#forgive me if it has errors......

[lawva-girl]

Historically.. We don't mix.

Law x fem!Reader, College AU

Notes: the things that don't mix are history and stem majors!!! this came to me in a dream forever ago and ive been sitting on it since. This is only part one to... idk how many but yes! I have a loose outline, we can bet on 5 parts but thats a scary bet to make methinks. Enjoy :) also i apologize if the pov switching in the first bit is weird, i thought i was cooking and i kinda think its cute now so it is.

WC: 1976

The classroom was quiet, you were the only one there. Class officially started in 4 minutes. Right as you pulled out your phone to double check the room another person walked in. You assumed she was a student since she was about your age, at least she looked it. When the woman instead walked to the front of the class you realized she was the professor. Shoulder length black hair, with bangs trimmed right to her eyebrows. Wearing a white cowboy hat, which you thought was peculiar. 

She removed the hat and set it on the desk, resting her bag in the seat. 

She wrote on the board “Robin, overview of women in war” then she leaned against the desk and pulled out her phone.

You looked back at yours, 11:18. Two minutes until class began, and there was now roughly 15 people in the room. You sat in the second row back from the front, and you noticed only one person in the front row. He had a weird beanie on, dark hair, and pierced ears. You tried not to stare, since you knew he could glance back at any second.

“Okay everyone, I am Nico Robin. I’m your professor.” She smiled for the class, and continued, “this class should be very exciting, we get to learn about women like Joan of arc, who really was a delusional farm girl, and Molly Pitcher, a women who fought in the American revolution. The syllabus is online, you will need books by next class. The student store has them for 15 dollars, I won’t take any excuses.” 

The professor paused, then opened her bag and pulled out the book, “it looks like this. It’s a small booklet of primary sources, mostly text and images, that we will take a deep dive into. Your grade this semester will be 40 percent exams, 25 percent homework, and finally 35 percent participation. Yes it is a lot, this class is modeled after my time researching, you cannot be a historian or teacher without being able to work as a group and communicate. I know it’s a challenge but try your best.”

A beat.

Law felt sick. He was not a talker, especially to people who were history majors. The men were always blood hungry, the women always poetic. This class would be rough, but if he could find one person bearable enough it might be okay. Sitting in the front seat, he couldn’t glance around to see his peers. While the professor was going on about the school's mandatory syllabus information, he took a quick look behind him, as if checking the clock. 

No one was paying attention, and he glanced quickly around the class. There was only one person who looked back at him, meeting his eyes. Of course they looked away immediately, and so did he.

The professor finally finished and gave the students time to “meet their neighbors”. Law turned and found the one student who made eye contact with him. 

“I’m Trafalgar Law, I’m a double major in history and biology.” He stated right to the girl, with no excitement in his voice, tone steady.

“My name is Dracule y/n, I’m a history major, and you are insane, Trafalgar.” She had a bit of sarcasm in her tone, which he took offense to. She was the fifth person to tell him that today.

“I’m not insane, I just like history and I want to be a doctor.” 

“That’s cool I guess, I’ve never met a stem major I liked though. You guys are all so “history is just memorization and dates”, I can’t stand talking to ‘em.” 

Law looked back at her and thought ‘I have never met a history major I liked either’. He decided on saying, “If you ask me historians are basically philosophers, you just think all day and pretend like the world changed.” 

She made an obvious frown, putting her hands onto the table with a bit too much force. “Huh?!”

“History majors have two options, teach or research, both are dead end jobs that don’t help people. It’s simple.” He stated nonchalantly, like it was crazy to major in history. 

“Well life isn’t all about jobs and helping people. It’s about living?” She looked him dead in the eyes before finishing with, “it’s not like the world collapses when doctors aren’t around.” 

“Well it was nice talking, but I’m gonna chat to my other neighbors.” He said with a huff, he didn’t have to talk to you at all, in fact he hoped he wouldn’t have to again. 

After about 10 more minutes, professor Robin spoke up again, “okay okay, since we don’t have textbooks yet I decided to make a fun assignment. I’m giving you your first and last handouts, you will need to fill them out before next class. Other than that, please look at the canvas page. Read over the syllabus and take my obligatory syllabus quiz. You are now free from this class.” 

You walked out into the hall, and booked it to the student store. You told your only friend and sister, Perona, that you would meet her there.

Law, coincidentally, told Bepo the same thing. Bepo was his only friend, having grown up with the white haired bear. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Only 10 minutes after class had dismissed you arrived at the store, already spotting Perona’s pink pigtails. 

“perona!” You whisper-screamed in her ear, trying to scare her. 

“Ahhh y/n”, she sighed, clearly unaffected, “you know you’ll never scare me. Anyways, what is my cute depressed friend doing on Friday?” 

You and her walked into the store, “studying... So I’m busy.” Giving her a quick smile before you two settled in the textbook section. 

“You are so coming with me then! I’m going to the mall that’s next to campus, I’m already so bored of our dorm room decorations. If we go to 5below I can get way cuter stuff for us! You need to come since it’s your dorm too, so I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Perona you have really good taste in stuff, you should be fine on your own!” You put some enthusiasm behind your voice, to encourage her. 

She frowned back at you, not buying into your typical antics. “If you don’t come then you won’t be leaving all weekend! You need to go outside y/n!” 

“Perona!? Hi!” A voice from behind you called out to her, causing you to turn instantly. 

“Bepo! What a coincidence! Do you have a picture of the textbook we need for thermodynamics?” Perona said, already stepping towards the bear.

“Of course! I have to be studious this year!” 

The two of them found the text book, it costed a whopping $300 dollars, and was written by their professor. 

“We can share, right Bepo? That way it’s only 150 dollars?” The both of them had a cloud over their heads as you watched the sad situation unfold. Peronas face was for sure one of desperation.

“Wait is there a digital version? It’s usually cheaper.” You suggested, reaching to pull out the info card. 

“Bepo! I’ve been looking.” Whoever said that sounded quite angry, and familiar?

“I’m sorry Law! I saw my classmate and got excited… sorry” Bepo turned to face the man. 

“You couldn’t have texted? just once?” Law replied, only just then looking at the two people who were with Bepo.

“Great this guy again.” You said with sarcasm dripping from your voice and turned to Perona, “we should leave, he hates me.” 

“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.” Law said, pinching his nose.

“Whatever, do you have Bepo’s number Rona?” Calling her by her self appointed nickname always made her happy, right now you were hoping it would get her to leave with you to the history section. 

“I don’t actually! Bepo! Here, put your number in!” She said with a smile, being way more friendly than usual. “I’m Perona by the way, how do you know my friend y/n?” 

It was a simple question but the way he answered really bugged you, rattling off a “we have a class together”. He was looking down at his phone and didn’t even bother to look up when he answered. Hell he didn’t even bother to introduce himself! 

“His name is Trafalgar by the way, we have women in war together.” You had a straight face, conveying how much it bothered you well.

“Awww how wonderful!” Perona had an enthusiastic tone but looked at you with a smirk like no other. “Would you be her friend? I’m the only one she has right now!” 

You cursed your friend and her constant medling. She loved to stir the pot, and when you got upset she would always say “you are so cute when you’re mad though!” With her words to Law, he finally looked up. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly interrupted. 

“He only had one friend too!” Bepo handed back Perona’s phone, “it’s me!” He said with a big smile.

“He seems like he would have no trouble! My y/n is super awkward and shy!” Perona practically ignored you, as you had started to form words before she interrupted you.

“No no! He’s pretty judgmental so a lot of people stay away from him, he also thinks he’s smarter than everyone!” Bepo replied back, as if they were two parents gossiping about their kids.

“She thinks the same! Maybe they could be friends?” Perona and Bepo look at you and Law.

“I am smarter!” Both you and law said in unison. Immediately looking at each other with frustration.

“Don’t say what I say!” You said to law.

“How would I know what you were going to say? Do you even think?” Law argued back.

“Of course I do! Do you?” You couldn’t think of anything better… 

“Good one. Bepo we’re leaving.”

“Rona we are leaving too! At least I don’t constantly speak in contractions…”

Law turned his head so you would hear, “you just said one too!” 

You and Perona had already turned the corner, you quickly led her to the history section. You spared her no look, you figured you would talk about it once the two of you got back to the dorm. Once you reached the history section, you squatted down in front of the book you needed and saw there were 3 left. Grabbing one then standing. Just as you were about to go pay for the book, you heard him again.

“Are you following me Dracule? Typical.” He said, with a touch of sarcasm. 

“Typical? We both know you don’t have anyone interested enough to follow you. Also, are you even thinking? We are in the same class so of course we would both need the same book.” 

“Whatever, I’m getting my book and leaving.” He quickly bent over, grabbed a copy and was gone.

“No comeback!?” You said, just a bit too loud. You wanted him to hear you, so that he knew you knew he couldn’t come up with anything. Feeling a bit triumphant you turned to Perona, who was standing behind you with a smile. 

“What now?” 

“He’s cute y/n!”

“No chance. He’s mean, and a biology major!” 

She scoffed, “there is always an exception to the rule! Like me!” 

“Yes Rona, an exception. A single exception. There can’t be two exceptions.” 

“Anything could happen! Plus if me and Bepo end up sharing a book you might be forced into hanging out with all of us! Who knows, maybe they also share a dorm!” 

You sigh and look at her, she looks so happy at the prospect that you might have a friend, especially one that’s a guy. You settled, your good side winning out. “Fine. I’ll be open to it. Only if he is nicer.” 

[mahalkheeta]

— imagine going down on heeseung at the back of his car 🫠

the way his legs would spread automatically to make room for you, a cocky smirk spreading across his lips. his hand comes to hold the back of your head, guiding you to his clothed cock that is practically throbbing for your attention. you haven't even started anything and he's already so needy for you.

"be a good girl, yeah?" he hums, making quick work of his jeans and his underwear. he lets the fabric pool around his knees, too desperate to have himself shoved into your tight mouth to care about completely removing his clothing.

his cock stands between his legs, the tip red and leaking. heeseung doesn't need to say much else really. the sight of his cock is already enough to have your mouth watering, not hesitating a second more before peppering open mouthed kisses around his head.

"fuckkk..." heeseung groans. his brows furrow as he struggles to keep his eyes open, fighting the onslaught of overwhelming pleasure just to watch his head disappear into your tight little mouth. he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine as your run your tongue across his slit, exactly the way he loves it. he's not afraid to let you know how well you're doing either.

"just like that, baby," he moans, his thighs tensing as you take more of his length into your mouth. "feels so fuckin' good." his fingers tighten into your hair, his hips instinctively bucking as you hollow your cheeks.

his head is thrown back into the leather material of the seat as you sink your mouth further down his length. one little peek up at him from your lashes has your panties soaked.

heeseung's brows are scrunched together, his eyes shut tight. his mouth is parted into an "o", his rough moans and grunts continuously flowing out of his mouth. knowing that your actions were the cause of his state simply makes you delirious.

when you moan around his cock at the sight of his ecstasy, his breath hitches. it takes a lot of effort for him to crack his eyes open to peer down at you, his cock stuffed into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat.

"you like that, hm?" he hums, grunting when you nod your head. "you like seeing how good you're makin' me feel, baby?" before you know it, the man is gripping your head in place, shallowly thrusting his length in and out of your mouth.

"oh, fuck," heeseung hisses, his thrusts turning frantic as you take whatever he gives you. "shit, baby... your mouth is making me feel so good." he murmurs, mindlessly fucking into your wet cavern.

when you start to time the bobbing of your head with his thrusts, heeseung completely loses it. his hips falter and his back arches to get himself to reach the back of your throat one last time.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants unbashedly, his orgasm approaching embarrassingly quick. "i'm gonna cum. a-ah! holy shit, baby 'm gonna cum."

you pop your mouth off of him. your hand wraps around his length, furiously pumping his cock as you open your mouth and sticking your tongue out for him to cum into. good lord, the sight had heeseung right on the edge.

"oh my god, yes, yes, yes! fuck, that's a good girl," he cries out, voice rising in tone. his hands move from yoir head to the headrest of the backseat, arms flexing as he feels the pressure build in his stomach. "fuckkk, baby, that's it! don't stop... keep going." he's sure his eyes roll to the back of his head when he feels the pressure in his stomach snap.

pearly white ropes of cum shoot out of him, his back permanently archea as his hips instinctively rub his tip across the smooth muscle of your tongue. "f-fuck!"

"a-ah! 'm cumming! take it all like a good girl," he moans. he's practically whinning with how high pitched his voice is. an airy and breathless pant escapes him with each drop of cum your milk from his tip, a stark contrast to the rough and hoarse tone he was using earlier.

"oh my god, you drive me nuts." he chuckes breathlessly, giving you no time to recover as he pulls you up for a heated kiss. it doesn't take long before he's pushing you back into the backseat, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses to every corner of your exposed skin.

"h-heeseung–" you try speaking, a gasp leaving you as his hand sneaks into your skirt to feel the wetness in between your legs.

"my poor baby," he coos, nibbling at a the skin right underneathe your collar bone. "got so wet giving me the best head, huh? you want a reward?"

"lay back, sweetheart. i'll take care of you."

[born-in-hell]

Edit: 20/04/2024: PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP LIKING THIS FUCKING POST. THIS IS FROM LAST YEAR B4 ALL THE THINGS ON FOREVER CAME OUT. I just keep it up for the sake of archiving.

IM BLOCKING EVERYONE WHO LIKES OR INTERACTS W THIS POST

.

btw for all u 4haloers and eclipsedoers out there aparently forever's been signing ppls badges w a heart and telling them to ask bbh to sign his name near the heart

heres one of them!!

another one!! this is for the 1st pic

THERES A FOURTH ONE NOW

[dearlawdimasimp]

Master Sorcerer of Kindness and Humility

Pairings: MK System x Sorcerer!Reader, Khonshu x Sorcerer!Reader

Warnings: English isn't my first language, Spanish is from google translate

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Summary: Things in the Sanctum Santorum has been…pretty fucking hectic lately. To put it simply, chaos is in every fucking corner and as a Master Sorcerer of one of the Sanctums in the world, you have to assist the Sorcerer Supreme. Some things are still the usual, but double the effort. Like teaching the new recruits, now, from three different Sanctums instead of one, keep said recruits from the restricted area of the library, guarding the said restricted area of the library and the whole library itself.

With your growing exhaustion, so did the worry of the moon boys grew.

a/n: Hai so uh it has been awhile since i posted eheh I just noticed i have MANY rotting fics in my docs so decided to post now ( ´∀`)/~~ Enjoy lovelies! (^o^)／~💜 (this fic is crossposted on AO3 under the same title and author name ^-^)

Things in the Sanctum Santorum has been…pretty fucking hectic lately. To put it simply, chaos is in every fucking corner and as a Master Sorcerer of one of the Sanctums in the world, you have to assist the Sorcerer Supreme. Some things are still the usual, but double the effort. Like teaching the new recruits, now, from three different Sanctums instead of one, keep said recruits from the restricted area of the library, guarding the said restricted area of the library and the whole library itself.

The supposed assigned sorcerers for each class told you that they are needed on a mission across the globe and are in need of a substitute, of course being the kind soul that you are you agreed on subbing them for the meantime while they're off to save humanity. The library duty has always been yours though, you volunteered on the job when Wong said he needed someone to take his place as he takes the Sorcerer Supreme, and ever since the world has gone back to its normal state, you remained as the librarian.

Your overloaded schedule leads to early mornings and late nights, and less time with your moon boys™.

To say that they are concerned of your health is a bit of an understatement, they're fucking worried as every time they see you, your eyebags grow darker and puffier than the last time.

But, somehow, even with all the things going on with you (only knowing what you are allowed to talk about), you still insert a little bit of your time to cook Steven his favorite breakfast before he goes to work, you still brew up Mark's favorite coffee, prepare Jake's uniform for his side-job during the night as a limo driver, and bring Khonshu offerings on the small altar you've made for him that is purposefully placed on the windowsill where the moon usually shines.

They are thoroughly impressed, but at the same time endlessly worried as your eyes grow weary and exhausted each time you enter the flat.

However, you still have the same warming smile on your lips every time you greet them after work. Joy was etched into your tone as you kissed them and mingled with them for a few hours, dismissing their worries with gentle eyes and kept on insisting that you love your job. You even still have the fiery stare whenever they tell you to rest and let them handle the dishes, which diminishes when Khonshu lays his hand on your shoulders, coaxing you to rest. The god pulls you to the shared bed and once your head hits the plush white pillows, you're out like a light.

The system continues to take care of cleaning the kitchen before joining their sorcerer in deep sleep and joining you in the dreamworld for a while before the Lunar deity of Egypt pulls them to another night of being his fist of vengeance. They would be back and join you once more in bed, and let sleep pull them to its cocoon. And you wake up not an hour later to start the day.

And this went on for a few more days before the moon boys decided to put an end to this. Their last straw was when you had fallen asleep mid-conversation while in front of your food. You were in that level of exhaustion to the point that you couldn't keep yourself awake while eating. They drew the line at that.

They carefully laid your slumbering self down on the bed before donning on the suit, “We'll be back, hermosa.” Jake held your hand and kissed your knuckles tenderly. “We just need to have a bit of a word with them, love, don't worry.” Steven gently lays your hand down on your stomach and leaves a kiss on your forehead before Marc leaps out of the window and out to the London air as Khonshu guides them with his wind to the London Sanctum.

The trip wasn't long before they landed on the Sanctum's roof. The place was brimming with magic and the system could feel it. Marc tries to enter through the window but the scenery changes before his foot lands on the stained glass. A confused and ungraceful landing led him to curse under his breath as he observed his surroundings.

“Be vigilant, Spector.” The god throws caution to the wind, his rumbling voice echoing in the minds of the system. Marc keeps his snarky remark to the god to himself, wanting to tell the god he knows what he's doing. He rolled his eyes instead as he composures himself, and inspects the room they are in.

The place is reminiscent of those temples that houses holy relics, it was old but in tip-top shape. The floor below him looks furnished and one that can be compared closed to an old mansion, and the slabs holding what he thinks are relics had intricate wood carvings were carefully placed on both sides of the hallway he's in. It was leading to an illuminated room and so he took no more than a second to head to the light.

His eyes wandered around the hallway he's walking down in, Steven was gushing at the designs while he and Jake kept silent and kept an eye for any threat.

The room they entered was spacious, save for the relics enclosed in glass and the big circle window that allowed the moonlight to fill the space. It had intricate swirls which Marc remembers, was the same design of the brooch you have on your collar.

However, it wasn't the window that had caught their attention but rather the man behind it, who was eerily calm while peering out the glass. The London night visible to the man that had a red cape that's barely touching the wooden floors.

“An unexpected visit from the Knight of Khonshu himself. You know, you're lucky you're under the protection of the Master Sorcerer here in London.” The man states with a booming voice, bouncing off the walls and glass in the room. It was humorous, but full of threat.

“Or else what?” Marc quips inattentively, keeping distance from the sorcerer who had yet introduced himself.

“Or else I would have thrown you to the ocean the moment you stepped foot on the Sanctum.” The man's baritone voice lowered an octave as he turned to finally meet Moon Knight's glowing eyes.

He had a goatee and the robes he wore were akin to their beloved but in the deep shade of blue instead of your favorite color.

Goatee. Red cloak. This was the Stephen Strange you can't stop complaining about.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips through his masked face. He believes the sorcerer's powers alright, he just can't keep a straight face after the memory of you audibly cussing Strange out had just played in their minds.

“Right,” Marc takes out his crescent daggers from his chest, “I'm only here-”

“Trust me you don't want to fight me.”

“Let us finish, pendejo!” Jake growls as he fronts, not wanting to waste more time and to get out of the place as soon as possible.

They weren't planning to fight. They weren't stupid. They can feel every ounce of energy and magic in the building. They stepped into a lion's den. But if it is what it needs for these sorcerers to hear them? They will face these magic wielders head on.

It seemed that Strange was a bit perplexed at the alter's rage or maybe it was the suit change, but they couldn't care less.

“We're only here because that Master Sorcerer you talked about is always on the verge of passing out every time they go home.” Marc's jaw clenches under the mask as he continues with a step forward to the sorcerer—who promptly took a step back— as his fingers flex around the sharp gold crescent on his hand, “For the past weeks they have been wrung out and just a while ago, had passed out while eating.” When he finished his sentence the room was suddenly swept with a wild draft, with no windows open.

They were not able to notice the confused and worried squint of the former sorcerer supreme's eyes as Marc continues, his tone nothing but purely scathing.

“My point is, We will not be allowing them to come to work tomorrow and until she gets the proper rest she deserves, and not until you fix her schedule that is ethical and appropriate hours of work.” He ends his spiel right in front of the sorcerer, looking up to him with a keen glare, his glowing ivory eyes illuminating the sharpened features of Stephen Strange.

“Or else?” The sorcerer rasps as he stares right back at the avatar, standing his ground, and using the exact words back to the stark white cloaked man.

As if on cue, stronger gusts of wind shakes the glass covers and uncovered relics. The Egyptian God of the Moon materializes behind the sorcerer and with a booming, bitter voice, he answers, “Then you will face the consequences of causing harm to one of whom is under my protection, Stephen Strange.”

The said sorcerer turns his body to the side to glance at the moon god. In all his glory he was towering over him, moonlight was illuminating his monstrously tall and slender figure as the bronzed crescent end of his staff that is nearly scratching the ceiling reflected it. His loose, darkened, silk robe was flowing and whipping around without the presence of the wind, his crouched figure wrinkling the bandages on his torso as his bleached bird skull head tilted down and gave Stephen a hollowed stare.

With a sigh, which had displeased the moon collective and took it as an insult, he nodded to accept their terms. He honestly had no idea you had worked yourself to the bone and will consult the other Master Sorcerers and Wong of your schedule. He knew you were humble and kind, but he didn't know it would be up to the point that your.. acquaintances.. had to show up and tell them of your over-extended goodwill.

“I will inform our masters of such, thank you for bringing this to our attention.” He ends the conversation as he does not want to deal with whatever this is. He was not intimidated, not one bit—okay maybe a bit but he has faced much worse! What's intimidating him is the fact that a literal god has taken you under his wing and has gone out of his way to announce his displeasure.

“As you should.” And with that, the moon party calmed down before they vanished in a swirl of blur and whirling sand. Let's just say you were confused when you woke up late, about to dash to the bathroom before you were stopped by your moon god and gave you a letter that was sent by the Sorcerer Supreme that basically said take a break. You were perplexed as you stared at the paper then up to the moon god, who ushered you back to bed and lulled you to sleep. When you woke up you were pampered by the boys with food and cuddles, all gently forcing you to stay in bed and to let them service you for the day as they had also taken the day off. You couldn't help but tear up at their tender loving care all day and being such gentlemen for doing such. Your love for them was overflowing and you kept promising them that you would do the same to them if ever need be, which they dismissed because as they said, “Today is all about you, love. So you better descansar(take a rest), and we'll take care of the rest, sweetheart. And not just today, up until the last day of the week or maybe next couple of weeks, you got that baby?”

This has earned a heartful laugh from you and an affectionate shake of your head before pulling them into a kiss. You were puzzled and have a lot of questions as to how or why you were given a large amount of time off but you really couldn't complain especially if it meant more time with your moon boys.

Back to the sanctum however, the former sorcerer supreme was fuming at the how fucked up your schedule was and how fucked up you were for taking it even though you were literally doing the impossible, and the fact that none of the other masters pointed it out to Wong, who was also equally fuming to the masters that had asked you to cover for them for a ‘mission’ when they were just taking a fucking vacation.

"You are lucky their patron didn't know of your whereabouts, or gods knows what he will do to you.” Wong warned them, displeased and infuriated, written all over his features.

Oh but Khonshu heard, of course he did, and made those masters’ month a living hell through inconveniencing them at every chance he gets. To which Strange and Wong only but gave them a deadpanned stare of ‘deal with it’ when they asked for their help.

[avoidantvoidd]

(tap on the images for better quality. tumblr keeps fucking up my stuff w their low res bs)

Monsterfucker Altaïr = best Altaïr

inspired by the countless monsterfucker Altaïr prompts by the all mighty @teecupangel (+ all the nonnies & ppl who gave them ideas :) )

an accurate dipiction of Altaïr when he spots hybrid/eldritch being!desmond roaming in the wild.

i didn't know if i should put kadar n malik in there. but as much as i wanted to i couldn't imagien them saying it. so i put some rando novice and rauf himself instead. lmaooooo (the rando novice will become a mascot later on in more of my art work dw)

ignore the way Altaïr's hood look like a fucking samosa and focus on how neat my handwriting is. i tried to make is as eligible as possible.

i was hungry while drawing that so i think thats the reason why, HAH.

ughhhhhh. i need to draw more. like actually draw and not shitpost stuff like this. like i made one of the best art work in my life and just fell off. i hate it here.

art dump (?) under the cut.

some altdes for the soul :)

please excuse my poor attempt at chibi art style. my hands r just allergic to cute stuff :( i gave up on coloring them too. my laptop wont let me.

i tried drawing desmond in my style, and i have to say it's not taht bad :0. But i fucked his hair. i already suck ass at drawing hair, but at least i can bullshit my way through long hair but his buzzcut is SO HARD TO DRAW. like THATS INSANe. why. i wanted to give him some fluffy hair. as you can see i failed. tramendusly.

desmond, my son, why must you lack hair....

It's not much for an 'art dump' but these two r the only ones in my folders that the human eyes can tolerate.

ok sorry for taking up ur screen with my ramblings i'll be going now, bye xoxo.

[fogdraws]

A Scandal at Baker Street,

An ACD Sherlock fanfiction oneshot based on "A Scandal in Bohemia".

"He could not help but bear the impression that the pair held a deeper meaning behind the gazes and touches they'd shared so earnestly. Looking out the window and to the repetitive London landscape, he decided not to venture further into his poderings; he certainly did not wish to murk the image he had of the detective — nor the doctor’s — with such assumptions. Soot and ash from the city filled his nose as he let sleep take over his mind; now, he could only hope."

Full piece under the cut!

He was nervous. He should not be, but when your whole reputation (and relationship, though the latter concerned him far less) depends on this, it may be understandable to fret a little. So yes, he was anxious as he brought his hands to adjust the mask that covered the upper half of his face — a measure he took to protect himself; today he would be Count Von Kramm, nevertheless.

A plaque, in which was written “Baker Street, 221B”, came into his vision just before the brougham came to a halt. The modest brick facade was unassuming, though the name it bore was whispered in both awe and reverence across the continent. From what he was told, this apartment block — quite underwhelming, if he was to be truthful — was home to a brilliant, energetic man, one that would have (or find) the answer to any enigma given in a manner no one else could compare to. He hopes that’s true, for he had come from a long way, Germany, just for this.

“Come in!” A voice clamored from inside the door when he knocked it. A sweet old lady had escorted him inside the block. Once again, supposed Von Kramm adjusts the black mask, pushing its tails to tighten the hold — it was rather loose and annoying.

Upon opening the door, he was met not by the lone figure he had anticipated, but by two men: one standing tall and lanky, dark hair messy and looking quite in need of a trim; and the other, on a heavier build, in a much more neat fashion, sat and with a notebook in his hands. That defied his former expectations — the matter was of the most private sense, not meant to be shared to noone more than the detective. Both of them looked at him, expectantly.

“You had my note?” He didn’t really know which one was supposed to be Sherlock Holmes. Both of them seemed to feel at home. “I told you that I would call.”

“Pray take a seat. This is my good friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases,” the fair-haired gentleman brightened up to that, giving a lighthearted chuckle. “Whom have I the honor to address?” Funny, he thought, that he kind of expected to be the detective, the more preen one.

“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honor and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone.” He would not let himself be vulnerable.

At that, Dr. Watson made it as if to stand up, but was quickly caught by the wrist by Mr. Holmes’ own hand. Although initially he looked a bit distraught, the doctor quickly looked at the other with… something tender in his eyes. With gentle yet firm pressure, the tall man guided his companion back into his seat, their proximity leaving Von Kramm distinctly uncomfortable.

It was a quiet exchange, nothing more than a fleeting gesture between the two men, but it left him unsettled, as though he had intruded upon a private understanding, one far deeper than he could comprehend. In their shared glance, he felt not merely a lack of privacy, but an absence of control. Like he shouldn't be there.

Mr. Holmes didn’t move, leaning towards and looking directly at the doctor, both his hands firmly keeping the wrists of the fair-haired gentleman on the armrest. “It is both, or none,” the consulting detective said, low and slowly. Not looking at Von Kramm, as he should, but at Dr. Watson, still — much like the words were directed to the latter, not the former.

With a swift movement, the detective was upright again. Dr. Watson shifted in his seat, tangling his legs so they were crossed — the notebook, long ago forgotten on his lap, was at his hands again. “You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me,” Mr. Holmes affirmed, as if he hadn't just done the strangest thing.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Then I must begin,” he started, “by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance.” After this display, he's not sure it's possible to separate the pair, even though it would be far more preferable to deal with the detective alone.

“I promise.”

“And I,” Dr. Watson complied.

Once again, it felt much like the words weren't meant to him, but to one another.

The doctor scribbled something on the small notebook of his and, as Von Kramm made to look at it discreetly, the fair-haired gentleman slightly covered the paper.

“You will excuse this mask,” he tried to ignore the pair’s mannerisms and the implications that came through his mind. “The august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not exactly my own.”

When he told mr. Holmes whom the detective had the honour of working for, he was met with the utmost disdain, raising annoyance upon himself. The man had dared to close his eyes and relax in the nearest armchair, striking a most dramatic pose. Dr. Watson stared at him out of the corner of his eye. “I was aware of it,” the detective said, and then, “I was also aware of that,” when Von Kramm tried to emphasize the absolute import of the ordeal.

Should this man be the best detective of Europe whole, he didn't wish to see what would be of the lesser ones. Von Kramm looked over to the fair-haired gentleman to express his indignation; he only had attention for the detective, however, legs still crossed. Upon studying Dr. Watson's expression for a second, the look he saw in his eyes was one of badly-contained longing. Von Kramm, then, avoided looking at the doctor again.

“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” the consulting detective remarked, “I should be better able to advise you,” as he slowly reopened his eyes, a look of impatience stamped on his arched eyebrows. Much like he was bored out of his mind; this man was getting onto his frail nerves.

Then, what mr. Sherlock had just said dawned on Von Kramm, drawing out a sharp inhale out of himself. He sprang up from his chair. It would do nothing now, to pretend his identity. This man knew it!

In a fit of rage, he — the King of Bohemia, had now been caught — tore off the mask that had irritated his face for the whole day, tossing it upon the floor. “You are right,” he raised his voice, “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?” The doctor appeared to be surprised too. And never did he seem to stop writing words in that notebook of his. “Why, indeed?” Mr. Holmes murmured, as if the king wasn't ready to yell and shout.

Forcing his temper to subside, the king proceeded to tell his story. Mr. Holmes listened in a calm manner, making the effort of opening his grey eyes every so often, only to remark something to Dr. Watson with a quiet smile on his lips and close them again. To that, the fair-haired gentleman always nodded in contempt or flatter the man's deduction abilities. Their dynamic seemed stable, comfortable. For the whole ordeal, the detective constantly yawned and feigned disinterest; but everytime the king convinced himself that the man wasn't listening, he was surprised with the clever wit of an observation that couldn't be made out of disattention.

Somehow, the king had grown quite accustomed to the way mr. Holmes worked. After they had discussed the money involved — Dr. Watson's face, when the detective opened the chamois bag full of gold he'd received, had been absolutely remarkable — he was quickly escorted down the stairs and out the door by both of them. The mask was almost forgotten, but the doctor gave it back to him at the last minute.

“Then, goodnight, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have some good news for you.” Mr. Holmes said as he opened the door. The brougham stood patiently for him at the side of the road, as it should; the king entered it as agile as he could, not to raise any opinions from the passersby.

“And we must have a good night, Watson,” was the last thing he heard from the pair. As for sight, mr. Holmes’ lips appeared to form a small smile as he looked dr. Watson from head to toe, whose hands went somewhere near the detective's waist as the door was closed shut.

He could not help but bear the impression that the pair held a deeper meaning behind the gazes and touches they'd shared so earnestly. Looking out the window and to the repetitive London landscape, he decided not to venture further into his poderings; he certainly did not wish to murk the image he had of the detective — nor the doctor’s — with such assumptions. Soot and ash from the city filled his nose as he let sleep take over his mind; now, he could only hope.

[goldensunset]

i just think that kh3 re:mind

[advancedscurvy]

if i am paying more than $30 for any article of clothing it had better be fucking natural fibers and not plastic

[pyrriax]

hai tumblr! fruits of my effort (practicing! i havent really done stuff like this before so some things are janky as hell ^_^)

[objects were done like fifteen minutes before the figures... they were my warmup!]

[captainschaos]

The third session ticks into play, and it's just Etho and Skizz at the Team T.I.E.S. base. They move around one another mostly in silence, organizing chests, gearing up for the day. To most, this would be awkward, uncomfortable. But these two know one another well, and know one another by looks across tables and peripheral guards on battlefields. Their comfort is shown not in chatter, but in resources wordlessly passed from one of them to the other. Small gifts, appreciated by the fae that counts all hindrances and slights. Small kindnesses, appreciated by the reaper that cannot get enough of the warm moments of life.

But quickly, of course, they are joined by their T and I, and camaraderie comes easy in the chatter! Jokes and jabs, stories and snickers, friendship is thick between words that flow freely. They share what Impulse and Tango brought from the nether, and plans are fully formulated for the week now that they're all together. But behind it all, there is a sound the most pleasant of noise can't drown out.

The ticking of the clock continues.

They all split off to their business quickly to make the most of their quickly draining countdowns, and Skizz finds his in the sky. Skizz's clock is the loudest, his pull toward death the strongest, and he knows it well. The reaper's wings may not keep him safe as he begins to build SkyNet below his own feet, the pure white feathers thinned and clipped by this world that doesn't allow flight (an unfair advantage, particularly for a fighter of his caliber), but they bring him a sense of security anyway. A reminder, if nothing else, that he was made for this. He looks over the server with drained, yellowed eyes, and for just a moment he can hear every heartbeat in time with the persistent ticking. The reaper's senses remain with him, not enough to be unfair, but to keep him confident. He knows death. He does not fear it.

Well, until he takes a stupid fall to his stupid death. It was just one second, just one distraction as his foot slipped- it doesn't matter. He drags himself back from spawn, frowning and screaming his frenzied frustrations as Tango and Impulse laugh at his literal slip up. But he knows they're not really laughing, and they know he's not really angry. Not at them, at least. But he feels his time running out, and he feels the desperation beginning to well up. His yellowed time is beginning to rust toward red, and it rubs against the back of his throat. Impulse warns him that he has to look out, and he knows. Trust him, he knows.

(Down below, a different warning is uttered. Tango pokes at Etho as he passes the man by, giving a passing comment about thieves at the mob farm. Etho nods, and later, when the phoenix returns to find him standing with a red-handed Bdubs, he gives a quiet signal with a half-joke. A quip about killing Tango last, disguising acknowledgement that he's got his head in the right place. They don't have time to kill- it's come time to kill.)

They meet in the middle for a moment, a sweet moment. Etho is tired, his hands fumbling with the crafting materials and his mind jumbling the recipe. He tosses the materials toward Skizz, the reaper in need of his teammate's confidence and in need of his own, and a trade is made. Both spirits are boosted as Etho is allowed to let Skizz be the competent one for a second, and Skizz catches the knowing look Etho gives him as he's given this chance to prove himself useful, if mostly to himself. They give each other a smile before parting ways again.

Clock back in.

(Up above, a different threat is woven. Impulse passes Skizz on SkyNet, taking a handful of TNT from him. He makes no response to Skizz's questions, but his knowing look and barely-suppressed smile says it all. And he steps back, an acknowledgement that his head's in the right place. The reaper will help the demon with his silence. They are on the same timeline- time to kill.)

They're all milling about like ants at work, and Etho feels even more ant-like as he finds his work below ground. He watches his clock closely, his elevated senses twitching with every tick. No matter how far he is from death, he can never be far enough for comfort. So it's a boring task, threatening death by boredom for a chaotic soul like him, but the protection of diamonds is simply too powerful to ignore. His tail flicks back and forth, and though his connection to the world is different in this place that careens so quickly toward death, the fae is still grateful for the small hints he gets from his surroundings. Even if they don't lead him toward diamonds, they are a reassurance, the tremor of mob footsteps and shifting stone a comfort. He hears death. He does not fear it.

Well. Until his stupid death lands on top of him with a stupid fall. It was just one second, he didn't have time to dodge- it doesn't matter. Now all he can do is hear his death with the painful blast, and the even more painful taunting at spawn. He is silent against the noise around him as he steps into the water to escape the laughter, Tango and Impulse among the loudest of them. But they're not really laughing, and he's not really mad. At them. And yet there is an anger that he continues to carefully listen to within him, and it's getting louder. It's all he can do to keep it at a whisper as he tells the silent, watching Grian that the time to kill is near. And he knows what he'll do with it.

Trust him, he knows.

[There will be one of these for each week! This is 3/?]

First // Previous // Next

[faaun]

.

[write-it-motherfuckers]

🖤~Song Of The Day~🖤

The song of the day is:     Sirens -by- Ludwig Goransson, Vivir Quintana, Mare Advertencia Lirika

The challenge is to write something based off of this song, be it the name, the cover, the lyrics, or the tune itself. Let your imagination go wild and see where the music takes you.

Have at it Darlings!

[coldflasher]

not me thinking i'd finally started to find a good work/life balance where i could actually like. write and enjoy working on things that are fun and fulfilling while also keeping my head above water at work (aside from, y'know, minor details like the semi-frequent repetitive strain injuries and eye strain and also the fact my house is an absolute disaster 70% of the time) and then being violently humbled in my quarterly review by getting the worst quality score i've ever had in my 3 years working for the company...

[alfamangle]

You've always had a guardian angel, a being who's sole purpose is to keep you out of harms way. A friend. A canary you keep in the cage of yourself to warn you of danger.

As a kid she's nudged you away from traffic, preventing you from falling into ditches, and from petting wild animals with saliva filled with diseases bound to kill. A benevolent force. A welcome one. Its glistening sword, light always reflecting off the metal of the blade to make it seem like it glowed with the light of the midday sun, always blocking any hazard from ever reaching you.

As you grew older, she stepped in more. After all the older you are the more hazards you would encounter. Her hair the color of golden hour spilled over her shoulder as she stepped in the way of your car.

"Oh, you know you can't do that, dear, you know the hazards of driving. What if you drive off the road, don't turn fast enough and crash headfirst into a tree at full speed, or miss a light and crash into another car killing you both? We can't have that, can we?" Her voice sang, like songbirds given human speech. Her wings blocked your view of the vehicle. You asked someone else to drive that day. And the day after. And the day after that. It has been so long since you touched the driver's wheel.

You try walking to a stranger to talk to them, before you're stopped. Sword placed between you and them. They don't notice her, of course. She's your angel, not theirs. She sings of the danger of strangers and how you might be harmed by them. If not that you might embarrass yourslef and they would remember, oh they would remember. Everyone would remember. You can't have that.

You like talking to strangers, it's always a nice experience. But she sings it repeatedly until you relent. Either way, you cannot walk through a sword. Talking from across a room is silly. You mustn't be seen as silly.

Her robe the color of sunsets sweeps the ground as you place foam on the edges of sharp tables in your house. She warned that you could trip and fall and break a tooth on the edges. She sang it til it was true and you prevented yourself from harm.

Its been ages since you truely went outside. You mustn't drive it's too dangerous turned into you mustn't be in a veihicle it's too dangerous turned into you mustn't walk on sidewalks it's too close to the road turned into you mustn't go outside there's too many things out there that could bring you to harm. Her twilight colored eyes stare into yours as she stands in your doorway, gripping her sword tightly. She still sings of things that could harm you, things you could do that you musnt or else your world, and by extension yourself, will come to harm, and anything else she could think of to make you 'safer'.

You haven't spoken to your friends in a very long time. Friends will remember embarassing moments and failures much better than strangers, she states the melody of her tune feeling ever so slightly off, you love your friends and they love you back you are sure of it. You cannot say no to a sword and a song repeated enough times you can hear it in your sleep so it rings true like a tocsin.

Your house is a shell of itself. You musnt have sharp edges or pointed things, as you could harm youself or some other object. You cant have scissors, as you might cut up some important document. You cannot allow that to happen. Your fireplace is always dormant and cold with is doors shut to keep out the wind that crawls down the chimney and to keep yourself from falling into it. You cannot have a knife sharper than a butter knife, as you may cut something or someone. Even items that once were 'safe' no longer are. Its a safe life yet not a good one.

"Its for your health, dear, you mustn't come to harm. That is my purpose, you know this." she crooned after you asked her what all of this was for. Soft feathers pet your head.

You can't keep living life like this, could you?

Reminder: Guardian angels must keep their human safe. They cannot do anything else. They cannot harm their human.

You confront her in your bedroom as she sings about how you really shouldn't keep the windows open, dear. You grab the sword out of her hand, its much longer than any sword a human is meant to hold, of course, but you weild it all the same.

You push the angel to the ground and turn the sword against its owner. She cannot do much against this but beg and plead and sing about how bringing her to harm would ultimately bring you to harm. Angels aren't prepared to be turned on, to have someone resent them. Twinking night pools on the brown carpet and is splattered on the silver of the blade, a foot holds down a thrashing wing. She continues to toll like a broken bell, a scratched record replaying the same segment of song over and over and over. You raise her sword once more as the morning sun's light spills out of the open window into your room.

You can't kill an angel. They aren't mortal in the same way you and I are. Their life is tied to the human they are assigned to. So there she lays in your bedroom since that day, still singing her songs of how to keep you safe. She has stopped singing for her safety, either no longer registering the fact she's now pinned to the floor or choosing to ignore it. You've stopped listening to her always now, she still convinces you to avoid some things that most people wouldn't, but its better now. You ride the bus to the locall arcade. You promised to meet your friend there afterall.

You’ve always had a literal guardian angel- but she’s currently bleeding out on your bedroom floor.

[cosmictheo]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 | feyd-rautha

( gif credits to @wondrousashes )

—summary: on a calm day back at your home, you shattered away the serenity as you decide to confront feyd about his alleged concubines and the little secrets he seemed so cautious to hide, pushing him further and further to the edge. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 4k —warnings: arranged marriage, jealousy, a bit of implied smut (the actual smut is coming up in the next and last chapter !!!), mentions of sex, mentions of cannibalism, feyd being a slut for the reader (as he should), mentions of killing and death, hot and very passionate love confessions, definitely ooc!feyd.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

The week at Giedi Prime went by so fast that you hardly noticed any of it. The first day had been a bit slow and tedious, but the ones that followed turned out to be more than agreeable and enjoyable, Feyd-Rautha had been very concerned about keeping you entertained and as comfortable as possible, showing you every corner of the palace and walking you around the city.

But for now, you were back at your home for the last visit you would have there before becoming a Harkonnen. Feyd was staying close to you through all the reunion, naturally, diplomatically greeting your family.

“You met his cannibal lovers yet?” Paul's voice echoed inside your head between Feyd's conversations with Duke Leto, your gaze drifting to your brother in absolute alarm, horrified at the question and relieved that, so far, the answer was negative.

“There are rumors that tell how his concubines feed on the hearts of his dead opponents.” Your brother propelled you with the oh-so-cute information about your future husband. “The bastard has not one, but three. I guess you'll have to battle it out with them for his love, that was Duncan said.”

“Stop it, don't be an idiot.” You snapped back at him, averting your gaze from him to Feyd-Rautha, who was conversing ever so formally with Lady Jessica now.

You couldn't imagine him eating of human flesh, nor fucking three different women at the same time. Although, rumors always started from something and during the few times you had been able to get inside Feyd's head, you hadn't seen anything that was remotely pretty or light.

Paul's words managed to resonate in your head, lingering between the walls with a sense of suspicion.

Maybe that was why he never showed you the intimacy of his chambers... because on his bed lay three women compliantly awaiting for his attention and lust.

For some reason, the false image of him fucking them, bodies intertwined and interlinked, voices whimpering and moaning, made you feel respulsive, your guts twisting like a serpent.

You didn't want to believe it was jealousy, but again, your mind never wanted you to believe anything at all.

The palace of the Atreides stood majestically between rocky mountains, with the golden sunlight falling beautifully on the grayish stone walls, bringing in a warm afternoon. Rising magnificently behind your back, standing like a rocky guardian.

Your gaze was on Feyd-Rautha as you walked together along the outskirts balconies of the castle, your greenish dress swaying in the sea breeze, as did your hair, which you wore unusually loose that day, the sweet smell of it had him crazy.

“Do you like it?” You asked him after a few moments of silence, with a hint of a smile that Feyd noticed as he turned to look at you, noticing as well how you waited expectantly for his opinion of your home, which he knew you always held close to your heart.

After a second, he nodded his head, looking at you intently. “I do.”

His blue eyes, which looked as clear as ever under the natural glow of the place followed you as you walked beside him, keeping himself close to you, he could feel the natural warmth of your body and the sweet smell of your scent.

It was the first time you saw his eyes showing their true color, for back in his home, they rarely reflected so much brightness and his orbs glowed so beautifully in the sunlight. They possessed the most beautiful shade of blue, reminding you of the ocean, of home.

“It's nothing like my home.” Feyd-Rautha added in a more amused, lighter tone of voice, with a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, lowering his gaze to the ground, noting how the grass softened each of his steps on it.

“Obviously. Caladan is everything that Giedi Prime and Arrakis are not.” You answered him, snorting the words out with a soft chuckle that was carried away by the wind, turning your head to look at him once you stopped at the edge of a greenish cliff after descending one of the many rocky staircases that rose up through the hills.

The sea stretched into the immensity of the horizon and the water was uncommonly calm, waves lapping the shore relentlessly. It was a calm and peaceful scene out there, quite the opposite of what you felt inside, as you felt a tempest of emotions raging in your soul.

“Have you been with someone else like this?”

There was another one of your little questions again.

And he pondered the answer, dragging his eyes as blue as the ocean itself in front of them, back to you.

But Feyd-Rautha was rather certain that you already knew the answer, that you already had it, you could tell by the way he looked at you and the way he addressed you. Because it was enough to be clear that he had never been this way with anyone before, he had never spoken to anyone like this and he had never been so pleased to be in someone's company, basically in his entire life.

“The only people I've ever had this close to me are my family or my enemies, neither of whom I think entertain my presence very much.” Was his reply, honest and respectful. His husky voice, in contrast to the graceful sea breeze was a pleasant and comforting noise to you.

His words were masked with a touch of amusement, as he used to do in the last days when he spoke to you, it seemed as if you brought back that inner child he had, a stranger who felt increasingly closer.

But even using that tone, his eyes told you that he was not lying, that he was giving you the pure truth.

Yet, somehow you were not satisfied with his response. And he knew it.

“Have you been with other women?”

Feyd drew in a breath, half-opening his lips, air hissing between his teeth.

“So I'm assuming you've heard about the rumors about me?”

And there he was, answering you with another question to challenge you back, to play with your head as he had grown to love to do during the short time you had been in each other's company. Your conversations always ended up being a game of back and forth, a game of a tension that would be cut with the least sharp blade.

“My future wife likes to guide what she believes by mere rumors?” He pressed further.

And as always, you exhaled the air held inside you, twisting your head slightly, looking at him with incredulous eyes. “These are not rumors, Feyd —I've seen it.”

His blue eyes narrowed as he walked closer to you, expression both intrigued and yet defiant. “What do you mean you've seen it? Don't play games with me now, woman.”

“Don't threaten me, man,” You squinted your eyes as you pronounced the word like poison, almost coming out like an insult. “I'm not afraid of you.” With your own response to his defiance, this immediately silenced him, stopping him in his tracks right in front of you, as you stepped closer to him, your presence growing menacing now. You were really upset. “Do you think that when I marry you I will allow you to go on screwing around with them?”

“You met them and they threatened you?” Feyd asked in a low tone, maintaining a calm demeanor, though he wanted to know if any of his concubines had dared to even glance at you during your stay at Giedi Prime. His orbs reflected a sensation that ranged to a murderous, bloodthirsty urge, not at you, but at anyone who was stupid enough to threaten you. “Tell me, did they say anything to you?”

You crooked your head very slightly, looking genuinely offended by his questioning.

“Do you think I would allow any of your concubines —anyone at all— to threaten me and go on with their lives?” You replied instantly, looking him up and holding his gaze, as brave as ever. You seemed to be the only one in the whole universe who dared to answer him and put him in his place. And he was loving it, he felt the desire to be broken by you, to let you destroy all his walls and reach his soul. “They'd already be dead if they did.”

An amused grimace twisted his lips, gaze darkening with pride, desire even, approving of your words, feeling suddenly small under the vastness of your aura, dark and menacing now.

“Don't worry about them.” His words sounded humorous this time, just as his fingers laced between yours, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, an attempt to reassure you. “Soon I'll be all yours, sweet girl.”

You frowned your brow slightly, as did your lips, still looking offended. He squinted his eyes, hissing as he realized he had said the wrong thing, yet again.

“I'm not sweet.” Your hand released his, your annoyance rising with the seconds. “I'm not one of your pets you can treat as sweet, Feyd-Rautha.”

He raised his brow, following you with his gaze, puzzled, as you turned around and began to walk back to the palace, turning your back on him and leaving him to talk alone.

“One of my pets?” He questioned, with that amused grimace plastered on his mouth again, as he began to follow your hurried footsteps, his pale face reflected a blend of frustration and irritation. “Do you think I would treat you like one of my pets?”

His voice sounded so husky and frustrated and delicious that you felt like just stopping and jumping on him right there. But your own self-respect and pride were more important, you wanted to believe.

Seeing that you weren't planning to stop, Feyd tried to stop you by grabbing your arm, but his hand remained over your smooth skin, with no major result in trying to calm you down, so he cleared his voice, making the attempt to be as cautious and reassuring with his words.

“I think you must understand that desire and lust is something we all possess, my lady, not just men.”

He was physically relieved when you stopped to be able to look at him, with his hand lingering on your forearm.

But your eyes were still dark with discomfort when they met his once again. “I won't be one of your girls, Feyd-Rautha.”

His lips parted, brow furrowing slightly, his voice kept low. “(Y/N)—”

He stood right there, utterly speechless, with his voice caught in his throat, watching you walk away from him, striding with steps that exuded pure anger up to your rocky palace. His hand dropped from your arm and returned to his side, now far from your warmth and heartbeat.

It took Feyd-Rautha a couple of minutes to pull himself together, sighing heavily, a small smirk curving his lips as he began to walk the path back to the Atreides' palace.

He was absolutely thrilled to discover this side of you that he hadn't previously seen. You were truly frightening and he was loving it.

By the time the moon was bright in the center of the dark sky, shining through the thickness of black, a pair of soft knocks sounded against your chamber door and you didn't have to use any hint of your skills to know who it was.

He looked at you with those now dark blue eyes from across the threshold, arm resting lightly against the grayish stone. He looked strangely troubled, look shadowed.

“Have you always been such a perfect seductress?”Feyd asked you just as you made a questioning gesture with your head. “How many men have you seduced like this?”

You looked him up with doubting eyes, frown slightly furrowed. “What are you talking about—”

He interrupted you in a scratchy voice, fearing somehow, that someone else might hear him, that someone else might witness how desperately vulnerable he was being, for you.

“You've broken me. All I can think about is you.”

Feyd took one step forward and you one step back, so you two moved as if you were in a kind of dance until he eventually entered your chambers, pulling the door shut behind him.

“I can't handle not touching you. It's a rule I'm on the brink of breaking for you.” He whispered and your breath caught in your throat, exhaling air in a stuttering gasp. “And I should— I'm expected to be a gentleman. I'm supposed to behave myself, keep my composure. But you… you are driving me crazy, woman, you play with my head, you've bewitched me.”

You could really see that he was trying to explain himself for you, attempting to articulate everything that was going through his head and you knew that it was very unusual for him to speak out loud about his feelings. And now, you were the one who couldn't say anything at all.

It was true, the most important rule your mother had emphasized to you was that you were not to get involved sexually, or in any way with your betrothed, until the very day of the actual wedding, as that particular night was meant to be consumed.

“Y—you shouldn't be here, my lord.” You managed to utter out after a few hesitant stutters, feeling your back brush against the wall and having him in front of you, trapping you against his body. He seemed to be struggling against his body, against his desire and instinct, hesitant hands twitching at his sides, nearly reaching out instinctively for your body.

“You were so bold back there talking back to me, what happened now? Aw, what happened, pretty?” He asked in a more teasing tone of voice, holding your gaze. “We could put that mouth of yours to good use then, hm?”

“My lord—”

“Call me by name.” He demanded, he begged you, whispering.

“Feyd...” You named him so obediently that it made him smile darkly to himself. “Someone might listen.”

“Are you afraid that someone will find out that two people who are getting married desired each other?” Feyd asked, half-closing his eyes and breathing out through his nose, as if trying to compose himself, trying to convince himself more than you. “There is nothing wrong for a husband to crave for his wife, right?”

You gulped, and his eyes instantly landed on your throat, watching as bone and muscle moved beneath the flesh, his tongue twitched, aching with all his will to be able to just lick the skin of your neck.

“I guess not.” Your voice trembled even when you were trying extra hard to sound confident and certain. “But we are not yet husband and wife.”

“Soon...” Feyd muttered, almost as if he was making a promise, uttering a vow.

His eyes closed as he finally rested his forehead against yours and suddenly, you were breathing from the same air. His trembling breath was warm against your lips and his scent was everything you could have ever craved... and it felt so familiar that your soul seemed to shudder, like something you had smelled all your life, something that had haunted you even in dreams, forever present but yet always so far distant.

“Can I touch you?” Feyd breathed out against your mouth after a few moments.

You didn't answer him verbally, instead you slowly took his hands between yours, fingers placing them in parallel against his, allowing you to feel every inch of the imprint drawn on his fingertips as you dragged yours across his palm, both feeling the size difference.

Then, you rested his big, calloused hands on your waist, allowing him to touch and hold you as much as he wanted and to permit him to do so, a single sight on your eyes was all it took.

He hissed as his hands molded the curve of your waist and instantly afterward drew you into his body, pulling you fully against the wall behind you. Your back arched instinctively and you gasped too, so softly, your chest pressed against his with the motion.

“Touch me.” Feyd-Rautha pleaded, he had never pleaded so... desperately for anything ever in his life.

That was your allowance for your hands reaching for his body, out of control, one making a slow path up through his strong arms while the other rested against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your palm, beating echoing your own. Your fingertips gently patted his muscles, recognizing his skin and his body. You got the abrupt urge to claim it as yours. To claim him.

You felt yourself blushing at all the overly imaginative and lustful images of him invading your head.

His nose brushed against yours, nuzzling it affectionately, still without opening his eyes, as if he were in some kind of dream from which he didn't want to wake up. His fingers caressed your belly, tracing a slow caress across your entire abdomen upward, while his other hand gripped your waist, holding you against him.

His touch triggered an immediate reaction across your flesh, skin shivering under his fingers.

Feyd whispered your name like a prayer, like a thirsty man, crawling and screaming for water.

“I'm trying to be good...”

“Don't be.” You whispered back, almost begging, looking up at him, gaze meeting his once he opened his eyes. “Please, Feyd—”

Then finally his lips landed on yours, initiating a kiss that you both craved so much, maybe he more than you for the way he brought you close to him, almost possessively, like a mad man, almost as if he was imprinting his mark on you, marking you for whoever had the courage to look at you.

He let himself sink in the way your lips fit against yours, in the warmth your body offered him, in the all too familiar sensation he could sense in every single fiber of his core from the kiss, your kiss.

Feyd-Rautha felt like a roaring beast just unleashed, ruthless and insatiable, just like when he walked into the arena, eager to kill, rooting against his opponents —and now he was rooting for you, to be near you, to intertwine his soul with yours, to claim you as his own.

And claiming you he was, his scent covered you all over now, making you feel a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach, throbbing crotch, blood seething like an infernal flare. Anyone who came near you would not only smell you, but him too, on every inch of your body. His hands roamed just under your breasts, rubbing across your ribcage and sliding down your back, fingers just barely grazing your ass, pressing you tightly against him in desperation, grasping and squeezing as much of your tender flesh as they could.

Your own palms roamed up his chest, caressing his broad shoulders, all the way up to his neck, tugging him closer to you in desperate motions, impossibly close.

When your bodies begged for oxygen, you broke the passionate kiss, leaving you both breathless. He kissed you once more, allowing you to breathe just for a few seconds before all you breathed was him. He wanted to become your oxygen, something indispensable to you, something you needed to live with, a necessity.

“You're the only one.” Feyd-Rautha mumbled out as his hot and soft lips trailed down a wet path all the way to your neck, tracing the line of your jaw with sloppy kisses, each time his lips pulled back from your skin a wet noise echoed and filled the room, making you gasp.

You could feel the way his lips were modulating each word against your skin, as if using a language so intimate and so tight that it took your breath away. A language known and used just between the two of you.

With desirous eyes he looked at the dark crimson mark he'd left on your throat before raising them across your flushed face, his hands cradling your jaw, thumbs caressing your skin tenderly.

“When my uncle gave me the announcement that I was to marry you, I kicked them all out.” He continued to explain, pecking your lips a couple of times before kissing each cheek, your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, every single feature of your entire face, with the utmost care and adoration.

No one had ever looked at you the way he was looking at you right now.

Feyd rasped out a small chuckle, breath warm tickling against your nose. “And by kicking them out I mean I killed them.”

His comment didn't surprise you at all, in fact, it didn't even provoke a reaction in you. During the week you had been in his company, you had already gotten used to Feyd-Rautha's -almost cruel- honesty and sassy remarks, you were just starting to get used to his very eccentric and unique attitude. Because the na-Baron's personality was something that was most captivating to you, he was so different yet so similar to you.

“Of course.” You replied, trying to hold back that dark grin on your lips, an action that caused him to kiss you once more, his attention was on your mouth the whole time as you spoke to him in that tone of voice. “I would expect nothing less from the Feyd-Rautha and for my future husband.”

Again he rested his forehead against yours and you were the one who kissed his lips this time. It had become a reassuring habit in a span of less than five minutes for both of you.

“I can't do anything to you until we get married, my uncle would find out otherwise. I have —we have— to behave, my love.”

He seemed to read your mind this time, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, biting your lower lip gently, eyes darkened with desire, silently begging him to just take you right there against the wall when he called like that.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha was a hopeless romantic just like you or he simply desired you in ways that went beyond mere sex or plain lust.

“Are you afraid of him?” You softly asked him, your fingers stroking the back of his neck, feeling the smoothness of his skin. Your fingertips followed the trail of one of his veins marked on his neck, making him gasp lightly.

“Have you seen him?” Feyd responded with another question, a curved little smile on his lips, his tone of voice directed pure sarcasm. “I don't think I'm in such a position as to challenge the Baron.”

You nodded your head, fingers stroking his cheekbones now, tapping the moles that spread across his face affectionately. “He's terrifying.”

Your heart seemed to melt as you watched him close his eyes and lean against your hand, kissing the palm in action.

“Mhm...” Feyd hummed, watching you attentively, as if he was memorizing every inch of your face. Suddenly, his expression changed to one of amusement.

“Were you seriously jealous of my darlings?”

Your heart seemed to drop to your stomach and burn with your guts as you heard the nickname fall from his mouth.

“Call them that again and I'll cut your throat.” You murmured against his lips, kissing them slowly before pulling away from his body, looking up at him with dark, yet playful eyes, your hand roaming across his chest until it fell to your side as you stepped away. Then you made your way towards your bed with a very slow pace, under the attentive gaze of his azure eyes following every movement of your hips.

His heart —apparently non-existent until then— was pounding like crazy inside his chest as his lips parted, for once again you had left him speechless.

That was living proof that you were simply made for him. And he for you.

And maybe that just meant you were each other's weakness, people would say so.

But he felt just invincible in your presence, as if your company made him behold the whole universe, gave him the power of the all galaxy at hand, making him feel like the only man in existence. Your man.

Feyd-Rautha had never felt so desperate to make you his wife and finally call you his.

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, only praise and pet names (omg who hacked k4s???), groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping on a couch in a very crowded room, one neck bite, san cums untouched, oral (receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of self-sucking the rich individuals around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a starter house. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands to various locked-in acquaintances, some off doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink anymore, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, a half-empty champagne flute in hand, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

San gulped, just about spilling the drink he was still holding onto, unknowingly spreading his thighs open further, as if he was giving you an unspoken invitation to climb onto his lap.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

“And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” San smiled devilishly, his dimples appearing, kicking off his pants and running his closed hand along his curved, dripping length. He pressed his thighs against the side of the bed, running the tip of his cock over your lips, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

“I would.” Lifting yourself up so that you could completely rid yourself of your disheveled dress, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you.

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

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