#It's about on par with burning your tongue

[enby-soup-computer]

I would also like to add cinnamon candy

candy discourse, reblog w/ your opinions on

• candy corn • licorice • peanut butter + chocolate • mint + chocolate • sour candies

[artdcnaldson]

in the sex lessons au, reader was definitely introduced to porn by patrick. i bet he also gave her massages that “required” her to take off her shirt and bra and always ended up with his hands on her nipple….

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mutual masturbation, exhibitionism kinda, more manipulative perverts but that’s par for the course)

A/N: how did you know I eat this up. I wrote a 3 part Steve Harrington fic with this exact plot like…. This is my bread and butter simply. Unedited sozz

It was easy to succumb to temptation when it was just the three of you— holed up in Art’s dorm, hidden away from the rest of the world.

A few cans of beer, cold from his mini fridge, the warm press of your legs on top of Patrick’s, of Art’s chest against your back. There’s a movie playing on Art’s laptop— some shitty action movie he’d rented for the three of you.

“Have you ever watched porn?” Patrick asks you bluntly.

Your eyes widen in surprise. “What? No— websites like that give you computer viruses, and stuff.” Art laughs, his body shaking with it. You suppose it is a little childish, but you’re being completely earnest. “What? Doesn’t it?”

Patrick laughs, shakes his head. “If that were true I would’ve gone through a thousand computers by now.”

You grimace, toss an empty beer can at him. “You’re so fucking gross.”

But Patrick just laughs, takes another swig of his beer, leans forward curiously. “So… I mean, do you just use your imagination when you’re touching yourself?”

Heat burns in your cheeks, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Well, how do you know what you need to imagine if you’ve never seen anyone fucking? Is it just sweet kisses and hand holding?”

You kick him and Art comes to your defense like the sweetest knight in shining armor. “C’mon, Patrick, leave her alone.” Art’s hand is splayed across your tummy— firm, warm, protective. Patrick pretends like he doesn’t hear him, leans closer.

“I wanna know what innocent little fantasies you get off to. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” It’s hard to resist Patrick when he’s so close, when Art’s so close, when you feel warm and dizzy all over.

You sigh softly, relishing as he presses his warm body against your side, so it’s Patrick and Art and you sandwiched hot between them. “You realize you’re being a major fucking perv, right?” You ask in a low tone, meeting his gaze through your lashes. He nods, and you’re so conscious of his hand between your knees as his eyes bear into yours. But he wants you to continue, so you swallow and go on. “I dunno, sometimes it’s not about a fantasy. It’s just about me wanting some stress relief, or, like, my body needing it and it’s too hard to ignore.”

Art’s fingers flex against your stomach and you take a slow breath. “But, I mean, I guess I fantasize about being desired, like, taken care of I guess,” you mumble, mortified that you’re admitting it.

Patrick grins, runs his thumb along the inside of your knee. “That’s so sweet.” You roll your eyes, take a long drink, and try to ignore the heat in your stomach. “Do you want to see what Art likes to watch?”

Art’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. “No, no, we’re not doing that,” he says firmly. Patrick brushes him off, ignoring his pleas as he grabs the laptop and pulls up his trusty porn site. You peer over Patrick’s shoulder, eyes going wide as he opens to the home page, to all the recommended videos.

Your jaw drops, just a bit, and you let your eyes rake over the screen. It’s all right there— flagrant. Pretty girls with dicks in their mouths, pussies, hands. Lewd titles, the preview videos playing brief glimpses of obscenity.

“Aww, Art, this is so adorable,” Patrick teases as he scrolls. “Girl best friend deepthroats like a champ. Morning lovemaking ends in creampie.” Art mumbles something against your shoulder, blushing so hard you can feel the heat emanating from his skin.

Patrick clicks the latter and it opens to slow, deep kissing. A mess of tongues, rife with need. You know it’s normal to watch, to an extent— a right of passage, or whatever. But watching it feels so voyeuristic, so invasive. Especially when you’re practically in Art’s lap, when Patrick’s hands are hot against your skin.

Patrick gets bored of soft kissing and wandering hands and skips five minutes ahead in the video. By the time the buffering catches up, they’re fucking onscreen, all slow and sweet. Still kissing, still holding hands. But you also see the way the man’s cock sinks into her, can hear the moaning, the wet sounds of her body taking him in.

Art exhales a shaky breath against your skin, makes you shiver. He’s hard, you can feel that clearly against you, and you know he’s provably fucking mortified over it. But he doesn’t move to turn off the video, doesn’t do anything. His hand twitches against your stomach and you realize he’s still holding you.

The video is short— too short, you decide. The man finishes, you get a close up of the woman’s pussy, of cum dripping from her entrance. It makes your face burn, makes desire burn equally as hot as your embarrassment. The video ends, and Patrick stops auto play.

“Art, that shit is so fucking boring.” It snaps your attention from the paused screen over to him, who seems completely unaffected. You might actually believe he was unaffected if he wasn’t visibly hard.

You peer over at Patrick curiously. “What do you watch?”

He smiles, like he’d been waiting for you to ask, and grabs the laptop. Art makes a weak complaint that Patrick is going to fuck up his recommendations, but is ignored. Patrick logs in to an account and opens a tab for liked and saved videos.

Oh. You lean forward for a better look, expression twisting between shock and interest and confusion and disgust. Patrick’s tastes vary widely— venturing into areas you hadn’t even known were sexual. It’s like he had thrown everything at the wall to see what would stick, and everything just stuck.

“Oh my god, Patrick,” Art mutters, equally as intrigued as you are. “What the fuck, dude.” Art steals the laptop, scrolling through thumbnails of feet and anal and gangbangs and piss and bdsm dungeons and girls in stupid fucking schoolgirl costumes.

Patrick grabs the laptop back roughly, scrolls and clicks. “This one’s good, it’s perfect for when you just want to cum fast. Art, I know you don’t have that problem.”

Art flips him off and looks at the screen, reading the title aloud. “One hour squirting and cumshot compilation. Could you be any grosser?”

“Yes, actually. Sorry I don’t watch your sweet lovemaking bullshit.” Patrick shoves him, then Art shoves him back, and suddenly the laptop is on the floor in front of you and you’re just watching while they squabble on either side of you.

The video is exactly as described— it skips all of the pretense, all of the build up. It’s just people cumming, over and over and over. Your body feels like a live wire as you watch, lit up all over.

You squeeze your thighs together, conscious of the heat and wetness between them. Patrick clocks it— of course he does. A smirk plays at his lips.

“Maybe it’s not so disgusting, Art. She likes it.” Patrick relishes in the hazy, innocent look in your eyes as you meet his gaze. Relishes in the embarrassment and the need. “It’s good, huh? Getting to watch?”

You nod and Patrick takes your hand, slips it beneath the waistband of your shorts. “Go ahead. You want to.”

You shiver, temptation itching down to your fingertips. Sensing your hesitation, Patrick spits into his hand, slips it into his own shorts. You manage to hold out a few more seconds before you let your fingers brush over your clit.

“C’mon Art, don’t be a fucking creep,” Patrick says, moaning as he works his fist faster. Art swears under his breath and quickly shoves his own hand into his boxers.

You’re all so close, bodies pressed together hot and firm. You can feel the way their bodies move with each stroke, the way their thighs tense as they instinctually buck into their fists.

You moan, head falling against Art’s shoulder. His hand splays against you, inches up, brushing against the underside of your tit. It makes you whimper.

Patrick grabs your face, redirects your attention back to the screen. “Keep watching, it’s getting good.” His voice is strained, affected.

He usually lasts longer than this when he’s in your hand or your mouth, but maybe the video really was that good. Surely it didn’t have anything to do with you, panting and writhing as you rubbed at your clit beside him.

For once, Patrick cums first— doubling over, groaning muffled into your hair. Then it’s Art, whining so pretty, pulling you closer, mouthing at your shoulder as he comes down. And then you, overwhelmed by the two boys on either side of you, cumming with a rush of wetness that ruins your already soaked panties.

You sit there panting as the video continues playing— obscene wet, lewd sounds, wanton moans. Art hits stop, shuts the laptop and kicks it away.

You wonder why every time you hang out with them, it always seemed to end like this. And you wonder why you don’t mind, not even a little bit.

[elegantlyeva]

I loved your last Scott fic and was wondering if you could do something with just him and fluffiness for his girl? (Or as fluffy as he can get)

Burned Breakfast

a/n: Thank you for the request babe! i assumed you met established relationship fluff but if you meant for the pining stages lmk!!

Word Count: 0.6K

The sunlight from the early morning peeks through the blinds, the curtains wide open. One of you forgot to close the blinds, and considering you were the one woken up by the sun’s intrusion, you blame Scott.

Scott, the peaceful man soundly asleep next to you, small snores leaving his lips, despite how many times he’s rejected the idea that he snores.

Early mornings, ones right after a night in with you, were the only times he looked truly at peace. No complaints from any of his co-workers, no gum in his mouth to fidget with and no one but you to irritate him, though he enjoys you.

He had been extra nice yesterday, making dinner for the pair of you after he got home from a particularly good day with Storm Par. So, considering you were up, you thought to return the favor, slipping on your slippers and peeling Scott’s arm that lay heavily on your waist.

He moved a bit, his brows furrowing in agitation, even in sleep, when he doesn’t get his way. Eventually, he relaxes again, and you make your way out of his bedroom.

It wasn’t even half an hour before Scott started to stir, his hand reaching out to grab you, but met with your side of his bed, cold.

Scott sits up abruptly, opening his eyes in a frenzy. You never got up before him. Did you leave in the middle of the night? Had he done something wrong?

The man was contemplating his entire life when he heard a pan fall from the kitchen.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got up to follow the noise quickly. He was met with his panicked-looking girlfriend running a hand under the sink.

Scott scowls at the sight, scurrying over to you to inspect the damage.

“What the fuck were you trying to do?” he asked incredulously, kissing your cheek in lieu of a good morning.

“Cooking you breakfast,” you frown, moving your hand to motion around the mess you made in the kitchen. “Pancakes and bacon!”

Scott shook his head, laughing slightly. “Oh really?” he asks, moving to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, pushing your burned hand back under the running water when you move it away. “And how’s that working out for you?”

You narrow your eyes playfully, “You can’t be mean. I’m injured,” you say rather dramatically.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you did that to yourself.” But he moves to the fridge to collect the burn cream he kept there after a nasty incident he had a couple of months back.

He turns off the water for you and snatches your hand towards him so he can apply the cream. “Why were you trying to make me breakfast anyway? Not that I don’t appreciate it.” He raises a brow, and you smile sheepishly.

“I wanted to do something for you.”

“That’s sweet ‘n all, babe, but I promise I’m happy with waking up to you in my bed,” he says, blowing on your burned hand when you wince. “The cream won’t stop the pain, but it’s refreshing, and if you keep applying it, the burn won’t scar.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly, cheeks tinged pink at his words.

“Alright, no offense, but I'm not sure how much I trust this pancake batch,” he starts, staring judgmentally at the (burned) batch you made. You start to protest, but he cuts you off. “It’s fucking early. How about we go back to sleep for another hour, and when we wake up, I'll take you out to the diner?”

The argument dies on your tongue, and you nod, grabbing his hand. “Well, come on, then. I’ve been dying to get back to bed the second the opened curtains that someone forgot to close last night woke me up.”

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he pushes you back into the room, gently. “Thought you wanted to be nice?”

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | two.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⇢word count: 4.3k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, the cliché coffee incident pls forgive me lol, parents pushing expectations, honestly not much but an intro to y/n and her family - bit of a filler chap!

"Can you visit mom and dad this weekend with me?" You nibble on the rest of your ramen while you wait for your brother to respond. You're currently sitting on a table outside near the trees, taking your lunch under the shade.

"Can't. I have plans with the boys."

"Wonwoo." You sigh.

"What? I promise, I'll head up there the weekend after. You can come with if you want. Sorry. I just planned this ahead of time and can't go back on my word now."

"Fine." You sip your water and toss your trash onto your tray before standing and throwing it into the appropriate bins.

"What, has mom and dad been on you again about us not visiting?"

"Kinda, yeah? You know how they always make passive aggressive comments because we don't come to see them often." You grab another cup of coffee, taking your time mixing it with half and half and some sugar. "It's always 'you two are always too busy for your parents!' or a 'it doesn't even take long to visit your parents!'" Your younger brother sighs as you quietly hand over some cash to the mobile coffee shop attendant.

"I know, but they also don't understand we've got our own things going on, too."

"I guess, yeah." You lick your lips and take a small sip, being careful enough to not burn your tongue from the scorching temp. "We really should do better, though."

It's not that your parents were bad. In fact, your parents were amazing. They had brought up both you and your younger brother comfortably and happily, sending you both to the best schools and supporting you until you two were able to fully walk on your own two feet, soar high with your own two wings.

It truly was just life.

You had gotten busy; always working at the hospital, growing from the bottom up, barely taking any of your vacation or sick days. If you did, it was because you had to or else you'd reach your max, or because you truly were rotting away in your death bed from a bad flu or food poisoning.

Otherwise, you were always at work. You were always with your girls. You were always going to lagree or bootcamp style studio classes. You were always doing something to occupy your time— mainly work. And the same thing goes for your brother, younger than you by 2 years.

He's just a boy.

But, he's your brother and you're incredibly close to him. He was always listening, was always good growing up. Would always protect you, especially from dumb boys and fake friends. He got good grades and went to college overseas before moving back home and settling down. Since then, he's always learned how to be on his feet— barely ever staying stationary. He, too, was always out with his boys. Working as a full-time software engineer, working out. Traveling when he gets the chance. Dating every now and then. But, you do love that he's living life and spending time with good people. He seems to have a good balance between his work and personal lives, which makes you happy.

It's just unfortunate that you two can't seem to manage slipping in more time with your parents. You both had agreed to do better about it, especially with your parents getting older.

"Are you still gonna see them this weekend, or are you gonna wait for me?"

"Yeah, I'll pop in for a second. I already told them I'd swing by."

"Hm." He hums. "Tell them we'll stop by for longer next weekend."

"Yeah, after I get the earful first." 

"They won't." He clears his throat. "So, how's work been? Ate lunch well?"

"Yeah, I did. Work's been kinda crazy. They're opening this new department at the main hospital and it's expanding into the pediatrics side, too. We've been gearing up for it."

"Oh, really?" You nod as if your brother can see you.

"Yeah. They've been working with adult patients for their two studies, but they're going to start their pediatrics study soon. Pending on the IRB approval. But, once that's all good, they're hoping to secure their first patient, and we need to have everything ready to go."

"That's pretty cool."

"It is, but kinda hectic. Too many moving parts and people involved. It's a lot to keep up with."

"I'm sure you'll handle it well. You always do." You let out a small sigh before checking your watch and slowly walking back towards the peds hospital. 

"Hope so. Work's been okay for you?" He chuckles.

"Same old! Nothing much has changed. Not like that, anyway."

"I see. So, what happened to that one girl you were seeing recently?"

"Uh, we're just better off as friends."

"Better keep that to yourself before mom starts setting you up on blind dates."

"Same goes for you. She'd probably go for you first. Been tryna marry you off." You roll your eyes.

"It's not my priority and she doesn't get that."

"She wants a grand baby and lowkey, I kinda want a nephew or niece to spoil, too." 

"You're no help." He snorts. "Anyway, I gotta head back to my office and get some work done, I got a big meeting for that new department later today."

"Alright. Well, text me when you get home and try to take it easy."

"I will, you too, punk." Wonwoo chuckles. "Love you."

"Love you too!" And with that, the call ends. Your eyes are glued to your phone as you continue to walk back towards the hospital. The weather isn't too bad today, a slight breeze hitting your skin to balance out the warmth from the sun. You continue to switch between keeping your eyes in front, back down to your phone as you scroll through social media to catch up to things you've missed over the past few hours. When you finally get into view of the familiar building and the side lobby entrance, you slip in and head straight to the elevator without paying much attention— especially when it dings and slides the doors open for the individual behind to step out. You feel a soft thud; your body slightly coming into contact with theirs, causing some of your coffee to spill out of the opening on the lid. 

"Oh— oh shit, I'm so sorry!" You look at the tall figure, wide-eyed as you survey his outfit to make sure your coffee didn't spill everywhere on his jacket.

"You're good." He says, eyes coming down to his jacket. There's a few drops of coffee dripping down near the zipper, but nothing that can't be fixed.

"I'm soooo sorry." You repeat as you dab a napkin at his jacket.

"No, seriously. It's fine. You're good." He laughs, brushing you off in a friendly manner. "Nothing laundry can't fix."

"Still another piece to add to your load." You look up at him and slightly pout. "Sorry."

"Maybe just be careful next time?" He gives you a small smile before he brushes past and out of the elevators. You realize he's got his large hand still propped up to prevent the elevator doors from closing on you, and you can't help but feel extra embarrassed. You do a tiny nod before he lets out a small chuckle and walks away, allowing you to be in your peace as you slip into the elevator and watch the doors close in front of you.

It just had to be him.

you: i almost spilled my coffee on a really cute guy ☹️

wonwoo: he'll def never come near you again. way to go sis 💗

you: you're a piece of shit

wonwoo: 🥰

You click your teeth and sigh as you step out of the elevator and onto your floor. You had been working as project manager supporting the pediatrics unit for about a year and a half now, starting at the hospital a few years ago as an admin associate and slowly working your way up.

"What? What's wrong, hun?" Your coworker and also one of your childhood bestfriends, Noeul, chimes in. She works as an HR manager, but her team sits nearby— giving you two the numerous opportunities to chit-chat and catch up in between meetings and tasks.

"I almost spilled my coffee on some really cute guy." She purses her lips together before giving you a toothless smile.

"I mean, you didn't, right?"

"No. Maybe a few drops. Now he'll have another piece of laundry to add to his load. All because of me."

"That's a good way to be memorable." You sigh. "I'm sure he wished he got your number."

"Wow, you're the complete opposite of my brother and I love that." She laughs.

"Of course, I'll always support you."

"How'd your meeting go?" She shakes her head.

"I don't know. So many sensitive issues. I think they only keep escalating and getting worse."

"Are you still dealing with that one manager and her staff member that weren't getting along?"

"Yup. That's exactly the thing that's getting worse."

"Sheesh. I hope they find middle ground soon, or at least find new avenues so they don't have to work with each other."

"Hope so too!" She looks at you. "When's your big meeting with the hospital people?"

"Hm." You hum and check your watch. "In the next hour." You settle at your desk and she follows along, sitting on the edge of the corner. "My inbox blew up over lunch so I gotta take care of a few things before I head over." You sip on your coffee.

"My busy bee." You give her a look. "Goodluck! Let me know how the meeting goes. I've gotta file a few reports and hop into a few other meetings myself. I'll see you later for a quick break?" You give her a small smile.

"Goodluck to you, too." She blows you a little kiss before she's prancing away to her desk, greeting people on the way over. You busy yourself before you need to start packing up and heading over to the main hospital, drowning in a few urgent emails that came in over your lunch break. Time sure flies when your brain is scattered everywhere, your to-do list seemingly never-ending and tossing you in a million different places at once. 

You gather your things about 10 minutes before the meeting, which, doesn't give you much wiggle room in case you get lost. You don't go to the main hospital often, and you're not even sure if you have access to the room or how all of this would work. You are familiar with a few people also attending the meeting, but they're equally just as busy and are probably coming from other commitments. 

You let out a small breath as you power walk over to the main hospital, happy you're at least getting your steps in for the day. You trickle into the huge lobby along with others, turning towards the left where the elevators are located. You press the button, waiting alongside a visitor as the elevator makes its way down from the 6th floor. You step in and patiently wait off to the side, checking your work calendar on your phone to make sure the meeting was indeed today.

Why does it feel like you're the only one heading over?

Were you the only one late at this point?

You step out of the elevator once you make it up to the 7th floor, pausing in your steps because— where the fuck do you go now? It was such a maze in this hospital, you didn't know whether to go left or right; the numbers on the doors skipping from one number to another. You turn to you right just because you go with your gut, hearing a trail of soft voices as you finally see a group of people heading towards a huge conference room further down [and definitely closer to your left had you just turned that way]. You pick up your pace, nodding and sending soft smiles to the familiar faces that catch you through the window of the room as they settle into their seats. Rushing over, someone is stationed at the door— probably waiting for you to make it inside.

"Thank you— oh, hi." You look up at the same, tall figure you damn near spilled your entire cup of coffee on.

"Hi." He gives you a toothless smile as he holds the door open for you. "Well, at least you aren't ramming into me with your cup of coffee this time." He jokes and you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Yeah, mm'sorry about that still." You wince and slightly pout.

"I'm just joking. No worries. It happens." He smiles down at you, waiting for you to walk into the conference room. You give him another subtle, short bow before slipping into a chair on the opposite side of the table. You watch as he greets people coming into the room, a bit confused as to why he's still standing by the door until he finally sees the face he's been looking for. 

He's got some kind of wit, some charm. Can't deny it's pretty attractive.

And to your surprise, he plops down in the seat next to you, followed by one of his team members [the said face he'd been looking for] you assume.

"Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." He gives you another toothless smile before eyeing your badge. 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He puts out a hand for you to shake. "Yunho."

"Nice to meet you as well, Yunho." You shyly respond. "At least I don't have to call you the guy I almost spilled all my coffee on anymore."

"Yeah, no." He laughs. "This is Taehyun, my team lead. Taehyun, Y/N." You and Taehyun give each other small, curt bows just as the higher ups step in and settle at the front of the room. 

"Hey everyone! Thanks for meeting. I know everyone is super busy so it's much appreciated." Yoori says as she flips her laptop open and pulls up the agenda slide on the powerpoint presentation. The meeting kicks off with small introductions around the table since a lot of people hadn't worked together like this, especially you and a select others mainly supporting pediatrics. When Yunho introduces himself, you find yourself enjoying the way he speaks. He's got a deep tone, but nothing off-putting. He speaks lightly and positively, chuckling in between statements.

Yeah, he's def got a witty charm to him.

When it's your turn to speak, you can feel Yunho's eyes from the side. He's paying attention and listening closely even if these are quick introductions to the team. He notices the way you shyly smile at those around you, still managing to speak clearly and concisely despite your nervousness that's physically manifesting in the way that your hands tug on the material of your jeans, fiddling with your fingers underneath the table in between the conversation.

Cute.

Then, after the light, airy introduction portion, the presentation gets a lot more technical, and you find that you're actually more involved in this than you expected. You're being asked to oversee the development of the clinical trial room in the pediatric wing, along with scheduling biweekly meetings to discuss updates. Making sure all required attendees are at the meetings and driving things forward. Coordinating across calendars, providing updates every step of the way.

And things seem to be picking up, moving real fast. Things were stalled and slow just a few months ago; now, it's all gas, no brakes.

When it comes to dealing with the ordering structure and IT developments, Yunho takes the lead and discusses the current updates and how they're still figuring out a few tweaks. Yoori is diligently taking notes on her own laptop, along with everyone else who is clarifying through questions of their own.

"Y/N, can you please work with Yunho and his team and the clinical informatics team to make sure the patient ordering enhancements will be taken care of and pushed through? Along with securing the data storage and network? I'll send you the list of required attendees that need to be at each meeting to help push these efforts forward. Let's prioritize this and try to get that done within the next week." You nod, glancing over to Yunho afterwards. He's got his chin resting on the palm of his hand and his eyes dart down to you. His brows perk up before he gives you a tiny, toothless smile. You feel your hands get sweaty from the look alone, so you divert your attention back to your laptop— typing up the rest of your notes on the side. Yunho can't help but glance over at your incredibly organized notes and the way your emails are categorized; all the folders within folders. 

Never-ending folders.

Definitely Type A. 

He does like that, though. Can't help but feel a little endeared by it. 

As the hour long meeting progresses, you feel yourself getting slightly overwhelmed by your growing task list. You can't help but feel an itch to get to your desk to scribble in your planner and get your thoughts organized. 

And as soon as the meeting ends, you cut out with quick goodbyes before rushing over to your office. Yunho was hoping to catch you afterwards to talk a little more, but he watches as you leave, the opportunity now a long gone thought. 

"Where'd you go?" Sian, your other good friend, asks. She's in the finance department, and typically comes over to check in with you and Noeul, especially when she has to drop off some mail for the peds hospital. "You and Noeul were both gone."

"I had that meeting, remember?"

"Oh shit, yeah. How'd it go?"

"I don't know." You plop onto your desk and let out a huff, pulling your planner from your bag before pulling up your notes in the cloud on your desktop computer. "So many things to do and everything feels so urgent." You've already got a few people to meet, along with pushing the operational aspect of this huge project. You've got your hands tied.

"Wow, they're moving fast with this."

"Yeah, very." You shake your head as you write out your thoughts, suddenly pausing to look back up at her as she fiddles with the figurines on your desk. "Hey, do you know the IT managers well?"

"Most of them, yeah."

"Do you know Yunho?"

"Jeong Yunho?" You shrug since you didn't really catch his badge on him. "He's the only Yunho I know of. How could you not know him?"

"Girl, I'm mostly on the peds side, I rarely come to that end." You giggle.

"He's handsome as hell. Tall. Super nice and helpful. Him and his team are so good about coming to the rescue ASAP." Sian nudges you and wiggles her eyebrow. "He's a single dad. I believe his daughter is 10? 11? Probably 11."

"Mm, dad of a pre-teen girl."

"Hey. He's making it." Sian shrugs. "Heard he's a really good father despite losing his wife years ago. I'm sure it must have been incredibly hard." You nod.

"Yeah, I can only imagine."

"He's good friends with Park Seonghwa from marketing. I think they're besties or something." You nod. 

"I only know Seonghwa from the one interview I did with him when we did the remodeling project at the peds oncology unit. After that, barely have spoken a word to him."

"He's a little hottie, too. But, I heard he's got a thing going on with Yoori."

"Yoori? Like.. Director Yoori?" Sian nods.

"They're so weird about it, though. Definitely not known publicly, but people have seen them out together a select few times. Or, seeing Seonghwa go to her house."

"Nosey." You laugh.

"Well, it's definitely a small world around here." 

"Hm." You hum. "So interesting, especially after I just saw her. I would have never suspected."

"What about Yunho, though?"

"First, I almost spilled my coffee on him this morning." Sian nods.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I'm not that clumsy." 

"Mmkay." Sian laughs. "How much coffee?"

"A few drops." You make a face. "And then he ended up being in the meeting and sitting right next to me." 

"See, big hospital but small world." You chuckle. 

"Feels like college."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of Yunho." You furrow your brows when you see a little notification pop up in your Slack app.

yunho: hey! 

you: hi there! you found me!

yunho: 😀 sorry, i tried to catch you after the meeting but you rushed out. 

you: oops, yeah. i just had a few things to catch up on. 

yunho: all good! do you wanna schedule some time to meet before scheduling the wider meeting with everyone else? i can walk you through everything so we're on the same page.

you: sure, yeah! that'd be helpful. i'm pretty free next week. i just prefer not to schedule anything over lunch if it can be helped. 😅

yunho: i'm the same, don't trip. lol. i'll send you an invite for early next week. what time do you get in usually?

you: mm, around 7:30-8am.

yunho: hm, wanna do 10am on monday then?

you: good with me. ☺️ thank you, yunho!

yunho: sure thing!

"Aw, he even went out of his way to message you." Sian watches you exchange messages from behind.

"Girl, please? We need to talk about getting the patient ordering system together and fixing all the infrastructure for the peds unit." 

"Sounds like you'll be working with him closely? I'm actually kinda surprised his team is on this. Not saying they aren't great, but they're a bit smaller and support other departments." Sian ponders for a bit. "The other IT teams are pretty swamped though, now that I think about it. They probably have the best bandwidth right now."

"Who knows. But, yeah. I guess so. His team lead was also there."

"Maybe you'll get close to Yunho."

"Maybe I won't and just get my job done while minding my own business."

"Y/N. You're single and he's single, don't be so quick to cut him off just because he has a kid. You should put yourself out there again." She teases and you roll your eyes.

"Get out." She snorts. You hate that she's a little right about it; it had been awhile since you were in a serious relationship. You might've messed around with an old college classmate a few times, but it was so casual it ended up fizzling out all by itself and that was that. It's not like you had any bad relationships, either. They just weren't a fit, but you didn't hold any bad blood towards each other. Your mom was tired of it, though. She was hoping you'd finally stay in a serious, committed relationship— one where you'd end up walking down the aisle, settling down in a nice family home, one or two little ones running around [or more, she wouldn't be mad about it]. Maybe that's why you also dread visiting home, because she never fails to remind you that she's waiting, and that time doesn't wait for anyone. She gives Wonwoo a piece of it, too. 

Just not as much as you.

It's always this game of comparison, trying to one-up her friends in some fashion. It's frustrating to deal with. She didn't understand that you were good with where you were at. And even if you did long for a partner and affection in that sense, it's not like you could wish for it to happen and change your life overnight. These things take time. These things need to develop naturally, wholeheartedly, genuinely;

It wasn't your time yet, you guess.

"Anyway, are we still having our little girls night at your place tomorrow?"

"Mhm. Just gotta visit my parents first then I'm all yours."

"Ah." She nods. "Is your brother coming along?"

"Nope. Next weekend, though."

"Goodluck, sweets. Tell us all about it when we come over." Sian looks at her watch. "I was gonna try to wait for Noeul, but I guess she got caught up in some things. I should head back." You nod. "See you tomorrow, my love."

"See you." She smiles before giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze and turning on her heel to take her walk back over to the main hospital.

As the afternoon rushes by, you're able to dock off a few more things on your list before feeling satisfied enough to call it a day. You decide you're a little too tired and worn out to be driving elsewhere for food, so you'll pop into the main hospital cafeteria.

wonwoo: did you spill your coffee on anyone else today?

you: no 🫥

wonwoo: [sends money]

wonwoo: go get a massage or something dude, relax

you: are you serious?!

wonwoo: yeah. 🙄 got a lil bonus from work, so if i'm eatin, you eatin too i guess.....

you: best brother award 😭

wonwoo: u don't mean it

you: i do!!! ily!!! 💕 i'll never call you bighead again!

wonwoo: yeah u def don't mean it

You giggle to yourself, feeling comforted by your brother even at a distance. The thing about your relationship with Wonwoo is that you two were always sharing in each other's ups and downs— good days, bad days. There was never any competition or need to feel like one had to do better than the other, thankfully; and this was a prime example of how close you and your brother were. You truly can't wait to hang out with him next week. You adore him to bits.

As you head back to the main hospital to grab food for dinner before leaving for the day [you definitely prefer the food there], you catch Yunho speaking to one of the nurses on her way out. She's blushing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while she laughs. Yunho looks nervous, but he's keeping himself pretty composed by the way he's smiling and laughing along with her. You brush past them quickly, and you aren't sure if Yunho noticed you or not— not like it matters, anyway. 

He was definitely asking her out. And by the looks of it, she said yes. She had been wanting to say yes for awhile. 

Welp, there goes the really cute guy you spilled coffee on. 

It wasn't your time yet, you guess.

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[fridaysmind]

Skybound!Starcream x Yandere!reader

I love him so much. wanna just...ok, dont mind... !Skybound spoilers!

He was beautiful.

He marveled at his dazzling beauty when he first appeared. His eyes burned like wildfire, his every movement was so precise, so light, his flight through the sky seemed like a dance, if only he hadn't grinded human bodies in his huge metal palms with that very lightness. Not that this brutality spoiled him in any way. The splattering of people's blood seemed to freeze in the air as if in slow motion, and it seemed as if the petals of red roses were flying all around him. The monstrous screams of real terror of the crowd and deafening gun shots paled before his voice, his maniacal laughter. He appeared before mankind as a true angel of death.

He remained something unimaginable even after the betrayal of his brothers, a small, quick, and extremely violent rebellion. The other grouping had not had time to clean up the robot's unconscious body, and now he hung on chains, in a secret base underground, away from the prying eyes of others. Hanging without legs and one optic, with a haggard look, so defenseless he was still deadly at the same time.

It wasn't easy to bring the fighter to its senses, it couldn't be handled like a normal machine, but the effort was worth it. Of course, for the sake of general safety, his vision is limited and the chains are pulled tighter around, causing him to cling to even more attention. How cute he is, waking up in an unknown place, seeing nothing and unable to move. Adorable. Then shouts and a wave of questions, demands, assurances, threats. Everything but a hint of neutral, not even kind, words came out of his mouth. Like a sharpened blade, always ready to plunge into another's flesh. He'd promised to contact his own, but it was worth reminding him, oh, sweet warrior, who left you in this condition? Would they not come here just to finish their business? And the rage was replaced by a much quieter anger. Is it possible to wait long enough to speak of its beauty? Perhaps this task is easy for those ignorant enough to fail to recognize art. How dare they attack you after your labors and patience? How could they betray and mob you and tear you apart like a stranger? And even after that, you got up from your knees, said you dared not surrender, even offered compromises, but you did not run away, stood your ground and fell so honorably. You were perfect.

His wings twitch, trying to move, but patting the wall behind him with a clatter. Fantastic. A proud creature. Forgetting revenge and anger, he praises himself without the slightest bit of embarrassment and says his name in passing, along with words of power and conquest. Beautiful, sonorous, pleasing to the ear and tongue.

Starscream.

He doesn't think to stop, continues in his blinded and shackled state to utter insults in the direction of all those who dare to be against him, almost tearing his voice from his tirade about the unworthy and weak that have only miraculously lived millions of years on par with all the powerful individuals of their faction.

Millions of years, one wonders… and for such creatures to live so long, the luck for a human to live a hundred years is no more than a joke, a blink of an eye. And is it possible that at least the long decades of loyalty and patience for humans would one day be allowed to freely approach and leave a fleeting kiss on those lips that love to stretch in a cruel grin? It's a senseless and utterly stupid idea for sure, but for the sake of a ghostly chance one is willing to take a risk. To save him, to fix him, to help spread his wings again. And kiss.

Oh, Lord, if you hear my prayer, grant me the opportunity for just one fleeting kiss.

[kenslilove]

᯽⸱៰ ͘ ࣭⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ  BEEG BEEFY MEN—

A.N. this is a repost (wiff some much needed editing) from my old blog, plus i added in mister souf terano and mister miguel o'hara <33 they deserve to be in a post all about the biggest n the beefiest <3

FT. Bokuto, Taiju, Tengen, Toji, Osamu, Draken, South, Miguel

W. nsfw, MINORS DNI, fem bodied reader, size kink, manhandling, ptv, d/s dynamics, daddy kink, overstimulation, edging, implied age gap for toji’s part, mentions of creampie, slight exhibitionism for Osamu, drool, cute pet names like baby, princess, etc, titles used: daddy, papa, sir, papi

Bokuto: 

Bokuto who works out 6 days a week and still runs on the 7th 😔 he’s always working on his muscles, making sure he’s physically fit and always up to par for volleyball. Iwaizumi keeps him on a strict workout regime and he doesn’t mind that, considering it shows results and makes him feel good. You honestly don’t mind the schedule either, because you get to watch him pump bars over his head, muscles contracting and rippling, sweat dripping in beads along his toned chest. He’s a god really, with a build like that, and your eyes can’t help but stayed glued to him. It’s only when he clears his throat that you realize you’ve been caught, cheeks suddenly starting to burn as you snap your eyes away from his abs and up to his face. That smug look of his doesn’t help your embarrassment, making you bite your lip sheepishly. “Enjoyin the view, birdy?” He asks through a grin, and you don’t bother lying, you’ve been caught away so you nod, heart doing a little flip in your chest when he holds a hand out to you. You don’t hesitate to go to his side, allowing his hand to guide your own over the plane of his abs. Your fingertips trace the defined muscles there, despite how they still contract and sweat and you sigh softly, pupils basically in little heart shapes when you look back up at him. “You look so good, Koutarou….” 

He’s got you laid out flat on his workout bench, clothes were haphazardly thrown across the padded flooring. Your slips hang open in a silent cry as he looms over you again, chest pressed right up to your back as his cock bullies its way to the hilt back into your gummy walls. His groan right next to your ear is almost overwhelming, his body swallowing you up and taking over all your senses as his hips hump up against your ass, pushing and pulling his cock shallowly in and out of you. When you let out a hiccuping sigh against the leather of the bench he chuckles softly, teeth grazing against your ear. “Liked bein stuffed like this, huh baby? Wanna be stuffed with cum too, don’t you?” You nod because the words don’t form, becoming lost on your tongue and replaced with whines as soon as Bokuto starts rotating his hips. One thick arm manages to slip underneath you and his palm rests open on your tummy, uncaring of the sweat and slick that makes everything a little messier. “Cum f’me.” His words vibrate against your back, his index finger managing to find your clit to add a steady pressure to the pulsing bud. You would have  jolted, but you’re trapped beneath him, so all you can do is let out a shaky sob. “Cum f’papa and I’ll give you exactly what you want~” 

Taiju: 

Taiju is a busy man, running his successful restaurant was a full-time job that took up a lot of his time. And yet despite this, he always made time for his baby. He’d take you along to special events, and business meetings, but especially to suit fittings. You were the one that made him rekindle his relationship with Mitsuya, knowing that he would be the best person for the job in terms of making a suit that would actually fit Taiju’s size and stature. You claimed you went to talk to Mitsuya, which may have been part of the reason, but Taiju knew why you went along to every fitting. You got to see him almost naked, arms outstretched and shoulder blades contracting as Mitsuya took his proper measurements. He watched you through the full-length mirrors that covered the studio walls. How you’d press your thighs together, squirming in the chair you sat in. How your eyes would get glossy when he’d slip the brand new suit jacket on, testing the fit and how it would look perfect on his frame. The best is when he’d pull the suit pants on for the first time and your eyes were literally glued to his butt, lip bitten between your lips almost swollen. Mitsuya would leave the room as Taiju undressed into his normal clothes, and it’s only then that he’d scoff softly, eyes a bit narrowed as he finally catches your attention. “You’re so obvious.” He states, only making you fiddle with the hem of your skirt a bit more as you try to play innocent. “Staring at me like a piece of meat. Bet your panties are soaked through.” 

As soon as the two of you got back to your shared home he’d have you pinned against a wall. If you had it your way you would’ve done it in the car, but Taiju wanted to make you wait and teased you the whole drive. Reminder you that only whores get that hot and bothered so easily, held your thigh in his big hand cause he knew it made you melt seeing how he could so easily grip the fat there. He picked you up at this point, your skirt bunched up at your waist and your panties ripped clean off. His hands gripped harshly to the fat of thighs, holding you up against the wall with nothing but strength as he used the force of gravity to fuck up into you. The slap of his hips was wet from how much you were dribbling, his eyes wide and feral as he watched your head lull back against the wall, a bit of drool leaving your lips that were stuck hung in a silent scream. He grins, lips littering sloppy kisses along your neck, uncaring of the marks he left behind. “Pretty lil dumb thing…” he murmurs, grinding his hips so his cock could thoroughly stir your insides. “This is all you think about, isn’t it? Getting fucked open by my big cock?” That caught your attention, nodding your head as your nails leave crescents into his shoulder. You’re mumbling “yes sir, yes Taiju” as his speed suddenly picks up, loving the feeling of your breasts bouncing against his chest. “Such a good girl.” 

Tengen: 

Tengen knows he’s attractive, he has 4 wives who all adore him, of course, he’s attractive. He also knows very that he’s built like a god, with muscles that bulge just right, flex and make him look even better. Sure, he got this way from hard work and dedication, but it helps too that he’s naturally flashy, with a good style and personality to go with his looks. He knows that people watch him, he knows that people flirt with him, and rather openly. Most of his wives have gotten used to this, but you? You’re a little newer, can’t help but be a bit protective and a lil insecure when it comes to your partner. So when you see two women flirting with him at a festival, something like jealousy flames within your belly. You can’t even help the way you get upset, lips twisting into a pout. It’s when one of the random women has the audacity to put her hand onto his bicep, giving it a squeeze that you lose it. You cling onto him, basically prying him away from their grimy hands and sending them a death glare in the process. The girls got the memo instantly, slinking away with grumbles and pouts of their own. To make matters worse Tengen is oblivious to it all. He was used to this, people hitting on him, but you acting like this? “What’s wrong?” He asks, the amusement in his tone only making you ten times angrier. Rather than explaining yourself you flip him off, an action that only fuels him further to get an answer out of you. 

Your back is trembling up against his chest, his fingers so lazily petting at your clit driving you absolutely wild but you can’t do anything about it. Your hands are trapped behind you between your bodies, bound by the silky material of the cord that usually holds his robe together. His cock somehow looks even bigger right now, stuffed within your quivering pussy and stretching it open. His base is covered already in a layer of your sheen that’s been steadily leaking out of you and yet he still hasn’t let you cum. You Yelp from the sudden impact of his finger tips against your swollen numb, fat tears finally spilling from your lashes and onto your hot cheeks. “Why would you ever need to be jealous, pretty? Ever?” He questions you again, fingers going back to slowly rolling your clit. You let out a soft sob, head lulling back into his broad chest as you try to buck your hips along his cock, only for his free hand to keep you firmly in place. “Don’t you know I picked you for a reason? Don’t you know I love you so, so much that I wanted you and only you to join me and the girls in our marriage?” His voice lowers as you start to flutter around his cock again, and his fingers start to speed up, finally. “Won’t ask ya again, tell me, do you know I love you?” You cry out, lips bitten swollen as you tilted your head back enough to meet his gaze. He flashes you a smile, the first one you’ve gotten since the start of this punishment and you whimper, nodding dumbly. “I-I know, I-I know daddy, m’sorry, was bein dumb—“ He shushes you with his lips, finally moving his hips. He bucks them up into you, making your whole body bounce in his lap from the sheer size difference. “Not dumb, never dumb darlin.. ya just forget sometimes…” The knot in your stomach finally snaps as he circles your clit, the squeeze of your pussy making his groan into your open mouth. “Just forget how perfect ya are f’me, that’s all.” 

Toji: 

Toji, big big Toji who knows very well that most ladies are attracted to him for his size. He likes to go for the little shy ones. The ones that stare at him with innocent eyes, look at him a little longer than they should and always manage to get caught. He’ll send you a wink, sometimes even wave playfully just to get you all the more embarrassed. His favourite type to go for though, as horrible as it is, are the girls his son is always bringing home. It’s a little fucked up, isn’t it? But Toji knows, knows that his son may try his best, but he can’t please a woman like he can, not yet anyway. So as his father, it’s his job to keep Megumi’s girls pleased when he can’t do so himself. He sees it as helping of course, surely the girl will stick with his son longer if she knows she’ll get a treat every time she comes over…

“Skirts shorter than usual…” Toji muses, his eyes lit up in amusement as his fingers brush over the soft pleats found the fabric. His hips are snapping back into your ass again just so your lips hang open, the start of a yelp about to escape had he not shoved the hem of the skirt between your lips. You muffle a whine into the material, fingers curling up against the wall you were currently pressed up against. “Musta wanted me to notice, isn’t that right dollface?” He says between a chuckle, grin getting bigger as he gets a better grip on your hips, making you stick your ass out a bit more and arch your back for him. This angle allows his cock head to smack into your cervix, kissing it with the tip and threatening and to break through. His balls are heavy as they slap against your skin, only adding to the lewd, wet slaps that echo from your cute pussy. He leans closer to your ear, whispering up against the soft flesh when you let out a string of sobs about how you’re gunna cum. “Yea? Gunna cum for daddy are ya?” He laughs when you nod, teeth sinking into your shoulder as one thick hand slides over your hips to tease on your clit, helping you reach your high faster. “Go on, make sure you’re loud enough that your boyfriend knows his daddy is fuckinh you this good.” 

Osamu:

Osamu has always been the bulkier of the two twins. His muscles weren’t as lean as Atsumu’, even in their volleyball days. He was built bigger, shoulders more broad, the baby fat on his cheeks remaining longer. Now as an adult his muscles didn’t go away, oh no, he needs them to lift the heavy bags of rice to and from the restaurant, but he has certainly filled out. Shoulders spreading, biceps bulging. A light layer of fat forms over his chest, the muscles underneath just making him look bigger. The tshirts he always wears shows these off, and although he takes no mind to how his body has changed, you certainly have. It makes you drool, when his arms flex as he quickly cuts up vegetables, when he grunts as he lifts a rice bag on his shoulder. The best is when he ties his apron around him, Accentuating just how small his waist still is despite how he’s broadened out. He doesn’t even realize how attractive he is, honestly. You can’t even help yourself when you gawk at him at work, and you certainly can’t help how heat pools between your legs. He starts to really notice when you pout up at him, pretty legs rubbing together in the stool you sit at…

“Couldn’t even wait until we got home.” He’s grumbling his words against your lips, as if he’s not happy to have his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. “Too fuckin spoiled too wait.” He added, his reprimanding turning into a grunt when your nails run through his hair, scratching lightly over his scalp just the way he likes it. He latches onto your lower lip, suckling it like his favourite treat as his big hands grab at your thighs. He tenderly squeezes the flesh he loves before gripping it, easily hauling you up onto the counter top he was previously making food on. He’s thankful you’re wearing a skirt today, because all it takes is one good tug and your panties are ripped clean off, exposing your dampened lower lips to him and making goosebumps rise on your lips. He clicks his tongue when you start to complain about how those were your favourite pair, one of his palms pressing into your tummy to easily push you back into the cold countertop. “Quit yer bitchin, I’ll get a new pair.” You were about to shoot back, but all your words get lost on your tongue when he spits onto your pussy, two thick fingers locked in and rubbing on your clit. A smirk twitches on his lips, shaking his head as he watches just how easily you come undone for him. He presses a kiss to your hip bone. “That’s it, be a good girl and take what you want, gunna fuck ya real good.” 

Draken:

we all know I could go on for hours about draken 😔 I mean do you blame me? He’s huge, the biggest of all his friends in both height and build. He’s always been naturally big, the width of his shoulders sometimes making it hard for him to find proper attire that fits him comfortably. Hence why he settles for tank tops a lot, gives him more space to breath. Would never admit it out loud but he 100% is very aware when you’re checking him out and he LOVES it. Draken doesn’t like to flaunt himself but when you do it it’s different. Makes his cheeks heat up a bit and his cock twitch knowing how damn lucky he is to have someone as pretty as you obessed with him like that. So he’ll let you stare, whether it be while he’s working at the shop, working out, or simply when the two of you are out. He’ll let your eyes linger on him, sometimes he’ll even flex on purpose, holding back laughter when you suck in a sharper breath. He will tease you about it, sometimes of course cause he can’t even help himself. He’ll turn and smirk at you, “like what you see, princess?” Or “my eyes are up here, goofy.” But comments like that always leave you in a huff and he’ll have to chase you after to make up for it. Which is fine, but sometimes, he lets you linger, lets you really stare and get yourself worked up, cause that’s when you’ll pounce him. You have such little patience, and it’s so so amusing to your big boyfriend when you try to drag his ass around to get what you desire from him. 

As soon as the two of you had returned home from your date you had dragged Draken to the couch, not even bothering to bring him to the bedroom because it had been far too long and you were craving him already. He had worn that tank top you love so much, with the low-cut arm holes that show off his toned sides and arms. You just couldn’t take it. You needed to have him. Which is how you ended up straddling his lap, needy whines leaving your lips as your fingers desperately tried to unbuckle his belt, simply settling for pawing at his crotch when you couldn’t seem to get it. He’s grinning, holding back little strings of laughter. “Eager huh?” Normally you would have snapped back at a comment like that, but when his fingers finally freed his cock, you simply sighed in contentment, licking your lips at how it stood at attention, leaking so pretty just for you to sit on. You had already discarded your bottoms, lifting yourself on your hunches and easing yourself easily onto his cock. The stretch was always mind-numbing, back arching and goosebumps forming on your thighs as you slowly worked your way over him. The little whimpers, whines, needy noises you made was a melody to Draken’s ears, his hands massaging the supple skin of your thighs as you moved at your own pace. He groaned softly when your pussy started to flutter around him already, your walls being stubborn as usual when first taking him in. “Fuck—“ he gritted out, pupils dilating when you looked at him with teary eyes, lips puffy as you huffed. “Help me, Ken, want all of you.” His hands slid from your thighs to your waist, bearing his teeth in an amused grin as he lifted you up with ease, just enough that his head sat between your walls. He didn’t hesitate when he slammed you back down on his cock, sheathing all the way on his cock, the knock of it up against your cervix making your breath leave you in a gasp. He doesn’t let up from there, using the bruising grip he has on your love handles to bounce you up and down on his cock. “So. Fucking. Needy— and you can’t even take what you want on your own? Really are just a dumb lil baby aren’t you, princess?” You’re sobbing from the brutal pace, head lulling onto his shoulder as he bounces you like you’re nothing. And to him, it’s a simple task, the pleasure of the pretty tight walls milking his cock only making it easier for him to manhandle you. “Fuck—“ he grins, planting his feet so his hips can fuck up into you, further jolting you along his cock. “You just sit pretty, daddy will do all the work—“

Miguel:

Oh Miguel. Mister broody, frustrated Miguel. This man is constantly under pressure, believing he’s carrying the weight of the spiderverse on his shoulders. And ofc he’s doing good (most of the time), but due to his tormented nature Miguel constantly has a weight on his already enormous shoulders. Sometimes he works it off with physical work outs, but his absolute favourite stress reliever is you and your pretty little body. He easy looms over you, has you pinned up against his monitor with both hands planted on it. He reminds Lyla that he’s about to be very busy, and the AI actually can’t help but feel a little bad for you because with all that tension and that 6’9 body…

“M-Miguel!” You squeak, the sound being easily drowned out by the sound of squelching. The wet slaps are emitting from your pussy, that Miguel still hasn’t been able to fit into. He’s worked four orgasms out of you already, two with his fingers and two with his mouth, and yet his cock still gets stuck in your tight, wet walls. He growls low in his throat, sharpened nails popping from his finger tips as he grips your hip even tighter, his other hand hoisting your pudgy thigh up even higher in an attempt at getting a better angle. “Cmon amor, lemme in, hm? Quit being so shy.” His tone is condescending and bordering stern as his hips buck again, another inch or two pushing past tight muscles and making your body jolt in the process. Tears sit fat in your lashes as you look over at him over your shoulder, lower lip wobbling and cheeks a bit bloated in a pout. “S’too big— s’not gunna fit—“ sympathy crosses his features only a moment. You were his baby after all, and despite how horribly he wanted to feel the fluttering of your walls around his whole cock, he also knew just how large he was, and how it wasn’t just a mere stretch. He was practically splitting you open. He bends, chest pressed right up against your back, and he coos against your lips, letting you peck and whimper against the soft flesh. “I know amor, I know corazoncito.. it’s so big.” He grips your jaw, pressing a kiss thats more firm against your lips as a means of grounding you. “But you’re gonna take it, hm? You’re gonna take the whole thing, because daddy’s telling you too.”

South:

MISTER SOUTH 7 FEET TALL TERANO‼️ oh this man is huge in every sense of the word. Bulging muscles, thick veins, huge calves. This man has to get his dress pants custom tailored to fit his legs I just know it! And the same can be said for his piano. We all saw that sketch of South’s room right? He has a grand piano! And baby, he had to get the piano adjusted slightly bc when he sat at it, he didn’t have enough space for his legs!! He’d want to tap down on the peddles and his knees would hit the poor piano! Once it was adjusted though, South played as much as he could. And luckily for him, his pretty little thing loved the sound of his piano just as much as he did. His favourite was when he had you laid across the piano, resting on your side, looking at him with those doe eyes and humming along to whatever tune he played. Yea, how was he supposed to resist?

The sweet melody had turned into something broken, keys slamming and screeching along with your cries of pleasure. “P-Papi!” South’s eyes were lit up with desire, thick hands holding your thighs up and leaving them trembling in the air. South wasn’t cornered with the way your ass was pressing into the keys, he was much more concerned with the way your sweet cunt looked swollen, stretched and splitting as he sheathed his cock within it for the nth time. His dick was coated in your milky white essence, a hefty ring of white frothing at his base and leaky onto the piano keys. Surely it would leave a puddle behind, one that dripped down sleek white keys and onto the black glossy piano legs. South made sure somewhere deep in his pleasure-filled mind he’d remember to take a picture of it. “Gata~” he purrs himself, easily manhandling over thighs over his shoulders. Your legs dangled there, only jolting with the force of his hips slapping up against your ass cheeks. “Taking Papi so well, Porra.. I’ll never get used to how perfect this cunt is, bela menina.” You nod and squeal in response because words can’t seem to form in your mind right now. No no, all you can think of right now is the sweet sting of his length stretching you open much past your limits. He leans down and peppers kisses along your sweet, hardened nipples, while his pace never lets up. He needs to have you squirting all over him and the piano. “Make a mess, pequeno amor, cmon, fazer uma bagunça…” His voice rumbles throughout your chest, and you don’t even realize you’ve reached the peek of euphoria until you soak his abs and the keys in your arousal <33

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt.1

Encounter (Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Guys. I am so sorry. I don't think that Arlecchino oneshot is being posted tomorrow. 😿Trust that it will be posted this weekend. Take this as an apology (I am fr spoiling y'all Arle fans) for the pushback. This is a repost to something I submitted as an anon to @/megistusdiary so there's a chance you've already seen this. It was written a while ago so quality is not up to par. This is the Black Butler inspired demon au! that I talked about in my poll, check it out if you want a little bit more on this concept. (Thank you guys for voting in it! :33 I'm looking forward to writing the oneshots). Series Masterlist Content Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of violence

Everything hurts. It burns, burns, burns, and you can't feel your limbs and your vision fades in and out. Your broken form twitches on the ground, and as your assailants approach you, ready to wrench the remaining life out of you slowly and painfully, with your final burst of energy and concentration, you let out a guttural screech, a summoning spell spewing from your raspy throat and bloodied teeth. 

At first, you think nothing happens. They stalk you, unfaltering despite what you have just called for. Wearing teeth-baring grins and depraved intentions, they near your crumpled body, with their dirty, despicable hands reaching out towards you. Your half-lidded eyes shut fully, and you heave out a sigh of resignation, giving up the futile struggle of staying alive. 

You hear it first before you actually see it. A sound distinct only to stilettos clicking against the ground. It jerks your attention immediately, and you twist your head slowly to face the oncoming figure. Black heels with gold adornment catch your eye, and then--

"Well, well, looks like I found the doll that called me," you hear a deep, feminine voice sibilates, voice reverberating throughout the chamber. Your gaze slowly trails up the newcomer's figure, and the white clothing, snow-white hair, and feminine features cause you to mistake her as an angel. Red-crossed pupils meet with yours. A shiver works its way up your spine but you stare in awe regardless. What kind of human was this?

One of your tormenters inquires rather rudely about the woman and storms towards her haughtily, ignorant of the fact he has just sealed his fate. There's an audible, irate click of her tongue, then a snap echoes the room. For a brief moment, your sight is filled with just red, and then your eyes widen as the aggressor bursts into a beautiful explosion of blood and guts. She walks past where once the man stood without pause, now just a puddle of blood, tutting at the blatant disrespect of the formerly alive human. Her feet stop just before you and her shadow looms over.

"A-arle...cchino?" You croak weakly as your hazy gaze sets on her. She looks so handsome, beautiful like a guardian angel, even when she's covered in red. Her lips curl up slightly and she crouches down to hook an arm behind your back and knees, lifting you bridal-style. Heat radiates from her cold-blooded being and it is so much more comforting than the icy hardness of the floor. You immediately bury your face into her shoulder while your needy hands grip onto her coat out of desperation and fear. Beneath the intense iron smell of blood, she smells of something floral, you noted with dulled surprise. 

"That is me, the Knave. And what have you called me for?" She purrs from above, repositioning you in her arms so she could support you with one arm instead of both. 

You give one single glance behind your shoulder towards the now cowering group of people, their behavior reminding you of feeble sheep rather than the bloodthirsty pack of wolves. You think that you'd like lamb chops after all of this. 

Turning your head back, you suck in a steady breath, your voice unwavering and clear despite being muffled into her clothes. "Kill them." 

"As you wish." 

Even as she draws out the sweetest, most revolting of screams from the remaining alive people, you find peace in your arms. You don't watch, instead, opting to rest your head against her and try to fall asleep to your former captors' begs of mercy. A hand combing through your hair wakes you up. You admire her sharpened red nails and her black hands, so contrasting against her unblemished and perfect skin but pretty all the same. It looks nice, sifting through your hair, it feels right, it feels perfect, even if they're dipped in blood.

"Well, I suppose we can work out the contract at a later time. For now, rest, my dear," her voice is soft and it lulls you to sleep in her arms. She tucks your head underneath her chin and walks away from the bloodbath, her darling wrapped tightly close to her.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Destiny

Summary: You desperately try to know if Gods exist. Chaplain Erebus wants to enlighten you.

Erebus/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, possessive behavior, manipulation, noncon

Author's note: so it's finally happened... God-Emperor, forgive me (no)

Word count: 2666 (lol)

Song: Enigma - Sadeness (Part I)

Sade, dis-moi Qu'est-ce que tu vas chercher? Le bien par le mal? La vertu par le vice? Sade, dis-moi Pourquoi l'évangile du mal? Quelle est ta religion? Où sont tes fidèles? Si tu es contre Dieu, tu es contre l'homme Sade, es-tu diabolique ou divin?

The Imperial Truth is the only truth in the galaxy. All must adhere to it and bring its light to all corners of the universe. If anyone dares to resist or dispute it, then they are not worthy of living. Billions lived with this truth. You lived with this truth.

But for you, these were just words, a tyrannical law that all worlds were forced to follow. Perhaps there was something wrong with you, otherwise how could an ordinary citizen of the Imperium have such... heretical thoughts.

But what happened was. You did not say them out loud, did not try to change people's minds. You simply lived in your vacuum, a safe environment. Even when the Emperor announced the creation of the Order of Remembrancers, you felt nothing. Your talents could have been revealed with new strength, you could have become famous, glorified the Legion, but you did not want this. Why, when you do not believe in the truth.

If it was the truth at all.

And yet your Master Librarian gave you no choice and deliberately obtained permission for you. As if you were a slave without will. But your Master assured you that it was for your own good. It was your destiny to be part of the Crusade.

But you were not upset for long. When you realized that you had a chance to choose a Legion, you took it. Many remembrancers wanted to join the Luna Wolves or the Emperor's Children. Quite a few wanted to join the Ultramarines. But you had another goal. Although it was difficult to get to them, as the Legion refused to accept remembrancers for two years after the triumph at Ullanor. But in the end, even the Word Bearers opened their doors for them.

You were not the best historian or iterator in the general sense. The thing is, you only studied what interested you. And if something stirred your feelings, you dove into it headlong. Your master once joked that if you had your way, you would conquer the world. Part of you wanted to say that you would.

But you weren't interested in material power, wealth, or the Imperial Truth. You were far more drawn to other things. Especially religion. Faith is an unshakable feeling, and the Emperor's desire to rid himself of it seemed almost comical. No, mankind will always seek to find God. The question is which Gods are true and which are false.

You knew that Lorgar's praise of the God-Emperor was not a rumor. This legend was not invented by evil tongues to spite the primarch. No, you knew that the Word Bearers were indeed bringing a new religion to the worlds. One that had long been ignored by the Emperor before he burned Monarchia. After that, Lorgar renounced the faith.

But even though you were not a believer, you knew that faith cannot be renounced so easily. You can't get rid of this feeling that torments your heart. Makes your soul sing and glow, fills with blessed light. You can renounce religion, but not faith. And if the God-Emperor was false, then there are other true gods.

Have the Word Bearers found them? Perhaps. You immediately thought of this when you learned about Cyrene Velantion. The Blessed Lady, whose eyes lost the ability to see after the burning of Monarchia. Some chroniclers had already met her. But it was just simple curiosity or simple politeness.

You wanted something else. To know the truth. You remember you were overcome with fear before meeting the Blessed Lady. Mercy and cruelty go hand in hand. As well as love and hate. Whatever the true deity was, it was not fed only by bright emotions. There is no order, only pure chaos. You were afraid to know the truth, for you were only a mortal girl. But you could not remain in sweet ignorance. Sooner or later the truth would come and it was impossible to prepare for it.

However, Cyrene Valantion did not preach, but listened. She could not tell the Truth, since she did not know it. And yet she listened to your fears, anxieties and doubts. She did not judge you and yet asked if you really wanted to meet the Gods.

And looking straight into the portholes you understood that no, you don't want to. But the divinity won't go away from this, it won't disappear. The Immaterium that opened before your eyes captivates your mind and you regret that you only decided to look at it now.

The battle with the traitors is approaching. Horus has rebelled against the Emperor and Lorgar, along with his brothers, must give the first and last battle. To bring down the Warmaster himself. Perhaps you should have been horrified by such events or proud that you ended up on board one of the saviors of humanity.

But you felt nothing. Perhaps Horus did the right thing by rejecting the Emperor. Or maybe you were completely lost in your doubts, justifying the traitor. You didn't know. You only knew that the troubles of the material world are nothing compared to what is happening in the warp.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" - a deep languid male voice cuts through the silence and you squeak in surprise and turn around.

You had never met him face to face, but you had seen him from afar. You had heard of his influence on the Primarch. Fortunately, it was not the old and burning with hidden malice and envy Kor Phaeron. But chaplain Erebus. There was something about the man that made you want to approach him like a lamb to a shepherd… but something about his predatory eyes and gentle smile repulsed you.

“Y-yes, beautiful.” Feeling uncomfortable, you turned away from the space marine, turning your gaze back to the Warp. You did not know why, but the space behind the ship seemed safer to you than the Chaplain’s proximity.

“In truth, I was disappointed when I returned from the Warmaster. And the remembrancers have arrived here. They scurry like rats through the corridors, reveling in their uselessness. Their only role in this story is to become bloody meat,” the man said the terrible words gently, as if lulling you.

You listened to him in confusion. Of course, you guessed that the Space Marines did not like the Remembrancers much, but you did not think that one of them would say it outright. Even if he was close to Lorgar. As if he did not care. Words and actions are unimportant, and you are meat.

“But I had to admit,” his voice echoes over your spirit and you turn sharply to meet his gaze. The man leaned in, almost breathing on your shoulder. “That your zeal to touch the Gods has excited me.”

“I-I,” you gasped like a fish, while Erebus enjoyed the spectacle. “It is not what you think, I, um-”

“No wonder the Emperor exalted men. You women are so weak.” - Erebus smiled at your indignant expression and you felt fear envelop you again. - “But it is the emotionality of your gender that most strongly pushes you to worship. Beautiful servants of the Dark Gods.”

Your heart was pounding like crazy and you swallowed, trying to step back from the chaplain. Not looking him in the eyes. While the words about the Gods screamed in your head, not allowing you to think rationally.

You wanted to know the Truth. And now it is revealed right in front of you. Did you really think that everything would be so easy? Alas, but it is the chaplain who will reveal the secrets of the universe to you. The one whose face is shrouded in such impenetrable darkness that it is surprising how it has not yet swallowed the whole world.

“P-please, please, I”

“Hmm? Asking to continue? Your desire is the law.” - Erebus mocks your request, circling around you like a beast preparing to attack. - “You don’t believe in the Imperial Truths, do you?”

“I-I do,” you trembled like a leaf in the wind, looking at the floor. - “B-beloved Emperor-”

“Don’t lie to me,” a whistle pierced the air and you watched in horror as a neat cut appeared on your palms. How? Where from? - “I am your confessor and I want you to speak frankly.”

You looked at Erebus with tears in your eyes. The man was not in armor, but in a robe. His face was gentle, while his eyes looked at you with a hidden heat. You didn’t even understand how he cut you. But you knew that he enjoyed your confusion.

“N-no, I don’t believe it,” you sobbed and the man smiled even more.

“Do you believe in the God-Emperor?”

“N-no”

“And in others that you know?”

“No”

“What if I told you,” the man almost whispers, but his words sound clear in your head like the sound of a drum. “That the Gods exist? That they watch over us, are a part of us, because we created them ourselves. Where do you think they are?”

The answer did not have time to form in your head, but your body already knew where the path lies. Your eyes flew up to the porthole, looking at the shimmering purple colors of the Immaterium. Only in such a place could the Gods live. The warp itself was a sea of ​​souls for you.

“Clever girl,” a silent cry leaves your chest as you feel heavy, massive hands on your shoulders. The man's weight pressed you to the floor, turning you to the immaterial world. - “They are right there. In the Immaterium. Waiting for us to destroy the false Emperor. When we bring the Galaxy to the true faith, to”

“To Chaos,” you either ask or state. The man behind you falls silent, before a light laugh creeps through him. The grip on your shoulders tightens. You feel the Chaplain’s fingers drop to your collarbone.

“Yes. To Chaos. But serving the Gods is not at all scary, no. I can show you the truth. You can become one of many servants.” - Erebus leans down and breathes so hotly that your ears burn. - “The Skull God will grant you the desire to taste another’s blood. The Architect of Fate will show you a great future. Grandfather will grant you health, he will take care of you. And the Dark Prince will grant you sensuality, make you his concubine.”

Silence fills the hall. Short in the material world, but it seems like an eternity to you. Before your cheek began to shine with someone else's drool and a seductive promise. A tattooed hand cupped your right breast, stroking a nipple hidden under layers of clothing.

"But I would rather make you my concubine."

You break free from someone else's grasp, overwhelmed by emotion. You look into his golden eyes again. Now you know what heat was hidden there. Lust. And Erebus wanted you to see it. He let you escape because he wanted to.

"What?" - you don't even know how to weave the words together. Doubts, fears and misunderstandings wash over you from head to toe. You felt cheated. You were played with like an insect.

"I was given the power of the Astartes, but a pathetic attempt to correct my mind failed. I have never been loyal to the Emperor and never will be. I desired blood even before the ascension. Never will I be a simple soldier, but only a servant of the Dark Forces." - a deep voice fills the silence, not giving you time to come to your senses. - “And I will never stop desiring feminine beauty, as I do now.”

“You will be my concubine. My lover. My whore.” - the man almost purrs, squeezing his hands like an ancient monk. But his words are not full of holiness. - “The world will soon change, the Imperium will fall. The Chroniclers do not have long left, but you. You have always been an outsider. I will lead you to a new era. It is enough just to throw off the shackles of the old order… you will like your destiny.”

Destiny. Your destiny is to become part of the Great Crusade. So your master told you, so the Emperor called you, announcing a new decree. You did not believe that you could bring something significant to this world by becoming a remembrancer. You did not believe in such a path, you realized the lie and falsity of what was happening.

But listening to Erebus, to your horror, you realized that you believed him. You believe that this is your destiny. To accept the will of the Dark Gods, to become their slave. And to give in to the dark temptation, to let a man tempt you. For you will not be able to hide from the Ruinous Powers, and the Emperor will not take you back into his arms. You were always a heretic, you were born to satisfy your master, who deserved a small reward from the Dark Gods.

You blink, smearing tears on your face, trying with all your might to wipe away the uninvited water. No, these are not your thoughts, these are someone else's desires. You are confused, you are scared. You have no one to ask for help. And even though Erebus is a child of Chaos, he is the only one who cares about you, he will take care of you.

What? How do you know? You are talking to him for the first time in your life.

"These are not my thoughts. This is not me. I, I" - you choke, almost falling over the pressure in your chest. - "I can't think about this, n-no, this is not my fate, not my purpose."

"Are you sure? If so, tell me this straight to my face." - a velvety voice sounded very close and raising your head, you see golden eyes with horror. A deceptively gentle smile is snow-white, but you can't stop seeing blood in the corners of his lips. - "If this is true, you will easily reject me. Tell me that you don't want this."

Pain squeezed your vice. Your heart fluttered, and your legs gave way. You desperately wanted to run away, to hide in the bowels of the ship. You reproached yourself for wanting to touch the unknown. You learned about the existence of Gods. Did it make you feel better? Did you find salvation in the truth?

Unable to bear it, you fall to your knees. If before these tears were running down your face in small streams, now you were choking on sobs. Your hands desperately wanted to grab something, just to not fall into the abyss of despair. You clung to Erebus' clothes like a drowning woman, denying that he is your doom.

"See? It's not so hard to admit your place." - the man gently strokes your head, as if you were a funny little animal, before kneeling. Rough teardrop-shaped fingers softly outline your cheekbones and curve your lips. - "I have been watching you for a long time. I could have taken you for myself a long time ago. But I had to prepare my pet. All the pieces are in place, the second betrayal is approaching."

Rough hands gently undress you, gently stroking the exposed areas of skin. And you listen to what Erebus says, wondering how quickly you fell into despair. How easy was it for you to break and turn human knowledge and arts into a slave? Were the boundaries allowed, or were they always blurred, and you were just waiting for them to finally be erased? Whatever the answer, you knew that in any case, Erebus like a boy played with you.

"We must praise all the Gods." - a tongue full of poison licks your ear before Erebus's eyes are fixed on your lips. - "But for now all the worship will go to the youngest of them."

Your kiss is sensual and tender like the sting of a scorpion.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SEVEN: LAMB

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the seventh chapter in the series

---

The kitchen is a quiet chaos— Hannibal standing over the hob, his beautiful hands precise at their work, Will slouched, sulking prettily against a countertop, looking into the bottom of a wine glass.

His temper billows about the room. It's a wonder anyone can breathe through such smoke.

You hover at an anxious distance, afflicted by delectable smells and the scar of what you’ve done. Shame beats, eviscerated, under the boards of you; you chose to taunt and then to touch Will Graham, a conscious participant in this play of a poisonous home.

If your hosts were to give you but a minute apart from them you’d chastise yourself for your abasement: three stiff, sweat-inducing planks, a lap of your room, a prison yard exhaustion.

But they keep you under their eye, knowing, like a child, you’d surely run to burn your hand on the stove.

“How do you want me to be around him?” you ask, as Hannibal tastes a truffle sauce with a look of indecision. “Your Agent Crawford. He doesn’t know about us, does he?”

“As I have assured you, it is between you, Will, and I,” Dr Lecter answers. “Therefore, as far as any visitor is concerned, you remain my patient. That is all.”

How easily you are expected to step from one evanescent role to the other. Should your tongue slip, you may damn him and Will both, yet you know Hannibal is without fear as surely as though you had your fingers to his wrist, timing the pulse of his slow calm.

“And what am I to Will today?” you ask.

“A ward, of sorts, for now.”

The word conjures images of chill cells, bed pans, wilful neglect. Something Victorian in its sensibilities.

“A ward,” you repeat. “Right.”

In the peripheries of vision Will sets down his glass with an icy clink.

“Are you intending to be civilised at dinner," Hannibal asks, "or do we have to prepare for another devolution into infantile behaviour?”

You’d expected Will to be smug, glutted from his fill, but your mouth upon him has only calcified his antagonism into some crueller compound, still. He does not like that he has taken pleasure from you, is in denial of it, a steadfast separation.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” you say to Hannibal. “I never know what’s going to happen. Usually I’m... not myself.”

Will folds his arms in an impassable cross.

“You’re not being medicated tonight. Your actions will be your responsibility.”

The prospect of sobriety has little power to cheer. You’d rather the drooling oblivion of a dose over the chess match of having to divine the correct answer and micro-expression to every aside.

Intuiting your distress, Hannibal says, “You'll be eating from a slightly different menu to the rest of the table. Light portions, with attention to your safe foods.”

In disbelief, you take stock of the simmering pans, their contents once the meat of your routine.

“My... my safe foods,” you repeat. “But I didn’t even tell you what they were.”

What should comfort holds the sinister weight of interred dead, so familiar as to be uncanny.

“I have observed your preferences,” says Dr Lecter. “Thus, I am able to accommodate.”

He offers you a spoon to taste, which you decline.

“You’re making it easier for me to stick to my old ways,” you point out. “That doesn’t seem right. What’s going on?”

“I’m allowing you space to devote your energy to an unexpected social situation. I know they are not your strong suit, and I wish you to be relaxed. It will benefit us all.”

There is no pretence here of pure intentions; you acknowledge the respect that has been awarded to you in the absence of a lie.

“Thank you,” you say. “Could you do this... more, please?”

“If you continue to fulfil your role satisfactorily, yes.”

Hannibal glances at Will, whose breath of harsh laughter pars the conversation like a shank, short and sharp.

“You remain against her, then.”

“I don’t see that she has any genuine interest in evolving,” says Will, as though you are not there. “Just a cuckoo in an empty nest.”

The phrasing catches like a coat on brambled hedgerow. Alert, you examine your younger captor, interpreting the set of his harsh look.

“What are you to each other, really?” you ask.

“Friends,” says Will, bluntly.

The speed with which he speaks betrays a not-quite lie, a sentence with a postluding clause.

“We are aesthetes of an uncommon kind,” Dr Lecter interjects, over a pearl string of steam. “It adds dimension to our relationship few will ever perceive. In time, I expect you will.”

The kitchen, though of minimal colour—greys, black, pure, clinical white—develops a peculiar warmth. There is invitation, here, open-armed acceptance into domesticity, and whatever midnight cabal weds these two men in their brotherhood.

“I don’t think you want me,” you say, as Hannibal rinses cutlery at the sink. “I’m not interesting. I don’t talk like you. I don’t really understand art, or books, or poetry. I’m not even smart.”

Will’s head turns, the sly incline an eel from a cave mouth.

“Hannibal tells me you were academic, once. What happened?”

Seldom do you care to recollect your school days, which were lived painfully, as a mute ghost at the back of the class.

Attempts to decipher screens and pages through tears that had fallen without sound, and were, thus, philosophically inexistent. Whispers passed down through seated rows. Meetings with teachers and welfare staff on seats of poster blue plastic, your foot shaken against scuffed tiles in soothing motion.

The books and television series you’d once absorbed with eager voracity were parched of their appeal, by then. Your only reading was the secretive message boards into which you’d recessed like a forest to band with others of your starving ilk.

Such memories, and others arise to you. Your grades you can less easily recall.

“I’m only good at one thing anymore,” you say, aloud. “And I’m not allowed to do it here.”

Hannibal begins stacking washed dishes back into the cupboard, undeterred by your ceaseless denial.

“We will not chastise you for your simplicity. The palate can be developed, after all.”

“And not just for the food,” says Will. “Though that would be a start.”

“What if I embarrass you in front of Jack?” you ask; you’re losing this argument, and continue it only to prolong your defeat.

“Jack isn’t easily embarrassed,” says Dr Lecter. “Besides, he has been adequately prepared. You may rest in your room before dinner, little one. Sleep can do wonders for the appetite.”

He walks you to the kitchen door with a subtle insistence— like Will, he yearns to be alone.

Mumbling thanks that border on sincere, you make your egress via the stairs, glad to leave the kitchen and its tiers of expectation in your wake.

Passing Hannibal’s room, you find the door stood ajar. Curiosity draws you in, then, not to the bed—a symbol of tragedy—but to the conjoined bathroom, it, too, unlocked.

It is larger than your own, though similarly tiled in ivory and obsidian; there is a bathtub elevated on ornate feet, a shower walled in opaque glass, a sink with toothbrush and paste arranged like trophies, each surface of a bleached, crystalline sheen.

On the floor lies a set of scales, an oblong of clearest glass.

You had known that he would have one in the house, a man so fastidious in hygiene and health. Standing flat against one wall, you tilt your head, listening for an approach on the stairs, a change in the direction of the voices beneath.

When you are convinced of your privacy you strip of every garment and stand upon the scales, your hands braced at your sides in anticipation.

Even before the numbers flash on the mite screen you know that you’ve gained weight, have felt the itching progress of it across your hips and stomach.

The figure, as you glance down, is far higher than anticipated. Were it not imperative to be silent, you would scream.

You settle to hit yourself, instead, closed-fisted blows into your temple, left to right; only your reflection in the bathroom mirror stays your hand, a corpulent rendering of flesh.

This image has always shifted, for you, between your mental interpretation and its reality. Now they are one and the same, and you will never forgive your kidnappers for having altered your sight, as well.

Whose eyes have they given you, to make out this monster? One each of their own— you close the lids, and see the red of meat in the darkness behind them.

Later, when you return, dressed and sleep-dulled, to wait for dinner, you practice such restraint over your emotion that the effect is a noiseless hysteria. Catching sight of your face in any polished surface reveals a sickly visage, eyes bright and excitable, the skin dull, as of the grave.

Will regards you with a default scepticism, venturing no word. Hannibal, instantly perceptive, takes hold of your face in his cool hands and looks into your eyes.

“Is there something the matter?” he asks, and there is glass under the suede of his soft voice, a cutting menace.

There is a rap upon the door, and Dr Lecter steps free of you to answer. He returns shortly, followed by a man you recognise from the news, broad shouldered in a casual suit. His hair is closely cut, a trimmed goatee on a face that would have been handsome, in youth, and is presently so, though worn between the brows from the stress of his work.

“Good to see you, Will,” says Jack, shaking the younger man’s hand and pulling him into a half embrace. “You look well. Been taking care of yourself, I hope.”

Will smiles. His face is briefly pleasant, the dour mouth creasing at the corners.

“As well as I can,” he says. “The dogs keep me active.”

“Nice to hear you’re still running with the pack,” Jack replies. “How are the little rascals?”

You wait for the smalltalk to end, filing away what information sifts through that may be of note.

At last Jack turns to you, taking your hand lightly in his.

“So I finally get to meet you. Hannibal’s told me all about you, you know.”

A falsified minimum, you think.

Aloud, you ask, “He has?”

“Just enough,” says Dr Lecter. “Now, I must be temporarily rude and make myself scarce; I have unfinished work awaiting me in the kitchen.”

Jack releases your hand.

“Point taken,” he says. “Let's move this conversation to the dinner table, shall we?”

To your relief, once all are seated Jack manoeuvres the subject tactfully away to other things. The men speak of the weather—"I don’t care what anybody says; we don’t need that much rain this side of the Great Flood"—Jack’s wife—who is mortally ill, and immeasurably loved—and of mutual friends, whose names and various details you struggle to map in your ignorance of their world.

You eat with little attention to what crosses your lips; the day, in that aspect, is spoiled, and you cast it from you like a fruit’s rotten core.

Though Jack and Hannibal both attempt to include you in the chatter at points, you do not care to. There is the feeling of being presented to Jack like a shrewdly bargained for article of rare furniture; any comment from you is performance for these men to digest and enjoy, as they do all at this table.

It is Dr Lecter, however, that successfully extracts your opinion on a topic of his choosing. With an ingenuity that renders the shift in topic almost organic, he addresses his colleagues on the matter of their latest case.

“Surely our man will be on the move again,” he says, lifting a shred of lamb to his lips. “He may already be grooming his next subject.”

“He is,” says Will, flatly. “I’ve spent enough time thinking like him to know his heartbreak over losing the last one won’t last long.”

Jack raises his eyebrows, turning from one man to the other with a look that suggests he is almost as nonplussed by their union as you are.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to discuss this in front of your patient, Dr Lecter? The details of this case are particularly disturbing, as you already know. Will showed you photographs from the crime scene.”

“Indeed he did,” says Hannibal. “I will not easily forget it. However, as long as my guest resides under my roof I believe it’s only fair that she is involved in general discussion. Confidential matters of the case will, of course, be between us. But anything that is public knowledge I believe she has the right to know.”

“Fodder for Tattle Crime, you mean,” Will interjects, stabbing at his meal with spiteful vigour. “Freddie Lounds has covered these particular murders with a lurid relish. You’re aware that she’s already named the killer?"

Jack chuckles.

“'The Silicone Lover,'” he says. “It certainly lacks poetry in comparison to some of the others that are being thrown around, but it’s got that Lounds touch. It’s catchy, I’ll give her that.”

You drop your fork upon your plate with a jarring clash of steel and porcelain. Hannibal’s face stills in subtle displeasure, and you make a cringing gesture of apology, your mouth puckered at one corner.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” you say, “but... I remember reading about that case. I’ve always been kind of interested in true crime. I don’t know why. Books, documentaries, all that stuff; I’ve seen them all. But this killer— he’s in my city. Everybody’s been talking about it.”

It’s the most conversation you’ve volunteered all evening, and you sense the interest of your fellow guests open to you like a late bloom.

“I hope you’ve been taking precautions, young lady,” says Jack, bringing his knife to a pat of oozing meat until his plate is a bloody eclipse. “You’re aware you fit the profile of his victims.”

You stutter out an uncomfortable laugh.

“I... I don’t go out much. So I’ve been okay.”

Even before your captivity you’d been a recluse, dissuaded from venturing outdoors by an aversion to being perceived. Short, rushed jaunts to the store had been the sum of your travels, and it occurs to you now that you should have savoured the world beyond the house: the grumbling traffic, the turned dirt scent of rain, all of it, everything. The beautiful mundane.

“Staying indoors won’t keep the Silicone Lover from making you his paramour,” says Will, shortly, one arm flung in a mode of disdain across the back of his chair. “His targets always let him into their homes willingly, and there are no defensive wounds, suggesting he makes himself known to his victims some time before he abducts them. He always gets close enough to either drug or hit them over the head without suspicion.”

“I know,” you say. “I’ve read Tattle Crime, too.”

Will sneers.

“Of course you have. She’s a provocateur. Just your type.”

“Tell us what you know of this case, then,” Hannibal says to you, smoothly diffusing the tension. “Perhaps we will benefit from a fresh perspective, especially from an individual so closely fitting the profile of those unfortunate victims.”

He looks at Agent Crawford, seeking an unspoken permission.

“Go ahead,” says Jack. “As long as you feel up to it, that is.”

His voice softens as he speaks to you, and you think of his wife, folding slowly into the ravening void of cancer. This is a man who understands illness, and has a sensitivity for it; it comforts you, to have him here, obscured though his view of his friends.

Offering Jack a shy smile, you say, “I’ll be alright. It’s just that I don’t want to put anyone off their food.”

There is laughter around the table; even Will smirks, though the expression falls as he catches you looking. You wonder again at his distaste for you, surmising with a coolly adult rationality that he is jealous of you having come between him and his mentor.

“Well?” says Will, with the rudeness of a spoiled prince. “What’s the Lover’s modus operandi?”

You catch Jack’s dark eyes squinting a fraction, and though he says nothing you rally at the knowledge that he has not entirely succumbed to Will and Hannibal’s spell.

“The dead girls are always found in rivers around the city,” you say, “sealed inside hollowed out rubber dolls. You know the kind I mean. The killer cuts open the dolls and mutilates the women to fit them inside, then seals them back up again. Keeps them in there till they suffocate, or starve to death.

Some of the women die within hours, others a few days. They must be so scared, in so much pain. But obviously that’s what he wants. Every three months or so he does it all over again.”

“Meaning we don’t have long before he takes a seventh lover,” says Will. “Fortunately for you, staying here will protect you, to an extent. You’re too far out of the killer’s hunting range for him to take an interest.”

“Can’t keep the princess locked up in her tower forever,” says Jack, cleaning his hands on a napkin. “We'd better hurry up and catch him. Now, if you’ll all excuse me—”

He rises from his seat; a bathroom visit, you realise, and an opening to speak to him alone.

Thinking quickly, you reach for your water glass and dash it across your lap. Your hand is shaking enough for the accident to seem convincing.

Both remaining men glance up from the table, startled. Will all but rolls his eyes.

“Sorry,” you say, in a grovelling squeak. “I’ll go and change, if that’s alright.”

Dr Lecter, as always, is crisply polite.

“You may go. But hurry. Our guest will expect you to return.”

For once, Will makes no comment, only returns to his food with the reverence of accepting the wafer at communion.

You pad along the corridor towards the downstairs bathroom, waiting for Jack to emerge. From what you know of Hannibal’s close relationship with the police you cannot rest your hopes of escape entirely on Agent Crawford, but you have seen the occasional teeter of trust, the unspoken perplexity with which he regards the dynamics of the household.

You may yet sway his sympathies, if you are careful. Still, you are so certain of failure that you tremble with mirth, like a drunk.

Jack steps out of the bathroom, stopping short as he notices you wincing in the shadows.

“Hey, there. Are you alright? You look a little green around the gills.”

“Agent Crawford,” you say, in a half-whisper. “I was wondering if you could help me. You know Will and Hannibal pretty well, right?”

“It’s Jack when I’m not working. And, uh, reasonably so, I’d say. Is something wrong?”

You pause, labouring over your response. To imply your wardens are the enemy will surely strike Jack as too outlandish, the mumblings of the mad.

“This treatment isn’t right for me,” you say, rather weakly. “It’s too much, and I don’t think they’re really listening to me. I miss my parents, my own room. I’m suffocating here. I was wondering if you could talk to Will and Dr Lecter. Encourage them to let me go home.”

Jack’s dark eyes soften, and he stoops slightly over you, as he might in order to speak to a small child.

“Dr Lecter told me you might ask me that. The road you’re on is a tough one, young lady, but you’ve got to stick it out. Not just for yourself, but for everybody who cares about you. Besides, I’m pretty damn sure Will and Hannibal would be disappointed to see you go home so soon.”

You turn your head into your shoulder, your neck caught in a miserable spasm.

“Will doesn’t like me at all.”

“That’s just the way he is. Prickly with just about everyone he encounters. Imagine the strain on me, having to keep him in line.”

You do laugh, then, and Jack flashes you a gap-toothed grin.

“He’ll warm up to you. Though to be honest, I don’t know why Hannibal’s getting Will involved in all this when he already has enough on his plate. Between work and those episodes of his, I don’t know if he ought to take on too many other responsibilities. But I guess Dr Lecter knows what he’s doing.”

Episodes?

You’d noticed Will’s fits of illness, a certain fragility; to hear it confirmed is a gold coin in your hand to spend in the future to come.

“I’m going to head back to the table,” says Jack. “Let’s give all this a little more time. If it doesn’t work over the next couple of months I might put a word in for you, suggest therapy sessions over inpatient treatment. But I can’t push it, kid. You’re not my patient. I can’t overstep the line, here. But I’m on your side. You keep up what you’re doing, alright?”

He leaves you there, knuckling tears from your eyes. Regretting that you hadn’t spoken the truth, in all its risk.

*

You go to your room, meaning only to dress. In the end you cannot resist returning to Hannibal’s scales on the way back, called by a manic self-flagellating urge to know much further weight you’ve gained from the meal.

You are not free, will never be free, are worth nothing but numbers. They've become all you are.

It’s as you’re stepping, naked, stupid with despair onto the scale that you hear a voice behind you.

“You must learn to restrain these impulses, little one.”

You turn so sharply that something strains in your neck again. Your hands strive to cover your nakedness. A futility, considering what he has seen, that he has fucked you.

“I assume that you have also spoken to Jack Crawford,” says Hannibal. “Pleading your case to be released. How naughty you have been.”

How handsome he looks, almost young, in the tasteful bathroom light. There is something like death in his sudden beauty, a void coldness.

Terror, a stake of ice from throat to cunt.

He means to kill you, if not now, then soon.

You know of only one way he might forgive so many missteps. Another course: you eat your pride.

“I didn’t mean to, Daddy,” you say. “Please don’t tell Will.”

You lower your arms, forging a sword of your vulnerability. Hannibal glances down only once, and with more amusement, then, than thirst.

“He will never know,” he says. “If you come to my room tonight. There is a lesson you must learn. It cannot wait.”

*

There is a tension about the residence of waiting, after Will and Jack have gone, the dry-mouthed breath before the silver lipped drop of the guillotine.

There is motion about the house, yet you feel rather than hear it; Hannibal has a way of carrying his physicality that seems to possess no weight at all. Ghoulish, his haunting of the rooms below as you sit on his bed, to await him.

You arrange yourself on the dark sheets in sacrificial mode, so ill with fear that it seems all your organs are in torsion, a helix of flesh from chest to womb.

It strikes you that you’d lain so, once, a night your father's friend, Leland Frost, had stumbled the many stairs to your room, beer the umber of his breath as he’d kissed you goodnight.

You had let him touch you, then, as you will let the devil touch you, now. As a child, as an adult, you are absolved: animals must eat, and their prey bear no fault when the hand of God steers them in the direction of hunger.

Hannibal ascends the stairs, each footfall making you jump. Stiff-backed, you turn to a sleek alarm clock on the bedside table, vowing to fix your eyes to its sympathetic face until the hour is done.

A name—yours—blackens your ear, a knell of things more wicked than death.

“Little one,” says Hannibal. “I will not hurt you. This lesson involves no corporal punishment.”

You sit up slightly, slippery in grey silk pyjamas, of whose cost you dare not think.

“Not the lights,” you say, hastily. “Or that metronome thing. I hated it.”

Dr Lecter removes his jacket, socks, and shoes, the quiet process of putting them away a careful rite, his prayer unspoken.

“To begin with,” he says, “I’d like to ask you some questions about your personal habits.”

He speaks delicately, but with an undertone of velvet sensuality that delivers you into fear you cannot resist.

“How often do you pleasure yourself, little one?”

“I don't,” you say.

The words form with such stumbling velocity that you cringe at your own lie.

Hannibal looks down at you with a sort of sorrow.

“If that is your response, then I must teach you.”

“No! I mean, don’t. I’m sorry. I do... do that. But it’s embarrassing to talk about it. I don’t want to.”

“I’m afraid you must. To be a fully-fledged adult it is important to embrace all facets of yourself, including sexuality. So, please address my question.”

Hannibal steps towards the bed, not with threat, but to pursue the lost treasure of your secret.

“Twice a week, maybe,” you admit. “At night.”

“How do you masturbate?”

You’d never expected the world from Dr Lecter. He speaks it factually, without humour, priestly severe.

“With my hands,” you say. “My fingers.”

You’d been too embarrassed to order toys to the house, which still you share with your family, the humiliation of an accidentally opened box an unimaginable discomfort.

“What do you think about as you climax, little one?” asks Hannibal, a question worse still than those before it in the nature of your answer.

You’d watch videos, often violent, peruse literature online which you hastily erased from your history, afterwards. It almost seems you beckoned in this abuse, through your interests, aroused only by cruelty, and the dark.

“I don’t know,” you say. “Different things. Nothing specific.”

Hannibal takes another step towards the bed.

“Answer again.”

Tears char your vision into soot.

“I hate you,” you say, fiercely. “More than I hate Will.”

“Because I cannot be moved in my resolve, as he can,” says Hannibal. “Will is suggestible, to an extent, whereas I am sure in my standing. It sears your ego to obey a man so entirely.”

He pads, barefoot, in a half circle around the bed, a panther uncaged.

“So,” says Dr Lecter. “Speak. What do you think of when you touch yourself?”

You open your mouth, and find yourself mute, truly incapable of speech.

Hannibal seems to understand this, however, for he does not insist again.

“Undress for me. I would like to see you demonstrate.”

Your head swings in a rattling ‘no’.

“Very well. I will attempt it.”

Again you shake your head, and in cumbersome, unlovely motions you struggle out of the pyjamas, ashamed of how clumsy you appear before him.

Naked, you sit up on your knees, covering yourself with your arms as best you can.

“Legs apart, please,” says Hannibal. “Then do as you normally would. I will merely watch.”

He reclines in one of the chairs in the room, his eyes like foreign seas, reflecting the night.

Scalded with humiliation, you bring your fingertips between your thighs and stroke in looping circles. The skin there is parched, unresponsive, unyielding; to be watched in such intimacy takes the pleasure from the act, which has always been in realms of secret sin.

“I can’t do it, Hannibal,” you say. “Nothing’s happening. I don’t feel good.”

It is the only time you’ve used his first name to his face, a trespass into familiarity you do not share.

“Is it because you don’t have access to the usual stimulating material?” he asks, ignoring your blunder.

You snap your knees shut upon your hands.

“I don’t use any.”

Hannibal takes your calves in his hands, a grip which might break.

“I know that you do. When I accepted you as my patient I made a point to visit your house, when no one was home. Your room was as I expected it to be. Juvenile, and stale aired from many days spent there alone. Your laptop was open. It wasn’t difficult to breach. Your password was the title of a book on your shelf.”

Wintergirls. Laurie Halse Anderson had been a staple of your literary youth, and it had never occurred to you that anyone might guess it.

“You didn’t clear your history as thoroughly as you believed,” says Hannibal. “I was intrigued by what I found there.”

You do not resist as he opens your legs, so limp are you in your horror.

“I— what you saw— it doesn’t mean I want this. It’s not the same.”

Hannibal blinks slowly.

“No. I would be uninterested if it was.”

He sits upright again, folding his hands in his lap. How pure they look, a harpsichordist’s tools, an illustrator’s. Evil, beautiful things.

“Begin again,” says Hannibal. “Think of Will and I. What we have done to you. Our touch. Our words. The imposition of power. The ineludible fact of your belonging to us.”

Femoral heat. Your core rings crimson bronze, and your fingers follow its kulning. You want to stop, but Hannibal’s voice alone is a hypnosis, effective even without the ticking and the lights.

“Imagine Will’s hand across your cheek. Around your throat. Envision my own.”

You make some noise, not quite a moan.

Dr Lecter lowers himself down until his breath mists your cunt, and the sensation has you writhing beneath it, maddened by the ephemeral touch of air, and needing it to finish.

He looks up, and his eyes are a reveller’s, a satyr of ancient land.

“How sweet you must taste. I have prepared your meals specifically to assure that you do.”

Your hand cycles in motion, compelled by his mystical art.

Hannibal remains over you, too close, at too great a distance.

“Stop,” he says. “That is enough.”

You are so close that the command is more craven in its dealings than Will��s palm across your face.

Your breaths are the sunken heat of a pagan sun. You burn and burn.

“Why should I give you what is so unwanted?” asks Hannibal, and pauses, as though you might beg.

Speech is inconceivable to your mind, as it is now, a concept like the colour of dying. You only sit with the head of a God between your legs, forced to such a brink that your weakness rides through you like a drug.

Eyes of night pleasure, of deathly ritual—

He laps your cunt for scarcely half a minute before you career over your edge, stacked orgasms that render you sightless with their power. You arc from the bed like an antler, a horn cry blown through your soul.

The pleasure is a stellar whiteness. You writhe up towards his tongue like a wave.

“Poor girl,” says Hannibal, as you lie piteously beneath him. “You can do nothing without me. Even this.”

[anjelicawrites]

Pierced Through

Paring: modern!Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Synopsis: a late night between two lovers

Warnings: switch!Feyd, switch!reader, more dominant reader, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), p in v sex, kissing, biting, scratching, overstimulation, edging, fingering, titty pinching, titty sucking, sharing the same piercings as a form of love, getting pierced as a form of foreplay, loads of piercings, reader being called “good girl” a couple of times.

A/N 1: reader is AFAB, the only descriptor is that they have long hair, for plot reasons. Where needed, they/them pronouns used. 

A/N 2: this is a modern AU with random bits of our pop culture thrown in it. 

Squinting your eyes you start to remove the makeup from your face. It has been a sweet night out, you and Feyd finally alone, eating a nice meal and just walking around town to enjoy the soft spring, after a harsh, snowy winter, reconnecting after he’s been away for work.

You ignore the chiming of your phone, it’s either the group chat with the girls, or the one you have with Feyd’s exes, the self called Harpies.

“Is What If I Were Your Mother buzzing tonight?” 

“Oh, you need to keep yourself up to date baby, it’s Pick Me, Choose Me, Love Me now.”

“Am I supposed to get the reference?” Even without eyebrows you can see the muscles lift in silent judgment.

“Grey’s Anatomy baby. You watched it with me.”

“I dissociated most of the times.”

“Asshole.”

“You’re beautiful.” 

Feyd’s hands travel slowly up the silk of your nightgown and stop under your breasts, the whiteness of his skin contrasts with the black material hugging your curves; you love wearing colorful clothes and decorate your shared apartment had been a push and pull between his monochrome austerity and your explosive personality, you’ve only folded to his request that you wear black lingerie for him (that you use truly ridiculous stuff when he’s not around it’s a secret between you and the two group chats).

You lean against his naked chest, letting your head brush against the long column of his neck, reveling in the smoothness of his skin; you miss having beard burns between your legs, your Feyd makes up for it with the bite marks he leaves on your skin when he hungers for your taste, which is always.

“I know you’ve been a bad girl.” He drawls in your ear, part of his face hidden by your hair.

“You need to be more specific than that, ah!”

Feyd’s long fingers pinch your pierced nipples through your nightgown; he was with you when you had both done, he had kept his forehead against yours while the nice lady piercer did her part. 

He had kept the low rumble of his voice to a minimum, describing how he was going to pleasure you as a reward for your courage; you were so torn between fear and excitement that you didn’t really listen to him and if the lady piercer did, she ignored him. 

Now you two match and it drives you crazy that under the expensive clothes he wears at work, Feyd hides similar body mods to yours; you haven’t gotten used to yours yet and even if your nipples have healed nicely, they’ve become more sensitive, and Feyd loves using this against you.

“I’ve noticed the new books on your beside table, little dove.” 

His hands cup your breasts, chocking the answer in your throat.

“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You try to keep hold of his stare through the mirror. “I’ve moved some old books I want to read ouch! Ah! Feyd please!”

Feyd’s fingers pinch the small barbells on your nipples, only to pull at them until you start whining pathetically.

“Do you really think I don’t know all the titles on you bookshelf, little dove? Britney Spears’s biography? Really?”

You don’t answer immediately, needing to catch your breath and he takes advantage of your silence to run the piercing on his tongue up your neck, his sharp eyes not missing the way your body trembles against his.

“Par condicio baby.” You finally manage to answer. “I have read her sister’s, now hers. I want to know every detail. All the tea, as the kids say.”

“You’re truly going to become the epitome of an old busybody.” He says, with genuine affection in his voice.

“And I will share everything with you. Because you are as curious as I am, my love.”

Gently, Feyd lets his hands run up your chest until he’s reached your head of hair. 

Not only the Harkonnens, but all the natives of Geidi Prime have been genetically modified to not grow any sort of hair on their body and yours still fascinate him after all this time together. Whenever he can, he braids them before you two have to leave for work and he makes a point of undoing all your hairstyles when you are finally home, just so that he can feel the texture of your hair against his hands and the smell of your shampoo in his nostrils.

Painstakingly slowly Feyd removes all the pins from your hair, freeing each lock until they all cascade down your back and he can grab your roots, reveling in the feeling against his hands; you moan at the way he massages your scalp, slightly pulling to make you moan at his leisure. 

Under the too bright bathroom lights he can absorb all your facial expressions, he can see your nipples push against the silk of your nightgown and his mouth waters at the thought that you must be wet already, for him.

Quick, so quick that your head spins, Feyd turns you around and sits you on the bathroom counter, back to the big mirror, the hem of your nightgown already brunched around your hips.

You don’t have the chance to realize what he’s doing that two of his fingers are already under your panties, playing with the wetness there; he can’t wait to accompany you to have your clit and labia pierced, this way you two will truly match (even though you can’t have your tongue done); you two will have to stop vaginal sex for a little while, but to the greater purpose of him torturing your pretty cunt for your shared pleasure.

“Up!” He orders and you comply, lifting your arse so that he can remove your lacy panties. “Good girl.” He drawls when you spread your legs for him even wider, to accommodate his huge frame.

“Are you going to take care of me, Feyd?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, electing to suck on the delicate skin of your tight, until he’s sure a nice mark will blossom; he loves keeping you on edge: perhaps he will torment you for his own pleasure, perhaps he will give it all to you, until the lines blur.

“Don’t I always, little dove?”

“I missed you, so much.” You say with a small voice, your hand cupping his smooth cheek.

“So I did you.”

There’s a dark smirk tinging his lips as he kneels between your parted tights, his big hands on your knees in a show of ownership that has your head spin and fall back against the cold mirror.

Feyd lips are so warm against your skin, and so soft as he kisses a slow path to your cunt, up, up he goes, until his hands can grab at your hips to still your movements and open your labia with his thumbs to make way for his long tongue.

His movements are slow, the barbell on his tongue cold against your clit as he slowly massages it, writing nonsense that has you keen already. He can’t help himself but suck gently when your ankles cross behind his head to keep him in place. Over the lecherous sounds of your pleasure he can her your nails scrape against the mirror in the vain attempt to gain control: not yet, now you are for him to torment.

His tongue slowly runs down to your hole and he moans at the honey he finds there: so much and all for him! 

Hungry his tongue fucks you, the piercing stimulating all your nerves all the more, his big hands clench on your hips when you try to squirm away from his nose; on instinct you arch against his intrusion, your ankles pull him tighter against you as you wail your pleasure, small sobs like pain that spur him on all the more.

You come all over his face and keen when he starts sucking on your clit again, overstimulated and delirious you try to push him away, only for him to growl against your sensitive skin, triggering a smaller orgasm that shakes you.

Feyd stares at you with enlarged pupils, his face drenched in your sweetness, his cock torture against the cotton of his bottoms.

“Feyd, please.” You say breathless.

With a fluid motion he stands up and carries you bridal style to the bed, where he sits you to help you out of your nightgown, before discarding his soiled pajama trousers.

His pierced cock stands proud, leaking from the head; you were scared the first time you’ve seen it, imagining how painful it must have been for him, now you’ve come to love every single piece of jewelry adorning his manhood. From the Magic Cross on the head, to the small Frenulum ring, down to all the beadings on his shaft and the small ring on his perineum, you’ve kissed and played with all of them, tormenting Feyd, until he couldn’t understand if it was pleasure, or pain that triggered his orgasm.

You can’t wait to go with him, have your own privates worked on, while he adds the last beadings to complete the whole shaft: you know that sharing this will bind you tighter than the ring he will soon put on your finger, and it both excites and scares you to your core.

Feyd lays next to you to lazily kiss you, his soft lips on yours unhurriedly share your heady taste with you. His hands are in your hair, your nails are scratch down his back: you’re so hungry!

The ping of the received message interrupts you two.

“Ah shit! I think I need to answer this one.”

Feyd doesn’t say a word, he simply stares at you, his non existed brows raised.

“Baby this might be important. It’s Alia.”

Of all his Atreides relations, his little cousin is the only one he can truly stomach; he’s not happy that Chani is one of your oldest friends and that you hang out with her and Paul so much, yet he accepts your friendship with weird and off putting Alia.

“What happened with her?” He asks, curious.

“Let me check my phone and I will be able to tell you.”

With a huff Feyd goes to retrieve your phone and kneels between your splayed legs as you unlock your screen.

“There! I knew it!”

“What did she do?”

“Not her, the guy she was messaging with. He seemed so nice, too nice, if you know what I mean: he sent her a dick pick and us girls are discussing how to retaliate.”

“A dick pic?” Feyd looks sincerely puzzled. “Why?”

“You should ask your male friends. I know I hit the jackpot with you, but most of the guys out there are useless pieces of shit. Hang on, let me send this quick voice memo.” You say locking your ankles against his back to pull yourself up and kiss his nose. 

“Girls, I say that the old fashioned guillotine gif is the best way to go. My favorite is the small one chopping off the wurst but I stand with whichever you want to send. Now I am going to disappear because I’m getting laid. Cheers girls!” 

For the hundredth time, Feyd wonders what horrors that chat contains; he is not sure his Harkonnen upbringing has prepared him to face them. A whole host of women let loose without any sort of filter? No thank you!

Using his own lack of concentration, you roll the two of you, straddling his still erect cock; you raise your eyebrow at him and he just shrugs: horrified or not, you’re still naked and he hasn’t come yet.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, little dove.” He drawls.

“Not so fast, baby. You had your fun.”

When he tries to roll the two of you again, you grab his wrist and push them against the mattress and ground your naked cunt against the ridges of his cock. From your vantage point you stare at Feyd: you know he can easily manhandle you, he has done so many times, the fact that he’s letting you dominate him, that he is willingly submitting to you, drives you as dizzy and wild pleasure, as his pierced cock is.

Feyd hips kick under yours, the jewels on his manhood only enhancing the torment you’re subjecting him to, your wet, warm lips envelop his erection and he fancies he can feel your hole clench around nothing.

You straighten your back and grab at your own hair with a long moan of pleasure, Feyd’s hands grab your hips in retaliation, forcing you to move even faster on his erection; he only wished he had put weights on your nipples, just to hear you cry out in pain.

Abruptly you plant your hands on his chest to rub your engorged clit on one of the beads on his cock; the pleasure you feel makes all your muscles tremble with the effort to move, your orgasm so close, so close!

You come with a scream, your nails stabbing Feyd’s pectoral, triggering his own release between your lower lips and his muscled abdomen; he growls at the pleasure and at the frustration of not spending himself inside of you, feeling his balls draw up with the force if his orgasm.

You fall in his arms, breathing fast as you kiss all the available skin your lips can reach.

“I’m not done with you, Feyd-Rautha.” You growl in his ear.

The sound that escapes his mouth is a mix between a whine and a groan, his cock still hard and pressed between your bodies; under you his long back arches when you start making your way down the planes of his muscles, your lips finding the small rings on his nipples, your teeth pull at the metal until he keens, the small pain exploding in his engorged cock.

“Little dove.” He groans.

“None of that, my love. I’ve missed you so much.”

Feyd moans at the heath in your words: physically he’s the stronger one, yet he knows you could destroy him with a snap of your fingers.

A long litany of moans spill from his parted lips with every lick and small bite, he feels his balls draw up again, ready to spill.

“Not yet, Feyd. I want you to come inside of me.”

He growls when your hand curls around his base, your teeth pulling cruelly at the ring on his perineum as he writes on the black sheets: he’s so ready to explode for you, paint your insides with his thick cum.

You can feel his long legs scramble against the mattress when your lips find his frenulum ring, your tongue plays with the small piece of metal and the small strip of oversensitive skin; despite your cruel hold, small beads of precome bubble and slide from his cock, meeting your curious tongue.

His taste explodes in your mouth, making you ravenous as you suck on his pierced head with thirst, your teeth playing with the delicate skin; he tries to call your name when your nails rake down the skin of his tights, tortured sounds escape instead, pulled forth by your teeth pulling on one of the beads of the Magic Cross.

With a lewd pop you let his erection fall against his clenching abs, to give him a modicum of respite before attacking him again.

You rise to your knees, your body framed by his trembling legs, simply to observe your handiwork: the marks blooming on his delicate skin, his pupils completely expanded and fixed on the patch of hair between your legs and on the wetness he can see.

“Shall I sit on your face, or use your cock for all it’s worth?”

For a second Feyd can’t answer, his eyes mesmerized by your hands caressing your body and massaging your breasts: he needs to suck on your nipples, or he’ll go mad!

With disconnected movements he pats his hip and you laugh at the way need robs him of his preternatural coordination.

“Say it. I want to hear it!” You command, your fingers still pinching your nipples.

Feyd licks his lips; the room is so saturated with the smell of sex that he fancies he can still taste you on his lips.

Without breaking eye contact, Feyd growls low in his throat.

“Come and use your cock, little dove. I bet your cunt missed it.”

“I think it’s you who missed me more.” You say, crawling towards him. “What are you going to do while my new piercings will need to heal? Go mad with need?”

The idea of holding you while you get your clit pierced forces a shudder through his body: soon, it is going to be so soon!

“I can always play your arse.” He answers, burning with the need to breach you. 

“You’ll have to beg better than that.” You say, flicking his engorged head and earning a lovely yelp of pain.

You position yourself on his cock, you are both so wet you don’t need any more preparation and your cunt welcomes him with a slight tremble.

Feyd’s hands clench on your hips to help you ride with gentle movements that have your clenching muscles slowly relax around his cock, sucking him in until you’re sitting fully on him, feeling every ridge and modification against the velvet of your walls.

To give him a full view, you put your hands on his raised knees and use him for leverage. Slowly you lift yourself up and down, making sure he sees his cock, drenched in your juices, disappear where you two meet with lewd squelching sounds. 

You’ve thrown your head back, letting your hair touch his legs, and miss the way he looks at your body, how ravenous the sight of your combined comes around his base makes him. 

He groans when you bounce faster on him, beads of sweat roll between your lush breasts and he tries to sit up to suck on them, but a tight squeeze of your hole deprives him of all strength. 

“Tell me what you need, my love”. You ask, sitting firmly on his hips. 

Feyd's hands clench on your hips, your cunt is strangling him so perfectly his eyes cross. 

“You nipples…” He groans, almost in pain. “Let me suck on them!” 

Nonchalant you cup your breasts and lightly pull on the rings, not missing the way Feyd's cock twitches inside of you. 

“Do you want to suck on them? Cover all my skin with your marks?”

Feyd's body shakes under you, the wires in his head crossing with the need to taste you, and to come inside of you. 

“Yes!” He manages to groan, as desperate as a drowning man. 

Taking your sweet time to torment him, you push your weight forward and on your arms, your tits millimeters away from his hungry mouth; before he can latch his lips around one areola, you stop him. 

“What if I make you choose between my breasts and coming, tonight? What's your priority?”

Feyd's fingers stab your hips with the desperation he feels: he needs both! 

“You love my mouth on you, you never come as fast as when I fuck your cunt and pull on your rings.”

Desperate times need desperate moves. 

Pensively you cup your breasts again and start moving slowly, the cacophony of moans and sobs spurring you on. 

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the powerful heir to his family fortune, reduced to a bitch in heat under you, begging for your body, beautiful in his need of you and of your guidance. 

“I think you’re right, baby. There's nothing better than your cock in my cunt and your lips on my tits.”

You lay on him again, letting his mouth latch around one pert nipple as his hips piston desperately inside of you; as much as you’re trying to control yourself, the precipice of another orgasms is closer and closer, aided by the delicious mods on Feyd's cock against your quivering walls, hitting everywhere all at once, battering all your nerves without mercy while his teeth worry and pull at your pierced nipple: pain and pleasure a blur in your mind and in his. 

Feyd's hips ram faster and faster against your G spot, spurred as he is by your show of dominance and control over him; he can barely contain himself when you squeeze tighter than ever. You haven't ordered him, yet: he can't come without your permission. 

“Now Feyd!” 

Your barked order dissolves any control he has on himself: grabs you and pulls you tight against his hips and comes, triggering your own orgasm. 

You grind against him, prolonging your shared pleasure until it hurts and you have to let his softened cock slip from your cunt. 

You can feel his thick cum slide from your overused cunt and you shudder on him, he simply cages you against his strong body until he feels your body relax. 

His hand goes to your head to knead the long tresses, one of his favorite post sex rituals as you leave butterfly kisses all over the marks on his neck. 

“You OK baby?” You whisper gently against his skin. 

“Yes, stay.” He adds when you try to go to the bathroom. 

“We're sticky, baby.”

“You smell like me. Let me enjoy it.”

You recognize his tone, he needs to be held more to ground himself back into control. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Come here.”

You tell him and he simply puts his head against your chest, letting himself be cradled by you. 

“Let's chill, OK? I missed you.”

He doesn't answer but you can detect how heavy his breathing is: he's going to fall asleep soon and you let yourself follow him. 

[klausinamarink]

saw a post from @flowercrowngods asking about steddie going through chronic pain and i thought to give it an attempt. Just a quick disclaimer though I do not personally have chronic pain but I did my best to write it respectively!

Edit: now with part 2!

— —

Eddie should get out of bed.

He’s all too aware of how much of the day he’s wasting and losing by lying down, but his leg is in pain again. And not in a “my leg is full of TV static and I can’t move it for a minute” way. His leg was in the state of fine until I moved to get up and now it feels like the bones are dissolving and my skin is having that falling apart sensation and it’s making this a problem for the rest of my body, which is becoming frustratingly common these days.

It’s totally unfair because he was supposed to start the Hellfire oneshot he had kept promising this afternoon. Eddie had been feeling fine the past three days aside from the usual leg static and itchiness from his scars. He had been getting more good days! He should be outside and interacting with his friends again! 

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the agony making its slow travel to his back and the left side of his face now twitching, which created a headache.

“Jesusssss.” Eddie groans aloud. He tries to move further into his pillow, but now the pain is rushing to his torso and pressing against it. Another agonizing spike in his right ear right down to the eardrum. Again, the pain zigzagged to his left foot and his right hand. 

He stayed in bed. He might have wept but Eddie had always been good at crying quietly. He knew he can’t call for Wayne because he was at work and his arms now hurt to even pick up the bedside phone. 

The pain went to the back of his neck, reopening his scars and cracking his ribcage. Maybe not literally, but at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He soon falls asleep at some point, considering there’s really nothing else to do. Then he’s slowly brought back to consciousness by a soft humming and careful fingers brushing through his hair.

“Steve?” He croaks out, opening an eye carefully to see his boyfriend (oh sweet heavens he actually has a boyfriend!!) right next to him on the bedside. Steve smiles  softly at him.

“Hey, Eds, another day?” 

Eddie gives the tiniest of nods, swallowing down a wince from the bare movement. 

“Is it your leg, your hand, or all over?”

“All over. My fucking body hates me.” 

Steve gently tugs one of his locks. “You mean our bodies hates us.”

“Get out of here.”

“No way. I can’t be a shitty boyfriend if I’m leaving you to die alone.” Steve moves to stand up but pauses. “Do you want the towel treatment or-“ 

“Please.” Eddie nearly chokes out.

“Alright, be right back.” 

A few minutes later, Steve is back at his side, carefully and deliberately wiping Eddie’s face with a soaked towel. It’s a weird and probably nefficient method, but Eddie had found that in these days where his body is torturing himself, he needed some sort of coolness for his skin. He couldn’t take off his clothes but the damp towel on his face and hands was enough to ease it.

Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the Wet Towel even if his muscles ached and his arms burned. Mostly, Eddie would lay on top of him and his body weight would provide Steve much needed ease.

Maybe their own coping methods for the flare ups were weird by medical standards, but they’re both still alive.

Mostly.

“I was supposed to start Hellfire today.” Eddie mutters as Steve brings the towel to his right hand. “An oneshot. Short and fun.”

“I know.” Steve says kindly, “the kids felt that you weren’t coming so Dustin radioed me to check on you.”

“Sweet of him.”

“Yeah, everyone is.” 

“Not as sweet as you, big boy.” Eddie sticks his tongue out playfully. 

Steve smirks, pressing the towel back on Eddie’s forehead. “How’s it now?”

“Not as horrible, but I can’t trust myself to move.” The pain is traveling less but now his ears are thumping weirdly and his leg is practically vanishing with the other parts of his body, numb and barely unaffected. 

“That’s okay, Eds, I’m still here.” Steve gives him a light peck on his cheek where there’s another demobat scar, but smaller than the one overtaking his left side. “I’ll finish soon, but I’m not leaving anytime soon.” 

He says it with a soft squeeze on Eddie’s hand. He smiles back and closes his eyes, relishing on the dampness on his bare scarred skin, trying to ignore the rest of the pain that’s forever settling underneath and deeper. 

[a-driftamongopenstars]

House of hope: but instead of the incubus looking like Raphael it looks like either Tav or Astarion

here is a tiny something for all of you Raphael enjoyers (myself included) :> thank you for the prompt!! p.s. this is following the deal you can make with Harleep; tav also gives them permission to mess around addfgj

"I've always known you to be a fickle creature, Harleep," Raphael drawls, measuring the incubus with a weary gaze, "but I believe that now you have far surpassed your own limits."

Harleep stares at him, that languid gaze, but it does not come from Raphael's own eyes that the incubus so often imitates. No, those are of a familiar face that has been on the devil's mind far too much, far too often.

Tav's eyes, but not their deliciously sharp hostility. A touch of wanton scrutiny, that makes even Raphael forget that those are the eyes of his incubus, and not of his new favourite project.

"There was a thief in your bedroom," Harleep says simply, rolling on their side as Raphael approaches. He feels his wings ease out, his horns weigh down his head, his body relax at the lack of glamour. Everything is as it should be, par for one thing. "They were surprisingly forthcoming, having broken into your House of Hope. They told me all, and I mean all, about your encounters."

Tav's fingers reach for Raphael's doublet, taking off the golden loops from the pearlescent buttons. If he were any lesser devil, he would have felt a precarious flutter in his stomach, but as it is - only curiousity that burns.

"Did you really recite poetry to them?" Harleep leers, sliding the doublet off Raphael's shoulders and casting it aside. That smirk on their lips, simply delectable. And the voice, morphing from his own velvet to Tav's timbre.

"If I must have a weakness," Raphael says, "let it be that. Verses of the would-be poets, stolen from their tongues. Never to see the light of day, but to be recounted in the House of Hope."

"Oh Raphael," the incubus scolds in a sing-song voice, wagging their finger and their tale. They draw their fingertip against the devil's jaw, gaining his attention. He looks into Tav's eyes, unblinking. "I think you have more than one weakness. And it is staring you right in the face."

[bloodorangesoup]

Kinktober '23 Day 1 - Bound/Begging (TXT Soobin)

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Warnings: light bondage, begging whiny soobin, the most basic sub soobin one-shot ever

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I haven’t written in over a year, and even then it was just Marvel characters. This was also written at 3am and not edited so I apologize if my writing isn’t up to par 😭 this is basically a practice exercise

-

The sheets were wrinkled and out of place, a corner lifted off of the mattress from his writhing around. Although his range of motion was limited, he was still moving around too much, eliciting a light slap to the side of his thigh. Your hand rubbed the irritated skin, squeezing at the pulsing muscle underneath. 

“Keep moving these and I’ll tie them up, too.” Your eyes pierced him as you looked at him through your lashes. He rushed out a nod, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to control his body.

Sinking back down, you continued your previous work kissing and biting at thighs. The two of you had been going at it for well over an hour. A conversation about taking time to relax turned into a make out session. That make out session turned into Soobin strapped to your bed. He was only in boxers, his cock pressing hard against the fabric begging for attention. One thing led to another, the mention of a past comment about wanting to try something new, and Soobin now had his hands restrained against the head of the bed frame, his wrists held together by the belt you were previously wearing. Your bedpost clanged as the metal buckle of your belt hit against it, the sound a result of his struggle to maintain himself. 

A kiss pressed to a sensitive spot high on his inner thigh caused his body to jump. 

“Oh, baby,” you feigned concern, “what did I tell you?” 

He whined as you stood up to grab a scarf from your closet. Soobin’s head fell back, his eyes staying open to watch your naked form walk across the room. He wanted nothing more than to take you by the hips and satisfy the need that you had built in him. 

“Y/n, please,” his voice came out in breaths as he watched you saunter back to the bed, two of his belts in one hand and a scarf in the other. You took a hold of his ankle, sliding it to the corner of the bed before carefully strapping it down to the leg of the bed with his belt. His leg jerked, only making an inch of movement before hitting a hard stop. 

He was at a crossroads. There was a burning in his abdomen, he was so desperate for a release, but he couldn’t deny how much this side of you was affecting him. He never even thought about liking this sort of thing, feeling comfortable with a simple routine when it came to intimacy. His whole life his large stature and his dancing career forced him to be extremely aware of his body, careful of his movements and in charge of what his body did. This was the first time he was at a true loss of control. He could only lay there and watch as you slowly wrecked him. 

Finishing securing his other ankle, you slid your hands up his legs. Rising to meet him face to face, you cupped his cheek and left a small peck on his nose. Soobin’s face flushed. 

“Baby,” he sighed, not even knowing what he was pleading for. 

“Yes,” you dragged, smirking at the gasp he let out when your fingers ghosted over his cock. 

“Baby please, I need more.” His eyes shut tight, his expression pained as his legs pulled against their restraints. 

“Well I can’t do anything with that, now can I?” You left a kiss on the corner of his lips. His hands ached to hold your face and kiss you himself. 

“Please touch me, baby, I need it. I’m going crazy.” His hips lifted off the bed, searching for anything to take away the buzzing all around him. 

Using the hand holding his face, you turned him to you. You leaned down and bit his lip, pulling it back as he moaned at the contact. Releasing his lip, you watched it spring back to him. Your tongue jutted out, licking his lip, slipping into his mouth to meet his. This was destraction enough for you to slip the front of his boxers down, freeing his pulsing cock. He let out a strained moan, a mix of pain and pleasure as his delicious torture went on. 

Your hand came back up to rub up and down his chest. He let out a high pitched whine as your fingers slid over his sensitive nipples. The pleasure amplified by the lack of touch. 

“Fuck, baby. I can’t take it. Pleas- ah!” He gasped as you continued to rub down his stomach, teasing under his navel. 

“Do you think you’ve been good tonight?” You asked, your lips inches away from his.

“Yes, I-, baby please.” His body was shaking, his eyes glossed over, tears ready to spill. 

“Hmmm, I think so too,” you agreed. Leaning down to his right, you whispered in his ear as your hand finally grasped his length, “I think you’ve been a very good boy.” 

Soobin let out a strangled moan as he felt your hand squeeze his cock, the pressure built up too much to handle. He couldn’t bare to look down as you slid your hand from the base of his member to the tip, fingers coming together to rub against it. His body was on fire, the heat on of his cock cooled from the air as you spread his precum down his shaft. 

He was sure he wouldn’t last, your previous teasing having already put him on the edge.

“Baby, I can’t. Gonna come,” he whimpered in your ear. His hips jerked up on their own accord, finally giving his body some control. He couldn’t help it as he fucked himself up into your hand, moaning into your ear. You looked up to see the muscles in his arm tensing as they strained against the belt. 

“Come, baby. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Your breathing matched his, your chest heaved against his chest. Lowering down, you kissed his neck, working your way to the sweet spot behind his ear. 

Soobin’s whole body convulsed once he felt your lips on his neck. He moaned your name in a chant as you quickened your pace.

“Come for me, Soob. You’ve been so good for me,” you spoke in between kisses. You brought your lips back to his, catching his moans in your mouth. Your tongues met in a sloppy kiss, the mess of it all only spurring him on.

You pulled away, kissing down his throat and leaving bites at his collar bones. Only then did Soobin look down, feeling a pressure on his thigh. Your legs were straddling his right thigh as your body ground down against it. He took in the sight of how needy you were against him, watching your bare cunt slide against his skin. You let out a moan at the friction, sending him over the edge. 

“Fuck, ah.” Soobin hissed as his body jerked. You kept stroking his cock, riding out his high as a reward for his good behavior. Ropes of cum shot out onto his stomach. His head fell back, finally feeling relief after being worked up for so long. His felt movement on the bed, a loss of weight. By the time his mind cleared his hands were on the bed next to him and you were gently massaging his irritated wrists. 

You left for a moment to grab a towel, Soobin was still processing what had just happened. Wiping at his stomach, his body still jerked at the sensitive touch. 

Your hand cupped his face, thumb caressing his cheek. “You okay, babe?” Your eyes held real concern this time, a stark contrast from the act you had going on before.

“Yes baby, thank you.” Soobin sighed, relaxation spreading from his head to his toes. He felt the drowsiness take over his body. He threw an arm around your side, pulling you in to lay against his body. Your head fell against his chest, your hand finding his and intertwining your fingers as you finally let sleep take over you.

A/N: ty for reading this far! again this def isn't my best work, I didn't wanna make it too long or else I would have fleshed it out more. If you liked this please send me suggestions for kinktober!

[q18au8lt2op3idl]

A short fic

"Angel Dust &"

Episode 4 was great. I wrote this story with respect and with passion…! (Forgive my poor English translation.)

—

"Cut—--!"

—Oh, it should have been the call I've been waiting for, but I'm not happy at all.

Angel Dust thought vaguely.

The males above him got up and moved away. The too bright lights dimmed a little, and Valentino approached Angel, saying good job to the actors. Likewise, don't expect him to say, "Good job.”

"'Hmph, I'd say today's shoot was just about up to par, bitch rad actor. I hope you haven't forgotten that you still have some work to do."

"...... of course, Val."

The voice was scratchy and the speech was a little slurred. He's still on meds, but he thought 'I'll be more comfortable with that.'

"Then open up those loose crotches quickly."

Red eyes peeked out from behind those badass heart sunglasses. There is no way there is a bright red burning affection there, I know, but I can't look away, so Angel opens her legs as she is told, and out of the corner of her eye she sees his fluffy collar coat being tossed away.

The end of hours of work would be capped off in the arms of his master.

—I realize there is no love, no salvation, and yet I cannot escape its poison. I know that there is only my death by your poison.

"...... you're mine, you haven't forgotten, have you, scumbag?"

"...... yes, Valentino ......"

＊＊

The days clinging to Angel are still the same. The only difference is that the bar, which used to be a convenient bed accessory where he only went for a strong drink, has become a much more comfortable place than before.

"...... I don't know whether I want to be bored and discarded earlier or not,...... whether I hate it or love it, which is it really... ..."

　It is late at night in the Hasbin Hotel with the lights dimmed. Only the bar counter still glimmered with a warm light that enveloped Angel. Angel muttered as he plopped down on the counter.

"......hey, aren't you getting drunk too fast?　You're worn out again today, good job."

The owner of the low, eardrum-shaking voice quickly replaced the glass in front of Angel with a pointed nail. A moment ago, it would have contained Angel's favorite pink vodka. Now it must have been replaced with pink peach juice.

Angel opened one eye and saw Husk's fake-looking wings. Husk turned away and wiped his glass as if nothing had happened.

"Every day really sucks."

Then he pressed his cheek against the counter and mumbled.

"But when I see you, I'll probably think you're a little better."

"........... you drunken bastard."

Husk mutters after a pause.

—I'm not drunk, it's just an act you don't like, I'm fooling you.

Angel whispered to himself, covering his face with his arms to hide the smile on his lips.

He hasn't forgotten that night of drinking.

"We're BOTH losers."

"That's fine by me."

"A loser, but just maybe if we

Eat shit together, things will end up differently."

　

He wasn't even on drugs, but it was a time when he could genuinely say that he was a little high and having fun, not with false emotions.

After a few moments of reverie, Angel lifted his head with a start.

"Do you like me, by any chance?　Hey, I'm drunk......Hey, here's your chance, you can do whatever you want ......."

The reply was a cluck of the tongue.

Angel bowed his head again and got down on the counter.

ーI knew it, let's call this drunken nonsense.

"...... Yeah, you're still a drunk. You wake up and you don't remember anything. ...... You're still drunk enough to say that here. You're still not good enough."

Husk's loud sigh reaches Angel's ears.

"...... but well, you're doing your best. I don't hate that about you."

Husk stroked Angel's hair, enjoying the feel of it, and Angel almost jumped out of his skin, forgetting to pretend to be asleep.

－What is this mushy warmth in my chest, not because I hate that, but because I want to fuck, which is also different.

The party, Husk, gently draped a blanket over Angel's shoulders and began putting the glass away as if nothing had happened.

As he contemplated what to do next, Angel became really sleepy.

He thinks idly that it is not so bad, even though he will probably only be able to sleep for a little while anyway.

－Will there be a happy ending to the dream I am about to see? Surely there will be a happy ending? I don't think it's a waste of time to hope for that now.

Hey, Husk, I wonder if you will come to me in a dream with a happy ending.

That would be nice.

[inspector-m3]

Immortal souls ch1

CW: uhh...this shits kinda sad ngl, death, details of injuries and said death, swearing, dont think there's anything too bad but let me know if there is

The day was bright as you lay in the field, the grass swaying softly against your face, exhausted from the day spent running around, completing errands for the villagers and then proceeding to goof off with simon. Simon, who was currently beside you in the cool blades of grass, your pinkie fingers hooked together, too embarrassed to properly hold hands. You both speak soft promises into the sky above, the blues and pinks of the lowering yet still bright sun being covered by the patchy pattern of leaves from the tree that you and Simon had taken shelter under, being the witness to your words.

The two of you began your daily walk back, all laughs and jokes, smiles and subtle flirts.

"hah! you should have seen the fruit stall owner! the way he was chasing after me just for a simple apple."

Simon recounts his adventures of the day before you had met up for the afternoon. You sigh playfully at your thief of a friend.

"honestly, si....what am i going to do with you, hm?"

Simon smirks, loving the sound of your nickname for him on your tongue, the way you shortened his name sounded so much better than the harsh way that everyone else says it. He's about to make a crude comment most likely but you both get interrupted as you see flames and hear the distant yet deafening cries of the fellow villagers that echoes through the once peaceful afternoon.

The two of you run, as fast as you could, desperate to help, lungs burning as they frantically search for oxygen in the thick smokey air. You frantically search for your family, friends or anyone who could explain this sudden chaos.Y

Through the smoke of your burning village you and Simon come across a group of men holding torches, wearing odd metal masks, armed with blades, arrows and spears, things you'd hardly seen before in the shelter of your peaceful village. Though you both knew that it could be nothing good.

You pause, never having been in such a life threatening situation before, your instincts and common sense weren't quite up to par and why should they be when all you've known was peace, the only chaos was when Simon stole something from the market.

"um...escuse me gentlemen? Do you know-"

Your polite and timid words are abruptly cut short as they shoot an arrow, the metal tip barely missing your widened eyes and instead causing your cheek to bleed. You were frozen, you felt like crying, being sick and running away all at once. The overwhelming feeling of having danger so suddenly thrown in your face. Luckily for you, Simon managed to snap out of his own trance, grabbing you tightly and pulling you along.

"come on! we need to go!"

You run to the forrest in hopes of losing the men, weaving through the old and and sturdy trees, memories of the times you and Simon would spend hours up in the branches briefly flash in your mind before being promptly tugged again by Simon to the side, your eyes catch a glimpse of the spear that had just about missed your head.

The heavy breathing of you both echoes through the darkening forrest, your warm breath creating clouds of vapour in the air, your lungs sting with the sharpness of adrenaline and exercise.

The strange men clad in metal and weapons can be heard, their chasing relentless, voices yelling at each other to guide more of them towards you. It goes silent for a few minutes, the only noise in the seemingly empty forrest being you and Simon's heavy breathing which you both desperately tried to quiet.

You and Simon turn to each other, a smile of relief on both your faces. You were finally safe, you began to think of all the ways to save the villagers, maybe you could find a nearby lord? Or maybe they'd just leave on their own?

But it doesn't take long until everything around you seems to go dull, that relief you felt just moments ago going cold, as you watch the spear tear through Simon's chest, the cracking noise of sharpened metal breaking bones and flesh of the man you adored embedded in your memories forever. You fall to the ground with him, almost as if you had been wounded yourself. The strange men seemed to believe so anyways as they left, not even checking if you two were dead, almost like this whole thing was just for their own sick enjoyment, enjoying the pain of families watching each other die, their only relief being the hope of seeing everyone in the afterlife.

As you fell to the floor everything felt dark, dull, an empty feeling of loss covered you. The moss on the forest floor was cool against the heat of your living body. You could see the way his eyes were fading, that beautiful brown that made you think of nature and warmth, going a ghostly grey. Your hands grasp onto him.

"no...no,.no, no... si! Please dont, you have to stay with me. Im begging you! I cant be without you...si, please"

A tight feeling in your heart takes away the rest of your breath, you can't speak properly anymore, only managing garbled pleas as if that would save the dying man in your arms, as if that would get rid of the spear in his back that pierced through his chest. Through your begging you still couldn't manage to utter those three words that you'd both been hanging off the edge of your tongues, those three words that was so obvious between you yet because they were never spoken neither of you dared to go further than friends.

The trees suddenly felt like they were watching, mocking you for your feeble love, laughing at how easily he was dying. They loomed over you, the bark twisting into cruel smiles as you begged Simon to stay with you.

He tries to brave a smile, barely breathing as he gets out his final words.

"god....I love it when you call me that"

And with that you saw the playful light drain from his eyes, that oh so beautiful brown gone pale.

You cried, you don't know for how long but you remember seeing the sun disappear in the corner of your eye more than once. As you cried your grip on Simon's icy body only got tighter, as if you could transfer your warmth to him to bring him back.

[drunkenlionwrites]

Eldritch horror Trigun AU. Vash x Reader

GIF by roseillith

Sending thanks to @jelly-doughnut-drabbles for the amazing idea! This is less of a Dark Fantasy AU, more like an AU set in a canon Trimax Universe.

The reader here is just a character for exposition, but if I continue it, it will definitely be reader x Vash fic.

I want it to be more on par with Lovecraft’s eldritch horror/cosmic horror.

The cold wind blew harshly - so strong, that your cloak did nothing for you, even if it was weaved with sturdy worm’s bristle. The grass caressed your bare feet, though wet with cold due, they were making you feel even more cold. The valley behind the Old City and the lake was not far ahead, so you persisted on your journey, determined to fill your jugs with as much fresh water as you can carry. Slipping among the ranks of Hunters outside was a hard task, but you just burned with desire to venture outside once again, even if the surface was swarmed with Prymaras. You’ve felt both excitement and primal fear pumping through your blood, making you feel bolder and more adventurous, as well as cautious and careful.

Once you arrived at the bank of the lake, you’ve hastily pulled the jugs out of the sack, filling them with water, both your hands submerged into the icy water. Now you just need to fill them all, cork and quickly retreat Home. When you’ve finished pulling the last one out of water, you’ve noticed a pair of piercing blue eyes watching you. Dropping it and falling painfully onto your bum, you tried to descry the creature watching you under the five Moons. It was an enormously tall man, wrapped in the red cloak. “The bringer of Ruin” you whispered to yourself in terror, your lips quivering, your limbs refusing to move. This is it. This is the end for you. You should’ve listened to didus’.

He slowly approached you, squatted down pulling the cloak from his head and held out his hand palm up, as if you were a wounded animal. He said something to you in a language you didn’t understand, his timbre gentle and coaxing. You just looked at him with wide eyes, filled with terror, at which he shook his head, sighed at started conversing in your own language. “Where did you come from, girl? It’s dangerous out here. You could’ve been captured by all kinds of creatures roaming out here. Are you one of the underground folk? Come, I’ll walk you closer to your home.” “You…you speak my tongue?” you managed to stutter out. “Are you him? The Bringer of Ruin”? He looked solemnly at you, saying “I have many names. I am not aware of that one, but I may be him, yes” he gave you a pained smile. At your terrified gasp, he looked into your eyes once again and slowly said “I have no intention of harming you, girl. Come, I’ll walk you home. Can you get up?” he asked, taking your sack with one hand and hoisting it up to the shoulder, his other hand stretching out to you...

“Didus’!! Didus’!” you screamed on the top of your lungs, descending countless stairs. You’ve gotten your fair share of scolding by the gate guards, and as soon as they let you go, you’ve made your way to your hut as soon as possible, banging on the door still in shock. “What happened to you, child? Where have you been?” an old man opened the door, catching you into his arms, when you collapsed onto your knees as soon as the door opened.

Tears began streaming down your face, your small figure shuddering as you wailed in your grandfather’s arms. Your little brothers and sisters gathering in a small room, their faces full of worry and fear, inquiring from you and grandfather about what has happened to you, the younger ones also beginning to cry, with older ones trying to console them. Once peaceful cozy household descending into chaos for half an hour.

When you came to your senses, you told the whole story to your family by the old shell rock table, sipping on the mole soup grandfather managed to cook using the fresh water you brought. “Foolish, foolish child!” didus’ scolded you. “By the way you described him, it could have been The Bringer of Ruin. The fallen god of Past…No one who saw him has lived to tell the tale on how exactly he looks. Don’t you ever do such a reckless thing again! We can use the underground water just as anyone else. “It’s too dirty. I want them to eat more healthily so they can grow up being sturdier and stronger than I am” you pointed to your siblings with a move of your head. “Sestro, we will be fine! Just don’t go out…please…” the eldest brother said.“Who’s that dyadya the sister has met? Grandpa, grandpa, tell us! Younger children pestered the old man. He grunted after taking some time thinking about it.

“All right. But I’ll tell it to you just for the reason of making sure you won’t be sneaking away like your careless sister did, okay?” You silently crossed your arms at that, but did not dare to say a word, listening to your grandpa. You knew the tale, but no one has told it to younger ones. “This story is not for children, for it is as dark and gloomy as it is truthful. This is a story about our Universe and the Creation of the Old city and the New city.” Grandfather continued.

"The ones who lived before us has written that before the Ruin our land was full of sand and was scorching hot, warmed by the two Suns. People used to live on the surface, everyone was safe, and the land was relatively prospering, before the Old God sent two of his Angels to punish our kind for cruelty and greed our ancestors possessed. The ancient ones wrote that people used to rely on other folk, called Plants, for the land in the past was not prosperous and didn’t have enough food and materials for the folk to use. Those Plants could use their powers to create all kinds of things: provisions, eternal light, eternal water, eternal flame among other things. But people were cruel and greedy, so those two Angels were sent to bring the end of the cruel age, but one of the Angels fell in love with people on this planet and tried to save us, fruitlessly, from his brother, the second Angel, which took the Plants from people and doomed us to death, destroying everyone and everything he could so that he can build a New World.

The second Angel managed to save some people, which were our ancestors, so this is how we have ended like this. This was thousands of years ago, so our land has changed a lot. Some folks think that what we call “prymaras” used to be those “plants”, but they became corrupted by our greed and the Angel’s scorn for humanity. Now we are doomed to dwell underground, relying on strong and brave people among us to bring us resources from above. At least we are relatively safe here, so long as we can stay strong and train the best Hunters and Gatherers.

The thing you should be afraid of the most though, are two Angels, who still roam above. The Bringers of Ruin: the one who wears a red cloak and The Corrupted one. Even though it’s believed that one of them loves humans and there are tales of him saving some who almost perished above, the last seeing of him was so long ago, that no one among the living remembers it. He’s also called a bad omen. So, kids, learn from your foolish sibling and be nice, eat well, train well and everything will be okay.”

He smiled while finishing his story, his eyes closed and the whole face covered in deep wrinkles. His voice and the tale calmed the siblings, their tummies full of warm food, the light in the oven warming up making the hut feel safe and cozy. The whole story resembled a grim fairytale to caution little children to not do the things the adults don’t approve of. The household peacefully went into deep slumber after thanking their grandfather, the sole caretaker. They need to awake well rested and strong tomorrow, after all.

Sorry I half-assed it a bit. It was just brewing and brewing in my head, I needed to spew out an exposition.I also used a few words from my native language, cause I have an idea that the new society kind of all came back to the native languages they used before coming to Gunsmoke. Just for fun. So the words are: Prymara - a ghost/ a nightmare Didus' - grandfather Sestro (from sestra) - sister Dyadya - an uncle

Here's some of the lore of this Universe I have in my head:

Knives achieved all his goals. The Earth fleet has been destroyed, all the Plants taken from humans, with humans slowly dying out, only smaller portion staying alive with Vash’s help.

Knives beginning building his “Paradise” slowly terraforming Gunsmoke, first making it into a decent prosperous planet, but slowly going insane, still being fused with a big portion of his “sisters” and having nothing to live for anymore, no one to talk to.

Vash is hiding from his brother, helping the few colonies of people to settle underground, helping them to live their lives.

Knives finally has a psychotic breakdown and does something to the Suns, probably eliminating them (maybe closing them in a different dimension/destroying/whatever, which corrupts Plants and makes them into mindless constantly hungry creatures, needing life energy to continue existing (ironically), so they capture any living being that they can on the surface. The settling of the reader calls them Prymaras.

The society we have now is more of a family tribe style now, completely depleted of any kind of technology, relying on gathering, hunting outside, which requires the strongest specimen, with weaker ones weaving clothes, making simple furniture, tools and utensils.

They have limited knowledge on what has happened in the past, relying only on the notes of the ancestors.

They have health problems because of leaving underground and by not having a light source even if ascending on the surface ( I don’t care about the fact that the surface would be a striking cold temperature in reality not suitable for any form of life, it’s still a fantasy/horror, so it’s just like a Never-ending Night or something like this), that’s why they most value the physically healthy and strong individuals.

Humanity is no longer having contact with Vash, considering him a Bad Omen, guilty in the Ruin, terrified of him just as much as of Knives.

Vash wanders the planet all alone for thousands and thousands of years, seeking a way to restore the Suns and heal the Plants somehow, still refusing to kill. Still searching for penance.

Song used while writing "Toumei" by Alber Karch, Ichiko Aoba