his rough calloused hands to spread your cheeks. His nose drifted along your crack as his tongue worked its way around your hole.

“Fu—fuck. That feels so good,” you choked out.

Your hand trailed down to your crotch and you rubbed at your clit. You were overcome with pleasure. Even the potential of getting caught drove you wild. If someone were to see you like this you could have bragging rights. I mean it’s not like many people had their ass eaten by Erwin.

Erwin moaned as he undid his pants, pulling out his fully erect cock. Little pearls of precum dribbled from the tip. He stroked his cock furiously as he drove his tongue into your ass.

“Ah, shit. Erwin, f—fuck.”

Coherent thoughts were out of the question. You were thankful Erwin had his face buried in your ass so he couldn’t probe you with questions. He looked like a talker.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice dripping with ardor.

He spun you around, giving you a full view of his raging erection.

“Y—yes,” you said through gritted teeth.

You could taste your orgasm, see it over the horizon. Your hand continued to encircle your clit, picking up the pace as Erwin choked his cock with his fist. He was blushing like crazy. You had never seen Erwin look so boyish. He was practically coming apart at the seams. His flaxen hair, usually so perfect, was a mess and hung in his face. There was a level of power you felt that was pure ecstasy. You never imagined you could make your comrade feel quite like this.

“You seem to be having a good time,” you said, applying more pressure to your clit.

“Did you think I wouldn’t? Do you realize how badly I’ve wanted to do something like this with you?”

“Seriously?” you said, driving your fingers into your wet cunt.

Erwin nodded and grabbed the knife he had chucked on the ground. He swung it upwards and nicked the part of your gear that was snagged on the tree branch. He caught you with his free arm. He laid you on the ground, your body in the shadow of his.

“May I?” he asked, stroking his cock.

A quiet “mhm” was all you could get out.

He slid himself inside you and thrusted away. Your cunt welcomed his thick cock; you clenched around his length. Erwin’s name lilted off your lips.

“Keep saying my name,” he grunted, his rough thumb now gliding along your clit.

You were happy to oblige.

Erwin drove his cock further inside you, cupping your face with his free hand. He looked into your eyes; there was nothing going on in that big brain of his. He was positively fucked out as his balls slapped up against your taint.

“Er—Erwin, fuck, I’m so close.”

He pounded his cock into you; you felt as though he’d split you in two. He stroked your lip with his thumb and kissed you. His tongue dived into your mouth, rolling against yours. He moaned through the kiss as he pumped you full of his cum, slamming his cock into your cervix.

Breaking the kiss he said, “Are you gonna cum like a good girl?”

You gazed up at him starry-eyed and nodded quickly. He pressed his lips against your neck and started to suck. You wrapped your arms around him and clung to him as your orgasm crescendoed. Nothing could beat this feeling, not even killing every titan outside the walls single-handedly could compare.

You tried to catch your breath and Erwin pulled his cock out of you. He marveled at his cum leaking from your puffy, throbbing cunt. He looked so proud.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked sheepishly.

You smiled and nodded with a level of enthusiasm you never gifted anyone.

“Yes… Maybe next time I can not be stuck in a tree…”

Erwin laughed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Of course,” he said, panting. “Anything for you.”

He kissed your forehead and helped you up. He whipped off his cape and wrapped it around you, hiding the giant rip in your pants.

“Are you still hungry? I really do owe you dinner.”

You’d never seen your comrade like this. You were used to prim and proper Erwin who begrudgingly laughed at your dick jokes, not this embarrassed young man who was enamored with you.

“I would love that. I need bread. And maybe a nap.”

#erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #.fics #.aot #.erwin #reader insert #x reader

78 notes · View notes

cosmicjoke · 1 year

Text

Man, ya know, my problem with Zeke is that, yeah, I get it, we’re supposed to feel sorry for him and understand that he had a crappy childhood and it twisted his mind (supposedly) into thinking life was meaningless and had no value, and into wanting to euthanize a whole race of people, har, har. But see, my problem with him is, he thinks that somehow gave him the right to decide for everyone else whether their lives were worth living or not. He thought he was super, duper special, because he had what he deluded himself into believing was a unique experience and understanding of the world, and that gave him permission to act as god and choose for everyone else what their lives meant, to decide their lives were as meaningless as he felt his was. That’s true narcissism there.

When you compare that to how Levi views life, and the value he places on other people’s right to live and be how they choose, it makes crystal clear just why Levi hates this motherfucker as much as he does. Levi always understood that other people should have the right and freedom to live whatever way they wanted, to make that choice for themselves, without the constant fear of death bearing down on them from something totally outside their control. Levi fought to give people the chance to live, and to give them the freedom to choose for themselves (something we see him emphasize again and again, by letting others develop their own thoughts and feelings, without trying to impose his own way of thinking or doing on them), while Zeke fought to bring people’s lives to an end, to take away their freedom of choice and force them to conform to his way of thinking and doing. They’re literally diametrically opposed.

#Levi Ackerman #Zeke Yeager #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

867 notes · View notes

blues824 · 1 year

Note

Hello! I see requests are open on your blog and want to give this one a try. May I request HCs of Vil Schöenheit, Idia Shroud, and Malleus Draconia with a partner [S/O] (Romantic) [Gender Neutral] who actually has powers like Dr. Strange? A powerful Eldritch Magic user who not only can cast difficult spells but also has magical artifacts and items like the Sling Ring used to open portals in other parts of the universe. Can they also somehow have possession of the Eye of Agamotto?

Imagine they’re powerful enough to stop an Overblot. The [Reader] casts a Mirror Dimension around themselves and the Overblotted victim to prevent others from harm’s way. Everyone would be safe outside of the spell.

- @sanctum-of-ramshackle

I loved Dr. Strange. I also loved the Mirror Dimension part… got me high but without the drugs.

Don’t do drugs, kids. But if you do, make sure you get them for a reasonable price.

Vil Schoenheit

He hasn’t seen magic quite like the one you use. He knows that you have no natural affinity towards this sorcery, so he questions how you were able to harness it. You tell him that you had to go all the way to Kamar-Taj in Nepal to see if you could get your steady hands back.

He got to see it up close when he overblotted. In fact, you cast a spell on him. The one that brought him to the Mirror Dimension. He looked around and saw everything shift on your whim. He had never seen anything like that in Twisted Wonderland.

He also had never seen someone’s magic cause golden rings to appear around their hands or arms while using it. He knew it was some sort of ancient magic because of the old runes. Since you had put a lot of time into learning it, you easily overtook him. He looked around and released a sigh of relief when he heard that no one was injured due to your spell.

He sees you hopping in and out of dimensions a lot. He notices that there’s a certain ring on your hand when you do as well. He asks you about it as he’s treating your skin and you say that it allows you to open other dimensions. That meant you could easily go home, but didn’t choose to.

At the same time, he asked you about the peculiar necklace you wear. It’s nothing fashionable, and he has quite the distaste for it, actually. You had to explain the Infinity Stones and said that the Eye of Agamotto housed one of these precious stones: the Time Stone. You used your magic to open the eye and showed him the luminous rock.

He asked what would happen if someone were to attain all of them. You warned him that if someone were to do that, that could mean the end of every dimension and universe he could ever fathom. He’s shocked that tiny stones had the power to end the timeline, but you know more about this than he does.

Idia Shroud

Omg! It’s exactly like the movie Monsieur Weird! It’s so strange (get it?) that you had the same exact magic. You tell him about your journey in Nepal just to train under the Ancient One and learn to harness the magic that was surrounding you all this time.

When he overblots, he experiences the other end of the magic. He looks around as you cast the spell to bring you to the Mirror Dimension and he sees everyone disappear except you. You used his discontortedness to your advantage and easily took him down.

He notices that whenever you use your magic, it causes big disks to circle around your arms and wrists. He tries to research the language, but since Eldritch Magic didn’t exist in this world he came up with nothing.

Once, he got the courage to ask you about your ring as you had to take it off to help upgrade Ortho. You said that it allowed you to open dimensions such as the Mirror one. You told him that it would be rather easy for you to go home, but this dimension was a lot of fun.

He also noticed the eyeball you wear around your neck. He thought it was a piece of some costume until he noticed once where you opened it and let out a sigh of relief. He stares at it until you catch him, and you explain that it housed the Time Stone. He then finished what you were going to say about the Infinity Stones.

He guessed that it would be the end of life itself if someone obtained all of them and you nodded. You told him how imperative it was that you protected the stone with your very life. He made a vow that any opponent would have to go through him and his brother first before anything ever got to you.

Malleus Draconia

Yet another one who was intrigued by your unique magic, and I mean that in that he has never seen it before. No one in the Valley of Thorns uses this magic, and he hasn’t seen anyone at NRC using it either. Plus, he recognizes the runes.

When Leona overblots, Malleus swears that he just saw you and the Prince of the Sunset Savannah facing off each other. One second you were gone, the next you were back and the overblot victim was back to normal.

He immediately asked you about it, and you told him that you took Leona to the Mirror Dimension so that no one else would be harmed. He admired your thoughtfulness and concern for others while simultaneously taking down an overblot.

He’s definitely noticed that certain ring of yours that you always have when opening a portal. He stared at it a few times, and you eventually caught on and explained that you obtained it in Kamar-Taj, Nepal back in your world and that it allowed you to open dimensions.

He also asked about what exactly the eye was. He has read many books, but he’s never heard of the Eye of Agamotto. You explain that the eye itself wasn’t magical, but rather the stone inside. There were 5 other Infinity Stones, and you protected the 6th.

You went on to say that someone who had all the Infinity Stones would be more powerful than the most powerful mage Twisted Wonderland had. In fact, they would seem like a small child’s toy compared to the Stone User. He was shocked at hearing this, and he made sure to let you know that you would never face any opponent without them getting through him first.

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #twst vil schoenheit #twst vil #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #idia shroud x reader #twst idia #idia shroud #idia x reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

1K notes · View notes

pacentia · 6 months

Text

Pairing: female human!reader x Homelander

Setting: somewhere post season 3

Synopsis: just a lil drabble about providing John the home and the family that he so desperately craved.

Tags: nsfw cause it's Homelander, sweetness, intimacy, love, Homelander has his kids, Homelander relaxes for once

Note: my boyfriend made me watch The Boys. Little did he know I was going to develop a pathological crush on a broken homicidal maniac ❤️

“Daddy, look!”

It was a simple word that John was never going to take for granted. A word that his super-hearing could pick out of a thousand voices from miles away. If any -fucking- one would ever dare lay a hand on his beautiful and pure daughter - John swore he was going to -

“John, get out of your head.” You smiled at your lover, America’s most powerful superhero, the man that you called your husband. He lounged on the patio of your spacious mansion in Long Island, American flag waving in the wind, overlooking the big green gated garden in which your baby girl Jane was playing and running around. At last, he was finally enjoying a day off from all of those idiot cocksuckers at Vought, his words.

John’s stoic face snapped into a broad smile, accompanied by a million micro-expressions when you joined from the kitchen, bringing freshly baked chocolate cookies into the scene. Honest to God, he had everything that his pained heart missed in front of him: a perfect wife, his son Ryan, and his baby Jane. The young girl’s eyes widened, and she ran like a speedster to the source of the smell.

“When your daughter asks you to look, you better look.” You grinned, placing a soft kiss on his unruly blond locks, taking a bite from one of your cookies. John grinned to himself, and reached out his strong arms to his daughter, inviting the girl in his arms. She didn’t hesitate to jump right in his lap. “Here, a flower for daddy.” Jane giggled, placing a pink flower in his blonde hair.

The combination of a pink flower decorating his hair, and the violent background that he possessed was quite a hilarious contrast. The Supe didn’t give two fucks about that, he’d let his daughter put a whole fucking flower crown on his head. Anything she wanted was law. Your children were incredibly spoiled, because John wanted everything for them that he’d never got to experience. He had a rocky start with Ryan, but John had learned patience in time, much against his own nature.

You weren’t related to Ryan in any way, but you knew what had happened 5 years ago when he first released his heat gaze. He went through traumatic stuff, and you were always there to comfort him. His dad taught him how to harness his growing powers over the years, but he was too shy to get introduced to the Seven and Vought and all that shit. Vought was a huge fan in pushing Ryan to follow in Homelander’s footsteps, to become the next commander of the Seven. However, John quickly realized that his son expressed little interest, so he zapped that idea down (much to his own pain).

To the outside world, Homelander was still the same heroic figure. To Vought, he was the same nightmare to deal with.

But you loved him.

All of him. All of his insecurities, his simultaneous God complex, his devious desires and his bloodlust. He was convinced that his kind was the master race, but you, a mere human, held a special place in his heart. You were his darling girl that was able to give him a home, and accepted him for the fucked up man that he was. He had already incinerated and executed people for you. It’s a way he showed his devotion to you.

And he’d do anything to keep that little princess in his arms safe, no matter the cost. Same with Ryan, and with you.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #dadlander #the boys #homelander fanfiction

126 notes · View notes

liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 7 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: For better or worse, they're talking it out.

words: 8.4 k

warning: mob-typical violence. graphic depiction of gun violence, whump. hurt/comfort. descriptions of violence. references to drug use. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

this is a darker, messier version of TASM Peter.

18+. you’re responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, something, something, something, dark side... should mean something to you.

Go back to Part 6.

Part 7

What’s your biggest regret?

Where to begin?

Peter felt weak. The weight of Honey’s body in his arms was too much to bear. She sat with her back to him on the floor, legs akimbo, hunched over herself. Violent sobs racked through her body as she bawled, and screamed, and begged. Neither of them were even sure what she was begging for.

“Jus’wanna disappear,” she mumbled through hiccups and wails. “Please jus’wanna go’way...dontwannabehere...idont wanit... i don’t wannit”

Sitting on the floor behind her, he tightened his grip. His forearms harnessed her in, crossing them loosely across her chest. Every once in a while, she’d dig her nails into his skin, either knowingly or unknowingly. It didn’t matter. He let her. He’d let her flay him alive if it would end her suffering. Except that he knew that it wouldn’t. Personal experience.

She won’t forgive you. She won’t look at you. She was right about you.

weak... pathetic puny... useless

She was right. In many ways, this was his fault.

It’s a strange exercise to think of the million different decisions one makes in a day that binds them to their inevitable fate. In Honey’s case, all she had to do was smile at him. All Peter had to do was keep coming back to visit her. In the case of the two unfortunate victims of Fisk’s rage, all they had to do was show up for work.

And Honey didn’t know what Peter knew. Didn’t know the gory details the police left out of the press coverage. He wondered if he should ever tell her.

...you failed to protect them, you will always fail, you can’t protect the people you love, you can’t protect anyone, you are useless... alone... a drain on the world...

He listened to the voices in his mind as he listened to her agonized weeping. Soon the sounds were the same. A contrite sinner, standing trial for his crimes against the world. Ready to take whatever judgment handed down to him.

Just let her go... monster... Just get her as far away from here as possible. Somewhere warm, sunny beach somewhere... pariah... Just get as far away from her as possible... no good can come from this...disgusting pest... Don’t let her see what you really are.

Her cries began to fade, her body drained of its energy. He helped her stand, her legs wobbly, and moved her slowly to the couch. There, she buried her face in the cushions and cried even harder.

It was like a broken limb, even the slightest touch sent searing pain through ravaged nerve endings. The pain of a broken heart. The kind of pain that makes you want to detach from reality.

Peter knew it all too well.

His heart ached at the sound of her sobs. All he wanted to do was help the pain go away. Outside of jumping in front of a train, he only had one thing to offer her.

Hesitantly, he made the suggestion—the same dose of medicine she swallowed the day she arrived at the cabin. The only kindness he could offer was the reprieve from him. A break from the world that he’d trapped her in.

Without a second thought, she agreed. Hollow. Apathetic. Reckless.

With a frown, he crushed a pill and dropped the pulverized powder in a glass of juice.

He gently declined her request to give her back the bottle of champagne to wash it down. Watched her sorrowfully, as she downed the juice without a moment’s hesitation.

He knew it well. The kind of pain that makes you want to detach your soul from your body.

Without another word, she laid down on the sofa, squeezing her eyes shut and waited for unconsciousness to overtake her. Only when her eyes closed did he allow tears to squeak through his lids.

He had fought them off for as long as he could, rubbing his eyes furiously. Dragging his calloused fingers down his weathered face, muffling quiet sobs with his palms.

He listened carefully, focusing on her steady breaths. She was asleep at last. Peter was alone again, just him and his failure. He observed her body as she sunk into the sofa cushions, drifting further into a dreamless rest. He hoped that wherever her mind was, it was at peace.

He considered the awkward angle of her spine, the way her chin jutted in a way that was surely going to strain her neck. It looked uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. He wanted her to be comfortable. His instinct was to pick her up and carry her to bed.

He stopped his hands from moving on their own accord. His heart sank as he thought about where his mind was leading.

Not her bed, but his. Their bed, if only she wanted it to be. It all felt so futile. A silly dream. For a young, foolish boy with nonsensical, fairy-tale thoughts, an old skateboard, and holes in his jeans.

He lifted her body from the couch and once again ascended the staircase. This time, he stopped at her door. The gate to her cell.

He laid her on the bed, carefully removed her shoes from her feet, and buried her in blankets. Brushing the hair from her face, he frowned at the tear trails on her cheeks.

He went to her bathroom and warmed up a washcloth. When he returned, he gently dabbed at her makeup, removing it to the best of his ability. Her skin was already so ravaged from salty tears, rubbing was only making it worse—you’re hurting her—no peace, only pain— and cursed himself again. He went back and located the makeup remover once it had proven to be difficult.

Returned to the bathroom. He used another washcloth, soaking it in cooler water, wringing it out, and using it as a compress against her flushed forehead and swollen eyes.

He sat in the armchair in the corner of her room, listening to the steadiness of her heart. The calmness of her breath. When the cloth had warmed up and dried out, he replaced it with a fresh one.

Again and again.

Over and over.

For hours.

He caught sight of himself in her mirror and could barely recognize the person staring back. Peter looked—he felt—so old. When did he get so old? Tired. Worn out from more sleepless nights than the current one. Dark-rimmed bags under his eyes. Stray silver hairs and dried blood dotted his dark beard. The lacerations made by her fingernails healed almost instantly. But he could still feel them.

They say that beards make you look older. He looked geriatric. Still, he didn’t look as old on the outside as he felt inside. Inside he was ancient. A relic. He’d only been on the earth for just under thirty-five years, but every breath felt like a chilly gust of wind through a decrepit, old tomb. His heart was a fossil.

You should’ve stopped Kingpin a long time ago, the quarreling voices reminded him. You could’ve saved those women. They’re dead because of you.

it should’ve been you... you are the weakness, the disease... you are the parasite... they are dead because of you...

Light was not her friend.

It fact, it was skull-fucking her.

Honey groaned as she wiped a semi-dry film of saliva from her cheek. Gross.

She felt gross. All over. Her head was throbbing, sinuses sore. Like the world’s worst hangover with a dash of the flu. Her mouth was desert dry. With bleary eyes, she glanced around to find herself back in her ‘guest’ room. Her prison cell, made of down-feathers and sherpa blankets.

Daylight chased away every shadow and lobotomized her aching skull. But it illuminated another fact: she was alone.

It was unclear whether that was a good thing, given that she felt like death. She glanced over and her eyes narrowed on a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. She practically licked her dry lips at the sight. She didn’t remember bringing the water to her room. Nor did she remember going to bed. Or drinking so heavily that she blacked out. Or—

Darkness shadowed over her like storm clouds on the horizon. She felt her heart sink into her chest as she suddenly remembered.

The party. The laptop. The news article.

Peter Fucking Parker.

Whatever sickness she felt multiplied ten-fold. It was like being sucked under the current of a black sea. She was drowning in agony once again, and all she could do was bite her wobbly lip. She had no more tears to shed. She’d cried them all out last night.

The details of the previous night were still unclear, like remnants of a dream slipping away. Only a vague recollection remained—her blubbering nonsensically to be knocked out.

He must have obliged her. Nothing after that registered.

She glanced around at her bed. It looked like she had been the only occupant. Looking to the beside, she noticed the wingback armchair had moved overnight. It drifted several feet from the corner, and had crawled suspiciously near the edge of the bed.

She glanced back at the water. It was from Peter. A kind gesture. An olive branch, perhaps. Something to ease pain that he knew she would feel in the morning.

She buried her face in her pillow, swallowing back her dry tongue.

Fuck his olives.

Hours passed.

She repeated the action of waking up to her nightmare, and then diving back under the waves, hoping to drown her misery in sleep. The cycle repeated, at least 5-6 times.

The sun shifted.

Her throat was raw.

The water had probably long-since warmed to room temperature. Maybe even more from being cast in the sun. She didn’t want it. Didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to care.

At some point, between the 8th and 9th cycle, she heard a light knock at the door. Two quick beats, then a third.

“Honey?” a voice called from the other side.

It could only be one person.

She rolled her eyes, the action reminding her just how dry they were. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“You awake?”

She stayed silent. Hoped to fall asleep again. Hoped he’d go away and leave her alone. Leave her in that room, to wilt and die like a neglected plant.

“It’s gettin’ pretty late in the day,” he explained kindly. How dare he provide her with that information. “Wonderin’ if you were hungry.”

Was she hungry? Yes. Did she want to move? Never. She should say so. She should tell him she’s not hungry. She should tell him to jump off a building. She should give him a piece of her mind. Scream. Scratch him again, but this time aim for his eyes. Bite.

She just didn’t want to move. The thought of getting out of bed, opening the door to see his likely apologetic face, and then spitting in it seemed so stressful, she’d rather not do anything at all.

Hate was exhausting. She’d never hated anyone before.

“I, uh, made you some food, uhm...”

She flicked her apathetic gaze back to the wall. Scoffed lightly. Pulled the blankets back over her head.

Seconds passed. She expected more of his charmingly-shy kind offers to spill out from behind the door, but instead there was silence. She wondered if he could somehow hear her indignation, as impossible as it seemed.

“Well, it’s ready. If you are.”

He sounded sad. Not just sad, but defeated. Resigned. She heard the scuff of his leather heel, then footsteps retreating, reverberating off of the hardwood floor.

Then it was quiet again.

She was alone. Again.

Another knocking rhythm. This time, when she opened her eyes, it was significantly darker. Late afternoon. Her stomach growling could confirm that.

“Honey, you decent?”

She rolled her eyes. How grandpa of him.

“I’m comin’ in,” he followed up, and suddenly she wanted to shout in protest. But the handle twisted and the door popped open, and from her periphery she could see Peter’s tall silhouette in the doorway.

She adjusted her head to remove him from her view. It was the most she’d moved in hours.

“How’re you feelin’, huh?”

She tucked her chin down, pulling her head further under the covers.

“Yeah, figured as much.” His somber tone held the weight of being the sole participant in the conversation. Much to her disappointment, Peter didn’t leave. Instead, she could hear him enter the room, the sound of his footsteps mingling with a gentle rattling noise.

She threw her eyes over at him for a moment. He carefully steadied a wooden tray in his arms. A several plates of different comfort foods were spread out, the aroma of which was enough to make her dizzy with starvation. She tried to ignore the gurgling of her stomach as he padded closer to her.

“Brought you some dinner,” he said as he approached the bedside, a pitiful glimmer of hope in his voice. She pierced him with a silent glare. “I know you gotta be hungry by now. I can hear your stomach growlin’ from downstairs.”

He said it with a light chuckle. She said nothing.

He sat the tray down on the foot of the bed, getting a good look at her broken state.

Good, she thought. Let him. Let him look upon his work, and despair.

Peter glanced over at the glass of water on the nightstand, still untouched. He frowned at the sight. Looked back down at her, chocolate eyes full of pity.

“A little water’ll make ya feel better,” he gently offered.

She stared into nothingness, avoiding eye contact. Imagined that she was a dead body. He was talking to a corpse.

Her silence made him fret. He kept trying. “How ‘bout a hot bath, then?”

“Why, were you planning on waterboarding me, too?” Her voice came out sharp and raspy, like the hiss of a rattlesnake. Her words packed the same amount of venom, too. She looked over at him selfishly, just to see the tissue damage her toxins inflicted.

A glimmer of disappointment crossed his face, his lips turning downward. It made her feel bad.

Damn it to hell.

He gazed at her quietly, reeling from the bite. Pursed his lips. Set his jaw firmly in place. “You gotta eat,” he declared with a carefully controlled tone. It was an edict.

She glowered defiantly. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped back, nearly before she even finished her sentence. His volume remained muted, but his eyes were not. “You gotta take care of yourself. S’not a suggestion.”

“And what if I don’t?” Her voice had dropped an octave. She challenged him through slitted eyes. “What then, huh? You’re so busy with trying to protect me, what if we just cut to the finish? Take one thing off your to-do list.”

Peter’s jaw tensed. Nostrils flared. The sight of his anger was intimidating, despite her bratty resolve. Briefly, her nerve started to falter, but then he took a slow breath. “You’re angry,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I get that.” She was thrown off by the calmness of his response, despite every word coming out clipped. “You’re angry at me. I get that, too. You wanna take a shot at me? That’s okay. You wanna hit me, hit me. What you did yesterday? It felt good, din’it? Made you feel better. Stronger. By all means, don’t stop.”

As much as she fought against it, she felt a tinge of guilt at that. He railed on.

“Do whatever you want,” he added, raising his voice in challenge. “Scratch me. Beat me. Hit me with a rock. If you wanna hurt somebody, hurt me.” His eyes hardened as he fixed his gaze on her, timbre dropping deep. “But you are not allowed to hurt yourself. Got that?” His eyes pierced her as he said it, as if he could shoot lightning from his fingers and write his commandment in stone.

She gulped unintentionally, the courage she had moments ago evaporating in the heat of his stare. She locked her jaw to keep her lip from trembling. Her own weakness enraged her.

“Now sit up if you understand,” he reprimanded, through gritted teeth. As if she were a child. She felt like one—little in his gaze. Peter fixed a hard look on her, waiting impatiently for her to comply.

With rageful eyes, she sat up, yanking back the covers. Her spine cracked from the lack of movement. She threw her socked feet over the edge. Came to a firm stand, straightening herself in front of him. She took a bold step forward, holding his gaze. Bitterly and slowly, she reached for the tray of food.

Then she shoved it off the bed onto the bedroom floor. The china shattered with a crack, food and liquid splattering on his shoes, pieces of glass splintering out in every direction.

Neither of them ever broke their steel gazes.

She glared up at him and he leered down at her, both silently fuming. Hearts pounding. Chests aching.

“I think I’ll have that shower now,” she nonchalantly replied. The arrogance in her voice was sharp. Stunning, especially to herself. They remained in their stalemate before she took the first step, brushing past him into her bathroom and slamming the door.

In retrospect, it was a dumb idea. She stayed in the shower longer than necessary. Part of it was to maintain the facade of her new-found, devil-may-care attitude. The other utility was that she could hide.

After her bold protest, it took her all of about 5 seconds before she jumped back across the bathroom to lock the door. She prayed silently that he wouldn’t kick it down and respond—fucking brat, little bitch, I’ll show you—to her actions.

Frozen, she stood still and listened to the shower running. Listened for his inevitable footsteps. When they didn’t come, her shoulders relaxed. She took deep breaths until she had enough confidence to rid herself of her clothing and step inside the shower.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she cracked the door slightly. Peered inside. She opened the door a bit wider and glanced around. Peter was gone. So was the mess. She sighed with relief. And a bit of guilt—Always cleaning up your messes! When will you learn?—that she pushed to the back of her mind.

Wrapped in a bath sheet, she padded bare feet across the room towards her duffle bag on the dresser. She paused before reaching it. Felicia’s revelation from the night before echoed in her mind.

She turned to the double doors of the closet in her room, gazing at them nervously. Stepped up to it, as if she was approaching a gateway to Narnia. Threw open the doors to look—but this time, she really looked.

It was a gateway to Narnia. Or to a Neiman Marcus.

For all intents and purposes, it was a room within itself. A beautiful collection of steel-gray wooden cabinetry and opaque frosted glass. The room was brightly illuminated by recessed fixtures, and each shelving unit was individually lit. In the center of the walk-in closet—or, more aptly, the portal to a fashion blogger’s wet dream—there was a freestanding island for accessories next to a tufted ottoman.

Fascinated, she stepped over to one of the wardrobe doors and opened it. Lights flickered on to reveal a section of blouses hanging on a rod from velvet hangers. Each item of clothing was organized by color, starting with black, travelling with the natural flow of the spectrum, and ending on white.

The pattern repeated over again, this time sorted by type. Long sleeves. Short sleeves. No sleeves. Another cabinet revealed a drawer dedicated to dress trousers and jeans. Divided by fit and style, and then again by wash and color.

Whatever space there was reserved for pants, seven times that amount was dedicated solely to dresses.

So. Many. Dresses.

Bodycons. Shifts. Sheaths. Empire-waist. Cinched-waist. Drop-waist. A-line. V-line. Peasant, peplum and princess. Midi. Mini. Maxi (in case she grew a foot). Every color of the rainbow. In every pattern imaginable. For every imaginable occasion—weddings, funerals, runways, and run-ins with the law. Covering cocktail parties and Casual Fridays.

Additionally, each label was an alphabetical roll call of every reputable designer name, from the bold cuts of Alexander McQueen to exotic, flowing gowns from Zuhair Murad. Or so she guessed, since she hadn’t heard of most of these designers. They had yet to make their way to her local TJ Maxx.

She’d watched The Devil Wears Prada before. Certainly, Meryl Streep would’ve died of a heart attack at the sight of this room.

Jaw still agape, she turned her attention to the island. Approaching the side with drawers, she slid open the chest and her eyes went wide.

Lingerie. Sexy, sweet, and sensual. Row after row of lace, silk, satin, and mesh stacked neatly with coordinating pieces in rich colors. Fabrics that felt silky on her fingertips. Fabrics as soft and intimate as the inside of her body. She picked up and examined piece after piece, imagining the woman who would wear each one.

A black mesh and polyurethane open-cup playsuit with matching diamond garters and a jeweled leather collar. Perfect fit for a Femme Fatale.

For the Servant, a pink satin and lace brief paired with a Shibari-inspired body harness made from twisted, plaited, silk rope.

A silky-smooth navy blue corset embellished with cut Swarovski crystals on the bust for the Enchantress.

A lavender silk babydoll dress with a plunging V-neckline and French Chantilly lace floral accents for the Maiden.

So many women. All the archetypes represented. A multitude of girls to choose from.

She felt ill. Dizzy. Felt so hot under the recessed lighting, the back of her neck was sweating. Lightheaded. Clammy skin. She backed away from the island, fingers gripping the doorframe.

She remembered thinking, foolishly, that all of this must have belonged to other women. A girlfriend, or ex-girlfriends. Or just... girls. As if Peter had a harem, or a rotating troupe of interchangeable parts. Each of them serving their own utility. Each of them replaceable.

She was wrong.

Peter wasn’t a player. He was particular. A planner. And every item in that closet had been planned for her. Meticulously, he had chosen each piece. For her. Not for a multitude of different women. But for her to be any woman. Every woman. Whoever he wanted her to be.

His doll. Accessories included.

Two distinct forces clashed in her belly, like storm fronts converging. Pressure shifting. A cyclone forming.

One fomented horror—outrage, even—at this obsession with her. All of it looked like her size, too. How did he know her measurements so intimately? Clearly, he’d been looking at her—really looking. Fixated. That half of her brain felt disrespected by his objectification. Violated. Dirty at the thought of him picturing her in such intimate and provocative ways.

The other half felt heat building in her core. Tension pulled taut at her insides. Wetness between her thighs.

Each thought made her shiver.

The last remnants of the sun had vanished when Honey opened the door to her bedroom. She had changed into a conservative loungewear outfit: a pair of silky soft joggers and an oversized cotton t-shirt. She was extremely relieved to have found it.

Hesitantly, she poked her head out around the door, glancing down the hallway for any sign of Peter. Nothing. She looked down to her feet. On the floor next to her door was a covered plate. She picked it up. Inspected it.

A plate of turkey and cheese sandwiches. Cut into triangles, just like the picnic platter. She felt a pang in her chest at the sight.

Frowning, she soured at the memory of throwing her food on the floor. Such a waste. She would've never gotten away with that as a kid. Or even as a baby. It was so rude—ungrateful brat—why? Why was she always so rude?

With a sigh, she brought the plate inside her room and quietly cherished the meal. When she was finished, she had the urge to be a polite houseguest. She carried her emptied plate and empty water glass down the stairs to the kitchen. The least she could do was wash her own dishes.

She stopped suddenly as she rounded a corner, seeing Peter leaning over the kitchen bar. On the table surface, he had two books open in front of him, one of them a ruled composition book. He popped his head up a second after she arrived, mirroring her surprised expression.

She noted the dark-framed glasses on his face. He took a moment to push them back up the bridge of his nose. They made him look boyish. Cute, even. It was another bizarre subversion of expectation versus reality. Peter Parker, fearsome mob boss: hunched over his kitchen bar, scribbling notes like he’s studying for a Spanish quiz.

The moment he locked eyes with her, he was already looking away. Helplessly flustered by her appearance. He cleared his throat. “Um, hi.”

She shifted her weight between her feet, outwardly gripping the plate and glass in an awkward stance. “Hi.”

A long silence followed, for an indeterminate amount of time. Days, probably. “I... have this plate. And a cup.”

It was a promising beginning.

“Oh,” Peter replied quietly and uncomfortably, as if he were part of some odd British comedy. “You can just leave them by the sink. I’ll get to ‘em later.”

“I can wash them.” Her stomach was twisting in knots.

“No, no need for you to do that.” Kindly, he waved her off.

“I...I-I can put them in the dishwasher, if you’re gonna run it?”

“Oh, uh... I, um, don’t think we have enough for a full load.”

“Right. Conserving water. Important.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll wash ‘em before I go to bed.”

“But... I can wash them now.”

“No, really—”

“Peter,” her voice came out clipped. “I want to wash my dishes.” It was an edict. He pursed his lips, looking away sheepishly. She finally moved from her spot, carrying on to do what she came downstairs to do. She stopped at the kitchen sink, glancing around the counter. “Where do you keep your soap?”

“Oh, uh—under, under the-the sink.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s there. It’s... uh... blue.”

Her head was in the cabinet below when she exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, is this Ajax? You cheap bastard.” She pulled her head up over the edge of the counter, throwing him a scandalized look. “Where did you get this? The clearance section of a Dollar Store?”

Her abhorrance triggered a smile, flitted across his face as he shrugged. “Hey. It works.”

She wiggled her head, staring at him in disbelief. “It works, like... like the atomic bomb worked!” Her passion was evident. “You’re irradiating your hands every time you use this stuff.”

A light chuckle left his lips. “I’ve had worse.” His tongue stuck out idly as he licked them, a peculiar quirk. Her eyes were glued to the action. She remembered to close her mouth, then composed herself quickly. She could see and hear the vibration of his knee bouncing anxiously. Or it could’ve been the sound of her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. She exhaled sharply, eyes dropping to the floor. Full of guilt. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I never should’ve done that.”

Fidgeting, he tapped the pencil in his hands, but kept his tone calm. “It’s-It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she countered immediately. The shame in her voice was palpable. “That’s... never okay. I’m sorry.” Her eyes wandered around the kitchen until she finally had the strength to meet his gaze. When she looked up at him, his eyes were heavy with a similar burden.

He exhaled gently, closing his notebook. “Look, it’s late.” He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb, shifting his glasses briefly. “We both should get some rest.”

She mellowed as she observed the vulnerable gesture and decided that the glasses suited him. They were adorable.

Wearily, Peter pushed himself up to a stand, limbs heavy from exhaustion. He stepped out from behind the bar, stopping an arm’s length away from her. Politely, he extended his hand to her.

She looked down at his outstretched, calloused palm, then back up at him. Confused. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To bed,” he said. As if it were obvious. The most natural thing in the world.

Her heart fluttered dizzyingly. It irritated her endlessly that she could not determine whether it was from excitement or fear. Her body tensed regardless, hair standing on end. A look of worry darkened her features. “I...uh...” She gulped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He tilted his head, disappointed. “It’s sleep. Just sleep.”

“That’s...” She struggled to form words, “No, I don’t know—”

“We can make a wall of pillows if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he teased flippantly.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to sleep with each other,” she declared with resolve. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed. He read her face, recognizing her discomfort. “Next,” she urgently clarified. “Sleep next to each other. On the same mattress. Especially after...” She let the sentence drop. “Everything.”

Peter sighed gently, “That’s exactly why we should.” She tilted her head, curious and confused. She waited for an explanation. “Look, my Uncle Ben had a rule. When he and my aunt would go at it about something—it wasn’t a lot—but when it happened, he always made sure that they didn’t go to bed angry. No matter how bad it got.”

Honey gazed at him in disbelief. “That’s... what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what this is, Honey,” he replied. “And I don’t think I can figure that out tonight. So let’s sleep on it.”

She shook her head in timid protest. “Peter—”

“Please,” he replied, cutting her off. The vulnerable sincerity shone through his tone. “All I’m asking is for you to sleep next to—” He cut the sentence short, as if he could hear how it sounded and was frustrated. She watched him push his fingers back through his hair, tugging nervously. Brought his hand to his calloused lips, rubbed tiredly. His face told the story of an anxious, needy, touch-starved boy afraid to ask his crush to the prom.

“I need... I just need...” he struggled to say the right words as his eyes darted in every direction but towards her. Each time he’d open his mouth to speak, he’d slam his jaw shut, losing the nerve. He sighed in defeat, gazing up at her with warm, bourbon eyes. “I don’t think I can sleep,” he said, “without knowing you’re beside me. That-that when I wake up, you’ll still be there.”

There was something tragic in the soft way he spoke that threatened to rip her heart out of her chest. One look at his Bambi eyes and she felt weak. For a woman who’d always doubted that she possessed any maternal instincts, the urge to comfort this man reigned supreme. Forget the fact that he had a beard and was older than her. His vulnerability made her want to let him crawl into her lap like a kitten.

She sighed, and hated being a cat person.

Honey stood on the side of the bed that Peter had delegated to her two nights prior. There wasn’t any communication that affirmed that side of the bed was hers. It just happened. She pulled back his percale cotton covers and slipped her body inside.

It took some adjusting to get used to. She wasn’t used to wearing pants to bed, even if they were technically pajamas. But given the circumstances, Honey didn’t even want to remove her socks, like a Puritan zealot trying to pray the devil away.

And speak of the Devil. She glanced over in his direction right he approached.

The expanse of Peter’s milky-smooth skin yanked her from her thoughts and made all other brain function falter. Uncontrollably, she ogled him as he distractedly strolled into the bedroom, nonchalant and shirtless. Time slowed enough for her to take a good look. And she was embarrassed by how hungry for the sight she must have seemed.

What she couldn’t see from the back in the shower was on full display. He was ravishing. In sweatpants, no less. Deliciously carved pectorals, abdominals, biceps, and triceps, and suddenly she was an anatomy scholar—all the names for the muscle groups that she failed to remember in biology sprang to mind.

He had the same light freckling across his chest that she’d spotted on his neck and back. A few hairs on his chest, but the majority of it was located south of his navel, blazing a delectable dark trail beyond where his waistband hung low on his hips.

A closer inspection revealed discoloration around his ribs—the skin appearing as different shades of pink and white in contrast to his primary tone. Her eyes widened sinfully at the V of his torso. It was like a giant neon sign, and had always been her favorite part of the male physique to stare at.

Even at that moment, she was gawking. Imagining his torso as a slip-and-slide. His Adonis belt as the ridges of a soft-serve ice cream cone. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

“Thirsty?”

She snapped out of it, her face blushing red. Back as straight as a board. “What?”

“Sometimes I bring a glass of water to bed,” he explained, conspicuously innocent. “In case my throat gets dry.”

“Nope. No. I’m good.” She was nodding too much. “No dryness here…” The sentence crashed in her throat as she focused on the pattern of the silk duvet.

She could feel the heated smirk emanating from him, like a solar flare on her blushing cheek. “Good,” he muttered in a tone so low it bordered on obscene.

He pulled back his side of the sheets and crawled inside. As his body slid home, she sat up urgently, putting more space in the gap between them.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is going to happen tonight,” she blurted out shakily, “but-but I’m not that kind of girl.”

He raised a brow. “And what kind of girl is that?”

“The... I… I don’t—” Her brain shot forward faster than her mouth could articulate. “’m not … I don’t just—I don’t just sleep with strangers.”

The humor died down his face, sinking behind the horizon of his regret. “Is’at what I am?” he mused in the shadows. There was a matter-of-factness to the statement, punctuated by lament.

Goddamn Bambi eyes.

She felt a rush of panic. Sympathy. Guilt. More panic. Self-loathing. Panic again. Then, inspiration. “Look, I’m deeply religious and I don’t believe in sex before marriage.”

Flailing, she clung to the lie like a buoy in the South Pacific. Wincing, she peeked to see his reaction.

Both of his brows raised now. “Is that a proposal?” he grinned. Mischief returning.

“Yes,” she quickly replied. More panic. “I mean no! Not—“ She huffed in frustration, mouth moving uselessly like a goldfish out of water. “I-I-I just... I don’t want you to touch me.”

Face flushed red, she looked like she’d just ripped off a bandaid. But it once it was done, her voice steadied. “I don’t want to be touched,” she declared, more confidently. Eyes bore into him. “Tell me you understand that. You want me to trust you, then swear to keep your word.”

He hesitated for a moment, sobering as he observed her veracity. His eyes softened. Nodded.

“Promise me, Peter,” she said. “I need you to say it.”

A shadow fell across his face. A memory, perhaps. Something bittersweet.

“I promise,” he replied. “No touching.” He gazed at her, watching her shoulders relax. There was a twinkle in his amber eyes—a Cheshire smile that didn’t quite reach his lips. “Until you ask me to,” he added.

She fixed him with an incredulous look. His cockyness was breathtaking.

Not that she was focused on his cocki—

“Deal?” he nudged her, recapturing her attention.

She held her gaze for several seconds, measuring the sincerity of his response. With a sigh, she nodded. “Deal.”

A few moments later, Peter turned out the bedside lamp. In the dark, she stared up at the canopy of the four-post bed, trying to steady her pulse. Trying to get what was happening out of her mind. Whatever it was that was happening.

The next morning, she woke up alone again. The room was quiet, and this time, she listened for the shower. Nothing. She used the opportunity to slip away.

Wandering down the hallway and tip-toeing back to her room, she paused at the top of the stairs. The TV was on, voices echoing from the great room below. Curiously, she followed the sound down the stairs until she saw her sorta roommate.

He was hunched over, sitting on the sofa, resting his weight on his elbows. There was a grim look souring his face, and at the same time, his eyes were distant. Like he was somewhere else again. His ankle moved anxiously, causing a bouncing tremor in his knee. He cupped his hands against his mouth, absentmindedly brooding in the glow of the TV screen.

He was fully dressed, wearing pressed dark trousers and a crisp black dress shirt. A slim silver neck tie hung loosely around his neck. Not a lock of hair out of place, as it swooped up into a dark, thick, gelled wave in the front. A tiny curl escaped the crowd. How someone could look so dapper and so... disheveled, was beyond her understanding. It was confusing as much as it was unsettling.

Honey waited at the foot of the stairs, unsure whether or not she should interrupt his—whatever this was.

“I stopped an armed robbery once,” Peter said to her.

The morose statement jarred her. She paused, eyes wide and blinking away confusion. She hesitated long enough to question whether he was addressing her. Wearily, he looked up at her, confirming his intent.

When she found his eyes, they were darkened with tragedy. Bleary. Red-rimmed. It was a contrast from the confident, flirty man she saw the night before. Gently, he patted the seat beside him, beckoning her to sit.

Nervously, she urged herself forward. Sitting next to him, she had the strange sensation of joining an awkwardly-tense family discussion, in front of TV dinners over an episode of Jeopardy!

Instead of a game show, Peter had been watching New York’s local morning newscast on mute. She was grateful, because having a TV on in the background had always been troublesome for her. She frequently found herself distracted, disoriented, and unable to distinguish each voice from one another. It made those awkward evening discussions much more tense—what are you, deaf? I asked you what you did in school today!

Idly, she glanced at the screen to see reporters mouthing silent words about a Nor'easter approaching. Powerball numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Up next, footage of an early morning fire in the Bronx, and coverage of a press conference the Mayor gave last night.

“I know it’s probably hard to believe,” Peter began ruefully, pulling her back to the present, “‘specially seein’ me now. Like this.”

He gestured to himself and around the room at the fancy house, as if they were the same thing. The spite in his voice piqued her focus.

“You probably look at me and think I’m some rich asshole, but it wasn’t always like this,” he explained softly. Honey thought of disagreeing, but he wasn’t waiting on a reply. “My parents died when I was little. And no one ever plans to die young, y’know? So when they left my aunt and uncle were it. The only family I had.” A crease formed in her brow. She was confused as to why he was telling her this, but she listened attentively.

“We got along fine most of the time,” he continued. He sounded like he was recounting a fairy tale with a sad ending. “My aunt got sick when I was in junior high. Breast cancer. She fought it off, though. Into remission. She was always a fighter.” A bittersweet smile melted his lips. “Downright scary when she wanted to be.” The smile faded, as did the visage of whatever it was he was remembering. “Anyway, medical bills are a bitch. So this—now... Is, uh...more than I ever had growin’ up. But they tried. So hard. To make sure I had what I needed.”

He pursed his lips, lost in thought. She was unsure of what to say next, or whether or not she should say anything. Should she congratulate him on his financial success? Something like ‘I’m sure they’d be proud of you if they could see you now’ seemed in poor taste.

“I could be a real prick sometimes,” Peter recounted, dejected and regretful. She saw the faintest tremor reach his lip. He bit down to steady it. “When I was 17, I got into this big fight with my Uncle Ben. I was, um... goin’ through some stuff. Changes, I guess. I was supposed to be somewhere and I wasn’t. He got pissed. I got pissed. I end up stormin’ off. Even broke the front door on my way out.” He sighed, relieving the memory with each word. “I had to get outta there. Needed to blow off some steam, I guess. Didn’t even know where I was goin’. I stopped into a bodega, to get somethin’ to drink. And then this guy walks into the store and pulls a gun.”

His voice quivered, describing the odd twist of fate. “I see ‘em put the gun in this guy’s face, demand the money in the register. It’s like everything was moving slow. I couldn’t move. I just stood there.” Peter swallowed hard, and Honey followed the lump in his throat. “He takes off,” he continued delicately, “and then it hits me. I can’t let him get away.” Another deep breath. “So I go after him, chase him down this alley. He’s trying to get to a car waiting outside. But I catch up with him, bring him down first. The car speeds off. I look up, just a moment. I see the driver. His partner. He locks eyes with me. And he knows. I got ‘em.”

He described it carefully, with a sweet sense of victory attached. Seeing his eyes light up caused Honey’s heart to swell. It materialized as a smile on her face.

“By the time the cops get there, their job is pretty much done, right?” he laughed softly. “Bad guy’s tied up with an old clothesline. I got the money back. Handed it over. I tell ‘em everything I saw, figured that they’d handle it because it was their job.” He stopped suddenly, his voice growing thin. He swallowed hard. The pain in his eyes made it seem like he was swallowing glass.

“When Uncle Ben found out what I did— I… I’ll never forget that look on his face. He tells me I did a good thing. Calls me a hero.” Honey spotted the first signs of overwhelming emotion threatening to break him down. A light glimmered from the rim of his eyes. “That was the last conversation I had with him,” he declared, gravely.

Her brow dipped down, not expecting the sudden turn. “Went home,” he recounted. “Went to bed early.” He drew a shaky breath. “Next thing I know, bullets start flyin’. Guns goin’ off all over. Hundreds. Rapid fire. AKs.”

Eyes wide and entranced, she listened.

“I took a bullet to the thigh,” he explained, “but I don’t even remember it. All I could think about was my aunt and uncle. Gettin’ to them—”

The sentence cut off with a strangled noise. A weak, final breath before the darkness settled in. Peter looked decades older. Eyes staring blindly, haunted by horrible memories. “I found them on the floor in the kitchen. Arms wrapped around each other. Blood all over. So many bullets hit my uncle, I… I couldn’t recognize his face. He didn’t have one anymore. He’d tried to protect May, he was covering her body, but… didn’t matter. You never forget what a gun like that does to a human body.”

Honey was holding her breath unintentionally. Her skin crawled as she imagined what younger Peter must have gone through.

Taking a shaky breath, he continued. “Cops show up not long after. Didn’t even have to call ‘em.” The pools in his eyes grew deeper. “I told them what happened. They didn’t believe me. Said I couldn’t have heard that many shots fired at once. They kept trying to change my story around. That’s when I realized those bullets weren’t meant for my aunt and uncle. They were meant for me.”

He practically spat out the phrase, a bitter taste left behind. The corners of his mouth pointed downward, ire in his words. “You see, the guy I caught was a little fish. He worked for someone bigger. And the cops were in on it. They told me I didn’t hear that many shots because those could only come from an automatic weapon. Police-issued.”

A breath caught in her throat as she understood his meaning. He pressed on, self-loathing in every word, “The second I ratted out their guy, my family was as good as dead.” He swallowed hard, almost unable to finish the sentence. “That’s when I realized that everything I knew was a lie.”

She tilted her head in confusion and he looked directly at her. “The good guys versus bad guys story is all a sham,” he explained, spitefully, “because no one is ever truly good. There’re monsters everywhere. All over.” She noticed the nausea overtaking his expression, like he was describing a roach infestation, and not the state of the world. “They’re in the streets. In the law. In the banks. They even hold office. Right all the way to the very top.” She grew more unsettled as she listened to his bitter summarization of humanity. “Corruption is the game. All the players are evil. Everyone else is just collateral damage.”

The coldness of his voice stunned her, chilling her. She pulled back her gaze, confused as to where this was all coming from. It’s like he could read her mind.

“I know you think I ruined your life,” he explained. “That I destroyed everything. But bad shit happens to everyone, regardless of whether they deserve it.” He paused for a moment, and she noticed the glimmer in his eye return. He bit down on his jaw hard, in an effort to hold back. “Everyone that ever loved me is dead. Did they deserve that? Did I?” His words went over her like a dagger to the heart. She pitied him, even if she couldn’t understand where this was coming from.

“You asked me what my biggest regret was,” he explained. She recalled their earlier conversation and the question that was left unanswered. “It’s the night I tried to do the right thing, and I lost everything for it.”

Her heart twisted as he said it. She was in awe of the bitter, broken man beside her. He’d lost so many things and isolated himself so completely, it’s a wonder that he was still alive.

“That’s how I ended up on the other side of the law,” he preached from an invisible pulpit. “From this side, I have a clear view. People show me who they really are.” Reflexively, she shook her head, but stopped immediately. She didn’t have any evidence to support her argument.

“I can see now that the only way to fight fire is with fire,” he added, his voice growing stronger. More resolved. “So i'm all in with everything I got. Soon I’m gonna rain down hellfire like it’s the Fourth of July And when the smoke clears, the man who hurt your friends will be dead.” His voice echoed as he said it, as if she could hear bells in accordance, proclaiming his glory. “That's my promise to you, Honey. Whatever it takes, I’m gonna burn it all down.”

Peter’s eyes left her face and focused on the television. “I’m gonna make him pay,” he said darkly. He took the remote and turned up the volume.

The sound of the Mayor’s voice cut in, stretching the limit of her focus. She struggled to ignore it, trying to process what Peter had just said, but the volume was turned up too high. It was footage from an earlier press conference.

She watched as the stocky man stood behind a podium at City Hall with a dozen microphones fixed at his mouth. He towered against the backdrop of the American flag, his deep voice bellowing, “The crime element that poisons this beautiful city is out of control. Abhorrent acts of violence, like those perpetrated against those women in Midtown this week, will not go unpunished.”

Her eyes lit up, recognizing who he was talking about.

“I’m committing to working closely with local law enforcement, and will not stop until the animals responsible for these horrible crimes are brought to justice,” he proclaimed. “Whatever that looks like.”

Against a valiant array of uniformed police officers and banners of patriotism, it seem like more of a joke than it actually was. Another politician’s promise to be forgotten after a few weeks.

Except that it didn’t feel funny. There was nothing remotely humorous about the tone.

Perhaps it was the tension in the room sitting with Peter that gave her pause. She felt something ominous building. Something threatening. Like crawling through brush and hearing the slithering rattle of a snake.

“Whatever it takes,” the man on TV declared. “I will restore law and order to this city.”

She heard a slow exhale release from the man beside her. She glanced over at Peter to see his eyes narrowed into slits. Intense. Focused. Possessed.

Honey blinked at him, and looked back at the Mayor of New York, dread filling her.

He wasn’t…? Wait, was he talking about—

“Are you talking about him?” she asked, trepidation filing her voice. Her eyes went wide. “Are you talking about Mayor Fisk?”

Peter’s jaw twitched. He kept his eyes glued to the screen. “We don’t say that name,” he muttered with a look of pure loathing.

A chill came over her as the pieces connected. The name he had spoken the night of her kidnapping. Wilson Fisk.

“To me, he’s the Kingpin.” Peter looked her dead in the eye, aflame with righteous fervor. “And I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

Continue to Part 8

a/n hee heee heeeeeee

i'm excited for what's next. are you??? thank you for reblogging! if you want to be tagged in future chapters, you must reblog. (it's the only way I can keep up)

403 notes · View notes

fadingplaidlibrary · 9 days

Note

hellooooo!!! I’m the thirsty Harvey anon now ig lol. but now that I know you’re chill with these types of asks— would or wouldn’t Harvey be down for getting pegged??? istg, every time Harvey says something sweet to me in the actual game while I’m playing, I mentally go ‘ohhhhh, the strap is coming out tonight’ lmao. (he’d be very pathetic in a very cute and endearing way about it, I think.)

helloooo!!! so happy to have you aboard, beloved anon <33 here are my thoughts bc you are SO valid and i agree!!!

nsfw SMUT SMUT SMUT below the cut, minors dni. sdv!harvey x cisfem farmer who uses she/her pronouns. word count: 981. uhh mentions of anal fingering (m receiving), anal sex (m receiving), lube, strap-ons, foreplay, and aftercare. enjoy ;)

love, lube, lessons learned 🍑

harvey is a doctor, and a damn good one. he’s a man of science, a pillar of service to his community, and i like to think he got all As in his anatomy and physiology units back in the day. outside of his career, he’s also a grown man with refined tastes

all of these factors combined have me convinced that our beloved doctor does in fact enjoy getting pegged

after all, what better way to relinquish some control for a little bit, to relax and receive instead of giving all the time, and to experience the bodily wonder that is the prostate orgasm, than to lay back and let his sweet farmer peg him?

he does extensive research on the topic beforehand, even before his relationship with her. i like to think he has a fair amount of sexual experience under his belt (pun intended) by the time the farmer arrives in pelican town

i also like to think that he enjoys a nice massage, and that either giving or receiving a massage is his preferred style of foreplay

so imagine, if you will, that the good doctor and the farmer have been together for some time. they’re blissfully happy, absolutely glowing like all lovers do, and pleasantly compatible in bed

after dinner one night, the farmer asks him what his thoughts are on pegging. harvey freezes in the middle of washing up a mug and the tips of his ears blush pink, but he manages to compose himself. yes, he’s tried pegging. enjoyed it, even

maybe even wants to do it again

the farmer is thrilled

they shop around online until they find some equipment that matches their preferences. the farmer gets a harness made of very nice leather, maybe something custom-made in her favorite colors

harvey chooses just one plain blue silicone strap at first, but at the farmer’s insistence picks out a few more (the good doctor isn’t used to splashing cash on himself but he has a very generous lover)

while they wait for their packages to arrive, they experiment. they practice. they… well.

the farmer soon learns that harvey gets very blissed out very easily, with just one finger

he starts stuttering at two fingers

whining at three

they don’t use any more than three fingers, but that’s more than enough. harvey learns that he prefers to lay on his stomach with one leg bent, making a mess on the crisp white sheets and blushing furiously into the crook of his arm

it’s the farmer’s idea to place a pillow under harvey’s hips while he’s in this position (the man is canonically like 6’2”/187cm so leverage is certainly a factor)

it’s also the farmer’s idea to tuck a vibrator into the pillowcase on the side facing the bed

harvey doesn’t last very long with a vibrator buzzing underneath him, a plush pillow (in a satin pillowcase, no less) to grind against, and three fingers inside him — but he does beg for seconds about half an hour later

when the packages finally do arrive, the two take their time with their new toys. the first time harvey sees the farmer lock in the harness, he moans out loud without even meaning to

they line up the straps in size order, from one that’s about the width of one of the farmer’s fingers to one that’s nearly the same girth and length as the doctor himself. harvey picks the second-to-last one

a back massage is the first item on the menu, so harvey is floating before his sweetheart even bends him over

face down, ass up, pillows under his tummy for support. no vibrator this time, just lube, patience, and plenty of sweet encouragement from his very eager lover

it’s a good thing that the farmhouse is out of earshot of the town, because the good doctor gets very vocal once his girl slides the strap all the way in

she lets him catch his breath, keeps her hands on his hips for stability. he’s sweating already, aching for it, he wants more he wants it now he needs it please—

so she starts slow. just sliding out… then back in, gentle as she can, while her love keeps a white-knuckle grip on the sheets. she has to remind him to breathe more than once

the dimples in his lower back, just above the curve of his ass, make the perfect landing zone for her thumbs once he’s ready for her to pick up the pace

once she finds her rhythm, harvey is too far gone to do much besides moan and sweat and swear. but he doesn’t have to do much, does he? his girl takes such good care of him, even pressing her hand down against his sweat-soaked back to correct his arch when he needs it. she asks him to keep his ass nice and high, and her voice alone sends goosebumps dancing across his spine. harvey obeys

he starts babbling when he’s getting close, eyes squeezed shut as he snaps his hips back to match the farmer’s steady pace. his curls are matted to his skin with sweat, and he looks ethereal with that blush coloring his cheeks. and she’s so pleased with him, so pleased and so proud and so so fucking wet, and just— oh—

her praise is the last thing he hears before they tip over the edge together

harvey catches his breath for a moment, feels his girl lean over and kiss his temple before she slowly pulls out of him with a satisfied sigh. the aftercare is gentle, with more sweet kisses and sweeter praise, plenty of water and juice, and a fortifying snack before they shower together

later that night they cuddle up together, clean skin against clean sheets and all their equipment neatly tucked away. the good doctor sleeps better than he has in years

#dats all 🥰 good night!#stardew valley #sdv harvey #sdv harvey smut #sdv harvey fanfic #sdv harvey x farmer #ven be writing #ven answers anons #lmk if i missed any warnings and i’ll add them!!

40 notes · View notes

cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu · 1 year

Text

The story of how Mordred called Merlin mom and then proceeded to call Arthur dad and now he's adopted into the family

Author: Me aka @dalazygamerneko

Inspired by @tongjaitongjai merthur idea, check out it out here: 🐓x🐦=🐣

♤•°•♡•°•♤•°•♡•°•♤•°•♡•°•♤•°•♡•°•♤

It was ordinary day. Birds were singing, training went well and the maids were busy but happily chatting.

Nothing could go wrong Mordred thought as he made his way to the afternoon roundtable meeting when he came across Merlin or Emrys as he is known amongst druids, quickly he hid into an alcove and gazed in envy at Lord Emrys, no, Merlin smiling and holding a little boy in his arms.

It's moments like these that he wished he knew his mother longer but he could barely remember her. He watched quietly at the soft look in Merlin's eyes and utter joy upon the little boy's face as they hugged each other, Mordred wondered if his mother would've looked at him the same way Merlin did.

He sighed, leaning back against the stone walls Mordred couldn't help but want to revert back into being a child again just so Merlin wouldn't gaze coldly at him, albeit he probably deserved it for the words of hatred he said in his youth. He knew now Merlin never meant to lead those knights towards his camp. That the warlock was only trying to help Morgana.

"What can I do to earn your trust?"

Mordred shook his head, he'd think of something maybe ask one of the knights for help? He's noticed that Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine are closer to Merlin than the other knights.

'They're also the most protective of him' Mordred thought dryly, a crease upon his brow as multiple ideas popped into his mind and many he shot down knowing it won't work.

"Well, I'll just have to hope the triple Goddess guides me." Mordred mumbled, he looked out into the hallway, Merlin was gone, most likely doing chores for the King.

Mordred chuckled as he continued walking, he would never understand the relationship Emrys and the once and future King had with each other. There were times they seem like close comrades begrudging in their respect for one another and then other times they would argue fondly like any old married couple.

Not surprising when plenty of townsfolk as well as even the nobles have speculated in the past if Merlin was being courted by Prince Arthur, to any outsider it certainly looked that way therefore Merlin was given the "mistress" treatment.

Now everyone are wondering(more like waiting impatiently) when will the King announce his engagement to Merlin.

"If I remember correctly, doesn't Sir Gwaine have a bet going on?"

Mordred pondered. 'Yeah, I'll definitely join in. There's no way they're NOT together. I mean, I've seen the lingering stares they give each other as if there is no one around them.'

Soon he was at the doors leading to the roundtable meeting, nodding at the vigilant guards they let him through. His eyes slowly moved over the knights, nobles and some commoners before landing on Merlin who was standing behind the King's chair.

An unassuming figure, most often underestimated but to those who know magic deeply or follow the old religion, Emrys entire being is a vast ocean of wild magic swirling in such a magnitude that no mere mortal could ever understand or harness the power Emrys wields.

Then he locked eyes with Merlin, there is no icy stare thankfully, yet he can still see a hint of wariness in his Lord's gaze.

He bowed his head in acknowledgement before finding a seat next to the gossiping pair Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine.

"I could be at a tavern right now, drinking and charming the barmaid Stella instead I'm stuck here." Gwaine said with a miffed face, his hand gripping the air imagining he was holding a mug of ale.

Elyan who sat across from Gwaine raised an eyebrow, "Isn't Stella old enough to be your grandmother?"

Gwaine smirked whilst shrugging. "Just like wine the older one gets the finer they become, besides she has experience, I'm sure there's a thing or two she could still teach mmph—"

Leon had reached over to clamp Gwaine's mouth shut.

The ginger haired knight had just about enough of hearing Gwaine's tavern tales of debauchery to which he thought was an inappropriate topic to be discussed or heard at the roundtable meeting.

"Sir Gwaine, leave your nightly talks at the tavern only, please."

Gwaine pulled Leon's hand away and smiled cheekily at the older knight.

"Oh, but wouldn't you like to know? Stella has mentioned she likes ginger haired men with beards and I bet she could show you—"

"I am going to strangle you—"

Gwaine leaned back avoiding Leon's hands from trying to keep him quiet again.

"Sir Leon I never knew you were this kinky, I think dear old Stella would like to feel your big strong hands—ack!"

Leon finally got him, unfortunately the meeting was starting, so Gwaine was safe from being throttled by him. However, tomorrow morning during training he'll get his chance.

Mordred along with the rest of the knights chuckled at Sir Gwaine's antics and Sir Leon's annoyed expression.

♤To be continued♤

237 notes · View notes

taintingimagination · 1 year

Text

Toki Wartooth • NSFW Alphabet

- - -

Author's Note: This is my first time really using Tumblr, so the formatting for posts aren't where I want them to be right now. Anyways, let's see how these do!

A = Aftercare: Absolutely! He's a sweetheart and adores showering you with hugs and kisses. Depending on how rough the session was, he'll run you a bubble bath or massage you.

B = Body Part: His favorite part of you is your waist. He likes to wrap his arms around them and hold you. He may be a little territorial so he'll hold them even outside the bedroom. On himself, probably his abs since he talks about them the most.

C = Cum: On your face - he's a fan of facials. He doesn't mind finishing inside you either.

D = Dirty Secret: Toki wants to completely own you. He's been shadowed by Skwisgaar for a long time, so he wants at least something to himself that Skwisgaar hasn't done ten times better. Possessive on an insecure level, he needs reassurance.

E = Experience: Toki has decent experience, mainly groupies. However, he doesn't let that ruin his time with you since you're the only one who matters.

F = Favorite Position: Toki likes when you're on your knees. Overall, any position that makes you look completely helpless.

G = Goofy: Not by a long shot. This man is in his own world, completely focused on all the ways he can fuck you. Though, say I love you once and he might crack a smile and giggle.

H = Hair: Toki keeps it trimmed regularly, whether if it's neat or not depends.

I = Intimacy: Very intimate, very passionate. No matter how rough and demeaning he is to you in bed, he makes sure you're okay with it first. Affection is his love language.

J = Jack Off: It's canon that he (along with the rest of the band) regularly jack off. Sometimes, he'll make you do it to him.

K = Kinks: Toki is into S&M, mainly because of repressed trauma. He enjoys the power he feels from seeing you hurt and helpless during sex. He has a harness under his bed just for you. He also enjoys softer, more domestic kinks like dollifacation.

L = Location: Preferably in the bedroom, he would rather have your body seen by him and to take his time with you.

M = Motivation: Just the pure thought of you. Some motivators for him is neck kissing and you facing him in his lap.

N = No: Toki doesn't want his back touched, nor does he want you to pull his hair. He also doesn't want to hurt you badly, nothing beyond spanking - choking is a risk.

O = Oral: Blowjobs are reals cool! As stated above, he loves to give you facials. He talks trash about going down on a girl, but he's very sweet with you when he does. Yes, his mustache tickles your inner thighs.

P = Pace: Slow and rough.

Q = Quickie: Toki isn't much of a fan as he prefers to draw out the session, but everyone gets desperate. He'll do quickies in reserved places in public, and even on the tour bus or backstage.

R = Risk: Toki is only game to experiment if you are. Every once in awhile, he learn some new BDSM tricks and want to show you. Mainly, he just does what he already knows.

S = Stamina: Excellent. Though, most of his sessions are heavier on foreplay than fucking, he can go all night if he wanted.

T = Toys: Toki sometimes uses toys on you. He could either be generous and just use a bullet vibrator, or keep a butt plug or dildo ready to occupy one of your holes while he uses the other. But, he feels confident enough in bed that his fingers or dick is good enough.

U = Unfair: Toki the Tease. All this dude does is make you anticipate by stretching out foreplay or going slow in sex. Verbal teasing like degrading, also yes. He'll take any opportunity to make you look less than him.

V = Volume: Compared to the rest of the band, he makes a lot of noise. Instead of grunts or soft groans, he'll moan boyishly.

W = Wild Card: Toki likes seeing his partner's makeup run and smudge down their face. He'll even doll you up so he can fuck your throat or make you cry, just so he can watch the mascara bleed down your cheeks.

X = Xray: Toki is packing, have you seen him in that thong..? I see at least eight to ten inches in there.

Y = Yearning: Toki isn't as open about his sex drive, but he's just as bad as the rest of the band.

Z = Zzz: Toki watches you fall asleep, then he falls asleep himself. It's soothing and healing to him in a way.

#metalocalypse #toki wartooth #toki wartooth x reader #mtl #oneshot #idk how tags work #metalocalypse smut

66 notes · View notes

not-neverland06 · 5 days

Note

If requests are still open, how about headcanons of Heisenberg with a reader that is a fifth lord. Reader's Cadou allows them to manipulate sound (radio) waves, and go as far as sonic scream. No pressure or rush, just curious on your interpretation :)

Karl Heisenberg x GN!reader A/N: This is only the second time I’ve done HC’s and I’m still struggling to get a grasp on them. Thank you for the request, your prompt was interesting to think about. This is a little short, so if I didn’t give you what you wanted let me know and I’ll try again.

He really doesn’t give a shit about you at first

Unless you go out of your way to catch his attention he’s treating you the same as he treats the rest of the family

Whatever your powers are, he’s gonna assume you’re just as bad as the rest of them and dismiss you

You have to actively make him notice you

It wouldn’t take a lot, maybe one snide comment towards Mother Miranda and suddenly you have value

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You scoffed, glaring down at the horde of Miranda’s worshippers that had surrounded the old church. You’d just been passing through town, picking something up from the duke before heading back up the mountain.

Heisenberg happened to be there at the same time. You weren’t sure what his deal with the Duke was but it seemed to be complicated. His head perked up as you glared at the villagers. “What’s your problem?” He muttered, tone bitter.

You nodded towards the villagers, “They are. All their Mother Miranda bullshit, I’m sick of it.” You walked back towards your lair, the old radio tower up in the mountain. It was the best place for you to be with the way your powers functioned, your strongest point.

He watched as you went, staring at you contemplatively and wondering how he’d missed that hatred in your eyes.

When he and Alcina start to argue, Miranda will just look at you and you’ll let out a scream so loud bits of drywall fall from the ceiling

It’s painful but it’s effective, you’re essentially used as a mute button when things get out of hand

You tend to avoid the others, keeping quiet and to yourself

When Miranda had first experimented on you, your experience with the sound waves had been less than pleasant

Learning to control them was difficult. The first time you spoke after waking up from her little experiment, you’d blown out your own eardrums.

Even after you finally harnessed them, you figured that it was better to just be quiet. The times you did speak you kept your voice below a whisper.

“You don’t talk a whole lot do you?”

You shrugged, “Only when I have to, really.” You sat in his workshop, mostly against your will. He’d invited you to dinner, though it felt like more of a command, and you’d tried to get him to make the journey up the mountain to you.

He’d, of course, refused because he was a stubborn bastard. You didn’t even want to sit down anywhere, there was oil and blood on nearly every surface. And if it wasn’t covered in that, it was sticky with dried lycan drool.

At least Moreau managed to keep his quarry clean.

Heisenberg hadn’t stopped staring at you since you sat down, it was starting to bug you.

You don’t normally speak with your family, mainly because you don’t really care for any of them. Having his attention on you was disturbing.

He sets his fork down on his plate and gives you an odd look, “How do your powers work, anyway?”

It was easier to show than it was to explain. You focused on the large pile of metal scraps on his desk and opened your mouth. The noise was nearly silent at first, a high pitched ringing that you questioned if you were actually hearing.

Then it got louder, the ringing clear now. It was painful to anyone outside of the focused stream of sound waves, but it was lethal once you stepped into the stream. The metal shook, vibrating loudly against his desk. A few toppled over, the rest exploded in a violent display of clashing metal shards and sparks.

Heisenberg clutched his ears, a small stream of blood leaking from between his fingertips. You want to apologize to him. You’ve always had a little difficulty controlling your powers in such close spaces.

But he doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t even look like he’s in pain. Instead he’s grinning widely at you, something glinting in his eyes that had you feeling on edge.

He sees the uniqueness of your powers, the untapped potential for violence and how helpful someone like you could be to his cause

He waters the seedling of resentment you already hold towards Miranda and helps it grow

He whispers words of hate and anger into your ear until you’re just as passionate about taking Miranda down as he is

You two work together, using your odd understanding of radio and sound waves to improve his soldat designs

Slowly, your loyal followers from the village start to abandon you and move to different lords. Your connection to Heisenberg has soured your influence among the sheep in the village, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

Your status as a lord meant little to you when you had him

He’s intrigued by your powers and loves to experiment with them, but more than anything there’s something soothed inside him because he’s no longer alone

He’s grateful for the support you provide when he feels like he’s just stagnant in his progress taking down Miranda

#karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil x reader #re8 x reader #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #Hope you like this

14 notes · View notes

cadybear420 · 2 months

Text

Cadybear's Reviews- Baby Bump

Welcome to the twenty-first official Cadybear's Reviews! Today I'll be talking about Baby Bump, which I have ranked on the "Gold Tier" at 8 stars out of a possible 10.

WHY DO PEOPLE HATE THIS SERIES!? WHY!? It’s FINE!

Okay, I can maybe see why people may not like it because, let’s be real, accidental pregnancy is a very overdone trope. And apparently there were a lot of parts that were originally problematic when the story was released and had to be re-written, but I wasn’t around for that and I know next to nothing about the original lines, so I can’t say much about them. But even now, how does it get ranked as being among the worst so often? Even if you think it’s bad, it’s really not that bad.

Like… I found it decent? I don’t think it’s nearly as bad as a lot of people have said it is. And I’m saying this as a GNC cis woman who experiences major genital dysphoria and absolutely REVILES the idea of becoming pregnant. Like, I would rather die than ever experience being pregnant. And yet I still quite enjoyed this story.

I guess it kind of helps that the book is very clearly a pregnancy book from the beginning, so I kind of went in knowing what to expect and thus not self-inserting as the MC at all. Unlike something like TRH, which is a continuation that suddenly introduces a “MC gets pregnant” plot to a non-pregnancy series… but that’s a subject for a different day.

I’ll be honest though, this story has a pretty awful start. In the flashback in B1 Ch1 where MC meets Mr. Covington, they try waaaayyyyy too hard to make the player swoon at the idea of having his babies. Like, did the guy they wanted to be MC’s baby daddy HAVE to be a celebrity company salesman, who is also the keynote speaker at MC’s graduation?

And don’t even get me started on the Clint fangirls, who feel like they were written by someone who’s only ever been surrounded by the “Facebook Mom” stereotype and has never met (and probably never will meet) a real horny woman in their entire life.

Literally, the scene is just all like “OMG LOOK!!! BIG FAMOUS CELEBRITY SALESMAN!!! OMG HE HAS *GASP* ABS!!! OH WOW, A MALE LI IN CHOICES WITH ABS AND BIG MUSCLES! THAT’S SO UNIQUE AND SPECIAL AND TOTALLY NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE!!! OMG ALL THE OTHER WOMEN ARE CHANTING OVER HIS ABS AND WANT TO HAVE HIS BABIES TOO!!! DON’T *YOU* WANT TO HAVE HIS BABIES TOO!?!?!?! AREN’T YOU SOOOOOO LUCKY THAT YOU’RE GOING TO BE HAVING HIS BABIES?!?!?!?!?!?!?”. Like, how much intelligence do you think your wlm audience has PB? Really trying to pander to the “Facebook Karen Mom” stereotype here, huh?

With that in mind, I guess I can understand why people may have gotten a bad impression of the book at first, because the story for how MC got pregnant in the first place (and her conflict with Cassandra in Book 1) feels straight out of one of those weird Instagram and Facebook ads.

But besides that, it was an okay series! I found it mostly cute and wholesome. Literally everything else was fine! There were even a few moments in Book 2 that made me cry, like when MC can record a sweet message for the babies with a plush bunny she can get from the Baby Baskets.

Besides maybe Book 1 Dr. Mariana Castillo who is just way too unserious (at least she gets better in Book 2), I honestly really liked the main cast. Even though MC is technically an outsider to the town, she still gets to be very driven and gets shit done rather than being the typical doe-eyed newbie who needs to be shown the ropes. Clint is a sweetheart and does get to be more than just “har dee har muscular celebrity salesman who knocks you up aren’t you soooo lucky” that they wanted him to be in the first chapter. Mayor Dixon is a nice mix of goofy and tsundere, and the female version Myra contributed to my bi awakening. Luisa is just a queen all around. MC’s sister… initially she could sometimes be a bit of a stereotypical “OMG girly girl talk best friend to talk exclusively about LI and diamond outfits” but she does become more than that too, and I really like her subplot with Bao. Speaking of, Bao is just the most absolute precious ever (and shame on PB for making him the sister’s LI and not one for MC /jk).

The antagonist characters were… kind of a mixed bag, I will admit. They were memorable, but also kind of stupid. Like I said before, Cassandra’s storyline in Book 1 just felt petty and cheap, plus I’m tired of straw loser villain female antagonists who exist solely to compete with the MC over the LI. It never got too overbearing, but it was still stupid. Book 2 Cassandra is great though.

Then there’s Craig, who wants to destroy everything MC and friends accomplish and take over Gracetown because… potatoes. I guess he’s alright as he is actually a threat in Book 2, but the townspeople can be pretty damn meek to him which is a little weird. But he was still a strong antagonist in that book. Book 1 Craig feels a lot more like he just exists to be an annoyance for the sake of being an annoyance, though.

Jebediah is a lot more compelling as an antagonist character, and I did expect the Covington family conflict to be incredibly boring but it turned out otherwise. He’s a jerk at first, but it’s nice to see how he does genuinely try to change throughout the storyline of Book 2.

Also, props to this for being one of only three Choices series ever (the others being OG HSS and ILITW) where the collectible system has some items that aren’t diamond-walled. The baby blanket collectibles are really cute, and it’s really refreshing to have a collectible system that isn’t “the first one is free and then the rest you have to pay for”. Like HSS, there are even some pieces that are determinant on your success in certain events. Why can’t more series do their collectibles like this??? (Oh right, because it requires actual effort).

Would I say it’s a good or accurate portrayal of pregnancy? IDK, I’m not an expert. But it’s fine if you just want a lighthearted pregnancy story to chill out to.

#choices stories you play #choices #choices game #choices stories we play fandom #choices stories we play #choices baby bump #baby bump #choices babu #babu #cadybear's reviews

9 notes · View notes

blindbeta · 1 year

Note

Hi! I first wanted to say that I love your blog. As someone who wants to write and represent people who aren’t me I always appreciate the help.

I was reading your posts and I was wondering what you thought about my idea for magic I was going to give to my blind character (blind POV character it’s a growing up story and part of his arc is finding some community with other blind people and branching out from his childhood friends)

His power, as it stands, is the ability to communicate to animals and he gets a bird who becomes his sort of familiar and acts as his guide animal. This power was given to him by a spell book mysteriously created for him and written in Braille. His friends have their own books and magic gifts.

Just wondering what you think!

Magic and a Bird Guide Animal

Again, loving the Braille spell books. The idea of everyone having special books and magic gifts is nice, too. The arc you have for him is a refreshing one, as stories so rarely feature more than one blind character, let alone a blind community.

Communicating with animals is a nice power with lots of potential. It doesn’t seem to negate his blindness here.

When it comes to guide animals, I am not opposed to fantasy animals or fantasy versions of guide animals. According to research, these are some of the characteristics guide animals should have:

1) able to learn commands

2) trained to avoid obstacles

3) it should have designated working time and non-working time. For dogs and horses, this is signaled by a harness

4) should not be touched or distracted by others

5) should have good eyesight, hearing, and memory

6) should be able to go anywhere

7) should be docile and not dangerous or aggressive

However, I am wondering about the tactile part of working with a guide animal. For example, this video of using stairs with a guide dog shows the importance of feeling the movements of the guide animal. In the video, YouTuber Lucy Edward’s ascends stairs outside with her guide dog. As they approach the steps, the guide dog places her front paws on the bottom step. The change in elevation signals to Lucy that she is approaching steps. Text reads: ‘The command for guide dog Olga is “step stand” and she places her two front paws on the steps. I then find the step with my foot. When my foot hits the first step, she knows to start climbing. When I feel the harness level off, I know we’re on flat ground.’

For your character, while the bird can help him avoid obstacles, as guide animals should do, the bird will not be on the ground with him. He will miss out on some of the tactile cues. I don’t know how much verbal communication from the bird will make up for this.

Instead, I think giving him a cane will allow him to have tactile experiences and allow him to be aware of changes in the ground. The bird could instead, offer the part of guide animal use that acts as an obstacle avoider.

To elaborate, a cane is usually said to be an obstacle finder, while a guide animal is an obstacle avoider. A guide animal will take a person around objects or find a different path altogether. The handler may not even know the obstacle was there or that a more difficult path existed, depending their level of vision and if they were familiar with the area before. In contrast, a cane user will interact with obstacles. They will need to search around paths and choose the best one for them.

I wonder if using a cane would allow him to navigate his environment while being guided around obstacles and to more suitable paths by his guide animal. This is just a thought I had.

I am not a guide animal handler myself. Therefore, I would like to suggest consulting with guide animal handlers, such as this sensitivity reader who is open for consultation. This can help you write specific details with more ease.

I hope this helps. As always, I am happy to see blind characters using magic, especially when it doesn’t erase their blindness.

This has been cross-posted on WordPress.

#blind characters #writing blind characters #creating guide animals #guide animals #white canes #blind characters and magic #ask

58 notes · View notes

floral-poisons · 2 years

Text

neige leblanche head canons + vil-neige pre-rivalry

these are just some head canons i have about our wonderful neige leblanche. i’m just speculating his backstory and whatnot, as well as speculating what vil and neige’s relationship was like before it devolved into a rivalry for vil (see my thoughts on book 5 for context).

there are two potential backstories i have for neige.

the first one is relatively simple.

following the tale of snow white, neige’s mother passed away when he was a baby/toddler (like ages 0.5-3). so he was raised by a single father for a good chunk of his childhood.

he did not come from money unlike vil. vil is heavily implied to come from money since his dad is an actor (and pomefiore students are noted to be rather snobby).

learned acting, dancing, and singing from movies and music videos. there was no money for lessons so he learned to observe and replicated that, harnessing his skill.

gentle parenting. his dad definitely was someone who gently parented him.

his dad remarried when neige was about maybe 8 to 9. neige loves his step parent and he views his step parent as a real parent. his step parent is kind, nice, and introduced neige to the expansive boundaries of makeup and fashion.

neige’s looks took a while to “form” in the sense that it took him a lot of experimenting to find his own style and a skin care routine that worked for him.

by then, neige was already starring in commercials and plays.

he started on magicam while he was still going through puberty.

neige was very open about his struggles with puberty, finding his own sense of self, and learning how to value himself. he gave advice to his fans as well. he was always kind and gentle about it.

on top of that, neige is also transparent about where he comes from. he doesn’t come from money and that in of itself has appeal to people.

neige is seen as “down to earth” which adds to the persona of him being relatable and wholesome.

i, however, am more inclined to believe the second one simply because it seems that the world of twisted wonderland appears to follow the same rules as our own with celebrities and celebrity culture.

neige’s family is a dynasty of actors, actresses, singers, musicians, directors, and producers. the leblanche family is renown in twisted wonderland’s version of the global film industry.

neige’s father did not remarry after his wife passed away after neige was born.

however, unlike most celebrity kids, neige was raised outside of the spotlight. he wasn’t put under 24/7 surveillance unlike vil (not confirmed but implied) and he was allowed to have a childhood.

he decided to go into singing, acting, and dancing because his friends wanted him to join the school play that year.

after such a wonderful experience, he asked his father to let him start doing it professionally.

neige still has the whole trying-to-find-his-sense-of-style-and-deal-with-puberty thing going on. however, you can see his journey from beginning to end on social media.

this still gives him the energy that he’s approachable and thus adds to his heroic appeal and wholesome persona.

now that this is established, here are some of my thoughts about vil and neige pre-rivalry.

vil was never socialized properly like other kids. considering that his father is an actor, is away all the time (implied with the lines on the home screen from birthday boy vil), and was busy with lessons (he was trained in fencing and boxing), this makes sense. therefore, vil had a little bit of a more standoffish energy to him.

initially, vil actually liked neige. neige treated vil like a person and even a friend. neige didn’t see vil as mean. he just saw that he was a little lonely and even shy (yes, i am speculating that vil was a shy kid outside of his acting and being bullied).

when neige was casted in the main role as the hero and vil the villain, he didn’t think much of it. he congratulated his friend for getting the role.

however, after neige beat him out a few times, he started to become a little bit resentful and jealous. why was it always him? nevertheless that didn’t stop vil from being a good sport.

the friendship really cracks after the two start social media accounts. as i mentioned in my post on book 5, there were probably tons of fan wars and neige netizens bashing vil for not being like their wholesome little prince.

neige is a passive person. he doesn’t like making people angry or upset. on top of that, his management probably told him to not say anything about his fans attacking vil. it would “break neige’s wholesome image” if he were to fight back.

neige probably feels guilt over this to this day. he’s really good at hiding it. and he wants to tell vil that he’s sorry but he always defaults to the cheery neige we see. it’s been hammered into his head that he must be the wholesome neige leblanche.

it gets harder to hang out with each other so they don’t see each other anymore. they’re always booked, always busy.

until they start school.

vil sees neige for the first time while he’s in town. he’s shopping and neige sees him. he’s so excited to see vil again!! how long has it been? “three years.” vil says, uninterested.

however, vil is courteous. so when neige asks for them to go grab a drink, he obliges.

by now, vil has grown to resent neige and sees neige as a rival. neige, on the other hand, views vil as a companion, a peer, even a friend. he calls vil by the nickname vi after all.

and that’s all i got. maybe i’ll make a post where i speculate about vil’s upbringing. idk. i just needed to get these thoughts out.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #pomefiore #vil schoenheit #neige leblanche #royal sword academy

113 notes · View notes

proudfreakmetarusonniku · 10 months

Text

oh my god just had the coolest idea.

c!tommy as a pheonix. so when he dies he comes back to life, but the catch is he always goes back to being an egg and has to slowly age back into adulthood (which he rarely reaches being so reckless).

c!dream kills him in the final control room and takes egg!tommy hostage and he’s what gives him the initial idea to study revival. so when c!tommy hatches he’s had all these tests run on him before even being “born” and he grows up with an endless battery of tests as he grows to figure out how to harness and use his own form of immortality. this doesn’t involve the revive book even after c!dream gets it he’s not involving that until he’s documented everything to do with c!tommy naturally. he uses boomerville for that.

the thing is, c!tommy keeps his memories and personality, but his maturity resets when he dies, because that’s physically part of the brain. he’s wise, he knows a ton of shit bc he’s like really a million years old or whatever but bc he’s a very small child now he’s got the maturity and trust of a small child. so c!dream raises him into seeing him as a guardian and mentor and the often painful and damaging experiments he goes under as him being brave and helping save the world.

and obviously since he’s basically single handedly raising a toddler c!dream grows incredibly attached right? like he’s an abusive pos to c!tommy physically and mentally to keep him in line and forces him into invasive and difficult tests that most adults wouldn’t do constantly, don’t get me wrong, but he genuinely sees c!tommy as his little brother (he’s not mature enough to be a father figure alas). and like this isn’t like in canon where he blatantly wants c!tommy as part of his friend group but has very complicated feelings he’s just very much a proud big brother here just in as messed up and possessive a way his friendship with c!tommy was in canon.

initially things go a lot more peacefully than in canon for quite a while! c!tommy grows up in relative freedom for the first few years of his life, actually. he’s allowed in l’manberg under supervision, he’s generally allowed as much free range of the greater smp as you’d let a young child in a death world, he lives a pretty normal life. but instead of the plots c!dream does in canon he’s solely focused on research to the point of neglecting politics and his big happy family goal (bc he has a family just not a big one lol) and he starts withdrawing and isolating himself out of paranoia too and this effects c!tommy as well. it’s gradual, but by the time c!tommy’s around 7-8 he’s basically imprisoned in a gilded cage as far away from everyone as possible for “his own safety”, with c!punz’s occasional visits his only source of knowledge on the outside world.

and c!dream grows crueller, too. without the overlooking eyes of l’manberg, he no longer has any sort of ethics in his experimentation. he’s vicious with both mind games and physical harm whenever he’s convinced c!tommy’s trying to escape- which due to his ever growing paranoia is often. he forces c!tommy to participate in the other revival experiments- not as a subject, obviously, but to help him with the subjects. he’s still trying to be a good brother, but that mostly leads to him alternating between extreme lovebombing and extreme abuse.

and while c!tommy’s very knowledgeable he’s still mentally a child so he inherently trusts the person raising him, so even though he’s deeply traumatised and mentally scarred by the whole thing he adores his big brother. but he wants to leave. and c!punz sorta pities him, y’know? when your rare contact with your employer and his kid brother very obviously has that kid brother showing signs of abuse you wanna help. so c!tommy has c!Punz subtly ferry info back to the smp and l’manberg, so they can find and rescue him.

idk where tid go from there. that was kinda when the pain kicked in an I couldn’t think much anymore :(

12 notes · View notes

kellanved-ammanas · 10 months

Text

Demo Ships & Pals: Heavy - I/We Messed Up

“Ooh man, I messed up big time this time.”

Heavy looked up from his book as Demo came into the common room. He stumbled over to flop onto the couch next to Heavy’s reading chair, letting out a loud groan as he did so. Clearly he’d been drinking, not surprising given the time of day. Though, he liked to drink in the mornings sometimes too so at no time of day would it truly be surprising. That didn’t make what his problem was not real though.

Heavy put his bookmark in and closed his book before placing it to the side so they could talk. “What happened?”

“You know Soldier’s raccoon Bites, right? I was supposed to be watching her while Solly’s away on a contract mission. I was trying to get her harness on her to take her out for a walk like I’m supposed, same time every day, Solly was real clear on that, but she bit me and ran away. I can’t find her nowhere no matter where I look. Solly’s gonna kill me when he gets back.”

“Hmm… try luring her with food?” In Heavy’s admittedly limited experience with pets, that always seemed to work.

“I tried that, didn’t work. I’m ‘fraid she ran off out in the wilderness where she’s bound to get gobbled up a coyote or something.”

“Hmm… is problem. I will help look.” Heavy stood.

Demo perked up a little. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Yes. And Soldier and Bites.” They were his friends so of course Heavy would help them. Besides, he’d been sitting here for a while, a stroll around base couldn’t hurt. Especially since he and Demo were alone on guard duty so that kind of thing was expected of them anyway to check for signs of potential intruders.

Demo knew Bites better and was faster and thus should’ve had an easier time finding her than Heavy. However, Heavy had one thing Demo didn’t, he was sober and thus able to think more clearly about the situation. That proved to be the deciding factor as one of the first places he checked was the kitchen trashcan.

Bites growled up at him as he lifted the lid but held her ground, munching on whatever bit of trash she had in the little raccoon hands. How she’d gotten in there while putting the lid back on properly was a mystery and a testament to her intelligence.

“Don’t growl.” Heavy lifted a hand, intending to pat her head but… that was probably a good way to get bit. Instead he wagged his finger at her. “Be nice.”

Naturally she didn’t reply.

Heavy replaced the lid and went off to find Demo. He was still drunk and thus more stumbling around outside than properly looking.

“Found her,” Heavy said as he reach him.

Demo perked up. “Where?”

“Kitchen trashcan.”

“That naughty little scamp. Thanks for finding her, ‘preciate it. I was starting to grow convinced she’d been eaten and Solly was gonna kill me.”

“Is no problem. She’s still in trashcan by the way. Might want to get her out.”

“Uh… yeah. I’ll go get the gloves and do that.”

#my writing #tf2 #team fortress 2 #demoman #heavy

12 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs