#deity-sized outsider...............

[uncontrol-freak]

>conversation<

[quarterlifekitty]

Cw: cum eating lol

Goddess!Reader as a forgotten deity— a small temple hidden in a cave, completely overgrown with vines and moss. The marble of the flooring is cracked and split with the dripping water and the roots of the overgrowth. There is a statue of you— life sized, not grand or impressive. The skylight of the cave bathes it in sun and moonlight as the days go by.

Warrior!König who finds your little shrine and is enchanted. He has always felt like an outsider— that he has never belonged, and never looked at with familiarity. Maybe it’s his loneliness getting to him, but he feels warmth in the gaze of the statue. You’re a beautiful figure. Despite the state of the place, he feels at home. He doesn’t have much— but he clears some vines and dust off of the offering altar and leaves a fig and a handful of oats.

In his next battle, he finds some uncanny things happening around him. He’ll be dueling an enemy, when a stray beam of light will move in just the right way to blind him for a moment, allowing König to land the killing blow. He’s about to be struck from behind with his assailant’s sword catches in the scabbard for just a moment— long enough for König to turn and fend him off. Could this be his offering at work?

He comes back. This time with an orange, and a gold piece. He gives himself a few moments to admire your form— your breasts perfect, your smile gentle and content. He uses his sword to clear a bit more debris— enough to leave you more clearly visible.

He continues to excel. Not through any supernatural strength, but due to these small strokes of luck finding him at the perfect moment. His sword striking at just the right angle to land in the chip of his enemy’s weapon, cracking it in the fault and rendering it useless. One of his arrows manages to pierce through one target and into another.

He becomes your single worshipper— and the most devoted. He brings fruits, coin, fresh cloth, milk…. And his visits become longer. He lets his hands linger when he touches the cool marble of your statue. He’s taken in a moment of weakness— infatuated with the one figure that seems to care for him— and he touches himself to your image, spilling his seed across your altar— against the red grapes he’d brought for you.

König falls asleep looking at your form. There is no plaque nor writing in your temple— he doesn’t even know your name. When he wakes, the pedestal holding your statue is empty, but he feels a warmth curled into his side, looking down to see you finishing the last of a stem of grapes.

[froggibus]

Sex Rocks! - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: AMAB! Sloan Cameron x fem! Reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Sloan is in for much more than they bargained for when they find a statue with magical properties—and you might be the only one who can help them out

CW: porn with plot, AMAB! Venture, sex pollen (but it’s a magical sex statue), dubcon, masturbation, showering, dirty thoughts (abt reader), slight voyeurism, blowjob, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, cock riding, mating press, multiple orgasms, protected AND unprotected sex, doggy style, multiple rounds, overstim, lots of cum, (think that's everything) use of the word shaft (im so sorry i hate this word but there’s only so many synonyms for dick)

yes the title is a pun ^.^ i meant to post this way earlier in the day but i got distracted and didn't end up finishing til tonight and it came out WAY LONGER than i thought. this is fr the longest smut ive ever written. anyway venture whores hope you all enjoy <3

It must’ve been Sloan’s lucky day. After barely an hour of searching, the glittering artifact they’d been looking for seemed to jump right out. Though the dusty gold colour blended in with the shimmering sand of the cavern, the three pink gems of the small statuette seemed to call to them. 

The figure was cold to the touch and buttery, barely bigger than the size of their hand. It was shaped like a beautiful curvy woman, with full breasts accentuated with the pink stones and a thick tummy—the likeness of some old, forgotten deity that Sloan could never remember the name of. 

They took out a soft piece of cut cloth and wrapped the statue before tucking it in their pack and beginning the short trek to the surface. Sloan buzzed the whole way up, that warm tingling washing over them. The kind they always felt when they found a new artifact, or when you laughed at one of their dumb jokes. 

As the surface came into view, the golden sunshine just beginning to dip below the horizon, the warmth grew stronger. It had been a hot day, and it seemed that though the sun was setting, the heat had not yet begun to dissipate. They took a long pause, letting themself rest on the rocks outside of the cave.

Wiping the sweat away from their forehead, they took a big drink from the canteen of water they’d brought along with them. It was a short trek, they weren’t usually this sweaty and parched from something so basic—but with the warmth of the day at its peak, they shrugged it off.

The car they’d taken was only just down the trail, maybe ten minutes away. With one last sip of their cold water, they tucked it into their pack and started the walk back. The sky was turning pink as they set off, but slowly turned to purple and then the rich black of night.

Despite the day’s end, the heat only grew more unbearable with the walk. Their thighs cramped as they made their way down the trail, their heart beginning to race. Whatever, they tried to ignore it and power through to the car.

Sweat coated Sloan’s forehead and chest by the time they made it to their vehicle. Their hair was slicked to the back of their neck, and the t-shirt they’d been wearing was rendered near see-thru. 

“Jeez,” they sighed, tugging off their t-shirt.

They tossed the sweaty fabric into their backseat along with their pack before sliding in the front seat to drive. They kept the AC on full blast the whole trip back home, though it did little to stop the boiling in their blood. 

Sloan was just pulling off the highway when a gasp forced its way out at the sudden tight feeling in their pants. They risked a glance down to their hard cock now straining against the thick fabric of their carharts. They shook it off, turning onto their street and trying to ignore the feeling of the bulge in their pants only growing with each minute.

It was almost painfully hard by the time they made it home. Sloan almost forgot their pack in the back of the car in their race to get inside and free their aching cock from the fabric that confined it. 

A sigh ghosted their lips when their cock sprung free from their boxers and they wrapped their sweaty palm around it. Their core was near sweltering, their cock throbbing in need. 

With a glance at the door to make sure it was locked behind them, Sloan spat in their hand and started to spread it across their aching cock. A shiver crawled its way up their spine, acting as a brief reprieve from the heat that threatened to consume them. They clamped a hand over their mouth and began to slide their hand up their length.

With barely a touch, they were already so sensitive. Pre cum dripped down the tip, pooling across their fingertips and mixing with the saliva already spread over their skin. They squeezed harder, dragging their hand up and down faster. Their muffled moans vibrated against the clammy skin of their palm, their eyes falling shut as their hand fell into a rhythm.

Thoughts of you filled their head. Thoughts of your smile, of your warm skin, of pinning you to the bed and using you however they pleased. Sloan gasped, opening their eyes as they came into their palm.

Fuck. Cum rolled across their fingers, down their still hard cock and collected into the hair at the base of their pubic bone. They smeared the remainder of the cum on their thighs, shaking off the aftershocks of their orgasm and deciding a cold shower would solve both the mess they made, and the throb between their legs.

With their clean hand, they dragged their backpack with them all the way to their bedroom, tossing it in the corner before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom. They didn’t wait for the water to warm before stripping and stepping beneath the brisk stream.

The cool water settled the burning beneath their skin—but only just barely. Much to Sloan’s dismay, it also did nothing to soothe the ache between their legs. It was almost embarrassing, having an unrelenting boner for no reason like they were in school again.

They sighed, squeezing some coconut scented body wash into their hand and slicking across their cock. They didn’t bother to change the water back to warm, instead opting to let the frigid stream drip down their back. The nice smelling soap felt much, much better than their own spit—but they could imagine a few things that would feel even better.

Like your pretty lips wrapped around their tip, those kind eyes of yours pleading at them to cum in your mouth and—Sloan moaned, fingers clenching around their hard length. Just the thought of you touching them, or them touching you, was enough to have Sloan gasping and furiously jerking their cock.

Drops of soap flew away from their palm with every stroke, splattering the tile of the shower in front of them. God, wouldn’t they love to do that to you. What they wouldn’t give to do that to you. To have you lay down in front of them, completely at their mercy while they fucked you relentlessly and left you covered in their cum.

Their cock twitched, and then they were cumming. Wave after wave of hot cum burst out, coating the tile in front of them before being washed away by the water. Hard, shaking breaths wracked their chest as their senses returned to them and they could once again feel the cool water against their tanned skin. 

As they looked at the cum mixing with the water down the drain, all they could think was ‘what a waste.’

It only took ten minutes after their shower for the tingling in their cock to become unbearable again. The heat had returned almost immediately—and with a vengeance—but they’d managed to ignore the tenderness between their legs for only ten minutes.

Sloan was glad they didn’t bother putting their clothes back on as they settled into their bed and grasped their shaft once more. Cumming once or twice a day was normal for them, but this was something else entirely. Something had to be wrong.

Sloan pushed away their fears and started once again stroking their dick, leftover water and precum acting as a lubricant for their hand to easily slide around. They closed their eyes, and let themself think of you once more. 

How their cum would look running down your thighs, or splattered on your back. How nice your hands would feel gripping their cock, how you’d just beg them to fuck you.

Sweat dripped down their chest, wetting their tummy and the dark hair at the base of their cock. How long had they been jerking off this time? They risked a teary eyed glance at the screen of their phone—had it really been almost twenty minutes since they laid down in bed?

Twenty minutes and they were no closer to coming, but their dick was growing uncomfortably hard. A sigh passed through their lips. Their hand wasn’t enough, they needed something more, something hotter. 

Their mind went to you, pleasure hazed thoughts wondering if they called you, would you come? Would you help them? Before they could think it through, their fingers were dancing across the screen. Just the sight of the tiny contact picture of you at the top of their screen had them squeezing tighter, thick drips of pre cum rolling down their tip.

Sloan lets themself fall back into bed, their mind dancing away to thoughts of you sinking down on their cock. They roll their head to the side, their eyes catching sight of the bag they’d carelessly tossed in the corner just before their shower. 

Could the statue have done this? There were myths surrounding it, sure, but this? The thought was preposterous a week ago. Now though, with their insatiable lust, the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to Sloan.

Shit. They shouldn’t drag you into this. If it really is the statue, they don’t want to expose you to this. They reach for their phone to ask you not to come, to send you away, but just as their palm reaches the cold metal, the front door clicks open.

“Sloan?” You call, peaking your head in the front door. As soon as you’d gotten their message, you’d left your house. You’re talking more to yourself than them at this point, tiptoeing through the dark of their home. “I used the spare key you gave me to get in…are you here?”

Sloan bit their lip at the sound of your voice, risking a glance to the bag that contained the statue. Maybe inviting you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“In here!” they call. Their voice is raspy, dripping with the need radiating from their core.

You follow the sound of their voice to the closed door of their bedroom, warm light leaking out from the cracks. It’s Sloan, and they don’t sound like they’re in danger, but something about their voice…

You push open the door. It takes two seconds for you to scan the room, two seconds for your eyes to fall on Sloan—sweaty, writhing and desperately jerking their cock in bed—and two seconds for you to turn away, covering your eyes.

“Shit,” you gasp. “I–I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

But it’s strange. They called you here to help them, they knew you were going to come into their room—was this what they needed your help with? You couldn’t help but clench your legs at the thought, a heat rushing to your core.

Sloan’s voice cut through the darkness of your hand. “I-it’s okay,” they say. “You can look.”

You slowly peel your hand away from your eyes. Though they covered themself with a blanket, you could still see the glistening skin of their chest, and the up-down motion of their hand beneath the fabric. 

Sloan knows it’s shameless of them to keep stroking their cock while talking to you, while you’re right there watching—but they can’t stop. Now that you’re here in front of them, the pressure’s increased tenfold.

You squint. “What’s going on?”

“I found that statue.” They keep jerking off.

“And?”

“The rumors about it were true.”

“Fuck,” you curse. 

When they’d been telling you about the myths behind the statue, you’d both laughed it off, stealing wanton glances at each other as you did. They’d assured you it wasn’t possible, that there was no scientific reason a statue would bear unto its users an insatiable appetite for sex.

Seeing them now, though, all sweaty and desperate, has you thinking they were wrong. 

“Sloan,” you say calmly, stepping in the room and gently shutting the door behind you, “what can I do to help?”

They bite your lip, and it’s just now that you notice their eyes are almost completely black in lust. A shiver runs up your spine. 

They pull back the blanket. “Touch me,” they swallow. “Please.”

You glance at their thick, throbbing cock dripping in precum. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in the worst possible way. It wouldn’t be right—they’re clearly not thinking straight. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sloan’s not sure whether it’s the statue, or their frustration, or some terrible combination of the two that prompts them to say, “oh don’t tell me you haven’t been wanting me to fuck you for months.”

Their brazenness sends another wave of heat to your core, your underwear suddenly feeling wetter than usual. “Sloan,” you say carefully.

“If you’re worried about consent,” they rasp. “I want it. All the time. For months, too. I think about it nonstop.”

Their words ease your nerves, and you find yourself approaching their bedside. Your eyes stayed glued to their cock and the hand furiously stroking it. “What do you think about?”

They watch you, dedicating each pump of their length to you. “I think about you while I fuck myself. I think about—about fucking you, and having you bounce on my cock and—god.”

You sink down on the bed next to them, wrapping your hand around the one rubbing their dick. “Let me.”

They slide their hand away, letting you take over. Already, your hand feels a million times better than theirs ever did, the ache in their core finally beginning to relent. They lay their head back, watching your hand glide across their sticky skin.

They suck in a breath. “Fuck,” they look at you through their lashes. “Use your mouth.”

You’re taken aback by their command. Their cock looks so inviting, dripping wet and throbbing in your palm. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had which only makes you want it more.

You look them in the eyes while you lick a bead of precum away from the tip. Sloan shivers, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling you down. You gasp as you take their cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it. It’s salty, a mix of sweat and precum, with a strange undertone of coconut—but it’s just how you imagined it.

Your jaw strains to take them into your mouth, their tip hitting the back of your throat after only a few seconds. You gag slightly, but Sloan only pushes your hand down further, groaning at the warmth of your mouth. This was exactly what they needed.

As soon as you start to see black spots, they pull you off. A strand of drool connects your lips to their length, dripping and coating your chin. They hum at the sight of you, so filthy already.

“Do you like how it tastes?”

You’re so flustered, so bewildered by the situation that you can only nod, clenching the base of their cock. You put your lips back on their tip and eagerly slide down for more. Their calloused fingers still tug at your hair, using the strands like reins to push and pull you how they see fit.

Sloan watches you intently the whole time, admiring the spit that coats your mouth and the way your throat bulges when they pull you a certain way. They’ve dreamt about fucking you for months now, but none of their wildest dreams could ever compare to this.

Despite the way your eyes water, Sloan pulls you down further. You look so fucking cute choking on their thick cock—they can’t help it. When you finally slap a hand against their thigh, they let go of your head and watch you gasp for air.

“Get on your knees,” they command.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice with the way your throat burns. The dominance in them only makes you wetter, a noticeable throbbing rushing through your clit. You’re all too eager to settle on your knees at their bedside.

They cup your chin, swiping their thumb across your lips to smear your drool and their pre across them. “So cute,” they murmur.

You lean back in to take their cock once more, but they tsk at you. Just as you tilt your head in confusion, you watch as Sloan grips their cock and rubs the messy, wet tip across your mouth. They smear it all across your face, making a mess all over your cheeks and nose.

A whine slips from your lips before you can stop it, but Sloan only laughs at it and finally lets their cock slap against your mouth. You open wide and take them once more, rolling your tongue over their length.

“So eager,” they tease, their fingers resuming their position in your hair, “if I’d known you’d be such a slut for me, I would’ve fucked you months ago.”

Sloan watches the shame glimmer in your eyes, followed by pure pleasure, and doesn’t miss the way you rock your hips against the floor. 

It only takes a few minutes of you on your knees before they’re coming, pushing your head down so you have no choice but to swallow their cum. Your eyes shoot wide as the hot cum spills in your mouth, pulling back from their cock and opening your mouth so they can see it.

“Good girl,” they purr. “Now swallow.”

You nod and obey without a second thought, licking their cock a few more times after to clean up the excess. “Sloan,” you say quietly, your voice raspy from the way they just fucked your throat.

“Hm?”

“Do you have condoms?”

They tap the nightstand that you’re sitting next to. “You wanna fuck me?”

You pass them the condom, eagerly waiting as they lay back in bed and roll it over their cock. Though they’re slow to put it on, you don’t miss the way their hands shake in anticipation.

Sloan watches you the whole time as you strip, discarding your clothes as quickly as you can. You climb onto the bed and straddle their waist, a knee on either side of their hips. Their hands clench your waist tightly, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise. 

Usually Sloan would be happy to let you adjust, but with the warmth of your pussy right there, they can’t wait any longer. Using your hips as leverage, they thrust up into you, the tip of their cock bottoming out against your cervix.

You cry out, burying your head against their sticky chest. “Sloan,” you whine.

“Sorry,” they pant, but continue thrusting into you.

You relax into them, slamming your hips into theirs to meet their rhythm. It’s painful at first, both the stretch of their cock and how deep it reaches—but it’s amazing, too.

Sloan barely thinks as they pound in and out of you, using your own body weight as leverage to get their cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your whines are like music to their ears, complemented by the rhythm of matching groans they loose every time their cock brushes your cervix.

You cum so hard you swear you go blind for a second. Everything is hot, your vision goes white, and all you can focus on is the way your cunt is gushing around their cock, juices coating their thighs. You go limp on their chest for a minute, letting them fuck you like a toy while you recover.

Sloan’s own orgasm isn’t far behind, their cock twitching as they spill into the condom—though they’d much rather spill into you. They almost draw blood with how tightly their nails dig into your sides, and the only word they seem to remember is your name.

Even though they’re unbearably hot and their cock is so sensitive it hurts, they still need more. 

“Can I keep going? Tell me I can keep going.”

You’re exhausted from the brutal pace they’ve set, but their cock fills you so well and they sound so desperate, you have no choice but to say yes. Upon your agreement, Sloan is flipping you onto the mattress beneath them and bending your legs to your chest. 

They can get deeper like this, and Sloan knows it too. They start their pace off slower this time, trying to give you time to recover before their own need takes over. They hold your hands, pinning them above your head while they fuck you.

Their eyes lock with yours as they increase the pace, the tip of their cock hitting that spot inside of you perfectly every time. There are tears in your eyes from the pleasure, but it only makes them harder. 

“Too deep,” you whine, squeezing their hands with as much strength as you can muster.

“You don’t love having me fill you up?” They mumble into your ear, “if I can’t stuff you with my cum, I’ll fill you with my cock.”

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, their dirty words sending you over the edge. You try to clench your knees together but Sloan’s body is in the way. They fuck you through your orgasm, squeezing your hands back with every bit of pressure you squeeze theirs with.

“That’s it,” though their words are soft, they punctuate each one with a thrust, “cum on my cock.”

They slide their hands down your body, resting on your hips once more. Their thrusts start to get sloppy, and you know they can’t last much longer like this. You reach up, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself, your fingers coming in contact with their hair.

Sloan whines and cums in one sloppy motion, resting their head on your neck while they lazily thrust through their high. Soft groans and whines vibrate against your collarbone.

It takes a minute for them to collect their strength again, pulling their cock out of you. You look at them through tear blurred vision, eyes widening at the cum soaked condom dripping into the wild tangle of hair at the base of their length. There’s a ring of white around their cock from it all, and the only thought crossing your mind is how badly you want to lick it off.

Sloan can’t decide whether to admire the sheer amount of cum filling the condom, or be disappointed that they weren’t able to fuck it into you instead. They pull it off of their cock and toss it onto the floor—it’ll be a pain to clean later, but they don’t care. They reach into their nightstand for another one, but your hand wraps around their wrist first.

“You’re still hard?”

As if in reply, their cock twitches against your leg. Though the searing heat has finally begun to fade, the pure need coursing through their veins has not.

“You’re done already?” They counter.

“N-no,” you say quickly, though your pussy feels unbearably sensitive in the cold room. “But you don’t need to use that.”

They look down at the purple wrapper in their hand, then back up at you. Their eyes practically glitter in anticipation. “Raw?”

You nod shyly, reaching out your arms to beckon them back to you. You’ll never be able to match their insatiable pace—you know that—but you told them you’d help, even if it means letting them use you like a fleshlight.

They plant a kiss to the base of your throat, a devilish twinkle in the dark of their eyes. “Roll onto your knees.”

With their help, you roll onto your stomach and pull your knees up, arching your back to give them access to your dripping cunt. Too tired to keep your chest up, you rest your cheek against the single pillow in their bed and let yourself relax.

Sloan’s hands retrace the marks they left on your lips earlier, positioning you perfectly to line up with their cock. They land a harsh slap to your cunt with the head of their cock and slip it in all at once, relishing in the gasp that leaves your lips.

They rock their hips into yours, reaching up to tangle a hand in your hair. With one hand gripping your hips and another in your hair, they piston into you. You bite your lip to try and cover the onslaught of moans they fuck out of you and pray that Sloan doesn’t have neighbors—although at this point, they’ve probably heard enough.

“Feels even better raw,” they groan, balls slapping against your clit with a particularly brutal thrust. “S’like it was made for me.”

The burning in the pit of your stomach grows at their dirty words, your pussy utterly gushing around their length. Without the condom, you can feel the desperate throbbing of their cock, feel every twitch of their tip when they bottom out inside of you. They reach everywhere inside you, rubbing places you didn’t even know you had.

Waves of pleasure roll over you, each more intense after the last. Your pussy flutters around Sloan’s cock, but their pace doesn’t slow. They keep slamming into you, lewd slapping noises loud enough to cover your desperate moans. They tug your hair hard, pulling you closer, and roll their hips against yours.

Their cockhead brushes your cervix and your eyes roll back in the sharp pleasure that travels through your pussy. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth and your moans transform from fully formed words to stupid sounding babbles.

Sloan releases your hair from their grip and moves their hand to massage your ass. “Sounds so cute when you whine,” they coo breathily.

Your senses all come flooding back to you when you feel the first spurt of their hot cum inside of you. Your tummy flutters with butterflies, your pussy contracts, and you cum with them. Both of you writhe in bed against each other, Sloan’s desperate, near primal pants like music to your ears.

“Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into the bed.

They keep their cock inside of you, shallowly thrusting their cum back in. “Please don’t stop,” they whine. “Please, I-I need more. Please.”

Your whole body burns, your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you’d even be able to cum again. “Sloan,” you sigh, looking back at them. 

“Please. Please let me keep using you. Please. You don’t even have to do anything but please let me use this pussy,” they pinch your clit in emphasis. “Please.”

“Well, with begging like that,” you joke.

Sloan wastes no time slamming their cock back inside of you, and though you can hardly feel the harsh slapping motion, you can tell their pace has slowed. You lay there, sweaty and hot and with their cum dripping out and being fucked back in.

Sloan murmurs praises to you while they thrust, their mind half gone from how fucking horny they are. They can see cum dripping down your pussy, down your thighs and it’s so filthy and it’s so hot and all they want is more. They pound into you, chasing that final high they may or may not get, desperately gripping your sensitive skin until there’s marks.

Finally, they cum again, their hot cum gushing until you’re so full it starts to burst from the seams between your pussy and their cock. Sloan watches it leak out in a trance, as if in disbelief that not only did they fuck you, they also just fucked you raw.

The heat has completely faded from their body, and as they pull out from your cunt and watch the cum drip, their cock finally starts to soften. “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak thumbs up from where you lay in the bed.

Just as they go to put on their pants, their cock twitches again, and the heat comes rushing back. Sloan sighs, looking at you guiltily, “think you can do a round 2?”

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[flokali]

Hi i just went through your entire blog and now im having intense sagau zhongli brainrot hafjdjhdjexhsn imagine sagau zhongli worshiping fem readers chest for hours *dies*

(lying) I am so normal about boobs and Zhongli… but Anon I Am Thinking So Hard (TT) His hands are so big, his fingers are so long… with only one hand he’s able to cup your boobs (and if not then he does his best, just completely enthralled with the way some of your fat leaks from between his fingers and outside of the confines of his greedy hands) and just… squeezes while he uses his mouth on the other one, licking and kissing you until you’re sensitive from his textured (and forked) tongue… I am so okay and sane about this.

Pairing: Afab! Reader (heavily implied ; no mentions of anything other than boobs (size not specified)) x Zhongli!

Warning: Yandere, Sagau, God-like reader, cult-like behavior, obsessive and possessive thoughts, n//sft (not explicit), groping & kissing & sucking, chest/boob worship, reader is implied to be bedded by multiple characters, implied murderer (or willingness to commit), cocky Morax makes an appearance, forked tongue and cold blooded Zhongli nation rise; ask to tag!

Word Count: 2k

Zhongli’s hands are, unlike most people would be led to believe, slightly colder than the average being’s. Due to his connection to the Geo element and most natural stone’s cold temperatures, it isn’t surprising that beneath his gloves lay hands that felt smooth and chilly to the touch.

It was one of your initial observations when you first felt his un-gloved hand make contact with your own. It had taken a lot of sugary words of affirmation that he would not hurt nor taint you if he touched you with his bare hands, he’d convinced himself that you were as fragile as the carving made of crystals that’d he’d crafted, Zhongli had always feared that he may be still too much of a brute to handle you without breaking.

The feeling sent shivers up your spine, you wouldn’t quite know how to describe it, his touch was light as a feather but as imposing as the Archon’s presence, it was akin to the feeling of marble beneath bare feet, smooth and pleasant yet chilly.

His hands are also, much to no one’s surprise, slightly calloused, but not as much as you’d expect for a being once known as the God of War. The tip of his fingers were slightly thicker, as was the palm of his hand, probably from the way he gripped his weapon and the amount of times he found himself doing so. After millenia of wielding all manners of tools, it was impossible his hands didn’t tell the story as well.

Even so, his hands still managed to feel soft as they traveled across your skin. They glided across your body, up through your arms and across your collarbone; the ethereal touch leaves your skin tingling with desire and anticipation, eyes transfixed with the enchanting smile that graced Zhongli’s handsome features as he allowed his hands to wander across your bare skin, even though you were the one on the receiving end, it truly seemed as if Zhongli were the one enjoying it the most. His body relaxed, shoulders loosen, he looked at peace. His long hair let loose, his clothes replaced by silken robes that hung from his frame lazily, he was the picture of serenity and earthly bliss.

The first time you’d seen him he had been so terribly nervous, a sight completely unlike the one you’d come to know across your screen, his posture was stiff, his words felt rehearsed, and you were certain you heard a relieved sigh once he finished introducing himself; you’d later come to know it was due to a crumbling feeling of anxiety and fear of upsetting you. He may be one of the oldest of your acolytes but it was perhaps that very fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders, he had to be the best, the most knowledgeable, the most befitting servant of a deity such as yourself.

To be completely honest, had you not experienced the absolute madness that it was to be sent into a world you’d once thought fictitious and later been told you were a deity revered by the Gods of this world themselves, the mere thought of a man like Zhongli, a being who’d witnessed millenia pass him, who’d met Gods of times long since gone, nervously reciting a greeting in the mirror in preparation of meeting the likes of you would have been a comedy like no other.

However, many moon cycles had now passed and you’d learned that not only had you unknowingly become a God in a world you’d once played with but that Zhongli, the man in front of you right now, was perhaps one of your biggest devotees.

And prove his devotion he shall.

It’d become a ritual for certain acolytes, the ones of age and who bore a Vision, to engage in more physical forms of worship now that you resided with them in the same physical plane. Not all of them took part in the process, some believing it to be sacrilegious to even so much as think of you in such a lewd manner, but the ones who did fought tooth and nail to be allowed a fraction of your time and grace.

Tonight, as you lay in one of Liyue Harbor’s most exquisite hotels, it was Zhongli’s turn.

Every “worshiping session” he’d dedicate himself to a new part of your body and tonight’s focus was on your chest.

He’d been so careful in peeling off your garments, making sure not to be too rough – as in his excited state he’d sometimes miscalculate his own strength – or too hasty, wanting to savor the moment your breasts finally revealed themselves to his greedy eyes.

Once they finally are free, he lowers his hands to cup one in each, allowing himself to play with them, all while squeezing and pinching at the fat until the skin turns sensitive, he was never rough, never trying to hurt you, but he couldn’t help the thoughts of simply digging his nails a little deeper to leave a more lasting mark for the next “follower” of yours to find. However, the thought of your pained whines managed to reel him in, for now.

While he uses his hands to massage the general area, his thumbs come and lay above your nipples, making sure to circle the areola, allowing your breasts to process the touch and slowly harden your nipples without him touching them directly. He lets the tip of his fingers trace the spot, teasingly hovering them above your perked nipples before going back to knead your breasts.

You’re panting ever so slightly, the feeling of your breasts being used in such a way sends small waves of pleasure straight into your clit, it leaves you trying desperately to create some sort of friction between your legs. The man above you notices and chuckles, finally giving in to your soft movements of desperation and allowing himself to play with your nipples properly. He takes the hardening nub in between his thumb and index, slowly pinching and pulling at the skin, rubbing your other breasts as lewdly gropes the fat.

“Mhmm…” You whine, bucking your chest into his hands in an attempt to incite more. You bring your hands to meet his own and start instructing them into squeezing your chest tighter and faster, switching between tugging and pinching, kneading and softly-scratching.

“Mh’m, like that?” He chuckles, allowing himself to be guided, only applying pressure every once in a while, teasing your desperate behavior.

“Do more,” you mumble between soft pants, he’s teasing you - purposefully setting a slow pace that has you wanting more - so you decide that the only logical way to get him to stop is by teasing him back, in such a way that he has no choice but to give in and finally drop his frustrating game, “I know you’re better than this, Morax.”

“… Oh?” His expression turns into one of shock and later amusement, almost taken off guard at your words; but he knows His Idol, he knows how much you enjoy playing with him, riling him up until he loses his restraint and gives into his more primal desires.

His eyes darken, his eyelids fluttering and eyebrows turning in amusement, a grin – no, smirk – more akin to that of his younger self takes over, while his golden eyes seem to take an unnatural glow. He leans forward, fully engulfing your body with his own, until his head meets your breasts and you can feel his hot breath against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have thought your excellency to be so greedy,” he chuckles, the warmth he lets out makes you shiver, his hands trace the sides of your breasts while he begins to plant open kisses into your flesh, “mhm… ‘so needy, my love, have the others not been serving you as well as me?”

You groan as you feel him begin to suck at your tits, his tongue poking out and leaving glistening trails of his drool across your skin, it’s gentle, his forked-tongue barely touches your flesh but the ghost of its presence is enough to give you goosebumps.

Zhongli’s mouth occupied itself with your right breast as his hands worked on your left, while he playfully bit and kissed you he made sure to keep stimulating you as much as possible, his hands molded your skin, squeezing and caressing every bit of flesh his palm made contact with. His open-mouthed kisses slow down as he approaches your nipples, he takes his time - making sure to softly graze you with his sharp teeth, making sure to tease you as much as possible while never quite stopping.

Your eyes never once left his, it was overwhelming, as most things were with Zhongli, the pleasure paired with his intense gaze as he made sure to commit every expression of yours to memory would have made anybody flustered.

He laughs but it’s not mocking, his eyes glaze over while he makes a show of finally getting around to sucking on your perked up nipple, he stares at you - as if daring you to look away - while his lips finally latch onto that place you so desperately had wanted them, his cheeks are clearly flushed as he begins to flick at the nub with his tongue while sucking the spot.

Instinctively you arch your back but he quickly uses his own body to drag you down, he moves around a bit, as if trying to find the best position to latch onto you, desperately wanting to overtake your body and shield you from everything that wasn’t him.

His hand cups your breast even as he pulls away with a lewd “pop”, never letting your chest be without some form of stimulation, he licks at the areola, making sure to make a spectacle as his tongue travels across one breast to the other. He switches movement, kissing and sucking while still kneading and pulling. He’s never rough, never cruel in his touch, he’s always so delicate, making sure to treat you with the utmost care.

The feeling of his cool digits after having his warm breath on you is jarring but nevertheless pleasurable, you whine as your hands shoot up to cradle his hair, fingers finding their way onto his silky hair as you unconsciously pull him closer to your body.

He chokes on a moan, his eyes roll back slightly, if there was one thing Zhongli adored was the feeling of your hands pulling against his hair, it was one of those things he could never get enough of. The truth was that this session was fueled by his own selfish desires of being your most devoted lover, your only lover; if there was one thing in this universe he craved more than you was being the owner of the title of your beloved. He hoped that these special sessions between you two would prove that he truly was the only one worthy of such a title.

For who else could have you breaking so beautifully in their hands from pleasure alone? No one, he was the only being able to lure you into such earthly desires, he was sure of it.

His tongue on your nipple, playing with your beautiful body, his hands desperately gripping at your chest, all while he savored the proximity in which he was able to see you fall apart were blessing given to him and him alone, holy gifts from you to him, your ever so loyal servant, who dedicated his heart, soul, and body to you.

Even if you did not know how deeply the devotion he held for you went, you could tell from his aroused state, his never ending servitude, willing disposition, and obsession with pleasing you that you had, knowingly or not, enthralled a man who was now willing to do anything for you.

Just seeing you fall apart from him playing with your chest was enough to have him coming close to his peak, a ball of pleasure forming as he memorized the look of pleasure and bliss that took over your hazy features.

Your breathing is quick, your body feels hot and bothered, his touch is intoxicating, you want more of it and he wants more of you, you’re not able to even so much as forget who it is you’re with for everything he does is so clearly him; no one devoted themselves to you the same way Zhongli did and if there was such a person, he’d make sure to eliminate them before they became a problem.

[comfortless]

Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

[echantedtoon]

Oh, Rats

You find a wounded rodent on a stroll by Big Ben and being the kind lady you were, you take it home and tend to it until it gets better. Little do you know what you've done.

(This was really inspired by @sindysugar and @lilgrimmapple   I really adore their artwork and story involving The Great Mouse Detective and If you get a chance please check out their stuff. Warnings for Ratigan being in bad shape with some broken bones.)

"I don't like that."

"Don't like what?"

A thunderstorm rolled across the sky that night. The sun was just setting over the horizon with the last few rays of daylight disappearing but it was hard to tell when the dark storm clouds took over the sky and claimed them as their own. Thunder shaking the lanes of the windows and lightning sounded off like an angry whip from whatever deity was angrily stomping around the clouded skies, lighting up the sky and city below for nothing but a brief second. 

It would've been absolutely dark if you hadn't lit up a few candles inside the comfy room and placed them on the table to light up the room. The warm light comforting against the scary night sky that just appeared as the last few daylights were chased away. The candlelight lighting up the scowling scrunched up face of the old maid that peered downwards at the rather large vanity in the room. It was large enough to be used as a vanity, work desk, and table so you used it as such. But lately it's had a new purpose. And it's purpose being the temporary home for your temporary new roommate. 

"I swear whatever this...this THING is it's evil!," she spoke pointing out a little but decently sized caged sitting on the vanity. It had been an old bird cage stored in the attic but you'd brought it out again to use it for someone else. "The way it just looks at everyone..." She shivered. "I swear it's almost human like! It's disturbing!"

"Calm down, Olga." Your calm voice usually soothed the older woman of any worries but lately her insistence has been a bother. Soft hands closed the curtains to your window hiding the sights of the gloomy storm outside. "He's just a harmless little mouse, and you don't have to take care of him. So why does his presence in one room of the house where you can just easily avoid him forever bother you so?"

The woman never looked up from where or more accurately WHO and WHAT she was staring at giving a loud huff of disapproval. "Hmph. It's his look that bothers me. I swear that evil smugness he always gives me is unlike a rodent!"

You sighed again as she finally turned up her nose, laundry in her arms. This happened every day since you first brought it home. Brought HIM home. Ignoring her worries, your footsteps echoed in the room making the small journey across the room to the vanity and smiled at the little occupant of the cage. 

"Hello there. Is Olga being a worrier again?" Your voice softly cooed.

Black eyes turned up towards you from the inside, teeth on display but you knew it wasn't malicious. He just seemed to like his teeth showing. Honestly it looked almost like a smirk but that was ridiculous. Mice couldn't have enough thought process to smirk. Olga was just imagining things as usual. 

"I find it disturbing how you treat it?"

"Don't like how I treat him how?," you questioned playfully wagging a finger at the cage like it was a kitten instead of a mouse.

"That! Like THAT!!" A finger released itself from the laundry she held to point at you. "You talk to that creature as if it was a human! It's disturbing and not normal!"

You again sighed tiredly before looking at her. "I talk to them the same as I do everyone else. Is that so wrong?"

"YES! It's not an equal it's a filthy vermin!"

"He's not filthy. He had a bath yesterday and I cleaned the cage this morning."

"That isn't what I meant and you know that."

Another soft sigh left your mouth along with a tired eye roll. This has happened over and over again with Olga. Honestly the older woman didn't like any animals unless it was cooked on a plate for her to eat, so this wasn't an unusual occurrence but it has been the first time she's been so insistent about you getting rid of the animal. She must really not like like mice. 

She hated him the moment you brought the poor thing home with you. It was on a similarly stormy night actually just like this one some weeks ago. You were taking a stroll through the streets of London after a day of shopping but lost track of time. A storm was coming in from the thick fog and made itself known. You decided to take a short cut past the famous Big Ben to get home faster but something else had caught your hurried attention.

As you hurried down the sidewalks with thunder sounding overhead and the fog clouding the streets, your footsteps echoed throughout the dark streets eerily, something caught your eye. A single black lump laid out upon the middle of said sidewalk making you slow down to a stop until it was but a yard away from you. What was..that? It looked at first like a black blob a little larger than a single one of your hands within the fog but as you slowly approached, it began to form more clearer and take shape. It was a-..

A large mouse? Rat maybe?

Whichever one it was, it laid face down splayed against the concrete covered in some kind of tattered black cloth. ..Poor thing. Many people considered rodents in general a burden and considered it good fortune at seeing one dead but you couldn't help but feel sorry for it. Maybe it was because you loved animals but you did feel sorry for it. It must've been stepped on by someone or maybe run over by a moving carriage the wheels throwing it onto the sidewalk with their momentum. Although you hadn't the faintest idea why it was covered in black fabric. Maybe it crawled out from a dumpster tangled in it? Or had someone tied a bag around it only for the animal to shred it apart? You had no idea. 

But SOMETHING important caught your attention as you took a closer look at it. It's chest slowly and shakily rising and falling in shaking breaths. A wheezing breathing gasping sound exiting it's mouth as it desperately clung onto life. It's body shook lightly with every gasp. It was-

"You're alive."

Olga shrieked when you got home shopping bags around your elbows and a half dead unconscious rodent in your hands wrapped up in your handkerchief. She shrieked at you that it carried diseases and it was dirty and it should die and you should throw it out the door right that second! You ignored her of course because she always reacted this way whenever you brought home an animal and sent for the local veterinarian. 

"He's incredibly lucky to be alive," the doctor had told you after the animal had been properly cleaned up and treated. "Any more time out there, especially in the rain, and he would've died. I don't know where you find these beasts but as my best customer my service is yours."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Certainly! He has some broken bones specifically some broken ribs and some wounds but with proper treatment he should be back to normal again in no time! I'll write down the care he needs and prescribe some medicine that ought to help."

Your care had been going on for a while now since then and he's been doing so much better! You made sure he was given a good clean space to stay in and comfortable things that seemed to make him feel better. Though it was quite odd for a mouse. He seemed to prefer the water you gave him in a smallish wine glass (small to a human not him), and he seemed to not like the scraps you tried giving himself. You tried giving him fresh food cut from your daily meals, which worked better. It was almost like he preferred to be served actual meals like you were a maid instead of feasting on scraps like mice usually do. But you supposed after spending so much time outside any animal would want fresh food instead of old scraps. His bed was an old cushion that was torn apart by a cat you were also caring for but had managed to sew the scrapped fabric up enough to make him a small pillow to rest on. Which he was doing now.

"You said that about every animal I've cared for," you pointed out to her raising a brow. "Like the dog with the broken leg. You said he was possessed by an evil spirit. Or the carriage horse. You say that he's waiting for you to get in front of him to run you over!"

"I stand by both of those statements still thank you very much! But this thing-" she shuddered hard. "There's something else about him that's borderline evil!"

"He's not evil. He's a mouse-"

"That thing tried to bite me through the cage first week he was here!," he accused.

"That's because you yelled at him and hit his cage which I told you NOT to do!," you countered back with a frown and crossed arms. "He was hurt, irritated, and you scared him being aggressive like that." 

You remembered that day. Olga shrieked and SWORE he was smirking at her and called him a qoute 'disgusting, filthy, disease carrying, germ and flea infested, ugly RAT' before hitting her fist on top of his cage. She almost got bit when the mouse let out a rather loud squeak. A rage fueled squeak that sounded almost like a shriek itself as it lashed out and was almost able  to catch her pinky finger in his teeth. To this day you've never heard any rodent sound like that. You had to physically shove the hysterical screaming woman out of your room and lock the door to prevent her from swinging the broom at the cage and it took nearly an hour and a half for the mouse to calm down enough for you to safely look over himself. Thankfully both were ok but you've banned Olga from going into your room at all unless you were there and made it clear if anything were to happen to him, she'd be fired immediately. You were now tired of her continued antics.

"Just leave him alone!," you ordered firmly. "He's very well behaved and he's not staying here forever. It's just until he gets all better then I'm going to release him back outside."

"Hmph. Well that's the only good thing about him being here! I swear that thing is evil and I won't change my mind. "

"Oh come now. If he was really bad he would've done something to me by now. He's so good even the kitty I'm looking after likes him."

"You mean that obese beast that eats all our good fish and lazes about all day? She's almost as bad as him."

You scowled harder at her making her sigh. The poor kitty had fur torn from her making bald spots and looked like a pack of stray dogs got her. You brought her back home to recover about two weeks before you found the mouse. Both seemed to like each other very much when you accidentally left the door open one day and came back to find both cuddled up with each other. But surprise surprise Olga didn't like her either. 

"She's on a diet so she's not used to not getting so much food. Whoever owned her previously probably just over spoiled her so she's not used to portions." You didn't see it but the mouse gave you an eye roll of slight irritation before you smiled back at him. "He's a little extinguished gentlemen. Here. I'll show you."

Olga looked physically disgusted before you reached out and with a click slide the door wide open. Her face immediately paled as your hands reached in cupped and you cooed at him like you would a kitten to come over to you.

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

You looked up at her shriek not seeing how he stood up on two legs before turning on a heel and flopping onto your palms smugly. "I'm taking him out. He's always so well behaved." Her expression worsened as you pulled your hands out with the mouse in it and smiled brightly holding him up. "See? Isn't he such a cute little guy?"

Instead of answering she squealed out as the mouse stuck it's tongue at her not that you saw and pressed herself Against the doorway in her panic fumbling with the doorknob. Wretching it open a sheet dropped from her arms as her fearful squealing continued down the hall and towards the downstairs. You blinked for a moment as the door slowly creaked closed again and more thunder rolled above you. Eventually sighing as the mouse flipped onto his stomach and regarded you with a smile as you shook your head. 

"I swear that woman just hates any animal she doesn't eat. You're certainly a gentleman no matter what anyone says. Let's get you back to bed now."

Gently your hands pushed him back into the pen and laid him stomach down on the comfy pillow. However his front paws caught onto your pointer finger and a small kiss like motion was felt on your skin. Blinking you pulled your hand away from him to look at it then at him.. before shaking your head and relocking the cage. Kissing your hand. Too many of Olga's fears was getting in your head. He probably just licked you as any animal would do. 

After all he was just a rodent and nothing more.

[heartlesscorpse]

Pyramid Head thoughts 🩸🔪 △

Catering this to myself and my hornee NEEDS and anybody else’s ig because I’m a dirty boy rn and I have too many thoughts in my head revolving around my man and I need to spill my guts before I lose this precious brain rot. Oh yeah this got some nsfw shit (it’s gonna be like further down) so be sure to read at your risk, and don’t mind the occasional out of context shit bc that’s just my comments and me giggling so hard abt this fine mfer— this was pretty fun to make too ngl, I might do more in the future if I ever get anymore ideas from things or from people, Idk we’ll see.

Pyramid Head’s possessive asf over his s/o, when you’re living inside a hellhole of a town full of monsters and a cult run by a bunch of lunatics, who else is gonna protect your ass none other than this 7’0” deity??? Man wouldn’t even hesitate to kill anybody or anything that came way too close to you.

Man’s not even gonna let you out of his sight for a second, wherever the hell you’re going he’s coming with you, you’re a fragile little thing after all. He doesn’t want anything bad happening to you, not on his watch.

The size diff between you and Pyramid Head is endearing as well as arousing just thinking about how he could manhandle you into any positions he wants and watch you struggle to take him in. You’re just so short compared to him, he finds it cute. <3

It’s fun to carry you around everywhere he goes because of how short you are compared to him. Doesn’t matter if you get a say in this or not, he’s gonna carry you whenever the hell he pleases and he’ll never let go.

Pyramid Head would’ve associated you with the colour white and some times gives you white clothing because you’re pure and the only non-sinner in this shit hole of a town.

Who the fuck needs a bed when you have Pyramid Head??? Hell, he’d probably prefer you to sleep on top of him so he could hold you in your sleep and protect you from all the dangers of Silent Hill. Not to mention he’d like the feeling of how squishy you are in his embrace, particularly your thighs, he likes wrapping his hands on them and squishing them gently in your sleep. Might be a form of comfort saying “I’m here, everything’s okay”, or he’s just admiring them. Who would’ve thought a large monster living on violence and inflicting pain on sinners would be so gentle with you? (Unless you wanted him to roughen you up a little of course then by all means, he’ll fuckin’ do it.) >:))

Because Pyramid Head only exists in Silent Hill and doesn’t know a lot about the outside world, it’s rather adorable watching him get all confused with that head tilt of his whenever you explain certain things to him couples do on a regular basis besides sex, but he does show some curiosity on said topic and possibly willing to do those things with you as well.

Pyramid Head enjoys receiving attention from you, be it either hugs from behind or give him kisses on his helmet or the tongue— anywhere else is prolly gonna give him some other ideas of sorts, rnskfbsjfbw.

OH BOY the fucking dirty brain rot persists. If this man ever happened to be feeling horny he honestly wouldn’t hesitate taking your clothes off in one tear the second he has your consent.

Did I mention abt the size diff last time? Making you take in his cock nice and slow isn’t gonna do much, he’d want you to get over with the pain fairly quick so he’ll just push it in without warning lmao, of course once he’s in, he’ll allow you a brief moment to adjust to his size and once you’re all good he’s going to pound the fucking daylights out of you.

AGAIN WITH THE SIZE DIFF it’s just so satisfying and enjoyable to him watching you writhing and moaning underneath him like that, accounting to that just seeing you stuffed full of his come and utterly blissed out is adorable. (Like man I— let him rail me already PLEASEE)

And he’s for sure going to tease the fuck out of you to overstimulation until your mind is nothing but a puddle of mush and you’re begging for him. <33

Aftercare in the end is amazing, he’ll help clean you up by fucking eating you out with his tongue and then he’ll lay there with you in his arms, with a blanket big enough pulled over top to cover the both of you while you snuggle up in the mean time. A possible guarantee you’re gonna have a blast trying to walk in the morning./j

🥩⋆♱✮♱⋆🔪 🩸

[stupidlittlespirit]

Rating: SFW (later chapters will be NSFW) Type: Long form, multi-chapter, Stanford Pines x Reader Tags: Mutual pining, no pronouns used, teasing, a special appearance from Stan, mentions of the kids, housekeeper!Reader, tw: my horrible jokes. Word count: 5,729 My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3! Ch.2 here

In which a simple expedition with Ford goes increasingly sideways and you learn more than enough about thermodynamics to last you a lifetime.

A/N: This has been quite an undertaking to produce. I created this fic as somewhat of a universe in which base a number of my post-portal!Ford one-shots etc in, and that meant I had to lay a lot of groundwork in it. I wanted to have a setting where I didn't need to keep giving background on what the Reader's role is and how/why they feel a certain way in every fic, and to also offer a kind of timeline that could be explored through future works. Because of that, in this fic there will be vague allusions to some small events happening to set us up for the current day and if people are interested in reading more about those events in full detail then I'd really love to explore them properly with you guys.

Just as an aside - Reader will mention they don't have a father in a throwaway line. It can be taken as just a joke or as literal. Up to you.

Anyway, most of this fic is already completed and I'll be posting a new chapter every couple of days or so. You can wait to read it all in one go or enjoy it in chapters. There will be roughly 5 in total. Enjoy!

Sometimes, in life, things align so perfectly that a person can't stop themselves from considering the possibility of cosmic interference.

Deities. The universe. Some other unseen, all powerful entity of murky origin. All of their existences seem far more plausible when events in one's life fall effortlessly into place and line up to give them the exact thing they've always wanted.

Today is one of those days.

You're busy chopping onions when the planets orient themselves for you.

The broad kitchen knife in your hand knocks rhythmically against the oak board underneath it with every slice you make and the little ribbons of milk-white flesh stack neatly between blade and vegetable, but your attention is, quite irresponsibly, elsewhere.

You really ought to be keeping track of your fingers but you're far too preoccupied with gazing out of the bay window in front of you to really care all that much. The thing is huge; its frame is rimmed with rich mahogany and it has one broad, square pane sitting in the centre, beset by two more, slimmer, rectangular pieces. It drinks in the waning daylight outside and on sunnier evenings, the pretty little stained panels that skirt the tops of each one glow a rich blue, showing off the depictions of constellations inside, like someone has captured part of the night sky and trapped it within the glass for their own private amusement.

Today, the clouds block the sun and the cerulean glass is dull, but you don’t mind too much. You’re not making use of the window to admire the art, lovely as it may be. You’re far more focused on what’s taking place on the lawn, beyond the bounds of the warm interior of the house.

Out on the well-kept grass, two figures are vigorously working out. Well, one is. The other looks like he’d rather keel over and die than spend another second out there, but he’s doing his best all the same and that’s what matters, you suppose.

Steam rises from Ford’s figure as he pauses in his work to help his nephew grip a mid-sized dumbbell correctly. It curls off and around his body like smoke, rising from its sweaty source and wafting into the unseasonably cool air. His cheeks are pink, likely both from exertion and the chill in the weather, and the colour blooms all the way across his face, stretching far enough to even tickle the tips of his ears.

He looks gorgeous.

Dressed in all-black, he’s wearing a short sleeve t-shirt and sweats, paired with dirty blue trainers. Where the skin of his throat and arms should be exposed, however, they’re instead wrapped up tight in what you presume to be some kind of fancy thermal shirt. You’ve never seen him wear anything that shows off his skin, yet somehow the way it clings to the curves of his biceps and forearms is even more revealing than seeing them bare.

Granted, this isn't the first time you've spied on one of his workout sessions like this (in almost exactly the same way), but every time he shows up, it feels like you've been blessed by the Heavens.

Ford, for what it’s worth, hasn’t noticed anything untoward. Not as far as you’re aware, anyway. He’s usually too lost in whatever he’s doing to pay you much mind and if he does catch your presence in the window, you’re always quick to make yourself look busy.

Ford works out four times a week, like clockwork, on the front lawn of the house he shares with his brother. He doesn't always have his nephew with him (Dipper clearly only ever wants to do his best for his great-uncle, however exercise is hardly the kid's forte and you can't say you blame him), which means that oftentimes you get the absolute pleasure of observing a clueless Ford lift weights and stretch his quads for sixty minutes whilst you break from your other chores to prepare them all dinner.

You've been working for the Pines’ for the better part of a year now and getting hired had been a complete accident:

Upon moving to Gravity Falls eighteen months ago and landing the first job you had come across in the local paper (an underpaid, exhausting waitressing gig at the local diner) you’d run into the kids one afternoon on a rare day off.

Mabel had almost smashed your ankle to bits after she and her brother had lost control of their overstuffed trolley and once they had finished their litany of apologies, you’d taken note of the cart’s contents: primarily filled with sugar riddled snacks and items with so little nutritional value that you’d been astounded they’d been legal to sell, neither one of the kids appeared to know how they were going to lug all their so-called food home or what they were going to make for dinner.

Without much else to do, you’d volunteered to lend a hand. They had explained their task: “Grunkle Stan says his back hurts too much to waste time in the store these days and he promised that if we helped, he’d make Grunkle Ford teach us how to drive so we can do it even faster!” Mabel had enthusiastically informed you, eyes bright and metaphorical tail bushy, and despite your confusion over the concept of a ‘Grunkle’, the idea of two apparently-just-turned fourteen year olds at the wheel had been less than thrilling.

Some gentle sweet talking had convinced them to swap out some of their items for things a little more suitable and you’d carried their bags back on a short walk to the house where you’d met the infamous Stan lounging on its porch, his feet up on some empty crates.

At Mabel’s excited introduction of you and her retelling of your recipe ideas, Stan had given you a once over before he’d asked how you felt about replacing the kids as dinner gofer. As it turned out, sending two hyperactive children out to get groceries every week had apparently (shockingly) not been working out too well for the older brothers, and one offer of help had turned into several paid offers.

After only a few short weeks of assisting them, you’d been offered a full time position as housekeeper. The decision to take them up on it had been easy; waitressing barely covered the bills for your decrepit little cabin on the outskirts of town and spending hours every day walking the same five metre route to and from the kitchen six days a week was monotonous enough that you’d been considering moving on anyway.

You’d jumped at the chance.

Technically, your job here is to help with the household tasks that Stan is too lazy to do and that Ford is too busy researching or gallivanting around in the forest to take on, but more often than not, you’re stuck doing whatever little thing Stan thinks up so that he can, as he puts it: ‘enjoy his retirement, sweetheart’. The work extends to any little chore they might need help with, and when the kids head home for summer and Ford and Stan set sail for a few months again, it falls to you to keep the place standing until they return.

Hence why you’re slaving away in their roomy kitchen this evening, gazing out at Ford like you’re some kind of yearning protagonist in a classic romance novel and turning over several thoughts in your mind that you’re sure would get you fired if you revealed them in detail to anyone else. You exhale softly as you watch him show Dipper how to correctly pull off a bicep curl, his arm flexing beneath his shirt.

Behind you, at the dinner table, Stan pauses where he's rustling through his daily newspaper at a leisurely pace and his chair creaks as he shifts in it. “Keep sighing like that and you’ll fog the windows up before he’s finished.”

You start, having completely forgotten his presence, and narrowly you swerve the kitchen knife to avoid chopping off the tip of your index finger. “Jesus, Stan!” you huff. “I almost cut my hand off! They should put a bell on you.”

Stan laughs under his breath. “Oh, they’ve tried, trust me,” he mutters darkly. “Besides, that’s what you get for not paying attention.”

“I am paying attention,” you lie. “I was just…. Thinking.”

“About what?” Stan asks, in a way that suggests he already knows. He probably does.

Stan is the only other person besides yourself who’s aware of your affection for Ford.

The crush had started small, blossoming slowly over time into something more significant, and Stan had worked it out before you’d even caught it yourself.

For all his faults, the guy is as perceptive as they come and admittedly, he’s a lot of fun in his own right. He’s cantankerous and rough around the edges, and yet he’s got a heart of gold that he hides deep underneath his gaudy chains and string vests. At first, he’d been grumpy and standoffish about your presence, despite being the one to hire you in the first place, but as time has gone by and you’ve proven yourself to be competent at both the work and at giving as good you get, he’s dropped his guard and dragged you into his jokes and games.

Although he’s less than thrilled about your private sentiments towards his brother, he's charming in his own special way and he only ever uses it to rag on you when he’s feeling mean. To the best of your knowledge, he hasn’t said a word to anyone else about it. Stan is an ass, but he’s not cruel.

And while you’re not going to divulge your most intimate thoughts to him, you’ll always rise to a little back and forth with him. He seems to enjoy having a verbal sparring partner.

“How old did you say your brother was again?” You ask with feigned innocence, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“What?” Stan grunts, folding the top of his paper down enough to glower at you over it.

“I said, remind me how old your brother is again,” you repeat, turning your attention back to watching Ford lean down to stretch his hamstrings again. It looks like he’s cooling down for the day now which means he’ll be doing static stretches for the next ten minutes, and every time he does so you’re treated to a wonderful view of his ass.

“Same age as me,” Stan says, and at your silence he tacks on: “We’re twins,” like you’re an idiot.

“So….?”

“He’s sixty-two, genius.”

“Huh,” you mutter quietly. “Interesting….”

It's hard to remember when Ford is so agile and active, and for all your interest in him, you've never actually asked his age. Sixty-two is perfectly doable though, in every conceivable sense of the word…..

Stan rustles his paper again. “If you’re thinkin’ about what I think you’re thinkin’ about, and I know you are, don’t even think about it.”

You snort. He has such a way with words.

"I told you last time, stay away from him. He's...." Stan pauses, as though he intends to say something else but thinks better of it. "He's old enough to be your father."

“I don’t have a father,” you say absentmindedly.

It’s Stan’s turn to snort now. “Y’know, that makes a lot of sense, actually.”

You tear your gaze away from Ford’s routine to flip Stan the bird, sticking your tongue out for good measure before you reach for the glass mixing bowl to your right. Now that your evening matinee is ending, you really ought to get a move on with dinner.

“Anyway, I didn’t hire you to gawp at my brother like he’s a piece of meat on the discount shelf,” Stan grouches. “You’re s’posed to be cooking.”

“I'm not gawping, I just happen to be facing the same way that he's doing all his stuff in,” you say defensively, before adding in a muttered: “Besides, he definitely wouldn’t be on the discount shelf.”

“Uh huh,” Stan says, clearly not believing a word.

Rather than defend your actions, you focus on your work: Tonight's dinner is wild mushroom pie. You've only made it once before but it's nice and filling, and you're supposed to be helping everyone eat better. Bad diets run in the family apparently (although where Ford is concerned, he just as often skips meals altogether some days) and so far, they've all been amenable to trying something new. The kids had been reluctant to test out vegetables at first but after a few valiant efforts to make them as palatable as possible they'd come round.

A lot of the work is already done; a pot of stock is simmering away on the hob, the onions from earlier are ready to be tossed into the slowly-warming frying pan and a red, ceramic pie dish is neatly lined with pastry and ready to go whenever you need it. For now, the next task is to prepare the star ingredient: Wild mushrooms.

You’ll be the first to admit, quite happily, that you're not the most outdoorsy of people and you're going to cheat a little bit on the ‘wild’ requirements. You'd picked up a packet of the things last weekend at the supermarket with the intention of doing one thing or another with them, and it does say on the label that they're wild, so you'll let yourself off on that one. Although, knowing Gravity Falls you're really hoping that ‘wild’ isn't a play on words and they turn out to be some kind of feral man-eating fungi. You're not in the mood to be hunted down by a hungry creature today.

Leaving your pots and pans to simmer, you check in the pantry for the little box only to come up empty handed. There's no sign of it anywhere in there, not even when you rummage around right at the back, and you call out to Stan in confusion: “Have you seen the mushrooms I brought back last week?”

“The ones in the brown container?” Stan asks.

“Yeah….”

“Mabel fed ‘em to Waddles last night,” he says, and when you stick your head around the pantry door to stare at him in disbelief, he shrugs without looking up. “What was I supposed to do, tell her no?”

You know what he means; She’s upstairs right now giving the damn pig a manicure makeover with your old (and apparently animal safe) nail polishes because you hadn’t had it in you to deny her them when she’d been upset about her own limited supplies.

It’s extraordinarily hard to refuse Mabel anything and you can appreciate the difficulty, but still.

“Stan, I told you what I was planning to cook tonight!” You groan, kicking the pantry door shut. “How am I supposed to make a mushroom pie with no mushrooms?”

You can’t exactly nip to the store today either. Every single shop in town is shut. The news this morning had warned of a major storm blowing in and informed everyone that they best stay at home lest they keep an inflatable raft in their back pocket, and no one sells those outdated things anymore. Too many accidental indoor deployments, apparently.

According to Ford, this place is susceptible to irrational weather spells and the increasingly aggressive changes in pressure and temperature that have spawned with global warming have only made them more volatile. Last summer there had been a spate of hailstorms that had puked up football-sized pieces of ice and smashed the windscreen of your car to pieces. You’re still sore about that one….

“What am I supposed to do?” You lament, sparing a miserable glance at the half-done recipe on the stove.

From behind you, a deep voice makes you jump: “Is something wrong?”

You almost leap out of your skin, swivelling on the spot to find the source hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

Both brothers have the ability to be supernaturally quiet when they want to be. While Stan uses his subtlety less often, Ford skulks around like a well practised alley cat a lot of the time and he frequently scares the shit out of you. He must have finished his routine and crept back inside unannounced.

He gives you an apologetic smile, holding one hand up to ease your fear. “Apologies,” he laughs under his breath. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ford is still dressed in his workout clothes, his thick, wavy hair roguishly dishevelled and slightly damp at the temples, and he looks just as lovely up close as he had done from the window. Perhaps even lovelier.

You swallow thickly, your brain short circuiting at the sight of him. “Uh, yes?” You say, though it's more of a question than an answer.

Ford looks at you expectantly, evidently waiting for you to expand on your problem, and Stan smirks at your lack of grace.

You shake your head minutely, desperately pulling yourself together and hoping he'll assume your speechless state is just because he's made you jump and not because your heart is climbing up your throat.

“I'm making pie,” you say, jerking your thumb over at the pots. “And someone,” You pause to fix Stan with an annoyed look and he rolls his eyes. “Let Mabel feed them all to Waddles, and…. I don’t have a back up plan.”

You feel a little stupid admitting it aloud.

Ford hums thoughtfully, heavy brows creasing together as he leans against the doorframe.

“That's quite the conundrum….” He says, frowning at the flagstone tiles under your feet.

His dark eyes flicker back and forth quickly, and you can tell he's trying to think up a solution.

After a long pause, he snaps his fingers and speaks up again: “You know, I did stumble across a nice little patch of mushrooms not far from here about a month ago. We could take a walk up there and grab some, if you'd like?”

“In the forest?” You ask, brows raised.

“Where else?” Ford grins, and you feel your stomach fill with butterflies. “They're edible, of course, I've tested them myself.”

“Are you telling me you ate random mushrooms you found on the ground, Doctor Pines?” You ask, mildly appalled. “They could have killed you.”

Ford waves a hand dismissively. “Unlikely. My travels have given me something of an iron stomach. It takes more than a Death Cap to put me down these days.”

At the mention of ‘travels’, you perk up a bit.

Ford's history is more than a little murky to you. In the time you’ve been working for the family, you’ve only heard second-hand snippets or passing mentions of his alleged escapades. The kids have let slip to you several times about his adventures and, despite initially assuming they'd been making things up for fun, the stories had eventually begun to seem a little too consistent to simply be make-believe.

One evening, when the kids had been safely tucked up in bed and Ford had been locked away in his study, you’d brought the subject up to Stan over a nightcap on the porch.

Stan had sighed, lit a cigar, and sworn you to secrecy before giving you a rough outline of his brother’s complex background: his outstandingly impressive academic history, their less-than-ideal family rift and some kind of accident that had sent Ford careening into, quite literally, another dimension. Stan hadn’t gone into excessive detail, and you hadn’t pushed despite desperately wanting to, but by his own admission he had felt that if you were to be working around them then you’d be better off at least having some idea of their strange history.

And strange it is.

You yourself have only lived in Gravity Falls for the better part of eighteen months and becoming accustomed to the weirdness of this place has been unusually easy. Residents take the bizarre in such casual stride that you’re more likely to stick out should you make a fuss about it all and after a while, seeing the odd oddity around had quickly become the norm.

At Stan’s vague reveal of his brother’s disappearance and, as everyone else calls them, his travels, the notion had been surprisingly easy to fathom in the context of such an already weird place. Utterly incredible, yet somehow very in line with this town.

Ford has never brought it up to you himself beyond a rare, fleeting mention, but you’re aware that he’s apparently spent significant time in places that other people might only dream of.

You’re sure he knows of your vague awareness but you know better than to poke around in other people’s sore wounds without permission.

Stan had warned that neither he nor his brother were predisposed to telling everyone and anyone about his time away and you can’t really blame them. From what you know (and can imagine), it can’t have been all fun and games.

“I think he’s got, like, PTSD or somethin’,” Stan had said that night, sounding genuinely heartbroken about it. “So don’t go sniffing around him, alright? He’s…. It’s difficult. Everyone’s been through a lot. Maybe we’ll tell you about it properly one day.”

You understand, of course. Whatever has gone on in their lives is clearly significant and you’re still an outsider. A year is no time at all in the grand scheme of things and they’re a tightly-knit, protective family. They’ve no reason to fill you in on their traumatic family history just because you help around the house and you’ve no right to know it, but you’re willing to earn their trust and if the stories come with it, then so be it.

Although slow to start, things have been going well so far and you’re closer than ever with them, so every titbit Ford drops has you on tenterhooks immediately.

“Besides,” Ford says, still on the subject of his thrilling mushroom discoveries, “their lack of toxicity isn’t even the most exciting part!” He adjusts his glasses and you can tell he's gearing up into scientist-mode.

Behind you, Stan sighs, long-suffering.

“I thought they tasted significantly more intense than a regular mushroom, so once I’d confirmed that they were safe for general human consumption, I asked Dipper to try them. He reported them to be, in his words, 'beefy'. Now, Umami is the most commonly associated flavour with regard to mushrooms because of naturally occurring glutamate, but monosodium glutamate, which would deepen the flavour even more and fall in line with mine and Dipper's taste tests, isn't, and I doubt the gnomes are out there spraying crops with MSG. They haven't the tools for that, I've checked. Anyway, I asked Mabel to try them and she said they tasted, quote, ‘like chocolate stirred by puppies and angels’,”

Here, Ford pauses to laugh fondly before he goes on:

“Which is most certainly not a common flavour of mushroom. So my hypothesis is that they change taste based on whoever touches them and I've been meaning to test them again, seeing as we ate the first batch before I could record the findings properly. We'd be killing two birds with one stone, really.”

You have to fight back a smile. The way he lights up when he talks about his stupid fucking mushrooms is beyond cute and you always enjoy watching him get passionate about his projects, especially when he veers off course on silly tangents that he deems relevant.

But Ford has never asked you to accompany him before which makes this event all the more alluring. It's a privilege to be invited along and as much as you want to jump at the chance, you do have one worry:

“What about the storm?”

At the table, Stan pushes his chair back with a screech and stands up. “Exactly. TV said it's gonna be a bad one and I'm not paying for another newspaper ad if you kill our housekeeper just because you wanna show off again.”

Ford sputters. “I'm not showing off, Stanley! This is about science!”

It should be worrying that his main concern is his pride over your potential death-by-negligence, but the way the top of his ears turn red at his brother's accusation overrules your concern. He's disgustingly adorable when he gets embarrassed.

Dipper chooses that exact moment to trot past his great uncle's side and into the kitchen, giving you a bright, exhausted smile. He’s shed his workout gear for a t-shirt and a fresh pair of sweats, and his hair is slightly damp. “Dinner smells good,” he yawns. “I'm starving. I got ten whole reps in today, right, Grunkle Ford?” He looks especially proud about it.

Ford shucks off his ire to give his nephew a warm smile. “That you did, my boy. Up two compared to last week, by my calculations. You're going to be giving me a run for my money before the summer is over.”

Dipper rubs the back of his neck, bashful, but the way he's beaming betrays his excitement. “I wouldn't go that far….”

“Nice work, dude,” you grin, offering a hand out for a high five.

He takes the bait and slaps your palm with his before fetching himself a soda. “So, how long ‘til dinner?”

You wince inwardly. He'll be hungry enough to eat a horse by now and you can't let him subsist on snacks after all the exercise he's done today. It won't help him build the muscle you know he so desperately wants if all he eats are chips, dips and sodas.

“You better stock up on snacks tonight, kid,” Stan chuckles as he reaches for his own bag of chips that he already has open the table top. “Somebody forgot to get ingredients.”

You shoot Stan a venomous look and at Dipper's disappointed little ‘wait, what?’, you turn back to Ford. Storm be damned, the idea of letting down a child makes you feel worse than getting stuck in a downpour ever could, and you know you'll regret it but what other choice do you have? You've done stupider things for less.

“You're sure the patch isn't far from here?” You ask Ford, giving in with a sigh. “And we'll beat the storm?”

Ford beams at your change of heart, and that, combined with the knowledge of a well-fed charge, instantly makes your agreement worth it. His moods vary like the wind sometimes and you’re always eager to see him happy because you know that it means he’ll spend more time talking to you.

“We'll be in and out in under an hour, you have my word,” he assures you. “I know that place like the back of my hand.”

You sigh again. “Fine. I'll go with you to get the mushrooms.”

Dipper slips back out of the kitchen. Usually, you're sure he'd inquire about your task and ask to come along, but it seems he really is thoroughly exhausted from his gym session and he takes an early leave. Poor kid.

Ford nods, pleased. “Give me a moment to shower and change. I'll put together some supplies and then we can leave.”

“Sure,” you smile. “And thank you, Doctor Pines. I appreciate the help.”

Ford grins, giving you a nod, and then he’s following his nephew out of the kitchen, sweeping down the hallway to sort out his things.

You make use of the spare time to tidy up a little and lower the gas on the stock as low as it will go, then take the pan off the heat. If Ford means what he says about getting in and out quickly, you might have a chance at saving the rest of the prep and it would be a shame to have to start everything over again.

You clean up your workstation and make sure everything is safely put aside before taking a seat at the table to wait.

It's then that you realise Stan is watching you closely. He’s smirking, and it always makes you a little nervous when he wears that mischievous look.

“What?” You ask him hesitantly.

“You can just call him Ford, y’know,” Stan says, slumping back in his chair and looking amused. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind….”

You roll your eyes, shrugging one shoulder. “Not this again. I told you before, he's never asked me to call him anything else. I did the same for you when I first started, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and I told you to stop because you made me sound like my old man,” Stan gripes through a mouthful of potato chips.

“Exactly, and that's your prerogative,” you say, a little defensively.

You're telling the truth; Ford hasn’t ever asked you to call him something less formal, even if you might like to try the taste of something more intimate on your tongue. “Ford has earned his title, I’m not going to take it away from him.”

Stan snorts. “Oh, I bet he loves that.”

“What?”

“You, stroking his ego and running around after him like a lost puppy,” Stan says, amused.

“First of all, I run around for everyone in this house like a lost puppy, it's literally my job,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Secondly, I’m not stroking his ego. The guy’s smart and he’s got an armful for doctorates. I’m just…. Acknowledging that.”

“Uh huh,” Stan says, sceptical.

“What now?” You huff.

“Nothing.”

“Stan,” you say sternly. “Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh come on,” he says, trying and failing to keep the smirk off of his face. “Could you be any more obvious? You're worse than Dipper was when he came back after all that time, hanging off his every word and getting all googly-eyed over him like the sun shines out of his ass.”

“I don’t-“

“‘Yes Doctor Pines, no Doctor Pines’,” Stan simpers, putting on a poor imitation of your voice. “Take me out to the woods and experiment on me, Doctor Pines!’”

You can feel your face heat up. “You're such an asshole sometimes, you know that? And he isn’t experimenting on me, he asked me to help hi-”

“Show me your magic mushroo -“

Someone clears their throat in the kitchen doorway and both you and Stan whip your heads around to follow the source of the noise. Much to your horror, Ford is waiting for you, clad in jeans and a trademark red turtleneck along with a pair of filthy hiking boots. There's a sizable backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders and he doesn’t look very amused at his brother's antics.

“Are you done?” He asks, levelling Stan with a searing look.

Stan opens his mouth, still grinning, and Ford cuts him off instantly. “Actually forget that, I know you’re not,” he says. “You never are.”

Then he turns his attention to you.

You’re trying very hard not to melt into a humiliated puddle on the floor and under his gaze you feel yourself slip just a little further down into your seat.

His gaze softens somewhat, almost sympathetic, and he gestures vaguely towards the front door down the hall. “If you're not too busy being harassed, I'm ready to set off,” he says.

You really rather wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right now, but alas, you do need those stupid mushrooms…..

“Sure,” you say faintly, scrambling up from your seat.

Ford heads off towards the foyer and you try to compose yourself with a deep breath before you follow him, glancing back to stick your tongue out at Stan again.

Stanley laughs at your awkwardness and as you hurriedly trot towards the hall, he pretends to fan himself dramatically.

“Three bags full, Doctor Pines,” Stan grins, and then you're shutting the kitchen door on him before you put your job on the line with the insult you're lining up in your head.

Stan thinks he's endlessly funny when it comes to winding you up over Ford and if you show how much he gets under your skin with it, he'll only get worse. You think he might be doing it in the hopes of putting you off his brother, but he’ll need to try a lot harder than that.

Instead of encouraging him, you follow in Ford's footsteps down the short, oak panelled hallway until you reach the front door.

Ford has already donned his reliable tan trench coat, patiently waiting for you to pull your own jacket and boots on. So much of the town is woven between the forest that you practically live in hiking shoes these days and it doesn't take you long to be readily dressed and warm.

Once you’re sorted, Ford swings the heavy oak front door open. A well-timed gust of cool wind blusters in as he does so, ruffling your clothes and hair, and instantly you realise the weather is much more intimidating when face to face with it.

It's incredibly dull out here. In the short time that Ford and Dipper have ended their routine and you've packed your things up, the sky has gotten impossibly darker. The winds must have herded more clouds overhead than you’d realised and the light has faded so much that you'd be forgiven for assuming it to be almost night time. When you check your watch, however, it still reads barely 6PM.

Ford must catch the concern on your face because he picks up on your worry straight away. “It's just overcast,” he reassures you. “I’ve seen plenty of storms like this in the time I’ve lived here. We'll have enough time to make it there and back before it gets too dark, and I brought torches as a precaution.”

That makes you feel a little better, at least. You know he’s an experienced outdoorsman and he’d probably be able to find his way around here blindfolded and hogtied. If you have to go out in risky weather with anyone, Ford is your best bet.

With the stride of a uniquely confident man, Ford steps out into the evening with a sharp breath inward and a contented sigh, taking in the awaiting scent of petrichor. He holds the door open for you with one hand and gestures for you to follow with the other, offering you a rakish grin.

“Shall we?”

And when he smiles at you like that, what choice do you have?

A/N: Yay! You made it to the end!

So firstly, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post another work! These take a bit of time for me to write because I tend to write the entire work in one go from start to finish before I begin posting and I've also been unwell/busy, so it took a backseat for a bit but here we are!

Secondly, as I posted at the start, this is going to be a small series and will start as a decently sized multi-chapter fic. There will be smut and I already have most of it written. Your patience will be rewarded!

Please consider supporting me on ao3 also :)

[serpentface]

The two populations of native Wardi lions, a wild male and captive semi-domesticated (maned) lioness

Lions are one of the last extant true felids in this setting. The native Wardi lion population is low in density and could be considered endangered, (though relatively stable and not in active decline), having survived the continental interchange, changing climate, and sophont expansion that wiped out most other felids. They are most common in areas outside of the range of king hyenas (notably the deserts, edges of the salt pans, hills, and oak forests). The Wardi population is characterized by relatively light coloration and dark, scruffy 'mohawk' like manes. The only other known surviving lion population in the world is in the forested region east of Imperial Wardin, genetically isolated by the Blackmane mountain range and spared competition with hyaenadontoid 'cats'.

These animals had great significance in ancient 'heathen' Wardi culture (prior to colonization by two former Burri empires and development of the contemporary monotheistic faith). The exact details of these traditions have been lost to time, though they were clearly venerated, either as gods themselves or as sacred animals of a key deity (known from relics depicting a deified maned lioness)

Two distinct strands of this tradition survive into the contemporary. One is in the folklore of the Wogan people (an ethnoreligious minority in contemporary Imperial Wardin with common cultural ancestry with ethnic Wardi, displaced from their original homeland during the time of the last Burri empire). Wogan folklore casts maned lionesses specifically as minor deities who can shapeshift into human form, often to mate with men (with the resulting children being demigods). The Wogan culture hero Ianobi (semi-mythological founder of the ancient city that was sacked and rebuilt as Erubinnos) is claimed to have a lioness as a mother.

The other remaining branch of this tradition is Odomache (the 'lion face' of God in the imperial Wardi faith) and Its Odonii order of priestesses. Though their contemporary role is primarily interlinked with the military and as physical embodiments of imperial soverignty, they are also ceremonial keepers of a captive, semi-domesticated population of sacred white lions, raised primarily for roles in routine animal sacrifice (both as a conduit for God in consuming offerings, and as sacrifices themselves)

These white lions compose a solid third of the remaining Wardi lion population. The captive population is characterized by very light fur (which is not albinism but a result of selective breeding) and extremely small size. Maned lionesses occur with a higher frequency than in wild populations, and will be intentionally selected for breeding, seen as the most perfect representations of/ideal sacrifices to Odomache. They can be considered semi-domesticated, well accommodated to human handling, entering estrus more frequently, and showing phenotypical signs of domestication (especially spotted skin, some coat variations). While aesthetically pleasing, this captive population is heavily inbred and commonly overfed, and most animals have an unusually short lifespan.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Hadrian's Wall

Hadrian's Wall is an impressive masterpiece of military engineering built along steep ups and downs that cross space and history between England and Scotland.

The old wall, sculpted for almost 2000 years by wind and rain, climbs over hills, immerses itself in a moor to suddenly resurface among the blades of light of a wood, a karst presence that seems to absorb the energy of landscape to challenge its gravity and logic in a rollercoaster of harsh ups and downs that cross space and history.

Hadrian's Wall is no longer England but it is not yet Scotland, even if the land to the north seems wilder.

But perhaps it is just a state of mind of those who look at it, subtly altered by the emotion of treading the same stones on which the Roman legionaries walked.

In reality, unlike what many believe, the Wall is within English territory, even if it has helped define the borders of the two countries since the emperor from whom it takes its name ordered its construction in 122 AD to "separate the Romans from the barbarians," the hostile tribes of the Picts who populated today's Scotland, a tough nut to crack even for the Roman legions.

To build it in just six years, about fifteen thousand men were employed, three legions that faced the challenges of a terrain carefully chosen to exploit its advantages.

The result is an impressive masterpiece of military engineering, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987, stretching from one coast of England to the other for eighty Roman miles, about one hundred and seventeen kilometers from Solway Firth to the west and Wallsend to the east.

It is one of the many place names linked to its existence and then extending southwards with ports and coastal fortifications.

For nearly three centuries, Hadrian's Wall was northernmost and most fortified boundary of the Roman limes, a gigantic defensive system that stretched for over five thousand kilometres — from the Atlantic coast of Great Britain to the Black Sea across Europe — then continuing through present-day Middle East to Red Sea and from there cutting across North Africa to the Atlantic.

The 117km long (80 Roman miles) Hadrian's Wall was punctuated by 14 main forts, 80 minor ones and 2 watchtowers every third of a mile.

In addition to the actual wall, mainly made of stone, about 5m high and up to 3m thick, becoming six metres thick in the earthen sections, the Wall was reinforced by a ditch bristling with pointed stakes, a military road that connected the forts and allowed any point to be reached quickly and by a deep embankment, the Vallum.

The forts, rectangular in plan, varied in size according to the importance of the garrison, a pattern repeated with slight differences along the entire limes that protected the borders of the empire.

A moat and a wall punctuated by towers protected the perimeter and each side had a gate protected by two massive towers.

Inside were the headquarters — the praetorium where the praefectus castrorum reside; barracks; a hospital; warehouses and latrines, generally under the walls, while the bathrooms were outside the fortifications.

In granary, food supplies were stored to face the harsh winters or possible sieges.

In the Vicus, the civilian settlement, lived the families of the soldiers, often auxiliaries who officially could not marry.

In these villages that grew spontaneously around the forts, merchants, artisans and prostitutes also lived, attracted by the soldiers' wages.

There were also temples dedicated to Roman, local and even oriental deities that reflected the different religions of soldiers from all over the empire because Romans were very tolerant as long as the social order and the emperor were not questioned.

🎥: © pindropandhop via IG

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere König x Reader pls? Take all the time you need.

Warnings: yandere behavior and mention of murderer/violence.

A/N: Sorry, this took so long, I've been having writing block these past few days; hope you enjoy reading :].

Gif and icons belongs to bloodlst || NOT MINE

König as your obsessed beloved, is quite shy. Obsessive and heads-over-heels for you in every aspect possible. Massive stalker, and tends to cling to you like a koala whenever you’re around.

Whilst this giant isn’t the most sociable to be around, it’s likely that both of you met while connecting through the KorTac team, making you the new guy to the team. Which, at first, is awkward.

But the minute the team introduces you, König is immediately infatuated with you, head over heels for you; his hazel eyes throwing a rare connection as he follows your form, watching you do your work from afar/or close up.

You were absolutely a definition of a deity, maybe an angel in disguise– all he cared about was how different you were and how his eyes followed your trail like a dog.

Now, it’s possible that you were a medic. A kind and sweet doc that’s always made him blush with your gentle and scarred hands working on his wounds after missions or taking the chance to be shown around the campus; which, he’s grateful for.

Although, you might’ve been a good sniper too — an amazing eagle-eye soldier who knew what they were doing, something he admired. Though, something stood out for you.

Maybe it was the mask you wore, in and out of the battlefield, or possibly the fact you always went out of your way to talk with the Austrian giant; yelling across the field while jogging up to meet him.

At first, it was uncomfortable. He responds with too formal expressions and goes as far as not to look you in the eye. But, the more you spent time with him, he slowly opened up, allowing you to train with him, throwing glances your way, and partnering up on gunning away at the shooting range while the two of you talked about your past/or present.

His obsessiveness really starts to show the minute he sees you get a bit close with your other teammates, whether that’s Nikto, Zero, or his best mate, Horangi. In many sense, König is possessive, but in a sense of needing to keep you safe.

Jealousy lingered off of him, steaming smoke as if he were a dragon. Dark eyes are becoming murderous and intentionally ruin the conversation as soon as he sees them pat you on the back or give you a tightly-squeezed hug.

This would make your interactions more frequent— after every mission, he’s following you like a puppy following its parents until they agree to lay down with them. But, he’s awkwardly suggesting that the two of you should eat somewhere or go into the training grounds to work with each other.

Now, it’s likely you’re not a shy or anxious person, but that doesn't stop him from being with you 24/7, being glued to your side out in public. And he has his powers. His height and dangerous accent keep people away

König despises leaving you alone, even letting you use the bathroom; he has to follow you around, wait outside, and possibly lay against the wall as he stares down at people.

Now, König isn’t one to kidnap, not only is he a horrible liar, but he may fear you’ll hate him; no longer wanting to be around him or see him as a person you can go to if you have problems with.

Though, that doesn’t mean he will guilt-trip you into staying with him on a rare day off you have with him. Do you wanna leave and visit your family? Why should you? Don’t you think you should spend your time with him, lying on his chest while the two of you watch TV, no? You’re just breaking his heart, deary.

Heading to the coffee shop to meet up with a friend? Why don't you let him come, yeah? He only wants to make sure you are safe and okay!

But, if you insist on him not coming? That’s fine. This man is surprisingly stealthy, even with his size. Of course, not without your knowledge, he had put a tracking device on you, somewhere where you won’t find out.

He really tries going through the normal route, whisking you off your feet to fall in love with him. He wants you to be just as heart-eyed as he is to you. Which means he buys anything he believes you’ll love.

He takes you out on a few dates, trying to keep out of public ones. But every know and again, he will do so.

Finally, he confesses– showing his scarred face and pretty hazel eyes that make you feel more captured. He stutters, hands sweating and picking at his nails as he expresses he wants you by himself. And when you agree? He’s so thankful for you.

König rushes you to move into his apartment, ensuring he’ll take care of everything. Buying a large-king sized bed so it won’t break when you two sleep or going out of his way to get a guard dog for safety. He wants you safe. That’s all he wants, okay?

Speaking of severe safety, the shared home is littered with all kinds of cameras, including detection and listening devices. You won’t know about it until you really pay attention.

Affection with König is pretty touch-starved on his part; seeking the need to touch you, or have you touch him, no matter how small. But, he also feels and believes he’s a nuisance for asking for a hug or kiss, which leads to you dragging on most of the affection until he becomes comfortable.

König deeply appreciates when you give him back rubs. Feeling your fingers dragging along his back, massaging into his thick and tense muscles, it makes him re-love you all over again.

It’s no surprise that, despite his height, König with loved ones is a gentle giant. However, the minute he senses your safety is being threatened or visibly sees someone is making you uncomfortable, his social anxiety gets thrown out the window, and his instinct of finishing a mission kicks in.

Whether that’s willing to beat a drunkard, threaten someone to back off, or simply stand behind you; he makes sure you always feel safe and welcome in his presence.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

Content belongs to ©️ yandere-kokeshi only.

[rex3o]

The Eternal Enigma

A/N: The Eternal Enigma is deeply inspired by the movie of La Belle et la Bête which I watched recently so I put two and two together and yh here we go. Also this story does NOT follow the jujutsu kaisen plot. But I hope u lot enjoy it as much as I do as I post more out lol.

Summary: In a cursed kingdom ruled by the fearsome Ryomen Sukuna, a former general turned demon king, Y/n—a noblewoman whose family fell victim to Sukuna’s wrath—is delivered to his ominous fortress. Expecting to be treated harshly, Y/n is instead met with Sukuna’s cold indifference and an outrageous demand: she must fall in love with him. When Y/n protests, Sukuna’s fury erupts, and he declares her forbidden from leaving his domain. As Sukuna storms out, Y/n is left to navigate the treacherous path of her new, dark reality.

Ryomen Sukuna X Reader

>> chp 2 / chp3

In the waning light of dusk, the land lay cloaked in a somber silence, broken only by the mournful whispers of the wind through twisted, barren trees. Once a flourishing realm of beauty and grace, the landscape now bore the scars of darkness—a kingdom lost to the curse of an ancient power.

At the heart of this cursed domain stood a fortress of eerie majesty, its blackened spires reaching toward the heavens like the gnarled fingers of a dark deity. This was the domain of the Eternal Enigma—a being whose name was whispered in fear and awe: Ryomen Sukuna. His fortress, a towering edifice of obsidian and bone, loomed over the land, casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the light itself.

The tale of Sukuna’s darkness began long before his rise to power. Born into a world already steeped in suffering, Sukuna resided in the womb of his starving mother alongside his twin. As the days of deprivation wore on, the infant Sukuna, driven by a primal instinct for survival, consumed his sibling. Even then, his existence was marked by a monstrous hunger.

As he grew, Sukuna’s insatiable drive for dominance and power led him to become a general of unmatched bravery. His prowess on the battlefield earned him great acclaim, yet it was his ambition that ultimately led him astray. Driven by a desire for eternal glory, Sukuna made a fateful pact with forces beyond mortal comprehension. In his quest for immortality, he sacrificed not only his humanity but the very soul of his kingdom, sealing his fate in a curse that bound him to a grotesque and eternal imprisonment.

Now, his form was a grotesque mockery of the noble warrior he once was: the size of a grizzly beast, with four monstrous clawed arms and four eyes glowing red with a cold, malevolent light that reflected the torment of his eternal punishment.

The people of the land spoke of him in hushed tones, recounting tales of his cruelty and the legion of cursed spirits and demons he commanded. The once-vibrant courts of the kingdom had become hollow echoes of their former splendor, their power and beauty overshadowed by the darkness that reigned supreme. Those who dared to speak of Sukuna’s name faced his wrath, for the curse that bound him extended to all who crossed his path.

On a fateful night, as the moon hung heavy in the sky, a young woman was delivered to the fortress gates. Y/n, a noblewoman of grace and beauty, arrived with a heart full of trepidation and hope. Her family, once powerful and respected, had been destroyed in a failed attempt to defy Sukuna’s dominion. Now, she was a mere pawn in a game she scarcely understood—a gift offered to the overlord in a desperate bid to placate his anger and prevent further bloodshed.

The carriage rocked as it trundled along the forest path, its wheels grinding against the overgrown roots of ancient trees. Y/n sat in silence, her pale hands folded neatly in her lap, her heart heavy with the weight of her fate. Beyond the veil covering her face, she looked upon the thick mist outside, Sukuna's fortress looming—a twisted silhouette against the blood-red sky. Her thoughts were abruptly cut short.

"They say no one returns from there," whispered the old servant who sat beside her, his voice quivering. "Once you enter the Demon King's domain, you are lost."

Y/n stared ahead, her face expressionless, though her heart pounded with fear. She had heard the rumors—stories of a man turned into a beast, cursed by the gods to rule over cursed spirits and demons. Sukuna's cruelty was legendary, but no one could explain why he had demanded her as a tribute.

The gates of the fortress creaked open, and a cold wind swept through the air as the carriage crossed into Sukuna’s domain. The once-proud noblewoman took a deep breath, knowing that her life would never be the same again.

As the carriage came to a halt, and she stepped out into the foreboding realm. The cold air bit at her skin, and the eerie silence of the fortress seemed to swallow her every step. The gates behind her loomed after her, ancient and imposing, their iron bars etched with dark symbols that whispered of forgotten sorcery.

Y/n’s eyes met those of the gatekeeper, who regarded her with a mixture of pity and apprehension. “Welcome, my lady,” he intoned, his voice trembling with the weight of unspoken fears. “May the gods have mercy on you.”

The doors creaked open, and a footman greeted Y/n as she stepped into the darkness beyond, her old servant closely following behind. Her heart pounded with a blend of fear and curiosity. She had heard the tales of the cursed king—of the monstrous being who ruled with an iron fist and a heart of darkness. But what lay beyond the shadows of his fortress remained a mystery, one she was now bound to unravel.

The footman led her through the foreboding halls of the fortress, her senses overwhelmed by the oppressive gloom that pervaded every corner. The walls seemed to whisper secrets long forgotten, and the flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows that danced like specters in the dark. The halls were deathly quiet, with servants passing in complete silence as they moved through their tasks.

In the dim glow of a grand chamber, Sukuna awaited her. His form, though majestic in its own right, was a stark contrast to the splendor of the once-great fortress. He sat on his dark and imposing throne, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality. His presence was both mesmerizing and terrifying, a paradox of beauty and horror.

As the footman and Y/n approached, her heart raced with a mixture of dread and anticipation. The Eternal Enigma, the cursed king, awaited her presence, and with it, the unfolding of a tale that would intertwine their fates in ways neither could have imagined.

As Y/n entered the grand chamber, her eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing figure seated on the dark throne. Sukuna’s presence was both mesmerizing and terrifying. The throne room was dimly lit by flickering torches that cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the scene even more surreal.

Sukuna looked down upon Y/n with an indifferent gaze, his four red eyes glowing like smoldering embers. Despite his fearsome appearance, he seemed almost disinterested in her arrival. He gestured lazily for her to come closer, his monstrous form shifting slightly as he leaned back against his throne.

Y/n approached cautiously, her heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. She had braced herself for harsh treatment or some form of ritualistic cruelty, but Sukuna’s demeanor was unexpectedly nonchalant. He could hear her heart racing and noticed her trembling form, almost chuckling at her fear. Yet, for Y/n, the lack of immediate threats or displays of malevolence only heightened her unease.

"Well, you’re here," Sukuna said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that filled the chamber. “You remember me, yes? Your family was obedient, but your useless father had to mess things up. Such a pity he’s dead.” Sukuna smirked, his gaze disdainful as he looked down at her. To him, her father was a mere annoyance, a fly in his grand plans. “To shorten this meeting, brat—you’re staying here, in my palace.” His attention wandered, as if Y/n were a trivial matter.

Y/n blinked, trying to process his words. “You insult my dead father and then order me to stay? As a prisoner, you mean?”

Sukuna replied with a sneer, “And what will you do about it? You’re as useless as him. Whatever you do can’t surpass me, so I suggest you listen and comply.” He grinned evilly. “Prisoner? If that’s how you want to see yourself, fine. But for me, you are to be my future wife.”

Y/n stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “You sick, cruel man… You can’t expect me to fall in love with you. You have loyal consorts who would force their daughters to kneel and beg to marry you. What you ask of me is insane!”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. The casual indifference that had marked his demeanor vanished, replaced by a storm of anger. His massive form tensed, and with a violent motion, he flipped his throne, sending it crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar. The force of his rage shook the entire chamber, and the walls trembled under the impact.

“You dare to defy me?” Sukuna bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. He stormed over to her, his build overshadowing her as he gripped her face with his hand. His face, marked with deep black ink-like scars, was a terrifying visage of fury. His four demonic eyes burned into her face as he spoke, “You are forbidden from leaving my domain! You will stay here until you fulfill your obligation!” He shoved her away, causing her to fall onto the floor. Her face was scratched by the sharp ends of his nails, blood trickling down her skin.

The entire fortress reverberated with Sukuna’s fury as he stormed out of the grand chamber, his footsteps causing the ground to rumble. The echoes of his anger reverberated through the halls, shaking the very foundations of the once-majestic fortress.

Y/n lays there, stunned by the sheer force of Sukuna’s wrath. The reality of her situation crashed down on her like a wave. She had been thrust into a world of darkness and cruelty, with a cursed king who demanded the impossible.

As the echoes of Sukuna’s fury faded, Y/n was left in the cold silence of the chamber, her mind racing with fear, confusion, and a burgeoning sense of helplessness. The task before her seemed daunting and absurd, but she knew she had no choice but to navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead.

A/N: YOOOO hope u liked it lol I'll make another part soon shorly after this.

[pinkbewwy-milk]

based on starsandskies' prompt list.

Day 4: Stockings ft. Bowser.

warnings: size difference.

“I always wear them”, you argued, crossing your arms.

“So why dontcha wanna wear these?”, Bowser asked, pointing at the socks on the mattress.

“What would be different about them?”, you asked back. You looked at the garment as if it was offensive, and to some extent, you were wary of them. You frowned softly. “They are white. I do not like white”.

“It has nothing to do with Peach”, Bowser explained, understanding what was going through your mind. You had only been together for a short time, and everyone knew of the king’s previous obsession with the princess. It was only natural that you thought it was some kind of… projection.

There was silence as you considered the request. Bowser was quite imaginative in private, and he had complied with and respected all of your wishes up to this point. Although it gave you a bit of a bad feeling, you supposed it was only fair for it to be reciprocated.

Without saying anything, because you didn't want to see his ‘I got it my way’ smile, you grabbed the socks and went to lock yourself in the bathroom to change. Outside, you heard Bowser growl with joy and something snap, probably the bed when the huge turtle jumped on it. You smiled without being able to help it, and peeled off your discreet outfit little by little.

When you were completely naked, you looked at yourself in the mirror for a second. That's how Bowser liked to see you, which is why the request to wear stockings (white ones, also) seemed so strange to you. You shrugged and took them. It was when you stuck your foot in and it went through the fabric that you blushed and understood things.

The color was a coincidence. What mattered was what was in between; or, rather, the lack of something in between.

You hurried, pulling the socks up to your waist. You looked at yourself in the mirror once more, a blush still on your skin as you looked at the lingerie on you. It looked wonderful. You cleared your throat, took a breath, and walked out of the bathroom.

Bowser's jaw practically hit the floor of the room at the sight of you. You were already beautiful, and without clothes you looked exquisite; yet with nothing on but that pair of divine white stockings, you looked like something from another world.

A deity. A goddess of some religion that Bowser was willing to pay tribute to for the rest of his days.

In a second he took you in his claws and sat you on his belly. The size difference was quite a bit, so your legs spread wide when you sat on top of him. Bowser could clearly see your cunt, the soft shine of his beautiful princess already lubricating, ready for what it meant to fuck with someone like him. His claws caressed your soft thighs, his fascination with them increasing at the extra texture that the stockings gave. He smiled, fangs poking out from between his lips.

You smiled too, biting your lip. You put your hands on the king's chest, helping yourself to lift your hips. Bowser raised a red-haired eyebrow, and you winked at him.

“You need to see the other side”, you said, and stood up only to fall back down, this time your back facing him. Bowser didn't need any more to feel his erection fully awake. If he liked your legs, then your ass was what he adored most about you; and the stockings were responsible for framing and highlighting how perfect you looked with them.

When you leaned over him to put your hands around his cock, the king had an even more spectacular view of you: Your already soaked cunt, along with your ass and thighs being pressed by the edge of the stockings, greeted him happily.

All it took was the feel of your tongue meeting your hands to know he was in for an incredible night.

[euphoricfilter]

“Baby, we need to get dressed so Jinnie can watch you while I go out”

Yoongi

Ddlg/Yandere/mafia

how time has changed you:

pairing: yandere! yoongi x f. reader

genre: fluff || established relationship au || mafia au || yandere au || non-idol au

summary: yoongi liked to spoil you, and had to deal with the consequences when you didn't get your way

tags/ warnings: possibly fluffy, mentions of death and blood, manipulative relationship? (it's toxic, don't settle for a man like this ~ this is only fiction), implied kidnapping, stockholm syndrome and attachment issues, dd/lg themes, temper tantrums and crocodile tears, religious slander?

notes: drabble requests are closed <3

drabble masterlist || main masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Yoongi had always been very particular about who you stayed with when he had a job to do. Because as much as he hated leaving you alone for days on end, he really had no choice when his job is as unconventional as his is. 

You didn’t have friends, Yoongi had made sure of that. And with no contact with the outside world if it wasn’t on his own terms, really you were only left with the people he chose. 

Only a select few that he let lay their eyes on you, the few he truly trusted, who held delicate loyalty in their blood-stained hands, with clear intentions because Yoongi was far from stupid, and he knew anyone that worked under him could turn their back on him at any given moment. And he refused to let you get between him and their wretched betrayal. 

He'd built an empire from nothing but the ground he now rules over, name like poison to the tongue, a sin to ever utter his existence into the world if you wanted to keep your head.

Because Yoongi was a brutal man, his brothers his only family, blood-relations be damned– he killed them all, bathed his home in blood and started a new family on his own terms. Ones he knew held the same morals as him, didn’t question his sanity or right to rule. 

He’d worked hard to get you where you were today, so he made sure your existence was wiped from the world; a ghost that roamed the halls, existence forgotten like the many others that vanish under his name. 

Only you never had to walk through the gates of hell like the rest of them. Rather, you lived in paradise, everything you ever needed at your beck and call. Yoongi your divine servant that kisses the ground you walk on, worshiping your very existence. 

Because if there were ever to be a god, then you were his goddess. No other deity ever matching your beauty, ever so perfect, and delicate and so very much his to defile and cherish and kiss; devotion fully yours to clasp in soft hands. 

Pretty trinkets and pretty dresses, his home decorated like a life size doll house doused in pinks and whites. Soft blankets and soft rugs, soft toys and soft desires. The prettiest little house for his pretty little dolly. 

Long gone were the days you shouted profanities at him, arms and legs kicking for him to leave you alone, where you’d lock the door to your bedroom and he’d spend hours begging you to come out. Because he hated how your cheeks were blotchy, coated in tears sure to dry your skin. Eyes red and wrists sore from trying to hit your captor. 

Life was simpler now when the two of you were alone. 

“Baby, we need to get dressed so Jinnie can watch you while I go out” 

You bring your knees up to your chest, pitiful little pout tugging at your bottom lip, “No” 

He raises an eyebrow, “No?” 

You boyfriend kneels before you, hands resting on your knees. 

“You just got home, you can’t leave again” 

“I won’t be gone as long this time, I promise” he pleads, hand brushing your hair from your face. 

“Yoongi” you whine, feet kicking against his chest in retaliation. 

He holds your ankles, gentle smile tugging onto his lips, “My good girl, yeah?” he croons, and you nod, “Come on, I’ll help you get dressed” he tugs you closer to him, you back falling against the floor. 

He looms over you, hands planted firmly beside your head, arms flexing under his weight as he leans down to press a kiss to your pouty lips. 

It isnt until he’s tying your shoe laces by the door do you decide to tug once more at his heart strings. A final attempt to get your own way.

“Hey, hey– why’re you crying” he coos, thumb rubbing over your wet cheek, a distressed sob wracking through your body. 

“Don’t wanna go” you tug his hands away from you, “You’re so mean, leaving me by myself” you cry. 

“You’ll have Jinnie, remember?” he soothes, “I’m sure he’ll cook something yummy, and then we can call on the phone tonight, how about that?” 

“No, no, no. no” you huff, hiccup hidden behind hands as you wipe your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater, “Mean Yoongi, I hate you”

Yoongi wets his bottom lip, frantic as he tries to just hold you. 

“Tonight–” he starts, finally finding a gateway to pull you between his legs, your attempt at pushing him away morphing into the need to hold him close, “I’ll come back tonight, instead of tomorrow” he soothes, hand pulling your face further into his shoulder by the back of your head. Holding you tight enough that if you were to crumble he would be able to pick up the pieces. 

And as much as his brothers liked to point out how much he spoiled you, how you had him clutched in your delicate little hands. He’d much rather you hold onto him like he were the only man in the world as you cry pitiful little crocodile tears, him being the only one that could fix your hurts and soothe your pain. Because anything is better than you cursing his very existence or to wish him dead. 

💕 thank you for reading!! feedback is always encouraged

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[askcombatking]

[ Knock knock. Knock. Knock knock knock. ]

[ ... ]

[ BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG ]

[ There's someone at your door! Or... balcony.. door. Window? Doesn't matter the descriptor. There is an eldritch deity outside that wants in. ]

" ...Can I c ome in. Wak ey wakey. "

[ Does this guy know what he's doing rn vro. What time it is. ]

*The king rolls around in his bed. His eyes flickering awake as he looks at the doors. He knows it's a creature of the night, but it had to be so late in onto the night to appear? Either way, the king kicks off the blankets, using his gauntlet to light around the room.*

". . .Ugghhh."

*The king groans like a zombie as he rises from his bed, going towards the balcony's door. He opens it, staring at the entity. He is currently in standard Uncertified Combat Dummy clothing, only difference other than size being his gauntlet and the stubs of the cut-off horns in his head.*

". . .Hello."

*The king tiredly replies, his voice sounding like a sloth talking.*

". . .Had to come in so late? The sun is going to rise in a few hours. . ."

[plooto]

⋆˙✧⋆｡ kinkmas day 3 — lingerie + stockings ｡⋆✧˙⋆

warnings ❆. inter-species ! established ! relationship , reader is scientist , pet names ( doll , little colonel , princess , darlin’ , pumpkin ) , cursing , using the ‘lord’s name in vain’ , daddy kink , marking , size kink , lingerie , stockings , fingering , p i v , soft quaritch , pwp .

now playing : baby it’s cold outside ; idina menzel ft michael dublé

1:23 ────|───── 1:23

volume : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▯

you couldn’t ignore how frustrated your nine-foot tall boyfriend has been these past few weeks..his shoulders were more tense than normal and you were sure his boss was doing her favorite thing - talking his ear off. you had the night off tonight, working real hard around the freezing bridgehead city, to give your boyfriend some much needed tlc.

except, that was the last thing on your mind - tender loving care. you wanted to make his troubles wash away, and not with deep muscle back rubs.

you’d been hiding a pretty white lace outfit, one you managed to get your hands on after miles mentioned something about seeing you in something different.

“ y’always talkin’ ‘bout lookin’ pretty, right doll? ” you sat up on his stomach, palms pressing against his chest as you looked at him with his favorite pair of eyes - doe like and sinfully innocent. nodding your head, you waited for his response.

“ o‘course, i prefer you with nothing at all, ” he gives you a smirk, tilting his head as big golden eyes raked down your form, drinking in the sight of you. he taps your thigh gently, “ but, somethin’ sheer, the lacey one that cover yer body, what- what’s that called again- ” you look up to the ceiling, eyebrows pulling together as you thought.

“ lingerie? ” you asked with a tilt of your head. he sucked his teeth, flashing you a devious smile as his mind filled with possibilities.

“ that’s the thing..lingerie. ”

and tonight was the night that you would use it - to make his mind numb. you were nervous as you walked from your room to his, praying to the deity the na’vi believed in that no one would look in your direction to notice your legs donned a prettier set of stockings. with pounding heart and shaky hands, you tugged the lab coat tighter as you tried not to listen to how loud your little mary janes were tapping against the grippy floor tile. as you got closer to his room, you moved a bit faster.

“ hey, little colonel. ” your blood went cold as you froze, you were so close. you slowly turned to see corporal lyle.

“ oh, hi lyle. ” your voice cracked, praying he ignored it and the riding heat to your face. he places his hands on his hips and didn’t bother to kneel down to your height,

“ the colonel isn’t in there yet, ” your eyebrows raised to feign surprise. you knew he wasn’t back yet, you were supposed to be the surprise. pulling your head out of the clouds you shuffled uncomfortably on your feet, partially from friction of the lab coat through the lace, partially from the freezing temperatures of the building. lyle took a heavy breath through his respirator, waiting for your response as if fell against his chest.

“ oh! um.. could you tell him i’ll be in here? i- i need to talk to him..about something.. ” the recom before you nodded, eyebrow raising as he committed your request to memory,

“ sure, i’ll pass along the message. ” you thanked him, waiting for him to leave before pressing your thumb to the keypad, tip toeing to reach it. the hiss from the door mimicked the sigh that left your lips. you slipped inside immediately and waited for the door to close. your shoulders dropped with relief as you looked around the room, walking around to decide where you should wait for him. you looked around, your brain moving thousands of miles an hour trying to come up with a plan that would have him weak at the knees. you didn’t hear the door open, but you did hear the thud of his boots against the ground as they got louder and louder.

“ darlin’? lyle said you wanted to talk t’me. ” you turned your head to him, but not turning fully.

“ w- wait! ” you fumbled out, hearing his footsteps halt immediately, you chewed on your bottom lip, deepening it’s color as you thought. cursing under your breath, you removed the lab coat, letting it fall to the ground. you heard his breath hitch, not knowing what to expect, you screwed your eyes shut.

“ y- fuck, turn around f’me. ” swallowing the rising lump in your throat, you did as you were told, not lifting your head from the imaginary dot on the ground.

“ look at me, princess. ” the masses of butterflies in your stomach took flight, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. you heard the taps of his boots on the ground, the next moment, you saw his dark camo of his pants bend in front of you, a warm hand cupping under your chin. miles turned your face to force your eyes to look at his,

“ y’did all this f’me? ” you nod shyly. his ears pin back, a gentle smile, one that was exclusively for your eyes only, spreading across his face. “ turn around, lemme take a look at ya. ” when your eyes widen ever so slightly miles places a kiss to your lips, calming your nerves as if he could smell them. your hands went to his wrists, an attempt to keep him there, the need for him to drink away all your frets in the front of your mind.

as miles pulls away from the kiss, his hands move to your waist, giving you a gentle push backwards so he can take a proper look at you. one hand down at his side, the other rests on his knee as he watches you turn with dilated eyes.

“ slower. ” he stretched the o sound, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth - admiring how the hem and how it sunk into the supple flesh of your ass nicely. he resisted giving your plump cheeks a pinch, but he couldn’t help wrapping his fingers around your waist, pulling you to sit on his raised knee. you yelped, not expecting your feet to leave the ground. miles was excited, eyes burning with lust - a feeling he hasn’t felt since his teen years. a feeling only you could provoke.

“ y’don’t know what y’re doin’ to me darlin- ” the hardness in his pants throbbed as you squirmed in his lap, your arousal seeping through the lacy material and the aroma reaching his nose.

“ do y’like it? ” using his speech pattern you inquired. his smirk grew, miles pulled your wrist in his hand, leading you to feel the bulge in his pants - the problem you created. he watched as your face warmed when you felt how hard he was, how hard you made him.

propping you on his bicep, he slipped out of his shoes, sauntering over to the bed before unceremoniously dropping you on it.

“ oomph! mil- ” he silenced you with a hard kiss to your lips. miles quaritch wasn’t a patient man thoroughly displayed when he tore the bottom half of the pretty lace.

“ i’ll find you new ones. ” he reasoned as he sucked harsh kisses into your neck, textured tongue dancing over the dark splotches. large fingers found their way between your thighs, teasing your slicked entrance. you cursed, fingers finding the elastic of the stocking to pull them off.

“ ah-ah.. ” in a swift motion, your hands were pinned above your head, miles sitting up higher to peer at your pouted lips.

“ so pretty. ” he murmured to himself. your lips parted, dead set on scolding him for teasing you, instead a moan tumbled from them.

he pushed a finger into you, groaning as he felt your warmth invite him. his finger was big, you felt full, yet not nearly as full as you should be.

“ ah! mi- ” you started, whimpering when you felt his finger leave leave your core,

“ y’know better than that w’did i teach you? ” you whined, hips grinding against nothing,

“ daddy please~ ” you pleaded, with a smirk he tugged the lace down off your chest, exposing your chest, nipples growing taut from the cold air. you gasped - you should have known this wasn’t going to make it past this night.

“ good girl. ” he growled, head dipping to latch onto your nipple, two fingers plunging inside you to curl at the spongy spot inside your velvety walls.

“ fuck me- ” you cried, head falling back against the pillow as your back arched into his chest. you clenched around him, the stretch being just enough to force your eyes shut with pleasure. you couldn’t contain the moans that fell from your pretty lips as he thrusts his fingers uncoordinatedly inside you, tongue swirling around your nipple.

miles pushed another finger inside you, lips departing from your nipple to watch your eyes screw shut. fuck his hands were so large- you held familiar heat flood your stomach, not giving you a heads up as you made a mess of his hand.

“ fuck- d- daddy ‘m sorry! ” you tried to reason, feeling his fingers leave you immediately.

“ ‘nd you were doing so good pumpkin. so good. ” he tasked, his left hands holding your wrists releasing you before manhandling you onto your stomach. you couldn’t see what he was doing, but you when you heard the clink of his belt and weight shifting behind you. you turned your head to the side, desperate to catch a glimpse of the pretty appendage he donned.

“ ah fuck- m- daddy! ” you cried as the thick head of his cock breached your entrance, miles’ hips working in inch by thick inch. a growl left him as he watched your lips spread around his cock, eyes narrowing at he white ring you left as he pulled his hips back, the head teasing departure. you wanted to whine, to wiggle - to disobey, but a large hand pushed your shoulders, relishing in the feel of the lace beneath his fingers as he pushed you deeper into the sheets. he sunk inside you fully, your belly bulging with nothing but him.

“ christ fuck yer drippin’. ” your eyes rolled back in your head as a choked moan left our lips, bruised from your feeble attempts to muffle your cries. he set a brutal pace, not giving you a second longer to adjust to his size, not like you wanted to. you fisted at the sheets beneath you, desperate to hold onto something as you tried to form coherent sentences, thoughts.

he knew your brain was fried, your pussy told him so. the way you were sucking him in told it all. so he gave you what you wanted, unhindered, unrestrained, his hips snapped with rough thrusts. you wailed, taping against the bed uncoordinatedly.

“ y’gonna cum princess? ” you nodded - tried to. “ use yer words. ” he slowed his hips only a fraction to allow you room to think, to ask for permission just the way he liked it.

“ close- da- fuck! daddy please! can i? ” you pleaded with him, you weren’t near coherent, he wouldn’t be fucking you right if you were. his other hand gripped your hip, imprinting his hand into your skin.

“ hold it. ” he growled, pulling your hips down to meet his with unwavering force, hips stuttering as he felt his balls grow tight.

“ fuck- now princess. c’mon give it t’me. ” he snarled as your body responded immediately, shaking with white hot pleasure as you reached your peak, pulling your dreamwalker boyfriend down with you. a string of curses left his lips as he emptied himself inside you, his stomach tensing with the force of his orgasm.

“ christ. look at the mess y’made. ” he panted, pulling out slowly as he watched his seed slip out of your abused hole. you shivered as you were filled with emptiness, knees sliding out from under you as your hips flattened against the bed. you didn’t notice miles leave the bed, the memories replaying in your mind as your ass throbbed. he kneeled beside you, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered.

“ now y’can take tha stockings off. ”

tags -> @luvv4j4ybe11