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lightasthesun · 1 year ago

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Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

#shitpost incoming #I'm converting my friend into a star wars fan so I thought why not make a dictionary for every new fic reader lmao #star wars #writing star wars #star wars languages #star wars lore #im definitely missing some but these are words I've seen most commonly used in fanfic #userlumi #writing star wars fic #aurebesh #galactic basic Standard #as long as one person finds this post helpful it was worth it #youre all welcome to add to it #im stopping now coz otherwise I'mma clog the dash

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shockercoco · 8 months ago

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Seduction by Deception

Feyd Rauth x reader x Lady Margot

Warnings - 18+, smut, threesome, somnophilia?- based from the movie, penetration

Word count - 2177

a/n - request: "passionate kissing and smut after putting his hand in the box, without killing Margot Thank you!" - i hope it's okay that i inserted reader in here too lol, also 10k likes is insane tysm! I hope you enjoy :)

“Why exactly are we here again?” you turn to your close friend Lady Margot who’s sitting in the chair next to you. The two of you were sitting in the Baron’s section, waiting for the fight to begin. She playfully rolls her eyes at you with a shake of her head.

“I’ve told you a thousand times already, we’re here to preserve the Harkonnen bloodline through Feyd Rautha so the Kwisatz Harderach can be born in the future since the Atreides are no longer living. Reverend Mother sees him as a worthy prospect, and he will eventually become the Baron,” she explains.

“I get that, but why are we here? Couldn’t Reverend Mother do this herself?” you ask as you fan yourself.

“Because given what happened between Feyd and his mother, she didn’t think she would be successful since she is seen as a motherly figure.”

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head in confusion. “What happened between him and his mother?”

“He killed her,” she tells you, causing your eyes to widen.

“What do you mean he killed her,” you repeat, “What happened?”

“Who knows,” Lady Margot says as she throws her hands up. “Anyways, that is why we’re here.”

“And what if he kills us, did Reverend Mother think of that?” you ask. You shift in your seat as fear starts to seep into you as you think of what’s to come later tonight. There’s no way you’re going to let yourself go out like that.

“If that happens, at least we died for the cause,” she says. Your mouth falls open at her statement, causing Lady Margot to laugh. “Relax, I doubt that will happen since he’ll be under compulsion.”

“I don’t think this job requires two people, I'm pretty sure one of us would suffice. Preferably you.”

Lady Margot fake gasps. “Would you really leave me alone with him?”

“Like you said, if anything were to happen to you, at least it was for the cause,” you joke. Lady Margot smiles at you.

Your conversation is interrupted by Feyd’s name being announced throughout the arena and the roar of the crowd. Maybe your head will explode from the noise, then you won't be forced to seduce a killer. When Feyd finally enters the arena, both you and Lady Margot raise your eyeglasses to get a better look at him.

“Well, at least he’s not bad to look at,” you murmur, Lady Margot humming in agreement.

Later that night as you and Lady Margot walk the halls of the Harkonnen compound, the only thing going through your mind are flashbacks from today's fight. It’s obvious that Feyd enjoys what he does and has no remorse for any one that’s not himself. He was toying with those poor men in the arena and had a smirk on his face all throughout.

You see Lady Margot look at you out of the corner of your eye, causing you to turn and look at her. She raises an eyebrow, silently asking if you’re okay, and you give her a reassuring smile.

“It should be late enough that Feyd is on his way to his room,” she says as she looks out at the fireworks exploding in the air outside. “Shall we get started?”

You give her a nod as the two of you begin the walk to the private side of the compound. The halls seem to get darker and darker the deeper the two of you go. There are two armed men guarding the entrance of one hallway, which leads you to guess it leads to Feyd’s quarters. The men give both you and Lady Margot a suspicious look as the two of you get closer, and right as one of them opens their mouth to say something, you compel them both to leave.

As the two of you turn a corner, you notice Feyd in the distance, strolling with his hands clasped behind his back. You give Lady Margot a look before hiding in the shadows as she starts walking closer to him.

Feyd, on the other hand, can sense that someone is following him, but he doesn’t know that you are somewhere hiding. With a tilt of his head, he stops walking and listens as Lady Margot gets closer to him. You watch from your hiding place, waiting until you’re needed.

Suddenly Feyd walks away and disappears, leaving both you and Lady Margot confused, only for him to step out from the shadows a moment later behind her. He places a blade against her neck, causing Lady Margot to tilt her head to display more of her skin to him.

“You’re following me,” he says into her ear.

Lady Margot smirks as she responds, “I am? I hadn’t noticed.”

Feyd allows her to turn around to face him, his blade still at the ready. “How did you get past the guards?”

“What guards?” she innocently smiles up at him. She gives you a discrete hand gesture, signaling you to come out.

Before Feyd has a chance to say anything else, you begin to use the voice on him as you slowly walk towards the pair, sending shockwaves through his mind. Feyd closes his eyes as he winces and subconsciously lowers his blade. He shakes his head, trying to get the feeling in his head to disappear, but it’s no use. He bawls his hands into fists, hoping that the feeling of his nails digging into his skin will keep him grounded.

“I know all about you Bene Gesserit witches, stop this at once,” Feyd commands Lady Margot.

She furrows her brows in fake confusion, “I’m not doing anything to you.”

“Stop the lies woman, I had a dream about you last night. I’m almost certain I have never met you before this moment,” he says. His eyes are now closed as he tries to keep his mind in order, but it’s getting harder and harder for him by the second as you increase your power. The noise from the fireworks outside disorients him more.

Lady Margot turns and begins to walk away, causing Feyd’s feet to follow her without him knowing. “And how do you know that it was me who planted that dream inside of you? There are thousands of Bene Gesserit.”

She swiftly leads Feyd down another hallway and into a giant room with you skulking behind them at a distance. Feyd is hypnotized as he watches the sway of her cloak Once all three of you are inside the room, the door closes. Lady Margot sits down on the bed placed in the center of the room and removes her hood.

Feyd opens his eyes at the sound of the door closing. “I don’t recognize this place.”

“Because you are in the guest quarters, my lord Na-Baron,” says Lady Margot, softly.

Discombobulated, Feyd turns to look around the room to gather his surroundings, and that’s when he notices you standing by the door. “Who are you?”

“That does not matter at the moment, my lord,” you give him a smile as you step closer to the two of them.

Feyd looks between you and Lady Margot, utterly confused and unaware of what’s about to happen. The last thing he hears as his thoughts come to a stop and his mind becomes empty are the words ‘happy birthday’ being whispered into his mind by you. Both you and Lady Margot now have full control over his body as he stands there waiting orders.

“Come to me,” Lady Margot whispers. Feyd slowly moves over to her, his eyes revealing the vacantness in his skull. “Kneel.”

His body lowers to the floor in front of her place on the edge of the bed.

Lady Margot produces a small box from the inside of her cloak, the gom jabbar. “Place your right hand into the box.”

Feyd obeys as his eyes don’t leave hers. Once his hand is fully inside, Lady Margot moves her unoccupied hand to hover a sharp pin by his neck. As she increases the power inside the box, Feyd’s jaw begins to tense and his eyes fall closed.

“I think…this is arousing him,” Lady Margot tells you, but it comes out like a question.

“Well, you heard what people say about him, he’s a sadistic masochist. I’d probably be more confused if this didn’t turn him on,” you point out.

“I suppose so, how interesting,” she gives you a smile of which you return. “No better time to get started than now.”

“I should be holding the box and you should be the one on the floor,” you joke, causing Lady Margot to laugh.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

You take your place beside the hallowed Feyd and begin to kiss the side of his neck, while Lady Margot begins to read his energy through the box. Feyd leans his head to the side to give you more room as you make his way down his jaw. You watch as his hips jerk from the sensations.

He really is enjoying this.

You move a hand and place it over his crotch, and when Feyd bucks his hips again, you take it as a sign to continue. His mouth falls open as you begin to palm him through the fabric of his pants.

When you stick your hand into his pants to wrap your hand around him, he lets out a moan. Lady Margot allows him to fall back into you.

You watch as Feyd’s eyes slowly open as Lady Margot finishes her reading and relinquishes some of her power on him. Suddenly, he turns his head and body to connect his lips with yours, which takes you by surprise at first. He places his hands onto your waist, pulling you closer to him and allowing you to place your hands onto the sides of his face for you to do the same. For a second, you forget that Lady Margot is still in your presence.

When you pull away to catch your breath, Feyd instantly tries to pull you back in, but you softly push him away by his chest with a smile as you stand up and join your friend on the bed. His eyes are filled with hunger as he watches your every move, darting his gaze between you and lady Margot.

“He probably would’ve done this without having to compel him,” Lady Margot states. You give her a nod in agreement. “Undress for us.”

Feyd wastes no time as he stands up to obey Lady Margot orders, letting his robe fall to the ground along with his pants and undergarments. His toned chest is revealed to you, and you can’t help the attraction you start to feel towards this psychotic man.

“Join us,” you command, causing Feyd to situate himself between the both of you in bed.

Both you and Lady Margot also undress before laying back on the bed on either side of Feyd. She goes to kiss his neck as her hand travels south to wrap her hand around his cock, while you let Feyd pull your mouth towards his. You let your hand slowly drift around his torso as he moans into your mouth from Lady Margot’s hand. You don’t stop him when his tongue darts into your mouth and begins exploring. When Feyd finally deattaches his lips from yours, only taking a second to breathe before joining his lips with Lady Margot.

“Not a bad kisser,” Lady Margot tells you telepathically, and you can’t help but laugh.

When it appears that Feyd is getting antsy with just the kissing and the gentle handjob, Lady Margot takes it as a sign to do the needed action to seal Reverend Mother’s plan. The room fills up with Feyd’s and Lady Margot’s moans while he fills her up as she rides him. You feel arousal dip out of you at the scene unfolding in front of you, suddenly feeling the need to be touched.

Feyd must’ve gotten the message because he uses a hand to give some attention to the aching bud between your legs. When Feyd pushes a finger inside of your soaked opening, a whimper falls out of your mouth causing Feyd to smirk.

For a moment, you feel a twinge of jealousy at the fact of Lady Margot getting to carry his child before quickly coming back to reality. There’s no way you would want to walk around pregnant.

The next day, when you and Lady Margot arrive back at your homeworld you are welcomed by an eager Reverend Mother.

“So?” Reverend Mother asks, waiting for one of you to answer.

“It was a success. I now carry his heir and the bloodline is secured, just as you requested,” Lady Margot answers.

“And can he be controlled?”

This time, you speak up. “Easily. You will be pleased to know that he will be a worthy ruler. He loves pain and is sexually vulnerable.”

“Well then…It is done,” says Reverend Mother, before waving the both of you away with a motion of her hand.

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #dune part 2 #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #smut

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theredofoctober · 9 months ago

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MANNA- CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TRIPE

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

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, child abuse and more (check the tags)

Read after the cut

By some sense of duty, or else an undug tendril of guilt, Will volunteers himself to oversee your evening routine alone. You allow him this, being in scant possession of what slim tolerance has borne you through Hannibal’s accompaniment thus far.

Will proves himself to be far less involved than the other man would have been in his stead. He leans against a wall with the nonchalance of a prison warden as you shower blood and spend alike down the receiving drain, allows you to pad into your bedroom, towel-wrapped, to select a clean nightdress and sanitary products with his head turned nobly aside.

You cannot determine if his distance from you is through respect for your condition or some lasting dislike of you, neither of which holds entirely true.

More likely it is that he does not see you as his child, yet, nor quite with the equality of a lover.

Still, as you get into bed he cannot help but come to you, uncertain as he his of his purpose.

“Will you give me a goodnight kiss?” you ask, part in bitter jest, and part in annoyance with his indecision.

That a man can fuck and beat you in throes of black delight and still skulk about like a repentant sinner would have confounded you in the days before you became accustomed to such duality. To what end, and upon what strength the latter side subsists is now the greater puzzle, for it is this that drags its heels and restrains Will from his full devilry.

“Well?” you say, brusquely. “What are you waiting for? Dad’s permission?”

Will gives a hard laugh, one hand kneading the back of his neck.

“I admire your commitment to the part, but you don’t have to keep it up so seriously when it’s just you and me.”

“I promised I would,” you remind him. “Why can’t you? You had no issue kissing me in front of Hannibal. I don’t see why it’s a problem now.”

You see Will’s fingers go to the bridge of his nose, wanting the guard of the eyeglasses he’s neglected to wear.

“It’s not genuine,” he says, flatly. “The only reason you’re asking is to manipulate me.”

“So what?” you say. “Scared that it’ll work?”

“Not scared, no.”

“Sure you’re not.”

There is something hysterical in your tone, the cut string of a trapped and weary madness.

Will examines you, aware of the power play you’re attempting over him, intrigued by it, despite himself. Attracted, even.

His gaze is like a stone in the sun, all heat, all black, all blue.

He knows what revulsion you must push past to test him like this, still slightly high from the forced euphoria of fucking, and the drugs. You’re beyond consideration of the consequences, irrational, barely attached to the tongue and teeth that bite at the air in their ire.

Still Will hangs from your words like a pilgrim knelt before an oracle, dependent on your answer.

“Haven’t you had enough of me kissing you tonight?” he asks.

Sniffing, you turn to face his gargoyle shadow on the wall.

“So it’s a no. You’d make a really terrible father.”

“One...”

“Not my name.”

So Will says it, gently, and you roll back towards him, your heart quick and high behind a rail of bone with the thrill of his appeasement.

Your truce, the union of flesh: they’ve altered Will, for as he looks at you a second time his pupils are the chasms between worlds, wild and deep.

Kneeling up on the bed, you make a trellis of both hands through his curls and clutch him to you in an ungainly kiss. Will stumbles in the force of it, his arms spilling about your back so as not to fall upon you with all his weight.

You gasp against his lips with eagerness to take what he has taken, to fallow the rose flesh of his inner mouth, the lathe of your tongue churning. Will is too surprised to kiss you in return, but as you hitch one leg after the other upon his hips you feel the vine of him against your groin, wanting you again, as always.

You think of him fucking you now, pinning your wicked hands with the nail of his fist as he thrusts through a sheen of blood. Though you despise him still, your loins smart with interest in engineering the act rather than merely suffering it as ever before.

At last Will returns your kiss, but briefly, and with a knowing restraint before he lays you back upon the bed again.

You grasp at his face in an attempt to reclaim his lips. He pushes you lightly away.

“Hey,” he grins. “You made your point.”

“Oh?” you say, coolly. “And what is my point?”

“That I like kissing you. That I want to kiss you, whether Hannibal’s here or not.”

“Right,” you say, twisting a corner of your quilt around one finger for something to do with your hands. “But you never would have picked me. Like, if I was in one of your FBI classes. If I was your student. Would you even have noticed me?”

Will laughs again, with a startled unease, as though the notion is foreign to him.

“Starting affairs with students isn’t exactly my style. I turn up, I teach. That’s it. I don’t get personally involved. Or didn’t, till now. Letting people get close is... uncomfortable for me.”

He glances down at the bunch of quilt in your closed knuckles. Unlike the ever-tactile Dr Lecter, he makes no attempt to take it away.

“So how come you got so close to Hannibal?” you ask. “Didn’t you say you had reservations about him?”

“He saw me even when I was making an effort to turn away. He and I have commonalities I can’t ignore, and enough differences to keep me wondering who he really is. There’s a lot even I don’t know about him, and there are times I wonder what I’m doing letting him in.”

You’re on the verge of another question as Will steps sharply back from the bed.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll still be here in the morning. But if you want my thoughts about Hannibal then it’s only fair that you tell me a little about you in return. If this is going to work long-term I need to know who you are.”

Then he goes over to the light switch and closes you in behind a shutter of night.

You’re roused from the saccharine heat of your bedcovers the following morning by Will rapping on your bedroom door. His face appears in the crevice between it and the frame as though wary to trespass, the broken spell of your desperation in his eyes.

“It’s so early,” you whine, noting the bare line of sunlight beneath the curtains. “And I feel like death, thanks to you and Dad. Can’t I stay in bed?”

“Hannibal just rushed out to an emergency appointment,” says Will. “One of his patients is having some kind of crisis, so it’ll be just you and me for a while. You want coffee? I was about to make some.”

An apology, you think, something to alleviate the swaddled and perspiring misery of your comedown.

“Sure,” you say, weakly. “Black, please. Sweetener, if there is any. The low calorie version.”

Will’s brows rise.

“You think Hannibal keeps that around?”

Reflecting on the little paper sachets that had been favoured throughout high school you say, “Ha. I guess not.”

Within twenty minutes you’re sitting up against your pillows, one hand gripping a delicate, steaming cup, the other soothing your stomach through which bites the first monthly cramp.

Will takes a nearby chair, eyeing the bars on your window as though assuming your daily view through the glass.

Though you loathe him still in his unpredictable oddities, you’re keen to make closer yet the allyship you’ve struck up with him, watchful though he is of that very attempt. If he will not help you escape, then a friendship at least may fortify the sanity you fear will leave you in this quasi childhood.

Will doesn’t seek your regression quite as Hannibal does— a cantankerous teenager is as young as he perceives you, the sick girl that never grew up. This house, then, is a Neverland in reverse, a sumptuous den of brutal sex.

Closing your eyes against such thoughts, you take in your coffee, each dark mouthful a long-acquired taste. You remember forcing back cup after cup of it, trusting it over plain water in the belief that it would burn calories as you drank.

Suddenly you’re acutely nostalgic for the days spent in your childhood room, scrolling through online threads of ailing young women in a community of mutual suffering.

It occurs to you that you may never feel so entirely comprehended without judgement as you were there again. You understand Will rather more through the thought, his convergence with Hannibal a relief to so lonely a monster.

“Tell me about ‘Dad’,” you say, into the silence. “You said you would, last night. Like, who even is he? Where did he come from?”

Will blinks, stirred up from his own brooding thoughts. In the dreary daylight he has the face of a beautiful invalid, all its angles skirted in shade.

“Hannibal’s from Lithuania, originally,” he says. “He had a younger sister, Mischa. She died a long time ago. I don’t know the finer details of what happened to her. She’s the only family he’s ever talked about, and even then it’s been bare bones.”

You sit up straighter, envisioning a young girl with Hannibal’s eyes, and none of his appetite.

“Huh,” you say. “That makes a lot of sense.”

"Hannibal would disagree. He doesn’t put much stock in the past making him who he is.”

“Seems kind of a weird thing for a therapist to say. He’s always digging into mine.”

Will looks at the floor, as though distinguishing some new pattern from the grains in the carpet.

“Hannibal views himself as... separate from other people. Being that he acts outside of ethics and the law in his own profession, I’d guess that what’s between us isn’t his only secret.”

“I’ve tried to tell you,” you say, tapping your coffee cup with bitten fingertips for emphasis. “I’ve known this for so long. But since you’re going along with his games how can you even judge him for whatever horrible things he’s doing?”

“Without knowing what he has or hasn’t done,” says Will, slowly, “I can’t say that I do.”

He gets up from his seat and paces before the window, his hands gesticulating like pigeons frenzied into startled flight.

“You assume that what I’m trying to learn about Hannibal—the core of who he is—is something ugly. But that isn’t what I’m afraid of. It’s the possibility of him lying to me. I don’t know if I could forgive him for that after the bond we’ve made. After what he encouraged me start with you.”

“You shouldn’t trust him,” you say, urgently. “Don’t. You don’t need him.”

Scoffing, Will says, “Jack seems to think I do. Alana— she’s convinced I’m one nudge away from disappearing so far into a case that I kill someone without even knowing it. Hannibal's the only one that doesn’t think of me as broken.”

You consider informing him of his suspected encephalitis, that Hannibal surely withholds this truth and more so as to keep his favour.

In the end you retain your silence; better that Will discovers the manipulation alone and behold how he has been misled upon this trail of darkness.

“Enough about me,” says Will, abruptly. “I know that someone hurt you, long before Hannibal. Before me. Someone you've never forgotten.”

Alarmed by the twist in conversation, you stammer, “I— I already told him some of it. I said I didn’t remember. But I was lying about that. I just don’t know if it was only one, long night, or it happened other times. I don’t know which is worse.”

You pause, slightly breathless. Like a portent from the white lips of some phantom you know that you must tell Will the truth, adhere him to your weeping heart with empathy for you.

“I was just a little kid,” you say. “And he was an adult. Nearly family— I used to call him Uncle Lee. Hannibal probably told you that. Anyway, I got my ‘wrong’ feeling about him way before he did what he did. Like I knew it was coming. Then he came into my room alone one night and... it happened.”

You put down your coffee cup, almost knocking it from the bedside table with the shaking of your hand. Will comes away from the window at once, dragging his chair to your bedside to listen. He neither speaks nor looks into your eyes, aware that you can bear neither without faltering.

“He touched me,” you say, “and the whole time I couldn’t even face him. I don’t even remember what I felt. Maybe I didn’t feel anything at all. Just stared at the ceiling or whatever. He did stuff to me that changed me forever. I felt like a tiny old person in a kid’s body, after that, knowing about things I wasn’t supposed to know.

“And the worst of it was still having to see him after. My parents— I tried to tell them, but I couldn’t get the words out. They just thought I didn’t like him. So he came back to the house, now and then. Never saw any consequences.

“I’ve always wondered if I was the only one, or if there were others. He was a plumber, or something; he could have access to people’s daughters anytime he wanted. Just walk into their room and... you know. I think maybe he did do that, a couple of times. Who knows.”

Your restless fingers pick at the gold embroidery on your bedspread, working it loose from the velvet. One of Will’s hands folds over yours, gently holding them still.

“What I always think about is how he treated me, afterwards,” you say. “I tried avoiding him, but it didn’t always work. One day he cornered me at the top of the stairs— my parents were in the kitchen, so it was just me and him.

“I must have been maybe twelve or so. Not far off thirteen. My body was changing. I was growing up. He said, ��you’re getting a little chubby, you know. You ought to do something about that before you look like your mother.’

“Then he smiled at me, and just walked into the bathroom like there was nothing wrong with what had just come out of his mouth, or what he’d done to me all those years ago.”

Inhaling an unsteady breath, you try, with dubious success, to smile.

“So now you get why I’m like this. And knowing it wasn’t my fault, that Leland Frost is just a predator... it doesn’t fix anything. Like, where do I go from there?”

“He injured you,” says Will, softly. “And it may never stop hurting. But you can recover. No matter what you believe, it is possible. His shallow cruelty is not your compass. You don’t have to live on the basis of an insult.”

Scowling, you pull away from Will, trapping your hands under your armpits.

“How can I change when I’m reliving what I went through every day? Why does Hannibal think this’ll heal me? Why do you? Oh, yeah. You don’t.”

“I want it to,” says Will.

You snort dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Not so long ago you would have punched the air to see the back of me. You don’t want to share Hannibal with anybody.”

Will leans back in his seat, arms folded; it takes a moment for you to register that he is, by some subconscious impulse, copying your posture.

“I’m not sharing Hannibal with you,” says Will. “I’m sharing you with him. And I want to do that. You knew it before I did.”

His gaze snaps to yours, more arresting than his hands on you had been.

“You’re more like me than I cared to admit. Hannibal was right about that. And though everything about you should repulse his sensibilities he finds you adorable. You clearly don’t appreciate it, but there it is.”

You yearn to deny him, to condemn this speech as sophistry, but you are silent, as much a congregant to him as he has been to you.

“Leland Frost tore you down because he saw that you were growing up and away from him,” says Will. “He knew that one day you’d have a life, and achievements, and people that really cared about you. He was going to fade out of your world, and he couldn’t stand not leaving a mark.”

“I just don’t get it,” you whisper. “He loved me. Why did he do it?”

Will shifts his chair even closer to the bed so as to lean into you, his expression tender, tragic, sombre with a father’s sympathy.

“Leland never loved you, and that’s no reflection on you or your worth. It makes him weak, that he could throw away the relationship he had with you over an urge.”

You don’t have the strength to rage against the whited sepulchre in Will, not when he speaks the truth you’ve always yearned to hear from another. Pain winds through your body, throat to gut, great, twisting pulses, as though eviscerated on a blade of past.

What advice would Will give for you to survive what he and Hannibal have done, and will do?

Nothing. Not a word. He knows that the structure of the home, even comfort from those that afflict you has changed you in so short a time. Your desperation to be gone from him he senses, too, and with it your lust to be loved.

Will holds your hand for a long time before he speaks again, on another subject quite as dreary as the last.

“When you said it’d been years since you...”

“Since I last had my period?” you ask, touching your stomach through the sheets. “Yeah. It has been.”

Your body, the betrayer, making a scarlet banner of your betterment through cruelty.

“I never wanted it to come back. Having it again means I’m not as sick anymore, and that’s like... messing up for me.”

Will's head tilts, his face carved up by the shadows thrown from your barred window into a lattice of snow.

“Failing to die is barely a failure at all,” he comments.

You shrug yourself further under your bedcovers.

“It is if what’s happening to you is something worse,”

“Is it always so bad, being here with us?”

Will’s hand rises. Doesn’t quite touch your face. You turn your head away, but not cruelly; he’s not a bad man, you decide, only contorted so utterly from the ways of his fellows that he is some creature other, or from before, the flint-armed hunter of the caves.

And like such a creature, he seeks your answering affection for want of some warmth in the dark beginning of the earth.

You allow him to kiss your forehead, clumsily, inclined towards him as though you were not both aware of the fiction that allows this contact.

He can only guess how far you’d run from this, had you your chance. How readily you’d betray him.

You’re much recovered by the time Dr Lecter returns, having been hydrated and energised by a selection of unnamed supplements Will had you take with lunch; there is a cure for every ailment in the makeshift laboratory of the kitchen, it seems.

Hannibal discovers you at your usual perch of the parlour couch, writing in your journal with a blanket tucked loosely around you against the October cool.

Will stands to greet his companion, setting aside a book you’d offered him from your shelf to peruse, its cover depicting the bloody half-brain of the sun on a desert horizon.

“I didn’t expect our charge to be in such high spirits,” says Hannibal, with unmasked surprise. “Thank you for caring for her this morning, Will. I’m aware that whatever time you can spare for us in the midst of an investigation is very precious.”

Likely aware of your eyes on him, Will says, “I’m glad I stayed. I appreciated the company. How’s the other patient?”

“Suitably quieted. I doubt that I’ll be called away again on her behalf. Still, I made the most of the journey home.”

Hannibal reaches into a shopping bag looped over one arm and produces from it a wrapped package of fresh meat, marbling the paper with blood.

Grimacing, you say, “Ew. What is that? Looks like an organ.”

“It is. I’ll be making trippa alla romana tonight. It’s an Italian dish made from cow stomach. Don’t turn your nose up till you’ve tried it. Have I served anything to you yet that you haven’t enjoyed?”

After dinner, all three of the household recline, full and talking lazily before the fire. Had your company been any other than your abusers you would almost be content, for having been allowed to leave the table after a valiant half plate you are not so guilt-soaked as you’d have been had you finished it all.

You had, in fact, disliked the meal, a first in Hannibal’s house. The thought of the organ, plucked from the rib of a butcher’s shelf, had struck bile to the back of your mouth from the first bite.

A cup of chocolate, warmed to a froth and unadorned with cream is set in your hands instead, which you drink in feline licks to make it last.

Will’s phone shrills abruptly in his pocket. Frowning, he glances at the lighted oblong of its screen and starts at a familiar name.

“It’s Jack,” he says. “I’d better take this.”

He promptly exits the room, speaking with clipped tones into the device.

Alone with Hannibal, you become acutely aware of him looking at you, not quite with suspicion, but not so far from that.

"I see that you and Will are becoming close,” he says, at last. “I’m glad to see it.”

Humming vaguely, you snatch up the journal again and weave your pen about in a pretence of writing.

Hannibal says, "Still, it saddens me that—for all your pretty words of promise—you display a lesser willingness to befriend me.”

You do not answer, pressing your pen so hard against a page that it blots through to the other side.

"Put your journal down a moment, Little One,” says Hannibal. “I’m speaking to you."

Without looking up, you answer, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You needn't say anything at all. It's your behaviour I wish to change."

In a flounce of irritation you throw the journal upon the floor, its spine creasing.

“I do what you say, and I don't fight you anymore,” you say. “Isn't that daughterly enough?"

"For the purposes of your treatment,” says Hannibal, “it is not. You remain closed to me, parted only by narcotic aid. I'd prefer you to open to me of your own volition. With Will, you prove yourself increasingly capable of that.

“I’ve given you all you’ve asked for, and more, and yet you show little gratitude. I wouldn’t wish to remove these luxuries for you to appreciate my endeavours.”

You look at him, then, this man both jealous and performing jealousy to groom you into his concubine, and in looking see that he will deconstruct your room into the barest cell, should he not have his way.

"I do appreciate what you’ve given me," you hastily protest. "I do, Daddy. You don’t have to take anything away. But I— I just don’t know you the way I know Will.”

“But you do,” says Hannibal, rising to sit beside you, a dangerous proximity. “That’s why you are so afraid of me, is it not?”

You begin to object, trailing off at the sound of approaching footfalls as the younger of your captors returns, listing in the churning swell of stress.

“It's the investigation,” says Will. “Another doll’s been found. Savannah Belmont. It’s too soon to be the Lover’s kill. He has a cool off point between each abduction.”

Hannibal straightens in his seat, rapidly alert.

“A copycat, then.”

Will nods, his throat tightening. His eyes touch your face briefly, and you offer him a small, close-lipped smile, an extension of comfort from across the room. His shoulders drop from their rigid line, and when he speaks again the frantic note in his voice is tempered slightly.

“Definitely a copycat,” he says. “The Lover disposes of the dolls by throwing them into rivers like garbage. No attempt to lay them to rest. Savannah was put on display, placed in a chair on a dirt bank as though she was waiting to be found.

“Both killers meant to degrade their victims, but only the copycat’s is implied to understand and accept that humiliation. Savannah Belmont died aware of her inferiority in the eyes of her murderer.”

You find yourself sitting on your hands to prevent them from betraying your agitation with their unsteadiness. Your leg, however, you cannot control, the right foot gyring an inch above the floor.

Hannibal eyes it without speaking, folding your reaction into the lengthy tome of his mind.

“The victim’s stomach was missing,” says Will, turning to pluck a bottle of whiskey from a nearby cabinet like some bronze fruit. “That’s new. The Lover’s mutilations are all with the purpose of fitting the bodies of his victims inside their silicone casings. He has no surgical skills.

“This new killer obviously has expertise. Savannah’s stomach was cut precisely from her body with the clear intent of taking it as a trophy.”

“Her stomach?” you repeat.

You feel the heaviness of meat within you and are chilled by the coincidence.

Hannibal could not have known what the copycat would take to reference it, could not have known of his existence to begin with, and yet as you glance at him under your lashes you don’t quite trust the seriousness of his expression, his eyes gleaming dimly as tarmac in the rain.

“You mustn’t worry, Little One,” says Hannibal, turning to lift you up onto his lap. “The Lover can’t hurt you. We will protect you, always.”

He settles your head against his chest, which resounds with the slow beat of his heart and the machinery of organs digesting his own rich meal.

The monster knows of your renewed distrust and is unthreatened by it, declawed and tooth-filed as you are by his influence over you and all the passageways of the world you’d otherwise cross in your escape.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy,” you mutter, against his shirt, and the warmth of Hannibal’s palm cups your buttocks with a tormenting friction, both threat and tease at once.

While you hate him—are in terror of him, always—your form is increasingly enamoured by his touch as though it knows that it must be so, or die.

“No need to thank me for performing my duty to you, Little One,” says Hannibal, into your ear. “For you belong to me, and to Will, and you must never forget it.”

#manna fic #hannibal fic #tw noncon #tw csa #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw captivity #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #darkfic

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affableramen · 8 months ago

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Hand adoration | Pantalone x You, the Reader

Tag: Fluff

I think we can all agree Pantalone has delicate fingers. Those that are freezingly cold to touch despite the warmest temperatures ever. Those that are captivatingly thin and long. Those that are aesthetically pleasing.

He is used to be wearing his black gloves and is never eager to display his bare skin. You are the only one who has seen his hands without that thick, annoying layer of clothing. You could take them into your hands, guide to your mouth and warm them up with your breathing. Pantalone would let out a satisfied, silent sigh as your hot breath hoovers his calloused, dry no matter how much of skin care he applies, covered with birth marks hands. You’d do it gladly for him, after his shift or before the two of you go to bed. It is a tender moment, that which priceless. No Mora could ever cover the moments of softness between you two.

As you’d wrap his fingers with yours, he would first jump back to the surprise. He dislikes anyone touching him, and certainly even yours, the slightest of touches could startle him. Sometimes he would ask you to visit meeting with him as his secretary and partner all together, and noticing how his fingers are in a stage of slight tremor, you would secretly grasp his hand from beneath the desk. As his eyelids close for the second he exhales, he becomes normal.

You like when his dry digits touch across your face. When you’re both in the bed he caresses your face ever so slightly, almost lazily, half asleep. You like to place his hand close to your face and cover it with your own, your fingers intertwined. This is how both of you usually fall asleep, except for those days when Pantalone’s in terrible mood and he prefers to keep his distance in order to not harm you.

You like the sight of disheveled himself, with bare hands and no eyeglasses whatsoever. The informal Pantalone, who let his guard down is a rare sight yet so adorable.

#pantalone #genshin impact #fatui #genshin x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #reader x character

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owlservice · 9 months ago

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For people with mild cases of astigmatism, symptoms are hard to distinguish and treatment may be limited to correcting the blurriness with prescription contact lenses or eyeglasses. Those with severe cases may report being unable to see fine details either nearby or far away and suffer from headaches, weariness, and variable vision. This may be due to added tension on the eyes from prolonged reading, staring at a computer or phone screen, or looking off into the distance.

My three hobbies

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alastor-simp-page · 5 months ago

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Charlastor Week 2024: The Princess and the Cat

HELL YEAH GUYS! CHARLASTOR DAY 1 IS HERE! And its Cursed Cat Charlastor for the prompt!!!

I decided to do a Princess and the Frog type thing: cursed-ish edition. I'm so sorry.

Alastor is turned into a Cursed Cat Alastor and the curse can only be broken if he kisses a princess. Otherwise, the only princess in Hell: Charlie. Chaos ensues.

Alastor disliked Susan. No, more than disliked…despised that old bitch. However thankfully he had created a useful system to avoid said bitch: the AL system. Yes, simple, he knows. It could simply be a sentence but no, he insisted on naming it after himself.

The first step is: abort. Abort the situation at all costs. And if that fails which it usually does no matter how many times he tries to slink away. The second step: laugh it off with the woman until she finally leaves him alone. Neither of these were working at the moment as the old woman was jabbering her head off mingled spit with words and all.

The AL system was unfortunately not flawless. And Rosie wasn’t flawless either. Rather a traitor is what he should call her. “Alastor, you know I really gotta get going. The Emporium calls.” She tapped him on the shoulder, sauntering away but not before he grabbed her wrist.

“No, Rosie, you can’t leave me with…” Alastor’s crimson eyes glanced back to Susan who was now jabbing her cane at him, “with this!”

Rosie’s black eyes crinkled as she held back a laugh. All she did was lean in and peck him on the cheek before giving him a little wave, “Toot-a-loo, Alastor.” She called before hurrying down the sidewalk to the Emporium.

Ugh. Alastor scoffed. The audacity of that woman. He loved her all the same but, well…he had abandoned her the last time the pair had an encounter with the all too charming Susan. Fair enough.

He grumbled as Susan fixed her glasses on her nose and quizzed, “You getting cozy with the princess of Hell, Bambi? Eh?” The words fell off her upheld tongue like poison onto the sidewalk. A few cannibals on the side of the road turned their heads at her words. His stomach flipped over and twisted in his insides.

Instead, he tilted his head, “Well, she’s my business partner. Nothing more, nothing less, Susan.” He shifted on his loafers, his gaze shifting to the blinking sign in the far distance of the Hotel. Pink lights against the eternally blazing sky of Hell.

Thud. He stumbled a few feet back, dazed and confused until he saw her extended cane. The nerve of her! Did she jab him with her cane? She spat, “You’re a fool, Alastor. A goddamn fool.” The old bitch huffed, adjusting her feathered hat and glaring at her from behind her glasses, “You know, I like you even if you’re a bit dense.”

Confusion flooded his senses. Was he supposed to be flattered or insulted? It was perhaps better if he didn’t know which. He wasn’t a fool nor was he dense, yet he knew better than to have a loose tongue. The last time a demonic Susan had ripped through that wrinkled skin and squinty eyes it wasn’t pleasant, at all. Alastor would never admit it to a soul, but it was terrifying even. There was a reason why Susan was the head of the town: the ultimate ruthless cannibal.

“How do you feel about cats, kid?” Susan wrinkled her nose, studying him through the eyeglasses. This woman was endlessly confusing. Switching subjects like a broken radio station. He’d grown used to her strange habits unfortunately.

“I hate them.” Alastor said plainly, arching a brow at her. If anyone was a cat person, it had to be this crazy old woman. Only a cat could endure the hardship of a woman such as Susan: the art of simply tolerating.

“Good.” Susan grinned. Oh. Oh no. Susan grinning? In a panic, shadows started to wreath around his figure in a vain attempt to escape yet it was too late.

Crimson light grasped his ankles dragging him down into the pavement. A strange sensation washed over him as if his atoms were being pulled apart and put together again. A jigsaw puzzle made of ten different puzzles, fitting pieces that didn’t fit together.

He blinked. The world felt a bit bigger. And he was met with a horrifying sight: Susan’s hairy ankles. A small screech escaped him as he scrambled back on his legs. Legs? Something was strange. More fur than usually scratched at him.

An ice chilling cackle split any of the confusion in two. Susan squatted down and tapped him on the nose, cooing at him, “Aren’t you an ugly looking thing.” A mirror was grasped in her too long fingers, and she presented it to him, “Take a look.”

✽

“CHARLE! CHARLIE THERE��S A WERID ASS FUCKING CAT OUTSIDE!” The screaming awoke her. There was no mistake that it was Angel Dust’s voice. At this point it was routine. She blinked a few times as the light streamed across her bed, caressing her with its warm glow. Charlie groaned, sitting up in her bed and kicking on some fluffy slippers.

No rest for the wicked, she supposed, perks of being the Princess of Hell. She stumbled out of the door into the empty hallway, half awake, and half asleep. That tired fogginess still clouded her brain as she dragged herself down the stairs.

She could handle a weird cat. At least Niffty hadn’t started another fire. Charlie didn’t know how many more coffee machines she could afford if that kept up. Her Dad might finally cut the trust fund.

“What? What! I’m here. What’s wrong?” Charlie almost flopped onto the floor as she dragged herself towards the crowd around the door. The carpet was soft enough that she wanted to curl up on it and go nap again. Well, she was the hotelier. Wait, she scanned the various heads of her guests. Where is Alastor?

She frowned but still pushed her way through. So much for him handling “crisis duty” while she took a much-needed nap. Angel Dust let out a breath as he saw Charlie emerge, “Thank God, you’re here Charlie. What the fuck do we do with this?” He pointed a finger at the problem sitting on their doormat.

Charlie blinked once. Twice. It was a cat. Yes, a weird one, an appropriate description. It had an almost pomegranate colored fur and little black colored “socks” on its feet and far too fuzzy ears. It’s too wide crimson eyes glared up at her with one monocle placed under its right eye. A golden smile stretched across its face. It looked…familiar. She tilted her head at the sight. It was…weird but cute.

Without thinking twice, she scooped up the little demonic cat in her arms. Vaggie screeched beside her, holding out a hand, “Charlie!”

Something warm pooled in her heart as she looked at its too wide eyes. “Awww!” Charlie clutched the strange looking cat close to her chest, nuzzling her head into the top of its head. “You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?” She cooed.

“Put me down.” Something said. No, someone? Something?

Charlie lifted her head, staring around at everyone. “Did someone say something?” Angel Dust looked to Husk who looked to Vaggie who then looked to Niffty. A shrug was the universal answer.

“PUT ME DOWN!” The voice hissed louder.

“Uh…I think the cat just talked,” Angel Dust stared wide eyed at the demonic bundle in her arms.

“What?” Charlie looked down at the cat. Its smile was stretched thin, its ears all the way back.

And it spoke through its golden smile. “PUT ME DOWN!”

“GAHHHHH!” Charlie screamed as she dropped the cat like a sack of potatoes and stumbled a few steps back. A loud yell accompanied the chaos as everyone scrambled away from the demonic thing.

To be continued underneath...

#hazbin alastor #charlastor #radiobelle #radio demon #charlie x alastor #fanfic #alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #charlastor week 2024 #cursed cat charlie #cursed cat alastor #cursed cat charlastor #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #ao3

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 months ago

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A Witch In The Crowd

Summary: Musa loves all genres of music, Icy is a musical snob. They find each other at a show and get into a rather heated debate.

The vocals are harsh and aggressive. The lyrics are brutal and violent, unapologetically raw and accompanied by an extremely heavy and distorted bass. It beats at a volume that sometimes overtakes the vocals almost entirely.

Towards the center of the venue bodies collide and fists flail. People fall, get back up, and plunge themselves back into the pit. There are bloody lips and brows and broken eyeglasses on the floor. Bruises and skinned knees. And pierced lips curled into smiles, coming off of adrenaline highs.

It isn’t her usual scene, that’s for sure, Musa prefers softer genres. Hip hop and rap are her favorites. Cloud rap and drill music in particular have her attention at the moment. She enjoys trap and its off-shoots now and then and has recently found herself enjoying phonk. There isn’t any genre that she won’t listen to, but there are certainly genres that she listens to less; power metal and death rock to name two.

But a concert is a concert and she had nothing to do tonight and so she finds herself lingering at the back of the venue with a clover club cocktail in one hand and her camera in the other. A show like this, she decides, is enjoyed best from a distance.

Tonight’s crowd is lively for sure and there is liberal use of marijuana. She keeps away from the clouds of it but she can’t quite escape the smell. Par for the course, she supposes. The lights strobe in time to the beats blasting through the speakers. The strobe lights seem to fragment and segment motion. Headbanging, hands moving up, bodies running in a circle it all seems to happen in clips and snapshots beneath the lights.

Musa can’t be certain of when she had stopped paying attention to the musicians and started paying attention to the fans. But at some point, she catches a flash of silvery-blue. At first she doesn’t recognize her and she thinks that she owes that to simply not expecting to see a witch here, let alone this particular witch. But it is definitely, unmistakably Icy. Still she has to do a double take because she has never seen the woman with her hair loose, likely so she could fix a black beanie atop her head. Musa had also never thought that she’d see the witch dressed in such baggy clothes, mostly baggy anyhow; the body of the crop-top sweater fits rather tightly over her chest while the black and white striped sleeves of it cover most of her fingers. Save for the choker around her neck and the chunky studded bracelet on her left arm, it is an entirely different aesthetic for her. But she does wear it so well.

She stands at the center of the moshpit with her arms folded. She and the ten or eleven other people around her create a human island that the moshpit circles around. Now and then Icy slips herself into it and when she does it is devastating as far as pits go. For someone so slender, she is particularly aggressive. Most of the people on the ground find themselves there because of her.

Clearly she has done this before. It doesn’t seem to both her any when she finds herself on the receiving end of a carelessly flailing arm or a particularly rough shove.

For all of the concerts that Musa has attended, she can’t say that she has ever part taken in a moshpit. She watches Icy make her way out of the crowd, likely heading for the bar. Or perhaps to lean against a pillar or a wall. Her hair is tangled and her make up has smudged, her clothes are disheveled and, even from a distance, Musa can tell that she is breathing quite heavily.

The witch closes that distance and props herself up on the pillar across from Musa. She checks the messages on her flip phone and slips it back into her pocket. She looks up and catches Musa’s eye. Musa gives her a small nod.

Only because she hadn’t expected Icy to take it as an invitation to come over.

“I didn’t realize that you listened to this kind of music.” Musa opens.

“I like what I like.” Icy replies plainly. “This is more of Stormy’s scene but she couldn’t make it tonight and didn’t want to let her ticket go to waste so…”

“With the way you were throwing those men around, I’d say that you’ve done this before. You were kind of terrifying to watch.”

“Don’t go to many metal shows, do you?”

“Not really, no.” Musa confesses. “This isn’t really my scene either.”

“Pop?” She guesses.

Musa shakes her head. “More traditional forms of rap and hip hop. The kind with less guitars.”

“If it doesn't have guitars then why listen to it at all?” Icy shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“For the rhythm and flow of clever lyrics.” Musa replies. “Because the vocals are impressive. Just because it doesn’t have a guitar doesn’t mean that it’s not good.”

“I guess you can say that…” She slinks her way over to the bar counter. “If you have no taste in music.” She turns to bartender and orders herself one blue devil cocktail.

“Are you aware that you’re talking to a music fairy.”

Icy shrugs. “I don’t discriminate; music faeries can have dreadful taste in music just like anyone else. Usually they do.”

“Maybe you’re the one who has terrible taste!”

“Have you ever listened to the kind of music I do? Or do you just listen to generic pop, rap, and that techno shit?”

“What do you have against techno!?”

“It takes no real talent to produce. It’s all machines and synth…or something. I don’t know how it’s made.”

“But you can say that it takes no talent to make?”

“Confidently, yes.” Icy replies. “I imagine that it only takes hitting a few buttons.”

“And arranging beats, and picking a good pitch, finding a good tempo, and you have to equalize and compress the track correctly, and…”

“And I don’t really care. I just know that I don’t like it and techno doesn’t require nearly as much talent as death rock and post punk.”

Musa sighs, she really shouldn’t have drawn the witch’s attention. She should have known that she would come around just to pick fights and take jabs. “Well it was great talking to you but that pillar I was leaning against was much better company.” Musa is satisfied to see that Icy looks at least a little shocked or offended. Perhaps a good and well-deserved touch of both.

“I’m a great conversationalist!” She declares.

“Yeah, maybe if you’re talking to a troll or something.”

Icy blinks.

“I come to concerts because I actually enjoy the music and I’d like to get back to that.”

“I actually enjoy this music.” Icy insists. “The lyrics resonate with me.”

“They’re singing about beating someone up right now.”

“Exactly.” She takes a sip of her cocktail. “And it has guitars so the music is listenable. Have you ever listened to death rock.”

“I’ve listened to a whole lot of genres but not all of them…”

“So that’s a no then?”

“That’s a no.” Musa reluctantly confirms.

“Well you should try it.” She gives her glass a little twirl and watches the ice settle.

“Are you trying to get me to become a witch?”

Icy shakes her head. “Just trying to get faeries to listen to real music so that I don’t have to hear shitty pop tunes everywhere I go.”

“Maybe you should branch out and try new genres.”

“No thanks. I like what I like. I have no interest in liking more things.”

Musa nearly snickers out loud. No wonder the witch is so disgruntled all the time; she drastically restricts the amount of things that she is allowed to enjoy. “Well, I for one, enjoy finding knew things to enjoy; what death rock bands would you recommend?”

Icy hums, likely she hadn’t anticipated Musa actually inquiring. “I like MossGrave and Edwin The Crow.” She throws the rest of her drink back and sets the empty glass back on the counter. “You know where to find me after you’ve given it a listen.” And with that, just like the melting of winter snow, Icy slips back into the crowd.

.oOo.

She doesn’t know why, but she actually does take the witch up on her offer to listen to ‘real’ music. And she has to admit that she kinda digs it. Edwin The Crow is darkly enchanting and his vocals are lovely. Like wine and black roses. It is classical music with a twist and his voice is so deep. MossGrave is more abrasive, their songs have a good degree of distortion.

She decides that she can appreciate this kind of music especially when she looks at their vocal techniques. It is all really well put together.

She is strangely eager to share her opinions with Icy and perhaps ask for more recommendations.

But it isn’t for another two weeks before she runs into the witch again.

By which time she has delved deeper into the genre on her own.

“Maybe we can see a show together.” It is a pretty unconventional greeting so she can’t blame Icy for tilting her head and furrowing her brows. “I listened to MossGrave, they’re pretty rad.” She clarifies.

Icy crinkles her nose. “You want to attend a deathrock show? And you want to attend one wearing that?” She gestures to Musa’s baggy blue jeans, white sneakers, and her red sports bra.

“I can throw on a bomber jacket. I’ve got this cool one made of red silk, it has a record and a music note embroidered on it.” She supposes that she should be happy that Icy is even humoring her interest.

Icy rolls her eyes. “You can’t attend a deathrock show wearing that.” She scoffs. “There’s an aesthetic. Some clubs won’t even let you in…”

“Then I can borrow some of your clothes.” Musa shrugs.

Icy pinches the spot between her brows and Musa can’t fathom why. “You can’t just slap on a choker and a black shirt and call yourself goth…”

“I’m not going to call myself goth, I’m just going to wear one goth outfit to one show and…”

“Throw my reputation under the bus for bringing a poser.” Icy fills in.

“So let me get this straight; I can listen to the music but I’m not allowed to see it live?”

“That’s right. You can enjoy a few songs but you aren’t a real death rock fan if…”

“Oh so you are one of those people.” Musa quirks a brow to accompany her half smirk.

“One of those people?”

“Musical snob.” Musa shrugs. She should have known that the woman would be. “Always prattling on about what is and isn’t real music. Or how I can’t be a real MossGrave fan if I can’t name ten songs and the name of the bassist.” She pauses. “For the record, I can. I listened to their entire self-titled album and their Yellowed Bones EP. Their bassist’s name is Crypta.”

Icy opens her mouth and closes it again. “Yes well, it isn’t just music it’s…”

“A lifestyle?” Musa laughs. “You know that casual fans exist, right?”

“Whatever.” Icy folds her hands across her chest. “You know one deathrock band and you think that you’re part of the scene.”

“I also listened to Wilona and the Whispering Witches, The Velvet Capes, and Vivian’s Cobweb.”

“Big deal, anyone can name the three big names.”

Honestly, Musa isn’t sure why she is even trying to make nice with the witch. Maybe it is because she can tell that, in her own way, Icy is trying to be more social. Trying to pick up the pieces of her life now that she has been released from Light Rock. Really there is no better way to connect with someone than music. It probably makes her feel normal to be arguing over music and fashion instead of battling over the fate of Magix. And so Musa engages. “A Misty Tendril Unfurled At Midnight.” Musa replies finally. And is rewarded with Icy sputtering. She adds, “I know, super underground, right? Do I get to be a real deathrock fan yet or do I have to wait a year or two?”

“Ugg, whatever.” Icy mutters again. “This is why we don’t let faeries into the scene.”

“Because you’re worried that they’ll know more about the music than you do?” Musa knows that she should stop jesting now before the witch gets truly angry and retracts her invitation. With a sigh she amends, “look I just want to go see a show with you, I know that you, Darcy, and Stormy have been trying to…get used to being in the real world again.”

“So you’re trying to make a charity case of me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed talking to you at the Lil Brxken Sxul show, even though you were super condescending. You seem to care a lot about the types of music you enjoy and…I don’t know, it’s kind of nice to meet someone else who is passionate enough about music to argue over it. I was hoping that we could do it again sometime but with music you actually like.”

“What makes you think that I don’t truly enjoy trap metal?”

“Because plenty of people say that trap metal isn’t real metal and that you aren’t a real goth if you like any subgenre of rap music.”

Icy folds her arms across her chest. But Musa swears that the witch is at least dully amused at her wit. “Fine. But only because you are my charity case. Your current taste in music is terribly sad, but there’s still hope for you. Unlike Stella…and Stormy.”

She’ll take it. “What’s wrong with Stormy’s taste in music?”

“Have you ever heard an ogre try to sing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about a duck?”

“I…no.”

“Well Stormy has. And I had to suffer it too. Of course, Stormy actually enjoys Knut’s musical endeavors. It’s quite dreadful.”

Now she is intrigued. “You’re going to show me that song, right?”

“Even I’m not that cruel.” Icy grimaces.

And Musa laughs. “But you will let me raid your wardrobe?”

Icy sighs. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to look like an idiot when I bring you as my plus one.” Before Musa can ask she adds, “yes, this is an invite only event.” She pauses. “Don’t make a fool of me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She promises. She can’t, however, promise that it won’t happen anyways. She does want this to go well. Whether she’ll admit it or not, Musa can tell that Icy is happy to have someone else to talk to aside from just Darcy and Stormy. She has been struggling much more than the two of them to branch out and make connections.

Musa slings her arm over Icy’s shoulder, she tries to anyways, she can’t reach that high. The witch doesn’t shake her off.

That is as good a sign as any.

#Winx #Winx Club #Winx Icy #Winx Musa #Icy/Musa #Fanfiction #One Shot

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of-elitiism · 1 month ago

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@illholy continued

Light as a feather, his whole form follows after where she's guiding him without the slightest resistance or protest. It is quite characteristic for him to rather react than to actually have initiative, so all he has to offer is a slight bow of his head and a compliant smile. "Oh dear, perhaps we actually do, in certain regards~" his voice is tired and low, like a perpetual sigh, but his tone is genuine and focused. It's not often he is shown interest so directly, of course he will feel excited for the attention.

Though seemingly a fragile man he was quite surprisingly precise in his movements. One hand gently carried hers while the other settled on gingerly on her waist with a protocol that seemed well exercised and maybe even a little bit old fashioned for the current era. So were his steps as well; light on his feet he moves slowly, guiding her alongside the music with care while keeping a respectable distance between their bodies. All the while lidded eyes stared down and took in her features. It's worth noting that he had never once blinked.

"Your eyesight~" he mentioned, voice same as before, still laced with a subtle smile. "Are the eyeglasses a recent development? Or have they been required since birth?"

#[ voice - isaac ]#illholy #[ he's gonna take her weird and crank it up to eleven ]

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teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps · 1 year ago

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blurry-eyes4u · 2 months ago

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youtube

This crazy comedian is wearing this high plus eyeglasses, how amazing is that? According with websites he cannot see with them on, so he got use to see everything blurry, of course we know at certain distance of course he can see clearly!

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jmdbjk · 2 years ago

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Let's focus on...

We've all seen the above clip hundreds of times from Memories 2021 where JK and Jimin are cozied up sitting in the dressing area getting ready for the PTD online concert back in late 2021. And every time I see this clip, I've always noticed the curious way JK leans his head back when looking at Jimin and my brain finally had to stop for a second and think about why he did/does that.

You know that thing you do when you are trying to focus on something too close so you move your head to get your eyes at a better distance from what you are trying to look at. Kookie was trying to focus on Jiminie's face. It was too close. He's farsighted.

He may not have known it back in 2021 though because we didn't start seeing him really wear eyeglasses until this past year when he was headed to Qatar (I think?). Anyway. Carry on. That's your random post for the day.

P.S. JJK1 IS COMING JULY 14!! and FYI that would be SILVER DAY on the Korean couples calendar.

#jjk1 is coming #july 14 is silver day for couples in korea #jikook #jungkook #jimin #jk tmi i guess

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minervadashwood · 2 years ago

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Daryl Dixon x NB!Reader (afab, plus-size) 🏹 Daryl x Reader x Rick 🛡️

The Cop and the Criminal - Chapter 12

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Series Masterlist |Masterlist | Taglist

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Summary: You visit Daryl for the weekend. This chapter contains: Bromance, a quickie, some angst and fluff. Word count: 3.1K Note: I promised you would meet Rick, but the plot went elsewhere. Rick next time for sure! Thanks to @green-eyedladywrites for her support and encouragement and @livingdeadblondequeen for correcting all my mistakes and knowing about whiskey.

A month went by. School and work kept you incredibly busy. It was your job at the research center to digitize found manuscripts by scanning then transcribing the words into searchable text. The work could get tedious, truly better suited to a beta than yourself, but you aspired to do just as well as a beta. There was no reason your designation would keep you from doing your part.

Every Friday afternoon, your anthropology/archeology team would meet with Ro’s science team, sharing notes and swapping theories. The aim of this project was to determine how a pandemic in Canada, hundreds of years ago, affected the social and mating dynamics of packs. Ro was especially fascinated with the alpha-omega-alpha mates. He was trying to pinpoint the biological and genetic cues that caused the phenomenon, especially since such triads only appeared when a population was on the verge of decimation.

To you, those social dynamics were intriguing, but you focused on how much more elevated omegas were at this time. Not only were omegas important for repopulation, but their caretaking skills became vital to a successful pack. Omegas would nurse the sick pack members, soothe the overworked alphas, and become beacons of hope and comfort for their packs. Although you did not dream of domesticity, you felt no small amount of pride for your omega predecessors.

Every Friday after this meeting, you would check your phone messages, and without fail, Daryl would have messaged you while you were in the meeting. These would be short messages, like “Leaving now,” or “on my way.” But those few words were enough because by the time you walked back to your dorm, Daryl would be waiting for you inside your apartment. He had his own keycard now and was well known by all the RAs and the resident hall director. He visited you every Wednesday evening and stayed with you every weekend.

However, on a Friday in late September, when your meeting ended, you unlocked your phone and did not see a message from Daryl. You had to assume he was only running late, so you did your best to be patient and not pester him with messages of your own. Daryl was the most dependable person you’d ever met, so you had no need to worry.

Rick was keeping his distance, waiting just outside the bedroom door to the master bedroom. Daryl was in the room staring down at the finished bed, biting his thumbnail.

“Daryl, I promise you, they are going to like the place. We put in so much work. It’s time, man.”

Daryl had done his best to pick out the linens that were similar to the ones you had at your place, down to the color and the type of fabric. Still, there were two wooden chests, each stuffed with pillows and blankets in case you wanted something else or something more.

“I dunno,” he murmured. “Still feels like there’s somethin’ missin’.”

“Daryl, that bed is beautiful. The only thing missing is your omega.”

Daryl studied the King-sized bed and the headboard he’d had made. It had little shelves on it: for snacks, for books, for your eyeglasses. Daryl could swear he saw nothing but flaws. Maybe you wouldn’t like the woodstain he’d chosen. Or what if he’d neglected to sand down the wood grain enough and you got a splinter? Daryl could not abide you getting hurt because of something he did.

Rick let out a long-suffering sigh, however Daryl knew Rick wasn’t short tempered like Merle. The furthest thing from it, in fact.

Rick said, “How about this: you take a few pictures of the place, and let them decide what else the place needs?”

Daryl stopped chewing his nail and nodded. Then, he took out his phone and began snapping photos. Rick showed him how to take a panoramic photo of the nest. Then Daryl went to your home office he’d furnished, mostly from found furniture. It was amazing what people would leave behind when they moved out. Daryl had found you an L-shaped desk, two bookshelves, some floor lamps and a desk lamp. He painted them all with the colors he saw most in your apartment, in effect creating a cobbled together office suite. Someday, this room might be where your pups slept, but for now, it would be a place for you to work and study.

Next, he headed to the laundry closet. To his utter surprise, Randy--his boss--had footed the bill for all new appliances, and that included a washer-dryer combo with more buttons than Daryl had seen in his life. He was hoping you could teach him how to work it. The third bedroom was where he kept all his hunting, hiking, and camping equipment, and was the place he’d been sleeping since he’d taken the job here. He didn’t need to show you a picture of that, so he moved on to the living room. Most of the furniture was used, but it at least matched. There was a barely-used sectional sofa, an easy chair, and a TV stand. The couch looked empty. He hoped you’d fill it up with your cozy knitted creations. In fact, as he stared at the photo he’d taken, he imagined himself cuddling with you on the couch, making love to you, and falling asleep with you in his arms as one of your horror movies played on the TV..

Admittedly, the couch wasn’t the only place he wanted to fuck you. Almost every room held its own potential.

The kitchen came last. It had a new stove, oven, refrigerator, dishwasher, and brand new cabinets. Daryl was about to make his own cabinets from discarded lumber when Randy told him to just buy a whole set from the home improvement store. So Daryl had, but he installed it himself.

Once Daryl finished taking the pictures, Rick looked over his shoulder as Daryl flipped through the series of pictures.

Daryl tapped a few times, trying to find the messaging button, but all that happened was the picture shrinking or enlarging, and once flipping all the way around.

Rick pinched his nose. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to send a picture.”

“Shut up,” Daryl murmured. He handed the phone to Rick, and a few taps later the pictures were sent.

You were in the elevator up to your apartment when your phone let out a flurry of notifications from Daryl’s special ringtone (a motorcycle engine). You stepped out onto your floor and opened up the picture messages.

Each photo had you smiling more and more. The house Daryl had been working on looked so cozy and well-kept. It needed some decorating, but you’d have that done in no time. However, when you finally came to the bedroom, you nearly cried right there in the hallway.

The bed--your nest--was huge. Even in the photo it looked welcoming and cozy. Blankets and pillows were piled on it, and there were all these little shelves like cubby holes. What’s more, the floor had a lush carpet and the curtains were almost exactly like the ones you had in your apartment. Come to think of it, was that your comforter on top of the bed? Even without creating the nest yourself, it began to feel like home already.

You replied to Daryl with a string of heart eye emojis, then you typed. “Give me time to pack a bag, and I’ll be on my way.”

Rick was looking over Daryl’s shoulder again. “C’mon. What did they say?”

Daryl stared off into space, barely coherent enough to speak. “They’re uh…on their way over.”

Rick slapped Daryl on the back. “What did I tell ya, buddy?”

Daryl nodded, still processing.

Rick picked up his tool belt and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll make myself scarce.”

Daryl took note of Rick’s toolbag, belatedly realizing Rick was mostly to thank for this turn of events. The man had been with Daryl almost every step of the way fixing up this house. And he didn’t want anything in return, a fact Daryl still had trouble understanding.

Daryl knew he couldn’t let Rick go without doing something to show his appreciation.

“How ‘bout ya come by ‘round eight. Fer a coupla drinks an’ to meet ‘em?

Rick cocked his head. “You sure about that? What about them and their fear of alphas?”

“Tha’s one reason they should meet ya, to see yer a good guy an’ all that shit.”

Rick smiled. “Alright, buddy. See you at eight.”

Using your navigation app, you made the drive to the apartment complex Daryl worked at. You were full of excitement, practically bouncing in your seat as you drove. As the miles passed by, that excitement only grew.

“Your destination is on the left,” the smooth navigation voice intoned.

The apartment complex was somewhat old. From the 1960s or 70s, you guessed from the architecture. But it looked well cared for. The parking lot was clean, the landscaping tidy and appealing, and it looked as if all the stairs and railings had fresh coats of paint. There were two tall buildings, about five storeys high, and each apartment had its own entrance. Set apart from the buildings was a two-storey house with a weathered wooden sign in its front yard that read:

The Chalets EST 1967 Main Office

Standing next to that sign was Daryl, who had a pink flower in his hand. The flower matched those you saw as you drove in.

You slammed on your brakes and put both hands over your mouth, gasping at his appearance. He was wearing a blue suit, and the sun shone down on him, so his eyes were squinting back at you. Not even bothering to pull into the parking space, you slammed the gearshift into park. Almost instantly, Daryl was at your door, pulling it open and then he reached out a hand to you. You took it, standing up and then wrapped your arms around your mate.

He let out an “oomph” of surprise, then he hugged you back, burying his nose in your neck.

“Daryl, it’s so pretty here!”

He scoffed. “Ya ain’t even seen the place yet.”

Daryl let you go enough so he could see your pretty face as you smiled up at him.

“I mean the whole campus here. The landscaping, the parking lot. It’s so well kept.” You put a finger in one of his belt loops and tugged. “And look at you, my alpha all dressed up in a suit--the same color as his eyes. So handsome.” You reached up and cupped his jaw.

He turned into your touch, kissing your palm before stepping away from you. He handed you the flower he’d cut earlier, then he took your other hand and led you inside.

“It’s a bit of a mess down here with the office an’ shit, but it’s the upstairs where I been tryin’ to make the place good ‘nough for ya.”

He ushered you inside and up the stairs to--what he hoped would be--your new home. Once you made it up to the first floor landing, he opened the door and let you inside.

“Oh, alpha,” you gasped, walking through the little entryway and into the remodeled kitchen. It’s so nice! I’ve never seen a kitchen this new or clean. Oh, does that fridge make ice? And filter the water?”

“Mmmhmm,” he mumbled, watching you flit about the place, touching everything. Your small hand ran the length of the dining table, then you turned the tap on and off, you opened the dishwasher and sniffed it. You touched the water and ice dispenser almost reverently, then you opened the fridge and freezer doors.

Rick had been right. The only thing missing from this house was you, and now that you were here, he wanted--no, needed--you to stay.

He let you lead the way deeper into the house, to the living room. Again, you kept touching everything, but as you neared the easy chair, where Rick tended to sit when they took a break from remodeling, you froze in place.

You didn’t turn to Daryl for help, yet you seemed to wobble on your feet and one hand went up to your chest. Daryl didn’t need to claim you to know you were in distress. He put his arm around you and led you to sit on the sectional sofa.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and the wave of desire brought on by the scent of summer rain made you weak in the knees. As Daryl sat you down, you were hot all over and almost pulled him on top of you to stifle this craving for the other alpha.

Holding him by the forearms, you asked him for a glass of water. By the time he’d returned, you’d managed to get a hold of yourself. You drank half the glass, then you set it down and put your pink flower in it.

Daryl sat next to you and pulled you into his arms. His scent enveloped you and filled the room, helping to mask what you’d come to know--irrevocably--as Rick’s scent.

“‘Mega?” Daryl asked, putting a finger on your chin and urging you to look at him .

“I’m alright. I just…”

“It’s jus’ Rick. He helped me fix up the place some.”

You nodded. “He’s your friend. A good guy. I’ll get better with this. Promise.” You truly hoped you would. There was no need for you get turned on every single time you smelled the other alpha. Once Daryl claimed you, these urges would surely go away. It was just that pesky omega biology. Perhaps because you’d been working and studying too much. Or perhaps you felt this way because you spent too much time away from Daryl. While your scholastic obligations weren’t likely to let up any time soon, you were more than ready to move into this house and spend every free moment with your mate.

“I wan’ ya to meet ‘im this evenin’. That way ya won’t be so afraid anymore. Tha’ alright?”

You took a few deep breaths while looking into Daryl’s eyes and knew there was one way of slaking the desire that held you in its grips. You sat up and straddled Daryl’s lap and began undoing his tie. It turned out to be a clip on, so you tossed it to the side with a flourish and then began kissing his chest and neck.

“Ya sure ya wan’ my knot now, Bubbie?”

His scent and the odor of your own arousal continued to cloud the room. “Now,” you told him, kissing him hard on the mouth. “Always.” As you tasted and smelled him, your thoughts became focused solely on Daryl, your True mate

You fumbled, unbuttoning his pants and freeing his long erection. “You want me, too? Already?”

Daryl ground up against you, impeded by your tweed slacks. “All ya gotta do is be in the same room with me an’ I gotta have ya. Now, get these damn pants off before I get rug burn.”

“Yes, alpha,” you panted, thoughts of having anyone else inside you were now obliterated.

You got out of your pants and straddled him again. Daryl kissed your gland and your neck, his tongue flicking out and licking as he sucked gently on various places on your sensitive skin. You threw your head back as you lowered yourself onto him, letting his thick, hard length stretch you open for a moment before you started moving.

“Oh, Daryl,” you sighed, sliding up and down his cock so it hit you just right.

“Fuck me, Bubbie,” Daryl groaned. He made quick work of taking off your top and freeing your breasts, then his mouth latched onto your nipple, his tongue laving it in between soft bites with his teeth. Each movement of his mouth sent shocks of pleasure to your clit, and you put your hand there to stroke your bundle of nerves in time with everything else.

“I’m getting so close, Alpha,” you moaned.

“Me, too, Bubbie. Ready for my knot, ain’t ya.”

You nodded, burying your head in his neck as he began to thrust up into you. With a grunt, he locked his knot in place and you screamed with pleasure. How could you want anyone but this man, this alpha? Daryl was the mate you’d always dreamed of having, the only mate you’d ever need. You knew this deep down as your pussy milked his cock and you both clung to each other, riding out your orgasms. You were both breathless as you came down, but you couldn’t stop smiling at Daryl.

He grinned back and started peppering your face with quick playful kisses, making you giggle in his arms.

He laughed with you, his throaty chuckle the sweetest sound in the world. He held you close and whispered in your ear, “Welcome home, Bubbie.”

At 7:30 PM Rick took two alpha blockers and downed them with a glass of water. While he should have been relaxing and watching the game on TV, all Rick had done was sit on his sofa and get a hard on every time he thought of you.

He really should start dating again. He was pretty sure he was over Lori, and he truly did want to find a fitting omega and make a go of it. Years earlier, before he’d met Lori,he dreamed of meeting his True Mate, but now that dream was dead in the water. The only omega he’d met in the past year—off the job—was you. And you were taken. It was time for him to try some of those dating apps or maybe even go out to a bar once in a while. Besides, once you moved in with Daryl, Rick couldn’t continue to spend his evenings over there.

Rick still couldn't figure out exactly how he’d become such good friends with Daryl in such a short amount of time. Once Daryl started getting less anxious around him, Daryl would crack jokes about whatever idiot had crossed Rick’s path during the day. Daryl was a good listener too, especially when Rick would tell stories about Lori and Carl. Daryl may not say much, but it was clear he was a compassionate man just by the way he would listen. His conversations with Daryl were entirely different from talking with Shane, a man who didn’t know when to shut up. Shane was convinced he had all the best advice and assumed everyone wanted to hear it. Daryl wasn’t like that. He would listen without judgement, and Rick really admired that.

Seconds on his grandfather clock ticked by, then the sonorous chimes told him it was time. He grabbed the brand new, unopened bottle of Sexton Single Malt Irish Whiskey and went to welcome you to your new home.

Next chapter

===

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