#{oc fic}

[mayanneaa]

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ.

also on wattpad.

Cove Martell never thought she'd end up working with the Pogues on finding the gold—her grandfather's dream, the thing he spent most of his life on. And she definitely didn't expect to get closer to JJ Maybank.

001. | 002. | 003. | 004.

a/n : i thought, since i might be kinda busy now that the break is over, i can post my golden cove fic (jj x oc) on here too :)) we’ll see how it goes bc its and x oc and i know that these aren’t popular on here but im really excited i love cove and i hope you’ll like her too hehe💗 divider by @roseraris

[thehauntedetheral]

Yan Secret Admirer 🎀

Yan secret admirer and you went to same high school. The day he saw you he fell for you immediately and have been looking after you from afar as he is too shy to confess his feelings to you

Yan secret admirer making sure no boys come near you and if someone did next day mysteriously they just disappear

Secretly paying for yours meals, keeping gifts such as your favourite flowers, jewelery you liked, your fav snack with notes

he spends money on you like crazy as money is not a issue to him. His parents are god level rich

You knew you had a secret admirer by all this gifts and stuff you keep getting. But who is this person? you have no idea

yan secret admirer who has secret cameras installed in your room

whenever he can't see you in person from afar he just watches you through cameras

His favourite thing to do? Watch you

After you finished your college you took a job at a company

Guess what? Your company just get purchased by a global company suddenly

And now he is your ceo

If someone bullies you they get fired

Your paycheck increases every damn month why? Because the ceo thinks you are very hardworking

Even if you just come and sleep in the office still your paycheck increases because according to him no one is more hardworking in this company than you

You are the employee of the month every month. Period.

And as a gift for your hardwork for the company you get diamond, rubby, emerald jewelery or a Europe trip or a yatch trip with him as a boss - employee bonding time

Soon you figure out that the secret admirer is none other than your ceo but you can't run away from him as he reminds you of the contract you signed with the company for your job which now suddenly implies if you quit work before the time you have to pay a huge sum so you just do the damn job while ceo pampers you with everything

He even has a huge mansion get built with a huge garden, greenhouse, fountains, swimming pool, library, huge french windows just like the house ideas pins you have kept saved in your pinterest. And even got the dog you wanted and the engagement ring ready as you have always wanted. Thanks to all the pins you saved in your pinterest and the notes you have kept saved in your phone.

He is all set to ask you to marry him. And no is not a option. And even if you said no he has his security team ready for plan B which is kidnapping you and marrying.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[yanderexchubbyreader]

yan!king x chubby!maid!reader

~*well, this managed to get uploaded on accident, but I guess for those who come across this, welcome to the soft launch of the blog!*~

warnings: explicit nsfw, noncon, somnophilia, cum inside, obsessed king just loves his pretty lil maid so much and wants you to have his babies

- imagine being specifically chosen by the yan!king himself to serve as his personal maid

- he’s seen you around the castle for a few years, becoming obsessed with you and your soft frame

- it had gotten to the point he’d go insane if he didn’t have you, and he promoted you so he could see and speak with you every day

- imagine the yan!king getting violently angry when you’re not the one to tend to him

- his heart would shatter, thinking his darling must not love him anymore

- he gets so mean and scours the castle himself to track you down, practically crying because you didn’t like him anymore

- he’d find you in your room, having overslept that morning

- imagine having to talk him out of the tantrum that tried to follow after, reassuring him that you did like him

- yan!king would take that as a hint that you had feelings for him as well, and now he’d stop at nothing to make you his queen

- you’re now by his side 24/7, even moving into the servant’s room that was directly across from his

- imagine yan!king sneaking into your room one night, sick of just imagining how you felt and ready to just get his hands on the real thing

- he’d start by oh-so-slowly pushing the edge of your night gown up, drooling as the pads of his fingers finally touched your soft skin, his cock becoming hard at just that

- then, he’d push his hand between her thighs to cup your center, his middle finger sliding up your slit

- as his fingers pumped in and out of you slowly, he’d drink in your unconscious moans, his other hand pumping at his cock

- imagine yan!king has your legs pushed upwards, thrusting his cock into your puffy pussy at a gentle pace

- he’s whimpering at how good you feel, your walls pulsing around him

- he’d fill you up so much, crying at the immense pleasure of finally being able to cum inside of you, having to force himself off of you so he didn’t wake you from another round

- the next morning, he’d take notice in your limp and your hand rubbing at your aching lower back, feeling pride in having claimed you

- he’d do it a few more times before finally trying to court you while you were awake, but you’d never know that

[crybabydxll]

𝓬𝓻𝔂𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂𝓭𝔁𝓵𝓵

.𖥔 ݁ ⋆ atlas ! : oc fic !

𝓭𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓲𝓯'𝓼 𝓫𝓯 ⋆ 𝓭𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝔂𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

cw: top dom oc ﾉ sub bttm ftm reader ﾉ bunny hybrid reader ﾉ oc buys reader at an auction ﾉ hybrids are rare species that are kept as pets ﾉ dacryphilia ﾉ breeding ﾉ cig burns ﾉ v sex ﾉ words count :

𝅼 ☆ ˑ

you were tied up with white lace , wrists and ankles , while being put on display ( you felt humiliated from being basically nude infront of everyone )as the last hybrid at the auction , you're a bunny boy with the cutest ears and tails and complete with an adorable face ! "can i get a 500k ?" the auctioneer said into the megaphone , one person lifted their pattle . "can i get a 600k ? 700k !" the auction continued until it got to 900k and no one offered..until one man at the front lifted his pattle . "sold to mr. everhart !" you were taken away to be put in actual clothing : a dress shirt with ruffles on the end of the sleeves , black pants and brown shoes ( idk the name ,, js think of brown maryjanes but fully covered with some details !!) after you were prepared you were escorted to a luxurious black car , and who was sitting in the backseat waiting for you ? none other than your new owner : mr. everhart . "hello reader ~!" you could tell he was a kind and gentle person , but you were in for such a wild ride !

as soon as you two got home, it was straight to his bedroom ! you were on the bed laying on your back with your legs spread as he ate you out while playing with your clit , you moaned helplessly as he pulled his head away from your soaked crotch , as soon as you catched your breath he taped a small pink vibrator to your clit but he didn't turn it on yet. as soon as he thrusted deeply inside your pussy he turned it on , the vibration on your clit and his fast paced thrusts made you see stars. "gnk..! h-hngh~ s'too much s-sir !" you manged to moan out. "sh.." he hushed you in a soft tone . "you should just be a good boy and let me breed you , understood ?~" you nod your head , you'd never turn down the idea of your master breeding you ! atleast..now that you're his forever !! he takes the cigarette that he lit nd gives you a small burn on the back on your neck , as soon as you cum , your sloppy cunt clamping onto his dick made him finally cum right inside of your pretty pussy. "awh..~ your bunnypussy looks so good stuffed with my cum..doesn't it cotton tail ?~" he said as he kissed your cheek . "uh..uh huh.."

this fic belongs to: @crybabydxll ( please ask before you can translate and be sure to credit me / tag me)

[stanfanfiction]

Masterlist

Hey all! For now I’ve only written Ken x reader fics (and they are ongoing) but wanted to go ahead and get my masterlist page started. I do accept requests so let me know if there’s any fun ideas you’d like me to consider!! I’ll be updating anytime a new fic is posted :) thank you all SO much for all the insane love, and so fast!

Ken (Barbie) (ongoing)

Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader, 18+ only

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Two.Five

Chapter Three

Chapter Three.Five

Chapter Four

Chapter Four.Five

Chapter 4.5 (BONUS)

Chapter Five

Chapter Five.Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Six.Five

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight (coming soon)

Requests are currently open

[sister-lucifer]

Love After Life

Claude Theroux (Ghost OC) x Male Reader

Genre: Smut 

Summary: When the ghostly groom mistakes you for his lost bride on a dark Halloween night, you can’t stop yourself from giving into him. 

Content/Warnings: AMAB Reader, unprotected anal sex, cumming inside, Reader crossdressing as a bride for Halloween, a little dubcon but not really only at first, mentions of death + fire, pet names (my love, my darling, various French pet names, etc), Claude refers to Reader with feminine terms because he has weird ghost brain stuff going on and doesn’t realize he’s not his wife, pregnancy/breeding, does this count as force fem?

A/N: Happy (slightly late) Halloween, everyone! ʚ♡ɞ

THIS IS NOT FULLY PROOFREAD! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY TYPOS!

Believing in ghost stories is a feat that has always hovered just outside your field of reality, what you know to be true. Sure, you can suspend your disbelief to humor a friend now and again, but nothing beyond that. Of course, curiosity has a nasty habit of overpowering basic logic; when your phone pinged with a video from a friend about the supposedly haunted manor on White Oak Hill, you couldn’t resist giving it a watch. 

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy music that immediately started up upon hitting play, snuggling into bed with your free hand in a bag of snacks. You didn’t expect much at all, really. From the look of the video, it seemed like just another ploy for views from a subpar channel profiting off of kids who are still scared of monsters under the bed. You were far too intelligent for that. 

“The haunted house on White Oak Hill has been circulating once again, now that Halloween is coming around,” the narrator spoke, putting on an obviously forced voice while stock b-roll of a graveyard panned across the screen, “but what really happened to make it so haunted? Stay tuned to find out, but first, we want to tell you about our new merch drop—“

You groaned aloud, immediately skipping ahead. You could not be less interested in whatever they were peddling.  

“…and it was then, in July of 1945, that tragedy struck.” 

Ah. That’s more like it.

“Newlywed French aristocrats, Suzanne and Claude Theroux, had just arrived at White Oak Manor, where they intended to spend their honeymoon…”

Ugh, how cliché. You skipped forward a few more seconds, running out of patience fast. 

“…The couple moved downstairs, still dressed in their reception clothes, and completely oblivious to the fire blooming up in the master bedroom. Somehow, a recently lit candelabra had knocked over, causing the charred wick to burn one of the curtains, and the flames were growing rapidly. In their panic, Suzanne managed to escape, but Claude was not so lucky…” 

The music faded out, as did the visuals. As much as you’d hate to admit it, they had reeled you in. You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten to the screen throughout that monologue, at least not until—

“…but first, a word from our sponsors.” 

Oh, fuck this! 

The shrill text tone jolts you out of an embarrassingly deep sleep. You wipe the drool from your chin as you scramble to sit up, phone sliding off of your chest. Looks like you fell asleep watching that video. So much for scary—you slept like a baby. 

You pick up your phone and look at the notification. You can’t help but roll your eyes as you type out your reply. 

Unfortunately, you actually had to consider that. 

You’re not exactly strapped for cash or struggling to scrape by, but it sure as hell would make you a lot more secure and comfortable to know you at least have that extra hundred put away in case of an emergency.

…Ugh. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter, stumbling through the doorway of the old house, “this is stupid. This is so stupid…” 

Somehow, you’ve gotten this far without putting all of this to a stop.  Maybe it was the hundred dollars floating just out of reach like a carrot on a stick, maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was just plain idiocy, but you really let this happen. Wow. 

Each step makes the wooden floors creak underfoot, the boards hissing in protest to your weight. You struggle to keep your balance in the tacky heels you were forced into, which are as uncomfortable as they are humiliating. To add insult to…well, another insult, you aren’t even wearing regular clothes under the dress as promised; they made it nearly impossible to get the damn thing on, and it was just too uncomfortable. You were allowed to keep your briefs, at least. Not that that makes you feel any better. Your dignity is strained, to put it lightly. 

You scratch at your arm rather aggressively, the itchy fabric of the tulle sleeves irritating the skin there. The entire dress is painfully cheap, and promises an unforgiving rash tomorrow morning. You instinctively reach to where your pocket would normally be to grab your phone, only to be utterly disappointed as the words of your friend echo in your head: 

“No modern technology! If he sees you tapping at your weird light box, he’ll freak out! All you have to do is go in, sweep the house, and report back to me.” 

Of course, your immediate response was to question why the ghost hunter wasn’t going in; surely the ‘expert’ isn’t scared? 

The only answer you got was a rather unceremonious shove towards the house. 

You’re in this alone. Great. 

You just hope the house doesn’t decide to collapse in on itself tonight. You don’t believe in ghosts, but the decrepit 20th century architecture and the harsh wind whistling through the broken windows are very real. It seems like the entire manor is trying to chase you out, like it’s angry that you’re here, loudly creaking and moaning with every shift or shake to talk you out of taking another step. No wonder this place has sparked so many ghost stories, it’s scary as shit! 

You stop in the middle of the foyer, taking a moment to drink in the scenery. 

The effects of the fire are obvious, even after all the years of atrophy; the core of the charred blackness lies upstairs, but its countless arms sprawl outwards, clawing at the walls in a desperate attempt to get free. From what you can see, it did not succeed, as the front most part of the house seems to be relatively untouched. 

Most of the house was gutted in an estate sale—what could be salvaged, anyways— but a couple of throne chairs and a matching ottoman still remain, now thoroughly gnawed through by all manner of creepy-crawlies. The entire downstairs is covered in a sticky blanket of spiderwebs, as if you needed more evidence of an infestation. Most of the curtains have been left untouched, except by time, though they do little to keep the house warm without any in tact windows. All of glass has been nearly completely shattered by either nature or vandals. You noticed a few graffiti tags and discarded beer cans outside, but the inside looks like it hasn’t had many people in it since the fire. The legends must keep them out. 

You look around as you try to discern where to go next. Directly in front of you is a large staircase leading to the upper level of the house, and behind it are a few doors that probably lead to a kitchen, a guest room and the like. On either side are long hallways that curl around, preventing you from seeing where they lead. The living area on your left, with the only remaining pieces of furniture, is enclosed on either side by grand bookcases that once held countless manuscripts and novels. The floor is still discolored from where the rug once laid. The grand chandelier of Damocles above your head sways a bit in the wind, and that makes you swallow nervously; you make the smart decision to move a few steps to the side just in case the diamond daggers come down. 

The question is: where do you start?

You could quite easily get turned around in here, especially in the endless hallways of the ground floor. You were given a brief glance at the floor plans, and there was no basement, only the two levels above and below the stairs. The best place to start would be upstairs, you decide— that way you can work your way back to the front door. 

Upon closer inspection, though, you realize that physically going up the stairs might be easier said than done, especially in these tacky pumps. Your eyes follow the steps from the bottom up, and each stair is only more burnt and broken than the last. You’ll have to navigate this with utmost caution. 

Your first step is shaky, but the wood doesn’t feel too unsteady. You’re careful not to stumble or let the heels of your shoes slip off the back of the stairs as you ascend, holding tightly to the rail. You only lift your hand at about halfway up, when you feel the gradually blackening wood starting to flake off and stick to your palm. The higher you climb, the darker it gets, all of the color of the upstairs completely consumed and overtaken by the fire. It’s like walking into Hell, the last vestiges of light fleeing from the sight as you finally reach the last step. 

You linger there for a moment, mouth hanging open just slightly as the reality of the tragedy sets in. Sure, you’d seen pictures, unable to push down the curiosity in the time before your little adventure, but this was…haunting. 

Someone actually died here. Holy shit. You’re staring into someone’s grave. 

You shudder as another breeze passes through, feeling much colder than before. You can only stare into the pitch black hallway for a moment before an irritated creak from the stairs urges you to quickly move off of them. 

Black dust swarms around your ankles as you step onto the upper floor. It seems even more untouched than the lower part of the house. The wind doesn’t come through as loudly here, and suddenly you realize how deathly quiet it got as you came up the stairs. You listen for a moment to see if you can pick up any sound from the outside, but there’s nothing. Not a sound, not a rustle, not a honk from the highway. You don’t even think the rats come up here. Spooky. 

You look to your left, down the hallway. Darkness. Complete darkness. The frail gleam of the moon is practically swallowed by the suffocating black. 

You look to your right, and see the same thing. You catch a brief glimpse of the dim light reflecting on something. 

You look back to the— 

Wait. 

You double take.  The fuck was that? 

You turn back to the right, now much more on guard. You squint into the shadows, sure that you saw something against the wall that barely hovered where you could see it. 

Nothing moves. 

Nothing is there. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. You’re letting those dumb stories get to you. You just need to get out of here before you catch a disease or fall through the floor and break an ankle. 

You decide to keep true, headed straight for the center hall and the master bedroom where it all began. You walk slowly, keeping an arm in front of you to feel for spiderwebs in the windowless hallway, but you encounter none. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen any signs of pests since the stairs. Nothing worth eating up here, you guess. 

You can barely see the slight glint of the bedroom doorknob. It shifts and wavers just a bit as you bob with each step, eventually coming close enough to reach out and grab it. You prepare for the spikes of cold metal against your skin, but the sensation you feel is much different. 

The doorknob is warm. 

Not unbearably hot, no, but warm. Warmer than it has any right to be, enough to make you pull your hand back for a moment. 

You swallow hard. 

It must be because the wind doesn’t come through here, you rationalize; this hall has no windows, there’s rooms on both sides—it’s not as drafty as the rest of the house. That must be it. 

You grasp the knob again, turning it slowly…so as to not break it, of course. 

The door creaks open loud enough to make you wince, like you’re worried someone will hear and come bustling in to scold you for being up past your bedtime. The room looks rather well preserved, and it doesn’t start to sink in how odd  that is until you’ve already stepped inside, and then the door shuts behind you on its own. That startles you enough to crash your train of thought. 

You quickly spin around to look at the door, staring for a few moments to see if it’ll move. It stays still, the ornate wooden carvings looking back at you like sharp eyes, waiting to see if you, too, will make a move. 

The room is, for lack of a better term, dead. Any sound that tries to make its way in dies outside the walls, and even the particles floating in the air seem frozen, cursed to forever hover in the beams of moonlight. A ghostly glow is cast over everything, an ethereal blanket that makes the air feel heavy. You take a step further into the room, and it feels like walking on the ocean floor. You’re numb, yet you can feel your skin clinging to your bones. 

You really shouldn’t be here. 

Then, a flickering light in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It startles you, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, enough to make you jump as you turn to it. The glimmering brilliance blinds you for a moment, and you don’t realize what you’re looking at until your eyes focus again. 

On the bedside table, its illuminating aura casting quivering shadows on the walls, is a sterling silver candelabra holding tightly to three lit candlesticks. The engraved vines snake their way up its arms and around its base, almost as if trying to hold it still. It looks like a priceless antique, but it shines like it’s brand new. A moment ago the room was completely dark, and now it’s aglow with the white-blue candlelight. The flames swirl in your pupils, hypnotizing you with their unnatural hue as they dance like skilled ballerinas, flicking up into a perfect arabesque before relaxing into a soft adagio, beckoning you closer without you even realizing. 

You don’t see how close you’ve gotten until you’re nearly upon it. Your fingers twitch, nearly aching to reach out and hover over the fire. Without a conscious decision, your hand starts to lift, like moving through water. It floats just above the candles, and you feel no heat, nor do you see any smoke. It’s like a projection onto the air itself. 

You barely stop yourself from dipping a finger into the flames. You know logically that you’ll be burned—or at least, you should be—but the fire calls to you nonetheless. For just a moment, everything is different; you aren’t yourself. There’s a dark cloud forming in your mind, and then suddenly it dissipates at the startling sound of a voice behind you. 

You whip your head around so fast your neck nearly snaps. You squint into the darkness, still as a statue, expecting to see your friend standing there or perhaps even a fellow explorer whose curiosity got the better of them. You’re not even sure what the voice said, but it was certainly human…or, at least, something that’s quite good at sounding human. 

You see no one.

You’re just as alone as you were. 

You turn to face the room fully, but you move too fast. Your hand bumps the bedside table, knocking the candelabra off of it. You panic as you scramble to catch the candleholder, not even thinking about the possibility of burning your hands. You manage to reach out at the last second and get your palm beneath it, and you expect to feel the weight of the cool silver against your skin, but you never do. 

You watch with your own eyes as the candelabra phases right through your flesh. 

You think for a split second that perhaps you just missed, but there’s no clatter against the wood floor either. The candelabra disappears with as much ceremony as it first materialized, leaving only a few sapphire embers that jump from the wicks before fading away as well. The moon’s beams on your back is the only surviving light. 

You can feel the freezing of your blood as it crystallizes into solid ice, the unbearable sensation blooming in your stomach before snaking its way down your limbs. You want to scream, but you can only muster a gasp as you stumble backwards in shock. You trip over your own feet, falling back onto the bed. 

Your vision starts to fill with black spots as your mind struggles to wrap around what it just witnessed. You keep seeing that split second in time when you watched it go through you, that single moment where it was halfway through your solid form before it was gone. Unsure what else to do, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to calm yourself. 

You lay there for a few moments, unable to make yourself get up or move at all. All at once your mind is racing, yet you’re unable to think at all. You try to force yourself to calm down, to will your heart to quiet, but you can’t push the thought of the candelabra out of your mind. 

You’re not sure why, but you cover your face. Your entire body tenses for a brief moment before you finally break your barrier of panic. Slowly, but surely, you relax again. Your chest is still heaving, but you can finally form a semi-coherent thought. 

…What the hell just happened? 

You don’t have an answer for that. At least, not right now. 

That’s okay, you sure yourself. You’re fine. You need to just get out of here. You can lie and say you saw a shadowy figure or something. 

You pull your hands away from your face, blinking a few times as your eyes focus and adjust to the bright light. 

Hold on. 

The what? 

No, you’re really seeing that…?! 

Just above you is a hovering form, glowing in the darkness of the bedroom. For a second it only looks like a luminous cloud, but then the finer features become clear, coming into form like a time lapse of a painting. 

You notice the eyes first. They’re a brilliant blue, even more so than the rest of the body, like heavy gems being cradled by translucent clouds. You notice the hair next, long, silky and wavy, looking like it may have once been blond despite the blue tint, and floating as though in zero gravity. The nose is slender and straight, and the lips are devoid of warmth and slightly parted as if pleasantly surprised. The rest of the body is wrapped in a dark suit, accented with a light blue tie and a matching lily boutonnière with drooping petals. 

You put it together in an instant; the attire, the house, the fire… 

…The groom. 

Your throat goes dry as sandpaper. 

He’s smiling down at you a terrifying amount of genuine affection. He tilts his head just slightly, observing you as your mouth gapes and eyes widen in shock. You struggle for words, but only manage to choke out one thing: 

“Claude...?!”

His grin only widens when he hears his name from your lips. 

“Ohh, my love,” he sighs, his thickly accented voice echoing in the back of your head as if speaking directly into your mind, “I was wondering where you went…”

He reaches out to stroke your cheek, and it feels like cold fog on your skin. He’s trembling as much as you are. 

“You’ve returned, you’ve returned…” he mumbles like a chant. He leans in with both hands on the sides of your face, gently bumping his forehead against yours. The contact makes your entire body shiver, and you have to stop your teeth from chattering. You know you should say something, stop him, move away…but what can be done? 

You’re frozen. 

His hands on your face are starting to make your skin tingle, like pins and needles in your cheek. The sensation lingers when he finally pulls away, and you can’t stop yourself from rubbing the feeling away on your shoulder. 

There’s a beat of silence between you for a moment. He looks down at you, gentle smile never wavering despite the terror that’s surely on your face. He doesn’t seem to realize at all that you’re not happy to see him. Something in his eyes makes you feel like he’s looking through you, or perhaps not truly seeing you at all. 

You bristle when he moves lower, hollow hands grasping at your ankles before sliding upward, lifting the cheap layered skirt of the bride costume. The cold feeling creeping up your leg makes you yelp, and you instinctively kick at him. Your tacky heel slips off and falls to the floor with your foot still floating inside his abdomen. Oh god, it feels like stepping in refrigerated jello. 

Claude pauses. For a moment you’re worried you’ve angered him, that now you’ve invoked

the wrath of a restless spirit, but then he laughs. He laughs as though you’d simply told him something funny, and then his hands continue working their way up your legs. 

“Always so spirited,” Claude chuckles, hands now firmly on your thighs, “I always did love that about you, ma femme…” 

He leans over you, and you want to sink into the mattress as far as possible. Your legs tremble uselessly as they dangle over the edge of the bed, unable to make you run. 

“W-Wait, hold on—“ you stammer, but you choke on your words when he dips down to kiss your neck. Each little press of his lips is like a shock to your system. Normally, you wouldn’t be so sensitive, but the feeling is so foreign and overwhelming you can’t help but arch your back. His hands slide up and down your waist, skirt now bunched around your hips, and you can barely feel the cold through the costume. 

He either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t acknowledge your words. He keeps working his way down your neck, hands moving around to your back and fumbling with the zipper down the bodice of your dress. You don’t realize what’s happening before suddenly the costume is being pulled off your shoulders. 

“Wait, wait—!” you say again, with a bit more volume this time. This makes him stop, pulling away and looking at you with confusion, and maybe even a bit of hurt. 

“Darling, what’s the matter?” he asks, stroking your hair, “Are you nervous? Don’t be…” 

“N-No, you don’t understand…!” you insist, but the longer you look in his eyes, the less you want to fight him. 

“Can’t you tell? I-I’m not…you know…” 

You trail off, gesturing vaguely to yourself. Surely he can tell you’re not his Suzanne…? 

His eyebrows furrow. He’s clearly not understanding what you’re getting at, but then his eyes light up with a realization. 

“…Oh…I see…” he mumbles, looking away from you in thought. You finally relax, breathing a sigh of relief. Looks like you managed to get through to—

“Oh, darling, I don’t care if you’re not a virgin!” 

…What? 

You open your mouth to correct him, but no sound comes out. He kisses you, you think, but it’s so fast you only feel the slight coolness on your lips. 

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he continues, “you’re still my beautiful wife. No more delay, let me show you how much I love you.”

Before you can blink the costume has been pulled off of you. You’re left in only your boxers and one shoe, head spinning as you struggle to make any sense of the situation. 

How does he not see? You think, you don’t look anything like Suzanne, gender disparity aside…! 

No, wait…what was it they said in that old ghost movie? 

“Ghosts see what they want to see.” 

The sudden understanding barely breaks through as Claude dives into your neck again, the other side this time, mumbling and sighing against your skin in slurred French. 

There’s no reasoning with him, you realize, he wants you to be his wife. He needs you to be her. He’s been waiting here so long for her to return, he doesn’t even know he’s dead. 

Oh, god… 

His hands run up and down your bare chest, and the freezing touch makes your nipples harden. They trail lower, like cold water running down your body, pausing at the waistband of your boxers. He floats downward to nuzzle into your thigh, and the sight of him looking up at you with those big, blue eyes makes your stomach flip. 

“Oh, mon amour, won’t you let me…?” he asks, tugging at your boxers, “I simply can’t rest until I’ve had you…”

Can’t rest, he says…

Is that what he’s been waiting for all these years? 

They say ghosts only stick around if they have unfinished business, right? Is this…is this what he needs? 

You suck in a deep breath, unable to look away from his eyes. 

Well…if it might work, it’s worth a shot, right? You’re doing this for him, after all. 

At least that’s what you’ll tell yourself tomorrow morning. 

Fuck it. 

“Yes.”

The way his expression quite literally lights up makes your face go hot. 

He wastes no time, pulling off your boxers with utmost enthusiasm. The fall to the floor, immediately forgotten once he’s dropped them. You resist the urge to suck in a harsh breath as your half hard cock is exposed to the air. You’re already bracing yourself for the inevitable feeling of his cold touch. 

For the first time, you really see him pause. He’s staring down at your length, gears turning in his head but not working quite right, like he’s on the verge of snapping out of a trance. You gulp. If he’s found you out, you might be screwed. 

The silence stretches on for an almost awkward amount of time. 

Then, without warning, the love returns to his eyes, and a split second later his tongue comes out to lick a long stripe up your shaft. You nearly scream, barely managing to cover your mouth in time. Fuck, that’s cold! 

It’s clear that he’s not all that knowledgeable about what to do with a dick, but he’s giving it a hell of a try. He makes sure his tongue doesn’t neglect a single spot on your length, and he doesn’t miss the little squeal he gets when he flicks gently at the tip. He tries to take it in his mouth, but forcing your cock down his throat is clearly uncomfortable for him, even if he can’t choke on it. Nonetheless, he tries, rubbing at whatever he can’t fit in his mouth with his hand. He’s not afraid of moaning, either, and the vibrations it sends through you can never be replicated by any toy. 

You do your best to lay back and enjoy it despite the bizarre situation. You manage to clear your mind for only a moment before you feel two of his fingers brushing against your hole. You gasp, tensing on instinct. You can feel him smirk around your cock before he pulls off of it for a moment. 

“Ahh, there it is…” he says lowly before promptly busying his mouth once more. 

You bite down hard on your bottom lip as two of his fingers slip in, the cold instantly penetrating your core. This seems to be a skill he’s much more adept at; he’s far less hesitant, and far more graceful. He stretches you in just the right ways, exploring your waiting hole with a confidence that easily surpasses any of your past partners. His fingers slip in and move around so easily, without any struggle or pain. You’re almost upset you’ll never feel this again. 

Try as you might to be quiet, you can’t bite back the moan that crawls out of your throat when the pads of his fingers press against your prostate. He chuckles as best he can with your dick down his throat. He presses again, gentler this time, clearly enjoying the drawn out while it gets from you. 

It’s getting harder and harder to keep quiet as he hits all the right spots over and over again. He’s evidently a quick learner, too, as he’s already picked up on the best ways to use his tongue around your length. You can feel yourself twitching in his mouth. 

He slips in a third finger, and as it pushes in you nearly see stars. Tingly static crawls up your body like dye soaking into fabric, invading the deepest crevices of your nervous system. God, that’s good. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been when he finally pulls away, leaving you suddenly empty and far too warm for comfort. You’re too dizzy to question what’s going on when he flips you onto your stomach, but you don’t have to ask questions. You shudder as he leans over you, his chest against your back, engulfing your body with an icy sensation. 

“Oh, ma belle femme, how lucky I am to have you,” he whispers in your ear, voice choked and shaky, “I can feel you trembling underneath me. Just sit still, my darling…” 

You can hear him rustling with his clothes behind you, but don’t bother to look back. Your cock is practically begging for more of his touch. 

After a moment he leans over you again, this time laying his hands over yours. He feels nearly weightless, like a cloud resting on top of you. 

“Je peux enfin t’emmener…”

You don’t have a second to process his words before suddenly he’s pushing into you. You don’t bother trying to hide your voice, and neither does he, droning on and whispering sweet nothings you can barely understand as your mind is completely melted by the feeling of the penetration. 

You nearly collapse against the mattress, but he manages to catch your hips just in time. You claw at the sheets as he fills you to the base, and the blankets do little to muffle your cries. For a brief moment you wonder if anyone outside could hear you, but that worry is quickly pushed aside when you feel him pulling back. You dig your nails into your palm so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks as you prepare for what’s about to come. 

The first thrust feels like it might break your mind. The head of his pale cock butts hard against your prostate, making you shriek like you never thought you could. You nearly tear a hole in the bedsheets with your desperate attempt

to find some sort of relief, and yet you don’t want any at all. Your body might be shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, but against all logic, your mind is screaming more, more, more!

“C-Claude—!” you yelp as he slams into you once more. 

“Suzanne!” he echoes in turn, ecstasy dripping from his voice, “Suzanne, my love, how I’ve waited for this…!”

He returns to kissing your neck, though much messier than before. He just needs to taste you, sucking and nipping and licking any spare bit of skin he can get to. If he feels so cold, you must feel so warm. 

He’s trying to be gentle, to go easy on you, but he’s struggling. You can feel him forcing himself to go slower. You need to encourage him. 

“Oh, Claude,” you moan, putting on the girliest voice you can muster, “faster! Faster, my love, please, give me more!” 

He’s more than happy to comply, and after a brief adjustment of his hold on you his pace increases tenfold. He’s grunting and huffing like an animal—and you’re underneath him, moaning and whimpering like a girl. 

“Suzanne, my darling, we’re going to do it,” he says suddenly, and you have no idea what he means. He pulls you in closer, pressing you against his chest more firmly. 

“We’re going to do it,” he repeats, “we’re going to have our family…I want to— no, I need to give you my child.” 

The sound that comes out of you is humiliating. 

You’ve never wanted anything more than for him to cum inside of you in this moment. 

“Yes,” you reply without thinking, “yes, yes!” 

He only thrusts into you faster, fueled completely by your mutual desire. Both of his hands are on your hips now, holding tightly and pulling you back against him as he pushes in. The bed is rocking so hard it feels like it might collapse underneath you. Even if it did, neither of you would even consider stopping, not for a second. 

He’s starting to lose his rhythm, you realize. He’s just as sensitive as you are. He wants this just as much, if not more. You can’t even string together a coherent sentence to beg for it, all you can do is let the string of pleasured noises fall from your lips, only occasionally managing to say his name. He chants back ‘Suzanne’ like it’s the only word he knows; it’s the only one that matters to him, at least. 

You jump when he wraps a hand around your cock, pumping it quickly with little to no consistent pattern. He’s practically milking it, rubbing fast and hard and doing everything in his power to push you to your peak. 

“Cum for me, my love,” he huffs, “let me feel you cum around my cock…won’t you give me the privilege?” 

“Of course, my darling,” you reply. How could you say no? 

Your orgasm starts to build faster than you’re ready for. You can barely choke out an understandable warning before your cock twitches and spills its load, spurting into his hand and certainly dirtying the bedding underneath you. He buries his face in your neck as your hole squeezes him deliciously, making him cry out at the feeling. 

“Yes, my love— Oh god, yes!” he almost sobs. He’s completely lost his rhythm now, just rutting into you like a feral dog in heat as he chases his own high. 

He gives one last cry of his bride’s name before suddenly he stills, and his cock spills into you. You’re not sure what it feels like—you don’t think any human experience could ever compare—but it’s certainly not unpleasant. It’s not the warm, sticky feeling dripping down your thighs, at least. 

You nearly black out for a moment, your head spinning like a top with no relief in sight. Darkness is quickly clouding your vision as you come down from your intense high, and you barely register the gentle kiss Claude presses to your cheek before the cold feeling against your back is gone. You close your eyes then, unable to keep them open any longer. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been when you awake again. Logically, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but you feel like you’ve been asleep for years. You slowly move to sit up, and instantly you’re made painfully aware of the soreness in your legs and lower back. You groan, forcing yourself to move to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You’re still very naked, that’s for sure. You look down between your legs, and grimace at the sight of the luminescent ectoplasm glowing in the dim light as it drips from your thighs and ass. 

The thing that really stands out, though, is the state of the room. Whatever you saw before must’ve been some sort of ghostly illusion; now you’re surrounded by nothing but charred black, sticking to your legs and palms and floating about in the air in flaky little bits. 

Yuck. 

You sigh as you will yourself to get up, not enjoying the feeling of your one bare foot on the dusty wood floor. You can barely walk far enough to retrieve the costume dress, let alone bend down and pick it up, but by some divine intelligence you manage. 

After redressing to the best of your ability, you limp back downstairs—talk about a walk of shame. Although, despite your embarrassment, you do note that the house feels…emptier. Lighter. It’s nice. 

You don’t have an excuse for why you’re so disheveled, or why you’re walking so weirdly, or why you’re so sweaty. You don’t care. You’re going to walk out that door, get your last half of the payment, and go home and get a good night’s sleep knowing that, in some impossibly strange way, you did a good thing. 

The one thing you will never admit, though, is that you were very wrong: 

Ghosts are real. 

And you have the wet dream to prove it. 

If you liked this fic, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out. 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

[arrthurpendragon]

OC Creator Mini Bingo!

I want to try to put some positive energy back into the OC Community, so I'm going to be hosting an OC Creator Mini Bingo event for the month of September!

THIS IS OPEN TO ALL OC CREATORS! FANFICTION AND ORIGINAL STORY! OLD AND NEW OC CREATORS! POSTED STORIES AND PLOT BUNNY OCS! 

Kudos if you reblog this and tag some friends you think might be interested! :)

GOOGLE FORM SIGN UP (I’m not collecting emails)

GOOGLE DOC OF PARTICIPANTS (Please give me at least a day to update from the Google Form to the Google Doc)

Keep reading to find out more about the event!

What is OC Creator BINGO?

Well, it’s a chance to get to know other OC creators and spread some positivity!

You will interact with everyone on your BINGO card! It's a "mini" bingo because the cards are going to be 3x3. This means 8 creators will be chosen for you to interact with and you will get one of your choice!

BINGO Card template

… you know your schedules better than I do. And if you finish your card early, you are allowed to ask for another!

Since everyone is allowed to participate in this event - if there are creators you do NOT want on your card (for reasons you don’t have to explain) please put them on the Google Form. That information stays between me and you.

The following are some ways to fill in a spot for your creators:

Send 5 asks to a creator about their OCs (and reblog the answers)

Start a private conversation with someone new

Create a moodboard / aesthetic for a creator

Leave 3 reviews on a fic of a creator’s OC

Send 5 positivity asks to a creator

Reblog 5 of a creator’s OC posts

Create a manip for a creator’s OC

Create a poster / story cover for a creator’s OC

Create a video for a creator’s OC

Create a drabble for a creator’s OC

Create a gifset for a creator’s OC

Draw an OC for a creator

Do a liveblog for a creator’s OC

Create a SIM of a creator’s OC

Make a playlist for a creator’s OC

Make a blog recommendation post on your tumblr

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DO ALL OF THEM! You can pick and choose what works best for you. If you wanted to just reblog posts for all the creators on your list (because that’s an option) then go for it. Choose what you are most comfortable doing for each creator.

Those who sign up by August 31st, will have their cards ready by September 1st.

But you will still be able to sign up during most of the month of September!

[slitmythroatandeattilyougetsick]

this is what happens when mod has to try cope with something she doesnt know how to

Tw autocannibalism/self harm, emetophobia, 'impure' age regression, dehumanization, blood loss, gore, dissociation/derealization

It's not like it was even capable of recovery. It should've known.

A reminder of its own existence was all it took.

A growl from the dog, a familiar disapproving glare from the woman walking it.

As soon as it got back to its room it snapped, agonized screams tearing from its throat as memories tore from its mind. It tore at anything it could get its mouths on. Walls, bed, furniture, its own arms if it missed bad enough.

Such wonderful, familiar pain.

An oh-so-familiar smile made its way across the mutt's hundred mouths as blood dribbled from the wounds on its arms and neck. In an instant the wounds had closed, replaced by more slavering maws, and the game began again.

Pain.

Blood.

Fear.

Comfort.

Cold.

Dark.

Hungry.

Alone.

Always hungry. How ungrateful of it. Its life was so much better now, and it was still hungry. Like a pathetic starving dog. It doubled over, retching, blood mixing with the bile and acid. It had bit too deep. A wound it couldn't fix, a lie its eyes couldn't tell.

Its hand went to the bloody mess where its neck met its shoulder. Not recognizing the flesh as its own, it bit deeper, harder, growling from a dozen mouths as it lapped at its own unidentified blood.

It was a pup again, a terrified, hungry, feral child, locked in a basement deep in its own mind. The dog came to its knees, licking the blood off its hand with its original mouth. It was acutely aware of something wrong with it, some sort of feeling it couldn't name. Something wrong, something broken.

No, no, it could fix this, it had to. Opened and closed a mouth over the wound over and over, but the wound went deep. So it curled up in the wreckage of its bed and cried, tears mixing with the blood as a mix of bloodloss and exhaustion rent the child from its body, forcing it down into unconsciousness.

[syncsnzthings]

SFW OC snzfic - lab experiment - Rowan and Daniel

I've been obsessed with this concept for a while, I can't stop thinking about it.

SUMMARY: Rowan agreed to be the test subject for his friend, who works in/runs a lab that tests pharmaceuticals for companies that make allergy meds. He has no idea that he's not testing an antihistamine; it's something a lot more interesting. WARNINGS: Sneezing, long holdbacks (in a way), mild scientific malpractice if you squint, something akin to sneeze torture but not really WORDS: 3,100

━━━━━»•»🌺

The door to the lab finally opens and Rowan's head perks up to see Daniel wheeling in a tray covered by a thin sheet of cloth. Rowan, ever eager to help, had agreed to be the first test subject for a compound Daniel's lab had produced. Although he works in data entry and has no connections to the actual lab practices—save for his friendship with Daniel—he always ends up getting dragged into these things. He has such a hard time saying no when he's the best test subject any of them can think of.

Daniel and his lab associates do contract work for various pharmaceutical companies, mainly companies that produce allergy medication. Because of this—and factors unknown to Rowan, though he knew there were some—Daniel had taken up a project in creating his own compound with some of the research money the lab had been granted.

The basic rundown he was given was that this medication was supposed to prevent him from sneezing. It's a challenge finding something that will halt Rowan's allergies entirely; he seems to be allergic to everything under the sun, and he's never found an allergy medication that completely mitigates all of his symptoms. Hence, he's the perfect test subject for whatever Daniel and his associates cook up.

"Rowan," Daniel greets him with a friendly smile after he crosses the short distance from the door to the side of the medical cot Rowan is sitting on. He stills the cart, adjusts it slightly to be within reach but not in the way, then turns his full attention to Rowan. "Are you ready to test this out? You haven't taken your usual allergy medication today?"

Rowan returns the smile , his back straightening up in anticipation for the test. "Just like you said. I hope it's worth it, I've been itchy all day."

"Even in the winter, with no seasonal allergens around, your nose is insatiable," Daniel replies, dry amusement coloring his usually professional tone. "And you swallowed the liquid ten minutes ago?" Rowan fixes him with a look. "I have to cover all my bases. It's important that everything is accounted for."

"Yes, I took the stuff when you told me to and then came right here," Rowan says. "I've been waiting here for you forever, you know."

"Ten minutes is hardly forever," Daniel says distractedly. He pinches the thin cloth covering the cart between gloved fingers and tugs it aside, folding it haphazardly and placing it on the counter lining the adjacent wall.

Rowan finally gets a glimpse of what's underneath. He's used to a sight similar to this because of his history of volunteering as a test subject: a tray of allergens, each guaranteed to produce some kind of reaction in him. Usually the tests are for antihistamines, so triggering his allergies doesn't make him react too horribly. This time, he finds himself getting slightly nervous. Daniel had never used the word antihistamine this time, he only said that it was supposed to stop him from sneezing. Daniel is nothing if not precise, so the sudden switch in vocabulary had instantly struck Rowan as odd. He's off his usual allergy meds, and he has an unknown substance working its way through his blood.

"Are you ready to begin?" Daniel turns his eyes back to Rowan, a flash of something Rowan doesn't recognize passing over his expression.

"Well, as ready as I ever am, I guess!" Rowan replies, trying to sound chipper despite his increased nerve.

Daniel nods once. He reaches for the tray on the cart and picks up a long feather, pointed at the tip but quickly morphing into soft disarray closer to the base. Rowan takes in a quick anticipatory breath as Daniel's hand approaches his face. The sharp tip of the feather begins tracing a gentle path along the rims of Rowan's nose and his breath catches again, this time caused by the tickle that instantly spreads up through his sinuses. Whatever it is that Daniel had him take, it did not make his nose any less sensitive to the stimulus.

Rowan pauses, his breath hitching sharply for a long moment. He's entirely prepared to sneeze and let Daniel mark this one down as a failure for now. But nothing happens. His breath evens out again only to pick back up into quick hitches and gasps. He sniffles and blinks his eyes open to look at Daniel.

"Wahh- hih! What's hahhppening? I need to… ihh!" Rowan stutters through his unsteady breathing. His vision is slightly unfocussed, but he swears he sees Daniel's lips quirk up into a satisfied smirk.

"It looks like the compound is working perfectly," Daniel offers as a simple, unhelpful answer. He continues teasing Rowan's nose with the feather, turning it on its side now to let the soft, flexible plumes rub against Rowan's sensitive nostrils.

Rowan twists his head to the side and Daniel lets him do it, lowering his hand to watch intently for a reaction. Rowan's hands hover uselessly in front of his face, steepled to catch a sneeze that doesn't seem to be coming. His shoulder shake with rapid breaths and his face is pinched in pre-sneeze agony. "Haa-! Hih! Ihhh! Ahh… HIH! Uhh…"

After a moment, the immediate need to sneeze seems to pass with no real result, leaving Rowan itchy and irritated. He brings the heel of his hand up to scrub at the underside of his nose, trying to rid himself of the tickly feeling. He turns watery eyes to Daniel. "Wha-hat's going on?"

"This compound is designed to stop you from sneezing, not remove the urge to do so." Daniel watches Rowan rub his nose, then reaches out with his unoccupied hand to gently take hold of his wrist and pry Rowan's hand away from his face. "It's going to take some… extensive testing to be sure it works to its full capacity."

Rowan lets out a shaky breath and sniffles softly. "How much testing?" His eyes fall down to the tray piled with allergens and he suddenly feels much more apprehensive than earlier.

"I'd like to see how far I can trigger your allergies before your body fights the compound entirely. If it does at all, that is." Daniel doesn't wait for a response before reaching down to set the feather back on the tray. He switches to a small, unlabeled glass container with a spritzer. He unscrews the cap, extends it out to Rowan, and lifts it. "Go ahead and give this a sniff."

Rowan can already smell the strong scent wafting out of the container. It's definitely a perfume. His nose twitches with a renewed tickle without even needing to sniff the substance. But Daniel keeps the container held out to him, so Rowan reluctantly leans forward and gives the pungent fumes a tiny sniff. His eyes glaze over with moisture and his nose twitches again and his breath catches.

Daniel urges the container forward. "Again. I need you to take a deep breath through your nose."

Rowan makes a small noise in his throat, half way between a whimper and a gasp, but he does it again. He sniffs the perfume until he has to pull back to gasp again, his nostrils flaring in instant irritation. His sinuses burn and his breath catches, his chest heaving with the rapid inhalations.

Daniel looks satisfied with that and he replaces the cap back on the top of the container. He considers for a moment, then seems to decide on something. He aims the spritzer directly at Rowan and gives a few sprays. The droplets land everywhere; on Rowan's shirt, on his face, on his lap, on his hands which are once again poised in front of his face ready to catch the sneeze that won't come.

Rowan's eyes widen in distress for a brief moment before they flutter shut again. The scent of perfume surrounds them, invading every inch of Rowan's allergic nose and giving him no reprieve from the overwhelming burning, ticklish sensation. He gasps in shallow, rapid breaths that brig him closer and closer to the relief he so desperately needs. It's being kept just out of his reach, driving him wild with need. His hands begin fanning in front of his face like it'll help him escape the feeling.

"Still working as intended," Daniel notes, his own interest barely masked by scientific detachment. He watches as Rowan struggles against his allergies.

Rowan is stuck like this for several minutes, unable to get a single breath in past his desperate hitching and sniffling. He briefly tries to rub at his nose again, but the scent of the perfume is still stuck to his hands and only causes him to break out into another fit of helpless gasps. Allergic tears well up in his eyes and he doesn't have the control to blink them away.

Wordlessly, Daniel lifts a cut sprig of goldenrod blooms from the tray of allergens. As soon as Rowan's breath has almost returned to a manageable pace, Daniel brings the pollen coated flowers up to his face and rubs them directly against his pink, twitchy nostrils.

Rowan's nose is a sight; bright pink, quivering uncontrollably, reacting to even the slightest stimulation. The pollen sets him off again nearly instantly. There's a light dusting of golden dust coating his flaring nostrils and tears streaming down his cheeks. The way he's desperately sucking in breaths is starting to sound closer and closer to whimpers and moans of distress.

"You're quite a sight like this, you know," Daniel comments. He sets the flowers on the cot next to where Rowan is seated and steps directly in front of him. He can see the way Rowan's nose is running, the way he's only barely managing to contain the mess by sniffling nearly constantly—as often as his frantic breaths will allow.

Daniel lifts his hand up to Rowan's face. He uses his thumb to swipe away a tear that falls down his face, then drags it across his cheek toward his nose. Gently, he presses the pad of his thumb against the twitching tip of Rowan's nose. Rowan only reacts by gasping deeply and then returning to his efforts to mitigate his suffering. Daniel can't help an amused hum. He begins rubbing a small circle on the tip of Rowan's nose, adding pressure to manipulate and squish the flesh under his finger.

"The effects of the compound can only reach so far. If we stimulate your nose enough, you might just be able to get a sneeze out," Daniel says thoughtfully, his eyes laser focused on Rowan's nose. He presses up on Rowan's nose and watches his nostrils flare frantically with every breath. "You'd like some relief, wouldn't you? We'll have to increase the discomfort before you can let it out, obviously, but it'll be worth it."

Rowan can only nod rapidly in response, the movement causing Daniel's thumb to rub and press against his irritated skin. Daniel's lips quirk up and he removes his hand from Rowan's face. He looks down at the tray again and takes a moment to scan his options. While he puts together a plan in his mind, he takes a vial of chinkni in his hand and absently holds it near Rowan's face.

"Here, sniff as much of this as you can," he instructs. He doesn't even have to look to know Rowan is eagerly following his instructions. He can hear the desperate little sniffs and feel the puffs of breath against his hand.

Once he can no longer feel Rowan's breath on his hand and he can hear his test subjects whines rise in pitch, Daniel sets the vial down and reaches for the feather again. He tips another vial on its side and sprinkles a layer of dust over the length of the feather, coating it entirely. He does the same with a pepper shaker, then lifts the feather to inspect it, making sure the entire thing is coated in the substances.

Daniel's eyes flick over to Rowan before he decides to start. Rowan has completely given up on sniffing back the tide of runny mucus in his nose, instead just letting it drip down his upper lip in a steady stream. Allergic tears are flowing non stop from his eyes and he looks like he might break at any moment. Daniel plucks a tissue from the small packet on his tray and uses it to wipe the clear mucus from the underside of Rowan's nose.

"If this doesn't make you sneeze, then I don't know what will." He tosses the tissue into a trash bin in the corner of the room, then brings the feather up to tease Rowan's nose once again.

The light tickling against the outside of his nostrils doesn't seem to do much of anything anymore. Rowan is too lost in the throes of his allergies to notice the light stimulation. Daniel hums shortly and begins inserting the tip of the feather into Rowan's nose. He doesn't stop, slowly pushing until every inch of Rowan's nostril is filled with the tickly plumes of the feather, coated in layers of dust and pepper. Immediately, he uses his fingers to twist the feather in a circle, dragging the instrument against the sensitive inner flesh of Rowan's nose.

Rowan gasps wetly and his nose twitches uncontrollably. The entire appendage seems to be quivering with anticipation of the release. His tears fall in thicker streams and his chest heaves with the frantic, rapid breaths he manages to pull in. Despite all of this, he tilts his head back to allow Daniel better access to his nostrils. He's so desperate to sneeze, he'd let Daniel do anything to him if it meant he could finally get relief.

But still, nothing seems to be happening. He whimpers as the tickle builds and builds, but nothing comes of it. Daniel slowly begins pulling the feather out of Rowan's nostril, the agonizing stimulation causing him to whine in protest. Once the feather is almost completely withdrawn, Daniel shoves it back in as far as it'll go. He repeats the process, quicker now, until he's thrusting the feather in and out of Rowan's desperate, trembling nose. With a quick flick of his wrist, he withdraws it completely, then wastes no time in inserting it fully into Rowan's other nostril to do it all again.

To Rowan's dismay, and to Daniel's enthusiastic interest, Rowan still can't seem to sneeze, no matter how helplessly allergic he gets. Daniel pulls the feather free, watching as a string of mucus connects the tip of it to Rowan's red, twitching nose. With his free hand, he plucks another tissue free and uses it to break the string and pinch the mess away from Rowan's nose.

"Still nothing? This compound is more effective than I thought." Daniel drops the soaking wet feather into the trash bin along with the tissue. He pulls a few more fresh tissues free and guides them into Rowan's hand. "Here, you're going to need these. I have a backup plan."

Rowan's hands tremble as they weakly grip the tissues. He doesn't use them yet, too preoccupied with hitching around several false starts. Daniel watches him for a moment; takes in the sight of his nose, which is bright red, irritated, and wriggling with a mind of its own. Rowan looks like the picture of allergic misery.

After allowing himself to indulge for a moment, he turns to pick up an unlabeled container resembling a sinus spray. He steps closer to Rowan. "This should completely counteract the effects of the compound. You need to be ready, because the effects will be nearly instantaneous. Are you ready?"

Rowan gives a small nod and Daniel nods as well. He lifts the nozzle of the small container to Rowan's nostril and presses it inside. The cold plastic makes Rowan's nostril flare.

"Get your tissues ready. As soon as I spray this, you'll need them." Daniel waits for Rowan to lift his hands, still clutching the tissues, then sprays a mist of the liquid directly into Rowan's nostril. He quickly pulls it away and steps back to allow Rowan a bit of space.

Rowan's face scrunches up at the feeling of a foreign liquid in his nose, but that only lasts for a moment. His sinuses are instantly filled with the tickle that has been building up this entire time. He clumsily lifts the tissues to his face but he doesn't even get them there before he's exploding into a wet, desperate sneeze.

"Haa'tISHhuhh!! Ha-ahh-! 'tISShhUH!!" The force of the sneezes has him jerking forward into the soft tissues. A shaky whimper of relief bubbles out of him.

"Bless you," Daniel supplies, knowing full well that Rowan is nowhere near done.

"I-ihhHH!! Hiih'tISCHHuh!! Ha'TSCHHh'tISHH'TSCHHuhh!!" Rowan can't drag in a single productive breath. Every inhale sends him into another fit of wildly desperate sneezing. "Hih'tishHh'tiSHhh'tSSCHHH! HaahH'tisHHUUHH! Ih'tSHUH! Hih'tshUH! Haa-ahhHH-!! HahHH'TSHUUh!"

Daniel stands a comfortable few feet away from Rowan and watches him dissolve into a helpless, desperate sneezing fit. After a moment of just watching, he reaches to take a few more tissues. He steps forward and gently takes Rowan's hands, swapping out the wet, used tissues with the dry, clean ones. He guides Rowan's hand back to his face, then disposes of the soiled tissues into the waste bin.

"Bless you," Daniel says again, his voice soft as he watches Rowan's attempts to soothe himself.

Rowan stutters through an attempt to speak, ultimately interrupting himself once again. "ThahhH- hih! Thahh'ank y-yo-ouhhH'tISCHHH! Ihhtshh'tiSHhuh! S-Sorhhuu'tiSHhhUH!" He gives up on it and instead buries his lower face completely into the tissues and gives himself over to the reaction. "IhhH'TIShhuHH! Haa'tshUH! Hihh'TSHhh'TISHHhh'TISCHHhuuhh!"

"Wow. Bless you," Daniel muses, a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. "You're a mess without your antihistamines, aren't you?"

Rowan cracks his eyes open to look at Daniel. He tries to shoot him a glare, but all he succeeds in doing is looking water eyed and miserable. He can't keep them open for long, either, because he starts sneezing again.

"Okay, okay," Daniel relents. He hands Rowan another bunch of fresh tissues, swapping them out for the used ones again and discarding them in the bin. "This has been really valuable information. I almost want to do a longer test to see if I can run the compound through its course. Another time, though."

"And… h-hh… hopefully a… Hihh'tSCHhuhH! Proper warning next time," Rowan requests.

"I can arrange that." Daniel smiles at him again before turning to pack up the cart.

[writteninthebinds]

Desperately trying to think of what everyone’s favorite music genre is from the arcane universe.

Vi undoubtedly has a playlist titled divorced dad or girl in her 20s filled with classic rock. Puddle of Mudd, Shinedown and Creed blast through the gym as she practices her combos.

Cait gives Boygenius. Moody, mysterious and yet still soft in certain ways. For Vi. Girl In Red, Gigi Perez. She’s listening as she treks through the woods alone, a sodden path under her boots, she looses herself in target practice and the melodies.

Jayce in a button down, wrinkled and left open, boxer shorts and calf-high socks, slipping and sliding in the kitchen as he belts out Consider Me Gone by Reba McEntire. He listens to anything he can dance to, get lost in. Letting go, he sings off key, using the spatula for a fake microphone and only stopping long enough to flip Vik’s pancakes.

Viktor craves music that tells a story. From Hozier to Sleep Token, he feels each set of lyrics. To Viktor, each song he sends or plays aloud in the lab as he and Jayce work, it means something.

Ekko’s a mix of sorts. Something soulful and gritty, found in the depths of deep rooted ancient forest and swamps. Barefoot in mud that coats and clings, that fills the cracks of your soul. Music that feels like home and heritage. Yeah, Ekko’s listening to Hurricane by The Band Of Heathens. Some Otis Redding, Marcus King too.

Jinx is giving punk teen angst forever. In her feels or just jamming out while she tinkers, it’s definitely Hot Mulligan, Neck Deep or All Time Low blasting through her spray painted speakers.

[bxriles]

What if the Court of Nightmares rebelled against Rhysand?

Chapter 1 of my fic about the rebellion in the Court of Nightmares has been posted to my ao3 here!

If you're interested, please check it out and leave a comment!

Long before Amarantha came to Prythian, an eldest daughter from the Court of Nightmares entered into a marriage with Rhysand, the future High Lord of Night. It was a political arrangement and not a particularly happy union, but it was necessary to prevent unrest in the Hewn City. Unfortunately, centuries pass and Amarantha's reign leaves scars all across the land. Prythian's stability is questioned. The Bride of Spring is stolen. And the Lady of Night mysteriously ends up dead after discovering that Rhysand has found his mate.

When news of her death arrives, the Hewn City is pushed to its breaking point. A rebellion sparks and the flames are fanned by centuries of abuse and mistreatment. Rhysand may not believe there are any dreamers left in the Court of Nightmares, but he's wrong--and those dreamers vow to be his downfall.

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s a mini ficlet but I wrote it for @wombywoo because Quinn and Vincent are so lovely 🥰

***

It’s the smile that gets him. Not the flirtatious one Vincent gives to attractive people who pass by him when they’re out on the town (on the rare occasions that he can get Quinn to go out in the nightlife). It’s that damned smile where Vincent’s eyes crinkle around un-aged skin, corners of his mouth pulled up in that cheesy grin, revealing pearly whites and a pair of twin spears.

The smile he gives him when they’re alone in bed and Quinn just said “I love you,” like a grumpy child, curled up in bedsheets, his face peeking out of the hole he made around his swaddled head.

It’s the smile Vincent gives when Quinn stands awkwardly in the kitchen, wearing a “Kiss the chef” apron, with a poorly iced red velvet cake sitting on the island; the scent of burnt cake batter wafts through the air from the oven but Vincent is so proud that Quinn managed to not burn the house down.

It’s the smile Vincent flashes when he walks in at a quarter to three and sees Fig curled up right in Quinn’s face, both of them snoring (and possibly drooling) into the pillow, sheets and blankets pulled up over Quinn’s shoulders as his pale fingers twitch in Fig’s side seeking unconscious comfort.

It’s much different from the teary eyed smile Vincent gives Quinn when the man simply says he has nothing to give but whatever he’s still worth after years of being battered and broken, Vincent can have; that band in Vincent’s pocket practically burns into his thigh when he presses his forehead against Quinn’s and shuts his eyes, enjoying the touch between them.

It’s the smile that gets Quinn. Makes the butterflies in his stomach soar like doves in the bright blue sky. Makes him remember that he has a life to live despite all his traumas and fears. That someone actually loves him enough to put up with all his bullshit and still manage to care.

It’s the smile that reminds Quinn his heart is still beating. A little broken, a little bruised, a lot of heartache—but still beating.

[thehauntedetheral]

Kidnapper Dom yandere? I have a soft spot for those!! - pet darling

This is my first time writing smut so please be kind. Requests are open!!

Yan Dom Kidnapper

• You woke up in an unknown room on an unknown bed. By the decor and how huge the room is you are sure the owner is god damn rich. Did you had a one night stand yesterday night? You tried to remember what happened to end up here but your mind came up blank.

• You heard someone enter the room and saw a handsome man who is older than you with a strong built and tall height with black hairs. Totally a daddy material you thought. Shut up and think about the situation not about the dilf you scolded yourself in mind.

• "Glad you woke up" the dilf said.

• "How did I ended up here?"

• "Well sweetheart, I kidnapped you". He said so causally like he was talking about today's weather and not that he kidnapped you.

• You got angry and lumped towards him trying to put a fight but he just grabbed your both hands in his and made you lay on bed whispering in your ear to be a good girl. Well this was not helping your situation and rather worsening your daddy issues and praise kink making you a little wet by his little weight on you.

• He tied your hands and made you sat on his lap and told you how he stalked you for months, has been obsessed with you since his eyes set upon you .

• You listened to all this quietly while trying to process how the hell did you end up in situation that you read on your Tumblr and in smut books.

• After he told you everything. His big veiny hand got under your dress holding it up and sliding your panties down his fingers started teasing your clit at a slow tortours way making you grind against his lap.

• "Stay still" he ordered. And you did.

• He pushed one finger inside your hole then another and started thursting them in a high speed curling at your g spots making you whine and moan.

•"please" you moan feeling a knot forming in your stomach, your eyes feeling heavy.

•"please what, babygirl?" He asked fingering your hole which was leaking with your juices while his other hand played with your nipple enjoying how you are begging for him.

•"please please make me cum" you whined feeling his hands all over you. He loved hearing your moans and whine enjoying how you listened his orders.

• He fastened his pace thrusting his fingers harder at your g spot while adding a third finger making you ride his hand and see stars. The thursting, his fingers filling your cunt and his hard cock which you can feel by sitting on his lap was too much for you and you came. Your cum all spread over his fingers while you are covered in sweat.

• He took out his fingers giving your clit a little squeeze and ordered you to suck his finger clean. You followed his order and sucked and licked his fingers clean from your cum.

"Good girl" he said patting your head. Maybe being kidnapped by him isn't that bad right? After all i am just a girl 🎀

Want part 2? Let me know through comments.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[seaheaded]

𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀

cregan stark x original female character

synopsis: "mermaid!" he declared. and that is what she was. aērwyn, one of the many children of the sea god, and the most predictable of all. or so it was believed... for disobeying a life changing rule of the merfolk, aērwyn is banned from her home. then, she is alone. abandoned by the only one she thought loved her, and stripped of all that made her welcome in the sea god's halls. what no one, specially herself, expects, is for the young woman to find more than loneliness in her punishment. but, even then, life does not become a simple path for aērwyn to follow, causing her to wonder if pain is her destiny, and the search for redemption her doom.

chapters – (2/?)

tags: character driven story, original characters, eventual romance, angst, magic, magical creatures, deities, doomed relationships, found family, tragedy.

warnings: canon divergence, anxiety, blood, violence, death, i crush the asoiaf lore and mix the remains with my own lore (don't worry i did it gently), i know everyone wants the romance part but you'll have to wait for cregan to show up (which is in character for him), english is not my first language.

chapters:

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 + 𝐈: the unfortunate mermaid

𝐈𝐈: the prophecy

𝐈𝐈𝐈: the kiss

[porcelaindollkisses]

◍ 𝅼 𖧧 ۫ 🌸 ˑ !! ۪ ⌒ OC FIC !

𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓪 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 – cw: ftm male reader / smut / praise / reader wearing lingerie (hardly mentioned)/ oc and reader are dating (lower case is intentional) aftercare is short in the fic but provided (english is not my first language)

︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

you and your boyfriend, caleb, have been dating for around a year and a half, you both go to college but he works at a coffee shop that's farther from your shared apartment, because your anniversary is in a few days, you, decided to give him a surprise

your two year anniversary has arrived, and for his surprise...you bought a white lingerie set, you felt so confident when you bought it but now..you just felt embarrassed, you checked the time and you had twenty minutes before your boyfriend got home so you got to work, you slid on the lingerie after a good shower, you applied some lip balm and you sat on the bed waiting for caleb

after waiting for what felt like hours ! your boyfriend finally came home, you heard him placed down his bag and his footsteps got louder and louder, you looked at the door when it was swung open "hey babe? you in here-..." you both looked at eachother for about ten seconds before his cheeks flushed...

"so..you got this lingerie for our anniversary..?" you shyly nod "yea..m'sorry you must feel so-" when you looked down you saw his boner.. "I can help with that.." you said while looking up at him

your hands held onto his back tightly as he inserted two fingers into your tight hole, he went at a slow and soft pace, he whispered sweet words into your ear, how you're doing so good for him, how you're his beloved, after a few minutes of prep and reassurance, he positioned his cock to your entrance, he held your leg and that was on his shoulder while your body was on its side( the lying lift postion ), he pushed in slowly "c-caleb.." you whimpered "sh..sh..sh..it's ok my love, you're doing great f'me.." after he was full inserted he had a slow and soft pace, you squirmed and moaned from pleasure, he kisses your thigh softly "you're so cute..ngh~.." he said in a lovingly tone, "so pretty.." he said as he played with your lace white panties, as his pace quickened, you felt yourself getting closer and closer..so caleb reached down and rubbed your clit, and you started gripping the sheets tightly while you felt your orgasm building up, "caleb !~" you moaned helplessly . he started rubbing faster until you came all over his hand, his orgasm following shortly after.

after you both showered, you cuddled up to him while watching a movie together..

(finished this at 2:50 am i think)